Chapter 228: Match (2)
Chapter 228: Match (2)
“You cannot become me.”
That single sentence of yours haunted me my entire life.
It didn't just plague me while I was alive. It followed me even until the moment I died and became a wandering soul.
“Leon Caravan.”
You were a giant of a man.
You conquered a chaotic era single-handedly, standing at the highest peak of the continent with nothing but a sword, bringing eternal glory to your name and family. The Age of Steel, the Family of Steel, the Continent of Steel, and the Nation of Steel. To me, you were the world; you were everything.
Everyone praised you.
I, too, respected you. You were a father larger than life, a powerful man, and an unyielding blade. After I first picked up a sword, your greatness felt even more overwhelming. How could such a being exist in this world? How magnificent were you, reaching the realm of the Seven Chief Gods and Nine Goddesses with nothing but a piece of sharpened metal?
I was blessed.
While the aftermath of the Age of War had not yet faded, the glory and prosperity I enjoyed were all thanks to the achievements you had wrought. The grand mansion, the rich food, the countless servants, the fear and envy in people’s eyes—everything was granted to me under your shadow.
But a blessing soon becomes a curse.
“Incredible. To think you’ve already forged armor.”
“It is because he takes after his father.”
Your shadow was dark.
And it was far too vast.
“His skill is comparable to Liam Caravan.”
“That sword is no different from Liam Caravan’s.”
“Just like Liam Caravan…”
It was vast enough to completely swallow my efforts and my life.
“Is my father better, or am I?”
Living things grow old. Eras change. The old exit the stage, and the young become the protagonists. As generations shift, the lead actor changes.
However.
“You cannot surpass the Family Head, Young Master.”
A Transcendent does not age. An Absolute Being does not disappear.
“It is simply impossible to become greater than him.”
You, perhaps, would never exit the stage.
‘You cannot become me.’
Your words were driven into my chest like a stake.
The reason they were so sharp was simple: I knew it myself. I knew that you were a wall that could never be scaled, an absolute being who would reign for a lifetime. It wasn't hard to admit. I was proud of the fact that you, the great hero born of the era, were my father.
It was just…
‘You cannot become me.’
I simply wanted recognition, just once.
One moment of recognition, one moment of love, one moment of warmth. One moment of kindness, one embrace, one smile. Not from the Swordmaster Liam Caravan, but from my father, Liam Caravan.
But.
‘You cannot become me.’
You were made of steel. You were a being closer to a sword than a human. Not a man made of flesh and blood, but a single blade through which the blood of steel flowed.
I began to give up, one thing at a time.
You don’t have to love me.
You don’t have to smile for me.
You don’t even need to recognize me.
Just once, please look at me.
Look at your son.
Look at how your son is growing.
Amidst countless servants and within the comfort of the mansion, that was how I grew up. To me, the vast mansion was an empty wasteland, a field in the dead of winter. No matter how much firewood I threw in to light a fire, the cold would not dissipate. Every time you visited, I would boast about how sharp my sword had become, what realizations I had reached, and how closely I was following in your footsteps.
Yet, I could not get even a step closer to you.
The swordsmanship I built up over a year was something you could master in a single day. The sword I poured all my effort into creating was one you had already conceptualized in the past. I could tell just by looking into your eyes. I could see how insignificant I was.
I realized it then.
I would never be recognized by you through the sword. I would never even receive a single glance.
But if not through the sword, how else could I be recognized by you? To you, who were no different from a man made of blades, a man made of steel—with what could I catch your eye if not with a sword?
I felt the wall. A wall that could never be overcome in a lifetime.
Even at this very moment, that wall was growing higher. Even as my knees buckled, my hands tore, and I swung my sword again and again while vomiting blood, I could not reach you. What was natural for you was not natural for me. Every look and every word of yours seemed to despise me, and eventually, even the eyes of the servants felt the same.
Why is the child of Caravan so pathetic? I felt as if I could hear those hallucinations whispering in the halls.
The Age of Steel. The World of Steel. The Family of Steel. The Nation of Steel.
Amidst the steel, I thought:
“Leon Caravan.”
Am I Leon? Or am I Caravan?
Loneliness and solitude. I agonized over a question I could not answer. While wandering in my anguish, I saw a family walking the streets. A small boy was asking his father all sorts of trivial questions. Like any young boy, he seemed curious about everything. The boy’s father tried his best to answer even the most minor questions, and I sat huddled there, watching them for a long time.
Would you, in your greatness, understand my trivial agony? Perhaps you would. You are so magnificent that you might hand down an answer that could resolve my worries in an instant. But I knew I could not ask you. I could not reveal even a shred of my insignificance. Because I was already so paltry compared to you, I could not choose to become even more pathetic. Never.
The next day, I left the mansion.
I decided to leave my lands and travel the world. Perhaps I would never return. Rather than the proud background of Caravan, I left to find a life suitable for a single man named ‘Leon.’ I decided to cast off the surname Caravan and become a wanderer.
And then.
“Leon?”
In a distant land, I met her.
“That’s a peculiar name for a mercenary.”
My life had been a perpetual winter. She was a single matchstick in a life that held only solitude and loneliness.
“Nice to meet you.”
A woman among rough mercenaries. A girl who was like a tomboy.
“Let’s get along.”
It had been a year since I started living using only the name Leon. I married a woman I met in that far-off land. The wedding was modest—unfitting for the eldest son of the most prestigious family in the Age of Steel.
