WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reincarnation of the Sword Demon

Chapter 68

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Sword Church Master

For a week, she had sensed three watchers. As expected, those three were not all of them. Experts Jenafelt had failed to detect were looking down on her.

"Jenafelt. Yellow Pauldron."

A voice came from directly in front of her. Cold sweat soaked her back. Jenafelt swallowed hard and opened her mouth.

"Yes. I am Jenafelt."
"Brother, raise your head."

The frigid voice fell over her. Jenafelt slowly lifted her head. Even now, three blades were pressed against her body. As she moved, the blade at her throat bit into her skin. A sharp sting flared, and hot blood ran down her neck.

A man in Purple Pauldron looked down at her. Jenafelt knew who he was. Elliot. The Third Apostle's son and chief disciple. He held Purple Pauldron, the rank directly beneath the Apostles, and within the Sword Church he was called the one closest to becoming the next Apostle.

Jenafelt had never met Elliot in person. But she had seen his name and face before, when she was promoted to Yellow Pauldron. Back then, the Apostles' disciples, including Elliot, had personally blindfolded the promotion candidates.

Aside from occasions like that, Yellow almost never faced Purple. To Yellow Pauldrons, Purple was a rank to revere from afar.

"I know who you are, Brother."

Elliot spoke. His face was young, but his eyes were strangely old. They were the eyes of someone who had lived close to the Sword Church Master's sword in the Holy Sanctuary.

"Ten Swords Jenafelt. A notable disciple among the Yellow Pauldrons. I heard you attended the Exchange Tournament in Gladiheim hosted by the Thunder Emperor."
"Yes... that's right."
"I also heard what happened there. But it will be more accurate from your own mouth. What did you experience?"
"I was... defeated by Kyle Alastor. I held a sword, and he was barehanded."
"Impressive."

Elliot spoke with a cold smile.

"I know what happened there. I also know why you came here."
"..."
"Go back."

Elliot whispered.

"What happened in Gladiheim is under internal discussion. There is no need for you to come and report it in person."
"..."
"You know very well what kind of place this Holy Sanctuary is. Even so, I will not rebuke you for irreverence in approaching it. How could I scold loyalty that only wishes to deliver news to the Master as quickly as possible?"

The swords touching Jenafelt withdrew one by one.

"But you are not qualified to enter the Holy Sanctuary. So withdraw, and wait. Before long, one of the disciples like me will come to you and hear your account."
"Why... won't you hear it now?"

Jenafelt asked with a confused expression. Elliot's eyebrow twitched.

"Did I permit you to ask a question?"
"..."
"You are in no position to question anything. I have spoken. You need only listen and obey."
"I cannot do that."

Jenafelt spoke in a firm tone. She was on her knees, blood running down her neck, but her eyes held not fear, only devotion.

"I was defeated by Kyle Alastor, and I made a promise."
"Brother... do you not know the Sword Church's rules? Only the Apostles and their disciples may enter the Holy Sanctuary. A mere Yellow Pauldron like you may go no farther."
"I know. But I must enter the Holy Sanctuary and see the Master. I promised that I would see the Master and personally convey what I felt."
"That is your promise. It can never come before the Sword Church's rules."

Elliot looked down at Jenafelt with cold eyes. The duty of an Apostle's chief disciple was clear: deal with anyone who approached the Holy Sanctuary without permission. There were two ways.

Send them back, or kill them. If she obeyed, she would only be sent away. But if she refused...

Words would not sway her.

Elliot's fingers brushed the hilt at his waist.

He should never have allowed her this close to begin with. What was Father thinking...?

He had known about Jenafelt the moment she reached Karent. He knew why she came too. The Sword Church's eyes and ears were spread across the continent, and the church had already roughly grasped the shocking events at the Exchange Tournament in Gladiheim.

This time, too many people with no loyalty to Alastor had come and gone through Gladiheim.

The grandson who made Thunder Emperor Julius leave the Sword Tower four years ago. The son of Aslan Antares, who had been a top candidate for the next Apostle despite not being an Apostle's disciple. Kyle Alastor, who had shut himself away in the Sword Tower after that, appeared during this Exchange Tournament. Rending Fang Jade was defeated by him, and Ten Swords Jenafelt was also defeated by him.

And then.

Fenris became Kyle Alastor's sword. The Sword Church had already confirmed all of this. But... the Apostles had not informed the Sword Church Master.

Elliot did not know why either. He only assumed there must be a reason, since it was the Apostles' decision.

Did they judge that it would interfere with the Master's work?

He did not know. Elliot had received only two orders from his father, the Third Apostle. Watch Jenafelt. If she tried to enter the Holy Sanctuary and refused to withdraw, cut her down.

