Chapter 82
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: You Can Tell a Person by Their Sword.
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"Got any clever tricks up your sleeve?"
"Not really a trick. Just a simple, basic method."
"What kind?"
Li Chingwei's eyes sparkled with curiosity, eager to hear what strategy this Sword Master—who had lived through eons—had devised.
Rimon scratched his cheek as he looked at her.
"Hmm, it's tricky to explain in words... Could you get me detailed files on all your domestic subsidiaries first?"
"What kind of files from which subsidiaries?"
"All of them."
"...All of them?"
"Yeah. Locations of headquarters and branches, sizes, main products, revenue, employee lists, average visitor numbers—every scrap of data you've got."
"What for?"
"You know I used to be a PAB agent, right? And catching criminals was our job."
"...?"
Li Chingwei tilted her head, utterly baffled at the connection between those files and Rimon's old job.
Rimon chuckled at her puzzled expression bordering on the inexplicable.
"A detective's main gig isn't fighting crooks—it's preventing crimes and investigating them."
"...Princess."
"Yes, Sword Duke."
"I did say bring everything, but... isn't this a bit much?"
Rimon grumbled half-heartedly.
Li Chingwei cocked her head and replied.
"You said to bring every file we had, didn't you?"
"Sure, but there's such a thing as too much. This is enough to stock a small library and then some."
Rimon repeated, looking daunted.
And rightly so. Piled before him was a veritable mountain of documents.
They filled the walls on all sides, layered thick across the floor—more paper than all the furniture and empty space combined.
"We're the Seven Dragon Society, after all. Even getting it down to this volume took Chao slaving away."
"Ugh..."
Rimon groaned.
It was only natural, really.
The Black Dragon Clan might be in decline, but it was still a pillar of the Seven Dragon Group. Their subsidiaries wouldn't have skimpy records.
He'd grown used to Wailing's slim summaries lately and forgotten that fact for a moment.
'Can't back out now...'
Rimon glanced sideways at the culprit who'd hauled in this deluge of paper.
Dark circles ringed her eyes.
Lips parched and cracked from exhaustion.
Skin dull and ashen.
Her usual poised, handsome disguise in male attire was nowhere to be seen.
It was obvious she'd pulled an all-nighter prepping these. Rimon groaned again.
Even he, called a mad dog, wasn't heartless enough to renege just because it was more than expected—not with that face staring back.
'No choice, then.'
With a sigh, Rimon picked up the thickest stack at the front.
Flutter.
"...?"
"..."
Right then.
Li Chingwei blinked.
Wailing furrowed her brow.
Rimon had picked up a document, rifled through it once, set it down—then repeated the process.
"What are you looking for?"
"What do you mean?"
"Aren't you skimming for something specific?"
"Nah, reading every bit."
"...At that speed?"
"Why think I can't? Easier than batting away incoming bullets."
"..."
Wailing was speechless.
It wasn't impossible, technically.
The Seven Dragon Society had plenty of experts who could dodge bullets.
But could they read at that pace? 'You're nuts?' would be the answer.
Dodging bullets meant reading the gun barrel and timing a sidestep along the trajectory.
Spotting the bullet itself? Near impossible.
Reading text on a flying bullet? That demanded dynamic vision beyond human limits.
Not something mortals did.
"Makes sense. Probably not hard for the Sword Duke."
Li Chingwei accepted it readily.
Watching Rimon calmly flip pages, Wailing realized two things anew.
This white-haired youth was a Sword Master.
A true superhuman whom hordes of Seven Dragon Society elites couldn't handle.
And the other?
"Then why haven't you processed files at that speed until now?"
Rimon had been slacking off.
Under Wailing's gaze—like he was human garbage—Rimon cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Reading and comprehending are different beasts. Staring at a textbook a hundred times doesn't make you an expert."
"They call it slacking when you could read it a hundred times but only do it once."
"That's 'cause you're the smart one who handles it well."
Flutterflutter.
Delegating to capable subordinates you trust fully? Fine mercenary craft.
He brazenly met her eyes, his subtly vibrating pupils syncing flawlessly as he scanned nonstop.
