Chapter 230: Sword Master (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 230: Sword Master (1)
No matter how powerful dark magic is, it isn't God.
However, it can make a body incredibly strong. It possesses the technical prowess to actually make the bullshit claim that you can wring water out of a dried squid a reality.
They say a dark mage is a being that can turn even a civilian into a force comparable to an average knight, provided they burn a bit of their soul and lifespan. But they couldn't force someone over the "wall," nor could they turn an ordinary knight into a Sword Master.
In other words, the faint aura imbued in Asran’s sword was the result of his own effort. The opponent was simply wringing it out and finding a way to use it.
"You’re not Asran, are you?"
To put it another way, he had the foundation of a Sword Master, but he didn't know how to use it himself.
Since I had been in the same boat until I got help from the Sword Father, I just watched quietly.
"Is it that obvious?"
"It is. He isn't the type to know such old-fashioned swordsmanship."
"Old-fashioned? Please, call it 'classic.'"
This meant that whatever had entered Asran was a being at least comparable to a Sword Master. Roughly speaking, I could consider him equivalent to a high-ranking demon.
"May I ask your name?"
"Minor Sword Emperor Asran."
"Wrong."
"It is correct. My soul has merely borrowed this body for a moment. This body and soul still belong to your grandson."
For now.
It was a predictable line. I’d seen this kind of thing in manga in my past life. A guy appears at the start looking incredibly strong, only to get beaten up every time while shouting "Hubera Yurayura" before exiting. Then he eventually gets his body stolen by the final boss and trolls everyone by moping in a swamp of souls due to trauma while his comrades are dying.
In short, if Asran’s soul couldn't overcome this and stayed shriveled up, he might lose control of his body forever.
Therefore, it would be best not to say anything too harsh to Asran, but...
"No, that’s not what I meant."
"Then what..."
"It’s been a long time since my grandson was stripped of the title 'Minor Sword Emperor.'"
"......?"
"As expected of an old-timer, you're behind on the news. After going through 'So-so Sword Emperor,' 'Defeat Sword Emperor,' 'So-so-so Sword Emperor,' and so on, he’s currently known as 'Sosososo.'"
"......Ugh!"
Asran’s body staggered momentarily. The Sword Emperor aimed for that opening and swung his blade, but the opponent, though frowning, managed to block the strike.
"Are you truly the human called the Sword Emperor?"
"I am. Why?"
"To think the man called the Sword Emperor would be so frivolous..."
To reiterate, the aura flickering on Asran’s sword was faint. It meant the opponent was wringing out Asran’s skills even harder than one would squeeze juice from a dried squid. Yet, he was blocking the strikes of the Sword Emperor—one of the most skilled men on the continent, far beyond mere mastery.
In other words, the opponent’s pure skill was superior to the Sword Emperor’s. Realizing this, the Sword Emperor’s eyes gleamed as he asked once more.
"You. What is your name?"
"I believe you said I am no longer called the Minor Sword Emperor? Well, fine. I don't appreciate being treated like an old man while you speak so informally, but isn't that just how people who live by the sword are?"
Seeing him chuckle, it seemed he wasn't a demon. He was likely the soul of a swordsman who had reached a high level in life—a Sword Master. For some reason, he had taken up residence in Asran’s body.
"My name is Arberus. Hundreds of years ago, I was a man known as a Sword Hero."
Sword Hero Arberus.
The name wasn't particularly famous. However, I remembered it. It was only natural.
About 500 years ago, before Leon was called the Kingdom of Knights. Back when it was a kingdom of sword-fighters treated as little more than settled Vikings, there was a great hero who helped "launder" Leon’s reputation into that of a Kingdom of Knights.
As it turned out, he was a dragon-fucker. Even though he inherited dragon blood and could use top-tier magic, he insisted on picking up a sword because his dad did, only to lose every single time—the father of our Ancestor.
Sword Saint Dain Leon.
The name that frequently appeared whenever Dain Leon was mentioned was none other than Sword Hero Arberus.
However, because the legend of Dain Leon the Dragon-Slayer (Dragon-fucker) had spread across the continent as a fairy tale, everyone knew about Sword Saint Dain. On the other hand, Arberus, who remained the perpetual second-in-command in that biography by losing to Dain every time, was known by few.
Still, among the knights of Leon—or rather, among any knight who actually read books—his name appeared often enough that about six out of ten would recognize it.
Fortunately...
"If you are Sword Hero Arberus..."
It seemed the Sword Emperor hadn't earned his professorship in the Swordsmanship Department through martial prowess alone. He appeared to recognize the name...
"Yes. I am indeed—"
"Who is that?"
"Are you attacking my mind again...?"
"No, I’m asking because I genuinely don't know..."
"......"
"My apologies..."
At the Sword Emperor’s uncharacteristically sincere voice, the Sword Hero occupying Asran’s body bit his lip. It seemed to be a significant blow, but for some reason, the aura on Asran’s sword grew slightly denser.
Was it the power of rage? Or was Asran lending his strength because he felt a sense of kinship?
Praying it wasn't the latter, I moved toward the Sword Emperor and gave him a brief explanation of Arberus.
"The tragic second-in-command, overshadowed by Sword Saint Dain..."
"......It’s been a long time since I heard that phrase."
At my explanation, the aura of Arberus, inhabiting Asran’s face, began to stabilize.
Dammit, Asran. Don't tell me you're actually feeling kinship with him. You aren't even in the "second-in-command" league right now.
"Are you a swordsman of Leon?"
"I am."
When our eyes met, Arberus—in Asran’s body—sent a favorable look my way.
