WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reincarnation of the Sword Demon

Chapter 26

──────

A Dog's Dream

Five years.

Julius Alastor's throne stood unshaken, and none of his nine children had made any move to challenge it.

The two sons of the firstborn, Karthan. Cassius, at eighteen, had become an apprentice knight of Gladiheim. Bekius, fifteen, was serving as a knight candidate.

The son of the second son, Barkas. Bruno, also fifteen, was serving as a knight candidate.

The daughter of the fourth son, Dante. Vivian, twelve, was in training to become a knight candidate.

The third daughter, Erika. Now eighteen, she too had become an apprentice knight.

In the heart of the Sword Garden, a red-haired boy sat with his eyes closed and a wooden sword resting across his knees.

His face was still boyish, soft with youth. His body was another matter. The high-quality Elixirs he had been taking since age five had built his bones solid, and the muscle layered over them was dense and tight. Because of it, the boy stood considerably taller than most ten-year-olds, with a frame to match.

To any passerby, he looked like he was dozing off in the middle of a graveyard of weapons. Kyle's mind, though, was somewhere else entirely.

The realm of consciousness he had entered through resonance with Baal. In that place, he was not sitting with his eyes closed.

It wasn't a convenient world where time flowed differently from reality. But unlike the waking world, no one here was watching him.

Kyle swung the wooden sword.

Not the tier-five sword forms he had spent five years learning in the Great Archive. The sword he had wielded in his days as the Sword Demon.

The sword that, swung in the real world, would draw stares, too saturated with killing intent, too clearly untaught.

Here, he could swing it freely and without limit. The longer he stayed, the worse the mental toll. Kyle enjoyed it anyway.

No ordinary physical training could touch this kind of mental tempering. So over those five years, Kyle had resonated with Baal many times over, sharpening his mind and refining the sword of his past life.

[...]

Baal narrowed his yellow eyes and watched Kyle. Five years of witnessing this same scene, and it still made no sense.

A child of an inferior species, barely ten years old, his spirit root not yet awakened.

A child who had never killed anything larger than a fly, and yet the sword he swung carried killing intent this deep.

Worse, that sword had depth. What he showed was not everything. No mana behind any of it, just a man calibrating to his current limits.

[Little brat.]

Baal spoke. Kyle was mid-swing. He turned at the sound.

[Tomorrow is your tenth birthday. Is that not so?]
"Yeah."
[Seize this body tomorrow.]

Kyle gave Baal a tired look and went back to swinging.

[Little brat. Did you not hear me?]
"I've lost count of how many times I've said no."
[Why do you refuse? This body, this Baal, offers to lend you his power.]
"That's no way to ask for something."

Baal's eyes flickered at the mockery.

[Ask? This body does not ask things of you. This is a command.]
"No."

Five years of this, more exchanges than Kyle could count. Baal had been pushing since the very first meeting. Over five years, he had only gotten more talkative. More desperate.

[Little brat. I forgive you for kicking me away before. Swear to take hold of me, and this Baal will withhold nothing of his power from you.]

A sharp and powerful sword? Kyle liked those well enough. But he didn't feel any urgent need for one. Whether a legendary blade or a cursed one, in the end it was something someone picked up and swung. A sword that couldn't grasp something that basic, still bleating on about lending its power, had something wrong with it from the start.

"Later. When I feel like it."

That said, Kyle had never given a flat refusal. Over five years, he had kept Baal dangling, always leaving just enough of an opening to keep the Dokkaebi from giving up entirely.

Strictly speaking, what Kyle was actually interested in was not the power of the blade itself. It was the Demon King's swordsmanship that the Dokkaebi dwelling within Baal still remembered.

[Why later? Tomorrow, right now...]
"It'll set the whole house on fire."

That much was true. Five years ago, when Julius heard that Kyle had resonated with Baal, he had summoned Kyle immediately from the study to the Sword Hall.

Kyle had told him about the Dokkaebi dwelling in the blade, and had to prove, once again, that he was in no way possessed.

That settled things with Julius, eventually. The inconvenience, though, hadn't ended there. Word that a Dokkaebi was dwelling in Baal, and that Kyle could speak with it, drew the attention of the Sword Tower Elders.

Some of them wanted to hear the Dokkaebi speak about the Demon King and about the Founding Ancestor Ruin Alastor. In the end, though, no such order came down to Kyle.

The words of a cursed blade could not be trusted. That was the conclusion they reached.

Kyle hadn't asked Baal about it either.

Show any curiosity, and Baal would presume to propose a bargain.

"Time to go."

