Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: Voice of the Sword (4)
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Ban stepped outside. It was a fine morning bathed in sunlight. The morning mist had lifted early, leaving only its traces soaking the grass blades, and with each step, the damp earth timidly tugged at his shoes.
The scent of grass filled the air. The smell of earth, wind, and even sunlight. Ban knew none of these were things he needed to cut. So he opened his chest, opened his heart, spread his arms wide, and claimed this morning as his gift.
"A fine morning."
He turned his head to see Juwon smiling at him. Ban quietly bowed his head.
"Good morning. Have you come to see me?"
"I thought we might share a morning meal. I brought some rice balls."
Juwon held up a bundle. Ban smiled.
Seonwoo food tended to be on the bland side overall. But that didn't mean it lacked flavor. It might seem plain at first, yet the taste of each ingredient shone through vividly—from the wild greens to the rice—nothing failed to satisfy.
"By any chance, is there someone among those who hear the voice who also cooks?"
"There was."
Juwon answered with a slightly bitter expression.
"The last time I ate his cooking was in the North."
"...You must have many memories of the North."
Juwon smiled instead of replying. It was a question that needed no answer. Both Ban and Juwon already knew it.
"You seem a bit changed. Have you advanced to the next level?"
Without even holding a sword, Juwon easily read the change in Ban. The Chief Librarian devoted his life to reading people's lives. Even if it wasn't written in a book, the shifts in a person's life were laid bare to his eyes.
Ban silently looked down at the wild greens he was eating. The greens, infused with sesame and perilla oil, teased his tongue subtly yet insistently, as if sprinkled with salt but not quite.
"I've lived seeing only the world reflected on my blade."
Ban shrugged.
"Now, for the first time, it feels like I'm discovering what the world really looks like."
"You must have met a good teacher."
Juwon glanced at Ban's swords as he spoke. Ban nodded with a laugh.
"He's a good teacher."
For a moment, Ban steadied his breath. Knowing Juwon's expectations made it far from easy to say this. But the difference now was his certainty. Ban slowly opened his mouth.
"I will never become the Sword of Seonwoo that you desire."
"...And what is the Sword of Seonwoo that I desire?"
"It means I have no intention of becoming oil poured over the spark of revolution. I didn't take up the sword to cut down anyone, nor for revenge. I've come this far solely out of respect for blood ties—not to bear a yoke I never promised."
"Hmm..."
Juwon let out a groan for a moment. His eyes rolled as if searching for words, then he scratched his head with an awkward laugh.
"I can't argue with that. When I heard your words, rather than trying to understand you... I only thought about how to persuade you. Getting old has made me so petty."
"I understand."
"You're a swordsman, not a sword. It won't be grasped by force."
"What exactly is this Guardian that the Seonwoo Clan relies on so much...?"
He had heard that once, they even scorned the Guardian. To those pursuing noble knowledge, violence was the lowliest means. Of course, that attitude left them powerless when the North fell—but what connection did that have to now idolizing the Guardian as a hero?
"You know of the Iseo Clan."
"A clan no one could be unaware of."
"Long ago, Seonwoo received a prophecy from Iseo."
Juwon cleared his throat. He spoke as if reciting poetry, emphasizing each word.
When the Librarian's book falls into a pit untouched by light, only the light reflected on the Guardian's blade will illuminate the bottom of that pit.
"...Iseo gave such a prophecy?"
"It was a prophecy forgotten for a very long time. No one thought our books would fall into such a pit."
Thus, it was a prophecy not worth worrying over. Some even called it a false one, fabricated to intimidate Seonwoo.
When the North was devoured by the night, it was the aged Guardian, no longer revered by anyone, who carved a path to survival.
The Seonwoo Clan was fated to perish that day. The night that swarmed in was unusually ravenous, devouring everything it touched—an existence too vast and repulsive to behold with human eyes.
The old Guardian stood at the rear as the Seonwoo Clan fled. From the monster extending its darkness moment by moment, he bought time with his own flesh and blood. Carving the path was the task of the comparatively young Guardian. He was the old one's son and disciple.
The young Guardian never looked back to the end, and the old Guardian gazed back until the last. In the end, they never saw each other's faces again.
When the Seonwoo librarians, having lost everything, crossed the border, the young Guardian said,
"I have bestowed more favor than you paid for."
He said that.
"No more Guardians will arise for Seonwoo. Even if one does, it would take a hundred lifetimes repeating a hundred times for that Guardian to reclaim past glory. The Guardian's sword will vanish here with me."
