One Sword Cleaves a Thousand
"Master...?"
He was fast.
Set beside a Haste spell, his sheer speed might not have been so different — but the ground he covered was far greater. Haste only quickened a person's steps. It could not let anyone sprint across fallen leaves, or walk on water. Cheon Hwi was doing both. He crossed the mountains on the backs of leaves and forded the river as though the current were solid earth.
"Not this time... I will not lose them this time."
Even that speed was not enough. He kept repeating the words and drove himself harder still, forgetting altogether that Cecilia was with him. Perhaps it was for his own sake — the knowledge that if he lost his disciples again, he would not be able to hold on to his reason. Perhaps it was a master's refusal to accept their deaths. Or perhaps it was simply that the young ought not to die. Whatever the reason, it made no difference to Cheon Hwi. So long as his disciples lived, that was enough. To make it so, he had to go faster than he was going now. The faster he was, the better their chance of surviving.
A speed that had already seemed impossible to surpass multiplied several times over. The landscape, streaming past like a film, began to jump with every blink, as if he were looking at one photograph after another. And at last he reached the mountain he had been aiming for.
From the outside it looked almost unharmed. But a thick reek of blood rode the wind and struck his nose, and hers.
"Hold on to me."
Cecilia, caught against Cheon Hwi's arm, was already faint to the point of slipping under — but she could not let herself go. The moment she lost consciousness she would fall, or become a hindrance to him. Besides, she bore the office of Saintess. A Saintess had to keep her dignity, and her bearing.
"Hrk— uuulp..."
The instant her feet touched the ground, Cecilia began to vomit.
A Saintess's dignity? Her bearing? Who had said anything of the sort? There was only so long a person could endure. She had clung to him for nearly twenty minutes, flying the whole way. If she had at least been running, she might have kept her own balance. Hauled along like luggage and shaken every which way, there was no world in which she did not throw up. But that misery, at least, was over.
Or perhaps it was wrong to say the pain had ended. Something worse might still be waiting. Right there before them, a merchant caravan was hauling his fallen disciples away.
Please let them be safe. Please, only let them be safe.
"Pretty faces. They'll sell well as slaves."
"They're Academy students. Will that be all right?"
"We were ambushed by bandits, and those students sacrificed themselves to save us. In a situation like that, what did we do wrong?"
"As expected of the caravan master! Truly wise."
"If you mean to make money, you use your head."
He must have misheard. He had to have misheard. Otherwise he would have to kill every last person here.
"What do you think you're doing."
"Who are you!"
"Answer my question first. What did you just say you meant to do with them?"
"Tsk. You heard well enough. Why ask? I said I'd sell them as slaves."
The damned fools betrayed even that thin hope.
"The woman beside you is pretty, too. Leave her behind and go, and I'll spare your life. That much, at least."
And a negotiation that was never going to work. How lightly did they take him, to speak that way?
"You think you and one frail woman can beat the lot of us?"
"..."
"Kill the boy. Take the woman. We've come this far — we may as well wipe out the evidence!"
"You bastards...!"
The curse tore out of Cheon Hwi whether he willed it or not. He ought to have doubted them. Even a little. Even once. Was he supposed to call it unavoidable, because he had never imagined that the greatest academy in the world would fail to so much as confirm the identity of the people it was escorting? Nonsense. War did not indulge excuses that convenient. If he had not arrived in time — if his disciples had been even a little weaker — they would already have been taken from him and sold as slaves.
"I will endure this no longer."
Cheon Hwi's voice was low. So low that not even the shadow of an emotion could be felt in it.
"For a brat, your bluster is second to none!"
The man they called the caravan master sneered. Behind him, men came pouring out in a rush.
The caravan's guards?
"You had guards. Why didn't they fight the bandits alongside you?"
The men who looked like guards did not have a scratch on them, and every one of them carried a spear or an axe rather than a sword. The wounds that spoke of bandits, though, were all wounds left by swords. Which meant those guards had never fought the bandits at all.
"A man about to die is always full of questions. Very well. I'll tell you. From the moment we took those wenches on as escorts, I meant to sell them as slaves. That's why we came where the bandits run thick."
"And you were confident you wouldn't lose to them."
"Even if those girls lost to the bandits, our guards aren't so weak as that. I was certain we'd win. And you will have to face those guards alone."
"..."
"Last chance. Hand over that woman even now, and I'll let you keep your life."
He glanced at Cecilia. She was trembling hard. Did she think he would cast her aside to save himself?
"Not a chance."
She was shaking, yes, but it was fear of a situation she had never faced before. It was not the fear of being abandoned. If she had been afraid of that, she would at least have tried to run and get clear of the mountain.
"Cecilia."
"Yes, Lord Cheon Hwi..."
"Cover your ears and close your eyes until I tell you otherwise."
What he was about to show was not a sight for so young a child.
"Yes...?"
But Cecilia asked again, in a voice that said she did not understand.
"Quickly."
"Yes... yes!"
She gave the short answer and did as he said, covering her ears and shutting her eyes.
"Putting on airs because a woman's watching, are you?"
"Think what you like."
The moment he confirmed that Cecilia's eyes were fully closed and her ears covered, Cheon Hwi took hold of his sword and began to walk slowly forward.
"Do not imagine, any of you, that you will die easily."
"Kill him!"
The words had barely fallen before the guards lunged. An axe split the air, aimed at the nape of Cheon Hwi's neck. He did not yield a single step.
