Chapter 107
Chapter 107
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 107
Chapter Title: Farewell to the Disciple
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Clang! Clang! Clang!
Whoosh!
The royal forge, boasting the largest scale in the North, never let its fires die—even for a moment.
And amid that searing heat, countless blacksmiths took up their hammers once more today.
Molten metal melting like snow, impurities scattering with every strike.
I watched, entranced, as steel was reborn in the blazing inferno.
If only humans could be reforged like that... then I could swing a sword without restraint, cleaving even fate itself.
With one final glance at yet another sword nearing completion, I made my way to the heart of the forge—the grand ancient fire pit.
"Hey!"
Sure enough, a familiar voice called out, and a figure approached me.
He was my old friend and trusted ally, Red Iron, unchanged even after four years.
"Long time no see!"
"You look even younger, Iron."
"Haha! Get married and have a kid yourself! Every day feels like it's making me younger!"
Red Iron, who had found love later in life than most, welcomed his first child three years ago.
Thankfully, despite the risks of late pregnancy, both mother and child came through safely—the baby a sturdy, healthy one at that.
Red Iron had become indispensable not just to the kingdom, but to his own household.
I clasped his right hand in reunion, sharing our heartfelt greetings after so long.
"I heard the news."
"...Yeah."
Red Iron had stepped back from his official duties, devoting himself solely to his family and the forge.
Yet even he had heard, gazing at me now with eyes tinged in sorrow.
"It's been a long time coming. Guess it flew by because we gave it our all."
"I fell short."
"Don't blame yourself, Broken Sword. Change always comes with its share of pain."
Red Iron, who had witnessed countless destructions and rebirths, offered comfort, calling it just another process.
In those wise words, I quietly released the hand I had clasped with my friend.
"Thanks."
That was our farewell before I left.
No need for lengthy words—Red Iron and I had already exchanged so much.
"I've got the sword you'll take waiting in the outer courtyard. Gray Wolf's tempering the path, so swing by, say hello, and grab it."
Busy as he was with forge work and family, when had he found time to craft a blade for me?
I crossed the heat-filled forge with sincere thanks.
Passing the corridor to the outer courtyard, a chill Northern wind brushed my forehead, as if I'd never sweated at all.
No—this was wind born of the sword.
In the snow-blanketed courtyard, Gray Wolf danced his winter sword dance freely.
Crunch, crunch!
Swoosh—! Zzzip!
Even the proudest famed blade, born of high noses, became a meek lamb before the finest huscarl.
Gray Wolf, who had infused a touch of warmth into the sword meant for me, soon halted his dance.
"It's not a perfect blade. But it won't break easily, nor rust. Red Iron made it thinking of you."
"Haha, so not a famed sword, then."
"No—a bright sword."
Gray Wolf closed his eyes with a breath, soothing the sword's mournful wail.
He slipped it into the prepared black leather scabbard and held it out to me.
"Take it."
The hilt still held lingering warmth.
I fastened the black scabbard to my left waist, like shaking hands with that warmth.
Perfectly suited to my build in length, weight, and balance—Red Iron's thoughtfulness for the harsh journey ahead.
As I finished securing the sword and prepared to depart, Gray Wolf—eyes still closed—asked in a steady voice.
"Must you go?"
"There's something I seek."
"Give the Prime Minister a bit more time. He promised to find a cure..."
"That's not what I want."
A fated death is humble. I was ready to embrace its end anytime.
But no matter how it hurried me, one thirst could never be abandoned.
"- - - - - - -."
Emotions swirled in the gaze we shared for a long moment. In the end, Gray Wolf turned away first.
"...If you've chosen this, there must be a reason. Take care, Broken Sword."
"Thanks."
With the North's greatest huscarl at my back, I'd always fought without worry.
I left the courtyard with a brief entrustment of the kingdom.
Clop, clop, clop.
Snort!
A White-Horned Deer, laden with gear on its saddle, sidled up from the exit.
Clever beast—you were waiting. Stroking its black nose, I mounted up.
Clop, clop, clop.
Snowgarden, viewed while trotting along the road, brimmed with life as ever.
Nothing changed, basking in the warm happiness peace had brought.
Yes—even removing one handful from the world's small share changes nothing. I urged the deer onward, leaving the capital.
Clop! Clop! Clop!
Winter meant light traffic.
Thanks to that, I galloped freely down the quiet road.
"Hoo..."
But I couldn't ride like this forever. Using the rushing scenery as backdrop, I slowly sorted my plans.
'The Origin, and the mountains.'
The path to the high peaks was long, fraught with perils.
No quick trips—thorough preparation was key.
First, to Northrom, the largest, most familiar outpost up north.
There, I'd stock proper winter gear and preserved rations, then press further north.
By my memory, Northerners lived in settlements near the high mountains.
