Sword Devouring Swordmaster

Translator: AkazaTL

Pr/Ed: Sol IX

***

Chapter 145. Legend (2)

The home of the Monks — the Temple of the Sun. At its center burned a blazing pillar of fire.

The oldest Monk, Buddha, smiled serenely as he looked upon the holy flames that symbolized the Sun Goddess Revrua.

“Please, do not be so angry.”

At his words, the flames quivered. The flicker was the Goddess’s will.

“The tragedies of the past are merely that — the past. Rather than fretting over what’s already gone and fuming in anger, please become a warm sunlight that will shine upon the boy’s path ahead. Even if he is a descendant of Steel, he is still but a young lamb living under your light.”

Buddha gazed at his Goddess, who existed beyond the flames.

The restless fire signified her wrath, yet Buddha remained unshaken, even before the fury of the one he served.

“Even if tragedy repeats, that too is the order of the world. So, please, do not sing of your wrath. Be not the flames that burn all things, but the gentle sunlight that warms those trembling in the cold.”

Buddha extended his hand and caressed the fire. Though his bare hand touched the flame, his wrinkled, aged skin did not burn. Instead, the fire became a hand — a delicate, radiant hand of a woman. The blazing hand stroked her devotee with affection.

「Buddha, my beloved Great Warrior. Chaos will soon descend. It will resemble the Age of War long past — when the seven races tore one another apart until nothing remained. Yet this time, it shall be different from that age of despair.」

“What shall be different, my Goddess?”

「In the Age of War, the Nine Goddesses and Seven Lords lost much. They lost the all-knowing light and the absolute power that once ruled the world. The mightiest Steel tore it all away from us.」

“So it did.”

「The gods have not forgotten that humiliation. To prevent the repetition of that tragedy, the gods shall no longer remain idle. The Age of Steel will not be allowed to rise again.」

The flames rippled once more. They then took on the complete form of a woman, a burning figure who looked upon Buddha with tender affection.

「Great Warrior, your Goddess is anxious. Having lost omniscience in the Age of Steel, your Goddess has also lost insight into truth and the tranquility of peace. Your Goddess may be more foolish than you.」

“All beings live with imperfection.”

「Your Goddess is not all-powerful either. Thus, I cannot shake off this unease. I have already endured disgrace once — I can endure it again. But I fear being unable to protect my Great Warrior and my beloved children. I fear the innocent will bleed and die amidst the coming chaos. Though I shall receive them into my embrace, hearing their cries amid swords, spears, and raining arrows… pains me deeply.」

Her voice trembled with unease. Any servant would feel that same fear — but Buddha’s face remained serene. His gentle smile was unbroken.

“Do not worry. Simply remain as the warm sunlight you have always been. You need not govern the world as the other Goddesses and Lords do. The sun draws worship simply by being there. Fire saves the lambs of winter merely by existing. Your presence itself is the light in the dark, the star that guides the lost.”

The flames wrapped around Buddha’s body.

“In the midst of chaos, I shall protect your people. You need not fear. Your Great Warrior has enough strength to do so.”

At those words, the fire finally subsided.

Buddha bowed deeply toward the dying embers of his Goddess’s flame.

He had lived his entire life as a hermit monk in the mountains. He believed he would one day die a monk, and his spirit would stay by his Goddess’s side as her Great Warrior. But before that time came, the world had begun to call for him.

Buddha knew — the time for him to leave the mountains was near. Perhaps all Great Warriors of the Nine Goddesses and Seven Lords would soon step into the world once again. And if that happened, none of them would remain still. Just as Hugo Rhapsody once did, the Six Masters would return to the world, bound by the divine law — to quell the coming chaos.

It would be a great chaos indeed. But Buddha did not fear.

His Goddess had spoken of tragedy, but in truth, no tragedy is ever complete, just as no joy is ever pure. The world is like a coin — whether it shows heads or tails depends on how one looks at it. What is comedy to one is tragedy to another; what is evil to one may be good to another. That is life — that is the world. Thus, Buddha saw the world simply as it was. And when trials came, he would meet them in his own way — following his own thoughts and his own happiness.

Even after hearing his Goddess’s unease, Buddha continued his tranquil life. Then, one day, an unexpected guest arrived at the Monks’ temple — a race known for their untainted purity and for living every moment as an ordeal.

An Orc.

“How rare — a beautiful Orc lady graces our temple.”

“I hear that quite often.”

Buddha recognized her.

“What brings you here, Lady Sherizik?”

“I was hoping to stay here for a while. Would that be alright?”

“As long as you wish.”

The young monks peeked out curiously to see their guest. Sherizik smiled at them — a sharp-toothed, deadly smile that made several of them lose their composure. She was secretly pleased; her beauty truly transcended race.

