Chapter 48
Chapter 48
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: 16. Once You've Faced the Inexplicable, You Can Never Go Back (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"No."
It was unfortunate for my uncle, but my answer was a firm denial.
"Isn't that a bit too greedy?"
To accumulate mana more easily, more quickly, more stably in the rings while also trying to use Martial Hymns.
"If that had been possible from the start, the Martial Hymns would never have been forgotten in the first place."
If it were possible, the Mana Heart might have faded away, but the hymns should have endured at least as techniques. Yet the Martial Hymns had been forgotten alongside the Mana Heart.
They wouldn't have vanished overnight. People must have tried desperately to use them somehow.
It would have been stranger if, amid the efforts of ring knights over the past four hundred years, no one had attempted to partially restore the Martial Hymns and claim them as their own.
Even if they hadn't reached the level of [Myth] or [Heroic Epic], the power of those hymns was far from insignificant.
And yet, in this era, Martial Hymns were treated like cheap tavern songs. That meant countless geniuses had already tried combining rings and hymns—and ultimately failed.
"Reaching transcendence through Martial Hymns is a privilege reserved for those who accumulate mana in their hearts. It's not permitted for ring knights."
My uncle showed no sign of disappointment at my resolute answer. He simply gazed at me with unwavering eyes, as if convinced I held the solution he sought.
"Good grief."
I gave a wry smile, feigning embarrassment at his steadfast expression.
He'd dismissed me at first, and now he was placing this burdensome trust in me.
In truth, I was barely a year past awakening. I wasn't some omnipotent being who could surpass the combined efforts of countless geniuses over four centuries in a single leap. I'd simply lived longer than others, seen more, experienced more, and learned more.
What did he expect if I didn't have the answers?
Of course, I did have them.
"Elves go crazy for Martial Hymns too."
My uncle furrowed his brow at my sudden remark. He seemed perplexed by the abrupt mention of elves.
But there was good reason for bringing them up.
Elves were remarkably similar to the knights of this era.
Just as modern knights accumulated mana in their rings rather than their hearts, elves accumulated it throughout their entire bodies instead of their hearts. Naturally, they couldn't inscribe karma into their hearts either. They were just like ring knights.
The difference? They could borrow others' Martial Hymns.
"They can't compose their own poems, so they merely mimic others'. But that doesn't mean the hymns they use lack power."
The karma accumulated by others, the Martial Hymns created by others—by all rights, their potency should have been negligible. Yet reality proved otherwise. Though they couldn't wield poems beyond their own rank or achieve transcendence through them, they could draw out a certain degree of the hymns' power.
"They have 'Sword Dance' for that."
To elves, Martial Hymns were like melodies for performing Sword Dance.
The Dancing Magic Swordsman, Sigrun.
That was why Sigrun was called the Dancing Magic Swordsman.
"Hm."
My uncle narrowed his eyes deeply, mulling over my words.
"Composing and reciting poems might be impossible,"
I continued, watching his ambiguous expression.
"but playing them like music? That might just be feasible."
Rings resonating in harmony—what better instrument could exist in the world?
"Hm."
My uncle let out a groan and closed his eyes, as if struck by sudden insight.
I couldn't yet gauge what realization he might have had.
Whether true performance through rings was possible, or if so, how powerful it would be—I knew none of that.
I only knew it wasn't the path to transcendence.
It would amount to the same insight elves had: maximizing one's given rank.
I had no intention of nitpicking its value.
I accumulated mana in my heart, not rings. Creating the melody and perfecting the power—that was for the ring knights to do.
I glanced at Arwen.
She was lost in thought as well. Not as deeply immersed as my uncle, but clearly pondering the concepts of resonance and performance.
With only two rings so far, it probably hadn't fully clicked for her yet. I just smiled.
Her future stretched brightly before her; her time and potential were in no way inferior to my uncle's.
Only Adelia seemed utterly detached from it all.
She showed not the slightest interest in our discussion or what was unfolding.
Her sole concern was whether my freshly recovered body might suffer harm, her gaze filled with utter devotion.
I smiled warmly at her loyal, puppy-like devotion—then suddenly remembered something I'd overlooked.
My uncle stood frozen in place. Arwen was deep in contemplation.
"No, why in my room again..."
Why did this always happen in my room?
**
Arwen soon gathered her thoughts, gave a quick bow, and left the room. But even after she departed, my uncle remained as he was.
Which left me suffering for it.
I had to eat stealthily, like pilfering scraps, and even when trying to chat away the boredom, I couldn't raise my voice.
That became impossible when Adelia, unable to bear the silence, began nodding off.
I stared blankly at my uncle, then looked out the window.
Winter Castle beyond was a world apart from my room.
Soldiers bustling between walls and barracks, commanders shouting orders—the vibrant scene eased my boredom a touch.
But even that grew tiresome soon enough.
