Chương 343: Bonding Between Father and Son

Vale burst forward, both blades already in motion as he drove straight for Drago's throat. A wild grin stretched across his face, born from exhilaration. He did not truly understand why he had attacked the old man. Yes, Drago was undeniably hiding something about Kealix, about Vale himself, but was that reason enough? Perhaps the Seven Sages had told him.

Perhaps they had reached Kealix's domain while Vale was still trapped there, unnoticed amidst the endless cycle of death and rebirth before Kealix dealt with them himself. The odds that Drago possessed any profound knowledge of Kealix were, realistically, incredibly small. Vale understood that. Logic insisted there was little to gain from this confrontation. Yet that logic had already lost. Something inside him refused to remain still.

Ever since his memories had returned, a relentless excitement had been building within his chest, an urge he could neither explain nor suppress. For years, or rather, for what had felt like fifty thousand years, he had dreamed of testing himself against someone truly powerful. Back then, Kealix had stood forever beyond his reach, an impossible mountain that had consumed every waking moment of his existence. Now that mountain had been conquered. A new summit stood before him.

"Show me who you really are, Drago!" Vale roared as his blades carved through the air in a vicious horizontal slash, their edges shrieking with murderous precision. Drago did not react. He simply watched. Not a flicker of concern crossed the old man's weathered face. His expression remained as calm as though Vale had merely greeted him rather than attempted to remove his head. The indifference unsettled Vale more than any defensive stance could have. Then his blade connected. Clang.

The sound rang through the library like a hammer striking an anvil. Instead of flesh, the sword met something solid. The impact jolted through Vale's arms, forcing his weapon away as sparks burst from the point of contact. It was as though he had struck forged steel rather than skin. Vale's eyes widened. Without hesitation, he leapt backward, putting distance between them before exploding into motion again.

He circled Drago in erratic patterns, his steps weaving together countless feints and abrupt changes in rhythm until his body blurred through the air. To an ordinary observer, he would have seemed to vanish and reappear between heartbeats.

"I knew you were strong..." Vale muttered, never taking his eyes off the old man.

"... but I didn't think you were this strong without even lifting a finger." Drago remained utterly unmoved. Folding his arms across his chest, he regarded Vale with the quiet patience of a teacher waiting for a stubborn student to reach the obvious conclusion.

"You're making a mistake," he said evenly.

"Judging by that tone of yours, I think you've already figured out how I learned about Kealix. So why are you still fighting?" Vale didn't answer immediately. Instead, the question echoed inside his own mind.

'Why am I fighting?' Was it arrogance? Had recovering his memories convinced him he could now challenge anyone? No. Was it simply a desire to measure his newfound skill? Not quite. Was it the thrill of combat? Again... no. His thoughts drifted back to Kealix. To the chained man standing eternally upon the crimson sea. To the impossible wall he had spent millennia climbing. Drago stood before him now with that same impossible composure.

They were different men, yet something about them felt strangely alike—neither flaunted strength. Neither needed to. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Both simply were. And suddenly, Vale understood. This wasn't about victory. It was about finding the next wall. He lowered his blades.

"It is simple... Father." His voice was calm now, stripped of its earlier excitement.

"Ever since that hell ended, ever since I defeated him, I've wondered what came next. Granted..." he added with a dry chuckle, "... I only regained those memories a few hours ago, so I'm speaking figuratively." He lazily spun one blade through his fingers before pointing it toward Drago.

"But now I've found it." A determined smile settled across his face.

"My new goal is you." Drago smiled. It started as the faintest curve of his lips before gradually broadening into something almost warm, tinged with unmistakable pride.

"So," he said, shifting one foot ever so slightly, "you wish to reach my level?" Vale nodded without hesitation.

"I do." He settled into his stance once more, knees bent and breathing steady.

"Not because of whatever rank you once held in our old world." His gaze sharpened.

"But because I want to become a warrior worthy of standing before you." Drago chuckled.

"You certainly aren't lacking in ambition." The old man allowed his folded arms to fall to his sides. His posture remained relaxed, almost casual, yet the atmosphere around him changed completely. It was subtle, so subtle that anyone else might have missed it, but to Vale it felt as though the very room had grown heavier.

