The Blind One-Armed Sword Saint's Guide
Rihella Leyseras's gaze locked perfectly onto the back of the man rising from his seat, about to leave the room.
A ragged coat, an empty left sleeve dangling limp, and a drab cloth tightly bound over his eyes.
At a glance, he looked so wretched he might collapse in some back alley without anyone batting an eye.
But she clearly remembered the overwhelming destructive power that blind, one-armed man had displayed in the forest just hours ago.
No— the very moment she realized he was a Sword Master, any measure of strength became meaningless.
They were beings beyond the reach even of royalty, let alone imperial blood.
...I absolutely cannot let him go like this.
If he opened that door and walked out now, there was no doubt her life wouldn't last the night.
The Genos Empire would surely continue pursuing her—the last surviving direct royal of Leyseras Kingdom—to fully annex it.
And in doing so, the precious knight captain and her maid, who had fled here drenched in blood to protect her, would meet gruesome ends.
But if she slipped away from them now, before it was too late?
The knights might escape the empire's pursuit and somehow survive.
I have to live.
Her trembling hands clenched into tight fists.
The decision was made, but putting it into action gave her pause.
How could it not?
She hadn't witnessed it herself, but she'd heard enough tales of this world's Sword Masters to last a lifetime.
Raping fellow humans was par for the course; they conducted human experiments openly, with the powerful turning a blind eye.
Even murdering nobles drew only stones from those muttering that the victim and their bloodline had it coming.
In other words, the man who called himself Leon— who hadn't laid a finger on her yet—could turn feral at any moment.
Still, no matter what humiliations or horrors she endured right now, survival came first.
Only then could she one day vow revenge for her family, who had spilled their blood unjustly.
And to do that, the only surefire way was to stick right by this man of overwhelming might and cling to life.
With her thoughts reaching that point, she sprang up from her seat without a second thought.
No time to even organize her words.
Charging forward in a desperate lunge, she seized his rough wrist with both hands before he could react.
But now that she had him gripped tight, her mind went blank on how to even start persuading him.
So she just worked her lips futilely, squeezing his wrist harder, until impatience and fear finally burst out as the wrong words entirely.
"Please, take responsibility for me!!!"
Her anguished shout echoed deafeningly through the room.
And as she mulled over the meaning of what she'd just blurted, Rihella's face flushed crimson from her nape to the crown of her head.
The man—blind, so with keen hearing—clapped his hands over his ears.
Only then did she realize the madness she'd screamed, and her face burned hotter.
W-what did I just say...!!
She wanted to burrow into a rat hole in the floor and hide forever.
"Excuse me, Princess? I'm blind. Shouting right in my face like that hurts my ears."
His utterly pragmatic scolding drew a small sigh from Rihella as she released my wrist.
The vibrations of her ragged, shame-filled breaths carried through the air to my skin.
I was a bit flustered by her acting on her own and then getting embarrassed, but honestly, something else struck me as even more absurd.
Is this some dark fantasy gold-digger play?
She hadn't laid a finger on me, and I'd even kindly helped her back into her clothes—yet here she was demanding I take responsibility.
Twisting the situation as if I'd done something vile, when nothing happened.
Maybe a ploy to force a sense of obligation onto someone like me, with a Sword Master's power.
So I furrowed my brow with a hint of suspicion.
"More importantly, responsibility for what? Did I do something awful to you just now, Princess?"
Her head drooped lower at my pointed question, utterly speechless.
Her gaze dropping to the floor and her fidgeting feet spoke volumes of her acute embarrassment.
"I-It... slipped out wrong...."
Soon, in a shrinking voice, she began her excuse—then took a deep breath and confessed her true intentions in a trembling tone.
The empire would pursue her relentlessly if she fled.
She couldn't let loyal Rowen and her maid die like dogs because of her alone.
So she'd haul luggage, do menial chores, or even—if the mood struck someday—warm his bed at night; she'd do it all diligently.
