Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: The Lies of the High and Mighty
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Klanbel's spirit lingered in the world even after he departed, taking the form of books.
Doctrine of the Mean Sword Canon, Ceremonial Spear Eighteen Styles, Five Bonds Vital Energy, and so on.
These were compilations of Klanbel's ideals for the proper conduct of ruler and subject alike.
However, as Duke gathered the books in accordance with Klanbel's final wishes and skimmed their contents, he couldn't help but form one distinct impression.
'Isn't this Confucianism?'
Revering parents, respecting teachers, unwavering loyalty to one's lord...
It was all too familiar to Duke and Rex.
Of course, the content wasn't identical.
The world was what it was, and the author believed in the fundamental goodness of humanity, so there were differences in the finer details compared to Confucianism.
But those subtle variances paled in comparison to what came later in the books.
- Excess is akin to deficiency, so take care not to disrupt your balance with excessive force when gripping the sword.
- A thrust spear is hard to retract, much like words once spoken. To master this, one must cultivate restraint and dignity.
Books meant to teach etiquette and morality suddenly transformed into foundational martial arts manuals once a certain point was reached.
This was, of course, Klanbel's intention.
Whether superhuman, ruler, or common citizen.
Telling people outright, "This is how good humans should live," would win no sympathy for his philosophy.
In a world where the logic of power reigned supreme, pure morality rang hollow.
So he disguised it as martial arts treatises.
Those obsessed with strength and realms would study them voluntarily, embedding his teachings deep in their hearts.
Just as Duke cautioned his knights against killing intent, once a lesson took root in the mind, it was hard to uproot.
Thus, those who surpassed the barrier through these books would naturally find it impossible to abandon Klanbel's teachings.
'Is this why he kept seeking me out after retiring?'
Duke recalled how the old man had visited him often even after stepping down.
He had thought he was just keeping the lonely retiree company, but unknowingly, he had served as a consultant.
'And why he visited the other knights so frequently.'
Klanbel was a philosopher, not a warrior, so he must have sought advice from others on those aspects.
Duke set aside books on spears, axes, bows, and magic, focusing on the two dealing with swordsmanship and bare-hand combat.
Doctrine of the Mean Sword Canon, Five Bonds Vital Energy.
He skipped the sections on etiquette.
He was the sort of man who built walls around Confucian ideals and culture.
A philosophy book bought to look refined had sat on his shelf for fifty years, never progressing past the first page.
No way such a man would care about etiquette.
He flipped past the front matter and examined only the sword and combat sections.
[The sword of the Mean does not merely mean gripping the blade with neither excess nor deficiency of strength.
It encompasses blending the subtleties of blunt sword, swift sword, variable sword, and forceful sword in perfect measure.]
The basics of the basics, truly.
Helpful for breaking from 0th realm to 1st, but useless from 2nd realm onward.
Considering it a foundational martial arts text for everyone, though, it wasn't an issue.
'Well-researched.'
He had worried forcing etiquette and martial arts together would feel contrived, but it blended surprisingly well.
Duke closed the book as if there was nothing more to see.
But Duke was misunderstanding something here.
The old man hadn't shoehorned martial arts into etiquette; he had observed Duke and drawn conclusions from that.
To Klanbel, Duke embodied the ideal his philosophy aimed for—no flaws, a perfect role model.
The knights trained under Duke mirrored that mindset, so etiquette and martial arts linked naturally as a result.
The preface even explicitly stated to emulate Duke if the early parts were hard to grasp.
But Duke, dismissing it as boring, never noticed.
'Now I need to distribute these books.'
It was his promise to the old man.
Duke gathered the books and handed them all to Rex.
After reviewing them all over a month, Rex nodded.
"Thanks for bringing them. But copying them by hand won't cut it for distributing to the citizens..."
"How about making them available for loan from the library you established, Lord Rex?"
"The goal is every citizen. That'd take forever. Plus, storing them in a library would invite all sorts of trouble first."
These were mass-produced martial arts manuals, after all.