"To think you remember my name. You are indeed a swordsman of Leon."
The gaze full of goodwill was a bit much. Honestly, I only remembered him because his name popped up so often during my history studies as a training officer, but he seemed touched that a junior from the distant future remembered him.
"I remember now. Arberus of the Storm Sword."
"I was... called by such a name once."
At the Sword Emperor’s slightly impressed remark, Arberus’s expression stiffened.
I felt a chill.
How could a guy who was a perpetual second-best have a nickname like "Storm"? I wanted to ask Boradori right then and there if Arberus appeared in the original work or if "Storm Sword" was just some joke by the author, but...
"You were famous for swordsmanship as fast and nimble as a storm..."
The Sword Emperor provided the reason in Boradori’s stead.
"And it was said your defeats were as fast as a storm as well!"
"Ugh...!"
"Specifically, it’s recorded that you lost to Sword Saint Dain three times in a row at the training grounds in under twenty minutes...!"
Was the author a man? RoFans usually aren't like this. The moment I heard the legend of the "Triple Training Ground Defeat," I didn't need to ask Boradori anything.
And I no longer had the luxury to do so.
"That storm... try and weather it!"
Because the sword of the teeth-gritting Asran had begun to conjure a literal storm.
Asran - Good luck...!
From within his own soul, Asran watched the situation outside.
—......
He could see the aura rising from the sword in his hand. It was faint, but it was definitely aura.
—I see.
I... could already use it.
And yet, I couldn't. What was I lacking?
Effort. Passion. Faith. Talent. Ability. Resolve. Determination. Technique. Enlightenment...
The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he lacked. No, perhaps because he had built those walls himself, things within his reach had remained untouchable.
Come to think of it.
—Asran, why do you want to become strong?
Daisy’s voice, which had comforted him when he was frustrated, naturally came to mind. Asran hadn't been able to answer that question until the very end.
—I wonder.
Why did he want to be strong?
What had he harbored when he first picked up a sword?
While lost in such thoughts, Asran simply stared blankly as his body swung the sword.
He was told this was a swordsman who had once made a name for himself on the continent. When asked why such a man’s soul was bound by a dark mage...
—Regret.
That was what he said.
—I wanted to be the best, but in the end, I never was. It wouldn't have been a problem if the peak were invisible, but I was always just one step away. I only had to surpass that man’s back. I couldn't let go of that regret.
That regret became a grudge, eventually binding his soul to his sword. A dark mage had happened upon it, and he ended up in their hands.
—I want to be the best. Just like that man who even struck down the transcendent dragons.
Because he somehow empathized with that desperate longing, Asran couldn't offer any resistance to the soul taking over his body.
At least that soul managed to become second-best. Wouldn't that person be more helpful than a useless human like me?
—As expected of an old-timer, you're behind on the news. After going through 'So-so Sword Emperor,' 'Defeat Sword Emperor,' 'So-so-so Sword Emperor,' and so on, he’s currently known as 'Sosososo.'
—......
At the Sword Emperor’s words, Asran lay down in the swamp of his soul and gave up on everything.
However, Arberus, who occupied his body, was different.
—I remember now. Arberus of the Storm Sword.
When that slightly childish but a hundred times better name than "Sosososo" was called...
Moments of memory surged back through Arberus’s trembling soul.
—And it was said your defeats were as fast as a storm as well!
He could hear the cheers of the people. It felt like the swordsmanship tournament of the Founding Festival—no, even more heated than that.
"I stood in line since dawn to see this. Why is my seat all the way back here?"
"You idiot. This is the semi-final between Dain and Arberus. It’s practically the final. That’s what happens when you only start lining up today for today's match."
"Then when should I have started?"
"At least a day ago."
"You crazy bastards..."
Judging by the conversation, there were those who had secured spots since the day before... A heated battle was expected, but...
"Ah... Arberus couldn't do a single thing...!"
The lamenting commentator and a heavy silence filled the crowded training grounds.
"How do you get beaten by the same three stabs...?"
A crushing defeat, falling for the exact same technique three times in a row. Some grew angry, while others sat on the ground in dejection.
But Asran knew who was suffering the most.
Memories flowed out every time Arberus swung his sword.
"Why, Heaven! Why did you give birth to me, Arberus!"
Sometimes he wailed at the sky.
"......"
He swung his sword even on days when others went out on dates with their lovers. He practiced his swings even when the rain poured as if the sky had been punctured.
"He... split the sky...!"
In that way, he moved beyond being a mere Sword Master. He became a swordsman recognized by everyone on the continent.
Sword Hero.
No one questioned that title.
Sword Saint.
And no one questioned that the title of Sword Saint stood above that of the Sword Hero.
The undisputed number one and number two.
But he neither envied nor gave up. Because the man in front of him was worthy of it. Because losing to that man... was nothing to be ashamed of, except for that triple defeat at the training grounds!
"It seems... he has passed away."
"...Liar."
He was ashamed. Ashamed that he couldn't follow the man who stepped forward to save the people from a ferocious dragon. Ashamed that he was called the strongest only because the true strongest had vanished without being defeated.
To think that regret was so great it bound his soul to the earth. Asran watched the battle before him, feeling a level of regret and resolve he could never have imagined.
Then, clenching his fists, he cheered for Arberus as he faced the man called the strongest of the current era.
—Good luck...!
Completely forgetting that his opponent was his own grandfather, and that the one he was cheering for had become a tool of dark mages to steal his body.
As if cheering for his hero on TV, Asran desperately rooted for Arberus’s victory.