Just please let her stay by his side and bide her time for the future. With that earnest plea, the princess clamped her mouth shut again.
I listened silently to her whole story, arms crossed.
Yeah... she could be pretty useful until I get clear answers on this Chersen guy.
At first, I saw her as just a bothersome lump now that the escort job was done.
But the name Chersen Leyseras kept nagging at me, stirring up my mind.
The sudden system message didn't help.
And above all, she was a princess of a nation.
She'd have access to information leagues beyond the fragmented lore I'd gleaned playing the original game.
Real continental geography, the hidden underbelly of noble society, secret legends of each kingdom—that level of premium knowledge.
For someone like me, who had to wander the continent hunting down the scattered Seven Disasters, a woman with royal-level vast knowledge was the ultimate asset—worth cartloads of gold.
To extract the first disaster, Eretoa of Corrosion, from some hellish human experiment lab in Rosonto Kingdom...
Having an informed ally would make it far smoother.
Simple enough, then. I'll take her along.
Decision made, I thrust out my one remaining right hand.
Rihella flinched with a sharp intake of breath.
I shrugged at her rigidly tense form and gave a gentle smile.
"Then from now on, as the guide for this blind one-armed swordsman... I look forward to working with you."
"...Th-thank you."
The Black Moon's 3rd class assassin Polden—who led the hunt for Rihella Leyseras—along with three 4th class assassins and 103 Leyseras rebels...
Upon hearing they'd lost contact in a small forest near Chensi Forest, the Genos Empire's leadership—the noble faction that had long schemed to devour Leyseras—fell silent around the round table.
The One Duke Three Marquises showed varied reactions but held their tongues.
"How the hell did a mere princess from some kingdom shake off over a hundred hunters?!"
Breaking the silence first was Marquis Sareon Deniers, one of the faction heads.
He slammed the table, bellowing.
"The knights guarding her to the end were barely Aura Users at best, fumbling with it crudely! Give me an excuse, at least!!"
His bloodshot eyes swept the room.
They soon fixed on the man standing silently at the center of the dim secret chamber.
A figure whose face was completely shrouded in black mask and cloth, expression unreadable.
Starting with the marquis's murderous glare...
The other nobles around the table—all but the One Duke Three Marquises—glared at him in unison, as if on cue.
Yet even under the fury of the empire's top nobles, the man didn't twitch.
He simply un crossed his arms slowly, then took a single step forward, boots scraping leather on stone.
"This failure to heed the whims of Genos's great leaders lies entirely with us Black Moon."
His voice from beneath the cloth was eerily serene.
So calm it almost seemed he didn't truly regret it.
"We grew complacent, deeming it a simple pursuit. We'll take full responsibility, thoroughly investigate what happened in Chensi Forest, and deliver Rihella Leyseras's head here without fail."
Finishing, he reached to his belt and pulled out a small, shabby leather pouch.
A subspatial pouch.
Aimed toward the table, he shook it lightly—and gleaming gold coins rained down, shimmering.
Clink.
In moments, one side of the table became a pile of golden allure.
He tucked the empty pouch away, bowing slightly to Marquis Sareon.
"Double the commission on failure: one thousand gold coins. Black Moon's compensation for this botched job."
Straightening, he continued.
"Please, accept this to ease your anger, at least a little."
"......"
The marquis, fuming and pointing accusingly, faltered.
The nobles' glares shifted, nailed to the dazzling gold heap.
A few coughed awkwardly, swallowing hard; the sound echoed in the quiet chamber.
"Ahem..."
Marquis Sareon cleared his throat, withdrawing his hand from the table.
"Well, if Black Moon shows such sincerity... we can't just hound you relentlessly."
"Indeed. Even monkeys fall from trees, predators slip chasing prey. We trust you'll handle it next time."
"With solid compensation like this, we can keep treating Black Moon like old friends."
The nobles who'd snarled like they wanted to throttle him moments ago now pocketed their shares of gold, nodding.
A raw display of the empire's nobles, driven purely by profit.