Some lunatic might steal from the library, or kill someone ahead in line for priority.
Rex prided himself on creating a livable nation under his rule, but he didn't fully trust the civic spirit of these barbaric medieval folk.
Romantic at times, savage at others—he never let his guard down around them.
"Conveniently, there's a technology I was planning to... well, unseal."
Seizing the opportunity, Rex launched a major project to produce the first metal movable type with these books.
Developing metal movable type took three and a half years.
'Why did it take so long?'
Duke had thought giving the idea would yield results in a year, so the lengthy development puzzled him.
But unlike Duke's simplistic view, creating metal type required advanced craftsmanship.
And that was just the start.
To keep costs down, they developed ink and papermaking from scratch too.
This world had dwarves—beings with metal in their veins—so three years was quick; normally, it'd take longer.
Thus, the first metal movable type was complete.
"You idiot! There's a typo here! Recarve it!"
"Sorry, Master!"
After the apprentice blacksmiths—looking like grad students—ground themselves at the forge, the first print run was ready.
"Your Excellency Duke. We'll take custody of the originals from here."
Before the tech was ready, Duke had guarded the originals like top-secret files.
"I leave it in your hands. Help spread Sir Klanbel's will far and wide."
The artisan carefully accepted the book Duke pulled from his subspace.
Even a dwarf indifferent to worldly affairs knew its cultural value.
Smudging the original with ink would justify public execution in the square.
But developing the tech to spread this treasure's contents—and holding the first historic print in his hands—filled the dwarf with pride.
"I'll stake my life on completing the mission, Your Excellency!"
Gongmille, gongmille.
A few days of the dwarf artisan's apprentice wailing pitifully as he botched the molten metal.
The printing plates for hundreds of sheets were finally ready.
"Keep the paper warehouse dry."
"Ink status? Good? Alright, let's go."
The dwarves prepared for tomorrow's printing and clocked out on time.
They wanted to pull all-nighters for this glorious moment, but with more books ahead, overdoing it now was unwise.
"To Matthew's tavern!"
The dwarf artisans linked arms, waddling their short limbs toward the pub.
Silence fell over the print shop after they left.
Guards and knights patrolled the site, now a military zone.
Not quite the elite Honor Guard—all upper knight realm—but their loyalty and diligence matched them.
"..."
The knights' sharp gazes fixed forward.
No chit-chat, no lapses, no slacking among them.
Knowing what was being printed here, they maintained flawless security without compromise.
- "Challenge phrase. Frost Spike."
- "White Rose."
- "Handing over."
Not even handoffs showed errors.
Printing itself wasn't secret, so citizens sightseeing from afar praised the knights.
- "That's how knights should be."
Duke's knightly pride, now spread across the duchy, had become the nation's pride.
But some disliked the atmosphere.
"Boss. If things stay like this, printing starts tomorrow."
"Tch. I know."
"What do we do?"
Esiric Kingdom's spy squad couldn't hide their anxiety.
Duke handing originals to the factory was expected.
But the knights' thoroughness exceeded imagination.
The spies knew knights as far from diligent.
Some performed well—those facing execution for failure or hungry for promotion.
Most succumbed to bribes or seduction; a bit of gold opened holes everywhere.
Not this territory's knights.
From the city gates, most guards ignored gold, forcing hard detours.
They bribed one corrupt one to pass, but watched him get caught and dragged off the next day—heart-stopping.
After gates, more problems.
Sneak jobs at the factory? Background checks too strict.
Sneak in at night? Shadow Knight Order—Sneria's close aides—made it impossible.
Tamper with handoffs? No gaps in their rigor.
"Damn..."
The C squad leader chewed his nails.
Several squads hid in the city.
Each got one shot.
Any sabotage attempt, and knights swarmed like ghosts, wiping them out.
This squad survived by entering and doing nothing—not skill.
Leader C gnawed his nails in dread.
'If this continues, the bureau chief kills me.'
The chief would die to the king first, but vent on squad leaders.
