Chapter 102
Chapter 102
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 102
Chapter Title: Sever the Iron Bars (1)
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'Talent, without a doubt.'
Separate from reading the Voice of the Sword, Ban's talent as a swordsman was, frankly speaking, dazzling. What would take an ordinary person months—no, years—to even notice as a wall, Ban had perceived and shattered in an instant.
'Perhaps the Captain's hope... isn't mere delusion after all.'
The prophecy that a single swordsman would shatter the world's fissures and lead all to paradise. Watching the Captain stake everything on that foolish prophecy, Heavenly Spirit had thought him truly weakened. Pitied him.
But seeing Ban, such thoughts inevitably resurfaced. Perhaps frailty didn't always lead only to wrong answers.
Perhaps this world had truly sent a messenger to end their strife.
Heavenly Spirit closed his eyes briefly. Etched into his black retinas were comrades, friends, lovers who had lost their lives in this endless revolution—imprinted there, only to vanish when he opened his eyes.
Ban would probably never know why his voice echoed so forlornly.
"It's called the Formless Sword."
"You mean what I just did?"
"Water slips through your fingers the harder you grasp it. A sword is no different."
"...How could a sword be the same as water. Though, perhaps it is."
Compared to wielding a real sword, it was certainly lacking. But being able to unleash his swordsmanship barehanded meant far more than just adding tactical options.
The swordsmanship's essence became himself, not the blade.
What did that signify?
"...This is as far as I can teach you."
"There's one more thing I want to learn."
"What is it?"
"When we climbed the mountain where the foothills are, you saw us from Pendel. In this darkness... how is that possible?"
"You might regret knowing."
"Why?"
"Showing is better than telling."
Heavenly Spirit silently removed his eyepatch. Finally beholding his bare face, Ban was struck speechless in shock. What lay beneath surpassed his imaginings. As Heavenly Spirit lowered the patch, Ban spoke in a rigid voice.
"...What in the world is that?"
"My medal. A brand as well."
"I'm sorry. For asking about something like this..."
"Enough. How much can a dweller of the day know of the night's plight?"
A heavy silence settled between them. Ban didn't know what to say, and Heavenly Spirit had no intention of breaking it with empty words. Only after a long pause did Heavenly Spirit speak curtly.
"Now, even if I meet that one, I won't die in a single stroke."
"How much do you know about that one?"
"Only that they're terrifyingly strong."
"...To the point of having no equals?"
Heavenly Spirit silently regarded Ban at his probing question. In a stiff voice, as if reading from a history book, he replied.
"No matter how great a warrior, they can fall to a beauty who can't even wield a dagger properly. Even a giant who trampled mountains can die from a single thorn in their foot. There's no such thing as unbeatable. Whether by time, luck, or some other reason, everyone crumbles eventually."
"...Let me rephrase. How strong is that one?"
"What do you think a sword can do? What's the limit of your imagination?"
Heavenly Spirit gazed skyward briefly, as if the guardian were there.
"Everything you can imagine is reality to that one."
Heavenly Spirit's intent was unclear—whether to intimidate Ban or stoke his passion. But Ban felt neither fear nor fervor, only doubt. If all imaginings were possible, what of the unimaginable?
"Can that one cut what no one in this world can?"
"..."
Heavenly Spirit stared at Ban with hollow eyes. As his mouth opened, thunder crashed and lightning split the sky, the darkness flushing red and yellow before darkening again. Heavenly Spirit turned toward the approaching storm and spoke quietly.
"You seem ready to grip your sword."
"...Pardon?"
"I'll tell them to return your swords."
With that, Heavenly Spirit turned away.
"Congratulations on becoming a swordsman."
§
Once the storm hit, it showed no sign of abating. Gazing at the raindrops pelting the window, Hwan muttered.
"Even the night brings a storm."
"No reason it shouldn't."
"What's out there in that storm, brother?"
"...Who knows. Mountains, cliffs, the sea, and..."
"What if there's another kingdom beyond?"
Hwan asked.
"What if our kingdom is trapped in the night, forgotten by the wider world... and out there, marvelous people live in a paradise-like realm..."
"You've lingered too long in Pendel, Hwan. Already tainted by their ideas."
"Brother! I'm serious!"
"Maybe you're right."
Ban murmured.
"A wider world, more people, civilizations so advanced we'd seem like country bumpkins. But would that truly be paradise? Even if it were... would we be happy there?"
Ban looked down at the prison's inhabitants. They lived unaware of their confinement. In that sense, Pendel Prison was fulfilling its role more than ever, without a single prisoner.
"Even in this narrow land, they're itching for fights. Send them to a vast place, and they'd only sow greater strife and war."
"That... might be true."
People were bound to clash. Having lived sword in hand, Ban and Hwan knew it best. In a gloomy voice, Hwan said.
"Then what are these people living for in this harsh land? If paradise is an impossible dream, then..."
"I don't know. But..."
Ban smiled quietly.
"Admitting we don't know might open the chance to find out."
Ban relayed this verbatim to Ubowo. Ubowo wasn't one to anger at honest thoughts. Sometimes, Ban even doubted if Ubowo truly believed in paradise. He'd passionately rally for revolution one moment, then show profound skepticism the next.
