Ch.211Night God (2)

· The Sword Saint is not implemented, so you cannot actually fight against it, but the pattern AI is recorded in the game files.

· According to the game files, the Sword Saint is an NPC with extremely high aggression, immune to debuffs affecting the mind (fear, confusion, etc.), and attempts to burrow toward the center of the party to attack regardless of its condition.

-Excerpt from the Darker Wiki, Sword Saint entry.

*

[Play Time: 10,224 hours]

“Hmm? Did I forget something? Oh, maybe about that sword—there weren’t even any remains—”

“Sword Saint.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you enjoy walking into traps knowing they’re traps?”

“…I absolutely love it. I just can’t find enough to fall into.”

“Then would you like to go spring a trap?”

“Sounds good. Just pack some oil for my sword and some provisions.”

There was no need to even attempt persuasion.

Luwellin knew this.

Having already experienced the Sword Saint’s life and being certain of it, Luwellin didn’t bother trying to persuade him.

He simply asked plainly if he wanted to go, and when the Sword Saint said yes, that was that.

It happened so quickly that Maya, who had been plotting revenge against Melody, blinked in bewilderment when she saw the Sword Saint and Luwellin coming out.

“Oh, you… why… didn’t you just leave earlier…?”

She looks kind of cute like this. Indeed, seeing a smart, capable person flustered is always worth watching.

As her pointed triangular ears twitched, Luwellin stared at them blankly.

‘Is she a Chihuahua or a Pomeranian?’

Though not particularly knowledgeable about dog breeds, those two “crazy dog” types were all Luwellin knew.

Judging by her slender face, she seemed like a Chihuahua, but her voluminous hair reminded him of a Pomeranian he’d seen somewhere.

Luwellin considered asking directly but decided against it.

‘Melody is a sparrow, after all.’

Melody, commonly called a sparrow but more accurately a chestnut-headed tit, stood beside Luwellin with a puzzled expression.

She was especially confused because she hadn’t expected the Sword Saint to be persuaded so easily.

With the two confused sages in tow, Luwellin headed toward the Pantheon.

There wasn’t even a request to wait. The Sword Saint rested his wrist on his sword hilt in a casual posture, eyes wide open.

“Is it alright for me to come along? Valterok won’t like it.”

“I’m the master here, so don’t worry about it. I’ll gather what I need, and let me bring the God of Dreams along.”

“God of Dreams?”

Though the Sword Saint rubbed his chin questioningly at the unfamiliar term, no answer came.

“Master! Where are you going?”

“I’m going out for a bit, so rest well, keep up your training, and take Maya with you.”

“Yes! Let’s go, sister!”

“W-wait! Jenia!”

By the time they left the campsite, Jenia, who had been resting at the entrance with her legs dangling, had taken Maya away.

The sight of a girl, a head taller, lifting up a smaller girl and disappearing, planted the thought in Luwellin’s mind: ‘They must do this often.’

Moreover, considering their similar hair color and both being canine beastkin…

Perhaps…

“Those two are not sisters.”

The Sword Saint’s words cut through Luwellin’s thoughts.

Luwellin snapped back to attention and looked at the Sword Saint.

“They’re both canine beastkin, and their ears and hair color are similar, so it’s easy to be mistaken, but they’re not sisters. They’re unrelated.”

“…I know. Maya is the only legitimate heir of the Lapemonian family.”

The one who answered wasn’t Luwellin. The Sword Saint looked at Melody, who had taken the spot beside Luwellin.

“You know well.”

“I was once a duel scholar too.”

Her voice carried various emotions. What she felt was remorse.

She had to bring down the Duel School in the end; it was the only way to gain freedom.

She didn’t regret it. As she had told Maya, even if she could turn back time, she would act the same way again.

She did not regret it.

But she wondered if there could have been a different approach.

Rather than completely annihilating them with overwhelming force and political pressure.

After killing all the elders of the Duel School, couldn’t she have become the new headmaster and continued its legacy?

