Chapter 327
Chapter 327
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 327
Chapter Title: Side Story 11. Sword Saint (1)
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The summer breeze was sweltering. Massive cumulonimbus clouds, like battleships, cut across the brilliant blue skies over the archipelago. Zaifa, taking a deep breath, opened his mouth.
"It's been quite a while. A challenger who's not Naviroje."
"Schlieffen Sinivan de Grancia greets the Sword Saint."
Schlieffen offered a sword salute. He was dressed in a combat uniform emblazoned with his family's crest. His beautiful dark blue-green hair gleamed under the scorching sun.
They stood facing each other in the center of the vast arena. The circular space, covered in pristine white paving stones, was large enough to fit an entire rural village. It was the Grand Circle, the largest arena in the empire.
"The first match since the war."
"Who would've thought I'd live to see Zaifa and the Empire's Rising Star clash... Feels like I've used up all my luck for life."
The spectators, here for this unprecedented bout, buzzed with excitement. Despite the mounting heat, the Grand Circle's stands were packed to the brim, with no room to spare. Everyone had come to witness the Sword Saint showdown.
"I figured it'd be you or that brat Ronan. Did he lose to you?"
"No. He didn't even participate. Seems he was never interested in the Sword Saint title to begin with."
"Kukuku... What an arrogant punk."
Zaifa chuckled. In truth, this was within his expectations. Ronan had never seemed the type to care for honorary titles like Sword Saint. Just then, an irritated voice echoed from the VIP stands.
"That old man's yapping too much. He should be grateful we even showed up when we're busy with our honeymoon."
"You're here, huh."
Zaifa turned and smirked. Ronan was boldly occupying the best seat in the Grand Circle alongside Adeshan. The surrounding spots were filled with his friends, including Asel and Marya.
"Come to think of it, you got married, didn't you? Must be the honeymoon sweet spot."
"Unbelievable. You wrecked all the wedding booze and left, and now you forget that?"
Ronan let out a hollow laugh. Just a few days ago, he had officially married Adeshan. At her request, the ceremony was held in the grand plaza of Phileon Academy, attended by most of the people they'd connected with over the years.
Zaifa had been one of the first guests. After a brief congratulatory remark, he'd polished off all the liquor prepared for the reception and left. Of course, he'd sent a gift of millennium frostflower wine worth more than enough to cover the entire wedding cost—but that came after the ceremony.
"You have any idea how much hassle it was cleaning up after you? Dragons love booze... Normally, you'd be dead courtesy of Big Sis Navardoje and Orse!"
"Why'd you stop them? I wouldn't have minded a round with that mana dragon, even if the Mother of Fire was off-limits."
"Always gotta have the last word. Schlieffen! Blow that annoying cat away!"
Ronan cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. Naviroje, seated right behind him, nodded in agreement.
Instead of replying, Schlieffen turned to scan the stands. Iril was staring at him intently, hands clasped together. Her large, doe-like eyes brimmed with worry.
"Lord Schlieffen."
Iril murmured. She knew his skills well, but facing Zaifa changed everything.
The greatest Sword Saint in history. She'd tried talking him out of it, saying there was no need to fight, but Schlieffen had stepped into the arena to honor the vow he'd made to himself. Turning back to Zaifa, he spoke.
"I have no intention of losing."
His words were for her—and everyone else. At that moment, a middle-aged man in splendid robes ascended the platform. The rowdy arena fell silent as if doused with cold water. He was the emcee for this match: Emperor Valon the 44th.
"Whoa, look at all that white hair. Must've been through hell."
"Ronan, shh...!"
Only Ronan whistled in admiration. Adeshan, seated beside him, clamped a hand over his mouth. His entirely snow-white hair hinted at the ordeals the emperor had endured since the war against Nebula Klazie ended. Slowly surveying the arena, he spoke.
"To see this sight again... My heart overflows."
"We greet Your Majesty."
Schlieffen and Zaifa knelt on one knee in respect. The emperor smiled warmly. Clearing his throat twice, he continued.
"No need for lengthy words; everyone knows your feats and names. As this is the battle to decide the Empire's Greatest Swordsman, give it your all."
"What? That's it?"
"I expect the finest match."
With that, the emperor turned away. Ronan snickered at the absurdly succinct speech. Beside the emperor's returning seat sat the elders overseeing the Sword Saint tournament.
"So when does it—"
Ronan muttered questioningly. In that instant, Zaifa's blurring form shot forward. The moment Schlieffen reflexively raised his sword—
Kwaaaaang!
A thunderous boom echoed. Zaifa laughed as he saw the glaive and Pale Lord clashing right before his eyes.
"You're not getting pushed back anymore."
"Thanks to you."
Schlieffen replied. Despite the ambush, he hadn't yielded a single step. Compared to their first clash, it was a monumental improvement. The spectators, catching on late, erupted in chatter.
"W-what just happened?!"
"My god...!"
To them, Zaifa had vanished and reappeared in a blink. Then, blades locked, and the battle resumed. Kaang! The soaring glaive came crashing down toward Schlieffen's crown.
"Hup!"
