Chapter 172
Chapter 172
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 172
Chapter Title: Festival of Swords (15)
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"You're alive, Storm Sword."
Naviroje muttered as she wiped the blood from her mouth. She had landed close to the spectator seats, so her voice carried unintentionally. Ronan's eyes widened in shock.
"Wait. Storm Sword? What are you talking about?"
"Exactly what I said. I clearly left you in a state where you'd never wield a sword again, but somehow here you are."
Naviroje answered without turning her head. She was insisting that the man named Nodrek was the Storm Sword himself. Amid the thick rising smoke, yellow flashes from Nodrek's aura flickered wildly. Schlieffen, who had been stunned into silence, finally spoke up.
"...That's impossible. Could he be a disciple or a child?"
"I'm not so senile as to confuse him with... Hm, he's coming back."
Naviroje clicked her tongue. At the same moment, the thick smoke split apart to either side as Nodrek charged forward. To the eyes of nearly everyone except a rare few, his rush appeared as nothing more than a gust of wind.
Naviroje calmly widened the distance without panic. She gathered mana and swung her sword horizontally, unleashing a verdant green crescent moon toward Nodrek. It was nearly 100 meters in diameter—large enough to blanket the entire arena. Gasps erupted from various spots in the stands.
"My God!"
"As expected of the former Sword Saint...!"
There was nowhere to dodge. Nodrek, mid-charge, halted in place. Just as the sword energy slicing through the air was about to cleave his body, he thrust his sword into the ground as a pivot and leaped. Boom! The explosion from the blade's tip propelled him further. The sword energy passed beneath his feet and slammed into the opposite wall of the arena, detonating.
"Your momentum's died down quite a bit, little girl."
His tone carried not a shred of the previous calm rationality. Nodrek, now right in front of Naviroje in an instant, unleashed a slash. Gripping the hilt with both hands, it was a vertical cleave. Naviroje parried it with fluid grace, like flowing water. Claaang—! A roar reminiscent of a wild beast shook the arena.
"Thanks for the compliment. It's been a while since anyone called me 'miss'."
Naviroje sneered. Neither budged a step; they exchanged blows in place. Yellow and green. Each clash of blades tangled their auras, birthing fierce mana storms. Thunderclaps of steel boomed repeatedly. In the midst of their fierce exchange, Naviroje spoke.
"Krodens. How are you still alive?"
"I owe it to some strange group. Turns out miracles really exist. They found me dying on the coast and healed me."
They conversed casually even as their blades danced. Their serene expressions made it seem like old friends chatting. Nodrek explained that a mysterious group had restored him. Naviroje raised an eyebrow.
"Intriguing. A strange group, you say."
"Yeah. They even reattached the leg you severed. Hard to believe it's a prosthetic, right?"
"Oh ho. So it was a prosthetic?"
Naviroje arched her brow in surprise. It moved freely and powerfully, no different from a real leg, just as Nodrek claimed. It far surpassed the Empire's technological prowess. He continued.
"But they couldn't restore the nerves torn away with the skin. Even after sacrificing so many insects as tribute... Look at my face. I can't laugh or cry."
"Sacrificed as tribute? What do you mean?"
"Nothing comes free—not even a leg and skin. I had to kill unintentionally, more than a few times. Changing my hair and eyes to that muddy color wasn't enough, apparently."
Nodrek chuckled. With no change in expression or inflection, it sounded more like wind whistling through cracks than laughter.
He explained that he'd killed countless humans to gather materials. The moment Ronan heard it, he could imagine the fate of Russell's comrades, who had been dragged away alive. Naviroje's brow furrowed.
"If you barely clung to life, why not live quietly? Why return to the Festival of Swords? Don't tell me you still obsess over the holy sword."
"Well, aside from the holy sword, there are other reasons. Can't tell you the details..."
Suddenly, Nodrek gripped his hilt tighter. The glow enveloping his curved blade intensified, accelerating his strikes. Boom! A thunderbolt-like thrust hammered the flat of Naviroje's greatsword. The precarious balance shattered, sending her body flying backward.
"Kuhk...!"
Naviroje crashed into the arena wall. Boom! The impact, like a battering ram, collapsed part of the spectator stands. Seeing her vomit blood, Schlieffen shot to his feet. Nodrek's amplified voice rang clear.
"Don't underestimate people, you whore. Why haven't you drawn your snake?"
Nodrek aimed his sword tip at Naviroje. The mana spreading like mist around him writhed, forming about ten spiraling pillars. Shocked exclamations burst from the stands. Each pillar, 10 meters tall, was a condensed mass of the Storm Sword's aura. Naviroje, prying herself from the wall, steadied her staggering stance. A pained groan escaped her lips.
"Kuh... ugh..."
"Planning to keep your pride to the end? Fine, then ponder who'll clean up your mangled corpse."
Nodrek growled. The vertical pillars tilted horizontally, targeting her. Unable to bear it, referee Alogin spoke urgently.
"This is dangerous. Sword Saint, we must stop the match."
"No. Wait."
Zaipa shook his head. Alogin's face hardened.
"The match is already decided. And if he's truly Storm Sword Krodens, this isn't ordinary. Stop it now and secure him!"
