Chapter 97
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: Master of the Sword Tower
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He looked utterly flabbergasted.
Rimon echoed back as if he'd heard some outrageously malicious joke, far beyond mere awkwardness.
But Wayling remained ice-cold.
"It's a situation where it's immediately necessary for business."
[No, I mean... the situation where that's necessary for business...?]
As he started to press the point.
Rimon abruptly fell silent.
Then, after a brief pause, he asked again in a voice serious unlike any before.
[...Where are you right now?]
"Cheonhwa Department Store."
[Situation?]
"Multiple fatalities, one injured, single enemy—presumed to be the beast that hit Black Dragon Construction."
[Male or female? Weapons, height, weight, mug?]
"Late twenties, height 177 to 178 cm, weight roughly 60 kg, knife wielder in a Halloween mask."
[You two tangle yet? I'd figure you'd lead with an ambush.]
"Dodged the heart strike from behind—my Poison Snake Probing Claw opener."
[Perfectly?]
"Took it on the left shoulder instead."
Maybe grasping it was no joke.
Rimon and Wayling swapped only the essentials, rapid-fire.
The young man, eavesdropping on the call, piped up awkwardly.
"...Hey there, comrade. Ain't exactly polite, spellin' it all out right in a fella's face, eh?"
But for all his griping, the young man held back from charging in to cut off Wayling's call.
He was just too damn curious what kinda thinking let 'em gab on the phone smack in the middle of this mess.
[Figures. Got it—that dissecting freak with the knife.]
With the young man looking on, Rimon gleaned a few more details from Wayling and muttered like he'd pieced it together.
Like he'd gotten every scrap he needed.
To him, Wayling asked softly.
"Can you do it?"
[One last check: that bastard's solo? No tag-alongs?]
"Yes."
[Huh. Lucky break. The other two would've been a headache, but this chump? You'll manage.]
A low chuckle.
Too deep for plain amusement.
Too light for dead seriousness.
A weirdly wistful laugh trailing off, Rimon continued softly.
[Wear this honor.]
Yet even facing a spot where Wayling could drop dead any second, Rimon betrayed zero panic or tension.
Not from any lack of care for her.
Way too far to bolt over.
Enemy way too tough to scrap.
Risk way too steep to fix.
All old hat to him.
A hero who'd stared down world-enders, busted through "impossible" time and again to save humankind.
The Sword Tower's first—and last—lord, who'd mentored seven of history's thirteen Sword Masters.
Rimon laughed as he spoke.
[Of all the blade-jocks who've climbed the Sword Tower, you're the first to pick up spot-on swordplay from me in three minutes flat.]
[Set?]
Wayling flicked her smartphone to speaker.
Tucked it secure in her chest welt pocket, then murmured back.
"All set."
[Friendly nag: go for broke. What you're kicking off is a knife-edge brawl—hesitate a blink, and your head's gone.]
"Got it—so you don't screw the pooch."
[Such frettin'. Who d'you think I am?]
"The boss who dumps every chore on me and golfs all day?"
[Unrelated.]
"If the boss'd swung by for fieldwork, bet we wouldn't be in this tangled mess."
[So I'm spotting you premium tutoring gratis? Back in my day, royals bled treasuries dry for one session!]
"Save the old tales for old times."
"...Hey, comrade—girl or no? I'm plumb baffled now."
Half-zoned out, he'd soaked in their back-and-forth awhile.
Awkwardly, the young man raised a hand.
Scratched his nape like it made zero sense, then queried.
"Ya fixin' to face me... like that?"
"That's right."
"Phone in paw, takin' cues an' such?"
"More or less."
"......"
The young man's jaw hit the floor.
He'd crossed paths with hordes of lunatics, pegged himself no beacon of sanity.
But this? First nibble of pure delirium.
"Ya nuts? Chao Wayling!"
She-rung, spectating from the rear, lost it too.
Steeped in martial ways... hell, that's why he clocked how bonkers Wayling's play was.
"I know it's nuts."
Truth be told.
Wayling knew damn well she was pulling something epic.
Go or shogi? Sure.
But life-on-the-line, blinking wrong spells doom—fighting off remote chatter from a no-look coach?
Higher odds flooring a race rig blind, nav voice only.