A whistle of steel. The first axe grazed the back of his neck — no. It grazed the place where the back of his neck had been.
"...Huh?"
One guard cut empty air and turned his head, and in that instant felt something cold settle against the back of his skull.
"Wha—"
Before he could even understand that it was a blade, blood burst from the clean cross-section of his severed neck. One exchange. In a single exchange, the head of one of the guards the caravan master had boasted of came off. Even so, more than fifty remained. A number worth boasting of, he supposed. It did not matter. In his previous life, had he not faced a hundred demonic cultists stronger than these, all at once? He might be several times weaker than he had been then, but these men were dozens of times weaker than those.
"I'll say this in advance. Guards. You take the caravan master's coin to do his work, I expect. Abandon the fight now and leave, and I will not kill you."
"Don't make me laugh! Kill one man by luck and suddenly you're drunk on yourself!"
"Very well. I will respect your choice."
"Who asked you to respect our cho—"
A wet crunch. Another exchange. He had swung twice, and two men died on those two swings. Once might have been chance. Twice was skill. In the moment when fear of that sword took hold of every one of them, Cheon Hwi's mouth opened.
"S-surround him!"
The guards closed in as one. More than ten of them drew a half-circle and leveled their spears.
"Wise."
They were making good use of their numbers. But—
A rush of wind. His body vanished, and the head of the man directly before him rose into the empty air. The head that had been glaring at Cheon Hwi as if it meant to kill him was cut free. The severed neck planted itself in the earth and went on glaring at the caravan master with that same killing look.
"Surrounding him won't work either! All of you, at once!"
The remaining guards did not spare so much as a thought for their dead comrades. They meant only to kill the enemy. The man who looked to be their leader shouted, and a host of spears and axes flashed in the air.
"Laughable."
Cheon Hwi merely raised his sword.
"You think you can stop us with that thin little blade!"
Steel rang.
"And why, exactly, should I fail to?"
"That monster of a bastard..."
"It's been a long time since I heard that name."
Come to think of it, he had never used it in this body. Not once.
"Do you know why, in my previous life, they called me the Number One Under Heaven?"
"What is he saying?! The madman!"
Because his control of inner energy was superb? True. Because his swordsmanship was superb? That was true as well. But if he had to name the greatest reason, it was overwhelming power. Bearing the name Heaven-Breaking, how could he fail to split the sky even once? With one sword he had cleft a thousand; with the second, a mountain; with the third, the sea. With the fourth he had cut even the heavens, and so the name Heaven-Breaking Sword Saint had been given to him. Once a man held such a title and had split the sky, it was only natural that the name Number One Under Heaven should follow. This body would strain to use it. Once, though, he could.
Cheon Hwi, who had been watching the guards with a face empty of all feeling, opened his mouth. Quietly. Absolutely.
First Form — One Sword Cleaves a Thousand
Fingers closed around a sickle scattered into the air. An arm that had held an axe was sheared away. The head of the man with the spear went flying. That much was nothing. Some lost the whole upper half of the body. The man who had stood furthest forward was not merely cut — he was torn apart, until not even a corpse remained to be gathered.
A downpour. The blood of dozens burst forth and fell like rain. Cheon Hwi stepped through the pond painted red and kept swinging. Every time the sword swept the empty air, flesh split. Someone clutched his belly and collapsed. Someone screamed with everything above the knees cut away.
"A monster... he's a monster!"
"Run! This isn't an opponent we can beat!"
The guards' morale had vanished long ago, and the caravan master's body was shaking in time with it. He knew.
I can't win.
This was not a man. With a single sword he had not given ground even against more than fifty, and he had gone beyond refusing to yield — he had slaughtered all fifty of them.
That was when it happened.
"Aaaagh!"
One guard circled behind him and charged, meaning to drive a blade into Cheon Hwi's side. Before the thrust could land, Cheon Hwi's sword cut the soldier's thigh on a level line and did not even let him close.
"Kh... kkh..."
In the instant that man collapsed, Cheon Hwi's gaze went to the caravan master — and past the gaze, his fingertips caught the man by the collar.
"......"
The sound of breathing vanished. The caravan master was lifted into the air by fingertips alone.
"Spare me...! Please, spare me!"
"Don't worry. I won't kill you."
The caravan master looked at Cheon Hwi with eyes full of the hope that he might live. A moment later that hope was washed away in blood and gone.
"Kill you now, and it would be too easy. You ought to die in as much pain as possible. We'll start with the arm."
A shearing hiss. The sword slid through the caravan master's wrist and took it off. Warm blood ran from the stump in one stream, then two, and then poured down like a fountain. He turned, meaning to call Cecilia so the man could be treated — and found her watching the sight with her eyes open.
"Did I not tell you to close your eyes and cover your ears?"
"I... that is..."
He had meant to spare a young child a sight so cruel, but it seemed her curiosity had won.
"It can't be helped. Heal him."
"You aren't going to kill him...?"
"For that man, even death would be too light. I mean to make him suffer as much as I can. Before that, though — my disciples come first."
With those words he ran straight for the wagon where his disciples had been loaded. Fortunately, they were awake.
"Master...?"
"Nn..."
"Thank heaven you're all alive.... Wait. What did you just say?"
He was certain of it. They had called him Master. Had they regained their memories? It ought to have been something to celebrate, and yet fear rose in Cheon Hwi. What if they hated him? What of the promise that he would protect them — and of the fact that they had died? His head was full of nothing but those worries, and to that Cheon Hwi, his disciples did something he had never once imagined.