Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Shedding (3)
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After finishing off Dutz's gang and Puddak's crew.
Yuri left the town and hurried into a nearby forest path where no one was around.
He confirmed there were no people nearby and quickly hunched over.
*Cough!*
He hurriedly covered his mouth with his hand at the erupting cough.
Red blood seeped out between his pale white fingers.
It was blood that looked serious at a glance.
But Yuri wiped the blood from his lips as if it were nothing.
"Ah... damn pig bastard."
Cursing Dutz with an irritated glare, Yuri collapsed to the ground from a headache that felt like it was splitting his skull.
"Urk!"
In his intense pain, he quickly pulled a pouch from his bosom.
Yuri took out a pill made from mashed herbs from the leather pouch and swiftly chewed and swallowed it.
He took rough deep breaths, waiting for the medicine to take effect.
"Hoo, hoo."
Even though it was a potent painkiller herb, the headache didn't subside easily.
His face twisted further at the sticky feel of blood on his palm.
'Damn it!'
The 'Black Calamity' that wiped out the Pauli family and hunted down all those connected to him.
The monstrous terror that suddenly appeared and claimed countless lives vanished without a trace at some point.
Some said the Black Calamity had been slain, while others claimed it had moved elsewhere.
But the truth was different.
'That's why I didn't want to use it.'
Eight years ago, when he had gone mad with frenzy in his eyes.
What stopped Yuri, who had been feared as the Black Calamity, was not a subjugation force but himself.
More precisely, it was the state of his battered body.
'To end up like this just from dipping my toes in...'
He first realized the 'curse' around the age of eight.
It was near the end of his bloody revenge when he suddenly vomited blood and passed out.
After the same thing repeated several times, Yuri realized.
'The power I thought came without a price... was actually a curse eating away at my lifeline.'
His body now was like a bomb with its fuse lit.
Even at rest, the burning fuse consumed him.
And the more power he used, the faster it burned.
'How much of my fuse is left...?'
If the fuse burned out completely and the bomb exploded, would he die?
Or would the black monster devour him?
Either way, it would clearly mark the end of the man called 'Yuri Holland.'
'I need to find a way to lift this curse.'
Eight years ago, the raging fury and murderous intent had been quelled by his survival instinct.
Yuri wandered the world like a stray dog, suppressing his power and curse as much as possible while searching for a way to control it.
But nowhere did he uncover even the identity of the 'black monster,' let alone the cause of his body's deterioration.
With each failure, his longing for life turned into obsession.
Now just fifteen years old.
He knew his time was limited as a terminal case, but he didn't know when the end would come.
He might live another ten years, or he might not wake up tomorrow morning—an uncertain future.
Every day was precious yet agonizing for Yuri.
Tired of that life, he had stayed in the Irons territory for half a year to rest.
But.
"...Guess it's time to leave this place too."
Yuri felt it was time to move on again.
If he stayed longer, he'd grow complacent.
"Hoo..."
As the headache subsided somewhat, Yuri stood and headed to the hideout he had made.
And in the darkness.
Rustle.
A gaze watching Yuri's back as he entered the forest blinked and then vanished.
* * *
The next morning.
Yuri was in Irons territory.
He blinked at the palpable bustle he felt on his skin.
'A lot of people gathered.'
From the gates entering the territory to the town square.
The wide main street was packed with territory folk standing shoulder to shoulder.
There was one reason they had gathered.
To catch a glimpse of those they had awaited for the past three months.
It was also why Yuri had entered the territory.
'Black Sword Soldiers.'
No one on the continent didn't know the fame of the Black Sword Soldiers.
The Sword Lord's personal guard.
The world's strongest armed force.
Guardians of the Cradle, and more.
Yet despite their illustrious reputation, chances to encounter them were once-in-a-lifetime at best.
Even Yuri, who had wandered the continent for years, had never seen them.
'If I'm leaving Irons, it wouldn't hurt to see the Black Sword Soldiers this time.'
Otherwise, when would he get another chance?
As Yuri turned his gaze to the gates with that thought.
Groooan.
Far away, the territory gates slowly rose upward.
