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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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Chapter 20: Sword Master (1)
Boom!
Swords clashed.
However, Callios' sword was far too thin compared to the champion's great sword.
Its length, thickness, and even the power behind it were lacking.
KABOOM!
The surge of energy struck Callios, sending his body flying momentarily.
Right after, the champion's fist filled Callios' vision.
He raised his sword to defend himself.
But he couldn't completely dispel the impact.
“Ugh...!”
Blood spewed from his mouth.
Callios experienced his vision turning white for a moment.
Barely regaining his senses, he lifted his head.
His body was already in ruins.
His arms trembled violently.
His insides?
They were a mess.
The fact that blood was being coughed up meant a long recovery was not a choice but a necessity.
His mind was hazy, making normal judgment difficult.
And yet, Callios was still struggling to stand.
He had to protect the people.
He had to win, no matter what.
But these weren’t thoughts driven by some noble conviction.
What filled his mind was solely the sword.
'Can I see it?'
A way to find the path.
'To grasp its meaning...'
A way to understand it.
He wasn't sure when exactly it started.
Even as he had come to this duel, the overwhelming disadvantage he was in, with his body continuously falling apart and his sword technique crumbling with each moment.
By the time he became aware of this, there was no urgency left.
He simply thought.
About the sword technique of Yuren that always seemed close yet out of reach.
About using it himself.
A sword master's way of thinking, indeed.
But he would just die a fool if he couldn't find the answer.
The champion charged in again.
Callios clung to his fading consciousness and searched through his memories.
He raised his sword and swung it, following what he recalled.
His vision overlapped.
The highlands and the training grounds of Dawn Palace, the champion and Yuren’s figure.
—Do you know why it's called "Flame Sword"?
How did he respond?
...Oh, right.
—Isn't it because the flow of mana resembles flames? Wait... Is the Flame Sword just a sword that embodies fire? The core is the fiercely burning mana...
—Wrong.
He was hit with a rod.
Yuren had looked down at him with a disdainful expression and said so.
It wasn’t pleasant to hear.
—I told you, Imperial swordsmanship is barbaric and lacks artistry. It was merely a desperate attempt to survive.
—But... isn't it the sword of the founding emperor?
—Yes, and that founding emperor lowered his pride to create it. Solely for the sake of victory.
It wasn’t a story Callios wanted to accept, but even so, he couldn’t ignore it.
Which is why he remembered it.
—The Flame Sword was created to defeat orcs. The founding emperor imbued his sword with hatred. A hatred to scorch and disrupt the body's flow of mana. That's what this sword is designed for.
It made him think.
If the founding emperor, who had been a slave to the orcs, created this sword with the sole purpose of killing them...
If the orcs had been such bitter enemies to the founding emperor, a former slave...
Wouldn't he have used the most ruthless, brutal methods to bring them down?
In that moment...
KABOOM!!!
The orc's energy consumed Callios' mana.
It felt as if his mana channels were burning.
It was too hot, too painful.
And so, he couldn’t help but think.
'Why.'
Why must he endure such pain?
Why are they inflicting this suffering upon him?
It was murderous intent.
Callios felt it.
It wasn’t something he understood; it was something he sensed.
There was a definite difference between the two.
'Damn orcs.'
He gritted his teeth.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto the orc's gaze.
Humans, Callios realized, were more malicious than he had thought.
And now, it seemed like nothing would satisfy him except watching the orc’s eyes twist in pain.
A manifestation of will.
Expressed through mana.
The necessary conditions for Sword Intent formed within Callios, though he wasn’t yet aware of it.
Finally, Callios deflected the great sword.
Though it wasn't perfect due to the difference in strength, it was enough to create an opening.
The inside of the champion’s elbow was exposed.
That thick hide couldn't be pierced.
However, there was something he could do.
Slam!
He pressed his sword against the pressure point,
Crack!
And forcibly drove his mana into it.
Then, a change occurred.
"GRRRROOOAARRRR!"
The champion let out a roar of pain.
The inside of his elbow bulged with swollen blood vessels.
Callios, unaware of the reason behind it, merely smiled, thinking he had finally landed a blow, but it was an expected result.
Orc energy and human mana are fundamentally different.
Their very nature clashes, and the more they mix, the more they react violently at the point of contact.
Usually, the one to suffer from the shock is the weaker side.
It was the inherent mismatch between orcs and humans, and it was why Callios felt as though his entire body was burning.