"Brother, once again, once again I ask in mercy. Withdraw."
"I cannot. I must keep my promise."
"Is that promise important?"
"Yes, it is."
"Understood."

Elliot nodded, and at that moment,

Jenafelt's right arm was severed at the shoulder.

"...?"

Jenafelt stared in disbelief at her right arm on the ground. Maybe her mind still thought it was attached, because the severed fingers twitched in response to her will.

Then the pain came. The cut at her right shoulder burned and throbbed as if consumed by fire. Nerves across her whole body screamed as sensation converged on the severed edge. Blood gushed out. Her whole body began to go cold. Her vision shook.

Jenafelt clutched her severed shoulder with her left hand and ground her teeth. A groan leaked through them.

When... when did he draw?

Even in that agony, the question rose. She had not seen Elliot draw his sword. His nod and his draw-and-slash were one motion, but her eyes caught only the nod. In the next instant, her arm was already gone.

She heard no sound of steel leaving the scabbard. She felt no sensation of being cut. The first moment she recognized what had happened was when she saw her severed arm on the ground.

Purple Pauldron. Apostle's chief disciple. Jenafelt's severed arm proved those titles were no empty words.

"You said your promise was important."

There was not a drop of blood on Elliot's sword. The slash had been too fast, too clean.

"The moment you said your promise mattered, you placed your promise above the Sword Church's rules. As a disciple, if you put your own promise before doctrine, you have cast off your qualification yourself."

Elliot's gaze fell to the right arm on the ground.

"You violated doctrine and tried to invade the Holy Sanctuary. You placed a personal promise before doctrine. For those sins, I cut off your arm."

Elliot's voice was calm. It was an administrative tone, as if he had only carried out disciplinary action according to rule.

Jenafelt's vision blurred. She was losing too much blood, and her consciousness flickered. Still, she forced herself to stay awake and looked up at Elliot. Her face had gone pale, and sweat poured down like rain, but her eyes were still bright.

"I do not intend to execute you, Brother. If you answer that you will withdraw, I will stop the bleeding."
"I... have words... to deliver... to the Master..."
"Brother."

Jenafelt's gaze shifted. Her eyes looked past Elliot, deep into Sword Forest. Somewhere in that forest, the Sword Church Master was there.

Jenafelt inhaled. The mana in her body moved on its own to seal her wounds, but instead she drove mana into her voice.

"Fenris has found its master!"

Elliot's eyes flew wide.

"After 500 years! Fenris became a sword! Fenris...!"

Elliot's blade moved. He could not allow that voice, which shook Sword Forest and tried to interfere with the Master's sword.

Jenafelt could not shout anymore. Elliot's sword cut her vocal cords. Blood sprayed from the precise cut in her throat, and her mouth filled with blood. She choked and tilted her head.

"How dare...!"

Elliot spat through glaring eyes. He was about to say more.

Then the forest changed. The wind stopped. Leaves stopped swaying. Birdsong stopped. As if the entire forest held its breath, everything that made up Sword Forest froze at once.

Elliot froze too. He had no choice. Something was moving from deep inside the forest. In a forest where all else had stopped, only that one presence moved, and Elliot's senses, sharpened to the limit, heard its footsteps.

Very light, very quiet footsteps on leaves. They were coming closer. A shadow appeared between the trees. The presence emerged from the forest and came this way. Elliot's body started to tremble.

This was the first time Elliot had felt that presence so clearly. Even though he had lived in Sword Forest as an Apostle's chief disciple, he had never gone close to the Sword Church Master. The Sword Church Master had never come close to Elliot either. Only the Apostles could live within her "distance."

Soon she stood beside him. Elliot could not begin to measure what he felt from the being at his side. It was not killing intent, and not pressure. If he had to call it something, it was presence. The overwhelming presence one felt when something too vast, too absurd stood beside them, the kind that made breath catch and made one realize how small one was.

"Ah."

She opened her mouth.

"Sorry. It's been a long time since I came this close to children."

A low voice whispered. Then the things that had frozen were allowed to move again. Fwhaak! Jenafelt's body was allowed to bleed again. Like a clogged hose bursting open, blood exploded from her right shoulder and throat. Jenafelt could no longer endure and collapsed to the ground.

"Hk...!"

Every disciple surrounding Jenafelt dropped to their knees. Elliot also turned at once and knelt.

Jenafelt's consciousness stood on the edge of death. But she clung to it desperately and looked up at the being who had appeared. Unlike when she had been promoted to Yellow Pauldron, now she stood very close.

