Chapter 77
Chapter 77
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: What Does the Sword Cut? (8)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Quint's eyes trembled.
The number of people who had fallen to his greatsword was countless.
But that didn't mean Quint looked down on all those he had cut down.
He respected them, and because of that, he took pride in himself for having overcome every single one.
"It wasn't visible at all... how?"
Quint muttered in a dazed voice.
Ban didn't answer.
He carefully sheathed the sword, whose drawing he himself couldn't even pinpoint.
"It's not a matter of speed."
"Ban... I've never even heard the name before. Wait, could you be that Ban? The commoner who graduated top of Citadel Academy just recently...?"
At the mention of Citadel Academy, Armen whipped her head around to stare at Ban.
She knew of Citadel Academy too.
There were no small number of knights among the wanderers who came here who were graduates of Citadel Academy.
*I was nothing there.*
They possessed enough strength to silence the other guests at Forest Wind Inn, yet when the academy came up, they adopted a humble attitude.
It was a place overflowing with geniuses, they said, which allowed them to view the value of their own talents more objectively.
"Citadel's... top graduate?"
Ban felt a strange sensation inside as he watched Armen, unable to hide her shock.
She hadn't been all that surprised seeing him slice the apple or shatter the greatsword, yet his background made her gape like that.
Depending on the world one lives in, something precious as gold to one person might seem as worthless as cow dung to another.
He had known this, but it still left him with an odd feeling.
Even if he attained the pinnacle of the sword, it might mean nothing to some.
But there was no helping it.
Even if it was as illusory as the moon reflected on a lake's surface, he had decided to devote his life to that illusion.
Ban quickened his pace.
It might be time to leave this place soon.
And that was when Quint hurriedly followed after him.
"Wait!"
"What's your business? The match seems decided."
"I... I didn't see your sword."
Quint said in a trembling voice.
Ban looked at him with an impassive expression.
"So?"
"Just once... please, show it to me one more time."
"Your sword is already broken."
"...Does that matter?"
"It does."
Ban replied in a calm voice.
"Because it means your turn is over."
That was the end of it.
Ban headed straight for the inn.
Quint stared blankly at the hilt alone remaining of his greatsword.
It was a greatsword he thought held his pride, packed as tightly as its weight.
"...Still too light, you say?"
§
It was only natural, but it took less than a day for Ban's prowess to become the talk inside Forest Wind Inn.
Armen wasn't one to keep her mouth shut entirely, and above all, the guests who had seen Quint's shattered greatsword weren't about to let it pass without comment.
And naturally, unlike usual, Ban had to face quite a few challengers.
"Citadel Academy... I dreamed of going there when I was young."
He was a young man who dreamed of becoming a druid of the Eustaine Clan.
He spoke to Ban with his fist half-clenched.
"I need to check if you've surpassed that dream... or not."
Before he could even extend his fist, he found Ban's blade drawn right before his eyes.
Most were like that.
They boasted grandly about their dreams, how diligently they had lived their past lives for them.
They must have lived diligently indeed.
The self-pride overflowing on their faces was something no sluggard could imitate.
And without exception, they fell to a swordsman who could no longer take pride in himself.
"...Are all Citadel Academy graduates originally that strong?"
"Strong, yes. But not everyone is at that level. I told you, he's the top graduate."
Quint answered.
Without his greatsword, he couldn't challenge Ban again.
But because of that, he had no choice but to watch Ban's duels with the others even more intently.
*What kind of sword is it?*
Even with his mind prepared, he still couldn't properly see how Ban drew his blade.
It was as if, in that instant, Ban's hand moved against the flow of time.
*...Is he really defying time?*
He had heard that those who reached a certain realm could defy even the laws of the world.
And lately, Quint himself had been vaguely grasping what that realm might be.
But among the 'laws of the world' he had imagined, time was not one.
He had never even considered it part of the 'laws.'
It was more fundamental than that...
Yes, the domain of the gods.
The moment he thought that, Quint felt as if he had glimpsed something.
The world warped around Ban's hand—no, his sword—as the focal point.
Slicing, thrusting, drawing, sheathing—the entire sequence repeated dozens, hundreds of times, looping, then vanishing beyond the hazy horizon of time.
And in the next instant, the man thrusting a spear at Ban ended up with hundreds of bamboo shards instead.
"...Incredible."
Rather than when he hadn't even tried to gauge it, now that he had, Quint was overcome with even greater chills.
What had he just seen?
Was that even swordsmanship?
Was it within the realm permitted to humans?
And that was the astonishment Ban himself had felt thousands of times over.
*...Lord Ropo. Your sword... the more I try to comprehend it, the less I can grasp its end.*
Whenever he swung the sword, Ban saw Ropo's back as he stood in the apple orchard.
It was strange.
Clearly, the memories he could read were only those directly related to the sword, so what he should be recalling was Ropo wielding it—yet what appeared was Ropo farming.
