Chapter 220
Chapter 220
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 220
Chapter Title: 64. Empty Yet Full (6)
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Her mother was an unchaste woman.
And she was the fruit of her mother's sinful deed.
Her father knew the truth full well, yet he could not bring himself to cast her mother aside.
Her father was a knight from commoner stock, while her mother, though not from some great house, was still the daughter of nobility.
To overcome the scorn from his fellow knights and the subtle disdain from his lord, he desperately needed her family's backing.
So her father chose to cover up her mother's infidelity.
That decision brought misery to them all.
Whenever he got drunk, her father would unleash his fiery rage on her mother. Instead of bowing her head in apology, her mother would hurl insults at his lowly origins, turning the tables on him.
Her parents spewed venomous words and hatred at each other every single day. In those moments, the young girl felt as though it was all her fault, leaving her helpless and sobbing uncontrollably.
No one comforted her.
Her father was barely holding his own emotions together, and her mother cared for nothing beyond her own adornments.
Her father vented his anger and hatred through training.
He had always possessed exceptional passion and talent for the sword—rare even among commoners, enough to earn him knighthood—and soon became his lord's most valued knight.
Naturally, he spent even longer away from the manor.
The arguments between her father and mother dwindled bit by bit, and the occasions when she sobbed in confusion grew fewer.
But that didn't make her childhood any smoother.
Her mother subtly blamed her unusual appearance—marking her as something other than fully human—for exposing her affair. Terrified it might spread, she confined the girl within the manor.
The harsh curses and beatings came as a bonus.
Trapped in a small outbuilding on the estate, she withered away under her own mother's abuse.
Then, when she turned thirteen, her mother came to her.
Her mother was gripped by fear, and the girl later learned it was because the family that had protected her had earned the wrath of the grand lord and been wiped out.
"Let's run away. If we stay here, that man won't let you or me live."
Before fleeing the manor, her mother came to her, urging her to escape together.
It wasn't maternal love.
"Even if he doesn't recognize me anymore, grown old and faded as I am, he'll know his own blood. You look just like him."
It was for some unrecognizable man from her past.
Innocent and unknowing, she took her mother's hand and stepped out into the world beyond the manor for the first time.
But before she could grasp the vastness of that world, her father's pursuers caught up.
It happened less than half a day after leaving the estate.
"H-He'll come save us."
Even as her father's men dragged her away, her mother babbled like a madwoman.
When they were hauled back to the domain's manor, what awaited them was a blazing inferno of crimson flames and the mangled corpses of the household.
A group clad in green cloaks greeted them amid the pile of bodies.
"Ah! They must be the ones he sent to rescue me!"
Her mother spoke with ecstatic rapture, as if intoxicated by the fresh scent wafting from the strangers.
Then one of the strangers threw back their cloak, revealing their face.
She was a woman so beautiful that even her long, pointed ears seemed no flaw.
The woman glanced at her and raised a hand.
In an instant, the strangers vanished from sight, and her father's men collapsed, spraying blood.
"Just as I thought! Did he send you to save me? Where is he now?"
Her mother asked in delirious joy.
"I can't wait another moment to see him again. Take me to—"
Her words cut off as her head was severed in a single stroke.
Thud, roll.
She stared at her mother's head tumbling across the ground.
No tears came.
As she gazed blankly at it, someone else arrived.
Her father.
"How dare you..."
Seeing the burning manor and his beheaded men, he drew his sword.
A brilliant aura blossomed from its tip.
"A knight wielding an Aura Blade in this backwater domain? How surprising."
The beautiful woman widened her eyes at the light, though it seemed more mocking exaggeration than genuine shock.
Her father rebuked her sternly.
"Step away from that child!"
"You must have noticed those ears. Surely you know she's a cuckoo in the nest. Is it the bonds of nurture over blood?"
"Silence, you wench! Step back now!"
"Oh dear. Such noble swordsmanship, yet so ignorant of chivalry toward women. No wonder your wife sought another man's bed."
Unable to bear the insult, her father charged.
The woman suddenly seized her by the scruff and hurled her aside.
"Hup!"
Her father gasped and caught her mid-air.
For her, it was the first time in her arms.