Pale green hair falling to the waist. Blue eyes that looked somehow faded. Pointed ears entirely unlike a human's. Beauty so striking one could never forget it, yet that presence could not be defined by beauty alone.

It was not only her aura, but also the sword in her hand. A worn old sword with no ornament, its edge ground and sharpened an unimaginable number of times.

Sword Church Master Helenas.

An elf who had lived for 500 years stood before humans.

"So it was you who raised your voice."

The Sword Church Master looked down at Jenafelt.

"I came out because I wanted to hear your story, but in that state, speaking will be difficult."

Her right arm was severed, her vocal cords cut. Without a hint of sympathy, the Sword Church Master looked down at Jenafelt and raised her sword.

She swung it slowly.

Everyone saw what happened, but no one understood it.

The Sword Church Master's sword swung toward Jenafelt, but cut nothing. Yet Jenafelt's bleeding stopped.

To be exact, the blood pooled on the ground returned to Jenafelt. Her vocal cords, cut by Elliot, rejoined as if they had never been cut.

The right arm on the ground did the same. Blood and arm returned to the severed edge.

As if reversing time itself, the Sword Church Master's sword restored Jenafelt completely.

"Ah... ah...?"

Startled, Jenafelt lifted her head. Her vocal cords were rejoined, her arm reattached, her blood returned. The pain was gone.

"Now you can speak, yes?"

The Sword Church Master looked down at Jenafelt and asked.

"Tell me what you mean by Fenris finding a master."

A sword was meant to stab or cut, to wound, break, and kill.

But the Sword Church Master's sword used none of those purposes. Instead, it caused a phenomenon impossible for a sword, and utterly unfitting for one.

How could something like that be possible? No one here except the Sword Church Master knew.

The seven Apostles of the Sword Church, who arrived a little later, were no different. Appearing together, they knelt on one knee behind the Sword Church Master and lowered their heads.

Jenafelt tried to do the same, but the Sword Church Master shook her head.

"Answer."

The Sword Church Master's voice was gentle and her tone soft, yet it carried a force that seemed impossible to defy. It was a power entirely different from authority of title or deliberately projected intimidation.

Different race, different span of life, different level. All of that gave the Sword Church Master a dignity that felt utterly natural. Jenafelt felt like she could barely breathe and opened her mouth.

"Fe... Fenris has found its master."
"I heard that. You shouted that after 500 years, Fenris became a sword."

The Sword Church Master whispered.

"You don't need to repeat what you already shouted. What I want to hear is what comes next. Who became Fenris's master? The Thunder Emperor, that child?"
"N-no. The one who became Fenris's master is the Thunder Emperor's grandson, a boy named Kyle Alastor..."

Jenafelt said that, then steadied her breathing. Feeling as if her heart might burst, she looked up at the Sword Church Master.

When people speak of elves, "beauty" is always mentioned alongside their nature.

The Sword Church Master truly was beautiful. But it did not feel as though that beauty existed only because she was an elf. Standing still with a sword in hand, she looked mystical and noble, truly like a goddess who governed swords.

"I... I made a promise with Kyle Alastor. A promise that I would... tell you, Master... everything I felt from him."
"Child. No matter what you felt from that boy, if you only talk about it, it will be hard to gain my empathy and understanding."

The Sword Church Master slowly shook her head.

"I will try to understand because he is Fenris's master, but that will be frustrating for you and boring for me."
"Master."

The First Apostle, kneeling closest behind the Sword Church Master, spoke.

"That disciple dueled Kyle Alastor over Fenris, and lost. The promise she speaks of is to convey to you, Master, the emotions she felt as she lost that duel."
"Why did they make such a promise?"
"I infer that Kyle Alastor meant to notify you, Master, that he possessed skill worthy of being Fenris's master."
"What a strange boy."

The Sword Church Master tilted her head slightly.

"What reason would he have to notify me of that? Becoming Fenris's master requires no special qualification. You simply take Fenris off display, hold it, and swing it."
"Your words are just."

The First Apostle bowed their head as he answered, and the other Apostles remained silent. Elliot, Jenafelt, and most of the others felt dazed.

Because what the Sword Church Master was saying sounded exactly like she had no obsession with Fenris.

"I cannot understand that boy's intent. But since you came here for a promise, I will hear your impression. Child, stand and draw your sword."

At those words, Jenafelt's shoulders flinched. The Sword Church Master's voice still held that dignity that allowed no refusal. Jenafelt panted, rose, and drew her sword.

"Swing your sword with all the emotions you felt from that boy. Do it until you feel it is enough."
"M-Master... my sword is far too..."
"Child. I have no interest in your sword. I only have a little interest in the boy who became Fenris's master, and who made you this strange promise."

It was an emotionless whisper.

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