"You're right—if we reach paradise like this, it would become another kingdom."
"Then doesn't revolution need its own revolution?"
Ban asked quietly.
"This revolution has dragged on too long. Maybe it's time for change."
"You're right there too. But change must start in the kingdom. If we shift our words before our voice even reaches them... we'll lose all power."
"Does stagnant rhetoric hold power?"
"You're young, Ban."
Ubowo gazed at him like a son. Ban found the look sometimes grateful, sometimes burdensome. Unearned favor was inherently painful—especially knowing he couldn't reciprocate.
"As you say, if revolution succeeds, we might stagnate again. And perhaps... you sweeping us away then is the 'paradise' of the prophecy."
"...Why believe in fate so much?"
"I believe in fate, but more in balance."
Ubowo spoke softly.
"Sleep relieves fatigue, sunlight sprouts seeds—like that, accumulated sin brings punishment. And I believe someone will bring punishment to this world."
"...You called me savior before, now punisher."
"Salvation and punishment are inseparable—just as gods deliver both blessing and curse?"
"Then tell me."
Ban's voice lowered. Tension hardened his face.
"How does the 'White Flame' of Pendel Prison rise?"
"...You won't let it slide. Cruelly so."
Ubowo gave a wistful smile. He couldn't meet Ban's eyes for a long time. His lips mumbled as if to speak, but only trembled in hesitation bordering on fear.
"...Yes. How can I ask you to see me without showing my true face? Come, Ban. Follow me."
Ubowo continued.
"I'll show you this prison's true nature."
Ubowo walked. Blazing white torches cast his shadow manifold along the corridors. Ban silently followed his slow, trudging back.
Ubowo took each step heavily, agonizingly. So strong a man—who could subdue Ban in an instant—now seemed frail as a child. Step, pause; two steps, pause; sigh, step, pause.
Ban didn't urge him. He couldn't. With each lightning flash amid the downpour, Ubowo's shadow deepened and faded among those of the White Flame, like a wounded beast.
Amid the drumming rain, Ubowo halted before an iron door underground.
"Ban."
"...Yes."
"Promise that whatever I show you, you won't hate me for it?"
"You're showing me something I can't help but hate?"
"...Perhaps."
Ubowo smiled plaintively. Ban placed a hand on his sword and spoke quietly.
"If reason for hate arises, I can't suppress it. But truthfully, Captain... I don't dislike you much. I tell myself I don't want to understand, yet I do."
"...Is that so?"
"Whatever you show me, I'll understand you, Captain. I might hate you too. But isn't that human? We hate even our parents at times, yet love them all the same."
"So you won't say you won't hate me."
"Do you want to turn back?"
"...No, too late for that."
Ubowo turned to the iron door.
"Enter."
Beyond lay descending stairs. Such stringent security. Ban sensed what awaited below, yet prayed his instincts wrong.
But as they descended, the clarifying groans and occasional screams hardened his expression.
Ubowo no longer dawdled. Accepting inevitable doom, he pressed on without rest, sighs, or glances back.
At the final step,
Ban could only clench his fist until blood welled in his palm.
"...You said you'd understand me."
Ubowo murmured.
"Can you really? Even I can't understand myself. I loathe what I've become. Deeply."
"...Ah."
Ban closed his eyes and sighed softly. Opening them, fists clenched tight, he beheld a white tree. Branches climbing the basement walls, glowing faintly—a hue all too familiar. Precisely the white of White Flame.
His gaze traced from leaves to branches, trunk, roots. And beneath those roots, scattered like soil, pristine white people.
"...Ironic, isn't it? When I resolved my life's most revolting choice, that's when I learned of your existence."
They were Nahar Clan folk. Or perhaps no longer people. Capable only of groans, they were no longer human. Clouded pupils saw nothing; their sole value was nourishing this tree.
Ban forced words out.
"When... how long have they been here...?"
"Your friend—yes, young Anya's kidnapping failed soon after. The lighthouse patrols probed the night more aggressively... making Nahar flesh easier for us to acquire."
"You spoke of revolution... igniting revolution... yet why, how...?"
Ban felt on the verge of collapse. Not disappointment in Ubowo. Even world-changers steeped in such sin. Where was paradise? Did they deserve it?
"The kingdom's pursuit was relentless. My people, branded revolution sympathizers, awaited death daily. We had to flee. Needed a safe haven. Only night came to mind. And... night demands White Flame to survive."
"Is that justification for this?"
"Even one!"
Ubowo bit his lip and shouted.
"If even one had shared their flame—if they'd said they'd protect us from night with theirs—we wouldn't need this. Ha, haha, but their noble loyalty... the lives of night-soul-sellers meant nothing. Not a spark of his flame for traitors' night."
"..."
"Do you think me wrong? Then cut them down."
Ubowo turned to Ban, eyes devoid of all but desperate seeking—like a lost lamb. Yet both knew no answer existed for this.
"Pendel will fall. Without White Flame, none survive here. They'll succumb night by night... forgetting they were ever human. If you deem that right, strike!"
Ban gripped his Huando Greatsword. Yuri's stifled gasp traveled through the hilt. *Senior, what's right?* Yuri had no answer. Before two lost men, the goblin knew no path either.
"...Gods."
Ban drew his sword.