That was the core of it.
The Flame Sword was designed to exploit that mismatch fully.
It doesn’t clash directly with the opponent's sword but injects mana into their vital points, creating a one-sided advantage.
A dwarf's sword that gnaws away at a giant.
And it returns the burning pain to the enemy, hence the name, Flame Sword.
Callios realized this.
But he was far too inexperienced to execute the technique fully.
BOOM!
“Gah!”
The amount of mana they had was about the same.
But the skill to wield it, and the physical strength to back it up, were far too different.
That was the real issue.
In the end, Sword Intent involves imbuing one’s will into the sword, which is linked to a sword master's aura.
How could someone at the level of a mid-rank expert fully manifest such a technique?
The incomplete sword technique ended up consuming Callios’ own mana as well.
Callios felt regret.
‘Just a bit more.’
If he could use this technique a few more times, something would surely reveal itself.
But there was no time.
Death was approaching.
The enraged orc raised his great sword high.
Though there was an opening right there, his body wouldn’t move, and his mana wouldn’t obey.
The absurdity of it made him laugh.
Was he really going to die like this?
As faces passed through his mind, a sudden bitterness swelled within him in that fleeting moment.
"70 points."
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
The orc's great sword was stopped by something all too familiar—a rod.
Callios’ eyes widened.
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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Yuren was now standing in front of him, blocking the orc.
“…You?”
“70 points. You should’ve deflected it instead of blocking if you couldn't avoid it. And if you were going to aim for something, you should’ve targeted the internal organs. Orc energy dulls pain even when the body is damaged. Targeting joints results in minimal damage.”
Yuren looked at Callios with a calm expression.
“But… well, you seem to have understood what Sword Intent is, so good job. Therefore, I’ll give you 70 points.”
It didn’t feel real.
The champion, struggling as if his sword was glued to the rod, was still roaring in pain.
The orcs, furious at the interruption of the duel, were drawing their weapons.
And yet, Yuren alone remained composed.
As if none of this mattered.
As if this wasn’t even a real crisis.
Callios let out a faint chuckle and asked.
“…How long have you been here?”
“For a while. Since you coughed up blood.”
“You could’ve helped earlier.”
“Consider it practice. You’ve heard the saying, right? ‘No great helmsman was ever made from calm seas.’ Growth comes from facing adversity.”
What could he say to that?
Yuren’s relaxed demeanor drained some of the tension from him.
Though not completely.
It wasn’t because of the champion.
‘His mana...’
Yuren’s mana enveloped the entire area.
Though the amount wasn’t particularly large, the pressure was immense.
The only way to describe it was this:
‘…It feels like I’ve stuck my head into a predator’s jaws.’
Like being inside the mouth of a great wolf, with fangs protruding from all sides.
It sent chills down his spine, and the orcs seemed to sense it too, hesitating.
Only Yuren remained calm as he spoke.
“I’ll finish this quickly, so rest.”
Yuren’s gaze fixed on the champion.
* * *
My heart ached.
My heart ached, a price for drawing upon a power not yet permitted.
‘Ah, looks like I'll need to rest for a while.’
Imbuing mana with form and incorporating its "nature" was still a burden at this point.
But what choice did I have?
To easily defeat the champion, I needed a power beyond theirs.
I forced myself to appear calm and began to regulate my mana.
Ah, such strain brought back old memories.
It reminded me of when I first broke through to the Sword Master's level while imprisoned.
—How do you think a Sword Master differs from an Expert?
The prince had once asked me.
I had given a vague answer.
—Isn’t it just about imbuing aura into the sword and unleashing it? That’s what makes a Sword Master, right?
—Hmm...
—Why are you staring at me like that? It's unsettling.
—Is that all you see?
—What else could it be? Oh, if you’re talking about the mana flow needed to create the aura...
—That’s enough. You probably already see it for yourself.
—What are you getting at?
—I feel like I should explain this.
What does it mean to be a Sword Master?
That was the topic of conversation that day, and the prince's answer was this:
—A master of the sword. You must carefully grasp the meaning of that name.
—-?
—I’m not talking about the sword in your hand. It means that you, the one wielding the sword, must not be controlled by it. Only when you can fully control everything can you truly be the master.
For quite some time, I didn’t understand what he meant.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all just abstract nonsense.
But looking back now, I realize he was right.
Being the master of the sword means controlling everything.
