‘It is really amazing.’ 

Muller recognized it instantly. The 3,295 swords that formed a spiral procession centered on him all had the same origin. It could be seen based on the spirituality that each sword had. 

Only One God Grid—it was a spirituality created by the temperament of the god of the surface who stood in opposition to the Specter. The weapons other than swords that were mixed in the procession? He wasn’t interested in them. He was a swordsman. 

It was said that a Sword Saint could handle even the branches of a tree as a sword and wasn’t bound by weapons, but this was half correct and half incorrect. There were clear limits to what a swordsman could do without a sword. It was just that the enemies who fought Muller didn’t realize the difference. 

“Sword Saint Muller... don’t be reckless. You felt frustrated... to the me from a long time ago... to you, who have tasted this and kept quiet... is there a chance of winning?”

The Specter’s cracking voice contained deep pain, loneliness, and resentment. It was reminiscent of a sick person who was about to die. Nevertheless, he was afraid. In the past, he had no choice but to run away. 

At that time, all Muller had was a crude iron sword. He was active in the pre-Pagma era. The strongest Sword Saint of all time was born in the middle of the Dark ages, when the skills of the blacksmiths had regressed from generation to generation...