Chapter 298
Chapter 298
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 298
Chapter Title: [Thousand Stream Emperor Side Story] Sharpening the Blade (4)
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Exhausted hands, heavy as a thousand pounds, lifted the sword and laid it across Seo-ho's neck.
Even in this moment, Seo-ho's clear eyes reflected his image. A man with disheveled hair, covered in blood, his face horribly contorted, letting out beast-like groans.
A sight so gruesome it made his drugged, hazy state seem almost beautiful by comparison.
With the sound of Thousand Stream Emperor's teeth grinding, weight pressed down on the blade.
"I shouldn't have saved you."
"Sorry for asking this of you... Ryu-je."
Squelch.
The blade, slick with blood and oil, barely pierced the skin. Toward that nape that barely bled, Thousand Stream Emperor placed his hand—propping up his collapsing body—onto the flat of the sword.
Crack.
The blade sank deeper. In his eyes, he saw a great man's life vanishing, replaced by something beastly.
That monster wouldn't stop unless its neck bone was severed.
His clenched fist, like a hammer, struck the half-embedded blade in the neck.
Once. Twice. Three times. Until the sound of his shoulder joint tearing rang out from his ragged muscles, the blade pierced flesh, shaved bone, and clanged against the stone floor on the other side.
For the last wish of the first friend in his life and the man he respected most, Thousand Stream Emperor hammered the flat of the sword, howling like a beast until the mutating body finally stilled.
Clang—
And when the face he'd been facing rolled limply away with the ring of the blade...
Thousand Stream Emperor realized that the hand hammering like a hammer had driven the horrifically sharp blade into his own chest.
Every breath. Every twitch of a finger tore at his heart with that razor edge.
Clink...
Having tossed aside the sword that had done its job, Thousand Stream Emperor closed the eyes of the severed head and hoisted the body onto his back.
"...Let's go."
There was only one place to go. He thought the one person in Kracolanzia who had remained human until the end shouldn't be discarded in a sewer like this.
Static—
[A, B, C sectors pacified. All samples secured and ready for transport.]
[Execution Squad deployment ready.]
[Local police briefed. No one enters operational zone +500m for a week.]
[Confirmed. All units withdraw. Move fast if you don't want to spend your life in bed covered in chems, eating mush.]
Staggering steps toward the furnace in his sewer were followed by rhythmic footsteps and vehicle engines. Soon, silence descended as if nothing had happened.
****
Clang—
Clang—
Bloody fingerprints marked the electric furnace's power switch, and the old furnace roared to life.
In the flames fueled by the body of the great man who had remained human until the end even in the gutters—and all the memories left in this sewer—
Clang—
Clang—
Thousand Stream Emperor hammered the metal.
Sensation had long left from his toes to his throat. The unpleasant heat crawled up his spine, tugging at his eyeballs and burrowing into his brain.
But...
Clang—!
Each shock traveling up his arms rattled his skull. Each swing that threatened to snap his wrist sparked flames, and the heat faded powerlessly.
'I don't know.'
More than the heat of the monster's blood drenching his body, he couldn't grasp what this blaze scorching his shattered mind was.
Clang—!
The more he hammered. The harder he struck, denting even the anvil beyond the metal. The blaze intensified, pushing out the unpleasantness, clearing his head.
The clearer his memories became, the more they returned to before everything flipped overnight. To what he had desperately wanted for the first time in his life.
He wanted to be like Seo-ho. The superhuman who showed him humans could be tougher than refined steel, the friend he revered. Even one-tenth would do—he wanted to be that unshakable, solid person.
And all he knew how to do was make swords. Hammer and grind steel, nothing else.
Fortunately, the past three months had given him some guidelines.
'Live regularly, you human.'
'Don't act stupid, I said? Doing it on purpose? Huh?'
'Trials are supposed to turn into blood and flesh if you overcome them. You don't even like the drugs anyway. Try quitting. If needed, I'll tie you to a pillar and just feed you.'
Things that aligned with what he knew. Regularly. Consistently. Without stopping thought on what it would become.
Something that grew stronger the more it was hammered.
Sizzle—
Thousand Stream Emperor roughly quenched the glowing red blade in an oil drum, tore his rag of a shirt longways to wrap the hilt, and gripped it.
This one thing was enough to carry.
Thunk. Slosh slosh—
The spent oil drum toppled, spilling across the sewer floor, sparks endlessly flying from the knife scars etched into the old electric furnace.
Now, following the unguarded sewer out, the streets of Kracolanzia—his world for 21 years—were engulfed in flames behind Thousand Stream Emperor's back.
Wailing sirens, police lines, biochemical hazard markers drenched in chemicals.
Leaving it all behind, Thousand Stream Emperor vanished into the darkness of Sao Paulo.
Regularly. Wisely.
He would face the trials.
Eight years later, his life crossing battlefields and wastelands was for upholding these three.
Racing to places of death while striving not to die. To complete something even he couldn't comprehend, he couldn't die yet.
GG was merely one such means.
****
"Hngh!"
Kaaang!
An unpleasant clash not of blades, but flats.
Impatience crept in—thinking just a bit more would do—as the blade began revealing its keen edge from past memories.
Crunch!
"Grk..."
His reverie ended as Argalian Sword's blade pierced his chest.
Panting, his foe had no leisure to savor victory.
A duel spanning three days and nights. Normally, Argalian Sword would weep with joy that such an opponent remained in the world to cross blades with this long, but his face wasn't exactly pleased.
"You're... something not even worth calling a swordsman."
Argalian Sword muttered, eyeing Thousand Stream Emperor's sword that had narrowly missed his heart and pierced his lung.
