Chapter 135
Academy’s Gumiho is a Magic Genius – Chapter 135
Clang!
Sword met sword.
Any ordinary swordsman would have seen the clash of blades with a Sword Saint as the height of honoror the end of themselves.
But not her.
Gripping her sword hilt with white-knuckled intensity, the widow poured out her fierce will. Silently, she blocked my blade.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Don't run away."
"From what? From where?"
"Don't run from your duty, Sword Saint."
"......"
Yeah. This was running away.
I wasn't planning to escape this hell through death.
I just wanted to mar this face that everyone loved so much.
Would people still adore a face scarred like the battered, half-crippled body I'd rolled through battlefields with?
Suddenly, I wanted to test it.
Whether that urge came from some adolescent boy's whim,
or from the loneliness and sorrow of a ruler's poor judgment, I didn't know.
My mind as Sword Saint wasn't calm enough to dwell on such trivialities.
The thought arose, the judgment followedand I acted on it immediately.
"I wasn't planning to die."
"I know."
"I just wanted a few scars on my face."
"To keep even a single blemish from marring your noble visage, ten thousand soldiers burned away their lives. Please, cherish your own countenance."
And the one stopping me?
A soldier, a widow who'd lost her husband because of me.
"You're... more troublesome than I thought."
"Am I?"
"Your personality's grating, and your speech is off-putting. But I have a feeling you'd be fun to keep around."
"I'm neither great enough nor precious enough to stand at your side..."
"Is that so?"
But that wasn't my concern.
"You speak your mind freely before a superior. You seem half-mad, but you possess the ideal qualities for a comrade."
"......Pardon?"
"No more words. What is your name, soldier?"
Something felt off.
Normally, at this point, even without curses, wouldn't there be some reprimand?
Shaken by her husband's death, the widow had bared her convictions with all her might.
And unexpectedly, it earned the Sword Saint's favor.
"Han Yeon-woo..."
"Han Yeon-woo. A fellow northerner, eh? Well then, Han Yeon-woowill you become my comrade?"
"That's...!"
"Of course, I'll make it worth your while. After cremating your husband and your return, I promise a sole honorable rite in his memory. I'll quadruple your salary, too. If that's not enough, generous incentives based on performance."
A handsome offer.
I wondered if she'd accept.
Most people would have.
"...I am grateful for the offer, but I lack the strength to follow you. A titmouse that chases a stork too far ends up tearing its legs."
"Then I'll personally teach this mere titmouse how to surpass the stork and become a noble falcon."
"!!!!!"
I'll teach you how to grow strong.
She wouldn't refuse now.
I could order her, of course.
But the Sword Saint was curious what kind of person she'd become, thrown into the same hellish battles as him.
For that, he wouldn't hesitate to take a widow as disciple. He had no preconditions for accepting one anyway.
The tragedies of this land...
He wished his generation would be the last, so he kept even the sacred bonds of master and disciple at bay.
"...Haven't you ever taken a disciple before, Sword Saint?"
"No."
"Then, if you founded a sect, would I be the senior brother?"
"?"
Was that how it worked?
Didn't "senior brother" apply to men?
The Sword Saint scratched his head.
He'd never belonged to a sect, so he wasn't sure.
Before they even sought his teachings, those who'd glimpsed his talent showered him with techniques and signature arts.
Claims of innate martial bones,
or genius that would shake heaven and earth even for a war godtoo young to understand, they poured out everything.
So many came that he couldn't claim any single sect, but there was one he formally learned from.
"I've never joined a sect, nor do I intend to found one."
"Is that so? I heard you were once with the Volcano Sect but left soon after."
"You're speaking of old man Wigeuk... [Wi Chang-cheon] of the Volcano Sect, Elder Wigeuk. He did teach me spear arts, but we weren't formally master and disciple."
"Then who...?"
"It was more like inputting his skills into an exceptional weapon that learned and grew rapidly. Even so."
