Chapter 87
Chapter 87
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 87
Chapter Title: Masterless Swordsman
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A famous sword radiating such sharp menace that just looking at it made one's fingers feel like they might get sliced off.
Weapons adorned with jewels. Treasured artifacts enchanted with magic. Amid all sorts of rare divine armaments piled up there, that iron sword simply sat by itself. Which actually drew the eye all the more.
What peeked out from between the treasured swords was an iron sword that looked like it could be bought at any blacksmith's shop.
It wasn't forged from any special material, and tapping it with a finger confirmed it was just plain iron. No matter how one looked at it, this iron sword seemed less like something from the imperial treasury and more like a cheap off-the-shelf item from a neighborhood stall.
A plain crow stands out among a flock of white herons. This iron sword might blend in at a market, but here it oddly shone.
So it practically invited curiosity, begging to be touched. If that so-called Masterless Swordsman had intended as much, the man clearly had a sharp mind.
‘Plainer than I thought... Ugh.’
Roca gripped the hilt and strained to draw the sword, her face twisting. It wasn't buried deep in the ground—just the tip lightly embedded—yet no matter how much force she applied, it wouldn't even budge.
The sword didn't twitch in the slightest, staying firmly planted right where it was. Pride flaring, Roca poured in more strength, but the sword remained still, as if observing her.
Yes, when Roca gripped the sword, the sword gazed back at Roca.
*Tap.* Someone prodded Roca's neck with a finger as she strained. The startled wolf whipped around to see a man in a long-brimmed hat smiling at her.
Roca's eyes widened at the sight of his face. His features wouldn't register in her pupils. She could see eyes, a nose, and a mouth. But they refused to form a coherent face.
It was hazy, like veiled in pale mist. Roca couldn't even judge for herself what she was seeing.
—Why are you trying to grab that sword?
Person? Ghost? Whatever it was spoke kindly.
—To me, you seem more suited to a blade than a sword.
“Who...?”
—The owner of that sword you were trying to draw. Or more precisely, just a fragment of that will.
The shadowy figure—the one who called himself a "will"—greeted her.
—My name is Heron. Meeting like this might even be fate.
“Masterless Swordsman? But...”
—It's been ages since anyone called me that. Nearly five hundred years, in fact. So that's how much time has passed already. Eldrin. That fool's probably long in his grave by now.
The name of the founding emperor slipped casually from his lips.
But he certainly had the right. Five hundred years ago, when the continent teemed with warring states, this swordsman had aided the first emperor in bringing order to the land.
The man called the Masterless Swordsman had been treated as a close friend by the founding emperor himself—not a subordinate.
If anything, they were peers, never bound by lord and vassal.
“Five hundred years ago... shouldn't you be dead by now...? Unless you're an elf or a dragon...”
—Little one. Reach my level, and you'll understand naturally. Countless have gripped that sword till now, but the reason I wanted to meet you specifically is...
He stepped forward and was suddenly right beside the sword. Without so much as lifting a cotton ball, the man yanked it free. The blade that Roca couldn't budge came out effortlessly, and he swung it through the air.
—You possess the bare minimum qualification to wield it. I'm not looking at talent, and desperation even less. Just one thing: whether you hold the will to protect someone.
Not a holy sword forged by gods, nor a demonic blade by devils.
Yet this sword could cleave anything threatening humanity—be it sacred or profane. A heart-sword forged from one man's will for mankind.
“The will to protect...”
—But as I said earlier, you're better suited to a blade than a sword.
The greatest swordsman who had forged this sword from his very heart declared it. To him, Roca didn't suit the sword in the slightest.
Roca bristled and shot back.
“Why? You haven't even seen me swing a sword.”
—What is a sword, anyway? It's the weapon of the golden mean. A sword, if used for just one purpose, falls short of other weapons.
—For thrusting, it's inferior to a spear. For striking, a hammer's better. Axes excel at overhead chops. So why do people think of swords first when they hear "weapon"?
Because mana can compensate for its shortcomings.