No telling their state now, but I'd seek their aid.
The eternal snows of the high peaks, where terrain shifted constantly under year-round blizzards.
Praying my mother's North would guide me like a star, I gripped the reins again.
Clop, clop, clop!
Snort!
But the deer, mid-gallop, halted with a rough snort—instincts alert.
Its keen black nose had sensed something blocking the road.
"- - - - - - -."
The sole being who could halt a White-Horned Deer—White Wind had come this far.
Which meant her acknowledged master wasn't far either.
"Snow-Covered."
Black hair whipping in the flurry, tear-streaked eyes—I dismounted and approached the waiting girl slowly.
"············."
Snow-Covered, who hadn't met me once since that day of raised voices.
Yet her heart held no grudge—only sorrow filled her face.
What to say?
I moved to close the gap quickly but halted, that moment flashing back.
'Teacher has no teacher.'
An irreparable mistake.
I'd passed on every experience, yet never taught her to stand alone in the world.
"Teacher."
"Yes."
Shing.
Snow-Covered, blocking the path, drew her sword.
Tears streamed as that day, but resolve burned in her eyes.
"...You can't pass."
Yes—she'd come to stop me after all.
Snow-Covered, who had holed up weeping in the palace, now drew steel to bar my departure.
Whoosh— - - - -.
A cold wind rose.
Tall grasses swayed like waves, fresh snow twisting like foam atop them.
Only the two of us in the world.
Like that first winter swearing to become king, master and disciple stood atop the flow of time.
Shing.
One who must advance, one who must block.
Aware words were futile now, I drew my heavy sword as well.
The air sharpened around us, a prickling chill at my nape.
Unlike our prior spars with holds, Snow-Covered was in earnest.
Zzzzip.
Aura bloomed at the king's sword tip.
It had surpassed condensation—a perfect manifestation, seeking completion.
When had she reached such heights?
Snow-Covered marshaled every ounce of her power to bar her teacher in truth.
Breath heaving, winds stilled.
And the Knight King came.
Clang!
Her strike was invisible to the eye.
In one block, blade and hilt twisted off-center—even my grip.
Had it not been Red Iron's forge, it would've snapped then.
Facing aura evoking Gray Wolf, I sought an opening.
Clang!
But she parried effortlessly.
Reacting beast-like, Snow-Covered flipped airborne and landed.
So—you were holding back for your teacher.
Her face brimmed with newfound resolve I'd never seen.
Hiss.
Going easy now would be an insult.
Regripping the hilt, I drew breath through pursed lips.
Age and illness dulled nothing—sensations sharp as ever.
Stagnant sediments stirred in an instant; my shaken arm moved true.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
She'd think she knew every quirk, motion, pattern from countless bouts.
But this assault would reveal it mere illusion.
Thud!
I kicked off, launching forward.
Feints layered with feints, drawing excess moves.
Swoosh, thwack! Thud!
Erratic strikes without end.
Grip switched right to left endlessly, pivot ever-shifting.
Of course, aura wasn't forgotten.
Evasion keeping blades apart—I wielded edge, scabbard, flat, all means.
"Ack...!"
Snow-Covered, deeming technique variety her forte, bit her lip.
Illusion of facing another robbed her focus.
But she wouldn't yield.
Brushing tears, she roared desperately, squeezing aura to its limit.
Boom! Crackle!
Killing intent erupted. Reckless charge menaced; tip razor-sharp.
I met it guard-to-guard, shoving to halt her rush.
Clang!
Wobble!
Yet unbalanced, Snow-Covered surged with a shout.
Aura-clad sword raised high, she unleashed every technique in a swing.
Lines split mirage-like.
Fierce aura neared completion in a flash, speed blistering.
"- - - - - - - -."
A sword art I never taught.
Facing an unstoppable crisis, Snow-Covered had forged her own on the spot.
Thud.
Superb. Indescribable joy.
Meeting the incoming aura head-on, I lowered the blade aimed at my heart.
"Ah...!"
Snow-Covered's eyes widened.
Amid frames slicing into thousands, clear tears rode winter winds.
Always crying like this. That day, then, and now—all cherished memories.
Swoosh!
The blade grazed past my vital spot.
As I released mine without regret, she'd never meant to kill her teacher.
Clang!
Snow-Covered dropped her sword.
She sank to the ground, eyes quivering with regret and pain.
"...Why didn't you block?"
"Fast. Strong."
I extended the hand that had set my sword aside.
Gently lifting the snow-covered girl, I pulled her into a tight embrace.
"I lost."
The blade had conveyed it.
How to send off, how to stand alone— all has beginnings and ends.
Snow-Covered burst into sobs, melting into my arms, shedding not sorrow but parting reluctance.
I held her wordlessly.
And shared the fork-in-the-road memory I'd vowed to one day give.
"You're my pride."