Still, Wayling stuck to her guns.
Cuckoo to onlookers.
Not 100% sold herself.
She trusted one soul more than her own gut.
"But I trust Her Highness."
"......"
Li Chingwei's picked mate.
The very Rimon she'd hyped to the stars, over and over—he'd nail this.
Eyebrow unflinching, Wayling's words left She-rung speechless.
Fellow Black Dragon kin, warrior stock—he wilted before her gospel-faith loyalty to the princess.
"Ha, now that's a hoot."
The young man, though? Cackled low.
Twiddled his knife at Wayling.
"Unleash hell on me, why don'tcha. Fer the fun stunt ya showed, first blood's yours."
"No need to—"
[Oh ho, manners of a true high-roller? Lap it up. Arrogance sky-high, fixin' to flop—no skin off refusin'.]
"...Then I'll take it."
"...Reckon ya should."
Wayling's nape burned crimson from backing down.
The young man nodded sour, cast unwitting fool.
Rimon—having mortified giver and taker—dispensed orders cool as ice.
[Stance: Shadow Concealed Double Sword form, low guard.]
"Low guard... you say?"
Wayling froze a beat.
Her Divine Sword Style: Shadow Concealed Double Sword hunkers low for upper strikes.
No low guard, blade earthward.
[What? Can't hack it? Spill now. Can't ape basics? You're meat there.]
Prime technique? Useless unchewed.
Mockery laced with warning.
"Never said can't."
Wayling obeyed Rimon's cue, tardy but true.
Spawned a freak pose—like sword-to-soil plunge—but hesitation died.
Commit to cues? Life handed off.
Doubting each? Self-strangle—warning sank that home.
[One jang one cheok out—3.3 meters. Step four cun: 12 cm. Tip dead on ankle height.]
"Done."
[Good. Replies off. Move on my word, instant.]
"......"
'Insane...!'
Silence her yea.
She-rung cursed inward at the sight, swallowed hard.
Couldn't hack it up.
Warrior badge or not.
Stance locked? War on—chatter's sabotage, plain.
She-rung gulped quiet.
Young man smirked.
Slingshot Sword Shadow, Right Triple Step
Paat!
Rimon's clipped call.
Wayling loosed arrow-swift.
"That transparent ploy...?"
Scoffing her bull-rush, knife whipped—
Young man's eyes bugged.
Low crouch sank lower on charge, sliding clean through left armpit.
Crashing Wax Seal Retreat, Reverse Sky Guard
Pro reflexes, high-roller swift—he wheeled after Wayling.
Nothing there.
Before full pivot.
Sword-to-floor on charge momentum, recoil-launched her skyward.
Thus, midair upside flip, soles to ceiling—
Reverse Sky Fang, Thunderbolt Guard
Chwaak!
Lightning drop from above—sword grazed his back by a hair.
'Wh-what the hell?!'
Rimon's pre-landing call saved his crown from cleaving; cold sweat beaded.
Speed unchanged.
No new style.
Yet backstab felt easier than this uncanny blade—response a slog.
Chill like wide-eyed nose-slice tensed him deep.
Just the opener.
Shade Path Waves, Wind-Cutting Ghost Trail, Chaotic Heart Tiger Wolf, Chain Strike Guard
Chajajajajang!
Near-prowl, legs hounded relentless—then vault, vital jab.
Panic dodge opens storm-butterfly whirl—thigh nicked shallow.
Stealth rampage at turns.
Flashy pullbacks.
Cool ambushes.
Phone cues drop—blade sprouts freakish each time.
Dodge-frantic, Wayling blurred invisible.
"Y-you, ya damn...!"
Young man reeled rearward, mad scramble.
Shock and fury boiled over—shriek unwitting.
"What kinda black magic sorcery ya slingin'!?!"
Constellation pact, skills? Maybe.
Just phone cues—why skyrocket the scrub Wayling past him?
Baffled, reeling.
But this instant.
Scene's peak shock? Not his.
'Lord have mercy!'
She-rung choked a groan.
Skill gap to young man? Sure.
Black Dragon elite warrior still.
Sideline view sharpens sight: he sussed the one-way push.
'Sword Duke, ya mad bastard...! No eyes on, reads moves, crafts counters on the fly?!'