Chapter 36 : Chapter 36
Chapter 36: Dispatch
One week.
The 6th Sword Order's training ground bustled.
Watching them pack their belongings, Simurtr was once again struck by the passage of time.
Subspace magic items weren’t such common equipment back then.
“Young Master! Over here!”
“This way, please!”
The swordsmen who found Simurtr standing at the main gate welcomed him.
Simurtr, having completed his verification a week ago, had perfectly blended in with the 6th Sword Order.
“Where’s Aran?”
“He went to see the Sword Master.”
“We’ll be leaving soon, then?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything I can help with?”
“They say it takes about ten days to get near the Degrate main mountain……”
“Ten sparring matches?”
“You can just rest here.”
The approaching swordsmen returned to their places, laughing merrily. A sparring match with a strong opponent was much more beneficial than getting rid of a troublesome task.
Moreover, Simurtr was a new type, different from the Naor and Aran they had experienced to the point of exhaustion.
‘There's no opponent as mouth-watering as this.’
Sparring was also experience, but if the opponent was the same, a limit would eventually be reached. This was a constant concern for the Sword Order during their rest period.
“There won’t be a separate departure ceremony.”
Naor approached as he watched the swordsmen packing their things.
“Really?”
This was a journey for fact-finding. Although they were keeping war in mind, it was something that could end in vain.
“Still, couldn’t they come and offer some encouragement?”
“Is there a need for that? It’s the 6th Sword Order, not the 3rd.”
“Because the 6th Head of the Sword is Aran?”
The 6th Head of the Sword, Aran Lubeil, had quite a reputation even outside the main castle.
He was often evaluated as being just below the heroes.
His skills were on par with the Sword Master, Orde, but his accumulated experience was incomparable.
“There’s no swordsman in the main castle with more experience than the 6th Head of the Sword, aside from the Senate of Elders.”
Although he was of a similar generation as the current elders, Aran was the only one still active. His skills, and that persistence. He wasn’t an object of admiration for no reason.
“The affiliated swordsmen are all war veterans too.”
At Naor’s words, Simurtr looked around.
It was obvious they were pleased, wondering why there was a dispatch during a rest period.
They were smiling, yet their auras were incredibly sharp.
A moderate sense of tension. They were swordsmen who had survived the battlefield. They had long since embodied the way to perform at their best in combat.
“They’ll be disappointed.”
Simurtr muttered softly, thinking of Semenu.
“Head of the Sword.”
Before leaving Mectera, a swordsman spoke.
It was Kehellan, Simurtr’s 14th opponent. A top-tier Expert swordsman who had experienced the beginning and end of the Doom War.
“What if we’re attacked when we arrive at the Degrate main mountain?”
“What kind of question is that? Just give back what you receive.”
“Wouldn’t that mean war?”
“That wouldn’t be so bad either.”
“But then the 6th Sword Order’s work will be delayed.”
Kehellan asked playfully, but he had hit the nail on the head.
This was a journey for fact-finding, not to start a fire. If the fight were to escalate, there was a chance they would lose their original purpose.
“That would be troublesome. Alright, if you’re confident, subdue them. If not, kill them.”
Was that the same Aran who used to follow him to the bathroom with a hearty laugh when he was young?
Simurtr clicked his tongue. Now the swordsmen had no choice but to subdue them.
“Now we just have to go straight.”
Aran said after arriving in the western part of the empire through a magic gate.
Since there were no magic gates near Degrate, they had to ride horses from now on.
‘If you live that comfortably, your location is bound to be exposed.’
The Degrate main mountain was in such a secret place that even people in the same business wouldn't know unless they were affiliated.
The reason Mectera could roughly estimate the location of the main mountain was thanks to their alliance with Degrate.
“Let us go. Young Master Simurtr.”
Simurtr nodded at Naor’s strangely friendly words.
***
The journey is peaceful.
Simurtr looked at the standard-bearer riding alongside him. The black sword. There aren't many who would aim something at the flag that symbolizes Mectera.
‘There are more of them within the empire, actually.’
Mectera is called the barrier.
True to its name, there is little history of them attacking first. This means there aren't many external enemies.
Of course, there are quite a few crazy people left in the world who don't care about the order of things, but for now.
“Young Master.”
The distance was only ten days, and nothing had gone wrong.
“Is it my turn already?”
Simurtr looked at the approaching Kehellan. The journey was peaceful, but Kehellan’s body was covered in a messy array of small cuts.
Looking around, the other swordsmen were the same. They were all smiling, and their bodies were covered in wounds.
‘It’s not for nothing that they’re called sword-freaks.’
They spar whenever they have a spare moment. Yet, the schedule is not delayed. Because these things fight while moving.
“It’s fine by me, but……”
To be honest, the journey with the 6th Sword Order is enjoyable.
