Chapter 172
Chapter 172
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: The Fundamentals of Swordsmanship
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"My god..."
The young swordsman looked around at the gathered notables and let out a gasp of awe.
"All those people... no, all those masters... were disciples of Lord Ronhart...?"
A giant star had fallen.
Countless lesser stars had gathered in one place to mourn its passing.
It was the funeral of the Origin Sword, Ronhart.
There was no customary wailing or grief at the funeral.
Everyone knew that the Origin Sword had met a peaceful end, as if simply falling asleep.
Yet the atmosphere at the funeral was utterly somber.
"So in the end... no one, absolutely no one...?"
Swordmasters and the era's greatest warriors had assembled before the Origin Sword's tombstone, discussing their loss.
"Truly, no one was able to inherit his sword?"
An uncomfortable silence served as the answer, soon broken by deep sighs rising from all around.
No one had inherited the Origin Sword's blade.
There was a flaw in that statement.
After all, most of the swords they wielded were rooted in the Origin Sword's teachings.
And yet.
The swordmaster's words were undeniably true.
"Indeed. As you say, due to our own shortcomings, that sword has been lost to the ages."
The woman known as the Phantom Sword gazed at the Origin Sword's tombstone with eyes full of despair.
"Among the countless swords forged by that great master, the most refined one."
The Origin Sword. His swordsmanship was already complete.
This was a fact that all swordsmen believed without doubt.
But from one fateful day, that fact was rewritten.
The battle against the Murder Ghost of the Blue Lotus.
In that fight, the Origin Sword had confronted his limits and transcended them, truly elevating his sword to a new height.
The Origin Sword called this achievement "completion."
Meaning there was nothing beyond it.
Despite perfecting countless forms and techniques, he had never named any after himself.
The moment had arrived for the birth of the Origin Sword Style, the first to bear his name.
True to form, the Origin Sword sought to share his newfound enlightenment without reservation—
And the swordsmen, true to form, eagerly sought his guidance.
"I should have tried harder..."
"Don't say that. Who here didn't give their all?"
And yet.
In the end, no successor to the Origin Sword Style emerged.
"If I may make an excuse. That sword—it was utterly unlike anything he'd shown us before."
"...So I wasn't the only one who felt that way."
One swordmaster drew his blade as if entranced.
He slowly traced a line through the air.
"It was a sword that..."
The swordmaster trailed off and infused more power into his stroke.
The elegant, fluid line suddenly bucked wildly, without order.
Someone murmured softly at the sight of the sword.
"It was a sword so... labyrinthine that it hardly seemed his."
"Labyrinthine..."
A few nodded gravely at the word.
They understood.
That "labyrinthine" was a softened way of saying "savage."
"What on earth did he realize in that bloody clash with the Murder Ghost?"
The swordsman who left behind countless teachings.
He had departed the world without leaving even a single direct disciple.
Of course, a great legacy wasn't severed by a single break.
A callused, rough hand brushed over the Origin Sword's tombstone.
Other swordmasters followed, placing their hands on the stone.
They vowed.
"We will reclaim your lost sword, no matter what it takes."
The Origin Sword was dead.
Yet countless swordsmen still pursued his traces.
For the foundation and essence of orthodox swordsmanship lay there.
The Origin Sword, Ronhart.
Having borrowed Torben's body, he gazed at Rishir with shining eyes.
Thump!
Thump!
Ronhart felt his heart pounding.
Was it so striking because it had been so long since he'd felt a heartbeat?
No. That wasn't it.
This was a distinctly different sensation.
This unfamiliar thrill after so long. This emotion.
It was excitement.
He had certainly worried about Rishir's future, harboring the Murder Ghost within his inner world.
But more than that, he felt great expectations for the boy.
'To achieve that much at such a young age...'
His innate talent overflowed, and his youth held infinite potential for growth.
'This child might be able to inherit my sword.'
That thought now drove the Origin Sword, the foundation of orthodox swordsmanship.
Thus, Ronhart held great anticipation for Rishir's response after witnessing his sword—
And that anticipation was not betrayed.
-Uh... was that your swordsmanship?
Ronhart's eyes widened as he mulled over Rishir's words for a moment.
"Child. Have you ever witnessed my sword before?"
The strike Ronhart had just unleashed contained the essence of the Origin Sword Style.
'Follow forms and techniques, yet be unbound by them.'
It was the esoteric principle and swordsmanship that had confounded even the swordmasters who were his disciples in life.
To sense something from a single glimpse of such a technique was impressive in itself.
But to go further and speak of insight?
Thump! Thump! Thump!
There was no doubt now.
Ronhart felt his heart racing wildly.
"Shall I say I have insight into it?"
Instead of words, Rishir drew his sword.
And replicated the strike Ronhart had just performed.
"..."
Tremble.
Ronhart's body began to quiver faintly.
"A-again—"
"Yes?"
"Child, could you show it one more time?"
"Ah, yes. Gladly."
Thereafter.
Rishir replicated the strike at Ronhart's request, repeating the process several times.
"Hm? Wait. That part even more—"
In that brief exchange, Ronhart glimpsed the boy's miraculous aptitude for enlightenment.
Above all—
"Ah, ah, aah...!"
It was brilliant.
Rishir perfectly understood the principles within the Origin Sword Style and demonstrated them flawlessly.
'None of my disciples ever reached that level of comprehension...!'
For example.
Right now, Rishir was closer to him than any of the Origin Sword's disciples had ever been.
To the foundation of orthodox swordsmanship.
At this point.
Ronhart harbored no doubts or suspicions.
'It's this child!'
This boy was the man to carry on his will and become the foundation of orthodox swordsmanship.
Ronhart steeled his resolve.
