Sword Devouring Swordmaster

Translator: AkazaTL

Pr/Ed: Sol IX

***

Chapter 155 – Return (2)

“Seems the rumors about the Iron Kingdom were exaggerated after all.”

The man in a black uniform—James, of the Machine Empire’s Mage Corps—laughed.

“They said never underestimate even the smallest boy from Cherville, that every Iron Kingdom native fights like a demon, that they’ll keep struggling until their last breath. They really scared us with all that talk, but what do we have here? Puhahahaha!”

“Right? Hah! Remember that old man? When I held a blade to his throat, he went pale and pissed himself! And his family was right behind him watching, too. They were crying, sure, but I bet they were laughing inside—disgusted by how pathetic he looked.”

“Puhahahaha! Exactly! Savage idiots who can’t even build a single Iron Horse dare to challenge our Machine Empire…”

James and his superior snickered as if they’d just watched a delightful play.

“When’s the next shift coming? Time crawls when you’re on guard duty. I wanna go inside and have some fun already.”

“Fun? With who? I took a look in there—it’s just a bunch of wrinkly old folk. Not a single woman worth your young eyes.”

“I don’t need women. I can have them anytime. What I do enjoy is crushing terrified weaklings. Watching them tremble, grinding their teeth in humiliation—it makes me hum with joy.”

“Heh. What a twisted hobby.”

James chuckled darkly.

“That’s the whole reason I volunteered for infiltration duty. Fighting strong enemies scares me, but slaughtering the weak? That’s pure pleasure.”

“Just keep it here. You pull that back home, you’ll end up behind bars.”

“Of course, of course. I know the difference between who I can and can’t do that to.”

James turned toward the blazing Flame Veil behind him, the magical barrier sealing the Karavan lands in burning walls of fire. To him, it was beautiful—a masterpiece of his comrades’ sorcery. He couldn’t wait for his shift to end so he could throw a few old villagers into the flames for fun.

Then—

“…‘Who you can and can’t do that to,’ huh?”

A calm voice echoed across the field.

“Who decided that?”

It was a young voice—somewhere between boy and man.

James and his superior turned toward the sound.

There stood a striking youth with noble features: golden hair gleaming like sunlight, eyes as blue as the sea. He looked every bit the refined aristocrat—except for the fury burning behind those eyes.

“I’m curious,” the youth said evenly. “Since when does being weak or old make it acceptable to humiliate and hurt someone? Since when does strength or belonging to a powerful nation give you the right to trample others?”

The soldiers blinked.

The young man descended the slope slowly, his posture straight, his tone calm but edged with rage.

“Identify yourself!”

“You’re trespassing!”

“State your allegiance!”

More soldiers gathered, forming a half-circle around him. But none dared move first. Something about him felt wrong. He radiated nobility—an aura they didn’t dare touch. Maybe he was an imperial noble? Someone far above their rank?

“And this land…” the youth said, “is not for intruders.”

As he spoke, his hand drifted to his hip. His blue eyes shimmered—and turned crimson.

The air itself changed.

“P-prepare!”

“Prepare for combat!”

Too late.

“Form up—!”

Flash!

A thin silver line traced through the air.

A heartbeat later, a soldier’s head spun skyward, spraying blood across the clear sky.

The youth stood holding a gleaming blade—beautiful, deadly.

A heavy thud. A body without a head crumpled to the ground.

The copper scent of blood filled the air.

“Attack!”

“A knight! A knight of the Iron Kingdom—!”

The soldiers shouted in panic.

They knew the tales—Iron Kingdom knights clad in steel, masters of the sword, superhuman warriors. But they weren’t supposed to be here, on this remote border.

“Don’t fight him head-on!”

“Follow training procedures!”

Their fear lessened once they remembered their drills.

They were soldiers of the Machine Empire, veterans of the long war against Cherville. They knew how to fight knights.

“Bind his movement!”

They’d been taught: Iron Kingdom knights couldn’t counter magic. Only a rare few reached the level of Sword Runner, capable of touching the arcane. And this young man—bare-handed, no armor, barely an adult—surely wasn’t one of them.

