WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reincarnation of the Sword Demon

Chapter 8

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Fenris

At the center of the sword hall, a boy of five and a girl of eight stood facing each other.

A demon half-blood.

In this era, they were more or less accepted, living alongside humans in something resembling peace. But in the dark age five hundred years ago, the demon race had been nothing more than foreign invaders crossing over from another continent.

During his time as the Sword Demon, Kyle had fought them on a few occasions. An insufferable lot, always with the words "inferior species" on their lips whenever they looked at a human.

Not entirely wrong, either. The demon race were superior to humans in many respects. If not for the inherent penalties of their race, the continent would have fallen to them long ago.

This would be his first time fighting a half-blood, though. Hard to get a proper read.

The demon race already far outstripped humans in raw physicality, but their defining strength was their affinity for mana. A human could spend at least a decade grinding away with a sword before even beginning to sense mana. Demons felt it from the moment they drew first breath.

She'd been told not to use mana. Which meant she already could.

An eight-year-old child, wielding mana. The gap between races ran that deep. Kyle stared at Lucia, turning the thought over.

A three-year gap might mean little in adulthood, but between five and eight the physical difference was real. On top of that, Kyle had spent his time at Rose Mansion playing house with Arian. Lucia had been living in Gladiheim for some time already, with a full year of sword training behind her.

Demonic physical ability surpasses that of humans.

Kyle's assessment was quick.

Trade blows head-on, and he wouldn't last a single exchange.

"..."

Lucia was glaring at him, and in those eyes Kyle caught a faint flicker of anger. Whatever he'd said earlier had scratched at her pride.

"Hi."

Not his problem. He grinned and started with a greeting. Come to think of it, they hadn't even introduced themselves.

"I'm Kyle. Kyle Alastor."
"...Lucia."
"Nice to meet you, Lucia."
"...Likewise."

Stiff voice. She answered and settled into her stance.

Upright, elbow tucked to her side, the tip of her wooden sword leveled at him in a tight, measured guard. A posture built for thrusts, designed to hunt for an opening. Kyle's eyes moved.

She's had proper training.

Filed it away. He took his own stance.

He didn't raise the wooden sword. All the tension drained from his body and he let it hang diagonally toward the ground. He widened his feet, went loose through his chest, his shoulders, his arms. The whole upper body just slack.

The wooden sword, nearly as long as his torso, drooped until more than half of it grazed the floor. Arian's expression clouded with worry. From the outside, Kyle simply couldn't hold the thing up.

Half right. Training sword for children or not, it was too much for a five-year-old.

"..."

Arian's eyes were anxious. Julius and Karthan wore something else entirely. With a five-year-old's muscles, holding a proper stance for long wasn't possible. Forcing the form would only tire the body and make it rigid.

Pathetic-looking as the stance was, Kyle's hand had a firm grip on the sword. His eyes, fixed on Lucia, held not a trace of playfulness.

Still too early to read anything into it. A miserable outcome would make the stance meaningless. Julius, who had been watching in silence, spoke.

"Begin."

The quiet command fell. Whoosh. Lucia moved first. She had no intention of going easy on him, patriarch's orders or not.

Just as Kyle had expected, her movements were far beyond what any eight-year-old had any right to. The speed with which she pushed off the floor rivaled a grown man. She closed the distance in an instant, driving her wooden sword straight at his solar plexus.

Fast.

His eyes read the sword's path clearly, but this clumsy five-year-old body couldn't execute the counter he wanted. No point being stubborn about it. Kyle chose the best this body could manage.

The limp upper body swayed. Swish. He slipped it at the last second. Lucia's eyes went wide.

She hadn't even considered that he might dodge it. Alastor blood or not, he was an untrained child in an untrained body.

She tried to pull the sword back, but before she could, Kyle's left arm moved. Thwap. He trapped the wooden sword between his arm and his side, and grinned at her.

"...!"

Lucia's brow twitched. The sword was caught, yes, but with her strength, pulling it free would be trivial. She could even move it right now and hurt him.

She didn't. Glaring at him, she bit her lip as humiliation churned in her chest. She had gone into that thrust certain of a hit. To have it dodged so easily, then caught on top of that, ground her pride into the floor.

Kyle studied her expression for a moment, then let the sword go. There were plenty of ways to finish it, but he didn't want to end things so quickly. Five years, and this was the first time he'd had a sword in his hand. He hadn't even gotten to swing it properly yet.

Lucia stepped back and reset her stance. Too eager to end it? She read her own mistake and attacked again.

Not a thrust this time. She came in and swung. Kyle still didn't meet it head-on, just swaying out of the way like something boneless.

Again, and again. Attack after attack glancing off into nothing. The certainty in Lucia's eyes began to crack.

Genius or not, she was eight. Failing to control someone smaller and younger was a weight pressing down on her. Worse, this was the sword hall, and the patriarch was watching.

Her breathing quickened. The precision in her strikes came apart. Her movements grew wider, the sword wobbling. Unnecessary force, and unnecessary force was easy to redirect.

They said you could overcome great strength with small force. Easy to say. Applying it in a real fight was another thing entirely. You needed to be more precise than your opponent, solid in your own center, capable of either reading them completely or baiting a gap out of them. Too many conditions at once.

Right now, though, the board was set exactly the way Kyle wanted it. Lucia's wooden sword came down from high overhead toward his head. Wide movement, full of openings. A reckless swing.

The wooden sword hanging at Kyle's side finally moved. It shot upward and cut into the descending arc. Clack. Along the angled line of Kyle's blade, Lucia's sword slid all the way down.

"...!"

Something broke behind her eyes. She tried to catch herself as her body lurched with the sword, but Kyle's blade had already angled further in. Thud. The wooden sword found her shoulder.

"Ah..."

Lucia's mouth fell open. She worked her lips soundlessly for a moment, then scrunched her brow and forced it out.

"I lo..."
"You can still keep going."

His breathing was ragged and sweat had beaded across his forehead, but Kyle's golden eyes held no trace of exhaustion. Just pure enjoyment.

"A little more."

He said it softly. Lucia stared at him, off-balance, then looked toward Julius.

Karthan and Arian both looked like they'd seen a ghost. Julius's eyes were wide too. After a beat, he gave a slow nod, and the match continued.

Lucia bit her lip, stepped back, and came at him again.

This time she didn't rush in. She worked the distance carefully, and rather than heavy, wide swings, tried to pressure him with quick, precise strikes.

A sensible adjustment, given how badly the earlier approach had gone. It meant nothing to Kyle. How precise could an eight-year-old's strikes really be? Every intention in Lucia's movements sat in the palm of his hand. Fast or not, none of it reached him.

The problem was stamina.

Dodge and deflect, over and over, until his breath was climbing all the way to his chin. Not that he was disappointed.

In his past life, moving like this at five would have been impossible. A body that hadn't even begun proper training, moving this well. That was something to be glad about. This body was clearly blessed, in more ways than one.

Still, limits were limits. Time to wrap up this enjoyable fight. Kyle let his labored breathing show and let his form crumble deliberately. He left gaps in his dodges, let his knees wobble as he backed away.

Lucia's stamina was better than his. She could keep this up easily. Without the pressure, she wouldn't even be breathing hard.

But she was anxious all the same. In her mind, she had already lost twice. The first thrust had been caught. The second, she'd been redirected and taken a hit on the shoulder.

To make up for those losses, she needed a clean victory. The girl's stubbornness narrowed her vision to a single point. All Lucia saw now was the boy gasping for breath, swaying like he was about to go down.

Then it came. His retreating feet tangled with each other, and for just a moment he was going down. Lucia didn't miss it. She thrust.

In that same instant, Kyle's stumbling body twisted sharply. The wooden sword swung with his whole body behind it, aimed at her side.

Lucia's sword found nothing. Kyle's found her ribs. Thwack. A solid, dull impact, unmistakable through the palm.

Too hard.

Winning was a given, nothing to get excited over. Kyle looked at her. Against an eight-year-old, it was a rougher finish than it needed to be. On any ordinary child, that blow would have cracked at least one rib.

"..."

Lucia looked fine. Because she wasn't ordinary. Demon half-blood, mana user, the hit hadn't touched her bones at all.

But bones unhurt didn't mean heart unhurt. She stared down at the wooden sword pressing into her side, eyes wide and blank. Then, slowly, her eyes filled.

"Ah... uh... ugh..."

This girl, a demon half-blood who had nonetheless proven her genius and earned a place in Gladiheim, learning swordsmanship from the elders. She had lost to a boy three years her junior who had never once held a sword. And the fight itself had been a rout, one-sided, nothing to argue about.

Her crushed pride welled up into tears, but Lucia lifted her chin against them and set down the wooden sword.

"I... I lo... I lost..."

The words came out broken, her voice thick. Looking at her, there was no way he could ask for more.

