One Blade Against Myriad Swords
Clang!
The instant Muston dropped his half-shattered sword, light flooded back into the spectators' dazed eyes.
"O-one strike?"
"The Sword Demon's disciple got broken in a single blow?"
"That's insane…"
"D-does that even make sense? Never mind whose disciple he is—can a Master really drop another Master in one exchange?"
"I watched it happen right in front of me and I still don't believe it…"
"I-isn't this a little anticlimactic?"
"A lot anticlimactic. They say even a famous feast can leave you hungry, but this is taking it too far…"
The crowd let out a long, collective sigh at the hollow spectacle they'd waited so eagerly to see. The spar between Raon and Muston had ended in a single exchange.
"Ah…"
Muston's jaw trembled as he stared at the ruined blade. The sword had been sheared clean through the middle, and the broken half stood buried in the arena floor.
What is this?
I used Master's swordsmanship… and I lost?
He still could not believe that Sword Demon Rektar's true transmitted art had shattered against that brat's single stroke. It felt less like reality than a nightmare he couldn't wake from.
This doesn't make sense.
Raon Zieghart carried the epithet Sword Dragon—strongest among the young generation. Losing to him was possible.
But in a single strike. And to a draw that hadn't even looked particularly impressive. That his master's sword had broken against it was something he could not, no matter how he turned it over, bring himself to understand.
"Th-this isn't right!"
Muston snatched up the broken sword and leveled it at Raon.
"I haven't lost yet! I will not accept this!"
He ground his teeth, refusing to swallow the defeat.
Raon clicked his tongue, watching Muston howl.
"Pathetic."
Wrath shook his head, regarding the man with the cold eyes of someone inspecting a bug.
"Far uglier than mere weakness, that one."
Right. He hasn't strayed an inch from what I expected.
A match was a match, even if it ended in a single stroke. In a real fight, Muston would already be dead.
To refuse the result and bully his way into an argument—setting skill aside, it was a character that made him unworthy of being called the Sword Demon's disciple.
"So what exactly do you intend to do about it?"
"We go again! I don't care if it's like this!"
Muston ignited aura blade along the truncated edge, insisting they fight then and there.
A bit of a hassle, but…
Best to crush him thoroughly here.
If Muston fought at his true ability, putting him down would not be easy. But he was even more worked up than before, riding a wave of wounded pride. Beating him would not be difficult.
"Muston."
Just as Raon started to raise the Heavenly Sky Sword again, the Sword Demon stepped up onto the arena.
His footsteps were light, yet they cut clean through the roar of the stands and settled, quiet and heavy, in every ear.
"M-Master."
Muston swallowed dryly at the ice that had settled in the Sword Demon's eyes.
"This is a spar, and it is a duel."
The Sword Demon lifted a hand. The broken blade buried in the floor tore free and dropped into his palm.
"Even if it was a single strike. Even if you let your guard down. A loss is a loss. Come down."
"Kh…"
Muston chewed his lip until it bled and left the arena.
He did not go quietly. Bloodshot eyes locked on Raon, as if carving the moment into memory.
"I'll apologize."
The Sword Demon approached and lowered his gaze.
"He's only just come out into the world, and his manners are lacking. I ask that you understand."
The broken blade resting on his hand crumbled into iron dust and scattered on the air. Whether that counted as an apology or a threat was anyone's guess.
"It's fine."
Raon nodded, his expression faintly awkward.
"Then, about the spar with Lord Rektar…"
"You'll need rest as well. We'll begin shortly."
The Sword Demon told him to circulate his aura, then stepped down from the arena.
"Mm…"
Raon watched the Sword Demon's back and clicked his tongue softly.
He's giving me a chance to fight in better condition. No reason to refuse.
He nodded to himself and sat in a chair just below the arena floor.
"What the hell even are you?"
"What else? A lunatic!"
Burren let out a stunned breath. Marta curled the corner of her mouth.
"Raon. Insanely handsome."
Runaan put up a thumb, as if to say he'd done well.
"I'm going to cultivate. Watch my back."
Raon asked the three of them to stand guard, then closed his eyes.
The swordsmanship Muston showed was the Sword Demon's art, no doubt.
He shut his eyes and turned over every scrap he might steal from Muston's blade.
"I am sorry!"