Perhaps then there would have been less bloodshed, less resentment.

That’s what Melody thought, and it gradually constricted her from within.

A burden on her heart not easily shaken off. Melody held Luwellin’s forearm, her expression clouding.

“Maya was also a duel scholar. Now she’s a sword master.”

The Sword Saint responded as if it were of no consequence.

Melody’s face twisted slightly, but the Sword Saint remained indifferent.

“If you fear I might help with revenge, fear not.”

His only interest was one thing.

“Unless your caliber exceeds mine, or unless your caliber can lead my sword to greater heights. Otherwise, I won’t seek revenge on Maya’s behalf. Rather…”

Honing his sword and reaching greater heights.

“Between Maya who seeks revenge against you and you who hesitate, I wonder whose sword will reach greater heights.”

And he showed no interest in anything else.

Melody frowned, and the Sword Saint chuckled while stroking his chin.

Arrogant and utterly devoted to the way of the sword.

An eccentric who had lived his entire life for the sword and would die with the sword in hand.

That was the Sword Saint. Only then did Melody understand what Luwellin had been confident about.

This man would not help with revenge.

But that wasn’t all there was to the Sword Saint.

“Still, I’d prefer if they reconciled and pursued the higher path of the sword together.”

The Sword Saint said, resting his left wrist on his sword hilt.

“Maya abandoned the sword she originally trained with to seek revenge against you. She even melted it down and forged a new one similar to mine. She tempered it with killing intent, vowing to split you in half when she finally faces you.”

The giant clicked his tongue softly. His face was full of regret.

“Isn’t it truly unfortunate? A killing sword filled only with murderous intent that doesn’t fit her body. I’ve told her repeatedly that she cannot progress unless she abandons it, but she won’t listen.”

And that wasn’t all. The Sword Saint continued with interjections.

“Jenia is a deserter, and though it would be better for her not to abandon the sword she’s trained with all her life, she’s busy imitating Maya’s sword, wasting her talent.”

The Sword Saint was an old sword master. He had lived for 200 years, and being a giant, his lifespan was even longer, but his mind, having endured 200 years, was no different from that of an old man.

Stubborn, headstrong, and somewhat dogmatic, yet…

“Maya is a sword master too, so she’ll die with a sword in her hand someday. But until then, I’d like her to reach as high as possible.”

He was also affectionate. This was unexpected to Luwellin, who had thought him a psychopath.

Though there seemed to be some calculating intent, it wasn’t entirely calculation.

It felt like a mixture of genuine feeling and calculation.

“Eddy is right to take responsibility for the child he picked up, but he coddles her too much. It would be better if he were more devoted to the sword.”

He began listing complaints about the sword masters of the Sword Saint Society, starting with Jenia and Maya.

These complaints didn’t feel like genuine grievances, but rather like a family head caring for his family.

‘Is the Sword Saint Society family to the Sword Saint?’

The Sword Saint Society wasn’t just an organization.

This small group of sword masters was, to the Sword Saint, the family he gained after losing his entire family to the previous Sword Saint.

After being captivated by the sword rather than revenge, he took up the sword and went to the battlefield, and with the skills and sword he acquired, he killed the previous Sword Saint and gained this family.

To him, it was a reward in itself. Luwellin sighed as he got to know the Sword Saint better, and the Sword Saint briefly glanced at Luwellin before looking away.

Soon, only the sound of walking could be heard. Amid the crunching of leaves and the squeaking of accumulated snow.

Luwellin was suddenly feeling the spring breeze. A warm, pleasant wind that felt like the beginning of a new year.

It was the Pantheon.

“Oh, you’ve split the space. An interesting place.”

The Sword Saint peered around the Pantheon, and a woman hanging laundry at the entrance stiffened when she saw him.

“Ah, it’s alright. I brought him here.”

She was an Inquisitor. A woman who had been present during the confrontation with the Sword Saint Society.

