Chapter 52
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: A Sense of Unease
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Rimon snapped his eyes open.
At the same time, he drew the sword from beside his bed.
Adopting a stance ready to counter any sudden ambush, he spoke in a low voice.
"Who is it?"
It was less a question than a warning.
A final ultimatum to whoever dared approach carelessly: prepare to be cut down by his blade.
The words of a Sword Master, laced with chilling killing intent that even a monarch couldn't ignore.
The response from the other side was simple.
"Room service."
"...What service?"
"Room service. I've brought breakfast."
Stunned for a moment by the unexpectedly polite reply from beyond the door, Rimon blinked blankly.
Then he scanned his surroundings.
A massive bed in an even more spacious room, a carpet on the floor, paintings on the walls, and more.
After carefully taking in the luxurious interior that reeked of high class at first glance, Rimon finally relaxed.
'Ah, right. This is Hotel Leviathan.'
Habits were a scary thing.
It had already been several days since he'd checked in, but out of ingrained reflex, he'd drawn his sword upon waking—Rimon sighed at his own foolish antics.
His mind knew it was safe.
But years of battling the Seven Dragon Society had conditioned his body to perceive this place as enemy territory.
"May I come in?"
"Yeah, sure."
Clang.
After Rimon sheathed his sword.
The elderly man in a suit, Youin, pushed in a cart as if he'd been waiting, showing no sign of agitation at the sight of Rimon holding a drawn blade.
Either he was used to it by now.
Or utterly unflappable—he calmly set the breakfast on the table.
Placing napkin-wrapped silverware, steaming pumpkin soup, toast topped with bacon and a half-boiled fried egg, and even pouring lemon water.
Like a muted video.
Watching Youin prepare the meal without a single sound or hint of presence, Rimon clicked his tongue.
'No wonder I can't relax.'
The clueless might just be impressed.
His flawless movements, devoid of any noise, could be the epitome of service industry perfection.
But Rimon knew better.
That silence wasn't for the guest's comfort—it was the honed skill of concealing one's presence to approach and eliminate a target.
It was only natural.
This was Hotel Leviathan, after all. Before the world's finest hotel, it was the Black Dragon Clan's nest.
That was why Rimon spoke mockingly as he bit into the toast.
"Does the hotel manager really need to handle room service himself?"
"Providing special service to special guests is part of the manager's duties."
"What an honor."
"The honor is mine."
He hadn't expected to host Rimon as a guest.
Was it sarcasm or sincerity?
Impossible to tell from his impeccably courteous demeanor—Rimon shot Youin a glare for a moment before finishing his toast with a grumble in his mind: Dealing with the Black Dragon Clan is always a pain.
"Whatever this special service is, I'll admit the food's good."
"Thank you for enjoying it."
"Not thanking you. Thanking the chef who made it."
"Then I must thank you on their behalf."
"Huh?"
Blinking once.
Rimon glanced between the empty plates he'd devoured and Youin, asking awkwardly.
"Wait, did you make this?"
"As I said, special service is part of the manager's duties."
"...Damn, can't a manager just stick to running the place? Why's he this good at cooking too?"
Rimon unconsciously furrowed his brow.
The toast's crisp bread.
The perfectly runny fried egg.
Even the delicate salting.
Without any fancy techniques, the exquisite skill shone through—it was unmistakably the work of a top-tier chef.
Youin didn't puff up with pride.
As if it were a trifling talent, he replied calmly.
"When you've lived as long as I have, you pick up all sorts of skills."
"...Are you mocking me? Saying that even after all these years, all I've learned is swinging a sword?"
"Heavens, no."
"Yeah, right."
True to form as the manager.
Snorting at Youin's politely barbed words, Rimon nonetheless lifted the cup of pumpkin soup and slurped it down.
It might irk him a bit, but unless it was poisoned, there was no reason to refuse the meal.
After finishing breakfast and rinsing his mouth with lemon water, Rimon suddenly asked.
"The princess?"
"She's gone out."
"It's barely 6 a.m., and she's busy already?"
"Certain someone created a lot of urgent matters that need her personal attention."
A pointed remark that Li Chingwei was swamped because of him.
"Why didn't you raise your kids better? She could've delegated if she had reliable underlings."
A bone-chilling jab implying she was handling everything herself because she didn't trust him.
"I regret that too, but there are clan matters only the princess can resolve personally."
A counter that an outsider like him had no right to comment.
"Too bad. If she'd just fed me, I could've helped."
Facts violence implying marriage to Li Chingwei would put him above Youin in rank.
It was a dragon-tiger clash.
No blades drawn,
but they didn't hesitate to stab venomous intent into each other with razor-sharp words.
Yet despite the fierce exchange, the atmosphere between them was far from hostile—peaceful, even serene.
No, utterly tranquil.