"Child. Allow me a formal introduction. I am Ronhart Sha Mart, once called the Origin Sword."
"I'm Rishir."
"Yes. Rishir. I have a proposal for you. No, not a proposal."
Ronhart extended his hand to Rishir courteously.
"This is a plea."
"A plea...?"
"Yes. Rishir, I earnestly beg you—please inherit my sword. You are the only one who can."
Ronhart's body trembled greatly at his own words.
The Gray Wolf watching everything from within Rishir's inner world realized the gravity of that statement.
"My god..."
"A direct disciple of the Origin Sword..."
Gorein and Drei were equally stunned.
Those who knew the weight of the name Origin Sword understood what becoming his direct disciple meant.
If Rishir accepted the Origin Sword's offer—
In time, he would become the foundation for all orthodox swordsmen.
"Will you grant my request?"
"..."
Rishir's face clouded with anguish at Ronhart's proposal.
His lips moved faintly.
'He's conversing with the Murder Ghost in his inner world.'
Ronhart barely suppressed the urge to shout at him not to listen to that vile whisper.
The decision rested solely with Rishir.
"To tell you in advance, I have already inherited someone else's swordsmanship."
Ronhart envisioned Rishir's life in his mind.
He had trained under an excellent master his whole life, only to be possessed by the Murder Ghost's lingering thoughts due to some incident.
"I figured as much. No one could achieve that on their own. That swordsmanship you just showed—was it from your master's teachings?"
"Yes."
"Then he must be a fine man."
Ronhart spoke without the slightest hesitation.
"..."
Rishir averted his eyes awkwardly.
Ronhart burst into laughter at the sight.
"No need to be embarrassed. Nothing speaks to a swordsman like his sword. Even if you don't feel that way, the one who taught you is fundamentally exceptional. I, Ronhart, guarantee it. So no need to feel conflicted."
"...I see."
Rishir awkwardly looked away.
Ronhart thought to himself at the sight.
'Looks like things aren't great between him and his master!'
That was good for him.
"By the way, I still haven't heard your answer? Ah, my fault for interrupting. Sorry. Go on."
"...Well, the one who taught me my swordsmanship also holds your sword in high regard. He said it's definitely a style worth adopting."
Rishir was considerably surprised.
It was the first time his "master" had acknowledged another person's swordsmanship so highly.
"Holds it in high regard... worth adopting... Well now. Not sure if I should say this about your master, but quite the bold statement. Seems like a very pragmatic sort. Am I right?"
"Yes."
"Hm. I'd like to meet him face-to-face sometime."
"Really?"
"Yes. I guarantee we'd get along famously."
Hahaha!
A hearty laugh erupted from Ronhart, who eagerly anticipated the meeting.
"Ha ha..."
Rishir could only smile wryly.
"So, Lord Ronhart. If I may be so bold, if I learn your swordsmanship, it would be in a very utilitarian, profit-driven manner."
"Meaning?"
"I wouldn't dare call myself your disciple, nor walk the path you envision."
"Heh heh, just like his master. Brazen to the core."
"Rishir...!"
At that moment, Gorein fidgeted anxiously and shot Rishir a look.
From an orthodox swordsman's perspective, those words were hard to overlook.
If the opponent weren't Rishir, Gorein would have yelled "Charge!" long ago.
"Enough."
Ronhart stopped Gorein.
"What can I do? I'm the desperate one here."
Rishir.
Ronhart met his eyes directly.
"Then I'll add a condition of my own. For the next week, I'll teach you intensively. During that time, do not heed a word from the Murder Ghost in your inner world."
Ronhart remembered the Murder Ghost's sword.
He didn't know how the Murder Ghost had infiltrated Rishir's inner world.
But judging by Rishir's state, he clearly hadn't been fully consumed by her evil blade yet.
One week.
Ronhart planned to help Rishir expel the Murder Ghost completely.
At that moment.
"..."
The voice of the Murder Ghost echoing from the inner world.
Rishir nodded.
"Understood."
"Good! Then head in and rest for today."
With that, Rishir parted ways with the group, looking forward to tomorrow.
"Ah...!"
Ronhart relinquished Torben's body as well.
The Origin Sword's will dwelled within Torben's blade.
"Lord Ronhart, are you truly alright with this!?"
Torben practically clung to his sword as he asked.
Ronhart replied in a leisurely tone.
"The boy is blessed with heavenly talent. Those honest eyes. That pure aura. One week is enough. In that week, he'll realize his true nature and the path he must walk."
The next morning.
It would normally be time for Rishir's morning training.
At that hour, Rishir faced (Ronhart borrowing) Torben in the mansion's rear garden as planned.
"Hm?"
Ronhart scanned Rishir's appearance and spoke.
"Did something happen last night?"
He read the signs of fatigue on his face.
"Ah. You noticed. Sorry to worry you. It won't affect training."
"Is that so? Well, you know your own condition best."
Ronhart said that, but inwardly he was displeased.
Due to his immense expectations for Rishir.
'I told him to be in top form yesterday.'
To let such prodigious talent go to waste.
'Plenty with half that talent give up.'
Drunk on innate gifts, they walk the path of indolence.
Ronhart had seen countless such ruined souls.
'Doesn't smell like alcohol... Did he spend the night with those women?'
Thinking to guide him onto the righteous path, Ronhart spoke sternly.
That pure talent for swordsmanship.
He seemed born to walk the path of a pure orthodox swordsman.
To Ronhart, Rishir was already the future of orthodox swordsmanship.
"So. What did you do last night? If it's hard to say, no need."
"I trained astrology. I've nearly mastered summoning my guardian constellation."
"..."
Ronhart, who had been staring intently at Rishir, averted his gaze.
"...Astrology, huh. Never heard of that sword style."
"Pardon?"