Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Hundred Steps Rite (3)
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The moment everyone performed the sword salute.
The gazes of the 50th Cohort naturally turned toward the special seats as well.
It felt as though they had no choice but to look, their bodies reacting on instinct.
Thanks to that, the 50th Cohort got a clear view.
Of a single figure entering the special spectator area.
Curly pure-white mid-length hair, forehead neatly swept back.
A slightly angular face connected to white sideburns and beard.
Clearly an old man's face, yet a sturdy 180 cm frame that looked like a young man's.
And those deep, pitch-black eyes.
Even from quite a distance, his form etched itself sharply into their vision for some reason.
His appearance captivated not just Yuri, but the entire 50th Cohort.
No, it would be more accurate to say they couldn't tear their eyes away from him.
As if their very souls had been seized.
As if something terrible would happen if they looked away.
They couldn't even twitch.
Step by step—.
With each of his footsteps, the sounds faded away.
Voices.
Breathing.
Even the tiniest sounds of movement.
Every sound in the world vanished.
In suffocating silence.
Under the watch of tens of thousands of eyes, the old man finally took his seat.
He sat upon the throne, languidly accepting the sword salutes from tens of thousands of Black Sword Soldiers.
As if it were only natural.
Stroke—thud.
The man lightly rested his chin on his hand, gazing down at the arena.
No one had told them who he was, but no one failed to recognize what he was.
Their instincts told them.
Someone murmured his name, as if entranced.
“Sword Lord… Luke Rider.”
It was a very small voice, but it was enough to snap people out of their daze.
Faces hazy as if emerging from a dream.
The suffocating silence lingered, but a sliver of composure returned.
Then someone else muttered softly.
“That’s the Sword Lord? He looks… surprisingly ordinary?”
Those born in the Era of Competition had grown up hearing tales of the Sword Lord since childhood.
The Absolute.
The man called the master of this world.
The peerless swordsman who had cleaved through the world single-handedly.
Children imagined his appearance as terrifying and exaggerated.
Like a demon king from legend, savage and fearsome.
Or with two or three extra arms compared to normal people.
Or a three-meter giant.
Kids grew up harboring such absurd fantasies, carrying the preconception that the Sword Lord must be extraordinary.
That was why they felt a touch of disappointment seeing his rather ordinary look, so far removed from the prejudices they'd held for over a decade.
On the other hand, some reacted to the mutter with incredulity.
Even as others regained some composure, there were those who still couldn't look away from the Sword Lord.
Arin and Poppi, Nelly Blanc, Clarice Van… and the heirs of several prestigious families, including Gunter Irons.
They stared at the Sword Lord, holding their breath.
The reason for their reaction was simple.
They saw as much as they knew.
Those who thought the Sword Lord ordinary were simply blind to everything.
Those who sensed something proportional to their own skill couldn't tear their eyes away.
And Yuri.
He, who had opened his Spirit Veins early and wielded incarnations, was in an even worse state than most.
From the moment the Sword Lord appeared, Yuri hadn't even blinked.
Shock filled his wide-open eyes.
“Ordinary? Ordinary…? That?”
How could anyone see that and say so?
Was the idiot who spouted that nonsense even looking at the same thing?
Whoooosh—.
Behold, the crimson aura filling the Sword Lord's surroundings, stretching up to the heavens!
It surged the instant he sat on the throne, dyeing the sky red.
An overwhelming presence that made his mind reel just from looking at it.
A ferocious momentum that could devour him whole if he let his guard slip even slightly.
To resist it, Yuri clenched his fists tightly.
At the same time, he let out a hollow, incredulous laugh.
“That’s a monster?”
Johan had called the Sword Lord a monster.
But facing him directly, Yuri shook his head.
“That’s… no mere monster.”
Long ago, as he wandered the world, Yuri had once witnessed a massive tornado devouring everything.
A stupendously enormous pillar of wind connecting earth and sky.
A natural disaster so vast and powerful that humans seemed like mere insects.
The Sword Lord was exactly that.
The Sword Lord… that thing wasn’t something you could just call a monster.
It was….
“A calamity.”
An unstoppable natural disaster, a calamity.
Having finally beheld the Sword Lord’s true form—known only through tales—Yuri was left dumbfounded.
“You old coot… You fought something like that? And planned to fight it again?”
He had challenged him twice.
Lost both times.
Yet Johan was preparing for a third.
Only now did Yuri understand why the world honored Johan with the title of Unbroken Sword.
In his eyes, simply surviving a fight against that absurdity was worthy of respect.
Moreover, Johan, unbowed, preparing another challenge—he truly deserved the praise of an “Unbroken Sword.”
As he stuck out his tongue in awe, Yuri recalled what he’d once said to Johan and chuckled.
[Simple enough. So basically, take down the strongest guy, and the whole world’s mine?]
How ridiculous must he have seemed to Johan, boldly declaring he’d topple the Sword Lord?
How much must he have laughed inwardly?
Even Yuri now found his past self laughably naive.
“Can you even beat that thing?”