The clearing that had been part of a massive mountain range hours ago was now a vast basin from the two swordsmen's clash.
Yanking his sword from the fallen foe's chest at the center, Argalian Sword said bitterly.
"Not building yourself within and nurturing it. But carving it away instead."
Tenacity. While others cultivated and experienced to grow their being and pour it into their sword, this one carved away.
Slicing off bone and flesh. Grinding away the excess and voids. A human forged into sword form. Could this truly be called human? A swordsman who reached master's realm?
And another sword piercing the core of that sword-like form. Something alien, like another soul—what was it?
Fighting this one who had carved away life's essence, self, everything to forge a single sword... felt less like a duel and more like battling a flying sword alive on its own. Unpleasant.
"It's laughable, yet that realm is terrifying. Why nurture a bladeless sword to such extremes?"
"Cough, grk, ughhh...!"
Thousand Stream Emperor clutched fading consciousness, trembling hand plugging the hole in his chest.
Throb—
It hurt.
Throb throb—
Not the pain of severed skin, muscle, organs. But the sharp blade revealed when he severed Han Seo-ho's neck. Memories, recollections, pains piled atop it—carved away in killing intent and sword dance—still emerged vividly sharp with that day's memory.
"Not yet... I haven't reached it yet..."
So many trials overcome. Hammered with pain. Carved with ordeals.
Yet that day's memory hurt too much, and he, tempered repeatedly, still wasn't harder than that blade.
Unfinished, he had to live longer.
Toward Thousand Stream Emperor gasping for breath to stay alive, Argalian Sword approached, holding his sword.
"I don't know what you want to cut, honing so obsessively."
Click.
"But you'll keep grinding that sword until the world to grind it against is worn to dust. So here, I'll end it with my hand."
Weary but un-fatally wounded, Argalian Sword raised his blade high.
'I can't die.'
'I can't die like this. Unfinished, I can't die.'
No strength in his arms.
His sword was lodged in Argalian Sword's chest, out of reach.
"It was enjoyable. Sword Ghost."
Finally, with Argalian Sword's farewell, his blade fell toward Thousand Stream Emperor's neck.
'I can't... die!'
Thousand Stream Emperor finally reached for the blade lodged in his depths.
The horrific edge named Han Seo-ho, grown as he tempered himself. Even called Sword Ghost for carving himself down, the memory of his most revered friend remained distant.
Like the sword he couldn't deliver when he went to find him. An unused sword drawn like lightning clashed with Argalian Sword's blade.
****
That duel was officially recorded as Argalian Sword's victory, with the Sword Ghost fleeing in disgrace.
But Argalian Sword never spoke of its outcome to anyone. Not even when rumors spread that the Sword Ghost beheaded the Queen, and he was hailed a hero.
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Scraaaape—
Click.
In the shabby shelter, Thousand Stream Emperor closed his eyes quietly, ending the old connection device's recording file.
The duel with Argalian Sword. Recalling it brought shame and humiliation. Even after so long, relying on Seo-ho's hand in the end.
'As expected. Being seen by someone must've held me back without realizing.'
He thought he'd chosen wisely, realistically, building a stable financial setup. Swayed by the Dome folks' persistent persuasion to let them handle it, but now it seemed foolish.
Like impurities mixed in refining steel.
Every morning at nine. Review the most intense trial ever, then fixed meals to supply needed nutrients.
After eating, hammer steel. Calming the mind, soothing the unpleasant sensations still clouding his head.
When something satisfactory emerges, the outside grows noisy.
Monsters swarm, drawn by the unblocked sounds.
Money overflows, but he deliberately didn't install silencers.
Each day passed adds a day's memories. Textures of sweet and salty foods, comfort of rest, satisfaction of a finished blade—all piling up, covering Seo-ho's blade within.
All impurities. Must be struck and carved away.
After countless trials and errors, Thousand Stream Emperor learned the vibration riding the sword tip resembles the hammer's, effectively shedding life's residues.
Years ago, someone passing by called him an ascetic.
When he beheaded the Mutant Queen, the World Tree in that strange place called him the Completer.
He didn't care for titles, but Completer?
A laughable name. Still far from touching Seo-ho's steadfast will, yet daring to speak of completion.
Feeling the rare emotion of insult, he swung at the World Tree—and was expelled from the game.
Leaving only the hollow message [World saved].
.
.
.
.
.
No more stray thoughts. Time to pick up the sword and shed today.
As Thousand Stream Emperor stepped out of the shelter, savoring small satisfaction at the recently surging variant numbers and types—
Boom—!
"..."
Far off, something flew from a sand dune with an explosion, wiping out the horde charging at him—and half his satisfactorily prepared daily routine.
The small satisfaction within turned to greater displeasure.
Eyes unusually sharp since drenching in Seo-ho and the junkies' blood caught black trucks, smoking metal lumps, a man holding one.
Sunglasses. Sturdy build. Weird jaw.
Short stature. Cloak. Age-indeterminate face.
Several others, and the huge name on the truck side:
[BDSM]
Thousand Stream Emperor frowned slightly at the familiar-sounding name.
Perhaps tougher things than variants had come to grind today.
Anyone would do. As long as they could hammer and carve him. Data-made world or bizarre reality, didn't matter.
If they could grind him, sharpen his edge. And someday, raise himself—like his once-shining friend.
While the BDSM crew, tracking missing variants frequent in outer 45 Sector, cheered at rescuing a shelter and prepped the next shot.
Thousand Stream Emperor drew his sword, turned, and walked toward the sand dune.
[Thousand Stream Emperor Side Story - End]
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