The moment the Sword Demon came down from the arena, Muston dropped to his knees.
"This worthless fool has dragged Master's reputation through the dirt!"
He slammed his head against the ground and screamed.
"However!"
Muston lifted a forehead already running with blood. His eyes twisted like a demon's.
"I truly only let my guard down. If I had given it my all, I would have wo—"
"Muston."
The Sword Demon looked down at him, brow furrowed.
"You said that if you hadn't let your guard down, you would have won?"
"Yes! That he won was nothing but a pile of coincidences! If you give me another chance to fight, I will restore our honor and return!"
"You say you can win without even looking at your opponent?"
"What?"
Muston didn't understand. His mouth fell open in a blank square.
"Your sword was not pointed at that boy. It was pointed at me. Your mind was not sparring with Raon. It was sparring with me."
The Sword Demon's eyes were winter-cold as they rested on his disciple's shaking shoulders.
"You didn't give everything to the opponent in front of you. You were too busy showing me an elevated sword. Wasn't that it? And in that state, you thought you would beat a boy they call the Sword Dragon?"
"Th-that's…"
Muston couldn't answer. His head dropped.
He's right…
The one I wanted to show my swordsmanship to wasn't Raon. It was Master.
To prove that he alone was fit to be the Sword Demon's disciple, he had used Myriad Swords—an art he had not yet fully mastered—and been broken in a single stroke.
Damn it!
He understood it now. He hadn't focused on his opponent. He'd shown a half-formed sword and nothing more. Losing to a Raon who had given everything was only natural.
"It seems you've finally realized."
The Sword Demon nodded, slow and quiet.
"If you hadn't imitated my sword—if you had fought with your own ability from the start—you could have had a proper match with that boy."
"Kh…"
Muston bit his lip and shook from head to toe.
"Today's defeat will raise you higher. Never forget it. And…"
The Sword Demon took one more step toward him.
"I'll tell you something you've greatly misunderstood."
"Yes?"
Muston lifted his head in a daze.
"Taking you as a disciple was not my choice. But I have no intention of taking it back. You are my only disciple, so put aside those useless thoughts and focus on your training."
The Sword Demon left those words behind and turned away.
Saying this much should be enough.
Muston had always been gnawed at by the knowledge that he had not been chosen. It had left him with a low, brittle pride, and a temper that caught fire at the slightest spark.
Even if the master-disciple bond had been formed against his will, Rektar had no thought of discarding a disciple once taken. He hoped this spar would hammer out the boy's flaws.
"Hoo…"
The Sword Demon watched Raon cultivate with his eyes closed, and his lips pressed thin.
No matter how I look at it, it's strange.
They don't look alike—and yet they do.
Whenever he looked at Raon Zieghart, that child came to mind.
The hair and the eyes were different from that brilliant gold and those crimson irises. But the harmony of the features was uncannily, unnervingly similar.
He brings back memories I'd rather not revisit.
The Sword Demon looked at Raon and let out a quiet breath. Across the way, Muston was staring at Raon too, his fist clenched white.
Once the first match had ended so cheaply, the gamblers came back to their senses and charged Rimer's stall.
"Zieghart's Liiight Wiiiind!"
"Hey! You damn swindler!"
"Give me my money back!"
"You're telling me that sorry bastard killed an Apostle and a Floor Master? Don't give me that crap!"
"He's just a small fry!"
"I never should've trusted an elf!"
The gamblers slammed into the stall as if they meant to tear it apart and seized Rimer by the collar. The money had vanished too easily. Madness burned in every eye.
"Eeeek!"
Dorian's lips trembled as he stared at those bloodshot faces.
"Now, now, everyone, calm down."
Rimer didn't so much as flinch. He waved a hand and soothed the crowd's fury as if it were nothing.
"The world of wagers is a cold one! He won in a single strike, but Raon took a fair amount of damage himself. See? He's circulating his aura right over there."
He pointed to Raon, eyes closed, working his aura. The gamblers' wailing faltered for a breath.
"Ladies and gentlemen. They say a man is given three chances in life. Your first chance was being able to watch this match. Your second was being able to put money on it. And your third—your last chance—is that there is still one more round to play!"
At Rimer's cry, winners and losers alike stood with their mouths hanging open.
"A-a chance?"
