The Incomplete Inheritance

All sound vanished. Even the air itself seemed to freeze in a space of absolute silence.

At its center, a single golden flame blossomed.

The faintly wavering fire soon took shape, and from within it emerged a man wearing a crown tilted carelessly askew.

A crimson cloak. A single remaining shoulder pauldron. A cracked breastplate.

The moment that presence fixed its silent gaze upon Do-yun, knowledge of the man before him flooded into his mind as if he had always known it.

Astoria.

Last Emperor of the Empire, and the final Swordmaster.

—If this magic circle has been activated, it means the Empire has already fallen.

Whether Do-yun reeled from the sudden infusion of knowledge or not, the ghost continued speaking without pause.

—Forgive me, my loyal knights.

—I tried to hold on until you returned from the Tower… yet I could not withstand the ever-strengthening assaults of our enemies.

His tone carried the absolute certainty that whoever he addressed stood beneath him. In other words, the ghost possessed an exceedingly grating manner of speech. He drew the sword from his hip as he spoke.

—You are now the final successor of Sun Swordsmanship.

The ghost began to swing his blade.

Even as irritation rose at the ghost’s one-sided narration, Do-yun could not help but marvel at the fluid grace of the movements.

Beautiful.

With every motion of the sword, crimson energy rippled like afterimages. The radiant power, bright as the sun itself, devoured the darkness filling the space and swelled larger still.

KWA-AAAAA.

At the last, as the ghost thrust his blade toward Do-yun, explosive light erupted and blinded him completely.

When Do-yun opened his eyes again, he saw the old man trembling violently in the same posture as before.

Apparently, not a single second had passed while he faced the ghost.

A dream?

Unable to believe it, Do-yun called up his status window—and immediately realized it was no illusion.

Information on the newly added skills filled his skill window. Because these were not skills provided by the Tower of Trials, they lacked the abnormal coefficients he was used to—yet their raw performance was absurd in its own right.

It was the moment Do-yun stood stunned by an opportunity he had never anticipated.

“A mere outsider dares steal the very essence of the Empire?”

The old man’s teeth ground together with an audible crunch.

Only then did Do-yun understand the true nature of this windfall.

It was no coincidence.

What the old man before him had prepared, Do-yun—who had dropped from the sky—had simply snatched and swallowed whole.

So what?

If it was that important, he should have guarded it better. From the moment the old man had picked a fight atop the walls, Do-yun had never held any goodwill toward him.

He crushed the faint guilt that tried to rise in his chest.

“That price shall be washed away in blood.”

The old man drew the sword from his hip.

The atmosphere of a merely irritable elder settled at once. All that remained was a swordsman who had tempered his blade for decades.

Hmm.

Do-yun steadied his breathing and raised his own sword in answer. He spread his feet shoulder-width apart, bent his elbows, and angled the blade toward the old ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man.

Ironically, it was the exact same stance.

“Y-you! You dare imitate the Empire’s sword!”

Unrestrained fury flooded the old man’s eyes. Veins bulged across his forehead; his flushed face laid every violent emotion bare.

“Watch carefully! This is the Empire’s sword!”

Condensed energy gathered upon the old man’s blade. A stifling heat filled the space; a single bead of sweat slid down Do-yun’s cheek.

In the next instant his blade shot forth like a flash of light.

The memory of facing the ghost moments earlier told Do-yun exactly what the technique was called.

First Form — Dawn.

Like the morning light surging forth to drive back the dark, a thrust that mimicked the speed of light hurtled toward him.

Puk.

The old man’s sword punched straight through Do-yun’s armor.

There had been no time to react at all.

Do-yun’s understanding of Sun Swordsmanship was a mere one percent. Had he possessed the talent to copy the ghost’s demonstration and perform the swordsmanship on the spot, he would never have needed to suffer so miserably on Earth before receiving the Tower of Trials’ invitation.

He could manage the basic stance—but beyond that, he knew nothing.

“Blame only your own greed for coveting another’s possession without knowing your place.”

Triumph lit the old man’s face. In his mind, the fight was already over.

Kwaak.

Yet Do-yun instead seized the hilt of the sword buried in his gut and clamped down hard.

Seeing it, the old man gasped in pure astonishment.

“What in the—! The burns should be causing unbearable agony!”

Crimson energy still wreathed the old man’s blade. The heat-laden mana continued to cook Do-yun’s flesh even now.

Under ordinary circumstances, far from counterattacking, he should have been screaming in pain.

But Do-yun felt no pain whatsoever.

If it meant gaining an advantage, he could discard as much health as necessary. That was why he could employ the strategy of giving bone to take flesh.

“My turn now, right?”

Watching the corner of Do-yun’s mouth curl upward, the old man sensed something was terribly wrong.

Yet the sword, gripped iron-tight in Do-yun’s hand, showed no sign of coming free.

Along the blade Do-yun held, flames several times hotter than those the old man had raised blossomed into life.

The skill name was identical—yet a three-rank difference produced entirely different results.

Hwarreuk.

The flames that bloomed in an instant swallowed the old man’s fire whole. The endless stream of burn notifications fell silent.

Flames formed of Do-yun’s own mana did not harm their user.

“Keuk!”

The old man’s situation, however, was very different.

The fingers gripping the hilt sizzled and fused to the metal. Embers caught the tips of his faded white hair.

The skill’s effect ended before long, but by then the old man who had lost his sword had long since abandoned any will to fight.

“Heh… heh-heh.”

Kneeling on the floor, the old man laughed like a madman. What followed was a sigh heavy with resignation and regret.