Splash!
Before she could even feel it, hot liquid drenched her face.
"Guh."
A guttural groan pierced her ears a beat later.
She looked up.
A sword pierced her father's chest. The woman twisted the blade with a radiant smile.
"What a pity. If not for my mission, I could have savored this longer."
"What do you... intend... for that child..."
"Still worrying about her, even now?"
"Shut up and answer."
"Don't worry. Her sire is the noblest of our kin— a king in human terms."
Her father coughed blood and looked down at her.
For her, it was the first time seeing his true face.
"At least... that's... a relief."
A flicker of relief crossed it.
But only for a moment.
"Though she's still just a mongrel tainted by filthy human blood."
Her father's eyes bulged in fury.
"You..."
The woman cackled at his contorted face, her expression brimming with smug satisfaction, like a well-fed cat.
As he opened his mouth again, she twisted the sword.
Splash!
His flesh tore, blood gushing forth.
She stood dazed, soaked in it.
The woman laughed long and hard, clearly delighted.
Then she stopped abruptly and peered at the blood-drenched girl.
"Oh, you poor thing. Losing both your mother and father before your eyes. Though he wasn't your real sire, of course."
As if she truly pitied her.
"Aren't you sad? Or are you so heartbroken that the tears won't come?"
The woman asked. She couldn't answer.
"Well, that's not important right now."
With that, she ordered a nearby stranger.
"Tell the sword family unit on standby nearby to erase all traces."
The stranger vanished without a sound.
"Tch. All this trouble because of that playboy king."
Grumbling in annoyance, she turned back to the girl.
"Come now, let's go together. There are lots of children just like you."
Refusal was unthinkable before her. Murderous intent still gleamed in the woman's eyes.
A nod.
Thus, she—Gurne—was collected by the elves.
It was when Gurne first met Sigrun.
Afterward, Sigrun traveled to several places, gathering half-elves and sending them to the forest.
Gurne was one of them.
When she arrived at the forest, many half-elves were already there.
Adults and children her age alike.
They had all flowed into the forest through similar paths, she was told.
She learned the elves' sword arts and a few melodies alongside them.
During the horrific training, an instinctive obedience to pureblood elves took root in their hearts—especially a soul-deep terror of High Elves.
Thus, all emotions save submission and fear were excised, and they became Sword Maidens.
They were secretly deployed across the continent in place of pureblood elves, fighting and dying.
The spots left by the dead children were filled by new arrivals.
Eventually, those who had arrived before Gurne were no more, and she became the first sword among nineteen Sword Maidens.
She stayed cooped up in the forest for a time after, until a new mission came.
Rescue a young boy from a battlefield rampant with rampaging orcs.
In the midst of orcs berserking wildly, Gurne and the Sword Maidens found a boy on the brink of death.
Bloodied and unconscious, yet clinging to a shabby bugle.
The blood-soaked young prince became their master.
In truth, who their master was mattered little to Gurne and the Sword Maidens.
They obeyed orders and died if told to.
They followed only because an Elder High Elf commanded it.
Even with tongues severed, they harbored no resentment.
They were mere livestock.
Gurne and the Sword Maidens were puppets moved by submission and fear.
At first. It had surely been that way.
Then, something changed.
The moment their young master sang before the orc king and swung his sword.
Crack.
The enslaving brand etched into their souls shattered.
All that remained was fear and obedience to High Elves. Even that vanished.
Their souls lay utterly empty.
Into that void poured unfiltered grief and regret, deep as the abyss.
It was the prince's emotions, sobbing before the emerald king's corpse.
The empty souls of the Sword Maidens began to fill once more.
Thus, though not their own, reclaiming the emotions they had lacked allowed the livestock to become human again.
Not enslavement, but resonance.
That must have been why.
When the young prince faced peril from the wicked Elder High Elf, the Sword Maidens—who had never moved without orders—stepped forward of their own accord.
They even defied his command to retreat.
If it meant saving the young prince from that vile Elder High Elf, they were prepared for even greater sacrifices.
Even if it led to their deaths.
The Sword Maidens couldn't withstand even a playful swing from the Elder High Elf's sword.
One by one, her comrades, friends, and sisters died gruesomely before her eyes.