"There's one more chance?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"First, let go of me, and everyone take a step back."
The spectators released Rimer's collar and shuffled away.
"As you all know, the spar between Raon and the Sword Demon begins shortly. Well—less a spar than a bit of instruction, perhaps—but the situation has changed."
Rimer pointed at the Sword Demon, a cool smile on his face.
"Raon just blew away the disciple he treasures in a single strike. Do you think the Sword Demon will let that go? You there!"
He jabbed a finger at the gambler who had grabbed him moments before.
"If you were the Sword Demon, what would you do?"
"I-I'd smash him in one strike the same way."
"Exactly! The Sword Demon is human, and blood looks after its own. He is going to hate Raon for humiliating his disciple. Of course he'll pin Raon with a single stroke. And that—"
Rimer slammed the table and rose to his feet.
"—is where our third chance begins! Can Raon stop the Sword Demon's one strike, or can't he? I am opening a new board, starting now!"
He launched the fresh wager on the spot and called for bets.
"Th-that's insane…"
"Is that even a bet?"
"He's right. Even if it's Lord Raon, he can't hold against the Sword Demon's blade."
"Yeah. This isn't a wager at all!"
"Cut the crap and give us our money—"
They weren't fools. Who would put money on Raon? Sneers ran through the crowd.
While everyone glared at Rimer and refused to bet, the Third Prince of Owen pushed through the press of bodies and stopped in front of the table.
"I'll put all my winnings and my original stake on Swordsman Raon withstanding that single strike."
The Third Prince said there was no need to return what he'd won. He would bet all of it on Raon.
"My thanks!"
Rimer bowed with a smile—and an aura message slid into the Third Prince's ear.
THIRD PRINCE —
"You'll keep your promise to tell me what Miss Marta likes, won't you?"
RIMER —
"Ah, of course. Once this is over, I'll tell you what that girl likes most."
He nodded briskly at the Third Prince.
What that girl likes is fighting and cussing. As if there's anything else.
There was absolutely no chance Marta would fall for the Third Prince. Rattling off something she liked and calling it done would be enough.
"Dorian. Write it down properly."
"Yes!"
Dorian nodded and entered the Third Prince's wager in the ledger.
"W-wait. Didn't His Highness just bet five hundred gold coins?"
"He did. That should be a thousand by now…"
"And he's putting all of it down?"
"Good heavens…"
"What kind of nerves does he have?"
The crowd swallowed hard, watching the Third Prince throw his money down without a blink.
"I-I'm going with the Sword Demon!"
"Me too!"
"Damn it! I'm emptying my emergency fund!"
"The third chance! That's right! I don't know about the rest, but you have to grab the third chance!"
"We're going to Cameluuuun!"
Winners and losers alike poured their money back onto the table. Coin stacked until the board vanished beneath it.
Rimer grinned at the heap of gold throwing its own shadow. Then he turned toward Raon, who had finished circulating his aura and opened his eyes, clasped both hands, and bowed his head in fervent prayer.
Raon looked at Rimer's betting stall, which had erupted into chaos all over again, and slowly shook his head.
That man could get dropped anywhere on the continent and never starve.
Turning a crisis into profit. That petty cunning of his was almost admirable.
"This King would rip those long ears clean off!"
Wrath swung a round little fist at empty air, furious.
Yeah. Just watching him is enough to piss you off.
Raon huffed a quiet laugh and climbed onto the arena. His body was loose, his aura topped off from cultivation. He was in better condition now than when he'd fought Muston.
The Sword Demon, who had been watching him, nodded and walked up onto the floor.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes."
Raon gave a heavy nod.
"Thank you for giving my disciple a realization."
The Sword Demon glanced back at Muston, eyes narrowing.
"He's short on experience, and there's a great deal he still lacks. With your teaching, he should be able to climb higher."
"That is fortunate."
Raon clicked his tongue, watching Muston—who, contrary to the Sword Demon's words, was still putting out a murderous glare.
"You enlightened my disciple with a single strike, so I too shall end our spar with a single strike. Will you receive it?"
"It would be an honor."
Raon drew a slow breath and pulled the Heavenly Sky Sword free.
"Then let us begin."
The Sword Demon drew his blade from more than ten paces away.
A faintly reddened edge rose against the sky. The form was too natural to even be called a high guard, and from it a vast, kingly presence rolled out across the arena.
A low, rolling hum filled the air.
His sword began to descend, slow as dripping honey. It was so sluggish a child could have laughed and stepped aside—and yet Raon's heart clenched as if it were about to burst.
What is this…
A speed slow enough to make a man yawn. No aura blade. Not even sword energy wrapped around the steel. And still he had no idea how to stop it.
"Kh—!"
Dodge, and you die. Block, and you die.
The pressure of a sword that seemed to hold the entire world crushed down on his body.
His bones screamed. He couldn't even breathe. He found himself doubting that a human being could wield a sword like this at all.
"What an amusing lesson this is."
Wrath smacked his lips, intrigued. The sound of that voice hit Raon like a bucket of cold water, and his mind snapped clear.
I can't just take this lying down.
There has to be a way…
He goaded a heart that felt frozen solid and drove the Ring of Fire.
The slowly turning rings resonated, and the pressure binding his flesh like iron chains began to loosen.
Even so, with the Ring of Fire singing, he still could not see a path to stop the blade. There was only one way to evade it: drop to his knees and bow.
So this is the price for humiliating his disciple.
The Sword Demon's sword, seen from the front, was an absolute blade. Seen from the side, it would have looked as slow as a man playing around.
He clearly meant to pay back his disciple's shame with interest.
If that's his real intent, it's a little ugly…
He hadn't expected a man of the Sword Demon's name to come at him like this. Something hot and ugly boiled up in his chest.
Raon bit his lip until it bled and tightened his grip on the Heavenly Sky Sword.
No sword I've used until now will work.
None of the swordsmanship he had learned, studied, or created could stop the Sword Demon's blade.
If my existing realm isn't enough…
Then I just have to go further.
He held the Sword Demon's descending blade in his eyes and drove the Ring of Fire to its extreme.
The rings' resonance struck an Upper Dantian that had not yet fully opened. His skull burned as if it would catch fire—and a new field of vision tore wide.
The Sword Demon's slowly falling blade now looked fast instead, and the swordsmanship nested inside it unfurled like a panorama.
This sword…
It was the same art Muston had shown. The completeness was a different dimension entirely.
The majesty of Myriad Swords—packed with countless principles—roared at the world.
Behind that finished Myriad Swords, the Sword Demon's eyes were dry. His face held no more feeling than a man crushing an insect.
Knowing what that sword was, and seeing the contempt in the Sword Demon's gaze, Raon refused to go down like this.
A deep, bone-shaking hum rolled through him.
The seven Rings of Fire condensed as one. The mana in his body turned as if it had become nature itself, and he felt the energy of the entire world as it was.
Fast and slow. Heavy and light. Fierce and gentle. Flexible and unyielding. Vivid and fantastical—the Sword Demon's blade.
Principles of the sword that should have contradicted one another, that should never have been able to coexist, were gathered into that single stroke.
If this were the first time, I never could have stopped it. But…
I've seen a greater sword than that, closer than anyone.
The flow had been different, but he had once watched from behind a martial artist's sword that wove every principle in the world into one.
Glenn Zieghart.
The price of seeing that back had been steep.
Because he had seen the Northern Annihilation King's sword, he could look at the Myriad Swords descending on him from the front and refuse to bow. He could show his teeth.
He stepped forward.
One step. Then two.
He called up, in the back of his mind, the Transcendent's blade that had driven back the White Blood Cult Leader and Tatcheon in a single stroke.
The Rings of Fire, spinning at their limit, twisted as if they would shatter, and a vast resonance surged through him.
In that white space that had been filled only with the sprouts of swords, stems of the blade slowly began to rise.
He savored the pain of a mind burning itself dry and reset his grip on the Heavenly Sky Sword.
A deep, rolling surge answered him.
The heat of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and the cold of Glacia moved as one as he stepped in with his left foot.
The footprint, laden with the weight of ten thousand catties, tore a massive fissure through the arena floor.
He took that immense force up through his waist and called up every martial art he had built until now.
I can't contain everything.
Hadn't Muston already shown him? A sword that failed to cohere was worse than a single honest blade.
He packed into himself only the swordsmanship he had tempered without end.
Fast, powerful, vivid, and precise—Raon Zieghart's sword surged upward in a vast bloom of light.