“Has Heaven truly abandoned the Empire…?”

The last light in his eyes went out. Closing those empty eyes, he bowed his head deeply and spoke.

“Sever my head. Then the remnants of the Empire ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shall vanish.”

Watching the old man take the moment so seriously, Do-yun could only wear a complicated expression.

“No. Why would I kill you?”

He held no fondness for the old man. Picking a fight out of nowhere atop the walls had hardly inspired goodwill. Moments earlier he had even swung a blade with clear intent to kill.

Yet the old man possessed one overwhelming advantage that outweighed everything else.

He’s a living textbook, isn’t he?

The Sun Swordsmanship Do-yun had just learned through the ghost—the man before him was a living instructional material who could actually wield it.

There was no way he would casually discard such a precious connection.

“I’m sorry I unintentionally stole the opportunity. So let’s stop here.”

A hole large enough to kill him had nearly opened in Do-yun’s chest, but a wound of this degree would heal after a few uses of First Aid. The burns on the old man’s palm were the same—too minor even to call a proper injury. It wasn’t as though his limbs had been crippled.

“Silence! Do you think to deceive me with such words!”

Before Do-yun could even finish, the old man roared.

Sharp-eyed old bastard.

Whether he had glimpsed Do-yun’s black-hearted intentions or was simply pigheadedly stubborn, the old man’s unyielding attitude left no room for persuasion.

How am I supposed to handle this?

While pondering how to rekindle the old man’s will to live, Do-yun soon hit upon a good idea.

If words wouldn’t work, he only needed to show him directly.

He shattered the wall that had blocked their view. Because they stood on the top floor of the inner citadel, the situation beyond the outer walls was perfectly visible.

The old man, who had been squinting as if to demand what Do-yun thought he was doing, froze the moment he saw the landscape outside.

“The Empire’s walls you love so much are about to collapse.”

Beyond the opened vista, an ogre hammered against the ramparts. The very opponent Do-yun had desperately fled earlier had somehow drawn close and was now assaulting the fortress.

Other challengers were loosing long-range attacks from atop the walls, but the effect seemed minimal.

“Go lend a hand. It would be a waste to let swordsmanship like yours rot away, wouldn’t it?”

“You…”

The old man stared at Do-yun with complicated eyes, then finally rose, unable to abandon his lingering attachment to the Empire.

“Commander of the Winged Knights of Glory… Halleon.”

Whatever he felt, the old man introduced himself while fixing Do-yun with a steady gaze. Under the silent pressure to offer his own name, Do-yun gave a single shrug of his shoulders and opened his mouth.

“Kim Do-yun.”

“I shall remember it.”

Immediately after those words, Halleon sprinted toward the stairwell in the corner. Watching him descend step by careful step somehow looked comical. Judging by the atmosphere, he had seemed ready to leap straight through the hole he had just made.

“Well, he is at an age where he has to watch his joints.”

Do-yun glanced briefly toward the site where thunderous noise continued to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠erupt.

Kurrrung.

At last the ogre had toppled the wall that had been an obstacle and was now setting foot inside.

“Haha! I’ll butcher you, you pig bastard!”

“If we take that thing down, we can shoot up the rankings in one go!”

Yet not a single person looked afraid. Even at a glance it was clear that killing the single ogre could reverse the contribution rankings. The top ranks charged to solidify their positions; the lower ranks charged for a one-shot comeback—moths to a flame.

But contrary to their confident cries, the results were far from favorable.

“KROOOO!”

With a roar, the ogre swung its arm and several challengers went flying into the air. Meanwhile most weapons failed even to pierce its hide.

To break through that skin required a B-rank or higher skill—or an anti-tank missile.

Or a skill that ignores defense and deals fixed damage.

Do-yun rested his sword on his shoulder and began walking. In his mind he reviewed the information on the skill he had just acquired.

It was merely the preparatory process required to use the SS-rank skill known as Sun Swordsmanship. The description itself stated it was nothing more than a preliminary step for executing the forms.

Yet Do-yun’s understanding of Sun Swordsmanship remained at one percent. Far from mastering the style, he lacked even the confidence to use the first form.

But who says I have to use the skill the prescribed way?

Do-yun had his own methods.

As he walked forward, his face was filled with confidence.

Tak.

Coming down the stairs, Do-yun’s eyes met pure chaos. The ogre rampaged wildly, destroying everything around it.

“Keuk! My Xenon-Plasma-Blade snapped…!”

He passed a man lamenting with a face full of resentment.

“As expected, facing an ogre with first-circle magic was too much.”

He passed a robed mage clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“Aigoo, when am I ever going to fix all that?”

He passed a twin-tailed girl sighing while clutching tools.

At last the ogre’s massive eyes filled Do-yun’s vision.

“Hey.”

“Krrrr.”

Recognizing him, the ogre curled its lips upward in delight. Of course it would be happy—its toy had walked right back of its own free will.

“It won’t be so easy this time.”

Do-yun raised his sword and aimed at the ogre’s head. By the time he had arrived, his mana was already fully restored.

Scorching flames began to flow along the blade.

“I’ll finish this quickly.”

The mana consumption of a C-rank skill was nothing to dismiss. Even Do-yun, whose mana stat far surpassed those around him, was no exception. Five seconds at most. He had to decide the fight within that window—but it was no great problem.

He intended to end it in a single blow, after all.

White light infused the crimson-burning blade. Do-yun swung with every ounce of strength, as though flinging the flames free—and in the next moment a storm of fire swallowed the ogre’s body whole.