In other words, to become a Sword Master, you need the ability to fully manifest the flow of mana you envision, a body capable of withstanding it, and a complete understanding of everything the sword can do.
Once those conditions are met, a phenomenon occurs.
—Every sword has a nature. The wielder’s will becomes embedded in the sword.
A "nature" forms.
The sword absorbs the wielder’s essence.
You swing your will and intent, and what else would you call that but mastery?
In the prince's case, that nature was "domination."
His sword manipulated the mana drifting in the space around him as if it belonged to him.
That was why the prince was so powerful, and why defeating him in a duel was so incredibly difficult.
I didn’t pay much attention to that at the time, but one day, as I broke through to a new level, I too gained a nature like the prince’s.
The nature of my sword was "destruction."
I recalled why that was.
It was because I had swung my sword out of vengeance against the family that had abandoned me.
It was the shameful desire to destroy everything.
Once a nature is formed, it rarely changes.
This was the primary reason I could wield my nature even now.
Because I knew it, and because I could use it, I could apply that principle even at this early stage of my mastery, though I was only at the very beginning of being an Expert.
Of course, I couldn’t use it perfectly.
I had only brought forth the level of control from my mind, but my body was not ready.
While I had achieved the mental discipline of a master, I hadn’t attained the physical control.
Right now, I was only half a Sword Master.
The backlash was steadily eating away at my body.
Crack...
I couldn’t keep this up for long.
The champion had locked eyes with me, and I had met his gaze as well.
I raised my rod.
"Lower your eyes, you bastard."
I struck.
Just one blow.
I burned all my mana, wrung out my heart, and melted my muscles to unleash a single strike.
I embedded the essence of destructive flame into it.
Crack!
The opposing aura and mana collided, and the nature of destruction crushed the champion’s body from the waist where the rod struck, as if grinding him to pieces.
Blood and flesh rained down.
* * *
Drenor arrived just as Yuren was beheading the champion.
Thus, he witnessed everything clearly.
‘Nature...?’
That was the sword with "nature," an ability one could only realize upon reaching the level of a master.
‘But... it’s incomplete.’
The result was that Yuren’s body had been wrecked, unable to keep up with the mastery he’d achieved.
Drenor didn’t understand how this was possible.
He, and every swordsman on the continent, knew one thing: the body must be perfected before enlightenment can be attained.
To challenge the "impossible" barrier, one must first have a body capable of withstanding it.
But what he saw was too abnormal.
The usual prerequisites had been ignored, and only the result was present.
No, it wasn’t just that.
‘Now that I think about it…’
Even during the prince’s sparring match, it was the same.
Yuren’s body couldn’t keep up with his understanding of the sword.
Though the prince hadn’t noticed, Yuren had clearly been straining his body during that duel.
Why?
How could such a phenomenon occur?
This shocking sight overwhelmed Drenor’s thoughts.
“Commander!”
“Ah, first, rescue His Highness!”
The moment the champion fell, the orcs went berserk and charged at the two of them.
Seeing this, Drenor decided to clean up the situation.
The knights moved in.
Drenor himself unleashed his aura and charged into the orcs.
Boom!
The orcs were swept away in an instant.
During this, Drenor glanced at Yuren.
“...Oh, shit.”
Though Yuren had covered his mouth with his arm, Drenor's keen eyesight as a Sword Master clearly caught sight of blood dripping from his mouth.
In that moment, an unbidden thought came to Drenor’s mind, perfectly piecing together the scattered puzzle.
‘...A chronic illness?’
That would explain everything.
Sword Master-level understanding, but a body unable to follow.
His usual reckless behavior and the harsh, rapid training methods he used.
‘A talent cursed by the body…’
Perhaps the reason Yuren pushed the prince so hard in their brutal training was because he wanted to pass on his enlightenment before he died.
Could that have been his loyalty?
Drenor’s eyes darkened.
‘If that’s the case…’
It was a fate far too tragic.
A man with immense talent, yet unable to use it for himself.
Drenor, the knight who had spent his life devoted to the sword and the empire, felt his chest tighten with sorrow as his suspicion solidified into conviction.
He now saw Yuren, who had risked his life to protect Calios, as a figure worthy of admiration.
‘It’s my fault!’
How could he have left the camp and allowed this loyal talent to face such danger?
His sword grew fiercer.
His respect for Yuren, along with his guilt, swelled beyond words.
Boom!
The misunderstanding only deepened.
….This was why biased thinking was dangerous.
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Clara]
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