Surprisingly, Gurne felt sorrow.
Whether it was the prince's or truly her own, she couldn't tell.
She was just glad to grieve for another's death.
She too threw herself for the prince, following the other Sword Maidens.
It brought joy.
Their end was what they themselves desired, and knowing someone grieved for them felt wonderful.
But she showed none of it.
[Revenge.]
To the prince, who asked why she went so far for her sake, she simply said it was revenge.
She didn't want the young prince—who shouldered every death around him without turning away—to bear their deaths as another burden.
When the cunning Elder High Elf shattered his sword to carve up the prince, Gurne threw herself without hesitation.
Amid the agony of her body tearing apart, she looked at the prince.
The furiously enraged prince swung his sword at the Elder High Elf, then collapsed unconscious.
Enduring the pain of her rending flesh, Gurne hoisted the prince over her shoulder.
She fled blindly.
Until the Elder High Elf's presence faded. Until a place to hide the prince appeared.
Reaching a rocky crag, she concealed him and lost consciousness herself.
After that, the prince treated Gurne and the Sword Maidens with unconditional trust and affection.
Choosing her specifically as envoy to the High Elves stemmed from the same.
He hoped that she, once treated as livestock by elves, could stand tall before them in his name and cast off the last vestiges of fear in her heart.
Thus, she strove to fulfill her master's command perfectly.
But she failed.
The moment she faced the High Elf's overwhelming presence, her limbs froze like a frog before a snake.
Even knowing it diminished her master's dignity, she cowered pathetically.
She felt guilty.
She loathed herself for failing to repay his trust.
Yet her master didn't blame her.
He even patted her shoulder, saying she had done well.
That only deepened her guilt.
And it didn't end there.
She heard her master would duel the High Elf with swords.
Shocked, she rushed to the training grounds and saw him.
Before the spar, he gave her a small smile.
Your revenge is mine to take.
It was a smile that seemed to say as much.
She had to stop him.
His power stemmed from poetry; composing before a High Elf was never wise.
They were monsters who could weave others' verses into sword dances on the spot.
But it was too late.
The High Elf man lightly tapped the ground, setting the rhythm.
The distinctive aura signaling the melody's start spread everywhere.
There was no intervening now.
"Ah..."
A sigh of regret escaped her when suddenly her master stomped the ground fiercely.
Crunch.
The sound of the solid floor shattering echoed across the training grounds.
In that instant, the High Elf's expression changed.
His foot had smashed only empty ground, not even grazing the elf.
"Pretending to fall for the provocation to steal a verse or two, no doubt."
Her master said.
"But alas, you won't claim even a single line."
As if he'd known from the start.
The High Elf tapped the rhythm.
Her master slammed the ground repeatedly, disrupting it.
The High Elf's face hardened.
"An amusing trick."
But only briefly.
The High Elf soon resumed his nonchalant chatter.
"You don't seriously think that childish footwork can unravel a sword dance, do you?"
The High Elf smirked openly.
Mockery plain as day.
Gurne clenched her fists in anguish.
She wondered if her master's improvisation might be the key to breaking the melody.
"Orcs roar fiercely and thunderously, giants stride vast and mighty. Dwarves' firearms and armors are no less clamorously loud. Yet none could unravel our kin's sword dances."
With that, the High Elf elegantly swung his sword.
Hummm.
The elf blade sang purely.
"If mere noise and racket sufficed to break it, our clan would have perished with our dances long ago."
"As expected."
Her master replied nonchalantly to the arrogant words.
Only then did Gurne look at his face.
"Well, I wasn't expecting much. Just testing."
He was smiling.
"The real deal is something else."
His signature arrogant grin, looking down on others.
He raised his sword.
A radiant light from countless slain foes gathered atop it.
The supreme aura drawn from a single heart.
His sword, brimming with swordlight, began to hum.
"Slept a bit and woke to find an intriguing technique floating around."
Yet the sound and vibration didn't match his usual blade.
Whumm, huuummm.
Like multiple auras resonating together, not one.
It was as if...
"Mana Chain."
Something a ring knight might wield.
"This guy's hopeless at most things, but syncing his mana with others? Spot on."