Longing dripped from Baal's eyes. Kyle felt the crimson mist coiling around him and the gazes watching from beyond it. He looked over at Baal.

"How much longer are you going to keep this up?"
[Little brat, whatever do you mean?]
"The weapons in the Sword Garden. They can't speak to me because of you."
[You wretched thing! Do you truly think this Baal would stoop to such petty scheming?]

Baal roared, but Kyle didn't ease his suspicion.

There were definitely Dokkaebis dwelling in the other weapons of the Sword Garden. But none of them aside from Baal had reached out to Kyle.

They simply watched from a distance. He had tried to resonate with them several times, but each time the crimson mist surged of its own accord and dragged him back into Baal's realm.

"Stop doing things beneath you."
[A child of an inferior species dares insult this body...!]

Baal's eyes went wide, killing intent pouring out of him. Kyle ignored it and pushed through the mist.

"Mm."

Back in reality, Kyle opened his eyes.

"Kyle-nim."

A voice drew near. He turned toward it. A silver-haired girl in uniform was kneeling on one knee, watching him.

Lucia. Kyle stood and asked.

"Training's done, then?"
"Yes."

Children who wished to become Alastor knights took a test at age thirteen and became knight candidates. Lucia, true to her dream, had passed and was now in training.

"How was today?"
"Bekius-nim and Bruno-nim were talking during training and got scolded by their instructor."
"Same as always."

Kyle stretched and laughed.

He had changed considerably in body over the last five years. The Elixirs from early childhood had pushed his height well past what was normal for ten, and the muscle packed onto his frame was dense and tight. Baby fat still lingered in his face, but physically, he had long since grown beyond his years.

"I'll escort you to the Sword Tower."

Lucia stepped in front of him with a composed bearing. The Funeral Knights already had eyes on the Sword Garden. The tower was steps away. And who in Gladiheim would dare touch a pure-blood. Still, Kyle didn't turn down her consideration.

As a knight candidate, Lucia was currently living away from the Sword Tower, in the candidate barracks in Gladiheim's lower district, Hilt. That she had come all the way to the Sword Garden was purely to spend time with Kyle.

Over five years, they had grown that close. They had sparred with wooden swords more times than could be counted, and occasionally shared smaller, everyday conversations too. Among peers in the Sword Tower, the only ones who had truly grown close to Kyle were Lucia and his youngest aunt, Erika.

"Tomorrow is already Kyle-nim's birthday."

Lucia said.

The path to the Sword Tower was short. That the usually quiet Lucia had brought it up first said something about how curious she was, about tomorrow, about the awakening.

"Not already. It's finally here."
"What kind of spirit root do you expect to awaken?"
"Hmm... Grandfather and Mom both think I'll awaken a lightning spirit root. I think they're probably right."

Kyle answered, fingers curling around the thunderstone necklace at his throat. The lightning Spirit he had met five years ago was still coiled inside the thunderstone, eating the mana stones he fed it.

He hadn't bonded with any other Spirits since. Whispers reached him sometimes from the wind, the earth, the flicker of flames. But communing too deeply with Spirits before the spirit root awakened was dangerous.

There was a reason the old Spirit Artists got branded as possessed madmen.

"I don't have a spirit root organ myself, so I've never experienced it, but... I've heard that on the day of the awakening, you have a dream."
"Yeah. Even without trying to fall asleep, your body gives in to the Sleep Demon before midnight. If you're not already lying down, you might end up collapsed on the floor. And in the dream you see something connected to your spirit root."

Arian and Julius had called it the spirit vision.

The spirit's manifestation. Feel wind in the dream, and a wind spirit root was taking root in your body, and from there, the circuit would open.

"Mom said she saw a great ship made of wind. Aunt Erika saw a field of ice flowers. And Grandfather..."
"Saw lightning pouring down like rain, I've heard."

Lucia answered.

'Like a birth omen or something...'

The more vivid the vision, the stronger the spirit root that awakened. Developing and strengthening a spirit root took enormous time and effort, so every child with ambitions in martial arts or magic desperately hoped for a striking one.

The idea that a single dream could set your limits didn't sit well with him, honestly.

"Kyle-nim."

Lucia stopped at the Sword Tower's main gate. She turned and gave a small bow.

"You will surely awaken something remarkable."

She meant every word.

"Thanks."

Kyle grinned.

'If I'm going to awaken one anyway, a good spirit root obviously beats a bad one.'

The main gate opened. Kyle waved to Lucia and stepped inside.

That night.