Holding the sword his master once wielded, the Guardian departed. No one could hold him back. No one tried. They had already lost everything. Losing one more Guardian wouldn't burden their already scarred hearts further.
"It was our mistake."
Juwon acknowledged it calmly.
"His hatred and rage were righteous and justified. And still are. Yes, sometimes I think that perhaps in my generation, we may never see the Kalsmori Library again... something like that."
Ban said nothing in response to Juwon's words. Looking north, he spoke.
"It would be nice if I could cut the night someday."
"If you can cut it, will you cut him for us?"
"I have no intention of becoming someone who cuts for others."
Ban shrugged.
"But if it's something I want to cut, something I must cut, then I'll grip the sword."
§
"...Your forging skills have definitely improved."
Yujin marveled with an odd expression. At first, the blades Ban hammered were scarcely worthy of being called swords, but now he could produce something quite respectable.
Ban grinned happily. After dreaming of Ropo, he felt like he could face the world more squarely. The story his blade told was short yet long. The moment he confronted that longing and love for all the world, Ban finally realized what kind of swordsman he wanted to be.
That resolve must have shown in his hammering. Ban shrugged as he gazed at the well-balanced blade.
"Maybe I'll surpass you someday."
"Hmph, no matter how much you soar, that's impossible. Just like you beating me with a sword."
"By the way, what about that sword you promised to make for me?"
"...Don't rush me. I'm still in the design phase."
"Are swords supposed to take that long to design and make?"
"Normally, no. But to craft a sword that can handle all your swordsmanship..."
"Well, the Guardian's sword must be tricky to make."
Too many variations for a single sword to encompass. After thousands of swordsmen wielded it, how many blades could all of them call usable?
"I wonder what the previous Guardian's sword felt like..."
"Who knows, but it must have been perfect. The Guardian's sword is designed to adapt to any swordsmanship. Which means... it has no choice but to be a perfect sword."
Hearing such words, Ban couldn't help anticipating the night.
'Today will be different.'
What he experienced in Ropo's memory—that 'communion'—was utterly unlike anything before. Now, even that stern shadow wouldn't treat him like a novice.
'Thousands of lives will pour forth again.'
But tonight, he wouldn't yield.
With resolve, Ban closed his eyes. Tension and anticipation kept sleep at bay. He tossed and turned, waiting endlessly for it to come.
Before he knew it, Ban sensed he was in that familiar space.
—You are unripe.
The shadow said the same thing. Ban chuckled in disbelief.
"How long do you plan to repeat the same words?"
—Even with help to ripen you, you remain raw. Too bitter to taste. Where is your sweetness?
"If you need sweetness,"
Ban extended his hand. In it was Ropo's Bamboo Sword.
"I'll provide it."
—Foolish child!
Before Ban's blade, the shadow roared in fury and poured forth memories as always. Memories shaped like chilling blades. Face them wrong, and he'd be sliced into chunks.
Ban desperately wielded Ropo's Bamboo Sword. In the dream, unbound by physical limits, his blade moved faster and more deftly than ever. Beyond the thousands of blade-memories, his bamboo sword multiplied endlessly to counter.
'...Ugh.'
Heavy. As it should be. Each blade was a lifetime forged by a swordsman. How could one deflect them lightly?
So, he deflected.
Even without the broadsword infused with Yuri, Ban's Deflection had reached perfection. His bamboo sword branched into dozens, hundreds, deflecting the onslaught one by one. The shadow growled.
—Do you lack even the resolve to face a swordsman's life as a swordsman!
The assault intensified. No—the cascade of lives grew fiercer. No matter how diligently he deflected, multiplying his Deflection a hundredfold, wielding blades beyond time's flow, it was still a torrent too vast to fully handle.
"...This is my dream, senior."
Ban murmured. The shadow scowled at his words. And in the next moment, saplings sprouted around Ban's feet. They grew into mighty trees, each extending dozens of branches laden with leaves. The shadow watched, speechless.
"So the location is whatever I wish."
—Hah, impudent fool...
Ban looked up. Branches thick enough to blanket the sky, Ropo's life, protected him.
Even if thousands of lives assailed as blades, he was no longer afraid.
At least in Ban's world, Ropo's life loomed larger than thousands—tens of thousands—of swordsmen.
Branches extended. Leaves rustled. Like blades, yet not. As if to cut, yet not.
And not a single one of the shadow's attacks... pierced the shade of the Apple Tree.
"The apples are ripe..."
Ban opened his mouth.
"Now it's time to harvest, senior."