Swordmaster of the Great Wall

There was one week until the expedition. During that time, Erich's daily routine was a constant repetition.

In the daytime, he observed the members' training and reviewed his plans.

And in the evenings, he would go out to a quiet place to refine his sword and aura. Since Mikhail only showed up around midnight, that time was solely Erich's own.

Six days passed by in this way. The expedition was set for tomorrow.

― Tadak, tadak.

The campfire Erich had lit crackled, sending up sparks.

At that moment, the light from the fire flickered.

"... Heir, sir. Keuhp!"

― Smack!

Erich's palm made a sharp, crisp sound. His hand struck the head of the Shadow that had suddenly popped out from behind him.

"Damn, would you stop sneaking around and make some noise when you walk."

The masked man who had appeared scratched the back of his head through his mask.

"... My apologies."

"Anyway, what's the reason for popping out all of a sudden?"

"As you mentioned, Grossnak has begun to move."

A smile played at the corners of Erich's mouth. As expected, things were going just as he had predicted.

The Shadows, if not daily, dutifully reported the information they obtained to Erich.

What they had uncovered was the relationship between Hrung-ga and Grossnak.

As it turned out, Hrung-ga was Grossnak's nephew.

Of course, this wasn't a case of an uncle usurping his nephew to become chieftain, like in some degenerate noble households; but by coincidence, Grossnak's much younger son was still very small.

Although the chieftainship of the wolf tribe was hereditary and thus Hrung-ga had priority in succession as Grossnak's nephew, Grossnak himself couldn't be free from insecurity.

Thus, Grossnak had treated Hrung-ga harshly since he was young.

He gave him impossible trials, always teaching that returning to the Goddess's embrace was an honor.

The reason Hrung-ga became a Goddess fanatic, only looking to the Goddess at all times, was due to Grossnak's educational approach, which was practically asking him to die.

But surprisingly, Hrung-ga overcame every trial Grossnak set for him.

He began to gain the support of the young warriors, and soon enough, he became estranged from Grossnak, whose support base was the elder shamans.

That was why Hrung-ga was sent to the sacred ground. Though the charge was absurd, he accepted it as the fate given to him by the Goddess and left for the sacred ground.

Grossnak probably never expected him to return alive.

When Hrung-ga came back from the sacred ground and even returned as a guardian warrior, they said Grossnak looked as if his world had crumbled.

Grossnak was already middle-aged.

For a barbarian whose medical knowledge was limited to spreading rancid animal fat and jam over wounds, it wouldn't have been strange for him to go at any time.

'... Honestly, there's not a single redeemable point about him.'

Erich recalled how Grossnak had extracted a promise from Hrung-ga to bring him his heart.

Grossnak even had justification for whatever happened on the battlefield.

After all, anything could happen during the chaos of combat.

Once again, by slapping on some false accusation, it would all end.

There would be backlash, but the young warriors who supported Hrung-ga were scheduled to be deployed at the front where they faced the black wolves.

So, if they survived, good; if not, their strength would be greatly weakened.

Thus, what Erich paid attention to in the Shadow's report was whether there were signs that Grossnak truly intended to murder his nephew.

And Erich had just gotten the answer to that from the Shadow.

'Grossnak has begun to move. He's finally drinking the poisoned wine.'

Now, Erich intended to turn Grossnak's schemes back on him.

"Then, as I instructed, did you pass along the location I'll be heading to the suspected traitors?"

"Yes, the Shadows have already departed."

"Good work. By the way..."

"Yes, heir, sir?"

"... Aren't you all cold?"

The Shadows' bodies were trembling ever so slightly.

Strangely, one of the Shadows huddled near Erich was even shuddering, trying to suppress a cough.

The leader of the Shadows glanced sidelong at his subordinates, then replied,

"You are mistaken."

"What mistake? That guy at the back has a chest so thick, he stuffed in fur pelts under his clothes."