“But tell me, why would the strongest of Orcs visit our humble temple?”

“There’s a man I wish to watch over.”

“Ah… could it be that you’ve finally chosen a husband?”

Buddha chuckled. Sherizik twisted her body slightly, her tone turning shy.

“Well… I don’t know yet.”

***

‘…What a remarkable soul.’

The first of the Karavans — Liam Karavan — watched his distant descendant with his hands behind his back.

‘To be honest, I hadn’t expected much at first.’

That distant descendant — Arhan Karavan. Every Karavan bore strong bodies and radiant talent. But this final Karavan had neither. Despite being a man, he was frail as a woman, with no sense for physical movement — not just average, but an utter dullard.

Liam had placed no hope in him. If things went poorly, he had intended to intervene himself — to descend into the mortal realm by borrowing his descendant’s body, and reopen the Age of Steel.

That would have destroyed the boy’s life and plunged the world into chaos… but that did not matter to Liam. His only promise had been to help the boy become a Swordmaster and avenge his pain. Nothing beyond that — not happiness, not peace.

‘I thought he resembled me in nothing…’

But the descendant before him had changed. He had filled his lacks through his own effort, forged bonds, and even found the path toward happiness — all without abandoning his first purpose. Like a flame that refused to die, he continued forward — upward.

He had no innate strength, no instinctive grace. But Arhan possessed what mattered most to a Karavan — the Soul of Steel. An unyielding will that would not break under any trial.

The strength to never lose himself, even if the entire world turned against him.

“Urgh, ugh…”

Liam watched as his battered descendant climbed the mountain again and again. He had already failed more than ten times. Bones pierced through flesh; every nerve screamed. Yet Arhan did not stop. As if the act of giving up would mean death, he looked not down but only upward.

What filled Liam’s eyes was something nobler than any legend — something higher.

The essence of the Nine Goddesses and Seven Lords themselves revered.

The spark that made beings divine — now stirred within his descendant’s soul.

‘More than my son, more than the countless geniuses of our bloodline — you, little one, resemble me most.’

Expectation welled within Liam’s chest. He could already see the future his descendant would carve — the rebirth of Steel, the unbreakable soul. The true Steel within him was awakening.

With a cracking sound, the ledge Arhan stood on gave way. He fell, his body twisting through the air before crashing down. Bones broke. Flesh tore. He groaned in agony, pounding the ground with his fist, crying in frustration — yet still, he did not break.

While his Steel Heart repaired his shattered body, his eyes remained fixed on the heights above.

「…Only those who look highest can soar the highest.」

Liam looked down at him.

「My young descendant.」

“Yes.”

「When you achieve your legend and descend this mountain, it will not be you who endures the world — it will be the world that must endure you.」

They were words of truth.

Once Arhan fulfilled the conditions of transcendence and claimed a legend, Liam would teach him how to wield the sword as a true Karavan — the way none of his descendants had endured. The way that had once cleaved the world itself. Liam Karavan’s way.

‘You can do it.’

The thought lingered in his throat. No one else had ever endured it — only Liam himself.

His beloved son, his grandson, his “genius” descendants — all died mid-swing or took their own lives in despair. They had cursed him. They said his way was impossible, that the gods had been right, that he should never have existed — that his bloodline was cursed.

But Liam never accepted that.

He still shouted within: I was not wrong.

And this final Karavan, the one who resembled him most, would prove it to the world. His precious young descendant would.

“It’s hard enough as it is. Stop spouting cryptic nonsense, will you?”

「……」

“Please. Be quiet.”

…A bit lacking in manners, though.

***

The mountain rejected me. Master had been right.

It wasn’t that climbing it was difficult — it was as if the mountain itself was driving me away. Nature refused me, and no mere human could ever win against nature.

Even so, I didn’t give up. I kept trying, again and again.

I no longer knew how many days had passed — it felt like months, maybe even a year.

In this endless ordeal, time blurred. But my mind remained sharp. With that clear mind, I had to do one thing — keep challenging. Still, continuing this brute-force approach was becoming senselessly inefficient.

So, what now? To keep failing in the same way forever — no one remembers such effort.

The old adventurer in 「Flight」 must have succeeded because he found a different way. Had he kept repeating the same mistake, he never would have reached his legend.

But I didn’t know his method. Then there was only one choice — I had to choose my own.

“...Hoo.”

Back to the beginning. Return to the start.

‘Let’s see who wins.’

Doubt.

I would doubt nature.

I would doubt this world that rejected me.

Doubt is a process — a way to prove something true. And what did I want to prove? That I am right. And they are wrong.