The Sword Emperor and His Disciple
Luke Harlan, the Sword Emperor, served as one of the Emperor’s direct secret agents—a member of the Blood Crow. Yet everyone in the world knew his name. Commoners had no idea he belonged to that shadowy organization, but they all knew him as the Sword Master who had reached a realm most could only dream of once in a century, the man they called the Sword Emperor.
For over seventy years he had taken not a single disciple. The continent’s strongest swordsman had refused every plea. Men who once sought his teaching as youths now led their own noble houses, yet Luke Harlan still reigned supreme. Their children grew up and approached him with the same request, only to be turned away just like their fathers.
Those who burned with ambition and a craving for recognition demanded to know why he rejected them. His answer never changed.
“If you can train in Mt. Ksir for three full years without descending the mountain, I will accept you as my disciple immediately.”
Everyone interpreted the words as “I will never take a disciple.” So they had all given up. Then came the news that Luke had returned with some nobody as his student. The revelation was enough to blow every rejected noble scion’s top clean off.
Every young master who had been refused now applied for a duel, determined to prove they were superior to this mystery disciple and finally earn Luke’s recognition. With the Emperor himself providing the stage, no better arena could exist.
And so, when they finally laid eyes on Luke’s disciple in the training ground, the nobles thought Aran looked like a complete fool.
He knew nothing of duel etiquette between nobles, followed none of the proper procedures, and his bearing and speech were as crude as they came. True, he possessed an enormous frame packed with dense, powerful muscle, but in this world strength was not decided by size alone, so no one paid that fact any mind. The mana they sensed from him was nothing special either. Everyone underestimated the boy and charged in.
Only to be crushed.
“W-why… why did I lose? He didn’t even show any sign of drawing out mana…?”
Bambo, second son of House Komon, muttered in utter bewilderment after being defeated in a single blow. The spectators were just as stunned. From what they could see, Aran didn’t know how to wrap his weapon in mana, nor did he know how to strengthen his body with his own inner energy. Meanwhile Bambo’s mana had exploded the moment the duel began. He might not have formed clean aura, but he had coated his blade in clearly visible, rippling mana.
Yet the instant their practice blades met, every trace of mana on Bambo’s weapon vanished, and his sword shattered to pieces.
It was the exact same pattern of defeat as the twelve who had fallen before him. Even after watching the same process thirteen times, most of the onlookers still couldn’t grasp how it was happening.
“No, seriously, what the hell? He didn’t pull mana into his blade at all. He just swung once—how did the Komon boy’s sword break?”
“Pure physical strength? That’s impossible. Destroying a mana-infused weapon so easily without using any mana of your own can’t be done.”
“Maybe, for the sake of Sir Luke’s reputation, they did something to the practice sword that boy is using…”
The nobles tentatively concluded that the sword Aran wielded must have been tampered with and spoke to the knight acting as referee.
“Hold on! Before the next duel, we request that the sword used by Sir Luke’s disciple be replaced!”
“Pardon? Is that really permissible…?”
The referee glanced toward the Emperor, who was watching with the others. Theodore IV gave a small nod.
“There is no problem. Change the sword.”
Aran’s blade was swapped for another. The fourteenth challenger immediately rushed him, but the result was identical. The moment their weapons met, the shimmering mana coating the noble’s blade evaporated completely, and he was defeated before he could even launch a proper attack.
The final duel will now begin between Sir Luke’s disciple Aran and Lady Amari Durendal!
Emperor Theodore IV of the Paulia Empire gazed at the young man Luke had brought with a mixture of astonishment, admiration, and pure shock. Though not on Luke’s level, Theodore had awakened as a Sword Master at a fairly young age and had personally led campaigns that vastly expanded the empire’s territory. While the other nobles couldn’t even begin to guess at Aran’s true realm, Theodore could dimly perceive it.
That bastard Luke really went and brought back something that isn’t even human.
Meanwhile, Luke sat with a proud little smile, watching the nobles witness a mere fragment of the overwhelming martial prowess his disciple possessed. A middle-aged man approached and took the seat beside him. He was noticeably younger than Luke, yet time had still threaded gray through his hair.
“Sir Luke, it has been far too long.”
Luke returned the greeting with a warm laugh and offered his hand.
“My apologies for not visiting sooner, Duke Durendal.”
After they shook hands, the two men sat side by side and observed the one-sided duels between Aran and the other noble heirs. As Aran continued his unbroken winning streak in battles that could hardly even be called fights, Duke Durendal finally spoke.
“When I heard that the ever-stubborn Sir Luke had finally bent and taken a disciple, I rushed here at once out of sheer curiosity. Yet the duels are turning out far more anticlimactic than I expected. It doesn’t look as though they’re holding back.”
“Heh heh, does it appear that way to you? To my eyes, they are all truly giving it their utmost.”