"I suppose," Drago continued, "that as your father, I should discipline you for attacking me." His eyes briefly swept over Vale's battered body.

"Although... are you sure you're capable of fighting in your current condition?" Vale blinked. Only then did he remember the wounds still covering his body. Somehow, he had completely forgotten them. The countless deaths he had endured under Kealix had numbed him so thoroughly that pain had become little more than background noise.

'Wait...'

'If I barely notice injuries anymore... just how much has that place changed me?' He pushed the thought aside and tightened his grip around both swords.

"Yeah... I can fight." His eyes burned with conviction.

"And I'll fight you with everything I've got." Drago nodded once.

"Very well, you may-" Vale vanished. He crossed the distance before Drago could finish speaking, appearing directly above him with both blades descending in perfect unison. His breathing slowed, his heartbeat faded, and the world narrowed into a single flawless instant. Nirvana. Every sense sharpened beyond human comprehension as his mind ignited beneath the unbearable flood of information.

Agony ripped through his skull while thousands upon thousands of memories threatened to overwhelm him once more, but for one fleeting moment, he forced them into perfect harmony. His blades descended. Drago looked up with genuine interest.

"Nirvana... so you can endure the pain." His body shifted.

"Not that it matters." Vale's swords never reached him. Before either blade had advanced even a single centimeter, Boom. A fist buried itself deep into Vale's chest. Time seemed to stop. The impact was almost gentle. Then everything inside him exploded. His ribs shattered inward like brittle branches, splintering through muscle and lung alike. His stomach lurched violently as organs ruptured beneath the force, blood flooding up his throat before his mind had even registered the pain.

"All the skill in the universe," Drago said calmly, his fist still extended, "cannot bridge the gulf between us."

"There is too great a difference in strength, and an even greater one in experience." Vale's body rocketed backward, smashing through the library floor before slamming into the massive entrance doors hard enough to shake the entire tower. Wood cracked and stone fractured as he collapsed beneath the shattered doorway, coughing violently as blood poured from between his lips. Every breath burned. His lungs no longer seemed interested in functioning.

"I..." he wheezed between coughs.

"... uh... need... a potion..." Before the words had fully left his mouth, Drago was already standing over him. Vale hadn't even seen him move. The old man knelt without a word, uncorked a potion, lifted Vale's head with one hand, and poured the bitter liquid down his throat before letting him fall back onto the stone. Agony, unlike anything Vale had expected, surged through him. Bones ground together as they knitted themselves back into place. Ruptured organs twisted and reformed.

Torn muscles crawled across themselves, reconnecting strand by strand. Healing potions were miraculous creations capable of restoring nearly any injury short of a severed limb. Unfortunately, they achieved those miracles in the most excruciating way imaginable. Vale writhed helplessly against the floor, every nerve screaming as his body rebuilt itself from within. Compared to Kealix's endless cycle of death and resurrection, it was hardly unfamiliar. It still hurts like hell.

Only after several long moments did the pain finally begin to subside. Drago watched him quietly before releasing a weary sigh.

"Alright, I've indulged your request." His voice had returned to its usual calm.

"Now prepare for your expedition, you're still grieving... and from what I know, this expedition won't be easy." He paused.

"So do yourself a favor... and stop looking for battles you don't need." Vale lay on the floor, staring weakly toward the towering ceiling. Drago's words barely reached him. His mind remained fixed on the single exchange they had shared. That wasn't a fight. It hadn't even been close. He had unleashed Nirvana, the culmination of fifty thousand years of relentless training, and Drago had ended everything with one effortless punch. If that had only been a glimpse of the old man's true ability...

Vale could scarcely imagine what Drago looked like when he stopped holding back. After several slow breaths, Vale finally turned his head toward him.

"... Hey." His voice was little more than a rasp.

"Just... who are you, old man?" Drago stopped walking. For a long moment, he didn't answer. When he finally looked back, the confidence and composure that always defined him had vanished, replaced by a quiet sorrow that seemed far older than the Tower itself.

"I'm..." He smiled faintly, though there was no joy behind it.

"... someone who can never stop failing the people he loves, kid."