Chapter 125 : Chapter 125

Translator: AkazaTL

Pr/Ed: Sol IX

***

Chapter 125 — Cherville (4)

“E—enough.”

Four knights had fallen.

“Enough…”

Only one remained. Sir Meken, the former vice-captain of the Yellow Elephant, was still struggling to fight on — though at this point, calling it a “fight” was generous.

Even when I was merely a Sword Walker, Meken’s swordsmanship was poor. Now, it was still poor. His Wings might have increased by one pair, but his skill hadn’t changed at all.

A man who had lost to a Sword Walker stood no chance against what I had become now.

Each time our wooden blades clashed, his body staggered. Blood mixed with bile spilled from his mouth — the backlash of his Mana colliding with my Heart of Steel.

“Enough already…”

He could barely stand. The other knights turned their eyes away, grimacing as they did.

Only Vermartin watched closely, his gaze locked on my sword, as if searching for something hidden within it.

But I didn’t have time to show him what he wanted.

“That’s enough!”

Vermartin’s voice rang out as Meken collapsed completely.

The final knight fell unconscious, joining the four who had already been defeated.

No one questioned my qualifications anymore.

There were no doubters, only pale faces and a silence that reeked of disbelief — and a touch of fear.

“Arhan, you’re far more ruthless than I expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

At my dry reply, Vermartin let out a hearty laugh. He stroked his beard for a moment, then murmured, “Come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

***

Vermartin led me into his private office. It was immaculate — not simply tidy, but militantly so. Every object perfectly aligned, not a speck of dust in sight.

“I have a bit of a cleanliness problem,” Vermartin said with a wry smile.

“A bit?”

“Well, perhaps more than a bit. Old habits from my Iron Legion days. You’d get beaten half to death if your quarters weren’t spotless. Even after all these years, it’s stuck with me.”

He chuckled softly. Then he went to a cabinet and produced a bottle of dark red wine. The rich aroma of grapes filled the room as he poured two glasses — one for me, one for himself.

“The display you gave earlier was magnificent. Even a seasoned Sword Runner wouldn’t stand a chance. The documentation for your exemption from the Legion will pose no issue now — everyone who watched that match can attest to your strength.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Though personally, I would have liked to see you serve in the Legion. Most men despise it, of course. Losing one’s freedom, being bound by rank and command — it’s not a pleasant existence. But there’s a kind of brilliance you can only find in the dust of a battlefield. I found much of my light there.”

He smiled faintly, but then the smile faded.

“Of course, you can’t actually join the Legion. A Karavan serving under Ian Cherville? The idea alone is laughable. After all… there cannot be two Steels beneath the same sky.”

The air in the office chilled instantly. I met Vermartin’s eyes.

“Sir Vermartin.”

“Speak.”

“What do you know of Karavan?”

The old knight fell silent. It was a question I had wanted to ask long ago — but back then, I hadn’t earned the right. Now I have.

“…I know of them.”

“How?”

I pressed further.

“I’ve met others who knew of the Karavan. An orc shaman, ancient enough to remember forgotten histories. A dwarven warlord who guards his people’s forges. A Witch who serves the Sky Father. All of them had ties to the spiritual world — to the old ages. But you, Sir Vermartin… how could you possibly know a name erased from history?”

Vermartin hesitated briefly, then rose without answering. He walked to the far wall, drew his sword, and raised it high. The blade gleamed in the sunlight — then he plunged it into the wall.

It slid in effortlessly, like steel parting water.

A click echoed through the office, as though a hidden lock had turned.

“I don’t know everything,” he said quietly.

The wall split open where the blade had pierced, revealing a narrow compartment. Vermartin reached inside and pulled out an old, weathered book. On its cracked leather cover was a familiar sigil — the wolf crest of Karavan.

“I know only fragments. Just slivers of what was forgotten.”

He brushed the dust off the book.

“Where did you get that?”

“I didn’t.”

“…Then?”

“It found me.”

He smiled faintly and spoke again.

“Descendant of Steel.”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever heard of the Land of Swords?”

***

Blade Palace, Cherville.

The sound of chess pieces echoed through the quiet hall. King Ian Cherville sat upon the Iron Throne, a bishop piece in hand, facing a woman robed in silk and gold.

“‘Whirlpool,’ was it called? Quite the spectacle,” the woman said lightly. “You’ve managed to move every piece onto the board with a single opening.”

“Was it impressive?”

“Very. But impressive doesn’t mean wise. I wonder if you can bear the weight of the storm you’ve unleashed.”

“The weight?”

“Yes. Won’t your little kingdom be swept away in the very maelstrom you’ve created? The Iron Kingdom is old, yes — but not strong enough to stand against the true powers of the continent. Once this storm expands, your nation will crumble.”

She moved her knight forward. Ian’s bishop fell.

“You’re not wrong,” he said calmly. “The Great Lands, the Sky Empire, the Black Isles… if they all turned their gaze upon us, the Iron Kingdom would shatter. This country was born destined to fall — a state that survives only through endless war. An incomplete kingdom.”

“So you admit your plan was a failure?”

“No.”

Ian slid his rook forward, straight and decisive.

“You can’t see the forest for the trees.”

“…Meaning?”

“I’ve placed every piece on the board. But do you think any of them realize who put them there?”

He smiled faintly.

“The Free Fleet that first faced the Iron Legion was annihilated. The citizens of the Free Cities never saw the battle themselves. The Rhapsody family — the one clan capable of verifying the truth — is stranded far from home. Soon, the Sky Empire will denounce them as heretics who betrayed the divine order.”

