SSS-Class Revival Hunter - Chapter 84

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ SSS-Class Revival Hunter ◈

Chapter 84: Sword Dance (2)

──────

Winter.

"The snow is falling."

The Master's steps were light.

"It has already been two days since the duel began."

Lightly, lightly, as though gliding across ice, Master trod upon the snowfield.

A world covered in white.

The Master's black robe flowed like brush strokes on a blank canvas.

-How long do you think you can run?

Another set of brush strokes followed.

Stronger, fiercer, and more aggressive than the Master's. Like a brush heavily loaded with ink, pressing down hard.

-I will not lose to you in lightness techniques either.

Guardian Spirit, with heavy steps, breaking the ice, bulldozing the snow, charged forward.

"I am confident that I can run away forever."

-But the end will come eventually.

"Don't you know? This world has become an endless snowfield. Though there's nowhere to go, there's infinite space to flee."

-I won't let you be.

Guardian Spirit leaped, kicking off the snow.

-If this were truly you in your prime, you might indeed run forever. But this duel is taking place now. You have less than one shichen, less than two hours, left to live. The sand in the hourglass is falling. Do you still intend to run?

"Ah, how petty."

-Truth is often petty.

Guardian Spirit swings his sword.

"Alright, I admit."

The Master turns her neck, dodging lightly.

"My life won't last much longer. I can't keep running."

-Sooner or later, we'll have to face off.

"Then there's no reason not to make it now."

-You’re finally talking sense, I see.

"Then."

The Master grips her sword hilt.

"I'll show you my greatest power."

Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven.

The First Form.

Sword of Starving Death.

"---Starvation can make someone exchange their own child with the neighbor's and eat it."

The sword cries out, cutting through the winter wind.

"Have you heard the story of an adult who preserved the neighbor's child as jerky and buried it in the snow? The tale of that village? In winter, if you dig through the snow, you find young human flesh caught on every shovel."

-How sad.

Clang,

The Master's blade is blocked by Guardian Spirit's sword.

-Famine must have struck.

"Yes. Famine is like a recurring plague."

-But it's just a coincidence.

Guardian Spirit, facing the winter wind, swings his sword.

-Coincidentally, there's a good harvest, and coincidentally, a famine. There's nothing in the world that's not by chance. Lord of the Demonic Cult, if you mourn for coincidental tragedies, by the same logic, you should laugh and be happy for coincidental joys.

"......"

-The depth of one's sorrow is surely equal to the height of their happiness.

Clang,

The two swords cross.

Red plum blossoms fall.

-That’s why I’ll sing of the joyful autumn harvest.

Snowflakes fall like fallen leaves.

-I remember a day I walked and saw the horizon. A golden sea of grains stretched to the horizon. Children, as tall as the rice stalks, were playing hide and seek. Their laughter echoed through the stalks, hiding and reappearing.

Autumn.

The wind blows.

The hills turn red with maple, and the horizon yellow with grains.

-You talked about children buried in snow? I speak of the laughter of children playing hide and seek under the grains.

In a world showered with red maple.

The Sword Emperor swings his sword.

-Whichever it is, it's just a coincidence of a coincidental day. If there's something I should enshrine in my sword, it's the laughter under the grains, and if there's a scene I should remember at my death, it's also the sight of children playing hide and seek. An obvious choice.

"Really,"

The Master cuts through the maple leaves.

“You truly speak from a place of privilege!”

Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven.

The Second Form.

Sword of Parched Death.

"Both are coincidences, you say? Yes. But happiness doesn't kill people. It's the agony of starvation, the torment of thirst that kills! Death is the end. It's all over."

The sun blazes down.

"I sing of the people who died without a sip of water!"

Summer.

A hot wind blankets the world.

The vegetation withers.

Weeds turn yellow. Fruit shrivels. Beetles slow to a crawl, and hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of dead fish lie scattered along the riverbanks. Flop. Not a trace of moisture remains in their round eyes.

-Ah.

The Master's sword becomes sticky.

Even though Guardian Spirit counters, the Master doesn't retreat, instead clinging closer. A close-quarters battle. The breath of each can be felt, so close they are. Clang! Bang! The swords mix rapidly, blurring the sight.