As the man began backing away, judging the matter settled—
"Remember this well."
From the head of the table.
Duke Kailon Edenbird, who had silently watched the commotion till now, spoke.
The nobles, mid-grab for their gold, snapped their mouths shut and straightened.
"Mercy comes but once. Fail again to bring Rihella Leyseras's head and offer pathetic excuses..."
His drumming fingers paused.
"The empire's next purge target will be Krabius Kingdom, where Black Moon hides its lair. We'll erase its name from the continental map entirely."
Unlike the marquises, no rage or killing intent—just utter calm.
Yet that single word from the One Duke Three Marquises's supreme duke weighed far heavier on the man's shoulders than the thousand gold coins atop the table.
The man bowed deeply this time, not shallowly.
"We'll take care. Next time... good news for certain."
Finishing his bow, his form blurred into the shadows like ink in water, vanishing traceless amid the flickering candlelight.
The duke stared indifferently at the empty space, then slowly closed his eyes again.
No matter where he looked, only crimson flames filled his vision.
Leyseras's knights were being brutally slaughtered by imperial and rebel forces alike, while the nobles who'd leeched off the royal spine had long fled abroad.
Chersen Leyseras thrashed desperately amid that hellfire to survive.
Or more precisely, he crawled through the smoke, dodging imperial and rebel eyes, desperate to confirm his scattered family's fates.
But all he found was soul-crushing despair. In the ruins of a collapsed annex lay his half-sister, who used to trail him sweetly calling his name—now cruelly murdered and discarded.
His eldest and second brothers, who gripped their swords to the last defending the palace; countless siblings who raced from the frontiers day and night just for sharing royal blood—all mangled beyond recognition, crushed and torn.
Fleeing them in madness, the inner chamber's scene shattered Chersen's sanity completely.
The queen mother, who embraced her illegitimate son—untainted by a drop of blood—as her true child with such warmth.
And his father, the Leyseras king who loved him more than anyone—neck snapped, cold corpse sprawled before the throne.
"Ah... Aaaah...."
They say humans lose speech from overwhelming shock? Though he should have screamed, no proper cry escaped. The utter desolation of losing everything gnawed his soul whole.
As he reached for his father's sword to end it all amid the ashes, one lone spark of hope flickered.
A trace that Leyseras's last bloodline, his sister Rihella Leyseras, lived somewhere.
Exploiting their reluctance to chase a bastard, he scoured the continent till his feet blistered raw—sifting corpse piles, wallowing in mud, throwing everything into finding her.
But the truth he unearthed was merciless.
Leyseras's final scion couldn't evade Genos's pursuit; beheaded before the continent's eyes, the kingdom fully swallowed by empire.
"......"
From that day, Chersen Leyseras the man died.
All that remained was venomous hatred for this rotten world—and blind vengeance to tear the empire asunder.
Wandering as a vengeful ghost, one day he found a dying girl bearing otherworldly power.
Recognizing the eerie, destructive aura writhing within, Chersen took her in. To forge the perfect monster to doom the empire and continent, he inflicted every torment, injecting strength.
Her name: Morvite. Later called the Mutant disaster.
Fed on Chersen's grudge, Morvite began warping the very concept of life itself.
No longer could intact beings be born on this continent. Only grotesque monsters—bones twisted from the womb, organs jumbled—pushing the world into a swamp of horror.
Amid rains of red blood and flesh in apocalyptic ruin, Chersen finally burst into mad laughter.
"Haha... Hahaha! Yes, this is it. This is the price you all deserve."
Gazing at Morvite, already losing human form to vast blood mass and tentacles, he quietly spread his arms.
"I have no will to live left, no lingering ties. So finish your revenge on me, as you wished."
No sooner said than Morvite's freakish power engulfed him.
Crack, crunch.
Limbs twisted grotesquely, veins burst, organs churned in agony shredding his body.
Yet Chersen screamed not. Amid the pain of his flesh melting into malformed meat, he cursed the world one last time and closed his eyes in silence.