Ch.130Chapter 130 – Vampire (1)

*Huff, huff… So this is how it feels to wield it.*

Eden’s remaining resident, Kwak Tae-woo, was spending his most fulfilling days in recent memory.

Days devoted to training and repeated hunting. Each day was rewarding. His growth was clearly reflected in the level indicator, making it all the more satisfying.

Every day, Kwak Tae-woo’s skills visibly improved. It was an environment perfectly suited for growth. Hunting grounds teeming with mobs, generous support from the Imperial family, an excellent master…

*Behemdorf, to introduce such a swordsman. His words about expectations weren’t empty after all.*

Since the day that nearly became the Empire’s day of destruction, Kwak Tae-woo had been receiving lavish treatment from the Empire. Though his achievements might pale slightly compared to Shin Jae-hyuk’s, he had performed the tremendous feat of repairing the magic cannon.

A soldier who renders great service deserves proper reward. Marco, who had directly benefited from his help, frequently treated him to drinks, and the servants discreetly accommodated Kwak Tae-woo’s needs.

Chancellor Behemdorf, in particular, had provided a gift perfectly suited to Kwak Tae-woo’s current needs. After hearing from a servant about Kwak Tae-woo’s daily routine of entering the training grounds and emerging only when completely exhausted, he introduced him to a swordsman—Lord Frederick, the captain of the Imperial Knights and the Empire’s greatest swordsman.

“Loosen your grip. Control the entire sword with your fingertips, not your palm. A Sword Master’s fine sensory perception makes this possible.”

Lord Frederick, who was instructing Kwak Tae-woo in the training yard, demonstrated personally. Kwak Tae-woo imitated the movement. The change was immediately perceptible when he altered his grip. Feeling the increased freedom in his wrist’s range of motion, Kwak Tae-woo inwardly marveled.

*Incredibly high-level. Perhaps even more so than that Sword Ghost…*

Even among Sword Masters, there was much to learn. Unlike Kwak Tae-woo who had just reached that level, Lord Frederick was a master with decades of experience. Having achieved Sword Master status in his late twenties, now in his mid-fifties, he had lived nearly half his life as a Sword Master.

Lord Frederick did not hesitate to pass on the experience and know-how he had acquired over half a lifetime. The young man who had helped prevent the Empire’s destruction deserved this reward. Lord Frederick taught Kwak Tae-woo with the same devotion he might show a son. Kwak Tae-woo absorbed these teachings at his own pace.

How to draw out sword energy more swiftly and skillfully, what techniques could be performed using the cutting power of sword energy, how to utilize a Sword Master’s sensory perception in combat.

As befitting a swordsman trained in systematic swordsmanship passed down through generations, his teachings focused primarily on facing human opponents.

While such teachings might seem rather useless against demons with their bizarre forms, they were of great help to Kwak Tae-woo. It felt like his self-taught swordsmanship from the first timeline, learned from YouTube and honed in actual combat, was being restructured with proper form.

“Good… You seem to understand. Let’s end today’s technique instruction here.”

To embody the teachings, each day’s lesson always concluded with a sparring match. Lord Frederick’s sword pointed at Kwak Tae-woo’s brow in a middle stance. Kwak Tae-woo responded with his own stance.

*Today I’ll definitely score one victory!*

Kwak Tae-woo swung his wooden sword with all his might. Lord Frederick’s sword tip seemed to waver momentarily, then the lines drawn by the two swordsmen intertwined in midair. Since this was merely sparring, Lord Frederick developed his offense based on what he had taught during the lesson. Kwak Tae-woo had learned how to respond to these attacks. He launched a counterattack.

The master’s counter to the disciple’s counter, followed by a counter to that counter. Kwak Tae-woo racked his brain to respond to this counter-counter. But in an unfamiliar situation, his judgment was delayed by about 0.05 seconds. Though just a fleeting moment, as sword strikes were exchanged dozens of times, those 0.05 seconds accumulated to become 1 second. One second is ample time for a Sword Master’s blade to reach an opponent’s neck.

“Ah… I’ve lost again.”

Another defeat today. Kwak Tae-woo accepted the result and lowered his wooden sword. However, the hand gripping the sword trembled slightly. While it was obviously greedy to try to catch up to decades of experience in just a few days, Kwak Tae-woo felt impatient. The reason was his encounter with the former Demon King a week ago.

That power which reduced even a Sword Master to an ant’s perspective. For Kwak Tae-woo, the difference in power was shocking. He had the intuition that even if the Sword Ghost and Lord Frederick stood together, they couldn’t match Satan. The gap Satan had demonstrated was that overwhelming.