At Erich's comment, the brow inside the masked Shadow speaking seemed to furrow. Erich grinned broadly before speaking to the Shadow. Googlᴇ search nοvelfire.net

"Don't be too harsh on them. It doesn't make sense to wear thin cloths in a place like this anyway, does it?"

"... Heir, sir. We are but swords. We do not feel pain."

Erich's eyes narrowed.

'They look like they feel the cold just fine.'

Well, as skilled as these imperial assassins were, they were still only human after all.

Just then, an odd thought struck Erich.

"By the way, I suddenly had a question."

"What question is that, sir?"

"If you're all Shadows, shouldn't I have a title for you, the one who leads them? Just calling you Mouth is starting to feel strange."

"... Is that so?"

The Shadow answered with an expressionless face. Of course, Erich had no intention of considering their opinion.

"Hm. How about 'King'? It's nice and short."

"Are you serious?"

For the first time, Erich felt the representative Shadow, always calm, reveal a slight emotion.

"Would I joke about that?"

"... Understood. Please refer to me as King."

Why does he look so sullen? Erich couldn't understand it at all. It was such a fitting name.

Anyway.

As Erich conversed with the Shadow, the sound of footsteps approached.

The Shadows, except for King, felt the presence even quicker than anyone else and disappeared at once.

"... Anyway, those guys have plenty of energy. Tsk tsk."

It was Mikhail.

Today, it seemed he had come out to observe Erich's swordsmanship a bit earlier than usual.

King glanced at Mikhail, then bowed to Erich.

"We'll be going now."

"Alright."

The leader of the Shadows, 'King', vanished before Erich had even finished his reply.

Mikhail glanced at the spot where King had been, lifting the corners of his mouth.

"They're always strange, no matter how many times I see them. Useful, though. So, did you get what you wanted?"

"Yes. I suspected it, but he really was scheming."

"Hmm. Not to my taste. It'd be simpler to just cut them down head-on. What did I tell you?"

"You said that if it couldn't be resolved by strength, maybe it meant my strength wasn't enough."

"That's right. Although, if everyone in the Watch thought like I did, the Great Wall would've fallen long ago. Tsk tsk."

Erich managed a faint smile at his master's joke.

Mikhail had a perfect understanding of swords and swordsmen. Knowing exactly where you stood was a crucial quality.

Then Mikhail asked Erich,

"So, any progress on what I taught you?"

"... I'm not sure. I think I might be lacking the power needed to cut."

"Show me."

Erich drew the sword into his hand. Reflected in the moonlight, the aural might of the dragon fang blade glimmered in soft waves.

He raised the sword above his head to assume the cutting stance. Soon, the subtle trembling in his body ceased.

Clear droplets of aura formed like beads on the surface of the blade. When they gathered densely enough to form an edge atop the sword—

― Shhwaaak!

A neat and concise slash cleaved the air. It was a level any swordsman would envy, but Mikhail shook his head slowly.

"Not yet. Your aura is scattering."

"... I could increase the output."

"Foolish. If you do it that way, you'll run out of aura after only a few swings."

"... Not everyone can do it like you, sir Mikhail."

What struck Erich, after relearning the sword from Mikhail for a week, was that his mastery was still lacking.

Sure, Erich had once reached the extreme height of a Swordmaster.

Thus, the technique Mikhail was now trying to teach him was one he could freely use if he put his mind to it.

However,

Only now, after his regression, did he realize that back then, he'd only been able to use immense reserves of aura to brute-force the technique.

The perfection of Mikhail's technique, as he saw it again, was truly formidable.

Compared to him, Erich was like earth to sky.

Of course, Erich had died when he was younger than Mikhail is now.

Even so, if he'd lived as long as Mikhail, would he have reached the same level? Erich could not say for sure.

"I'll show you once more. Watch carefully."

With that, Mikhail stepped in front of Erich. Drawing his sword, he pointed it skyward.

― Woong.

Indigo light shimmered in both of Mikhail's eyes.

Soon enough, aura beads, just as with Erich's blade, clustered on his sword; but his aura took the form of a line much faster than Erich's did. The density was far greater.

At last, Mikhail sliced downward, neat and swift.

― Phit!

With a completely different sound, a tearing wind burst out in all directions.

Mikhail resheathed his sword with a metallic clang.

― Chunk.

Mikhail lifted the corner of his mouth and said,

"Again, the important thing isn't strength. It's how thinly you can hone and insert your aura."

"Not everyone in the world is as much of a genius as you, sir Mikhail."

"What nonsense. And you want to talk about genius to me? You became a Swordmaster just past your coming-of-age, didn't you?"

Erich quietly let out a small laugh. Mikhail was not wrong.

Erich was now attempting a level that should only be attainable in one's thirties, by relying on memories from before his regression.

Given that Mikhail didn't know the secret of Erich's regression, it was only natural that he found Erich invoking talent somewhat laughable.

The tree in the direction Mikhail had slashed swayed.

― Paaaang!

With a chilling whoosh, countless leaves rained down like a shower.

Standing under the falling leaves, Mikhail said,

"I don't know anything beyond that, but you'll at least be able to become as strong as I am."

With his black cloak billowing, Mikhail turned back toward the barracks.

"Get some rest early tonight. Isn't tomorrow the day you leave? Good swordsmanship comes from good rest."

"Understood."

Erich's hand, still gripping the sword, trembled faintly.

He knew that to become as strong as Mikhail, he must continue to strive at every moment so the dead would not overrun the world.

***

To the east beyond Haratakan, even the barbarians called it a terrible land—especially for its incomparable cold.

Even barbarians here wore thick fur coats, barely managing to stand against the biting wind. Their numbers were so great they covered the entire frozen lake.

But the environment was not their only enemy.

― Kwaaang!

[It's—a bear!]

[Damn it!]

The barbarians panicked at the sight of the bear that surfaced before them.

The bear, having broken through the ice, was as massive as an ancient tree.

Just witnessing it made their knees weak.

[Don't—don't fall back!]

[Keep the bear from going wild! The ice will shatter!]

Their shouts did nothing; as the huge bear swung a paw, two barbarians were torn apart.

"Shredded" was the only word for it.

― Kwaaaang!

[Keuhh!]

Watching a man rip apart in front of them, red snow spraying through the air—a sight that could strike terror even into the faces of barbarian warriors who prided themselves on their bravery.

But just then, an amber line cut through the barbarians and stood before the enormous beast.

White hair, already at the level of an elder. But he did not braid his hair, as was customary for elders.

Instead, his short hair, roughly cut with a dull blade, made his rugged brow even more menacing. Seeing him, the barbarians shouted,

[It—it's Katan!]

[Make way for Katan!]

Katan showed no hint of fear or hesitation even before the beast. The beast, intrigued by the small barbarian boldly confronting it, stepped forward.

And at that instant—

― Kwaaaang!

In a flash, Katan's fist pounded into the bear's stomach. The force was so great, the enormous bear jolted upward, and the ice beneath everyone's feet shook.

― Woooooong!

The bear howled in pain. Though it was just a punch, the bear was so stunned it couldn't even attempt a counterattack.

At once—

― Chywaaak!

The massive bear burst apart in a cloud of blood, scattering to pieces. Katan, soaked in blood from head to toe, grinned broadly.

[It's a good sign. Covered in blood from the start—don't you think so, brothers?]

― Katan killed the bear!

― Katan! Katan! Katan!

The barbarians chanted Katan's name. His name was Katan—the man leading the expedition on Ungrim's orders—his lips curved into a broad smile.

[... I wonder who killed my son. I'm looking forward to it.]

There was no vengeance or anger in Katan's stride. What radiated from him was only the thrill of the fight and interest.

The fierce delight from the thought of fighting the one who had killed his son Yurtan—a joy that shone clearly in his eyes.

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=

Yurtan is the barbarian that died in chapter 71...

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