The Rose Mansion was quiet. Arian would normally be fussing and celebrating a day early. Tonight, she was quiet. Unexpectedly calm.

The dining table, though, was anything but. Lavish dishes covered every inch of it, birthday or not. Kyle recognized a few of them.

Foods made with ingredients related to Thunder Energy. Kyle glanced up. Arian, catching it, gave an embarrassed smile.

"Grandfather sent the ingredients."
"He hasn't called for me in two days. And he sent these?"
"He probably didn't want to put pressure on you."
"Sending ingredients like this and not wanting to add pressure don't really go together."
"He doesn't want to pressure you, but he is hoping."

Kyle laughed quietly and picked up his chopsticks.

"There's too much to finish. I'll have indigestion if I stuff myself, and then I won't sleep properly."
"Still, have at least one bite of everything, for Grandfather's sake. Understood?"
"Yes."

Five years later, Kyle was still a good son.

Dinner done, he read for a while to pass the time, then washed up and headed to his room. Arian was waiting in front of the door.

"Son. Heading to bed already?"
"Not yet. Going to let my food settle first."
"Make sure you're lying down before it gets too late. Understood?"

The eve of the tenth birthday. A body on the verge of awakening its spirit root would fall under the Sleep Demon before midnight. If you weren't already in bed, you might end up asleep on the floor.

"Son. Have a good dream."

Arian pulled Kyle into a hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I will."

Kyle came into his room and sat on the edge of the bed, tapping the thunderstone.

Crackle!

The violet snake, now twice the size it had been five years ago, slid free of the thunderstone.

"After tonight, no more mana stones."

He held out a small mana stone. The snake opened its mouth wide and sank its teeth in. Mana was drawn out, and the stone went dark.

Done. Kyle turned off the lamp and lay down.

He had been waiting for this since he was five. Midnight was still some time away, but Kyle closed his eyes right away and reached for sleep.

He wasn't tired. Strangely, though, the moment he shut his eyes, his consciousness blurred. As though someone were pulling his mind toward a dream. As though his soul were peeling away from his body and being drawn somewhere far off. A distant, dissolving sensation.

Darkness.

The world blazed open.

A vast expanse of land stretched before him.

A wasteland without end. Dust swept in churning clouds, and jagged rock formations stood arrayed like a folding screen. But they were not ordinary stone. Every formation that had burst upward through the earth looked like a massive sword stabbing at the sky.

The earth split apart with a scream. From the cracks, crimson lava surged up like blood. Ferocious fire blazed as if to devour everything, painting the world red. The boiling heat became a blade of greed and set the air itself ablaze.

The flames did not stop at burning. They scorched and tempered the earth as it melted and ran beneath them. Golden light crashed down onto the smelted land. Lightning began to fall. Thunder and blade both, fast and sharp, it sliced through fire and shaved the earth clean.

The sky went dark under stormclouds. Bitter cold snow and rain fell together. A wave swept in without warning, tracing a gentle arc as it poured into every crack and seam of the world and filled them. Unbroken, unstoppable, the water danced a sword dance.

The world became ocean. A horizon appeared. The sky above stretched as endlessly as the water below, dark with stormclouds one moment and perfectly clear the next, and a great sun blazed.

Life was born from the water at last. A vast forest rose up in an instant, pushed the ocean back, and spread across the world. The trees grew thick and dense, each one reaching toward the sky like a blade.

A ferocious wind blew. Reckless and slashing, indiscriminate, it cut the trees down. And the world was wasteland again.

It repeated.

Wasteland, then fire, then smelted metal, then flooding water, then forest, then wasteland again, cycling without end.

The world spun. The cycle exploded, shattered, gathered to a single point.

Every shape he had witnessed condensed together. That swirling thing was nothing at all, and could become anything.

Chaos.

Kyle stared at it in a daze. He knew it was a dream. He knew instinctively what he was looking at. He had just witnessed the world itself, creation and twilight both, beginning and end woven into one.

The chaos that bound all of it stood before him. As Kyle watched it, it watched him back.

Slowly, he reached his hand toward it.

"..."

His eyes opened.

He woke up.

His eyelids felt light. His mind was clear, not hazy at all. Kyle stared blankly up at the ceiling. His hand was still extended toward it, reaching upward without him realizing.

"...?"

He opened and closed the hand a few times, then sat up.

"What kind of dog dream was that?"

The memory was vivid. He just had no idea what any of it was supposed to mean. The most grandiose nonsense dream imaginable. And somehow he'd managed to weave swords into every single thing he'd witnessed.

"..."

Kyle quietly worried about his own sanity.

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried