Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Prologue
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On the Crasian Continent, in the northern Lehart Mountains.
A young man stood midway up this notoriously treacherous range, gripping his sword.
He was handsome at first glance.
A sturdy build that couldn't be hidden by his clothes, thick eyebrows, a sharp nose, and a graceful jawline made him look like a statue.
His black eyes, staring straight ahead, evoked obsidian, and their shape was equally refined.
But that was where it ended.
His complexion was poor, and his gaze was extremely hazy.
His attire was a mess, with his torn clothes exposing patches of bare skin here and there. His body was covered in wounds large and small.
His black hair, falling just short of his shoulders, was utterly unkempt and greasy.
*I won't last much longer.*
The young man, Martin Adalbert, sensed his end was near.
For the past ten days, he had fought and fled repeatedly.
He had struggled desperately to survive, but he had finally reached his limit.
Even standing was now a challenge.
Yet he forced himself upright.
If it were anyone else, it might not matter, but he refused to show weakness to his enemy.
"You've got guts, Kallain. To show up before me so boldly."
"We were friends once. Isn't it proper etiquette to witness a dying moment?"
The red-haired youth, Kallain Gustin, laughed.
It was unmistakably a sneer.
Martin ground his teeth at the sight.
He and the bastard had been close since before they could even think straight.
That was over twenty years ago, yet the man had betrayed him without a second thought.
"And I had something I absolutely needed to say to you. Thank you, Martin. Thanks to you, I can fulfill my family's long-cherished wish."
"...Wish?"
"Our family has sought independence for ages. We just lacked the courage to act. And who could blame us? The House of Adalbert is the strongest among the three great noble houses. Any rash move for independence would have wiped out our entire line."
"It would've been better to just leave it as a dream."
"That was the plan. But then an unexpected opportunity arose."
The smile curling Kallain's lips deepened.
In contrast, Martin's face grew even colder.
"The previous head of House Adalbert never truly deserved the position. He lacked the most crucial power. But you, Martin—you drove the final nail in."
"..."
"The sole direct descendant of House Adalbert being defective? What better chance could there be? Seeing you fail to manifest your unique ability, we made our decision. Not just independence—we'd seize House Adalbert's place."
"So that's how it is... Then why wait so long? You could've moved when I fell to commoner status. Like the other branches did."
"Please. Acting that obviously is amateur hour. Those initial betrayers, including the three main houses, lost all respect and couldn't rally anyone beyond their own ranks. We were different."
As Kallain said, House Gustin hadn't betrayed him immediately.
They hadn't welcomed Martin as warmly as House Egret when he became a commoner, but they had shown him goodwill.
Kallain himself had stayed in House Egret, spending time with Martin.
And when Martin built his own force, they had joined swiftly, bolstering his strength.
"You spent those two years in House Egret to keep tabs on me."
"Exactly. Congenital defects sometimes resolve later in life. We had to prepare for the worst."
"Thorough, as always."
"When a centuries-old wish is within reach, caution is key. Fortunately, everything went our way. All that's left is dealing with you, the fallen rebel."
"You sure talk big after pinning a false treason charge on me. Though I'm pathetic for falling for it."
"No need for self-pity, Martin. Feel proud instead. Coming this far after losing everything is achievement enough."
With that, Kallain snapped his fingers.
In that instant.
Flash!
A massive magic circle bloomed in the sky.
Light poured from it, spreading outward to form a perfect cubic barrier.
Martin's escape routes were utterly sealed.
And that wasn't all.
Woooong!
A magic circle appeared on the ground, space splitting to reveal dark rifts everywhere.
Knights in full armor and mages cloaked in robes emerged one after another. The armor bore crimson dragon emblems, the robes crimson crescent moons—over two hundred in total.
"The Crimson Dragon Knights and Crimson Moon Mage Corps... Isn't that overkill for catching a terminally ill patient?"
The force alone could raze a decent city.
And it was all assembled for one man.
"Who'd treat an empire-top-ten Sword Saint like a mere invalid? Even if your illness flares, even soaked in hunger and fatigue—no one's letting their guard down against you, Martin."
"Always so ruthless."
"Thanks for the compliment. Everyone, prepare to attack. Sword Saint hunt begins now."
Kallain issued the order.
The knights aimed their weapons in unison, unleashing a dazzling array of auras.
The mages raised their staves, ready to cast at any moment.
*At least I won't die alone.*
He liked that many would be joining him.
Of course, Kallain first. Only then could he soothe the souls of those who died for him.
Wung.
Martin channeled mana while glaring at the foes.
In that moment, excruciating agony overwhelmed him.
His organs felt like they would burst, his muscles and nerves tearing apart. The illness that had tormented him for twenty-five years finally consumed him whole.
"Now! Commence attack!"
Spotting Martin's opening, Kallain barked the command.
The mages unleashed their spells.
"Inferno!"
"Flame Cannon!"
A barrage of fire magic rained down on Martin.
Gritting his teeth, Martin swung his sword down with all his might.
Slaaash!
Golden light erupted, carving a pitch-black rift in the air.
The rift sucked in the fiery blasts with immense force, devouring them whole.
And it didn't stop there.
The rift grew, greedily consuming everything it touched.
"Arrrgh!"
"Aaagh!"
In the blink of an eye, over ten men were dragged in and vanished without a trace.
"Even barely able to stand, and you still have this much power..."
"The rumors were true—you could've been the empire's strongest without the illness."
Fear etched itself on every knight and mage's face.
They were reminded once more.
Just who they faced.
Sword Saint Martin Adalbert.
An incompetent wretch plagued by a cursed disease, unable to manifest his unique ability for so long. A man born frail, unable to fully harness his overwhelming talent.
He overcame it all, manifesting his unique ability at twenty.
Absurd enough—yet he didn't stop, growing ever stronger.
By twenty-three, he ranked among the empire's top ten, deemed the absolute strongest in pure swordsmanship—a genius among geniuses.
The terror of such a being burning his remaining life gnawed at the knights and mages.
"Don't falter! Even a Sword Saint is human!"
Kallain shouted urgently, frowning.
But the once-broken morale showed no sign of recovery.
"Have you forgotten what the family head—my father—promised? Lands and titles to whoever beheads the traitor before you!"
Kallain's cry shifted their eyes.
Greed overpowered fear.
The knights bolstered their bodies with mana; the mages chanted spells, primed to fire.
Flash!
The knights moved first.
Over eighty charged, their momentum crushing down on Martin.
But he didn't blink, slashing his sword horizontally. A golden arc whipped forward like a lash.
"Guh!"
"Ugh!"
Screams rang out as the vanguard knights flew back.
The survivors desperately flung auras or unleashed their unique abilities.
The mages bombarded him with spells and unique ability attacks.
Boom! Kwakwang!
They tried to block, but defending everything was impossible. He parried only lethal strikes, pressing forward.
Wounds reopened worse in the chaos, blood pouring until his entire body was dyed red.
Yet Martin's steps never halted. Foes swarmed desperately, but they were the ones collapsing.
*I’ll give you credit for that iron will, Martin. But that's your limit. No matter how great you are, you can't last long with those wounds.*
Kallain remained composed watching Martin's struggle.
He felt the man's aura weakening rapidly.
No matter how fiercely he fought, defeat was clear. Time would crush him mercilessly.
*When he tires, I'll kill him myself.*
House Adalbert once had five branches, but only House Gustin thrived now.
Kill Martin here, and all the empire's greatest house's glory would be theirs.
So Kallain waited calmly.
For Martin to collapse from exhaustion.
But Martin defied him. His dying body rampaged madly, halving their forces in just ten minutes.
"Urk!"
Yet as a man, limits were inevitable.
Dizziness hit; Martin groaned, staggering briefly.
"Now!"
A knight seized the gap, closing in instantly and swinging down with full force.
Slash!
Martin's left arm severed, hitting the ground.
"Urk!"
Agony crashed over him.
But he stayed calm, flinging the stump.
Blood sprayed, blinding the knight's eyes. The blinded foe hesitated instinctively.
Martin swung.
His blade arced, decapitating the man in one stroke. Ignoring the falling corpse, he turned to Kallain.
"Still as cowardly as ever, Kallain. Always were—pretending caution while shying from the critical moment. That's why your achievements never matched your power."
"Weak provocation."
"Just stating facts."
Martin sneered back.
"You never beat me in swordsmanship, not once since we were kids. Against me, who couldn't even manifest a unique ability and coughed all day from illness."
"..."
"Look now. Your 'leader' stands idle while subordinates die. Can you deny it? Be honest—you're unfit to stand above others. Just a coward."
Kallain's eyebrow twitched.
He wouldn't fall for such cheap taunts.
His mental discipline was too honed for that.
The problem was his subordinates' changing gazes.
They stared at him openly, dissatisfaction plain.
*Damn it!*
Clench.
Cursing inwardly, Kallain balled his fist.
As House Gustin's sole heir, he couldn't appear weak before them.
*He's exhausted. One arm left. No reason to fear. End it quick.*
Resolved, Kallain kicked off the ground.
In that instant, his form vanished.
He reappeared before Martin in a blink, thrusting a fist wreathed in crimson light.
A vicious blow.
Enough to shred space itself.
Martin tried to block desperately, but his right arm wouldn't obey. Pain buckled his legs.
Crunch.
Finally, Kallain's fist pierced Martin's chest.
He felt flesh tear, muscles rend, bones snap vividly.
*Got him!*
As Kallain thrilled inwardly.
"That's why you're always treated like a fool, Kallain Gustin. You should've aimed for the heart or throat. Like me."
Martin sneered.
"What...?"
Kallain couldn't finish.
Martin's sword took his head.
Blood gushed; Kallain's body crumpled limply.
"Wait ahead. I'll follow soon."
Martin turned.
The remaining enemies charged.
But now, he truly had no strength left.
*Death itself doesn't scare me...*
From an unremembered childhood, he'd faced it constantly.
Those around him always prepared for his demise; every healer warned he'd never see past twenty, no matter what.
In that sense, he'd been lucky.
Not only past twenty—he'd gained five extra years. And claimed the overly grand title of Sword Saint.
But it wasn't enough.
A thousand years.
House Adalbert had risen with the Alteria Empire.
How could he accept his generation ending the empire's greatest house?
*If I got one more chance...*
Martin smiled bitterly.
He knew it was futile wishful thinking.
But what harm in one last wish before death?
Moments later, darkness swallowed him.