Chapter 38
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: The Dark Plum Sword
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Merina swept a hand across her face. She glanced at me sidelong.
"But you know."
"...?"
"You said you'd teach me swordsmanship, so why are you just doing embroidery?"
Just as she said, I had embroidery hoops in my hands.
It was natural for Merina to find it strange. It had been several days already, and despite promising to teach her swordsmanship, I'd only been doing embroidery.
But I'm no god—how could I just snap my fingers and teach martial arts?
I needed some time to organize my thoughts, in my own way.
Yet... the moment I said I'd teach her swordsmanship, Merina had puffed up with anticipation and spent the whole day trailing after me.
Even now, look—she wouldn't let me embroider in peace.
Having her follow me around like that was no small burden.
But now, that was over.
I'd finished sorting everything out in my head.
I set down the embroidery and replied to Merina.
"I'll show you now. Those techniques are so finicky, it was hard to tailor them to you."
I'd truly put my heart into it.
Mount Hua Sect's Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Techniques.
Those are martial arts rooted in Mount Hua's core cultivation method. No matter how much I'd tussled with that Sword Sage, I couldn't perfectly replicate their arts.
It would just be an imitation.
So...
I created a new martial art altogether. Do you know how hard that is? If anyone should be tired, it's me.
Anyway, it wasn't entirely from scratch—I blended the existing Plum Blossom Sword Techniques with the Sichuan Tang Clan's martial arts and my own insights.
The result is even sharper than the original Mount Hua style.
Like adding thorns to plum blossoms.
In essence, a martial art born from the idea that flowers can be dangerous.
On top of that, I refined one of the Tang Clan's core arts—the Dark Heaven Divine Art, passed only to the clan head.
The cultivation method forms the foundation for any warrior.
Of course, the Dark Heaven Divine Art... even in the Tang Clan, it's forbidden to teach it to anyone but the clan head.
But I've tweaked the Plum Blossom and Dark Heaven elements to my taste and adapted them to Merina's mana cultivation method, so they're practically different arts now.
I pulled out the manuals for the Dark Plum Sword Art and Dark Heaven Divine Art I'd made just for her.
"Learn these. I've included interpretations."
Merina had been pouting fiercely, but her expression softened the moment she saw the two books.
"This? This?"
"Yes. Everything's explained step by step, so it won't be hard to understand. You're not dim. And..."
I snatched Merina's sword.
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
"Even with the books explaining it all, you need to witness the essence firsthand, right?"
A hundred hearings are no match for one glimpse.
I had to show her.
The ideal form of the sword.
How grand the path she wished to walk truly was.
I slowly raised my hand. Then I simply drew the sword.
Shing...!
A clear sword cry.
A true sword master's level is evident from the draw alone.
Merina was already staring at the sword, utterly entranced.
Borrow your arts for a bit, Sword Sage.
Sword aura cloaked the blade.
A flash of pristine sword ki appeared without a sound, then melted back into the blade.
The sword moved.
An infuriating bastard, but undeniably the world's greatest swordsman.
Sword Sage Cho Gun-hyeon.
His sword was always wondrous.
At first, it seemed feeble—a stroke anyone might overlook.
Yet he thrust onward, unconcerned.
Once... then twice.
It looked like a sword dance, drawing mockery from all, but the truth within was deeper and more brilliant than anything.
Soon, a single plum blossom seemed to bloom along the blade.
Countless blossoms swirled around it.
Mount Hua's sword reached the pinnacle of illusion and transformation.
While Wudang pursued flow to embrace all, and Jeongsong chased sharpness to reject blending.
Mount Hua beguiled foes with ever-shifting sword forms.
Much like the Sichuan Tang Clan's poisons and hidden weapons that ravage enemies.
Flowers blooming on the highest evil peaks.
Even from the foothills or the sea, all marveled at the plum blossom feast.
The world's greatest sword sect.
Mount Hua.
"Whew..."
Strange, wielding the sword of a rival I'd clashed with for decades.
Perhaps enemies know enemies best.
Even I was amazed at how perfectly I'd recreated Mount Hua's swordsmanship.
Of course, unlike the true Plum Blossom Sword Art, these weren't plum blossoms but petals black as pitch.
The result of infusing Tang Clan arts.
But I was certain.
Fill Mount Hua's weaknesses with Tang arts, bolster Tang arts with Mount Hua's strengths, and true mastery could rival the world.
That was the Dark Plum Sword Art.
It lacked nothing compared to any sword style.
And its inheritor...
"..."
Her gaze hadn't left the sword once.
Had she already glimpsed its depths?
Good. With her potential unlocked, Merina's eyes shone with unmatched keenness.
I quietly embroidered while she sorted her insights.
By the time I'd finished a pair of butterflies—one orange, one purple—perched on a pine...
"Ah... ah."
Merina finally made a sound.
She blinked around blankly, then gasped.
"What happened to me? You were definitely holding the sword."
"Doesn't matter."
I set down the needle and asked.