Defection crossed his mind, but impossible.
Territory's top two—1st and 2nd—hated superhumans with evil karma.
No amnesty; even surrenders meant execution.
Infamous: at county days, they purged all territory merchants and knights.
'No choice.'
One way to survive: steal the manuals, succeed.
Mulling, C recalled something.
'Wait.'
Why sneak?
Just storm in openly?
Open assault brings the duchy-shield Honor Guard swarming.
But...
'Frame another squad?'
Use them as bait, draw eyes, then grab openly.
Decision made, C messaged other squads.
They'd refuse obvious bait, so he lied about volunteering.
Better than whole family dying to the chief; sacrifice for kin was noble.
D nodded, convinced.
C smirked after.
'Why would I die?'
Family would meet alive.
Thus resolved, C contacted more leaders.
More bait, safer.
Soon, dawn that day.
Numerous spy squads headed to the factory.
All believing C would sacrifice for them, prepped different routes.
Then.
"Spies! Multiple hostiles! Permission to engage!"
No warning—their positions exposed.
Not just them; uncontacted squads too.
No explanation needed.
'C, that bastard!!'
All fooled by one squad.
With allies' sacrifice, C seemed to breach security into the factory.
"Hostiles! Draw weapons! No surrender warnings—eliminate!"
Even C's squad got spotted.
By D's betrayal.
D never trusted C at the appointed time.
Instead of agreed route, D took the one assuming C's sacrifice.
"Damn you, Deikal!!!"
Ignoring C and his squad's death cries, D's team pushed to the print shop core.
Footsteps amplified—core floor tiled with resonance stones.
Even clumsy spies' steps echoed corridors.
Luckily, all guards focused outward; no one heeded the noise.
D's spies praised their leader's ploy, searching for originals.
Finally, one book found.
"Got it, boss!"
A squad member whispered, pulling it out.
Doctrine of the Mean Sword Canon
Duke had quietly prioritized it—his book, consulted by knights.
Leader grabbed it, checked contents.
Wanting to bolt, but fakes would complicate.
Real deal, luckily.
Early parts disappointing, later solid basics and subtleties.
Doctrine of the Mean didn't resonate.
But,
'Reason they guard it so fiercely.'
Assuming hidden value, D prepped to leave.
Then.
Thud. Thud.
Footsteps from entrance corridor.
From L-bend corner, unseen.
Only military boots booming via resonance stones announced him.
He approached the spies' room without hiding.
Thud. Thud.
Squad signaled, drew weapons.
As boots rounded corner—
Crack!
Faint lights shattered.
"?!"
Darkness engulfed.
Trained spies wouldn't fear mere dark.
Normally.
Hearts raced, pupils dilated.
Instinct fearing the presence beyond.
Manual said activate darkvision, pierce shadows—but no will.
Like kids hiding under blankets from monsters.
But adults, foe real.
Drip.
Presence halted.
Sound suggested staring from corridor end.
They steeled, pierced dark.
Unmistakable: red cape, black helm, uniformed giant knight.
He met their eyes.
"..."
No warnings, no intros.
Knight crooked left hand outside cape.
Book flew from D's hand to Duke's.
"..."
Duke glanced, pocketed it, drew Durandal.
Wrapped in blood-dark sword aura, resumed walking.
"Grrr... attack!"
Terrorized D yelled; squad panicked, loosing magic and arrows.
Duke casually deflected with slow sweeps, advancing.
Eye-trackably slow blade.
But preemptively waiting, as if foreseeing.
Slower he came, smaller their space.
"Spare me!"
"This wasn't the plan!"
"Boss! What now!"
"Aaaagh!"
No distance left, blade cleaved spies one by one.
Blood-red aura passing waists—upper torsos hit ground, writhing in agony.
Blade finished all intruders, reaching leader last.
Leader recalled passage from Doctrine of the Mean Sword Canon.
'Ah... this is the pinnacle of the blunt sword.'
Final thought—greatsword claimed the intruder's head.