“If we restrict his movement, he’s finished!”

They mistook him for some hot-blooded idealist—a naive young knight drunk on stories of heroism.

“Fire—!”

Dozens of magitech rifles and enchanted cannons roared.

Explosions of flame and stone crashed down upon the youth.

But the fire and debris dissolved—like chalk wiped off a board.

“Wha…?”

The young man walked out of the smoke unscathed, his body wreathed in strange azure fire.

Every spell that touched him unraveled, undone by that light.

The impossible. He was defying natural law.

Before they could process it, he was gone—then suddenly among them.

Slice.

Heads rolled. Limbs fell.

Each stroke of his sword brought death with surgical precision, cutting through flesh and bone as if slicing tofu.

“You bastard—!”

Some tried to grab him, but he was too fast. His movements skipped—frames missing, as though reality itself couldn’t keep up.

“Ghost—he’s a Sword Runner!”

The term spread like wildfire. Ghosts of the battlefield. Knights who’d transcended human limits, wielding both steel and the supernatural. Ordinary soldiers couldn’t touch such beings.

“It’s a ghost! Run—!”

Their spells failed; even their enchanted devices fizzled out the instant they touched that blue flame.

Desperate, a few soldiers charged with bayonets.

Their heads fell before they got within arm’s reach.

Finally, realization dawned—there was no winning this fight.

The survivors turned and fled.

The youth simply watched them go.

A trap detonated beneath his feet—a buried magical mine powerful enough to kill a northern monster. It exploded but the shards of earth rose and shielded him, guided by his sword’s glow.

No hope. No escape.

He didn’t pursue it. He just watched. As if daring them to run.

And perhaps… letting them.

Because he already knew what waited beyond that flame.

***

Unforgivable.

To shroud my home—my people—in such vile flames?

Crushing the Mage Corps was easy. Their every spell disintegrated before my “Flame of Doubt.”

They were creatures of arcana; I was their natural predator.

“Why do you think they fled like that?” Sherizik asked. “Their faces screamed, You’re dead now…”

“There must be War Mages inside,” Elizabeth replied. “The Mage Corps’ elite. They abandon all study of nature or spirit, devoting themselves only to destruction.”

“Hmm.”

“You’ve seen the Wave Tamers of the Free Cities, haven’t you? They’re descended from War Mages.”

“Ah. Those ones.”

Now it made sense. Dangerous, sure—but not invincible.

“Tell me,” I said quietly, “are you stronger than Audrey?”

Elizabeth stiffened.

“Ha!”

She laughed, full of disdain.

“You call that a question?”

Confidence radiated from her. Mana surged around her like a storm, so dense I could almost taste it.

“Then prove it.”

“With pleasure.”

Elizabeth stepped toward the Flame Veil. Without a word, she exhaled—

Fwoooosh.

The flames shuddered like they’d met a hurricane.

The blazing barrier wavered, twisted… and vanished completely.

What lay beyond took my breath away.

The burning ruins of my domain. Corpses. Smoke.

The metallic scent of blood thick in the air.

My people— the ones who’d trusted me, stayed behind, believed in me— lay broken and bleeding.

Rage surged up my spine.

I raised my head. Above, floating arrogantly, were robed magicians adorned with the cogwheel insignia of the Machine Empire.

They looked down at us like gods surveying insects.

“Elizabeth.”

“Yes?”

“Bring them down.”

The words left my mouth—and the sky fell.

The War Mages jerked as if struck by invisible hammers, their levitation unraveling.

One by one, they plummeted.

Screams. Crashes. Bones shattering.

When the dust settled, I stood over them. Now they had to look up.

“...Haa.”

A trail of smoke rose from deeper within. An old man stepped forward—gray-bearded, with a metal prosthetic arm and leg, puffing on a cigarette that glowed crimson. He met my eyes and asked simply:

“…Who are you?”

Simple question.

So I gave him a simple answer.

“The owner of this land.”