Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 58

Edward reappeared above the estate grounds in a quiet flash of distorted space. In his right hand, he held the completed soul flag. The artifact felt heavy in presence, as if countless invisible eyes were watching the world through it.

The cloth was attached vertically along the pole, flowing downward instead of spreading wide like a war banner. It was a deep crimson red, dark enough to appear almost black under low light. Golden embroidery traced along its surface, weaving through each other in precise patterns. At the center of the cloth was the insignia of House Vistro, the wind falcon, wings spread wide as if ready to tear through the sky.

The moment Edward stepped fully into the air above the estate, Valerius felt his breath catch. He stood among broken stone and fallen bodies, his remaining hand clenched tightly at his side. He could feel it now, clearly and unmistakably. The pressure radiating from the flag was something else.

Edward raised the soul flag.

He did not shout. He did not chant. He simply lifted the pole high, planting its base against the ground with calm certainty. The moment the flag settled, the air shifted. A low, almost inaudible hum spread outward, rippling through the estate like a silent wave.

Then the souls responded.

From every corner of the battlefield, faint lights began to rise. At first they were scattered, barely visible, drifting upward like dying embers. Then more followed. Dozens. Then a hundred. Pale silhouettes emerged from fallen armor, as the souls of the knights who had died in the crossfire of Edward’s fight against the Marquis and the Duke rose slowly, drawn toward the flag by an irresistible force.

Valerius stared, his eyes wide.

He recognized them, the unlucky ones, those caught in the crossfire of the battle.

Knights he had trained with. Men he had fought beside. Warriors who had sworn their lives to the Marquis’ banner. Their expressions were empty now, stripped of fear and loyalty alike. Most of them were at the peak of the apprentice stage, but a smaller number of them were at the middle adept stage.

Edward watched them with a detached gaze.

To him, this was not cruelty or mercy. It was efficiency.

The souls drifted closer, pulled toward the cloth. As each one touched the surface of the flag, it dissolved into strands of pale light and vanished within the fabric.

Valerius felt his throat tighten.

This was soul manipulation in its purest form. The souls were being rewritten, stripped of identity and reduced to obedient spiritual force.

"This is madness," Valerius whispered to himself.

Yet even as fear crept into his chest, admiration followed close behind. Edward was not reckless. He was not drunk on power. Every movement was precise. Every decision was deliberate. He had weighed the consequences long before taking this path.

When the last of the fallen knights’ souls entered the flag, the air grew still again. The pressure remained, heavier now, denser than before.

Then there was only one soul left.

The Duke’s soul hovered several meters away, bound by Edward’s will and the lingering effects of the extraction spell. It was far brighter than the others, its form sharp and defined. The soul of an Archmage carried immense weight, as power radiated from it, as if it refused to accept its fate.

Valerius felt his knees weaken.

That soul alone was worth more than all the others combined.

Edward turned toward it.

The Duke’s soul trembled as Edward’s gaze settled upon it. There was no arrogance left in its expression. No pride. Only fear and hatred twisted together, powerless to act.

Edward raised the soul flag again.

"This one," he said calmly, his voice carrying across the ruins, "will be the main soul."

The Duke’s soul was pulled forward violently.

It resisted with everything it had, energy flaring outward in desperate bursts. The air warped briefly under the pressure, and the ground cracked beneath the force of its struggle. But the restrictions engraved into the flag activated instantly. Golden runes ignited across the cloth, forming a lattice of binding laws that wrapped around the soul like chains.

With a sharp pull, the Duke’s soul was dragged into the flag.

The moment it entered, the cloth flared with blinding light. Indigo energy surged outward, washing over the estate in a chilling wave. Valerius staggered back, barely managing to stay on his feet as the pressure doubled, then tripled.

Then the flag fell silent.

For a single heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then Edward lifted the flag one final time.

"Come forth," he said.

The air split open.

A figure emerged from the space before Edward, stepping out of the flag as though crossing an invisible threshold. It stood tall, towering over the ruins, its presence alone bending the air around it. The spectral knight was clad in armor, as dark mist seeped from the gaps between the plates, curling around its form like living smoke. From within its helmet, two streaks of intense blue energy burned where eyes should have been, cold and unwavering.

In its hands, it carried a massive black greatsword. The blade was wide and brutal, its surface spotless. The weapon radiated a pressure that made the ground beneath it fracture further, deep lines spreading outward like veins.

Then, the knight indigo aura flared, covering the radius around him.

Valerius could barely breathe, as the spectral knight stepped forward.

Then it dropped to one knee.

Its head bowed deeply, greatsword planted firmly against the ground. The mist around it settled, and its aura stabilized, flowing smoothly toward Edward.

Edward looked at it in silence for a long moment.

Then he spoke.

"Your name," Edward said evenly, "will be Acheron."

The name echoed faintly through the air, carried by the indigo aura. The spectral knight raised its head slightly, acknowledging the command without a word.

Edward lowered the flag and pointed his sword at Acheron.

"Stand," he said. "And fight me."

Acheron rose smoothly to its full height. The ground groaned under its weight as it lifted the massive greatsword with effortless strength. The indigo aura surged outward, expanding rapidly as the summon fully manifested its power.

The pressure was overwhelming.

This was the aura of an Archmage.

Valerius felt his instincts scream louder than ever before. His body reacted on its own, stepping back again as sweat broke across his skin. Edward was facing this thing alone, without hesitation, without visible strain.

Acheron shifted.

The world blurred.

In a single instant, the spectral knight vanished from its position, space folding inward as it moved. The indigo aura spiked sharply, and the pressure behind Edward surged.

Valerius’s eyes widened in horror.

Acheron had already appeared behind Edward, his greatsword raised high, blue aura crackling violently along the blade as it prepared to strike.