WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reincarnation of the Sword Demon

Chapter 69

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Can't Win

Jenafelt hesitated, then steadied herself and gripped her sword with both hands.

She recalled the moment she had faced Kyle in Gladiheim and immersed herself in the emotions she had felt then. The Sword Church Master she admired and revered stood right in front of her, but Jenafelt was also a swordsman. More than that, she was someone who served the Sword Church Master before the sword itself, so she steeled herself to obey the order she had just received.

Jenafelt's sword began to move.

The emotion in the blade cutting through the air was pride. The Sword Church's Yellow Pauldron. The renown of the Ten Swords. Her right to represent the Sword Church's blade at the Exchange Tournament, and her resolve to reclaim Fenris no matter what.

Her next swing was sharper and more serious than before. Tension mixed into pride and resolve. It was the feeling she had from that day, the bizarre sensation she had never expected to feel toward Kyle Alastor.

From the third swing on, those emotions began to collapse. There was no longer any certainty in Jenafelt's sword. It was the same feeling from that duel, a wavering blade that could not trust whether what seemed like an opening was truly an opening.

Then panic set in. Biting her lip hard, Jenafelt swung again. This time, the emotion was anger. The humiliation of having her sword toyed with by a mere fifteen-year-old boy, a barehanded boy who had not even held a sword, fed that anger.

Even that anger cooled. The next swing held fear. The helplessness of not being able to reach her opponent despite going all out. The vague dread of facing someone whose skill she could not measure. Jenafelt still feared Kyle.

Fear turned into killing intent. Her humiliation hit its limit. To protect her own dignity, she felt she had to kill him.

The sword she swung for that purpose fell uselessly toward the ground. Even the killing intent she had poured out with all her strength had become nothing more than a small thing to praise, and Jenafelt despaired. She still had not found an answer to the question Kyle had thrown at her.

"..."

Jenafelt bit her lip and lowered her head. Tears that had not welled up even when her right arm was cut off and her vocal cords were slashed now brimmed in her eyes.

"One more."

The Sword Church Master whispered.

"Swing one more time."

Jenafelt could not defy those words. She forced her trembling hand to move and guided the sword again. The Sword Church Master wanted to see what came next.

Contempt, humiliation, despair. What had she felt after that? As she moved her sword, Jenafelt's consciousness sank into memories of the past.

[I wish someone would come kill me.]

Kyle Alastor. What kind of heart had he spoken those words with? To him, Jenafelt and her sword must have been trivial and shabby. A sword not worth expecting any next from.

And still, that boy had promised a next. Even while trampling Jenafelt's dignity and sword, he had expected that one day her sword would become better than it was now.

Jenafelt could not define what she felt now with a single word. At that moment, Kyle's bare hand, unarmed, had blocked the sword she swung with killing intent.

As she chewed over that brutal defeat, she felt it, just as Kyle had said. Every time she revisited that lost duel, Jenafelt felt new things.

A deep regret stirred. What would have happened if Kyle had held a sword that day? How would that absurd boy have swung it?

She sank into that thought and replayed how Kyle had moved.

In that duel, Kyle had not held a sword, yet he had moved as if he did. She had thought those movements were beautiful.

Beautiful? The one who had trampled her? The one who had crushed her dignity so mercilessly? Even for her pride's sake, she did not want to think that way, but once she felt it, there was no stopping it.

Kyle's movements were beautiful. Was that all? No. Jenafelt still could not define her emotions in one word.

She felt bitterness and admiration together. She felt despair and gratitude together. She hated him and revered him at the same time.

That day, Jenafelt broke and saw something, collapsed and gained something new.

Jenafelt's sword stopped. The Sword Church Master had told her to swing once more, but Jenafelt had ended up swinging several more times.

"How strange."

The Sword Church Master murmured.

