Ch.209Sword Saint Society (6)

“Don’t… know?”

Though the Sword Saint appeared quite bewildered, Llewellyn was not.

“Then do you know?”

“You’re even using honorifics now.”

“After experiencing it, I realized you’re truly old, so just a little.”

Although Llewellyn had possessed someone, he was originally a modern person.

Moreover, a modern person who grew up in a Confucian culture where respecting elders was inevitable.

Such a Llewellyn had witnessed the life of a giant through a miracle.

In fact, I’m not sure if “witnessed” is the right word. He saw and felt a life he had been immersed in.

Though he hadn’t directly read through the entire life, he viscerally understood what it meant to have lived for 200 years.

Using honorifics was only natural.

Llewellyn looked at the Sword Saint with a rare expression of distaste.

The ground was covered with traces where they had recklessly clashed swords.

Amidst those countless sword marks, the Sword Saint stood without a single wound.

Likewise, Llewellyn was the same. When crossing swords, when blades collided.

He knew it was the kind of fierce exchange that would normally leave minor cuts on the body.

So Llewellyn had inwardly thought that when this fight ended, he might be covered in blood or have his armor completely shattered…

But the only injured part was his grip.

Even that was only noticeable because Llewellyn’s gauntlet had visibly burst open, while the Sword Saint was nonchalantly rubbing and wiping his bleeding palm as if it were nothing.

“Llewellyn!”

As he maintained uncomfortable eye contact with the Sword Saint, a voice suddenly reached him. Only then did Llewellyn realize.

‘Ah, this is definitely something to worry about…’

“Are you okay?! Let me see your hand! Oh no.”

“No, it’s regenerating, so you don’t need to—”

“Just because it regenerates doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt! I already feel terrible about this.”

Faced with Melody’s rare whining, Llewellyn awkwardly allowed her to do as she pleased.

She kneaded his hand for a while, and only after it began to heal did she let go with relief.

“What were you thinking when you accepted? You could have just declined.”

“Do people usually talk like that to someone’s face?”

The Sword Saint spoke with an embarrassed expression, but Melody replied calmly.

“I can’t see anything else right now.”

Such disrespect, uncertain if it was appropriate behavior toward the Sword Saint. Moreover, it was difficult to retort since she was blind.

A technique called “trolling” in the modern world. The Sword Saint let out a “hmm” sound, wondering if such a thing existed in this world too.

But that was all. He didn’t show any other reaction.

Rather, the Sword Saint didn’t seem to mind much.

‘Is this guy a simp?’

Like Maya, he seemed to tolerate disrespectful beings, perhaps because they looked good.

Of course, he couldn’t ask directly. Instead, Llewellyn let Melody handle the “negotiation.”

“Starting a fight on your own is one thing, but we could have been seriously injured. Would you mind explaining your intentions?”

Only then did Llewellyn understand why Melody had made such a fuss despite knowing about regeneration.

To steer the situation to her advantage.

It was only natural that Maya, who had been standing in a circle, stepped forward.

After all, she was a dueling scholar.

“But you accepted. Whether I explain my intentions or not is entirely up to me. So…”

“Enough. Stand back.”

However, the Sword Saint didn’t seem interested in gaining any advantage.

Sending back his disgruntled canine vassal, the Sword Saint met Llewellyn’s eyes.

They were deep, dark pupils. At first glance they seemed innocent, but they were the eyes of a killer who had slain countless humans and monsters over 200 years.

Yet surprisingly clear. A sign of a person who wasn’t quite sane.

Llewellyn recalled the Sword Saint’s life he had just witnessed.

More precisely, the life as the Sword Saint himself felt and thought about it.

Only after escaping that vision did he realize something.

Those shadows, those bloodstains that seemed to fill the world, were all traces of those he had cut down and killed.

He was completely different from Llewellyn.

While Llewellyn still couldn’t forget the faces of the cannibals he had killed and continued to mourn them, the Sword Saint had forgotten all those he had killed, engraving only their blood and sword marks.

How could that be a person’s mental image, a person’s life?

That was another reason Llewellyn chose to use honorifics.

He simply couldn’t feel familiar with his opponent. In some ways, he seemed more dangerous than Valterok.

Because he appeared to be what the modern world would call a psychopath.

Perhaps reading Llewellyn’s wariness, a look of regret crossed the Sword Saint’s face. I thought you would understand. A voice that shouldn’t have been heard reached him.

“First… one thing.”

But the Sword Saint didn’t hesitate long. He returned to his usual smiling face and said:

“Old Tree Breaking.”

“Old tree?”

“That’s the name of the technique you and I wielded.”

The complete form of the Sword Saint’s ultimate technique, the essence of his life.

Llewellyn’s expression darkened upon hearing the name of this technique.

“As I thought,” he muttered to himself.

And for good reason.

“It’s also the technique I used to cut down and kill the previous Sword Saint, and the reason I’m called the Sword Saint.”

If what Llewellyn saw was correct, the previous Sword Saint was an elf.

“Furthermore… it’s also why you’re now a candidate to be the next Sword Saint.”

Llewellyn, who had been lost in thought, awoke with a start.

As his armor returned to ring form after the battle, his wide-open eyes were revealed.

Gray eyes blinking in shock, confusion, and incomprehension.

Beside him, Melody, who had been trying to assist Llewellyn, opened her mouth, and even the surrounding sword disciples were surprised, creating a silence.

“You asked about my intentions? Shouldn’t you know by now?”

With a sly smile, the Sword Saint retrieved the Shield Breaker stuck in the ground and tucked it into his belt.

The moment of retrieval was invisible to the eye. He could have killed them on the spot if he wanted, and it seemed like he might secretly desire that.

“I came to this land to find my successor.”