Murmurs erupted here and there soon after.
"Whoa, they're here!"
"They've arrived?"
People turned their heads toward the gates one after another.
Thud.
The gates fully opened at last.
Beyond the open doors, they stood.
Black uniforms adorned with golden embroidery.
Black cloaks draped over their shoulders.
Just like their name, five Black Sword Soldiers in black uniforms rode brown horses into the territory.
Clop-clop.
"Woooaaah!"
"Black Sword Soldiers!"
"Guardians of the Cradle!"
The long-awaited arrival.
As the mounted Black Sword Soldiers passed, the territory folk cheered wildly.
Yuri watched the Black Sword Soldiers too.
What struck him first was their blade-like aura.
Then, as he met their eyes, cold sweat beaded faintly down his back.
'Those bastards...'
Did the cheering crowd know?
What kind of gaze the Black Sword Soldiers turned on them?
He was probably the only one here who noticed.
'They don't... see people as people.'
The Black Sword Soldiers looked at people like slightly large rocks by the roadside.
As if they were nuisances.
As if they could be swept away anytime if needed.
'What a filthy gaze.'
As memories of that day eight years ago resurfaced at their eyes, Yuri's expression hardened.
* * *
A neatly maintained training ground.
A boy swung dual swords while sweating.
Dark blond hair and green eyes.
Distinct features and a rather cold impression.
The handsome boy focused on training as if he'd forgotten time.
Whoosh.
A long sword swung vertically down with a heavy whoosh.
The heavy blade, burdensome even for a normal person to lift, traced the exact same path without a millimeter's error, like measured with a ruler.
'Erase thoughts and stare at the sword tip.'
The blond boy, Gunter.
He stared at the sword tip with astonishing concentration.
As his mind focused on the sword, its sharpness grew denser.
Then, at some point.
-------
The whoosh that had filled the air until moments ago vanished.
Though the swing speed was unchanged.
When the sound completely disappeared.
"Hup!"
Gunter exhaled sharply.
A faint slicing sound emerged.
Slice.
Then, 0.5 seconds later, a sound on another level erupted.
Fwoooom!
Rough winds burst out from where Gunter stood.
The fierce gust shook his hair and cooled his flowing sweat.
"Hoo..."
Only then did Gunter stop his sword and regulate his breathing.
The heat rising from his flesh cleared his mind.
As he finished heating his body and calmed his heart.
"Done?"
At the deep voice from behind, Gunter sheathed his sword and turned.
"You've come?"
Where Gunter's gaze landed stood a middle-aged man with an impression as heavy as his voice.
The private training ground usable only by the family head and direct kin.
And there weren't many who the young heir of Irons would bow to.
It was Irons' lord, Ashraf.
Watching his sweating son, he asked.
"How's your body?"
"Good."
Even as blood father and son, the atmosphere between them was rigid.
It felt less like parent and child, more like sovereign and subject.
Their sparse words only accentuated it.
Son and father stared at each other.
In the silence, Ashraf unusually spoke at length.
"You'll pass the Cradle's Proof easily. But that just means standing at the starting line of the competition... What importance is there in merely reaching the start? That's not what I expect from you."
"......"
"In the past fifty years, the Cradle has produced countless powerhouses. It's no exaggeration to say the continent changes by the hands of Cradle alumni—and no one knows that better than those who've been through it."
These were words infused with Ashraf's experience of returning from the Cradle to lead Irons' revival.
Gunter listened intently to his father.
"Because those who've been to the Cradle once keep pushing their heirs there... today's Cradle is a microcosm of world powers."
Light flashed in Ashraf's eyes as he looked at his son.
"So rise to the pinnacle of the Cradle. You, Gunter Irons, heir of this Ashraf!"
"......"
"Prove you're the best. The five years you prove in the Cradle will lead to Irons' glory for the next fifty."
In the Cradle, a microcosm of continental powers.
At that arena of top geniuses from each faction, reach the peak.
It was undoubtedly immense pressure.
But Ashraf knew well.
His son wouldn't waver at this much.
"I shall."
Gunter replied stiffly, his expression unchanged.