Of course, in Kwak Tae-woo’s opinion, there was no need to fear Satan’s power. Satan had proven friendly to humanity in the first timeline. The problem was the current Demon King. As a fellow Demon King, he must surely be at a similar level to Satan…

When facing transcendent beings, the word “fight” couldn’t apply if one was merely a Sword Master. He couldn’t remain complacent. He needed to become something beyond a Sword Master.

“Lord Frederick, I have something I’d like to discuss…”

Kwak Tae-woo revealed his inner thoughts and sought his master’s counsel. After hearing Kwak Tae-woo’s concerns, Lord Frederick burst into hearty laughter.

“You want to become even stronger? Haha, you’re either admirably ambitious or, less charitably, quite greedy.”

To Lord Frederick, Kwak Tae-woo’s concerns seemed like a luxury. There were too many beings around Kwak Tae-woo that defied common sense, but objectively speaking, Kwak Tae-woo’s strength was already at humanity’s pinnacle.

“My lord, I reached Sword Master at about your age. The whole country hailed me as a once-in-a-generation genius. Thanks to twenty years of sweat to live up to their expectations, I’ve reached my current position. With time, you could certainly become like me.”

“But those I aim to face won’t patiently wait twenty years.”

The Four Heavenly Kings and the Demon King could invade within a few years, and it wouldn’t be strange. He needed to become stronger before the world was engulfed in flames again. That was the destiny of a regressor who knew the future. Kwak Tae-woo, who had taken on the burden of regression in place of Cha Eun-kyung, felt crushed under its weight.

“Right now I’m struggling just to internalize your teachings, but I can’t stay here forever. Please show me a path. When I’m left alone, in what direction should I proceed?”

Kwak Tae-woo waited for Lord Frederick’s answer with burning eyes. Lord Frederick sensed in Kwak Tae-woo’s determination a spirit difficult for an ordinary individual to possess. And a clear will that would be hard to maintain without an intensely powerful motivation.

No master could coldly turn away a disciple who had conveyed such earnest sincerity. After a moment’s contemplation, Lord Frederick offered the advice Kwak Tae-woo desired.

“I’ll be frank. You… having reached this level at such a young age, your immaturity is evident. You’re slow to adapt, and your unique constitution makes you disadvantaged in prolonged battles. Understand I don’t mean to disparage you. One must recognize one’s weaknesses to develop strengths that can cover them.”

With practiced insight, Lord Frederick analyzed Kwak Tae-woo’s characteristics.

“You said your internal mana speed is ten times that of others? That causes severe mana consumption, so you can’t maintain sword energy for long. In other words, you’re at a disadvantage in prolonged battles. While this might not matter when slaughtering weaker opponents, against masters, you’ll acutely feel that time limit.”

“Hmm…”

“So you need to somehow turn battles into short engagements. But here another problem arises. You’re weak at adaptation. You lack creativity.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“To make it easier to understand, think about combat between Sword Masters. A Sword Master is someone who has reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship. Naturally, they can fully anticipate what techniques their opponent will employ in response to their moves. Orthodox moves don’t work against those who have transcended normalcy. What’s needed is creativity, a freedom of conception that can pierce through their guard.”

*…But I’m not smart.*

Kwak Tae-woo felt his heart sink. Just when he thought he had finally reached the starting line alongside superhumans. Talent. That cursed concept was trying to hold him back again.

Despite Kwak Tae-woo’s anxiety, Lord Frederick, being an excellent master, offered a solution.

“Of course, there’s a way. Cultivate unpredictability to substitute for creativity.”

“Unpredictability, you say?”

“Deliver attacks that are uncommon, unpredictable. Break your thought patterns. Compared to ordinary swordsmen, what unique points can you claim make you different from them?”

The regressor pondered. What makes me special? Negligible talent, a constitution with pronounced weaknesses, a level unsupported by skill, the now-useless experience from the first timeline, and… unnecessarily numerous artifacts.

Kwak Tae-woo’s pupils dilated.

“I… have many special weapons.”

Artifacts, rare relics imbued with magical abilities, are so expensive that ordinary hunters can barely afford one or two. Yet Kwak Tae-woo had many such artifacts. Many indeed.

As Kwak Tae-woo opened his spatial storage, countless weapons fell around him. Lances, pikes, battle axes, sabers… each possessing a special power. Items he had acquired early in his regression by leveraging his information advantage or by defeating criminals. Their number reached one hundred and eight.

“So many… Sell them all and you could buy a small country.”