He'd buy me snacks now and then, since I was younger than his grandkids.
On days he overdid it, my balance would wobble, earning scoldings from the others teaching me.
Still, he'd keep buying them, saying my eating face was adorable.
A past I could never return to.
Reminiscing about the departed elder, I changed the subject. No need to dwell.
"If anyone calls me master, it's her alone."
"Who is she? So many rumors make it hard to pinpoint one."
"Who? Naturally, Yeon... You might not know her true name. They call her Yama."
Her recent exploits leaned more arsonist than swordsman, but at her core, she was a swordswoman.
The Sword Saint's swordsmanship was built on hers.
She was his true master.
An utterly unexpected answer.
Commander Han Yeon-woo's face stiffened.
I'd never hidden it, but to her, it was a shock. A disciple and master holding equal seats among the Eight Stars.
No master loses to their disciple, sure.
But there were limits to such precedents.
Anyway, the master talk wasn't crucial, so I circled back.
"As for disciples, I did have one."
"!!!"
"Not officialhe just insisted on it. But looking back now, he was my disciple."
A boy trailed me like a chick, begging for sword lessons. But his talent shone in spears and axes, so I taught him other weapon arts instead.
A hassle back then.
Now, an unforgettable memory.
"Where is he now...?"
"I thought you were sharp. But maybe not. Didn't past tense tip you off?"
He's dead.
I phrased it gently.
Mentioning death was heartbreaking.
Circumlocution eased his pain best.
"He was in the White Sword Unit. A junior who threw tantrums to become my disciple."
"Ah..."
The White Sword Unit, the only unit the Sword Saint ever led.
Most perished or retired wounded; now, a legend whispered among frontline soldiers.
"I never taught him the sword, but he was undeniably my student and disciple."
After his death, the Sword Saint swore off more disciples. But now, his mind had shifted slightly.
Han Yeon-woo, clinging fiercely to life to protect his honor despite losing her love. She seemed fun to keep around, so he took her as disciple.
Twenty years his senior, but in master-disciple bonds, age mattered less than teachings.
Yet sometimes, when he ate messily, sauce on his lips, the widow would chuckle softly and wipe it with a napkin.
She'd cook for him, too.
By the time their bond transcended mere master and disciple,
a Hierarchy 2 monster appeared again, and dj vu brought tragedy anew.
A colossal beast's strike crashed down on Han Yeon-woo.
She resisted with all she had, but blocking half was her limit.
"Ah... my poor Sword Saint."
"N-No! I can't let you go like this. Not again!"
"Heh... I got to see you angry for once."
Unable to protect her before his eyes, the Sword Saint despaired.
The emotionless puppet wept, and the dying widow wiped his tears with her fading strength.
"Blasphemous as it is, I secretly thought of you like a son."
Half her body was gone.
Torso severed from legs, but a superhuman's mana-infused flesh granted her final words.
"...My parents are alive, you know? I wasn't an orphan turned child soldierI was scouted by the military state for my overwhelming talent."
"Oh... Heh, that explains why you're so unaccustomed to a woman's touch."
"...Enlisted too young."
"How young?"
"Five."
Young.
Too young.
The widow realized his heart was far too tender for the duties and burdens he bore.
One year as his disciple.
That brief time taught a woman who'd planned kids with her late husband what maternal love truly was.
"Why not call me 'Mom'?"
"...Have you lost your mind?"
"No. But I'd like to hear it once. Please, Master."
A disciple's irreverent plea.
But her request held an irresistible pull.
"M... Mother."
"Heh... What a sinful thought."
Their roles reversed.
Not a match made in heaven, but through mutual reliance,
they formed a fleeting mother-son bond.
It wouldn't last an hour.
Yet the Sword Saint honored it fully,
giving his utmost.
"There has to be a way to save you. There must be, so...!"
There isn't.
I knew that better than anyone.
And so I let her slip away meaninglessly.