“Ah.”

His words fell like chess pieces snapping into place.

“The people won’t care about divine law. They’ll only know that Rhapsody has sinned. And in that confusion, I’ll plant the seeds of discord. Imagine the story: Rhapsody sold the six Free Cities to the Iron Kingdom for profit. The Iron Fleet broke through the defenses because Rhapsody opened the gates. To hide their crimes, they slaughtered every foreign visitor. Meanwhile, the Iron Kingdom, so very saddened by this tragedy, saved what few citizens they could.”

“Would they really believe such lies?”

“Once the seed of doubt is planted, truth becomes irrelevant.”

The woman laughed — loud, sharp, delighted.

“Then the world will dance like fools! They’ll hate the wrong enemies, stab the wrong throats, and drown in blood — while your Iron Kingdom grows fat in the shadows. Ha! The milk and honey are yours, while the arrows of blame pierce Rhapsody instead! Twisting great powers into fighting each other — that’s not politics, Cherville. That’s demonic genius!”

“History is written by the victor,” Ian said simply.

Their laughter echoed coldly through the marble hall.

“So,” the woman purred, “when will you give us our turn to move? You didn’t call us here just to crush a few old ships.”

“Be patient.” Ian’s hand rested on the rook. “Your time will come soon.”

“Patience is difficult after waiting a century.”

“You’ve waited longer before.”

“True — and that’s exactly why I can’t wait anymore. After crouching in a cramped nest for so long, tasting the sky again makes it impossible to crawl back inside.”

Her eyes gleamed.

“Cherville.”

At that name, her pupils shifted — vertical and reptilian. A dragon’s eyes.

“So tell me, when will you deal with the last trace of Steel? We’ve heard your executioner failed his task.”

“There’s no rush. Even the mightiest Steel is nothing more than a pawn on this board.”

“How arrogant. Pawns, once they reach the end of the board, can become anything. A queen. A rook.”

“But not a king,” Ian replied.

The dragon-woman let out a soft, bitter laugh.

“You’re right. Even in their prime, they were never kings — only swords.”

“Then what do you fear?”

“I don’t fear the Karavan. Their age has ended. But the ancient dragons — the elder wyrms who still haunt the upper skies — they do. They’ve never forgotten the Karavan. They fear the return of the Age of Steel.”

Her hand clenched. The chess piece in it shattered.

“An erased house, forgotten by history — yet the greatest dragons cower in its shadow. I can’t stand it any longer. None of the young dragons can.”

She stared directly into Ian’s eyes.

“Do as you wish, Cherville. But as long as the last heir of Karavan lives, the true dragons will never descend from the heavens. If you need their allegiance, then break the Steel. Only then will the dragons kneel.”

Ian listened without a change in expression.

“I’ll handle it,” he said coldly.

***

Back in the office, Vermartin ran a hand over the old book.

“A story from long ago,” he murmured. “When I was younger than you. Back then, I was a worthless swordsman, with no master and no future.”

“……”

“All that I achieved — the wars I survived, the honor I earned — it all began with the trace of Steel. With the blessing the Land of Swords granted me.”

He extended the book toward me.

“I received a small gift then — and made a promise in return.”

“What promise?”

“To guard this until the true heir of Steel appeared. To give it to the one worthy of it, and help him fulfill his will.”

His expression hardened with solemn resolve.

“The time has come. Take it, descendant of Steel. I have lived as ‘Vermartin the Steel’ only to keep this promise.”

The rightful owner. The one with the right.

I stared at the book for a moment, then turned to my master.

Liam was watching the book with a complex look.

“Is it truly ours?”

「It is. A relic of the Karavan.」

“Then—”

「Don’t ask me. Do what you wish. Taking it or not will change little. But it will show you what you’ve never known.」

“……”

「Knowledge can be strength… or poison. Whether this becomes one or the other for you, I cannot say. My guidance ends with the sword.」

He turned his spectral gaze toward me.

「Within that book rests the spirit of another ancestor.」

“Another… ancestor?”

「Karavan was born from me. But in the age of Steel, many swords were born. This holds one of them — another of your blood.」

Another ancestor. It wasn’t surprising. Karavan was a house, after all — a line of many swordsmen whose names had once filled history.

「The choice is yours, young heir.」

I took the old book carefully. Then I nodded.

“I’ll open it.”

「As you wish.」

“But don’t misunderstand me.”

I glanced at Liam and smiled faintly.

“To me, there is only one master.”

Liam smiled too.

「You talk well, boy.」

“I’ve learned from the best.”

「Don’t expect too much. Whoever’s inside that relic won’t outshine me. I may be a harsh master, but since the dawn of creation, no sword has surpassed mine.」

“……”

「I am the greatest. You do know that, don’t you?」

I opened the book’s cover.

“You talk well too, Master.”

「Insolent brat.」

The world around me drained of color — turning to black and white. Then everything froze. In that still world, rusted swords appeared one by one, embedding themselves into the ground like gravestones.

The air grew heavy. And then—

“Vermartin kept his promise.”

“Heh. I thought he’d die before doing it.”

“Good. I was tired of lingering in this realm.”

Voices echoed in the air — deep, resonant, ancient. Spectral figures emerged: ghosts with transparent forms, floating just above the ground. Some looked young, my age. Some were older than Liam himself. Even one woman whose beauty seemed carved from moonlight.

They looked down at me from above.

And one of them spoke.

“Welcome, child,” the spirits said.

“To the Small Land of Swords.”