At his son's answer, Ashraf smiled faintly.
As if he'd expected exactly that.
It was then.
Woooaaah!
Cheers from outside wiped the smile from Ashraf's face.
"Seems the supporting cast has entered the stage we've prepared."
The grandest stage prepared for today.
No matter what anyone said, the star of the stage to proclaim Irons' prestige was his son.
"Let's go."
"Yes."
Ashraf and Gunter.
The leads of this stage stepped toward it.
* * *
Cheers from the gates followed the Black Sword Soldiers to the square.
In the central square, a vast space cleared specially for today, soldiers formed a circular human barrier.
Those blocked by soldiers clamored.
"Hey, this is too far! What can we even see from here?"
"Let us get a bit closer!"
"This is already pushing it. Don't go closer and risk getting stabbed—just watch from here."
"Sheesh..."
"Lord's orders. Get closer, and you'll spend tonight in a cell."
"Ugh..."
Grumbling but silenced by mention of the lord's command, they backed off.
The square teemed with people.
Some gave up getting close and climbed nearby trees or roofs for spots.
Their eyes stayed glued to the Black Sword Soldiers who had dismounted at the square's center.
Though gawked at by crowds, the Black Sword Soldiers showed no reaction.
They just stood guard.
How much time passed like that.
Boom.
With majestic drumbeats, a large group appeared from the path leading from the lord's castle.
"It's the lord!"
"Young Master Gunter!"
People cheered toward the lord and today's star, Gunter, beside him.
And finally.
Step-step.
The two groups met at the square's center.
As territory lord, Ashraf greeted them.
"You must be tired from the long journey."
"......"
Despite the lord's welcome, the Black Sword Soldiers didn't even reply.
Just indifferent gazes.
At their rudeness, retainers' brows twitched.
But the lord, knowing well what they were, brushed it off.
Then one Black Sword Soldier stepped forward.
"Recommender, Cradle 29th Cohort Ashraf Irons—present the Dragon Token."
Flat tone.
As he finished, a retainer behind Ashraf brought a luxurious wooden stand.
Inside lay a golden token engraved with a dragon.
The Dragon Token, called the enrollment pass and diploma for Cradle alumni.
Also a letter of recommendation usable only once in a lifetime.
The Black Sword Soldier checked and reclaimed the token, then shouted again.
"The examinee, step forward."
With that, armored Gunter advanced.
"Eldest son of Irons, Gunter. I seek to take the Cradle's trial."
His disciplined poise, unbefitting a fifteen-year-old boy, pleased retainers and spectators alike.
The Black Sword Soldier's voice followed.
"By the great Sword Lord's statutes, under the witness of Black Sword Squad 8's five members, the Cradle qualification trial now begins!"
Infused with mana, his voice spread across the square.
Gunter stepped forward.
He raised his sword to face height, blade facing front.
The salute knights perform before crossing blades with foes.
As Gunter took stance, one Black Sword Soldier—the youngest-looking—advanced.
Shing.
His drawn sword was a straight single-edged blade.
The weapon favored by those called warriors.
As the two faced off at center, onlookers swallowed dryly, focusing.
"It, it's starting."
"Young master, do your best!"
Amid surrounding tension and excitement, the sword-drawn Black Sword Soldier spoke.
"The trial ends with one exchange. Enter when ready."
One exchange.
The trial's pass or fail decided in a single clash.
In other words, Gunter had to pour everything into one strike.
'Opponent is a Black Sword Soldier.'
Unknown exact rank, but at least certified Rank 1 or higher.
Not someone a mere uncertified Grade 1 like him could handle.
'My best shot.'
Resolved, Gunter inhaled.
Siii.
On the first breath, Irons' Demonic Body Art, honed over ten years, stirred.
Swooo.
The next breath invigorated his muscles; atmospheric mana riding his breath touched his own.
His mana mass, accumulated since birth, writhed.
'Mana is the firewood piled in the flesh.'
Soon, sparks on dry wood made his pre-warmed body radiate heat.
And.
'Breath is the wind that fans mana’s flame!'
Hup!
On the sharp breath, Gunter's body exploded into motion.