But I was happy. So happy that I wondered if it was okay to feel this way. Happy enough to forget my family name, ‘Caravan.’ Happy enough to want to live as just ‘Leon’ for the rest of my life.
But the name ‘Caravan’ was not something that could be discarded. The bloodline of steel flowed through my body. And the world was calling for steel.
Because of you, and your greatness.
.
.
.
“—!”
I snapped my eyes open.
Before I could even sense the Voice of the Sword, the memories of the 「Match」 consumed me. It didn't feel like I had peeked into someone else's memories; it felt as if I had briefly become ‘Leon Caravan’ before returning to reality. It felt like a dream, but different. Unlike a dream that fades quickly, Leon Caravan’s memories remained vividly within me. The unpleasant emotions, the confusion and rage, the sadness and helplessness, and the love found amidst loneliness.
For a moment, I couldn't distinguish whether I was Leon Caravan or Arhan Caravan. Of course, it didn't take long to regain my senses.
Because my ‘rage’ was far more intense than his loneliness and sadness.
Did Leon Caravan suffer because he had everything but craved recognition and love? His story is tragic enough. But it cannot be compared to mine. The emotion of finding love at the end of loneliness can never be compared to my sense of loss and helplessness. Never.
“Whew.”
I opened my eyes to a world filled with darkness.
Leon Caravan’s Match.
The Authority contained within the match: Solitude.
An Authority manifested from the solitude and sadness Leon experienced. Immediately upon activation, the surrounding world is plunged into darkness, and those trapped within it lose all their strength. The innate power of those magnificent Dragons—all their Authorities that are nothing short of the height of unreasonableness—vanish within this world.
And the memory I had just seen a ‘fragment’ of—the brief hope that bloomed amidst loneliness, the emotion like the ember of a match lit in the cold of midwinter—was also expressed as an Authority. A brief but intense ember.
The second Authority: Ignition.
Just like the hope found in solitude, when this Authority is manifested, I am able to use my own power freely within the world of darkness. Not only that, but my original power becomes ‘explosively’ stronger for a brief moment, like a match flame that burns short and bright.
Solitude and Ignition.
These two are the entirety of the power my distant ancestor passed down. A simple combination, yet a terrifyingly potent force. A power that, originally, should not have been permitted to me.
『How happy was the era when one could look at the starry firmament and read the map of the path one could and must travel? And how happy was the era when the starlight brightly illuminated that path?』
But for now, it was a permitted power.
“───!”
“───”
I stepped toward the Dragons silenced in the darkness.
They were struggling, unable to see even an inch ahead. I walked toward them at a pace that was neither slow nor fast—just right. When I reached the first Dragon, I swung the sword in my hand with fluid grace. As if lighting a sacred flame.
The moment weight was put into the sword, the tip of the blade turned crimson as the ember ignited.
The light of the match flickered on, dispelling the darkness, and the ignited flame drew a beautiful line. Following that line, the Dragon’s massive body was butchered and collapsed. Immediately after it died, the match went out. With a pssh sound, the ember vanished, and panic spread among the remaining Dragons.
Once again, the ember clicked on.
Another one died.
Flame, steel, and death.
Before this absolute Authority borrowed from a Swordmaster of the distant past, there was nothing the Dragons could do. Only a Swordmaster can face a Swordmaster. This proposition, which had once caused me such agony, was now being applied to others.
“──!”
In the sight of those lizards who had driven the Dwarves to despair, trampled their pride, and gifted them helplessness, I saw overlapping scenes from the past. My people vanishing at a single stroke of a Swordmaster’s blade, my lost lands, my family, my life.
The Dwarves had cried out for help, wished for salvation, and longed for revenge. They were just like the me of the past. And unlike the me who had died slowly without receiving any help, I was here. Instead of the Seven Chief Gods and Nine Goddesses who offered no answers, instead of the Dwarves who were too weak to take revenge themselves, I was here to swing the sword of vengeance for them.
“…….”
Silence descended.
The magnificent Dragons had all been slaughtered and purged from this world. With only one Dragon remaining, the Authority of the Match vanished. The darkness dissipated, light returned, and the sound of murmuring filled the air. In the world that had regained its light, there were fallen Dragons and countless Dwarves who had become the audience to this execution.
With death drawing near, the final Dragon did not resist. It did not breathe fire or attempt an attack.
“Just spare my life.”
“…….”
“Please. If you kill even me, you won’t be able to handle the wrath of the Dragons. But if you let me live, I’ll go back and do my best to persuade my kin. I’ll warn them that Caravan exercised a justified revenge and that no Dragon should ever touch Caravan.”
“…….”
“Isn’t… isn’t that a good deal for you too?”
It simply begged desperately for its life. Ugly and pathetic.
And there was no reason to listen.
“So… ack.”
“──”
The Dragon’s head was severed and flew into the air.
As blood sprayed, a chilling silence took hold. The massive Dragon head spun and spun before finally falling below, landing onto the statue made of old iron erected in the square of the Dwarf Kingdom.
Countless Dwarves looked up at me. Dwight, the Dwarf King, and the residents who had barely survived. As their gazes poured over me, the Dwarves seemed to expect something. A heroic speech, or a grand final word.
Instead of words, I acted.
I raised the sword in my hand—the blade drenched in Dragon blood.
Upon seeing my action, the Dwarves did not burst into cheers, chant my name, or clap. Instead, they simply closed their eyes and bowed their heads. As if offering a prayer.
And I felt something within me becoming full.
「You are gradually drawing closer, young descendant.」
Just as it had been in the Southern Continent.
「It is not long now, until completion.」