Chapter 12
Chapter 12
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Treasure Hunt (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Meursault sword.
It was the pinnacle of the North.
The one and only blade that had severed the Demon King's neck in the past.
The method of wielding it was the Meursault swordsmanship.
It had sliced off the necks of ultra-high demons—who could move mountains with their fingers and dry up lakes—as easily as chopping off a dog's head.
But the once-mighty Meursault sword had now become a thing of the past.
The succession had been severed.
Due to the tragedy a century ago, the family's swordsmanship had been lost.
The collateral bloodlines who inherited the house had barely reconstructed it from memory... but it was only an imitation of the early stages. There were limits to recreating the later profound techniques.
A swordsmanship stripped of its core was nothing but an empty shell, sometimes even inferior to ordinary swordplay.
For the meager blood of collaterals who hadn't formally inherited the sword, that was their limit.
...But that was only true until today.
In Federback's hand was the pristine, complete edition of Meursault swordsmanship, undamaged in the slightest.
"......"
Federback raised his hand.
A thick tome came into view.
The rough texture of its cover felt not just crude, but ominous.
That was because it had been made from the living skin of an ultra-high demon.
Someone might criticize him for taking only this worn and creepy book amid the vault's countless treasures.
But Federback knew better than anyone.
If he could obtain just this one book, the rest of the vault's treasures were no different from trash worth discarding.
'Finally, I've got it.'
Federback stroked the book's cover.
Then.
Kwajik—!
A demonic maw protruded from the cover and bit into Federback's hand.
Blood welled up from the sharp teeth tips and began soaking into the cover.
The demon's mouth kept driving its fangs deeper into Federback's hand.
Any normal person would have lost their hand right then.
Chiiiiiik...
But not for a Meursault with the blood of Demon Annihilation.
Federback's blood mercilessly melted the demon's fangs.
The demonic maw recoiled in shock, retracting its teeth, and soon the firmly shut book opened.
'What a distasteful lock.'
Federback scanned the contents of the book.
The Meursault sword forms began to unfold before his eyes, one by one.
A swordsmanship for butchering demons.
A needle-like pain stabbed the hand holding the sword manual.
Even so, Federback did not let go of the book.
'Before regression, the swordsmanship I could wield was only up to the 5th Form. My mastery couldn't exceed 5th Circle either.'
Finally, the techniques beyond the 5th Form were in his grasp.
With the ceiling blocking his bloodline's potential now shattered, nothing stood in his way anymore.
'New swordsmanship. Experience from before regression. Combined, there will be no place my blade cannot reach.'
Even if it was the Demon King's neck, he could sever it with ease.
Just as the Meursaults of old had done.
'...I've taken everything worth taking.'
Federback decided to leave the Secret Vault.
He had to leave the remaining treasures behind... but it didn't matter right now.
It wasn't some naive satisfaction from obtaining an important secret manual.
'They're bait for the traps, but... I can't abandon a single one.'
He knew several ways to retrieve them all without fail.
This, too, was a regressor's privilege.
An early blizzard had swallowed the entire Northern Region this year as well.
The streets, dominated by bitter cold, had long been devoid of human presence.
...But even in this ferocious chill, there was one place where warm winds blew.
"Somehow, it feels like hot air is coming from in here?"
A young maid heading to the Meursault castle's training cave set down her water bucket and said.
The bucket, frozen solid on the way here, was slowly thawing.
Then, another maid beside her spoke up.
"It's coming from that cave."
"For real. But why is warm wind blowing from there? Did a hot spring erupt in the cave or something?"
"Huh? You don't know?"
The maid whispered into her friend's ear.
"These days, the Young Master is practicing swordsmanship inside there. He's working so hard, the heat is intense. Last time I brought water, I started sweating just watching."
"Eh? Young Master Federback? But he used to hate even the word 'sword' for swordsmanship? He's not drawing pictures or singing songs?"
"You were dispatched to the lower village and came back clueless about the world? What era's Young Master are you talking about? Just recently, he burned all his precious artworks."
"For real? No way, that's a lie. I'll take water and food later and check it out."
"No! It's my turn this time!"
"What? Last time you said you hated being the Young Master's attendant maid. You complained about how picky he was with cleaning and clothes."
"Keep bringing up the past? These days, he's so mild and generous. And... heh heh heh."
The young maid trailed off with a lecherous grin.
"Honestly, the Young Master is handsome if he doesn't throw tantrums. And when he trains, he goes shirtless... those muscles... total eye candy..."
"What, really? Me too! I wanna see!"
"I said no fooling around! It's my turn! I've been looking forward to today! You wait in line!"
The young girls squealed and skipped off together.
Meanwhile, inside the training cave, Federback was swinging his sword.
Upon returning from the Secret Vault, he had immediately devoted himself to training.
