Ch.136Enlightenment

There was an old man.

To some, he was an object of reverence.

To others, he was an object of fear.

And to yet others, he was merely one of many subjects who held a high position.

His name was Ignatz von Jäger.

Now, in the year 40 of the Amurtat calendar, he was an elderly knight who had passed his sixtieth birthday.

“Haaah…”

Dawn.

But with no sign of sunrise yet, he swung his sword by the faint, flickering candlelight and let out a quiet sigh.

His body felt heavy.

The vigor he once had when he and his knights executed the enemy’s Sword Master was no longer there.

His beard, hair, and body hair had already turned white, and shadows were gradually forming on his face.

He had grown old.

No matter how much he denied it, there was no doubt that he had become weak.

Of course, he was still a master who had reached the upper levels of Expert, and he was confident that with his experience, he could defeat several young knights of the same level.

But if he were younger, he could have fought dozens, and if he had reached the level of Sword Master, he could have faced hundreds of knights.

Ignatz sat cross-legged, looking with pitying eyes at his own tingling body.

Common people often say that with age comes wisdom.

Logically speaking, this was true.

Being old meant having survived, and whether through skill, luck, or something else, it meant possessing the wisdom to pass on one’s experiences to the younger generation.

But a knight had no need for wisdom.

Knights do not devise strategies or plan tactics.

They simply follow orders, and their actions determine victory or defeat.

Of course, as Knight Commander, he had learned various strategies and tactics, but at his core, he was a knight, and a knight’s duty was to go out and fight.

What value does a knight who can no longer fight have?

“Ha!”

Ignatz dismissed the question with a hollow laugh, as if it wasn’t worth answering.

For those who exist to fight, the outcome is obvious when they lose their purpose.

It meant falling endlessly with a decaying old body bearing incurable wounds and a festering spirit.

That was the fate of knights who had grown weak.

He was one who upheld the flag of Amurtat, and for that flag, he had killed many.

For that duty, he had to be strong and could not afford to be weak.

But now, he had become weak.

This wasn’t about his actual physical strength.

It meant that his iron will had finally crumbled after decades of struggle.

He had failed to surpass himself.

He had neither recreated nor surpassed the majesty of the Sword Master who had slaughtered the forty knights under his command.

Perhaps he lacked talent.

Perhaps he lacked time.

Perhaps he lacked both.

In the end, he had failed, and the sun slowly began to rise behind his cross-legged back.

“…”

He gazed at his shadow that the sun was beginning to cast.

A feeling like seeing his own body stretched abnormally, like a wet cloth pulled long, flashed through his mind and then faded.

What should he do now?

The Knight Commander couldn’t answer.

Neither could Ignatz von Jäger.

Is this what it feels like to face the end of the path one has walked all their life?

Or is this what it feels like to accept one’s end before death?

Clank…

Ignatz picked up his sword again.

Not to train.

Not to improve his skills.

He simply wanted to swing his sword.

Whoosh!

A heavy, sharp sound cut through the air, and soon it repeated continuously.

He didn’t think there was any meaning in this motion he had repeated millions of times until now.

Real combat and training were different, and an honest attack meant death.

Despite knowing this, the Knight Commander swung his sword honestly.

How many hours had he repeated the motions of swinging and thrusting?

Before he knew it, the sky had turned red, and another night had come.

And until then, the Knight Commander continued to swing his sword.

He was tired.

It was hard.

The cloth on the handle, soaked and swollen with sweat, seemed about to slip from his hand, and his worn and exhausted joints continued to scream in pain.

But still, there was no stopping.

“Ha! Haha! Uwahahahaha!!!”

While swinging his sword, the Knight Commander laughed.

Not because he was lamenting his situation.

Simply because he was enjoying it.

From the moment he first held a sword, it had been his companion.

Though it might break, bend, or snap, it never betrayed him and always stayed by his side through all hardships and trials.

And it was the same now.

It felt refreshing.

How long had it been since he wielded a sword not for something, but simply because he wanted to?

For a man over sixty, it was a question he could hardly answer.

That’s why the blade cutting through the air didn’t stop.

Like a child tasting candy for the first time, stuffing their mouth full; like an artist immersed in regret after creating their first work; like a baby taking its first breath without an umbilical cord. He swung his sword.

For him, concepts of time and space no longer existed.

There was only the sword and his aging self.

And at some point, sweat from his hands flowed along the sword, and the beads of sweat evaporated, leaving white salt crystals on the blade.

And where even the salt fell away, something faint yet certain began to grow.

Sword aura.

The power of aura, the power of the mind, had finally crossed into reality with the help of willpower.

And like cotton candy being made, the sword aura grew denser, more distinct, and clearer.

Unity of body and sword.

He was no longer a swordsman.

Because he was the sword itself.

The sword would never rust again.

Because the sword was him.

He finally reached the state that could only be attained after abandoning duty, rights, obsession, delusion, and hope.

In a pure white world where both his position as a nation’s Knight Commander and his identity as Ignatz von Jäger were erased, all that remained was the sword and himself wielding it.

Crack! Crunch!

“Argh…!”

And as the power of will shattered the laws of physics, his body began to reconstruct itself.

Genes were reconfigured, telomeres regenerated, and the Hayflick effect collapsed.

Organs that had deteriorated with age began to recover, and the plaque accumulated in his nerves disappeared like vapor.

Bones that had lost calcium began to regain enamel-like hardness, and the proteins in his skin began to harden.

Transformation of bone and body.

A necessary process to go beyond the realm of wielding a sword and make it a part of one’s body.

Even in extreme pain, his hands did not let go of the sword.

He could feel blood vessels regenerating throughout his body and his heart valves pulsating as if about to burst.

His nervous system spread like waves, and his optic nerves clung to his cerebral cortex like a spider’s web.

Strengthened and enhanced.

The dream of all swordsmen was being realized in his body, and soon the transformation was complete.

“Haaaa…”

Exhaling white smoke from his entire body, Ignatz opened his eyes.

The sword, unable to withstand the sword aura, had already evaporated without even leaving the hilt, and his clothes had been completely shattered by the overflowing aura.

In simple terms, he was now naked.

And currently, he was not alone.

Though he hadn’t noticed, he had been training in a trance for three days and nights, and when the knights learned that the Knight Commander had fallen into a trance, they rushed to his training ground, abandoning their own training, just in case.

And finally, after three days of waiting, when his clothes burst and his sword evaporated with the sword aura, the knights excitedly chanted the Knight Commander’s name.

“””Ignatz! Ignatz! Ignatz!”””

To his subordinates’ chorus, the Knight Commander smiled briefly and responded to their cheers by releasing white aura.

Fwoosh!

“That… that’s white aura!”

“The proof of a Sword Master! At last, a Sword Master has been born in Amurtat!”

The knights fainted from emotion and excitement, and taking advantage of the moment, the Knight Commander quickly succeeded in regenerating his clothing.