Hours passed that way.
Finally, Rimon set the papers down and rubbed his eyes.
"Ow, eyes sting."
"You really read it all?"
"Why else would I stare at these scraps for hours if not?"
Wailing eyed him suspiciously.
Unlike her, Li Chingwei gazed expectantly.
"So, find anything?"
"Nope, nothing."
"...Huh?"
Li Chingwei blinked blankly, caught off guard.
Wailing pressed in her stead.
"Then why bother with the files?"
"Don't rush me. Now I'll check what I figured out."
Wailing stared like he was insane.
But Rimon rose calmly.
Stepped to the room's center and stated flatly.
"Both of you, back against the wall. Gotta focus now."
"What're you—"
Shing.
Wailing shut her mouth.
Not just because Rimon drew his sword.
A crushing pressure emanated from him, grip firm, eyes closed—sealing words in her throat.
"...Weapons: 4-sun knife (12cm), 3-cheok 1-sun malformed bludgeon (93cm), remote skills."
"Main methods: slashing to maximize agony avoiding vitals. Frenzied destruction via overwhelming power. Ruthless, thorough crushing with skills."
"Then..."
As if recollecting.
Muttering briefly.
Eyes still shut, Rimon began moving his sword—slow and deliberate.
Sometimes flaying flesh from bone.
Sometimes like a beast lost in madness.
Sometimes hefting a colossal boulder.
Maintaining slowness yet shifting sharpness, ferocity, weightiness—Wailing shivered.
His aura warped entirely with each style, like different killers.
Even slicing empty air felt like vivisecting a victim—chilling her to gooseflesh.
Whoosh!
Too vigorous a swing, perhaps.
No contact, yet...
Papers everywhere whirled up, blanketing the room in a white blizzard like a starry night gale.
Yet amid the storm, Rimon never faltered, sword dancing on.
The sheets soared alive, swirling in flocks.
Mere scraps transformed—chasing his blade like butterflies after flowers, dazzling.
'...!'
Wailing's mouth went dry.
Not just the sword puppeteering tens of thousands of sheets freely.
None bore a single cut from the blade amid the tempest.
Pinnacle of technique.
Only sword's apex could mimic this—thrilling any swordsman.
Shff.
How much time passed?
Rimon halted.
Papers settled.
Perfectly horizontal on his extended blade: three sheets aligned precisely, as if measured.
Clap clap clap.
"As expected of the Sword Duke. Wielding the sword so beautifully without even a sword dance."
Li Chingwei clapped enthusiastically, awestruck like after a grand show.
Rimon wasn't particularly proud.
Just flicked his blade lightly.
"Catch."
The three sheets slid toward her; Wailing caught them instinctively.
He said evenly.
"Next hit will be one of these three. Prep accordingly—one strike force per site should avert the worst."
"...These are the killers' next targets?"
"If they strike, yeah."
"How can you say that?"
Wailing's doubt was blatant.
Rimon's display was stunning, but mere swordplay.
Objectively, he'd swung randomly, snagged some papers by chance.
"Heard this saying? 'You can tell a person by their sword.'"
"Common proverb, sure."
"Right. Do the obvious, and the rest follows. Think murder methods as sword styles."
Wailing stared, then grasped it, frowning.
"...You reinterpreted corpse wounds as sword techniques to predict attack patterns?"
"Something like that."
"You think that makes sense?"
She sneered.
Rimon's claim was absurd—pure fortune-teller nonsense, worse than a con artist predicting typhoons from sparrows.
"It does."
But Li Chingwei answered instantly, not Rimon.
"He's a Sword Master."
Not a seer or sleuth.
No prophecies.
No deductions.
But on swordsmanship? He knew and could do all.
A blade-obsessed fool, yet absolute master thereof.
From wounds alone, he could divine spoons in the killer's home.
Rimon half-heartedly countered her beaming face.
"No, even I can't tell spoon count from that."
"But you could tell which hand they use it with, right?"
"That much, yeah, but..."
"Same as knowing the count. Infer habits, personality, wealth—predict away."
"...Why not just tell me to become a fortune-teller?"