Ssaeaak—
Every downward slash produced a sharp whoosh half a beat later.
The Meursault sword was originally a demon-slaying blade.
In the era when myths and legends breathed, when humans were mere prey for the ruling species, it was a desperate survival art born of necessity.
While families in warm, peaceful lands obsessed over the veneer of chivalry, romance, and idealism, Meursault swordsmanship stuck to the basics.
A killing art that slew foes at minimal cost.
"......"
Federback silently swung his sword.
Through his sweat-matted white hair, blood-red eyes gleamed.
The blade cleaved a stalactite like a starving beast's fang.
'It feels sharper than my sword from before regression.'
Federback recalled his previous life.
After the family's fall, for bloodline reconstruction; during the Great War with the demon realm, for survival; after joining the hero party, to kill the Demon King.
He had slashed and been slashed countless times.
'I must not forget that pain, that rage, that fear.'
The peace he'd found since regressing was too sweet.
So Federback made every effort to preserve his memories from before.
Meals were always preserved rations, and he licked orc bile daily to guard against soft foods.
His bed was packed with blade shards and thorny branches.
Upon waking, he grabbed the sword by his pillow and swung.
Stab, slash, tear, pull, break, gut, strip.
The spot where Federback unleashed his strikes was a shredded mess, as if clawed by a giant beast.
'Time to test the swordsmanship from the Secret Vault.'
Federback deployed the secret manual's contents exactly.
As he repeated these motions, Federback keenly felt it.
'The swordsmanship I knew before regression was only half complete.'
He had suspected as much.
After battles, the hero, mage, and saintess would always say the same.
'Your swordsmanship ends so sloppily it's weird. It's powerful as is, but...'
'I'm not the only one feeling that disjointed cutoff at the end. There must be more moves after.'
'If you could find that, your mastery would deepen immensely. You could probably sweep the Demon King's army alone, no party needed.'
He had once half-doubted their assessments.
By the time this manual was found on the eve of humanity's fall, it was far too late.
Moreover, during excavation, a demon raid burned some pages, preventing full mastery.
'But not now.'
It wasn't too late, and no pages were burned.
Federback had the complete manual and had already memorized it to the letter.
All acquired flaws were filled.
If only he'd known this swordsmanship before regressing, or learned it sooner, his comrades might not have died.
They were gone from this world now, beyond even an elixirs's revival.
The warrior recalled the faces of the hero, mage, saintess, and the archer, thief, and others who fell before them—his expression darkened.
But only for a moment.
Ssaeaak—
Federback swung his sword again.
No time to brood.
If he had that time, he'd swing once more.
"......"
Federback began deploying the Meursault swordsmanship.
'First, unfold as far as I can with 2nd Circle skill.'
The white blade traced a strange curve.
A technique stabbing the enemy's softest spot to a precise depth.
This was the 1st Form: Bloodletting.
The basic move Federback had used most across both lives, slaying the most demons—a killing art.
Not strong, but hard to predict on the sword path, extremely fast and precise thrust.
Soon, Federback transitioned to the next motion.
Pit—
A white flash raced horizontally across the ground.
Cccejjeojeok!
In the blade's wake, the stone floor peeled away like beast hide being skinned.
This was the 2nd Form: Skin Peeling.
Another slash yielding maximum gain with minimal approach.
One of the eerie basics that maximized effect when paired with the 1st Form.
'Before regression, I reached 5th Circle and wielded up to the 5th Form. But at my current level, only up to 2nd Form.'
Federback's current mastery teetered at the edge of 2nd Circle, on the cusp of 3rd.
At 3rd Circle, after Mana Sense came Foundation Building.
Meaning he could form gaseous aura blades beyond mere tactile mana perception.
Only then could he transcend 'basics' to 'sure-kills.'
The 3rd Form: Bone Extraction was exactly that.
'...Mastering the 3rd Form is the first step to making the 1st and 2nd true deadly arts.'
It was the initial stride to true Meursault rebirth.
Ideally, he'd achieve 3rd Circle in this dungeon run and master up to the 3rd Form, but for now, this would do.
'Practicing swordsmanship on monsters has limits. Real growth comes against fellow humans.'
Federback stroked his chin.
To hone skills against humans didn't mean slashing innocent people—that would make him a murder ghost, not human.
And Federback could gladly embrace being one.
Because the humans he targeted were...
'They haven't committed grave sins yet... but in time, they surely will.'
Scum who had spurred his family's fall before regression.
Federback planned to use them as targets to sharpen his killing arts.
Then.
"Young Master."
Someone entered the training cave.
Turning, he saw two young maids holding water buckets.
"We've brought water to wash with. Um..."
"And also..."
After glaring at each other briefly, the two girls relayed news from outside the cave.
"The Patriarch, who went out to subjugate orcs, just returned!"
This, too, was one of the updates Federback had awaited.