No, beyond that—could you survive a fight with it?
Even if you survived, could you stand unbroken like Johan and challenge it again?
Such doubts welled up in Yuri’s chest.
And the chance to resolve them came soon enough.
Thud—.
The stomping sound echoed once more.
Drawing all eyes, Duran bared his teeth and declared.
“From this moment, the Hundred Steps Rite begins!”
Thud—.
Duran’s stomp served as the signal.
“……?!”
The Sword Lord’s crimson momentum, which had pierced the heavens, came crashing down into the arena.
* * *
The black-clad crowd filling the circular arena’s spectator seats.
Most were Black Sword Soldiers, but among them were riders from the Dragon’s Cradle.
Including the 49th Cohort, who had returned not long ago.
The fifth-year 46th Cohort, rarely seen as they underwent their graduation process.
And the 47th and 48th Cohorts, who had become the Cradle’s real power in place of the fifth-years.
Every cohort in the Dragon’s Cradle was present without exception.
Seated in sections divided by cohort.
Curiosity gleamed in their eyes.
What kind of guys came in this year?
Any with real talent?
And so on.
As they watched with various curiosities, the 50th Cohort finally entered the arena.
Murmurs rippled out at the sight.
“The 50th has a lot this year? Double what we had, easy.”
“Doesn’t matter. Most’ll be chaff anyway.”
Some cohorts said this upon seeing the 50th enter the arena.
The murmurs persisted softly afterward, but died down with Duran’s stomp.
Then came the drafting of last wills.
Followed by the sword salutes and the Sword Lord’s appearance.
“He’s here.”
“As expected, he came this year too!”
Many swallowed dryly at the Sword Lord’s entrance.
Gulp—.
Though the Dragon’s Cradle was the Sword Lord’s domain, chances for its members to see him were surprisingly rare.
Unless something special occurred, the Sword Lord remained in seclusion.
But once a year.
For the past 41 years without fail, there was one day he appeared publicly.
The day the new cohort held the Hundred Steps Rite.
“This… happens every year, but I still can’t get used to it.”
From the 46th to 49th Cohorts filling the seats now.
All of them had personally endured the Hundred Steps Rite.
So they knew exactly what was coming.
Thud—.
The sound of a foot slamming the ground rang out.
“From this moment, the Hundred Steps Rite begins.”
The cohorts’ eyes lit up at Duran’s voice.
“It’s starting.”
“Here we go!”
The experienced ones quickly circulated mana to shield their bodies and minds.
Soon, an intense momentum swept the arena.
Thud—plop—thump—.
People began collapsing like rotten straw bales.
Flop—thud—plop—.
As their numbers swelled exponentially, the cohorts’ eyes darted about.
“How many!”
“How many left?”
And finally.
Plop—.
After one more fell and no others followed, someone counted the survivors.
“Fifty-two… Not bad.”
The record for most survivors at the start belonged to the 37th Cohort’s sixty-five.
So fifty-two was quite respectable.
But no one thought that was what mattered.
The real test started now.
* * *
Pha!
Yuri exhaled roughly.
His heart, pounding from the deep breath, calmed a bit.
“What the hell was that just now…?”
The crimson momentum crashing into the arena had made him feel like the world was splitting apart.
The Sword Lord’s aura had been that horrifying.
And it hadn’t dissipated—it lingered, pressing down on Yuri’s body.
“Huuu….”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he took long, deep breaths to counter the pressure.
“If it’s this oppressive from this distance…?”
Yuri’s gaze turned to the special seats where the Sword Lord sat.
The space around him rippled as if warped by the aura he emitted.
Seeing it, he couldn’t help but click his tongue.
“No wonder few survived a direct hit.”
Yuri’s prediction was spot on.
Of the three hundred who’d been standing fine moments ago, most now lay sprawled on the ground.
No, if it were just fainting and collapsing, that’d be fortunate.
Kehk—.
Someone foaming at the mouth, limbs twitching.
Grrrk—.
Another with face buried in their own vomit.
And.
“That one’s… in bad shape.”
Someone who’d soiled themselves, sprawled in the mess.
Thus, the 50th Cohort divided into the fainted and the conscious.
The conscious split further into those standing and those crawling on the ground.
The crawlers looked ready to join the fainted soon.
Even among those standing, only a few—including Yuri—seemed in decent shape.
As Yuri surveyed his surroundings, Duran’s voice rang out again.
“In this Hundred Steps Rite, you have only one task.”
Even with most fainted and unresponsive, Duran continued indifferently.
As if he’d never cared about them to begin with.
In a flat voice, he said.
“Walk. Toward the master of the great sword. This is the trial the Sword Lord grants you.”
Only then did it all click for Yuri.
The hundred concentric circles centered on the special spectator seats.
And why this rite was called the Hundred Steps.
“Ha?”
Grit—.
Raising his head amid the pressure bearing down on his shoulders, Yuri.
Far away, at the end of a hundred steps, his eyes filled with the Sword Lord languidly overlooking the world.