'Thus, I become heaven's sovereign!'
Bang.
Steel boots crushed the ground, cratering it and propelling him forward.
Boom!
Truly explosive.
To normal eyes, Gunter seemed to vanish.
Landing before the Black Sword Soldier with mighty leap force, Gunter gripped his long sword two-handed and swung.
Tsss.
Some five hundred years ago.
Irons' founder created the Demonic Body Art and swordsmanship inspired by a lightning-wielding Griffin King.
Among them, three white lightning claws mimicking griffon talons targeted the Black Sword Soldier's throat.
A scene where flesh seemed about to be shredded by claws any second.
Retainers' faces lit with surprise.
'Three claws!'
'Already unleashing three claws!'
At peak mastery, five claws emerge.
Three claws at fifteen was astonishing proficiency.
'Perfect.'
Gunter's eyes gleamed as he unleashed three claws.
The power transfer from ground kick.
Technique proficiency containing that power.
Not his strongest, but his finest strike.
He believed it would yield results.
As the three claws neared the heart.
Shuruk.
A single flash slithered like a snake, curving between the claws.
Clang!
A bizarre clang echoed as Gunter's body flew back.
Zzzzt.
Kneeling and skidding three meters, Gunter glanced at his suddenly lighter sword.
"...?!"
Seeing the snapped blade, Gunter's eyes shook.
'This... easily?'
He expected the attack to be blocked, but not his sword breaking.
A knight's sword symbolized faith and oath—its break rattled him deeply.
"What? What just happened?"
"It's over? It flashed and ended."
"Young master lost? What does this mean? Fail the trial?"
"Don't jinx it!"
"Quiet down! Listen to what they say!"
As the crowd buzzed over the result, Gunter's opponent sheathed his sword.
Click.
The sheathing signaled; the five Black Sword Soldiers spoke in turn.
"Standard: High."
"Standard: Supreme."
"Standard: High."
"Standard: Supreme."
"Standard: Supreme."
Two highs, three supremes.
Squad 8's leader tallied.
"Overall standard: Supreme. Pass."
He tossed a token at Gunter.
Not the reclaimed gold Dragon Token, but platinum.
Engraved with 50 on back.
Proof of becoming the Cradle's 50th cohort.
Silence hung as Gunter caught it.
Seconds later.
Woooaaah!
The crowd unleashed pent-up cheers.
They didn't grasp the exchange's meaning.
But the great lord's heir passing the Cradle trial filled them with pride.
Amid the cheers, Ashraf stood by his son.
Reproof flowed from his lips.
"The one you faced was a mere grunt from the Black Sword Legion. For your sword to break against such..."
"...My apologies."
"Refine yourself further."
"I will heed it."
Watching his deeply bowed son, Ashraf turned.
A retainer approached, whispering cheerily in Gunter's ear.
"Don't take it to heart."
"But... my sword broke."
"Even Black Sword Legion grunts are at least certified Rank 3."
"...A single grunt is that strong?"
"Why do you think they're the world's strongest force? Breaking your sword means your attack was so formidable he misjudged his strength control. The lord knows, but chided you out of propriety—don't worry."
"Adolf, back to position."
"Eek!"
The whispering retainer startled like a startled deer at Ashraf's call and retreated.
Not forgetting a wink at Gunter.
And as Adolf said, Ashraf was inwardly pleased.
'Good.'
His own Cradle entry grade was high.
His son getting the supreme-grade platinum White Dragon Token—how could a father not rejoice?
Ashraf smiled faintly toward the Black Sword Soldiers.
"You must be weary from the road, so we've prepared a banquet. Enjoy and rest."
But the squad leader replied curtly.
"Mission complete. We're leaving. Cradle entry details will be handled by someone from there later."
With that, he led his squad to the horses without lingering.
From arrival to trial's end, barely ten minutes.
The effort to welcome them felt futile.
Yet no one could stop the departing Black Sword Soldiers.
They could only watch their backs wistfully.
It was right then.
A raspy voice from the crowd halted the Black Sword Soldiers' steps.
"Since you've come all this way, handle one more thing before you go."