"That's why I'm telling you to wait. That snake will handle it herself."
"What do you...!"
Alogin protested, but Zaipa remained silent. He glanced sideways at Ronan. Their eyes met, exchanging subtle looks.
Not yet?
Not yet.
At that instant, the spiral pillars launched simultaneously. Mages on standby for safety erected barriers between the stands and arena. Crimson-yellow flashes engulfed the arena as a world-shaking explosion roared. The specially treated stone floor flipped like sand. The five-layered barriers shattered and reformed repeatedly. Kuhk! Several mages collapsed, vomiting blood from the mental strain.
"Instructor."
Schlieffen gripped his hilt. It was an explosion that would leave no bones—or even flesh—behind. Naviroje wasn't in normal condition. As he bit his lip, debating intervention, a familiar voice came from below.
"You're such a good boy. Handsome guys always have kind hearts."
"You."
"Don't worry too much. Her Highness will be fine."
Schlieffen looked down. Lin had approached unnoticed and stood beside him. It took him a moment to realize "Her Highness" referred to Naviroje. Ronan chimed in.
"Yeah, man. Have some faith in sis."
"...Ronan."
Schlieffen turned. Ronan watched the explosion engulfing the arena, arms crossed, his face utterly calm—no tension at all. He seemed to be waiting for something.
"The day before yesterday, Zaipa said after leaving the North, it was the first time he'd drawn his claws."
"...What does that mean?"
"Instructor's one of the few that picky tiger truly acknowledges. Curious about the Storm Sword as a swordsman, I asked, and he said this: 'All brute force, no skill—even worse than me at fifteen. Lucky bastard milked it for forty years.'"
Ronan recited verbatim his predawn drinking chat with Zaipa. After downing about ten bottles of eternal snowflower liquor, a tipsy Zaipa stripped off his shirt, revealing chest scars.
Over muscles like expanded obsidian loomed a blade mark as long as Ronan was tall. Amid countless scars, it stood out unmistakably as Naviroje's greatsword work.
Unlike Naviroje, Zaipa cherished that scar as a memento. His mental fortitude was extraordinary, perhaps from longevity. He boasted he could beat the likes of Storm Sword with one hand. Of course, Ronan thought Zaipa and Naviroje were freakish geniuses, but Storm Sword was no slouch either.
"I sparred him this dawn, so I know. That Nodrek—or Storm Sword—is strong. Probably stronger than me or you right now."
"Then what you're saying is..."
"Yeah. Why's a guy with better senses than me acting like that? Look closely."
Ronan suddenly threw an arm around Schlieffen's shoulders, pointing to Naviroje's position. Staring intently, Schlieffen's eyes widened. Ronan smirked, tossing out a line.
"He can't beat our instructor at that level."
His tone brimmed with certainty. Soon, the explosion ceased. Smoke blanketed half the arena like a black wall. No one in the stands spoke, so all heard Nodrek's mutter.
"...Should've enjoyed it more before killing her. She was ripening nicely."
Nodrek smacked his lips. The flat tone made it chilling. Staring at the smoke wall, he muttered to himself.
"Shouldn't have bothered with baptism. No use for it anyway."
As Nodrek reminisced over the past decades, a faint green crescent suddenly flew from the smoke. It was feeble, like it might vanish any second—tiny compared to Naviroje's earlier strike.
"What? Still alive?"
Nodrek scoffed. It looked like the futile resistance of the dying. He shrugged lightly, and the weak energy harmlessly passed by.
"Hope at least her face and torso are intact."
Limbs gone would be perfect. As Nodrek spun his sword and stepped for the kill, whoosh! The smoke wall exploded outward, unleashing a torrent of green glow. Massive sword energies emerged.
"What...!"
Nodrek raised his sword in panic. It was unreal. Horizontal, vertical, diagonal—they crisscrossed from every direction, like a net to snare a god.
Finding a gap amid the vision-filling frenzy was near impossible. Inevitably, one grazed his cheek.
"Heuk!"
Plop. Nodrek's right ear hit the ground. Blood fountained, but no time for pain. Grinding his teeth, he charged forward. Better to breach head-on than flee and die.
The moment he dramatically pierced the net, Naviroje appeared from behind an especially wide energy wave. Her clothes were torn from the blast's aftermath, but no major injuries visible. Swollen arm and leg muscles. Razor-sharp eyes. Sword already poised, she spat coldly.
"I hesitated a bit. Like my disciple said, maybe you weren't Krodens."
"You bitch!"
Nodrek reflexively thrust. Naviroje's greatsword vanished from view. Their blades crossed mid-air. Paang! A fist-sized hole burned through Naviroje's hair center. Simultaneously, a red line appeared across Nodrek's chest.
"Kuhk...!"
"But nope, you are."
Blood gushed from Nodrek's nose and mouth. Naviroje spun, slamming a powerful kick into his gut. Boom! Nodrek rocketed straight into the opposite wall. Spiderweb cracks radiated from the impact. His body slid down, collapsing on the floor.
"Still scum worth slicing."
Naviroje flicked blood from her blade. Nodrek lay still. Dense silence blanketed the arena. Alogin, regaining his wits, spoke.
"...Test concluded."