The Sword Saint suppressed his desires. Instead, he extended his hand toward Llewellyn.

“That would be you.”

As if it absolutely had to be so.

*

“Master!”

As Llewellyn retreated in bewilderment and Melody hesitantly followed behind him,

The Sword Saint had to face his furious disciple upon returning.

“What are you thinking?! The next Sword Saint?!”

Maya stood with her pointed ears raised in anger.

While the other sword disciples of the Sword Saint Society remained quiet, some were silent because Maya was expressing their opinions for them.

Most seemed uninterested in the position of the next Sword Saint.

“He’s not even part of the Sword Saint Society, and worse, he protects my enemy.”

Her voice lowered. Anger, though suppressed, was palpable.

The Sword Saint sat down quietly and listened silently to Maya’s outburst.

“You haven’t forgotten the promise you made when you accepted me, have you? Surely…”

“Revenge is your part. I know.”

“Then…”

“But revenge and purpose are separate matters, aren’t they?”

When Maya quietly closed her mouth, the Sword Saint spoke with conviction.

“Even if you seek revenge… you must live to do so.”

The purpose of the Sword Saint Society and the purpose of the Sword Saint are different.

The Sword Saint’s purpose is simply to move forward.

To advance along the long, dark path before him, to someday reach the end.

But not the Sword Saint Society. The Sword Saint was both the Sword Saint and the master of the Society.

He had to devote himself to the survival of the entire Sword Saint Society.

The Sword Saint thought.

If one became the next Sword Saint, they would inevitably cherish this excellent battalion called the Sword Saint Society.

*

“Ah, I forgot to make the proposal.”

“Really, how careless. Of all things to forget!”

On the way back, Llewellyn unconsciously blurted out words and got his cheek pinched.

It didn’t hurt, but it was an attack that caused mental anguish. Llewellyn barely suppressed the urge to snap back not to treat him like a child.

“It was quite a fight, though.”

He had gained enough from it to tolerate Melody’s actions.

He had touched the Sword Saint’s memories and wielded the Sword Saint’s experience and swordsmanship, incorporating them into his body.

An excellent experience unimaginable to ordinary humans. Llewellyn was still immersed in the afterglow, feeling the power and experience that seemed to writhe in his hands.

Melody seemed to understand that too. After all, she was also someone who wielded a sword.

“To match the Sword Saint… is this what you mentioned before? A miracle?”

Miracle manifestation. The reason they could recruit Rie Hezedia, and the reason they could easily handle the dueling school-trained magician who called Melody “sister.”

“If you can even take the Sword Saint’s techniques, that’s truly powerful. We should definitely proceed with accepting the Sword Saint Society’s offer.”

Nevertheless, Melody’s expression wasn’t good.

She didn’t seem pleased even with empty words. Perhaps she would have preferred to drive them away, as she swallowed a sigh while her closed eyelids trembled slightly.

She looked troubled. She still seemed undecided about what to do with Maya.

Llewellyn looked at Melody’s profile and reached out his hand.

A short “eek!” from the girl. Llewellyn gently cupped Melody’s cheek and stroked it while speaking.

“There shouldn’t be any major problems. I understand now after experiencing it.”

“How can you be so confident?”

“Just, well, from what I saw.”

Though rather weak as evidence, it was truly so.

Although he wasn’t sure if it could be called a person’s life or a person’s mental image.

On one hand, after seeing that life, Llewellyn was convinced. While the Sword Saint cared for the Sword Saint Society, he wasn’t the type to devote all his efforts to a disciple’s personal revenge.

Rather, to put it another way.

“He’s not the type to help others with their revenge. Quite the opposite.”

A quality not of ordinary human sensibility, but one that only a being worthy of being called “Sword Saint” would display.

“He’s the type to teach you how to use a sword so you can take revenge yourself. He doesn’t care about success or failure.”

So all that remained was to convey the proposal he had thought of. That could be done at leisure.

Llewellyn was desperate to embody the “teachings” he had gained from the Sword Saint’s memories and swordsmanship just moments ago.

“Anyway, let’s make the proposal later. I don’t think Maya will rush in with any impulsive actions either.”

The initial attack was probably an outburst of accumulated vengeance. Llewellyn didn’t think much of it, and Melody walked holding his arm.

The path from the campsite to the temple was quiet. Though spring had arrived, the wind was still cold, and the uncultivated path was bumpy.

Llewellyn enjoyed such walks. And Melody, for a blind person, navigated the terrain with relative ease, making her a comfortable walking companion.

During this walk, Llewellyn inwardly pondered how to reveal certain facts.

How should he explain it so Melody would understand?

Furthermore, perhaps Melody might even join in that relationship.

No matter how much he thought about it, Llewellyn couldn’t find a way. Even if the other person were naive, it would be difficult, but the other person was Melody.

“…Do you have something to say?”

Melody looked up at Llewellyn, still holding his arm.

Llewellyn made the worst decision, thinking he had nothing to lose.

“Well…”

“Young lord.”

Before his decision could bear fruit, someone called out to them.

“…Esharang and the God of Dreams?”

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

Eshateruna smiled and waved, with the God of Dreams being swung left and right in her grip.

The God of Dreams, with a deeply furrowed brow, shouted as he was swung back and forth in the elven assassin’s hand.

“Ugh, stop swinging me! You disrespectful being!”

He must have been quite irritated, as the God of Dreams continued to grumble even after Esha stopped.

And it went on for too long.

Even Llewellyn, who wasn’t particularly perceptive, could clearly sense that he was hesitating about something.

But there was no need to rush. Without waiting, the God of Dreams finally spoke after his hesitation.

“My wife… is calling for you and me.”

He said the Goddess of Night had summoned them.

That very deity who had ascended and never returned.