-Taking a dip in summer feels fucking refreshing.

Guardian Spirit counters all the Master's swift attacks.

-You're teaching Gong-Ja wrong.

"...What?"

-Sorry, that was a bit harsh. Not wrong, but too early.

Guardian Spirit's sword flows like water.

-It's good to sing of the world's pain. It's good to turn your eyes to others' suffering. But you can't keep doing that forever.

"Why not?"

-You just get exhausted.

Clang!

Red spider lily petals fade.

-Gong-Ja hasn't yet experienced the joy of the world.

Suddenly, the roles reverse.

-He must taste every delicacy of mountain and sea. Only after tasting them can he feel deeper sorrow for those who will never eat such things in their lives. He must take a dip in summer. Only after knowing that pleasure can he weep for those withering away without water. The human heart is a candlewick. If it only ever burns, one day it will be consumed completely.

-Do you know? Heavenly Demon, this guy hasn't even fallen in love yet. Ridiculous! He's never even dated!

Torrential sword strikes pour down.

-Yet he already acts as if he's shouldered all the world's pain and sorrow. Acts! Ha. Don't even dream of it. Your cult’s teachings are too early!

It pours like rain.

-I'll teach him how to be joyful.

The rain pours.

-To laugh without a hint of hypocrisy. To put an arm around others. To be so happy in someone's company it's inevitable. Only then can he truly mourn endlessly!

"You're..."

The dry land receives rain. The river soaks with rainwater. The dead fish bodies are swept away by the water. The morning glory opens its purple tongue, drinking the raindrops.

Frogs croak.

“You intend to set yourself up as my disciple’s master!”

Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven.

The Third Form.

Sword of Drowning Death.

-Exactly!

"How dare you!"

Like an unending rain.

The sword strikes rain down.

"Who are you to covet my only true disciple!"

Midsummer.

The monsoon overflows.

Roses by the thousands drift in the river.

-You're hilarious! I was planning to become his master before you!

The reservoir breaks, flooding the village. The water level rises to the mountains. On the risen water surface, the Master and Guardian Spirit leap. Splash. Splosh! Waves bloom where their steps land.

-I'm the one who taught him how to behead orcs! I'm the one who awakened him to the use of Aura! I coaxed and comforted a talentless brat into something useful! And here you are, leader of heretics, meddling!

Winter.

"What, heretics?!"

-Yes! Aren’t those of the Demonic Cult a bunch of heretics!

The two glide on the water surface.

Being chased.

Ripples spread with each step.

Chasing.

Rose petals gently crushed underfoot.

Their shadows cast upon the ripples and petals.

-Swinging a sword is a joyful thing!

The smell of rain, the scent of flowers.

-The Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven should be taught later to the disciple! A sword that wields pain, by pain, for pain! What is that! Too demonic! Sing of the joy of smelling flowers, the happiness of being drenched in summer rain!

“The disciple! My disciple! Born to be the next leader of our cult!”

-That's why they call you a cult leader! Heretical leader!

Hundreds of millions of roses.

Before long, the flooded river can no longer be seen. The surface itself is invisible. Roses and their petals have covered every inch of the water.

The world turns into a red flower field.

"■■■■, ■■■. ■■■■."

-■■■, ■■, ■■■■. ■■■!

Spring.

Flowers flow.

Red peonies scatter, drifting in the sky.

“With the sixth form of Peony Sword Chaos, Scatter Strike Chaos, I shall gouge your cervical acupoints."

Clang!

Two petals, severed by the blade, fall apart.

-I evade two steps with Snow Amidst Orchids Steps.

They were visible.

“…With the seventh form of Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven, Sword of Bludgeoning Death, I will strike."

And audible.

-I respond with the fourth form of Ten Thousand Sea Moon Strike, Autumn Night Falling Moon Strike.

Their swords become visible.

The crushed peonies, stepped on, their fragrance released, are seen.

"......"

Only when visible, can it be known.

The Master.

Lord of the Demonic Cult, Heavenly Demon, is losing.