Both Rimon and Youin were veterans of the martial world.
For those who'd survived countless battles where heads flew in an instant and could smile while stabbing hearts, this banter was mere lighthearted jest.
As their cordial chat continued briefly.
Once Rimon finished eating, Youin cleared the empty dishes and politely inquired.
"What are your plans for today?"
"Plans? Like I have anything pressing here."
Rimon scoffed lightly.
And voiced the one routine he'd repeated endlessly these past few days.
"Gonna do my morning training."
He swung the sword.
Not fast, but slow.
Smoothly, like parting clouds.
Yet heavily, as if gripping a boulder.
So slow it seemed frozen, yet ceaselessly flowing without pause—its fluid elegance was art itself.
A pinnacle of slowness' beauty in Dull Sword technique, impossible to look away from once seen.
"Ah, shit."
But its wielder.
Rimon, who had silently swung for a full four hours since breakfast, stopped with a curse.
Sheathing the blade neatly, he wiped sweat with a towel and scowled fiercely.
"Doesn't work after all, huh?"
It was unusual.
Not the sword training itself.
For Rimon, sword practice was daily routine. Unless insanely busy, he'd diligently spent hours each day on it his whole life.
The issue was his expression.
One might expect refreshment.
He rarely felt irritation after practice.
Except when interrupted by emergencies or dissatisfied with his envisioned sword path.
No one had disturbed him this time.
His form wasn't poor.
Yet the frustration stemmed from one thing:
No progress.
"What the hell did that serpent bastard leave in my body?"
Rimon clicked his tongue.
His recent obsession with sword training wasn't just because his traitor status made wandering outside difficult.
It was due to the sense of unease plaguing his body since beheading the Serpent Connecting Ends.
He'd first thought it a curse.
He'd seen plenty of weaklings leave curses before dying, and a constellation pulling that stunt wasn't surprising.
But Rimon soon realized.
This was far more annoying than any curse.
It was the remnants of starlight that shattered and seeped into him after he slew the serpent.
"Damn, what's wrong with these constellations? Every time I cut one down, they spew garbage into my body."
The signs had been there before.
Seeing constellations after regression.
System messages about absorbing something each kill.
Tracing them back, it was obvious: something from constellations was absorbed each time.
The problem was what that something was.
'It's useful so far, but...'
If it was just constellation power letting him see them, it wasn't bad despite the unease.
Handy for spotting targets.
He might even wield it in other ways without realizing yet.
But if it wasn't just power?
If the starlight contained more?
What if he absorbed their personalities too?
What if slaying and absorbing fragments turned him into one of them?
"That's what feels off."
Rimon clicked his tongue.
Might be overthinking, but he couldn't ignore it.
Especially after seeing Park Hyeon-gun brainlessly gobble constellation power only to get devoured.
The unease alone was telling.
Heterogeneity meant something foreign.
Feeling it within himself was unnatural.
'Could be simple indigestion,'
Before regression: three.
After defeating Lee Cheongi: one.
He'd slain constellation parts before and absorbed fragments.
Never felt this before the serpent, so maybe the sheer volume caused bloating.
Or just bad compatibility.
He might adapt naturally over time.
'Can't assume indigestion and ignore heavy metal poisoning.'
But Rimon wasn't optimistic.
What could improve naturally could worsen too.
Especially for him, facing unknown constellations anytime, he couldn't just wait it out.
And even if the unease faded, problems remained.
'Uncontrolled power always causes trouble eventually.'
Even his seeing constellations power wasn't voluntary.
It activated on its own.
What if he gained petrifying gaze or lethal voice that triggered involuntarily?
Disaster.
'At least I need some control...'
That's why he'd pushed sword training hard lately.
For a Sword Master, nothing beat it for introspection and mastery of the self.
The problem: zero results.
Switching techniques.
Swinging all day.
Even meditation.
Nothing let him control—or even trigger—the power.
The unease lessened slightly, but so slowly it'd take ten years at this rate.
No wonder he was pissed.
"Tch, gotta find another way?"
Rimon scratched his head.
He was a swordsman, but didn't believe swordsmanship solved everything.
Swords were for combat. Specialists handled inner complexities.
He just hated relying on others.
Even the former enemy Seven Dragon Society was now allies, so no issue borrowing hands...
"...Alright, on hold for now."
Rimon organized his thoughts.
Only days into training—too soon to quit, and unwise to meet others rashly.
"Anyway, can't do shit till this treason crap's cleared."
Clicking his tongue lightly, Rimon glanced at the calendar as something clicked.
'Wait, is that today?'
Counting dates briefly.
Confirming he wasn't late, he left the training room muttering.
"Hmm, too lazy to go back to my room just for TV. Somewhere decent to watch..."
Mid-stride.
Rimon narrowed his eyes and turned to one side.
"Ah, there it is."