While Lord Frederick had known about Kwak Tae-woo’s spatial storage for some time, he hadn’t expected it to contain so many artifacts. Assessing the collection’s value, he advised in an overwhelmed voice:

“From now on, train to use all these weapons as freely as your own limbs. Master the attack reach, center of gravity, combinations between weapons, artifact abilities, everything.”

“But… if I only practice using tools, when will my inherent skills improve?”

Kwak Tae-woo still couldn’t shake off a trace of anxiety. Lord Frederick smiled slightly and picked up a spear.

“Of course, these artifacts are tools. But who is the master of these tools?”

The old knight’s spear tore through the air. If a dog in a Confucian school for three years can recite poetry, then the Empire’s Sword Master, having faced countless spearmen, knew how to handle a spear. And for a Sword Master, the distinction between knowing and being able is meaningless.

Lord Frederick’s spear moved along an optimal path, piercing the training yard’s target. The spear moved as swiftly as an arrow, yet not so fast that it couldn’t be tracked by eye. The spear thrusts continued, as if showing Kwak Tae-woo to watch and learn.

“Observe the flow. See the essence. They may differ slightly in form, but ultimately, anything with a handle and a blade is a sword. Would a Sword Master be unable to handle a blade just because its shape is slightly different?”

The spear left a chilling trajectory in the air, then spun around once to flip up a greatsword from the ground. Lord Frederick caught its handle. Though the weapon had instantly changed from spear to greatsword, there was not the slightest break in the old knight’s movement. The sword dance continued as naturally as flowing water.

The greatsword flowed with the momentum of a great mountain. When needed it was straightforward, yet it danced with the distinctive freedom of a Sword Master. After the greatsword came a mace, then a scimitar, a poleaxe, a small dagger, a glaive…

“Beautiful…”

Each movement in the sword dance using 108 weapons was infused with the essence of enlightenment. The ferocity and bestial nature of a storm, and the paradoxical freedom, were unified in the dance. Kwak Tae-woo watched the spectacle. In his pupils, he clearly engraved the image of a human who had become a storm.

***

A shabby vagrant staggered through the night streets of the Empire. His body was covered in dirt, and his clothes, which must have once been valuable, were on the verge of becoming rags. Beneath the clothes were countless scars, with widespread scabs stuck to his skin, as if he had been beaten by thugs or perhaps tortured.

By this point, anyone would realize this vagrant was no ordinary vagrant. This vagrant was once a duke, and currently being pursued by guards—August Romania.

“Blood, I need blood…”

August’s condition was visibly abnormal. Not only was his body wrung out like a rag from torture, but his mind was also affected. Beyond just needing blood, the pain of torture far exceeding his threshold had damaged his brain. The duke, like someone suffering from emotional instability, was gripped by extreme fear, looking around with bloodshot eyes.

“What, what should I do? What should I do? What?”

The moonlight shone brightly. August instinctively avoided the light, slipping into the shadows between dark alleys. Though the wall’s shadow concealed him from anyone’s sight, August still showed symptoms of anxiety.

In his hazy consciousness, as if trying to recall forgotten memories, his dirty nails anxiously scratched at his nape. Flesh was gouged and blood appeared, but he seemed not to feel the pain, continuously muttering:

“His Majesty… I must carry out His Majesty’s orders. What, what did he order? What should I do?”

His efforts to recall memories became more violent. His nails dug into fat and muscle, scraping bone. Responding to its owner’s negative emotions, demonic energy fluctuated. The demonic energy, hidden by the techniques of a legendary assassin, crept out, breaking through even that concealment. As the demonic energy gradually healed the wounded areas, new material for self-harm was created.

Pain activated his brain. His brain screamed, recalling memories from decades ago. The final order given by His Majesty before being sealed in a coffin by Behemdorf. His Majesty’s order replayed in his mind.

“Ah, yes. That’s right. I must increase our comrades. Those who share our cause… as many as possible.”

Having finally recalled what he needed to do, August grinned like a madman. It was a bright smile, like someone who had realized life’s purpose.

Just then, August heard footsteps. It was a guard patrolling the night streets. The eerie smile on August’s face deepened. Blood seeping from the wound on his neck dissolved into the air, creating a thick fog.

“What, what’s this?”

Dense fog filled the night street. Confronted with this sudden anomaly, the confused guard searched for the source of the suspicious fog, examining the alley entrance. And that became the guard’s final memory.

“What’s this smoke… Is there a fire? …Mmph!”

With practiced movements, the duke covered the guard’s mouth and sank sharp fangs into the exposed nape. Like a viper injecting venom, evil blood was injected through the holes pierced by the fangs. The guard’s pupils dilated as his vision blurred. The vampire whispered like a snake into his ear:

“Increase our kind. As many as possible, before the day of resurrection…”