"So, what did you see?"
"Scattering petals. A noble, beautiful swordsman."
Merina murmured dazedly.
"After seeing your fight in Trial Valley... my own sword felt shabby for a while. Now I get it."
"Huh?"
"It was beautiful. Such a beautiful sword."
Mount Hua's sword is beautiful?
Hold up!
Did she just glimpse that Sword Sage bastard?
Beautiful sword? What nonsense is that?
A sword is a blade. A weapon! Just a chunk of metal!
Calling it beautiful, seeing petals—it's all just dressing up their trade.
Scatter those "beautiful" petals, and people die.
That's the ravings of insane Mount Hua fools.
And the dramatics they make over a single swing? Pathetic from the sidelines.
That's why we call them flashy ignoramuses!
I had to save Merina before she fell for Mount Hua's twisted mindset.
"Wait, let me correct that. It's not beautiful—it's chaotic..."
She bolted upright!
"Deyan, sorry! I'm off to practice the sword right now. Sorry!"
Merina ran off like a child.
"..."
Shouldn't have taught her.
Fallen for Mount Hua's bluff.
"No escaping that now."
Time for more embroidery.
A viper devouring a plum tree. Perfect.
The day after passing the martial arts to Merina.
Word came that Duke Christopher, who'd lost consciousness, had finally awakened.
We headed straight to his bedroom.
The duke lay there, but upon seeing the princess, he tried to rise hastily.
Veriht moved to support him, but the duke scolded him.
"My son."
"Yes, Father."
"Have you ever seen a lion accept aid in its old age?"
"Ah... I'm sorry, Father!"
Veriht apologized for his mistake but smiled.
Probably because it was the duke he knew.
The duke stood tall on his own two feet.
Eyebrows flared like flames, eyes brimming with vigor despite his age.
No wonder he held the empire's greatest power.
Truly lion-like.
The moment Duke Christopher stood, he greeted Merina with flawless courtly etiquette.
His impeccable movements drew admiration.
"This foolish duke greets the princess at last."
He acknowledged his failing without a trace of servility.
Poise shone in that simple act.
Beneath one, above ten thousand.
A fitting demeanor for a great nation's duke.
"Duke—no, Uncle."
Merina embraced Duke Christopher.
"It was so hard on me."
Duke Christopher patted her shoulder.
"Hoho, Princess."
He put on a playful face.
"Worry not, Princess. Chin up. Now I'll walk beside you."
Duke Christopher strode toward the door.
At the sound of his footsteps... the door opened, as if butlers had been waiting outside.
Veriht followed, saying to us,
"We must see exactly who they touched."
The duke's household already suspected the empress's faction.
Truthfully... unless it was them, there were no other candidates.
But what gave Veriht such confidence?
The empress wielded near-absolute power now.
Yet I understood as the open door revealed the gathered crowd.
"We see the duke!!"
Innumerable people assembled.
On the left, Joel and countless nobles.
Those haughty nobles bowed deeply in respect to the duke.
On the right, the duke's true swords.
The duke's knights awaited their lord's command in unison.
Duke Christopher raised his clenched fists.
As if grasping power and might themselves.
"I've kept you waiting too long."
"Not at all!"
Joel grinned and replied,
"Thanks to you, we enjoyed a fine vacation, Duke."
The one-eyed knight commander, like an iron-blooded blade, cracked a joke.
Satisfied with his limbs, the duke smiled.
"Then, well-rested, we move with haste."
Suddenly, Duke Christopher dropped to one knee.
All followed suit.
The one they honored was Merina.
"To the Princess: All vassals under Duke Christopher stand ready. Issue your command."
Merina surveyed the assembly. Her fingertips trembled with tension.
But she clenched her fist.
"Then... I'll go to the imperial palace. I hope you'll be my strength. I..."
Merina straightened with unmatched resolve.
"...will ascend to the highest place."
No one misunderstood.
It meant claiming the throne.
The empire's succession rights belonged to Merina and Crown Prince Runt, the empress's son.
Until now, Runt was all but assured the throne with the empress's backing.
Now, flames ignited in that succession struggle.
The duke and princess's royal procession.
A declaration of war for the throne.
At her bold ambition, Duke Christopher smiled faintly.
"It's been ages since I toured the capital."
Duke Christopher rose. He eyed his retainers.
"Prepare to head to the palace. Time I revisited the capital."
With his proclamation, countless retainers sprang into action.
The duke's territory, chaotic in his absence, rallied around its center.
Only those with king's qualities could achieve this, no?
Soon, Merina's path as well.
No need to worry.
They wouldn't just push her back—they'd make her soar.
Duke Christopher deftly issued orders to his retainers, then called us back to the room.
"Now, for proper thanks. Veriht told me—you saved me?"
The moment had come.
Most nobles would demur out of decorum, but no need for that pretense.
I wasn't one for false modesty.
Seize what you want!
"Yes, and it was grueling."
"Hahaha! Indeed."
Duke Christopher laughed heartily.
"A rare young man. Honesty is key. Good—what do you want? But first..."
He showed a face full of mirth.
"One who saved my life won't ask small, surely? Speak: title? Land? Treasured sword? Anything."
Oh dear.
How could I refuse such words?
Wise ones heed elders' words.
An offer irresistible to one steeped in respect.
"Then, may I see a list of what you possess first?"
"Eh...?"
"Hm?"
Merina and Veriht were stunned beside me, but the duke, liking me more, readily agreed.
"Of course!"
At his bold assurance...
Merina shot an anxious glance.
Like, 'You shouldn't say that...'
Who do they think is the thief?
Just my due. Exactly my due.
What to claim as reward?
Unable to decide...
I just looted the whole ducal house.
"64 treasured swords, 21 masterpieces, and more..."
I pored over Duke Christopher's catalog of treasures. Servants hauled mountain-like piles for my inspection.
Marian and Jayvolg slyly added kitchenware and swords to their shares.
Eh, fine—they earned it.
Hm, the duke might weep blood seeing this?
Sure enough.
"...Ngh."
Duke Christopher stood at a distance.
His eyes gleamed like a rich man robbed by bandits.
"There you are, Duke!"
He flinched like he'd seen a ghost, but quickly composed himself like the seasoned duke he was.
"Ah... y-yes."
"Perfect timing. Duke, seems some items are missing from the list."
I pointed to the tea set not yet arrived.
"Hm?"
The duke's face shifted subtly.
Tsk, trying to hide it?
I chided him indirectly.
"Come now, I specially requested it—sloppy work like this stains your honor, doesn't it?"
Sweat beaded on the duke's face?
Don't begrudge it.
It's your life fee.
Duke Christopher forced a magnanimous nod.
"Y-yes, haha! I'll give them an earful. What else? Haha, anything."
His mouth smiled, but his eyes pleaded desperately.
Please, no more!
A bit earlier, around when Deyan had just unraveled the plot over the duchy.
"Hmph... hmph... hmph."
The Evil Society's messenger.
Jolan yawned as he entered the forest.
"Ugh, seriously—quit this damn job. One shoves a sword at me, another sprays poison out of nowhere."
Jolan scratched his cheek irritably, then switched expressions.
The man he was meeting wouldn't stab him over displeasure like Nemeth.
Jolan touched his face and smiled, advancing to the forest heart.
There waited a man of the Evil Society, yet the least fitting.
Ian Pador awaited Jolan.
"Back again, Sir Ian!"
Jolan bowed politely this time, but Ian's gaze remained icy.
Damn, went to Nemeth on his request, got poisoned—and he doesn't care!
Jolan imagined dozens of ways to kill Ian but dismissed them.
Lest he get stabbed again.
Even a clone—vanishing hurt.
"You delivered to Nemeth?"
"That's why I got poisoned, poi—!"
Had to say it. To share the hardship!
But Ian ignored Jolan's plea.
"Not my concern."
"Always... you Evil Society execs..."
"What was that?"
Jolan felt a blade at his nose. He backpedaled, laughing.
"Ahaha! Nothing. He said his poison couldn't fail!"
The pressure lifted.
"Is that so? My needless suspicion..."
Ian hoped so.
Deyan Pador—even if he killed that child himself, nothing sadder.
Watching pensive Ian, Jolan cleared his throat.
Personal business done—time for work.
"Anyway..."
Jolan snapped his fingers.
A boy Deyan's age emerged from behind.
No proper clothes, stitched like a doll everywhere.
The boy stood blankly, awaiting orders like a soldier.
"Time to put this weapon on stage, no?"
Ian frowned at "weapon."
"Not a weapon—a child."
"Tch, Sir Ian, how's this a child? Looks like one, sure. It's a weapon. You know."
"Shut it."
Slice...!
Jolan grumbled irritably.
"Ugh, really. Even clones deserve rights...!"
Jolan's head slid off cleanly.
Thud.
Ian sheathed his sword after dispatching the clone.
He eyed the dazed boy.
This child would rot the family from the roots.
Now, he'd become the Pador Family's brightest sword.
And... turn that sword on the Padors.
A seed of ruin to rise in status, then point the blade at his kin.
But...
What fault is the child's?
Ian placed a hand on the boy's vacant shoulder.
"I won't judge right and wrong in the same plight as them. But remember this."
Ian draped his cloak over the boy's scarred body.
"You're human."
Ian smiled bitterly.
Perhaps Jolan was right—this prepared child was more weapon than human.
Calling him human, yet Ian would wield him as a sword.
Hypocrisy...?
Villains like Jolan.
His own hypocrisy felt more repulsive.
"Yes, that's it."
Ian walked on.
The boy followed, seeing him as master.
Ian couldn't face the boy, staring ahead as he murmured.
"You'll be a boy I chanced upon. Name: Cross. You'll be raised as the Pador Family's sword—brighter, greater than any."
And it begins at one of the four great houses.
Ford.
From there.