Thrusting weaker than a spear? Bolster it with mana.
Chopping weaker than an axe? No problem. Infuse mana, and it's solved.
With enough mana mastery, a sword becomes a versatile cure-all. Thrust, slash, strike—harboring the subtleties of hardness, softness, sharpness, all in one.
“Because of mana...?”
—Exactly. That's why swordsmen must always maintain an unmoving heart. Even if a spear tip nears your throat, your mind mustn't waver. Unshaken by enemy taunts, acting rationally amid boiling killing intent—that's a true swordsman.
That versatility is a huge advantage, but for the wielder, it can be a curse.
—Instead, you're constantly calculating. How to counter now? Thrust, slash, or flat-strike? More options mean more choices.
Roca looked puzzled.
—Do you enjoy all this calculation? Doesn't seem like it to me.
“But the swordsman I saw didn't fight like that? Just brute force all the way...”
Ardein von Illumia wielded a sword, but utterly unlike this Heron's description. Wasn't her style all about overpowering with Dragon Aura's might and explosive power?
The Masterless Swordsman chuckled at her words. She had chosen the wrong weapon.
A weapon matching explosive power was a blade, not a sword. Of course, a sword could be used explosively too. But if that's all one did, they'd learned swordsmanship all wrong.
The sword's humanity lies in its extensibility and versatility. If you're fixating on one aspect from the start, why not pick a weapon specialized for it?
—To me, you seem like you'd love this sort of thing.
Heron casually raised the sword vertically. In that instant, immense mana poured from the heavens through the blade, and as he brought it down, the world blazed blue.
For a moment, everything turned azure. All treasures here lost their luster, wrapped in blue mana, as brilliant azure light filled the treasury. Yet the mana merely brushed past without destroying a thing.
But it could have, had he willed it.
Roca's body shivered, ears perking straight, tail fur bristling sharp as mana dwarfing her own reserves grazed her.
Mobilizing such mana was incredible enough, but controlling every strand perfectly to harm nothing—that was godlike. Destruction is easy. Striking with mana without destruction? Beyond difficult.
—No need for calculations, just crush foes with raw power, overwhelming with forceful strikes. Smashing irritants with a overhead swing suits your taste. A blade's perfect for that. Ideally a massive one like a greatblade.
“How... do you do that? Teach me. Can't you do it with a sword too?”
Roca's eyes sparkled at the power. This was it—the power she craved.
With this technique, no need for solar mana; she could've bisected little lady Camira with her own strength. With this, protecting her master would be effortless.
—You have no master, do you.
Heron gave a wry smile. This wasn't technique—it was realm. Reach the realm, and it comes naturally.
Looked like this pup needed basics from the ground up. She hadn't even grasped what he'd done.
—But that might be for the best. No master means no preconceptions.
Watching sunsets at dusk.
Watching crashing waves and mountain breezes.
The Masterless Swordsman, who learned swordsmanship from great nature itself, now gazed at his fellow masterless successor.
Roca's tribe lacked proper transmission. Ardaine, the princess who followed to teach her, had only brief lessons on bare basics.
This third master to appear smiled at Roca. At a glance, he saw exactly what she needed now.
What this child required wasn't lofty enlightenment, but foundations and basics. Knowing where she stood—and where to go—was crucial.
—Child. This world has third-rate, second-rate, and first-rate. Where do you think your realm falls?
People bandy about "Expert" or "Master," but that meant nothing to him. The Masterless Swordsman, taught by nature, not men, had his own realm system.
“Second-rate at least, right?”
—Third-rate. Don't overestimate yourself.
This system didn't strictly divide absolute strength.
A third-rate could surpass second, second could top first. Theoretically possible. But usually, higher realm meant stronger.
—I don't know how strong you think you are, but...
To him, third-rate meant:
Relying solely on one's own power, nothing else.
—Even if your power blankets the sky, it's infinitesimal against the world. Can't draw more? No matter how strong you grow, you're stuck at third-rate.
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