There are no official swordsmen among the members. If Deban were to join, he would become the weakest in the 6th Sword Order.
This meant that everyone in the 6th Sword Order was a high-ranking swordsman who had experienced the wall of a Sword Master.
There might be those who were frustrated by their lack of talent, but the things they had built up over a lifetime could never be ignored.
“Is it okay?”
“Is there anything that’s not okay?”
“We’ve arrived.”
Simurtr looked straight ahead.
A wide-open plain. A large mountain located 200 meters ahead. Even Mectera, an ally, could not specify the Degrate main mountain.
The reason this plain was chosen as the destination was because they were speculating that the Degrate main mountain was in this vicinity.
“Hm? It’s fine. Go ahead.”
Aran, whose eyes met his for a moment, said.
They were in the middle of the plain. The standard-bearer who had been standing alongside them deeply plunged the flag into the ground. It seemed they were planning to set up camp here.
“Aren’t you going to work?”
“I am working. We’ve arrived. There’s nothing more we can do now.”
“You’re not going to search the area?”
“If that was the plan, I would have brought soldiers.”
The mountain in front of them alone would require at least a few thousand men. If you included the mountain range connected to it, the number of people needed would be unimaginable.
“In the first place, it would be meaningless to bring that many people. Why else would they be called Degrate of Phantasm.”
The Degrate main mountain has no history of being discovered.
It is hidden by an illusion, and a simple search would not be able to find it.
“Should we at least contact them? To let them know we’ve arrived?”
Come to think of it, there must be a way to contact them.
They weren't allies for nothing.
“How can we contact them. No one has the means to contact Degrate.”
“Then how did you meet them usually?”
“They came on their own. Whenever they were in need.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We make them need us again.”
“How?”
“You’ll find out if you stay here.”
***
“They say it’s actually closer to a Word Spirit than an illusion.”
“Who says?”
“A spellcaster. They called it a half-baked Word Spirit. Saying that elves could be a derivative species of dragons.”
“And that’s why the Magic Tower drools whenever they see a Degrate?”
“Yes. Since the Word Spirit is also called the end of a spellcaster. And unlike dragons, whose whereabouts are unknown, or the Sage’s Castle, which is of a similar scale, Degrate is a standalone group.”
Naor was surprisingly knowledgeable for a Mectera swordsman. Although he was a follower of Aran, he wasn't that crazy about the sword. An unobservant Deban. That’s what Simurtr thought.
“It exists, but it doesn’t exist. Spellcasters prefer to express it that way.”
“They could just say it has no physical force. Making their mouths hurt for no reason.”
That is why they are Degrate of Phantasm.
It boasts a truly great versatility, but it cannot be used to attack directly with that authority.
“I agree. Well, the story changes when it comes to the level of a Phantasm, though.”
There are exceptions everywhere.
“It’s similar for us too. Not all humans can become Sword Masters, right?”
“You could see it that way.”
“Right. If everyone could do it, they wouldn’t be working as assassins. The same goes for us.”
Everyone would be a Sword Master or a great mage.
They wouldn't need to bother preparing and researching poisons, they'd just create everything with their authority.
“Yes. I heard that’s the reason the elven race created the Phantasmal Realm and migrated.
There are exceptions, but on average, they fall short.”
“Right. And in the Phantasmal Realm, they’re pretty much invincible. Because that place is a world for illusions.”
“Yes. So they say even the Magic Tower can’t touch them there. They say they haven’t even seen the entrance, let alone an elf.”
“So it’s Degrate?”
Simurtr was quite surprised.
The characteristics of the group? Of course, the other swordsmen knew that. Aran too.
As long as there was a possibility of becoming hostile one day, they had to understand their opponent.
“Yes. They are witnessed from time to time, aren’t they?”
“You know a lot.”
But Naor doesn’t stop there.
He knew the history and had even finished grasping the surrounding political situation concerning the subject.
The fact that the Magic Tower was secretly targeting Degrate was an open secret, but in Mectera, this level of knowledge made him a fine intellectual.
“Shouldn’t there be at least one person like this in the Sword Order?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to have one.”
Naor smiled bitterly.
Those damn swordsmen just wouldn't learn.
“You seem to know a lot yourself, Young Master.”
“Well. I know as much as others.”
After the proof in the 6th Sword Order was complete, Naor had become strangely, no, quite a bit more favorable.
Even when Aran openly called him Young Master, there was no sign of displeasure. Now that they could communicate, his favor was even more obvious.
“A derivative species of dragons. That’s probably not it.”
Simurtr said suddenly.
Humans who have encountered dragons are rare. Exa from his past life was one of those rare humans.
“No matter how diluted the blood has become, the presence is different.”