Hell showed no signs of ending.
Back in military academy days,
predecessors who carved out brief moments daily to teach me.
Elders imparting weapon arts, tactics, survival in the wildthey plotted their deaths to shield me.
"G-Grandma, what are you doing?! You'll die if you go!!"
"No choice if we want to save our little stray pup."
"Stop talking nonsense and get back here! Don't go! I said don't!!"
"Survive to the end... Sorry we couldn't end this hellish war sooner, passing it to your generation."
"Heh, Granny's gone. Now it's my turn."
"Why you too?! Don't throw away your bright future like this, you old fogeys!!"
"Hey, you ungrateful brat. It's because I love you... Nah, can't say it that boldly."
Choices and judgments.
Saving the youth hailed humanity's hope was more efficient than faded elders.
They'd felt that truth bone-deep over decades, becoming moths to the flame without hesitation.
When the last elder remained,
the Sword Saint's eyes clouded over.
No more of the radiant starlight that defined him.
The elder clapped his shoulder.
"You... are our shared successor."
"G-Grandpa! You acted like you'd live another century...! Who's gonna see your youngest grandson's antics now?! He just turned two, you bragged!!"
"Haha... I've seen plenty through you. So survive... be happy. That's this old man's wish."
"Bullshit! Don't dump it all on me!! If we're fighting, fight to the end with me, Grandpa!!!"
Thus, the era's heroes faded into twilight. Death didn't cease.
How many more times?
All knew frontline folk died eventually, but rear-guard elites,
the safest of the safeunimaginable they'd perish.
"Why'd the old man die? Those great elders, those famed generalswhy?"
"Your Excellency, here are their..."
"Answer me."
"...Their final testaments."
"Hand them over."
Few words in the wills.
From the last expedition, the Star's Heart material.
Forged into a sword by meit'd shift the war decisively. They staked lives heating it into a blade.
Overwhelmed by its mana surge, all famed generals perished.
Assassin's blade: their final masterpiece, civilization's strongest weapon. Left enjoying smithing to the end.
...Crazy old coots.
"This'll disrupt our weapon supply."
Eyes dead, the Sword Saint tore the note and gripped the accompanying blade.
Pure white blade.
Golden hilt, named Holy Sword, it seemed.
Its origin tale mirrored a demon swordominous.
Still... elders' legacy, performance excelled.
Proved them right: the Holy Sword erased all beasts and foes before me.
As the tide turned, humanity glimpsing victory
Kwachak!
Like bursting tomatoes,
comrades from my cohort, battlefield roamerstheir heads crushed before my eyes.
To tilt the war anew, endless waves assaulted land, sea, air; even the Sword Saint had blind spots.
Again, he lost someone precious.
Right before him.
No room to grow stronger now, he thought.
Holy Sword in hand, peak might claimed.
Yet failed to protect.
Again.
"Your Excellency! Our forces vastly outmatch the enemy beasts. Military state casualties: 120,000. Theirs: over 6 million slain, fleeing overseas!"
"......"
"All thanks to you slaughtering a million beasts with that sword!"
Empty-handed, some nameless man mimed swinging a blade ridiculously.
"Oh, and Your Excellencythe Chief of Staff orders you to Japan immediately."
"...No."
"...Pardon?"
Not yet an adult, the Sword Saint stared blankly at the sky.
Clear blue expanse.
Prime of youth, verdant and fresh.
Yet his passion dimmed; even azure skies looked dreary gray.
"Sword Saint Excellency, what do you...?"
"Shut up."
"...Pardon?"
"A sword that can't protect one loved isn't worthy of 'Saint.' Bullshit."
I'm a sword. The military state's sword.
A blade broken by rough seas.
Not dulled by time, refusing to kill by creedbut incompetent, guarding nothing.
"Now... I hate it all."
Swords, beasts.
White, everythingsick of it.
I quit.
I'm tired.
It hurts so much...