"......With the eighth form of Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven, Sword of Burning Death, I resist.”

Under the peony-filled sky, the Master bleeds.

Bloodied.

The difference in strength between the Master and Sword Emperor is clear. No matter how much she prolonged the duel, escaping the Sword Emperor's pursuit was impossible. The Master, trying the impossible, bleeds from her arms, legs, shoulders.

-Hm.

Guardian Spirit takes a stance.

-Strike with the first form of Falling Sun and Flower Sword, Moonlit Night Arrival Sword.

The Master's breathing becomes thinner.

Her internal energy is depleted.

Using her Innate True Ki to attempt mutual destruction would be asking too much.

"I..."

The Master speaks.

“Originally, I never completed the last technique of Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven. There's one reason. Since childhood, my envisioned death was freezing. Abandoned by my mother in the snowfield, dying alone from the cold. That was the end I always saw for myself.”

The Master raises her sword high.

“However.”

The sword tip points directly upward, like a noon clock hand.

“Paradoxically, after the world ended, I was able to complete the ninth technique of Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven.”

"......"

“Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am supreme.”

“Whether I look above the heavens or walk beneath them, only I exist. Baraya. Baraya. Agabaraya. Because the world is winter, a lone candle gutters out. When I sing alone, it is the song of all beneath heaven, and my death is the death of heaven and earth. White, growing whiter, and whiter still.”

The sword,

Splits the sky.

“My Demonic Heaven cries out its last testament over the snowfield.”

Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven.

The Ninth Form.

Sword of Solitude Death.

"------."

Winter,

Cuts through spring.

The red sky of petals splits. Through the gap, white winter storms in. The storming winter falls. Petals turn to snow, hundreds of millions of peonies become snowflakes, freezing the world.

A solitary sword.

A strike singing the lonely death of the Heavenly Demon.

-Indeed.

Facing the winter torrent rushing at him, Guardian Spirit quietly looks up.

-Lonely death. Is that the death chosen by the Lord of the Demonic Cult? Yes. I acknowledge it. A fitting strike for the last warrior of a destroyed world.

A melancholic smile appears on Guardian Spirit's lips.

-But when it comes to loneliness, I know it better than you.

Guardian Spirit grips his sword hilt.

-How long did you endure alone in that world? 3 years? 2 years? No, not even a day. Because you always had the Axe Sage with you. When he died, you lost your mind and went insane.

The sword tip moves.

-Sorry, but.

And.

-I endured alone for 130 years.

Martial Art .

No Form.

A Single Sword.

Peonies,

Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn,

Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer,

Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring,

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter,

Plum, peony, rose, and spider lily,

Spider lily, plum, peony, and rose,

Petals, petals, petals, petals,

Red, redder, reddest, red,

Winter,

Turns red,

Again winter,

Winter,

Breath,

grows labored,

"------."

I regained my breath.

"----Ah!!"

I could not see it.

I could not hear it.

I couldn't even begin to comprehend that final strike.

“Ha, ah, uh…! Ha, ah…”

But…

Right now, there's something more important than understanding that sword.

“Master."

"......."

“Master, are you okay…? Your body, is it okay?”

The Master gazes silently towards the winter sky, her eyes unfocused. Thump. My heart races. I fumble for the Master's hand, repeatedly feeling for her pulse.

It's beating.

She's alive.

Still alive.

“Master.”

"......."

The Master slowly speaks.

“So that is how it is.”

“So that is how it is,” Master said.

“So that was how it was.”

Saying, “So that was how it was,” Master looked into my eyes.

“Disciple.”

Her dark eyes.

“My disciple. From the start, you only ever sought to help me.”

“You claimed that you came from beyond the borders because you admired my fame... A lie. A bright-red lie. Why did I not realize it sooner? My disciple is not a child who would cross the world after being seduced by fame...”

Her voice trails off.

"Thank you.”

"......"

“Disciple, were you happy that you met me?”

I nod.

“Yes."

“Will I be remembered as a flower in your memory?”

“Yes, Master.”

“What type of flower, I wonder.”

“A peony…”

I embrace the Master.

“As a red peony. That's how I will remember you, Master.”