She reached for her weapon, but…

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’m about to walk into a trap anyway, so wishing for my death would be faster.”

She hesitated at the Sword Saint’s words, which might have been a threat.

“Trap? What…?”

“It’s true. So could you tell us where Eshatherna and… that head went?”

“…Lady Melody?”

The Inquisitor’s gaze briefly scanned Melody, and Melody nodded.

“If you go that way… you’ll find them.”

“Thank you. We’ll be passing through.”

The Pantheon wasn’t yet complete as a residential area. Though construction was being rushed and built diligently…

It still felt half like a campsite and half like a village.

Because of this, there were many eyes on them, and many gazes followed them across the campsite to where Eshatherna and the God of Dreams would be.

Curiosity, fear, wariness.

All kinds of gazes, unlike those received on his previous birthday. Most were directed at the Sword Saint, but the sheer number of gazes felt suffocating.

All of them were people guaranteed not to harbor harm or hostility toward Luwellin.

Only such people could enter the Pantheon.

Likewise, it meant the Sword Saint harbored no such thoughts either.

‘Maybe it’s because he’s a psychopath who can harm people without such thoughts.’

This too would need verification. Luwellin considered it something to do later as he walked, and by the time the gazes stopped following them, they found one of the people they were looking for and a head.

“Oh, only the head remains.”

“How insolent. How dare you speak to a god like that…”

The irritation that followed his curious remark quickly subsided.

“…God of War?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it you? How…”

“You seem to misunderstand. I go by many names, but God of War is unfamiliar to me.”

In fact, the word “god” itself was unfamiliar. He stroked his rough chin and said:

“Call me the Sword Saint.”

He had abandoned his name. Therefore, he needed no name other than Sword Saint.

The unspoken words floated only in Luwellin’s memory, and the God of Dreams sighed.

“I see…”

Though the God of Dreams was confused by terms not used in his time, he eventually realized this wasn’t the deity he knew and looked dejected.

“So, Sword Saint. Why have you and Luwellin come to find me?”

“Because we’re going to find the God of Night.”

“…What?”

The dazed God of Dreams widened his eyes.

“Wait, you’re really going?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I did want to go. But…”

His voice trailed off, but his meaning was clear.

A being like the God of Dreams couldn’t possibly be unaware that it might be a trap.

Moreover, it would be no easy task, being a trap specifically targeting him and Luwellin.

It was presumptuous to suggest going to such a place. That’s why when Luwellin said he would think about it, the God of Dreams had inwardly set aside the proposal.

So now he was surprised to see Luwellin suddenly saying they would go.

“Why on earth…? Weren’t you not going to go?”

“I said I’d think about it. I’ve thought about it.”

“Don’t play with words. What change of heart did you have?”

What change could have possibly made him willingly walk into a trap?

The God of Dreams couldn’t understand. He even wondered if Luwellin might be some kind of God of Madness.

“Your expression looks annoyed. It’s not for that reason… I have my reasons.”

“What reasons could there be?”

‘If it were Sister Islana, she would accept just this much explanation.’

Feeling regretful, Luwellin answered anyway.

“Whoever it is, they know about you and me. Even if this is a trap, we have no choice but to spring it.”

“Why? I don’t understand…”

“If we don’t spring it now, what will they do next? They’ll do something worse. We need to go, even if it’s not the God of Night.”

The God of Dreams seemed to finally understand what Luwellin was saying.

“Because they know about me, and about Night…”

“Even if it’s not the God of Night, they know something. Even if it’s a trap, we can get clues.”

And then, Luwellin put his hand on the shoulder of the Sword Saint, who seemed at least two heads taller than him.

“Besides, our Sword Saint here is a trap enthusiast who enjoys falling into traps.”

“I’m at the age where I’d like to eat every meal while caught in a trap.”

Though the God of Dreams seemed confused by the words of the Sword Saint and Luwellin, he ultimately understood the core message.

Luwellin, the Sword Saint, and the God of Dreams would go together to where the God of Night was waiting.