Chapter 231: Sword Master (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 231: Sword Master (2)
Was he finally adapting to Asran’s body?
Arberus’s movements were beginning to accelerate.
At first, he had seemed to struggle just to parry the Sword Emperor’s attacks. But as time passed, he moved beyond mere defense to counterattacking, and now, he was even launching intermittent offensives of his own.
“So this is the Storm Sword!”
“…Call me the Sword Hero.”
“Doesn’t ‘Storm’ sound much cooler?”
“It’s not your name, so of course you’d say that!”
“How unfair. Personally, I prefer the nickname I had in my youth over ‘Sword Emperor’—the Noble Etiquette Injector!”
“You crazy bastard… This is why swordsmen these days are…!”
Even when two old fogeys clashed, a hierarchy of age still existed.
The ancient geezer, the Storm Sword—no, the Sword Hero Arberus—clicked his tongue, while the modern geezer, Sword Emperor Aren, laughed as if he were having the time of his life.
“I mean…”
Though he wasn't an ancestor of the Leon line, it was a relief that someone so pro-Leon had returned with his sanity intact. However, the fact that Arberus’s soul had reappeared after hundreds of years was, ultimately, the result of a Dark Mage’s conspiracy.
Just look at the evidence.
“Aaaagh!”
The butler, who had tried to flee, was now caught and receiving a "divine power massage" from Daisy, wailing in agony.
The Heresy Inquisitors were an organization fraught with controversy and complaints, but the reason no one spoke up when they forcibly dragged people away was entirely due to divine power. Once you scorched someone with it, you could identify a heretic with 90% accuracy.
Of course, our hardworking Dark Mages hadn't sat idle; they’d developed dark magic to block it. But such petty tricks only worked on ordinary priests. They were useless against a group of specialists like the Heresy Inquisitors.
Well, even if the tricks did work, if the evidence was clear enough, they seemed to find other ways to extract a confession… though I hadn't seen those methods with my own eyes.
Regardless, Daisy was the undisputed Queen of Divine Power. As the Goddess’s one and only favorite human on earth, there was no way she couldn't do what the Inquisitors did.
It seemed torture was also a matter of talent. Despite it being her first time, she managed to get a full confession out of the man called the butler.
“Damn, Daisy. Are you even the strongest at torture…?”
“Don’t say it like that! You make it sound like I’m doing something atrocious!”
Daisy shouted back with a tearful face, but the fact remained: she had broken a Dark Mage—the kind of person even professional torturers struggle to crack—in just five minutes.
“At least it’s a relief. House Machell is innocent.”
“…They kidnapped someone, and you’re calling them innocent?”
“Ah.”
Well, since they weren't involved with dark magic, the family wouldn't be exterminated. But since the kidnapping was a fact, they weren't exactly "innocent."
“C-Could he be lying? I mean, for an Academy senior to actually kidnap someone…”
“……”
I silently stared at the old man, whose eyes were rolled back as he drooled. The reason he looked like that, despite discarding his pride as a Dark Mage to spill everything quickly, was because he had denied the kidnapping charges until the very end.
“…Even the strongest at torture.”
Breaking someone until they give the desired answer. She might have found another calling besides being a swordsman.
“N-No! Honestly, it doesn't make sense! They just happened to receive an artifact containing the sealed soul of the man known as the Sword Hero from centuries ago as a donation? And they couldn't use it because they didn't have a compatible swordsman, but then Asran just happened to get kidnapped?!”
Daisy pleaded her case, having overheard my muttering.
“Logically speaking, it makes no sense.”
“Right?”
“But you of all people shouldn't be the one saying that.”
“Why only me?!”
Because you’re a RoFan heroine… The source of all irrationality shouldn't be discussing logic.
Ignoring the indignant Daisy, I turned my gaze.
“……”
Not far away, I saw Prince Ellen staring blankly at the duel between the two swordsmen. It seemed the bastard was gaining enlightenment just by watching someone else fight.
…Unconscionable prick.
Even after becoming a Sword Master, he hasn't beaten me once, yet he’s trying to grow even more. As if a balance patch wasn't already overdue, the game keeps stacking buffs on one side. Truly, this was the trash game known as RoFan Online.
“What on earth is he seeing…?”
I watched, wondering if I could see something too, but I saw nothing except the fact that they were fighting damn well.
I was already used to the Sword Emperor’s blade. And Asran’s—no, Arberus’s—sword was, as the Sword Emperor said, from a bygone era. In Arberus’s own words, it was "classic."
It wasn't a metaphor; his style was literally like a textbook. Even for a man called the Sword Hero, he was from five hundred years ago, so it was inevitable.
“He’s holding his own against the Sword Emperor with that five-hundred-year-old textbook swordsmanship. Shouldn't there be something to learn from that?”
Daisy’s opinion drifted over from beside me. Come to think of it, she had a point.
Even if what’s in a textbook represents the so-called fundamentals, as time passes, even the "standard" tends to be refined into more efficient methods.
The Sword Emperor might have come from the bottom and taught himself, but he had actually attended the Academy and even published several theoretical texts to meet the minimum requirements for a professorship.
Therefore, a style that was long out of date should have been easier to handle than a style with no roots at all. Yet, Arberus was pushing back against the blade of the Sword Emperor, who was stronger than him.