Not that he had the energy anyway.

His whole body felt heavy and raw. He'd be dealing with muscle soreness for days, no question. Especially the hand gripping the sword. Kyle rubbed the handle. The dampness wasn't just sweat. His palm burned like he'd been squeezing a fistful of thorns, which meant the skin had rubbed away and split open.

"..."

What was he supposed to say? Watching Lucia fight desperately to hold back her tears, Kyle's mind went completely blank.

"You fought well"? That would just sound like he was rubbing it in. "Good work"? Too stiff coming from a kid. "That was rough"? What's even the difference?

"Th... Thank you."

Staying silent after she'd conceded seemed rude, so he went with that. And he meant it, in a way. The fight with Lucia had been genuinely fun. At this age, opponents like her would be rare.

A small sound escaped her.

Kyle had chosen those words carefully, but Lucia hadn't taken them that way. She clenched both fists and dropped her head quickly. Drip. Drip. The girl's tears fell onto the floor of the sword hall.

"Good heavens..."

Karthan muttered it under his breath, face pale with disbelief. He knew Lucia's talent well. Among his own sons and nephews, not a single one had handled a sword like that at her age.

And that Lucia had lost. Mana was off the table, but her physical advantages were still intact, and the match hadn't even been close. Karthan shot a disbelieving look at Kyle and leaned toward Arian.

"Your son... he truly hasn't received any sword training?"
"I swear it on the spirits."

Arian, who had been standing with her mouth hanging open, quickly pulled herself together and placed a hand over her chest.

"I, Arian Alastor, have never once permitted my son Kyle Alastor to receive any form of sword instruction. I swear to you, my son Kyle picked up a sword for the very first time today, right here."

Karthan's eyes went wider still. Never held a sword in his life, and he could fight like that? A five-year-old? There was only one explanation for something this absurd becoming reality.

A prodigy.

He swallowed and looked toward his father, Julius. He was genuinely curious how Julius would react to this. And honestly, he still hadn't figured out how this sparring match had come about in the first place.

"You won."
"Yes."

Kyle got his breathing under control as he answered.

"You'll keep your promise?"

A promise.

Karthan tilted his head. Come to think of it, he'd caught the word earlier too.

"I said I would consider it depending on how you won."
"I think I won pretty well."
"You did."

The rigid surprise in Julius's face softened. A quiet smile came to his lips, and he reached for Fenris, which had been hanging beneath the portrait.

"Take it."

Fenris was driven into the floor of the sword hall. Karthan's mouth fell open.

"M-my lord! Surely you're not giving Fenris to this child?"
"That was the promise."
"But, Fenris is...!"
"It's just a sword."

Julius chuckled.

"Strange that no one has simply seen it that way in five hundred years."

Kyle walked slowly toward Fenris.

His beloved sword from five hundred years ago.

It looked exactly as he remembered. No ornate decorations, no flourishes. A purely practical shape.

For a sword, practical meant one thing: built to stab and cut, and nothing else.

That ink-black blade, like a stroke of ink drawn across the world. Cut through dozens of men, hundreds, and it never chipped, never fouled. Eighteen years of rough handling, and Fenris had never once failed the Sword Demon Raikal.

When it needed to pierce, it pierced. When it needed to cut, it cut. There were times Raikal's own skill had fallen short and they had to retreat, but revenge always followed in the end.

Just once.

Except for when they fell to Ruin Alastor.

Fenris.

To think he would reunite with this old sword like this, five hundred years on. Kyle kept walking, heart fluttering the way it might at running into a first love by chance.

Thump, thump, thump.

...

Something felt off. His body was exhausted and worked up from the first fight of his new life, and on top of that he was reuniting with Fenris, so of course his heart would race. But.

It was beating too fast. Kyle pressed a hand to his chest, which was hammering like something deranged. Not just his heart, either. His lower abdomen felt warm, then aching, and a strange tingling ran through his entire body.

And then.

From Fenris, still embedded in the center of the floor, a black mist began to pour.

"...?"

A black wolf stood blocking his path.

Fenris (펜리스) takes its name from Fenrir, the colossal wolf of Norse mythology, son of Loki, fated to swallow the god Odin at the end of the world. The black wolf that materializes before Kyle at the chapter's close is almost certainly the sword's spirit manifesting, and the name makes the imagery deliberate. Western readers familiar with Norse myth will feel the connection immediately. The author is drawing on that association, a sword that carries its own savage, wolf-like presence, bound to its wielder across lifetimes.

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