“Is that so? Then how is it that every single one of them is collapsing after one exchange…? That young man doesn’t even seem to be using any special technique.”
While Duke Durendal voiced his doubts, only one challenger remained. The defeated youths, still wearing expressions of utter incomprehension, suddenly widened their eyes at the sight of the final participant and quickly stepped aside to clear a path.
“The participant for the final duel is Lady Amari of House Durendal!”
“Huh? Wasn’t it already over? I didn’t see her the entire time the matches were going on,” Aran asked.
The answer came from Amari herself. She had short, blazing-red hair that burned like fire.
“I was meditating in the knights’ lounge to maintain peak condition until the very start. You don’t look particularly tired. You’re not going to back out now, are you?”
When Luke saw Amari accept a practice sword and point it at Aran, he let out a hearty chuckle and turned to Duke Durendal.
“Heh heh, your granddaughter’s spirit remains as fierce as ever.”
“After you rejected her request for instruction during your brief return to the palace years ago, she only grew more stubborn. She claimed she wasn’t good enough to catch your eye and trained like a woman possessed. It was almost frightening to watch. Thanks to that, she has already left the realm of Sword Expert far behind at her age.”
“Oh? If I recall correctly, your granddaughter is only eighteen now. That is truly remarkable.”
Duke Durendal leaned forward slightly at Luke’s words.
“Which brings me to my point, Sir Luke. There is no need to do this in front of His Majesty, his retainers, and all the other nobles. Would you not reconsider? I am not asking you to cast out the disciple you have already accepted. I simply wish to know—if my granddaughter’s skill is sufficient—”
Luke smiled at the Duke’s request.
“Duke Durendal. I believe you already know where I have been all this time?”
“Yes. I heard you were training in Mt. Ksir.”
“Then you must also know exactly what kind of place Mt. Ksir is.”
“Of course. It is the most horrific living hell on this earth. A single goblin there can fight ten knights.”
The moment he heard the name Mt. Ksir, Duke Durendal’s brow furrowed. It had long been designated a completely off-limits zone for ordinary people. Even those who considered themselves strong avoided entering. It was an inhuman demonic realm. Yet it was also a high-risk, high-return training ground where truly powerful experts drew upon its overflowing mana to temper themselves.
Guessing at the meaning behind Luke’s mention of the mountain, the Duke added, “Of course the boy called Aran would have trained there under your guidance. But my granddaughter can also endure training in Mt. Ksir. If that is the requirement to become your disciple, then she should qualify. When Amari was not yet thirteen, she went there to train and lasted a full fifteen days.”
Duke Durendal’s shoulders squared with pride, his face glowing with satisfaction.
“Seventeen years.”
“…Pardon?”
The Duke blinked at the sudden statement.
“Seventeen years ago, I discovered a starving three-year-old child abandoned at the entrance of Mt. Ksir. Even the entrance is still Mt. Ksir. No three-year-old should be able to survive there. Yet he was alive. In relatively good condition, at that. Exposure to the mountain’s mana inevitably causes mana poisoning and physical abnormalities, and children who have not learned to circulate mana normally cannot last more than six hours. That is common knowledge.”
“So that is why you took him in?”
“I do not know how long he had been left there, but after seeing a child of that age alive inside Mt. Ksir, I decided to help him recover, at least until his body healed. Several days passed before his injuries fully mended, yet he showed no signs of discomfort. Since he knew neither his parents nor where he lived, I left him outside the mountain. But the boy came back to the hut where I was staying on his own two feet, complaining that he was hungry.”
“That cannot be…”
“One thing led to another. I fed him, gave him a place to sleep, and eventually realized his constitution was extraordinary, so I began training him. He would cry, whine, and throw tantrums saying he couldn’t do it, but he still followed through. I continued teaching him with the casual attitude of a beggar handing out alms. I thought that with his talent, even if he eventually gave up and descended the mountain, he would at least be able to live as a proper knight somewhere.”
Luke’s eyes grew nostalgic as he recalled the past.
“This is a different question, but how long do you believe you could last in Mt. Ksir, Duke Durendal?”
“Heh heh… that is a rather cruel question for someone like me. I am not as strong as you, Sir Luke. Honestly, I doubt I could endure even a single day.”
Luke glanced briefly at Aran and Amari as they prepared for their duel.
“Seventeen years.”
“Did you not say that earlier?”
“That is the amount of time since I first discovered the boy… and also the number of years he has lived inside Mt. Ksir without taking a single step outside its boundaries.”
At first Duke Durendal did not understand. Several seconds passed before the meaning of Luke’s words sank in. His mouth fell open, his face a mixture of shock, horror, and disbelief.
The final duel between Luke Harlan’s disciple Aran and Lady Amari Durendal was about to begin.