"Child, that boy did not try to kill you. But you tried to kill him."
"...Yes."
"Judging by the emotions in your sword, the boy tried to teach you."
"Yes... that's right."
"How was Fenris in the boy's hand? Did it feel like a sword?"
"He... he did not fight me while holding a sword. Kyle Alastor defeated me with his bare hands."
"That is hard to understand. Why did he do that?"
"He said... I would not be able to swing my sword against Fenris..."
"That answer still makes no sense. He could have held a different sword instead of Fenris."

The Sword Church Master tilted her head and muttered in a small voice, then nodded.

"I should go see Fenris's new master."

She did not explain what line of thought had led her to that conclusion. She looked around once from where she stood, fixed her gaze north, then rose onto her heels.

The Sword Church Master's body floated up into the sky. Fwaaaash! By the time Jenafelt looked up, the Sword Church Master had already become a tiny dot far off in the northern sky.

"You have received Sword Grace."

The First Apostle rose from one knee. Starting with him, the other six apostles stood and looked at Jenafelt.

"That life was spared by the Master's hand. Reflect on the Sword Grace you received today, and devote yourself to Sword Attainment."

With those words, the First Apostle looked toward the northern sky where the Sword Church Master had gone. His face was full of reverence and worship for her.

Not every apostle looked the same. One bit his lip. One shed tears. One clutched at his chest and let out a sigh.

"The Master has left Sword Forest...!"

The youngest apostle, Seventh Apostle Evan, trembled with emotion and joy.

"Third Apostle-nim, did you expect the Master to act like this?"

Evan asked the Third Apostle, who was gazing north. Elliot's father, the man who had allowed Jenafelt to approach the forest but had ordered his son to strictly forbid her from entering it. His eyes followed the fading trace of the Sword Church Master, no longer visible even as a tiny dot, and he answered.

"How could humans like us ever fathom the will of a Master who has lived for five hundred years?"

The Third Apostle said that, then turned to Jenafelt. A calm smile settled on his face as he looked at her.

"But... the emotion of interest has risen in the Master's once-quiet heart, so let us mark today as a church holy day. Younger sister, you carried out your duty excellently. Give thanks for Sword Grace and return."

The Third Apostle slowly walked up and patted Jenafelt on the shoulder. There was no hostility or killing intent in his expression or tone, but Jenafelt felt a chilling horror as if her soul itself had frozen, and lowered her head.

"Y-yes... yes, thank you."

She had already paid the price for daring to come to Sword Forest and trying to trespass.

The Sword Church Master's blade had cut away the price Jenafelt had paid and made it as if it had never existed.

So none of the apostles rebuked Jenafelt.

Wolf Knights.

No, Sword Wolf Knights.

Eight days had passed since their founding.

The Exchange Tournament in Gladiheim had ended three days ago. Most of the young martial artists who came from outside had returned, and the thirty chosen by Roel had gone through the investiture ceremony before Julius two days ago as members of the new order.

Roel named his order the Sword Spirit Knights. Roel, the commander, was a swordsman. Seros, the vice commander, was also a swordsman. And all thirty selected from the Exchange Tournament were swordsmen too. None of Gladiheim's existing knight orders were made purely of swordsmen, so the naming was clearly intentional.

"There are only five of us, but we're all swordsmen too, right?"

At the center of the Sword Wolf Knights' training ground, Kyle spoke with a solemn face.

"Our order is called Sword Wolf, and Uncle Roel's order is called Sword Spirit. That confusing naming was obviously meant to check us and swallow us up."
"..."
"Of course, I have no intention of getting swallowed by Uncle Roel's tacky-named order and becoming their subordinate unit. There are five of us, but we're stronger than their thirty-two, right?"

No one answered. The other four members of the Sword Wolf Knights were all collapsed in different postures, gasping for breath. Leaning against Fenris planted in the ground, Kyle kept speaking.

"To be honest, not yet. I'm strong, but you lot are lacking. Ah, Lucia, except you."
"Thank you for saying that, but I am weaker than Lord Roel and Lord Seros."
"I'm stronger than my uncles, so it's fine."
"B-but..."
"Ah. Still, since you're vice commander, you should at least be stronger than Uncle Seros, right?"
"I..."

Lucia staggered to her feet, panting.

"I... am not suited... to be vice commander."
"Why, because you're a half-blood, and that pig over there is Alastor pure-blood?"

Kyle pointed at Bruno with his chin. The guy lay spread out on the ground like a starfish, too exhausted even to answer.

"You're the vice commander, Lucia. Bruno, Jade, and Narua are just members. I'm the commander and I said so, so why do you keep disobeying?"
"..."
"Lucia, your reason makes no sense. If power is Alastor's rule, then the Sword Wolf Knights should also follow the rule of power. Right now, aren't you the strongest after me?"

Lucia could not answer and only lowered her head. She accepted anything Kyle said, but she still could not readily accept the vice commander title.

It was because of her self-loathing over being a half-blood of the Demon Tribe. She still could not love herself.

"Anyway, I already made you vice commander. Our uniforms will come out soon, and I had special shoulder insignia put on yours."
"..."
"If you insist to the end that you don't want to be vice commander, then that pig will wear the vice commander's uniform tailored to your body. That... that would actually be quite a sight. Thanks to your stubbornness, Alastor pure-blood Bruno will make a total fool of himself."
"I... will obey... the order to become vice commander."

After hesitating, Lucia lowered her head. Even before her loyalty to Kyle, Lucia had loyalty to Alastor. She could not bear to watch Bruno wear a bursting uniform and disgrace the Alastor name.

"I've talked long enough, so you've rested enough too, right? Jade, stop overacting and get up."
"Sigh."

Jade let out a deep sigh and stood. Narua was already up, and Bruno also got up unsteadily.

"You got a good sword, didn't you? You have to swing it hard and tame it. Right?"
"Sigh..."

Jade sighed again. In his hand was the sword breaker made by Gallen.

"Everyone, take your stance."

Kyle pulled Fenris from the ground. At the same moment, his aura changed sharply, and the members tensed, stepping back one step each as they took position.

The Sword Wolf Knights still had not been assigned a mission.

Not just missions, even the use of the Sword Wolf Knights had not been decided yet. The same was true for Roel's Sword Spirit Knights.

The Funeral Knights guarded the Family Head, the Black Iron Knights defended Gladiheim, the White Night Knights watched the north, and the Crimson Snow Knights protected Vigrid territory.

There was no room for newly founded orders to wedge into the roles those four already held. Even so, if new orders had been established anyway, then they were probably meant to carry out special operations like the Aurora Knights. It seemed the Elders' council still had not finished deciding how far those missions would go.

A knight order without missions filled its days with training. The Sword Spirit Knights, invested two days ago, had many people, so they seemed to be going through a lot of discussion. The Sword Wolf Knights had only five members, so none of that was needed.

So Kyle, as commander, was pushing his members hard in training.

He had already grasped each member's sword and traits.

Swordsmen of this era trained their blades according to their Spirit Root, so he had asked about those too.

Bruno had an earth Spirit Root, Jade had a metal Spirit Root, and Narua had a flame Spirit Root.

Lucia, a half-blood of the Demon Tribe, had no Spirit Root. That made teaching Lucia freer and easier in many ways, but with the other three, there was a lot to consider.

In Bruno's case, he had swung a sword that matched his Spirit Root but not his nature. That rough sword had been corrected over five years, and now it had changed into something that suited his temperament much better.

Jade and Narua were not mismatched between sword and temperament the way Bruno had been. Jade's sword, honed through deadly duel arenas, suited both his nature and his Spirit Root, and Narua, who saw the sword as a dance, was the same.

How could he help those two swords develop further? Kyle's head had been packed with thoughts like that for the past few days.

"...?"

For now, push them to the limit. See what kind of swords they swung in their last desperate struggle. Thinking that, he moved as if to approach them again, just like before.

Kyle's body stopped dead.

A chill ran through him. The Circuits and Spirit Root inside his body sensed something. The sharpened senses he had cultivated while devouring many things in the Cultivation Floors felt something from far away, no, something no longer far, something drawing closer and closer.

He had learned it in the Cultivation Floors. Kyle's Spirit Root was special, and because it was special, it sensed things ordinary people could not, and sensed them more clearly.

'Something is coming.'

Kyle raised his head and looked at the sky. At that instant, a purple flash flickered, and someone came to a stop in midair.

It was Julius. Soon after, Nelia, the librarian of the Great Archive, and dozens of Sword Tower Elders Kyle had never met before stopped in the sky behind Julius. Among them were Isaac, Karthan, Katarina, Barkas, Jerard, and Dante. A few seconds later, Arian and Aslan also stopped in the air.

'Do swordsmen fly through the sky in this era too...?'

Thinking that, Kyle turned his head.

The approaching presence crossed Gladiheim's wall. The Black Iron Knights were supposed to guard those walls, but in this moment they could not perform that role.

That being trampled the very meaning of the Black Iron Knights' existence with absurd ease. In truth, it probably had no intent to trample anything. Who pays attention with every step so they do not crush ants underfoot?

'Ah, it's you.'

Without realizing it, Kyle broke into a bright smile.

'Helenas.'

The Sword Church Master who flew in from Sword Forest, Helenas, stopped in the sky.

'Jenafelt left Gladiheim eight days ago... I never thought she'd come this fast.'

He was worried, tense, and happy all at once.

With a smile, Kyle looked up at Helenas.

And at the same time, he knew.

'Can't win.'

Five hundred years was long enough to twist the world into something bizarre.

That long time had turned a little girl with not even a speck of sword talent into a monster.

So he could not win.

He knew it without crossing swords directly. Even using as a standard the time he had challenged Ruin Alastor at the height of his prime five hundred years ago, he could not imagine himself winning if he fought Helenas now.

Raikal five hundred years ago was a man who had suffered many defeats. Among them, the one that had felt most absolute, the one that made him feel the instant he faced it that he could never win, had been Ruin Alastor. But even the strong figures he had challenged in his immature years, though not to Ruin's degree, had given him the same deep feeling: I can't beat this.

What he felt from Helenas now was similar to what he had felt from Ruin. A feeling that even if he fought a hundred times, he would lose all hundred.

Because his current body was immature?
Because he lacked mana?

That was not the issue. In fact, the pure physical performance of this body was not all that different from his previous life, thanks to how hard he had rolled through the Mudflat. Mana was somewhat lacking, and not placing a sword in his head, his Upper Energy Center, did create a large gap in rank, but still.

Kyle's mind was the same as Raikal's five hundred years ago. Even judged by the senses of his absolute prime, he thought fighting Helenas would be certain defeat.

'Wow... you've grown a lot.'

Kyle looked up at Helenas with sparkling eyes. It was not only the impression he sensed from her rank. In literal terms too, Helenas had grown a lot.

Five hundred years ago, whatever her real age had been, her physical age had seemed at most around ten. Helenas now had the body of a fully grown adult.

She had a young body, but perhaps from the storms of time, her once vivid fresh green hair had faded into a paler yellow-green.

Something welled up in his chest.

Memories from five hundred years ago overlapped. The elf brat he had picked up at a slave market. The one who woke him out of nowhere while he was sleeping peacefully, then shoved a real sword at him and asked to be taught. The one with not even a scrap of sword talent, who swung a sword so many times that counting was meaningless, survived until now, and became a monster.

At the same time, Helenas was someone who had lived in the same era as Raikal. He did not know how clear an elf's memory was, but just as Kyle remembered Helenas, Helenas probably remembered Raikal too.

All of that sent a sharp tremor through Kyle's heart.

Reincarnating five hundred years after death was itself a miracle, but the fact that someone from that same era was still alive after five hundred years, and that he could meet her like this, that too was surely a miracle.

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