Chapter 105
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: A Light from the Heart
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In this day and age, where countless genre novels proliferate.
If you had to pick the genre that tugs most at a man's heartstrings, it'd probably be 'martial arts' taking the top spot with high odds.
Some might counter like this, especially the MZ generation—or more precisely, those converging endlessly toward Z.
"Aren't those kids just middle-schoolers obsessed with attaching technique names to punches and sword swings? And armed thugs strutting around despite coffins being a real thing..."
Shut it!
You can't grasp the narrative in those gestures, the lives too profound for words, the history spanning generations— if you don't know that, you're no man! And pretend you didn't hear the rest.
Of course, saying that might unleash a fearsome compound word blending this glorious genre with dentures, so best to hold back.
Thus, let's not go full '侠' (knight-errant). That'd spell real trouble.
Anyway.
What's wrong with shouting technique names?
These days, they chant them in their minds instead of out loud. Or spectators nearby call them out for you.
Above all, it's cool.
Yeah, cool!
That's actually super important.
It's that thing you can't abandon once you're born with balls—sure, a little deep thought might make you question the necessity, but "Eh, whatever, it was cool—one more round!"
For example.
Plucking something from your heart? That could totally fall into the realm of 'cool.'
The organ symbolizing life.
The treasured artifact brimming with narrative pulled from within.
These days, they say it comes from between the cleavage too.
Such a thing happened to Jin.
"...Hm? Huh? What?"
A trio of dumb sounds hit in succession.
He scratched an itch on his left chest, felt something like a pimple, yanked it out—and it turned out to be a glowing stick.
His brain couldn't help but freeze.
No, seriously. How far are you taking this?
The Sword Saint's thoughts halted for an instant too.
It was probably the first blank in his consciousness since being called 'Sword Saint.'
He'd been about to console Rokan's disciple, who shunned no hardship.
Worried the kid might feel guilty for damaging the sacred relic, he'd started with reassurance.
It was just an accident from trying his best.
What use is a true man intimidated by such things?
Of course, the elders had grumbled loudly upon seeing the broken relic.
"It's the Sword King's item!" "The divinity inside is gone—what now?" Their old bones rang out thunderously, noisy as could be.
But the Sword Saint didn't care.
A man who'd wandered the world with a single sword in his youth, ignoring his clan's desperate pleas to return.
Crossing death's line countless times until he could draw it at his feet by will alone.
Straight as an arrow, that temperament.
Thus, he was resolute.
The relic wasn't lost—that was enough. What mattered now were the Sword Guards who died protecting it and the wounded successors—
'I sent them. So enough already.'
He'd firmly told the elders the blame didn't lie with Jin, then come here.
But.
"...Divinity?"
The Sword Saint's eyes locked onto the light clutched in Jin's hand.
The power thought lost with the ruined relic.
Truth be told, this was closer to the true essence than the shattered blade. Feeble as it was, it symbolized the old era all the more.
"It dwelled within?"
No other explanation fit the scene.
"My god."
As the Sword Saint murmured in awe.
Jin hurriedly contemplated his heart.
Light Extreme and Light Blaze.
The Light Bros, familiar from long cohabitation.
But now joined by an unfamiliar glow.
According to the status window that toyed with his vision before vanishing, it was called [Light of the Old Era].
Jin slapped his forehead at yet another uninvited housemate.
"...Fucked up. What do I do with this?"
As he held out the light in his hand toward the Sword Saint, the man blankly stared down at it, then shrugged.
"How should I know?"
"Ugh, seriously."
Why was this guy so unhelpful?
Did he excel only at fighting?
Jin squeezed his eyes shut.
This year's rotation had been bountiful.
Ryu Kad, Carlos, Kendrick.
Starting with heavy-hitter favorites, then dark horses streaking like comets and participants with distinct flair.
The matches were top-level, outcomes unpredictable, nail-biting—truly a famed feast laid out grandly.
Up to here, perfect.
Yes, until the Apostle crashed the party.
Who could've foreseen the Lord of Evil appearing at a clan rotation in full swing?
No one in Sector 8 missed the blood-red colossal tree that day. Everyone remembered the ominous yet beautiful falling petals.
Thus, the Sword Saint's feat—no casualties among them—earned even greater praise.
But.
Beyond the ten thousand lives saved visibly, others shone unseen.
The dozen finalists.
They aided Anaryon Sword Guards against surging Black Mages. Reasons varied, of course.
Do your part for hefty rewards, great chance to boost fame, better to fight together for survival, etc.
Not just that, though.
Plenty charged at Black Mages as if it were obvious—the Seven Clans' reps.
Eanna and Katrina, despite serious mutual wounds, embodied noblesse oblige with their bodies.
However.
The Apostle escaped, they said.
True to form, using the crowd as shields, fleeing similarly— if the Sword Saint hadn't disrupted the final mana storm, massive casualties inevitable, or so it went.
Laf's account.
"...You're amazing in all sorts of ways."
At Jin's words, Laf—propped against the bed head—frowned and turned.
"What, what? Cough."
While jabbing the painless injection button—self-pain controller—frantically.
Cooldown's 15 minutes, he'd said repeatedly, yet like a goldfish, he kept at it. Must hurt bad.
Fair enough.
12-hour grafting surgery patient wouldn't recover instantly. The severed part contaminated by weird mana meant healers poured purification and regen spells, struggling mightily.
Naturally, the patient needed absolute rest.
Yet spotting Jin laden with snacks, he yapped nonstop: "You came at the perfect time!" How not to call that amazing?
"Hm. Namuwiki in tree form, as expected."
"What? Can't hear. Speak louder."
"Nothing."
Poke-poke-poke-poke. Button-mashing echoed loudly.
Jin tore open a potato chip bag—one of his patient-visit junk foods, picked for his own cravings. Laf didn't seem snack-ready, so he'd polish them off himself.
"Surgery go well?"
As Jin crunched, Laf replied.
"Won't be the same for a while, but it's fine. Grateful it reattached."
Even in pain, he chuckled wheezily, adding.
"The Seven Clans sure deliver. Service is top-notch. Heard they'll toss in credits too."
Jin held back calling it rightful workers' comp.
A participant's arm chomped by a Black Mage-traitor—Anaryon, as hosts, had to handle aftermath. But back home, corps were such thugs on this. Anyway.
"Cecile got away then?"
"Yeah. Apostle took her, precisely. Mind hazy, didn't see clearly. Cough."
Pain outpacing analgesics made Laf writhe; Jin munched chips, recalling Cecile briefly.
Delicate face with slightly drooping outer eye corners.
And the demon-possessed freakout face—hard to believe one person.
What was real? Pointless question.
Only results remained.
Clan heir colluding with Black Mages, prime suspect in belatedly publicized Thea disappearance—inescapable stigma.
"Ryu Kad and Carlos barely caught her once, they say. Near death—could've ended with sword or spear thrust, but hesitated? Not my place as armless guy, but I get it. Chopping a friend's neck ain't easy. Especially when she seemed a different person overnight to them."
Laf's magnanimous words continued.
His calm face suggested the promised 15 minutes had arrived. Short peace, shattering in one minute.
"Anyway, what'll you do? Rotation's canceled."
Asking, his face already cracking.
Aaah, groaning Laf—Jin mirrored the pained look, slowly speaking.
"I'll be busy for a bit."
"Busy?"
"Clan kids hate going home like this. All young masters and ladies. First real scrap fired their blood. Rare gathering—might as well mingle, they say."
"And you're, joining? Why?"
"Dunno. They called."
Jin shrugged nonchalantly, then to Laf.
"Next time with Eanna. Happy?"
"...Love you."
"Later."
One word erased Laf's pain—Jin, the master healer, rose, repacking his snacks.
Truthfully, training held little meaning for Jin.
Everything he'd learned was already max proficiency.
No reason or need—he just kept quiet.
His theory was flawless enough to recite esoteric arcane spells blindfolded.
At this point, he just pulled and used them.
Like spotting Kendrick's move, thinking "Nice?" and deploying it in real combat—Mountain Soul Iron Claw (Claws of the Thunder God).
No need to force-learn either.
Diligently kindle stars, build proficiency—they deepened on their own.
Yet Jin joined the successors' meet gladly.
Why? Nothing special.
His affable, people-loving nature kicked in.
Fun, right?
Their heated debates, gentle sparring as "friendlies," post-meal huddles.
That unique vibe from same-age peers gathering. Not close—mostly awkward—yet not bad?
Of course.
Jin had another aim.
Pretty shady one.
Namely—rip all the arcane arts from them!
Recalling Rokan's electro-steam awakening 'Jahad's' star.
Thus, absorb the innocent(?) successors' knowledge. Unify arcane arts—that ambitious plan hurled him in.
Hm? Not working.
Their learning too shallow?
No matter how he tuned into Confucius-this, Mencius-that chatter, nothing clicked.
Sparring? Exchanges?
Same result.
Even trying swordsmanship—pulling the heart's light stick (successors screamed in unison)—charging Ryu Kad.
Record: 10:0
Ryu Kad's overwhelming dominance—
After 11th win, the silver long-haired man said.
"...Why keep charging with a sword?"
"Thought I'd learn some from you?"
"...?"
"...?"
Short Q&A, then blank stares.
"If that's it."
Surprisingly, Ryu Kad taught Jin swordplay.
With real enthusiasm.
Didn't last.
"Might be rude, but brother lacks sword talent. Please use that precious power elsewhere than sword."
His verdict watching Jin flail the stick clumsily. Kendrick laughed beside: "Knew it! Ditching your arts for sword? Can't fathom why the relic chose a turncoat like you! If it'd dwelled in me..."
"Teacher's fault."
"Ridiculous. I saw it—you're worse."
"Fuck. Off."
Jin chased mummy-like Kendrick with light club. To him, Ryu Kad said.
"I'll contact Father."
"What?"
Thus, Sword Saint arrives!
Rokan's disciple swordplay? Haha, fun—laughed into 1:1 guidance. Time priceless to others.
But.
"Hm. You won't do."
Sword Saint quit on Jin faster than his son.
"Don't waste effort there—stick to your studies."
Dropped curt words, left.
Jin sighed—no blaming teacher now. Watching quietly, Ryu Kad spoke.
"Everyone has their form. Sword doesn't fit yours—don't be too disappointed."
Heard later: Anaryon secret Sword Soul dwells in honed form.
Not learnable from start.
Jin sighed deeply, red-pilled late.
Nothing goes my way.
Why am I so unlucky?
Then.
"Jin. Don't be too down. Not sure why, but..."
Eanna's consoling voice; Jin shrugged.
"Nah, fine."
Not really disappointed. Never clung to inevitables anyway.
Resheathing the well-viewed light stick then.
Throb.
Achy heart pain; Jin furrowed brows.
Again.
Started after uninvited newbie arrived.
His mental space now cozy for two.
Meaning three strained it.
Inevitable awkward blush-fest.
Like one desperate for bathroom, another shower-prepping—inside his heart.
Crackle!!
Cramped space; Light Extreme sparked irritably.
Fwoosh.
Light Blaze politely vented discomfort.
Newbie [Light of the Old Era] plopped butt down.
Meager vs. Light Bros, but still space-hogging.
Naturally, auras clashed—source of heart ache.
Get along. Please.
Muttering inwardly, Jin suddenly frowned.
Wait.
Saturated with three— what if more?
Ice Phantom, Sword Soul, whatever.
Mental space might rip apart.
No joke.
Gasp.
Realizing his all-out suicide attempt, Jin inhaled sharply.
Arcane unification? Nearly died.
First, deepen mental realm.
For tenants' comfort.
For future fights.
Feeling urgency to advance his second world, Jin closed eyes to dive inward.
Bzzz.
Chest pager vibrated; "Tch," nose wrinkled, eyes open.
Checked screen.
One message arrived.
From someone briefly forgotten.
[It's Wonder. Finished upgrading the Gravis you entrusted. Want to deliver personally. Where to?]
End