I ended up falling asleep.
"Mm..."
I awoke in a daze. Dusk had already blanketed the world outside, and a crackling fire burned in my room.
My uncle was no longer standing rigidly in the center.
"Adelia."
Adelia, slumped asleep by my bedside, lifted her head groggily. She wiped away the trail of dried saliva from her pale lips and poured water with half-closed eyes.
I gulped down the water she offered and asked about my uncle.
"He left a little while ago."
I inquired if she'd noticed any visible changes or peculiarities. With her still-dazed expression, she said nothing of the sort.
"Tch."
I clicked my tongue, though I wasn't too disappointed.
Not every moment of enlightenment led to meaningful results.
If a few simple words could grant insight and forge new paths, the world would overflow with superhumans.
"Well, there'll be plenty more chances ahead."
With me performing the miracle of Martial Hymns, the very existence of the enigmatic Warlord—if my uncle didn't deny them, moments of realization would come again someday.
I'd wait, as I always had.
That's when my uncle returned.
"You're awake."
Seeing him, I unwittingly shot Adelia a glare.
No change, my foot.
Contrary to her words, my uncle had transformed astonishingly.
His eyes, once radiating sharp intensity, had deepened into tranquil pools. His perpetually rigid expression had softened.
That alone made him seem like an entirely different person, but even his aura had shifted dramatically.
More generous. More at ease.
"Ha."
I let out a hollow laugh.
It was gratifying.
There stood the mighty being who feared nothing with a sword at his side, who never cowered before hordes of foes.
Swordmaster.
My uncle had finally attained a soul befitting his flesh.
Even if it was a blank slate, unadorned by karma—a rank worthy of a Swordmaster, magnificent in its purity.
"Congratulations."
At my words, my uncle unexpectedly bowed.
"Thank you. You've opened my eyes."
He spoke of realizing how much of a frog in a well he'd been—like a child wielding a toy sword—yet even deeply bowed, he exuded dignity.
"Truly, thank you, Ian."
I suspected it was a first. Hearing my uncle call my name—or use a nickname, for that matter.
"Ugh."
Embarrassed and awkward, I scratched my forearm vigorously. He chuckled warmly at the sight.
"They say people die if they change too suddenly."
"You've got a wicked streak."
"Me? No, I don't."
I vehemently denied his words.
Though I'd once wielded a sword of rank no one in four hundred years could surpass, now reduced to a mere sword expert far from Swordmaster—I envied him not one bit. Nor was I remotely jealous.
It was true.
"Right. I must have misread you."
"Argh, annoying."
I couldn't hold back a grumble at his gentle smile.
"Fine, tell us what you gained."
"I haven't fully grasped that 'performance' business you mentioned."
Despite his words, confidence shone on his face. He'd clearly attained some insight.
"I've merely set one milestone in my heart."
Ow, my stomach.
Irritated by his nonchalant tone, I prodded him to reveal where that milestone pointed.
"For now..."
My uncle gazed out the window with serene eyes.
"I'll walk toward that place."
His gaze fell on snow-clad mountains, but I knew what he truly saw beyond them.
A Warlord surely awaited there.
"Heh. Save a drowning man, and he asks for your bundle."
My uncle's eyes widened at my quip. I stated firmly to him.
"That one's mine. Don't go drooling over it."
He stared blankly before bursting into hearty laughter.
"Very well, as you say."
He seemed to view my words as a child's petulant vow.
I was dead serious.
**
"I have many questions, but I won't ask. How you know so much about orcs, where you learned of elves—I'll leave it be."
Considering I'd once stolen the founding king's Dragon Slayer Sword out of obsession with ancient tales, he'd assume I'd delved into some dusty old tomes. My uncle vowed to let my knowledge rest unprobed.
"I believe you'll tell me when the time comes."
His trusting gaze made my skin crawl with unease.
People could change, but this was too much. His sticky affection was turning my stomach.
Yet somehow, I kept smiling.
As I chuckled, the castle suddenly grew uproarious.
Bwooooooo!
The horn blast I'd heard before echoed. The castle's air stirred once more.
"Rest here."
"I'll need my orc knowledge."
Gripping my broken arm tightly, I followed my uncle to the walls. Archers already lined the battlements, bows trained on the snowy expanse beyond.
"Heavens."
My uncle sighed as he peered out with them.
There stretched an endless orc horde. Crude but fully equipped with siege weapons—a true army.
And amid them loomed a massive orc.
Twice the size and ferocity of the noble orc I'd faced before, clutching a blood-red banner and glaring our way.
"Is that the Warlord?"
My uncle asked me. I shook my head.
"That's the vanguard of the Warlord."
One of the most savage orcs serving the king.
"Combat Legion Commander."
The bravest of generals.
"Knight Slayer."
The nightmare of knights and Swordmasters alike.