Unlike the Dragon’s Word Spirit, which has an incredibly intense mana flow beforehand, a Phantasmal Ability is utterly faint. The opponent cannot know the premonition of a Phantasmal Ability.
The reason he was able to notice and subdue the man with the Phantasmal Ability in Huit was partly due to his unique senses, but more so because the man was weak.
“That is also true. The reason the Magic Tower claims so is probably not just because of that possibility.”
“Because there are still many people who are crazy about dragons?”
There has never been a time without greed for dragons.
It is the same in this era of peace. Humans still fear dragons, yet they covet the power and flesh they possess.
“Doesn’t it mean they want to get investment? It would be a waste to attack Degrate with just their own strength.”
“Right. If you’re going to touch them anyway, it’s better to do it with someone else’s things.”
“That’s what I think. Well. I don’t know for sure since I don’t know much about spellcasters.”
He didn’t know the current world well, but he thought it was quite accurate. Simurtr nodded his head, then quickly jerked his head back to dodge a sword that was flying at him.
“They’re petty. Even though they’re a Hero Family.”
“Isn’t it because they’re just spellcasters in the end?”
“True.”
Naor’s forearm swelled greatly. He hastily retrieved the sword that had lost its purpose. He blocked the sword ki that Simurtr had shot at his solar plexus in a broken stance.
“So.”
The order of the sparring was the same as the verification that had been held at the 6th Sword Order’s training ground. Kehellan was first and Naor was last.
“Can we keep doing this?”
“Didn’t the 6th Head of the Sword say so?”
So, this was the 22nd sparring match since they had set up camp in this plain.
“Aren’t you trusting him too much?”
“Other Sword Order swordsmen would have done the same if they had heard.”
“Because it’s Aran?”
“Yes.”
Aran’s status in Mectera was surprising every time he heard about it. It was similar when he was in Mectera in his past life, but he was still maintaining it.
“Subduing Degrate's illusions is quite tricky. It’s fortunate that the Young Master’s mana quality is unique.”
As he watched Naor, who was giving him time to recover his stance and moving again, Simurtr thought. That sword resembled Aran’s.
“It must be uncomfortable for others.”
“That’s right. A Sword Master might be able to, but it’s almost impossible to catch them with sword ki. Though it seems possible for the Young Master.”
“It won’t be easy for me either. It’s not called an authority for no reason.”
“You caught him with sword ki in Huit.”
“Right. The main mountain over there wouldn’t deploy a Degrate weak enough to be caught by sword ki.”
“Yes. They say only a fully mature Degrate is allowed to go out.”
“That’s why it’s suspicious.”
“It was so shoddy, it felt like it wasn't Degrate at all. I agree.”
“Right. The guy I met in Huit wasn’t even half-baked. I could have caught him with sword ki too. If I had just focused.”
It wasn't just Naor, but most of the 6th Sword Order swordsmen were like that. They all admired Aran and wanted to be like him.
“Oh. That seems to be a point we need to delve into deeply when we arrive at the Degrate main mountain.”
“To the Phantasm?”
“Yes.”
“A private meeting?”
“I will probably go too.”
“Let me in too. I’m the one involved.”
“Yes. You are an important person.”
The sparring match was slowly showing signs of ending.
Naor slowed down. This was already the 22nd sparring match, and Simurtr’s body was not at a level where it could maintain the same pace from beginning to end.
“Anyway. There is a separate code of conduct for the swordsmen when they encounter a Degrate. It probably exists for most large groups.”
Humans who can perceive a Degrate are rare.
To even hope for a counterattack, one would need to be at the level of a Sword Master.
Even without Sword Aura, if one’s intuition was exceptionally sharp, perception would be possible, but anyway.
“Ah. Is it just my feeling?”
He remembered hearing it sometime ago.
The first part of the code of conduct was the same no matter which group it was.
“How did you know?”
“Jahar told me.”
“Ah. If it’s the First Young Master, that would be possible. His enthusiasm for learning everything about the main family is outstanding.”
Naor was convinced by the plausible excuse.
Jahar, who was born with the outstanding talent of a Mectera, was also incredibly hardworking on top of that.
“That’s right. It’s a feeling. The intuition one has when life and death are on the line is sometimes incomprehensibly accurate.”
It was a directive that Exa from that time could not understand.
“A chill. Or a feeling of unease. A brief goosebump. A sense of foreboding. When a Degrate is identified as an enemy, the person involved has a duty to report all physical and mental changes that occur in that moment to their comrades and superiors.”
And in this life too.
Although he had been reincarnated, that sense had not gone anywhere.
Simurtr suddenly stretched out his hand into the empty air.
“Keuk!”
The empty space, which had been nothing, glowed green and was molded into the shape of a person. A cough burst out as the white sword ki pressed against his Adam’s apple.
“So this is why you wanted to stay here.”
The pitiful Degrate had crawled out.