Twisting his shoulders, Schlieffen dodged the strike by a paper's thickness. Kwang! The massive blade cleaved through the specially reinforced stone like tofu. Schlieffen gripped his hilt. The bluish Pale Lord dissolved into wind and vanished.
The instant Zaifa tried to yank his embedded blade free, Schlieffen swung his hilt sideways. A gale engulfed Zaifa. Chwajak! Dozens of talon-like gashes raked his body, as if mauled by raptors. Each strand of Schlieffen's wind was as sharp as a master sword. Blood welled from the black fur, soaking the ground.
"Brat."
Zaifa's eyes narrowed. Schlieffen pressed the assault with a combo. But Zaifa ignored the wounds, wrenched his glaive free, and swung. Kwang! The heavier-than-expected blow smashed into Pale Lord.
"Ugh!"
Schlieffen gritted his teeth. The rebounding guard slammed his ribs, choking his breath.
'That wind should have hurt.'
Truly the undefeated Sword Saint's grit. But Schlieffen had no plans to yield easily. Regaining his stance, he dove into Zaifa's guard. Pale Lord's blade had already reformed.
"Hm...!"
Zaifa frowned. The approach was faster than anticipated. With their range closed, the long glaive was awkward to counter. The moment Schlieffen thrust—Zaifa, feigning a swing, lashed out a kick. Paang! Schlieffen leaped as if waiting, stepping on Zaifa's knee for a double jump.
"Huh?"
Zaifa's eyes widened. His move had been read. Using the knee as a springboard, Schlieffen soared nearly 10 meters high.
"Kyaaa!"
"Damn, that's impressive."
The crowd gasped at the superhuman leap. Zaifa calmly readjusted without panic. Reading him was good, but airborne like that, dodging an upward strike would be tough. Of course, Schlieffen wouldn't overlook such basics.
"Let's see your skill."
This positioning meant a clash of sword auras. Chuckling, Zaifa gripped his shaft. Black mana spread from his hand, coiling around the blade. His space-rending aura served like sword energy. At the apex, Schlieffen began descending, sword poised. He swung wide.
"Hah!"
A battle cry rang out. Two crescent sword auras crossed and fired. Vast enough to span the arena's width. Watching from the stands, Naviroje murmured in quiet admiration.
"He's come this far already."
Nearly matching her own sword auras in size—and power. Then, Zaifa's arm vanished from view as he observed. The glaive arced back, and a black line slashed across Schlieffen's vision.
"That's...!"
Ronan's eyes bulged. He'd seen it during their wyvern hunt. A spatial rift that shredded anything it touched. Schlieffen's auras pitifully severed on contact. Kwang! Kwang! The fragments exploded against the arena floor, not Zaifa. Ronan shot to his feet, yelling urgently.
"Idiot, dodge!"
Everyone in the stands likely agreed. Unlike Ronan, Schlieffen couldn't sense mana. Yet he didn't evade—instead accelerating. Just as his face neared the line—Shriik! A sudden gust twisted his trajectory downward ever so slightly. The rift grazed his body and hair by a hair's breadth.
"Flashy."
Zaifa laughed. He admired the gutsy frontal charge. But with his demonic dynamic vision, he was confident in countering any move.
Judging by the footwork, aiming for a quick, decisive strike. Zaifa derived the answer instantly, about to counter—Jjeok! Dozens of cuts spiderwebbed across his glaive shaft.
"What."
Zaifa uttered in shock. The shaft shattered and fell. Schlieffen had chipped away steadily since their first clash; the result now showed. He discarded it, lunging barehanded—but too late. Puk! Pale Lord pierced his tail, pinning it to the ground.
"Insolent...!"
Zaifa growled. Frigid aura from the blade froze his tail solid and the surrounding floor. As he turned to rip it free—Schlieffen released the hilt, backstepping, and intoned lowly.
"Storm."
No time to react. Kwaaaa! A whirlwind erupted, tearing the earth and engulfing Zaifa. Each razor gale shredded passing clouds overhead. The silent stands thundered with cheers.
"Waaaaah!"
"Schlieffen, you bastard...!"
Ronan clenched his fist in triumph. A masterful feint. Zaifa's form vanished in the vortex.
Given past foes battered by Schlieffen's aura, he couldn't be unscathed. As hope rose for an end—Chaak! A black line slashed the whirlwind's top, ripping the winds apart.
"What...!"
Schlieffen's face hardened. Before he could defend—Zaifa flashed before him like lightning. Kwajik! A black fist hammered his gut.
"Kuhuk!"
Blood sprayed from Schlieffen's mouth. A belly blow felt like his spine shattering. Kwang! He rocketed backward, slamming the arena wall.
"Lord Schlieffen!"
Iril screamed. Zaifa halted midarena. Emerging from the storm, his body was a wreck. Crimson-black pools formed with each step. Beneath half-torn fur, pitch skin showed.
Yet Zaifa showed no fatigue. The fighting spirit rising from his broad shoulders burned fiercer.
Ten claws gleamed over black fingers—the true sword that sank even Naviroje. Kwang! Schlieffen rebounded to his feet unsteadily. Seeing it, Zaifa grinned ferociously.
"Fun, isn't it?"