*No, that was definitely swordsmanship.*
Planting apple trees.
Watering them.
Pruning branches, catching bugs.
In those seemingly meaningless, merely repetitive tasks, the man granted eternity gradually lost his sense of time.
Countless déjà vu swallowed his world.
The tree he had just watered was one, should have been one—yet suddenly dozens of trees gazed up at him, their roots soaked.
Just moments ago, dozens of apples had seemed to hang heavy, yet in an instant, the branches were bare and withered, not a leaf in sight.
What did he water them for?
For the moment the leaves fell from the apple tree?
Or for the day when leaves, flowers, and fruit would bloom again?
For an ordinary person, the answer would naturally be the moment the apples ripened—but that didn't apply to Ropo, who could never taste them.
On endless stairs where he didn't know if he was ascending or descending, Ropo endlessly tilled the fields.
For hundreds of years, in that rewardless cycle, without even knowing how sweet the fruits of his labor might be.
That was why it was training,
And why it was a sword only Ropo could possess.
A swordsman who devoted hundreds of years to farming without even tasting the harvest.
Ban couldn't even properly understand what thoughts Ropo had, what feelings he harbored, what world he glimpsed...
Yet the one thing he could grasp was Ropo's heart.
He truly wished to cut nothing at all.
If gods existed, they must truly love contradictions.
To a swordsman who had grown disillusioned with cutting things, the gods at last granted the power to cut anything as he desired.
*To fully understand is arrogance.*
The most Ban could do was trace those traces.
Even just tracing them, most people couldn't even attempt to comprehend his sword.
*Does a swordsman become great only by letting go of the sword...?*
He didn't know.
Thinking of Ropo made debating his greatness feel vulgar and shameful.
"...Who on earth did you learn such a sword from?"
"Ropo."
"...Ropo?"
"There was a man who farmed apples. I learned from him."
"Apple farming...?"
Ban slipped away, leaving them puzzled.
It wouldn't be easy for them to figure out who Ropo was.
He was a man who had vanished hundreds of years ago.
Once back in his room and settled in the chair, familiar footsteps soon approached.
Ban knew from the sound alone that they were headed his way.
Moments later, Armen flung open the door and stared at him.
"...You sly liar."
"Did I lie?"
"You didn't lie. But you didn't say anything either! Graduating Citadel Academy—no, top of the class—and being this strong!"
"It's not something that needs saying."
"Do you have to act like some hermit sage?"
Ban chuckled at Armen's grumbling.
Like a hermit sage.
He had never heard that in his life.
It must mean his encounter with Ropo had changed him greatly.
It had to be.
Among all the swordsmen he had met in his life, the strongest had set aside his sword to farm.
How could he not be enchanted?
*Quitting vampires, now turning into a ghost haunting my side.*
Ban realized he would never escape Ropo's shadow, no matter how much time passed.
The feeling of being indebted to him wouldn't fade.
Attacking them had been unavoidable, but receiving his life as charity... that would never vanish.
"Armen."
"Yeah?"
"...If there's something no one can cut, and can't be cut, what would it be?"
"Something no one can cut... Hm."
Armen crossed her arms and pondered.
Then she slyly stroked his shoulder and flashed a seductive smile.
"My feelings for you?"
"...Heh, such bold words from a lady."
"If you don't believe me, try cutting them."
Ban shook his head at Armen's brazen attitude, as if he couldn't deal with her.
But in a way, she was right.
Just as his sword couldn't capture the sweetness of the apple Ropo had sliced, he couldn't cut Armen's heart either.
"The sword is difficult."
Were there so many things in the world that couldn't be cut?
Looking back now, how impossible was his ambition to make nothing uncuttable in this world?
......When are you leaving?"
Armen's question came a bit abruptly.
Ban slowly turned to look at her.
Armen smiled with a resigned expression.
Seeing that smile, Ban thought he could never imitate such a face.
It was the expression of one who had set aside their dreams.
"Don't look at me like that. I've spent my whole life in this inn. I can tell when someone's about to leave just from their gait. You're leaving soon, right?"
"...Yeah. Probably tomorrow."
"Leaving sharp as a blade. Cold-hearted guy."
"Should I apologize?"
"Nah. That'd just make me more pathetic. I'm used to heartbreak. This inn is too midway to be anyone's final stop on their journey. It's always just a crossroads at best."
Even so, for some, that crossroads is the only place it can be.
The words of a woman accustomed to farewells, weary from them.
"I won't remember you for long, Ban."
"Not the kind of farewell that's easy to forget. On my end."
"Fine. I'll force myself to forget. ...Still, if you ever need a place to rest later... come back anytime. Even if I forget, I'll pretend to remember and welcome you."
"...The innkeeper of the crossroads."
Ban smiled.
Armen shrugged her shoulders.
"Yeah. So, where to after crossing here? Forest? Desert?"
"Home."
Ban's voice sank.
"Because there's a promise I made to keep."