“……”
I could tell it was amazing, but that didn't mean I was suddenly struck by enlightenment. I understood it only to that extent.
To think he could give even someone like me a sense of realization. Once again, I couldn't help but think that without my Sword Father, I might have been lost for a very long time.
However, it seemed he couldn't overcome the limits of the physical body in the end. No matter how talented Asran was, compared to the Sword Emperor—the greatest of the current era—calling him a "commoner" would be a generous evaluation.
“A pity.”
A voice of genuine regret escaped the Sword Emperor’s lips.
“You still won't use informal speech with me until the end.”
“Our eras are different, but I must maintain etiquette for a senior.”
“And yet you keep bringing up that ‘Storm Sword’ nonsense?”
“Doesn't it sound cool? Storm Sword.”
“……You madman.”
“You can’t reach the top in this business without being a little mad. You know that, don't you?”
As he said that, I wasn't sure why his first glance went to me instead of Ellen.
“Your grandson seemed perfectly normal to me.”
“That’s why he’s weak.”
“Greedy bastard. He’s plenty strong for his age.”
“Kids these days are terrifying. They’re chasing us from below; the sense of crisis is overwhelming…”
“I suppose. Those two over there are indeed monsters. But that isn't this boy’s fault, is it?”
“He seems to feel as though it is.”
“It can’t be helped. That is a lingering regret I couldn't discard until the moment I died.”
With those words, Arberus took a stance. That single movement shifted the entire atmosphere.
“Still, since I borrowed this body, I should pay the rental fee.”
Arberus sounded like he was setting up a growth event for Asran. Is this the RoFan male lead buff? The RoFan heroine’s boyfriend gets nothing, while the male lead candidates are constantly being handed gifts.
“Is that so?”
At the mention of looking after his "grandson," the Sword Emperor smiled and raised his sword.
While Arberus was radiating a storm-like aura, the Sword Emperor stood calmly, as if he were in the eye of the storm, unaffected by Arberus’s fierce momentum.
Then, in a split second, the swords moved.
As if proving that there are levels even among Sword Masters, I momentarily lost track of the movement despite focusing all my senses.
“So this is the sword of five hundred years later.”
So spoke Arberus’s body. Or rather, Asran’s body, as it collapsed.
“A shame. That I couldn't clash with everything I had.”
“I feel the same, Senior.”
Seeing the Sword Emperor wearing the same expression as Arberus, the ancient hero smiled.
“But it is time to leave.”
“Have you discarded all your regrets?”
“Hardly.”
“And yet you look like you’re about to ascend to nirvana.”
“I’ve simply realized it. That from the moment Dain died, my regrets could never be resolved.”
As Arberus’s form began to fade with those words, I found myself stepping forward instinctively.
Asran—I Saw the Devil.
—Still, since I borrowed this body, I should pay the rental fee.
Along with those words, Asran, who had been cheering for Arberus, heard a voice.
“Watch closely.”
Fortunately, Asran hadn't been hit by the Curse of RoFan hard enough to not recognize whose voice that was.
—Yes.
Having synchronized with Arberus’s soul and witnessed his life, Asran was now able to watch from the best seat in the house as Arberus faced the end and the limits of his martial path.
And at the same time.
—I’ve simply realized it. That from the moment Dain died, my regrets could never be resolved.
He realized that the gift Arberus had given him…
—Ah.
…was also a curse.
Would he ever be able to reach that height before he died? In a world where one man had vanished—a position Arberus had attained only because someone else had died…
Could he ever surpass the limit that even the man called the strongest could not?
Asran’s soul trembled with the enlightenment and the despair-inducing terror Arberus had bestowed upon him. It was then.
—Lord Arberus.
—What is it, Junior?
A familiar voice rang out.
Adam Smith.
He had approached Arberus just as the latter was letting go of his regrets and preparing to pass on.
—……
The chance to converse with a being of such high standing as Arberus was an opportunity worth a thousand pieces of gold. So, despite his usual behavior, it wasn't strange for Adam Smith—a swordsman to his core—to speak up.
However.
—I have a bad feeling about this…
For nearly two years—a time that was long yet short—Asran hadn't spent every moment with Adam Smith, but he had learned enough to know exactly what kind of bastard he was.
Therefore, his sixth sense was screaming.
—Don’t listen to him, Sword Hero!
You mustn't listen to what that guy says.
Asran showed a powerful will, even attempting to regain control of his body, but…
—Actually, Sword Saint Dain didn't die to a dragon.
—What?!
Unfortunately, he couldn't shut the devil’s mouth.
—What do you mean by that?!
An intense will radiated from Arberus. A powerful resolve that seemed to forbid anyone else from interfering in this conversation.
The five-hundred-year-old grudge that had been fading began to flare up again. The heat was so intense that Asran feared his soul would burn just by being near it.
Sword Saint Dain.
The protagonist of a legend Asran knew from the past… and a man who had become a legend in a different sense ever since his daughter entered the Academy. Recalling him, Asran pounded on the "screen" of his consciousness and shouted.
“You mustn't listen!”
It was the moment Asran’s half-asleep soul fully awakened, but…
—Ah…
Asran’s spiritual cry was slower than the devil’s whisper.