From the perspective of the Crusader Order, the occupation of Antoine, the City of Stars, was a mission that absolutely had to succeed. While the Order’s territory was expanding by the day, their original goal was never the mere conquest of the Southern Continent. The Crusader Order was not a conventional army, but a religious one. For their power to endure even after the unification of the south, every living soul in the southern lands had to bow before the Cross.
In other words, their goal was the unification of faith, not just the acquisition of land. If everyone served a single God, no one would plot rebellion. Emperors and kings would eventually die, but God would never vanish. He would be the absolute law that reigned forever—the most sacred monarch spreading faith across the Southern Continent.
The Crusader Order’s grand dream was being realized with great success.
The various sects that once existed in the Southern Continent had fallen before the Crusaders. Now, only those who believed in the Sun and the Stars remained.
The Sun Order did not break easily, supported by the massive tree that was the Holy Empire and Monks whose strength was incomparable to that of the Crusaders. But how long could their faith remain intact in the face of the death, flames, and blood sown by war? Faced with the sight of their loved ones dying like dust, their faith in the Sun would surely waver. Not every being could be as great as the Sun.
Could everyone truly accept such overwhelming agony as a pure trial, a penance to be endured? Even if they accepted it, could they truly withstand it? They could not. Every living thing possesses an instinct that craves revenge, sin, and punishment.
Thus, the Crusader Order viewed the breaking of the Sun Order as only a matter of time. However, before the Sun could set, the Crusader Order itself was shaken. Ismael, the Great Warrior of Condemnation, had died. Worse, she had committed the Order’s ultimate taboo—betrayal—in her final moments.
It was a perilous situation. The very faith of the Order was at risk of crumbling.
Therefore, the Crusader Order sought to produce a “visible achievement,” even if it meant overextending themselves. Instead of the Sun Order, which would not break easily, they decided to absorb the Star Order, which they believed they could easily trample.
Despite their reputation as one of the Three Great Orders of the Southern Continent, the people of the Star Order were an excessively peaceful lot. They were fools who would forgive their enemies regardless of the injustice they suffered. To absorb them, the Crusader Order targeted the City of Stars. This operation could not fail. Thus, the Order sent additional support alongside Inquisitor Abel.
A portion of the Crusaders who were supposed to face the Holy Empire were diverted.
And…
“We shall provide assistance, you greenhouse flowers.”
The barbaric warriors of the East, who called their own land the “Great Land” and perhaps harbored dreams even more vast and terrible than the Order’s own, joined the fray.
“…Thank you.”
Their distrustful attitude and savage nature were entirely distasteful, but the Papacy had no choice but to accept their proposal. It was truly unpleasant, but their strength was undeniable.
That was how desperate the Crusader Order was for this victory.
To grandly debut their new Great Warrior and restore the prestige of the Crusaders, they had to utterly crush the Star Order. They had to cast down the shining stars and hang the Cross in their place. So that more would serve the Cross. So that everyone would look upon the Cross with even greater fervor.
“We must not fail, brothers.”
Johan, the Chief Crusader who had been fully briefed on the Order’s desperation, spoke as he watched the Crusaders marching in perfect rows. Amidst the fluttering of brilliant banners, the Crusaders, burdened with their sacred duty, followed Johan.
“How could we possibly fail?”
“Greenhouse flowers are cowardly, so I suppose it can’t be helped.”
Of course, the conquering army of the Great Land was there as well.
Johan looked at them all and said, “Brother Abel, the Inquisitor, has headed for the City of Stars. I am certain Brother Abel will not be idle, but there is no telling if the Goddess of Stars will remain a bystander while her Holy Land is trampled. Therefore, we must be the ones to put a definitive period on this matter.”
A definitive period. Yes, that was their mission.
“Do not let your guard down. Sinners always—”
“—You iron-clad blockheads!”
As Johan was in the middle of his fervent speech, one of the warriors of the plains shouted.
“Look ahead! Look at the front!”
“Pardon? What all of a sudden…”
“Some wench is climbing up that high wooden platform! And behind her, some moron dressed just like you is waddling after her! It looks like things have gone sideways, doesn’t it?”
“We can’t see anything…”
“Fire it! That weapon you brought!”
Fire it. At those words, the Crusaders’ gazes turned toward the siege engine. It was a weapon they had brought to prepare for any potential variables. However, it wasn’t the kind of weapon one would normally use against such a small city.
“I said fire! You morons!”
“But…”
“Idiots!”
When the Crusader hesitated, the warrior of the plains kicked him in the chest. With a sickening crunch of deforming iron, the Crusader was sent flying, coughing up blood. The warrior of the plains spat on the ground and approached the siege engine.
“Helping the likes of you is disgusting, but since the Sun That Never Sets desires this southern land, I have no choice but to take the lead!”
With those words, the warrior of the plains activated the siege engine. A massive stone went flying with a roar, crashing into and collapsing the Ancient Observatory. As the observatory crumbled, the Crusaders watched in vain as Inquisitor Abel plummeted. With a sharp crack, Abel’s neck snapped upon impact, killing him instantly. Several Crusaders let out gasps of horror.
“What… what have you done…”
“Shut up! One more word and I’ll turn you into desert fertilizer first.”
The warriors of the plains brooked no argument. The Crusaders were cowed by the ferocious aura radiating from the snarling warriors.
And then.
“…Everyone shut up and pick up your precious maces.”
From the dust cloud kicked up by the siege engine, an insanely sharp killing intent erupted. It was an aura so keen it felt as if it could slice skin. Not just the warriors of the plains, but the Crusaders as well, sensed the impending crisis.
“Damn it, they said this was a peaceful land…”
The Crusaders’ eyes trembled. Why was there someone radiating such an aura in Antoine, the City of Stars? No, not just Antoine. Why was there such a being in the Southern Continent…?
“Even in the East, such things are rare.”
Instinct screamed at them to run.
As the Crusaders stood frozen, the dust cleared, revealing the terrified residents of Antoine. Some distance away from the residents, a girl was weeping bitterly. A beautiful starlight swirled around her body; it was mysterious, but not threatening. It wasn’t the source of the “sense of crisis” they had just felt. Concentrating his mind, the warrior of the plains slowly drew his sword.
And—
“What, where i—”
With a wet shlick , the warrior’s head flew into the air.
The head, eyes wide with shock, soared upward. Blood erupted from the severed neck, becoming a crimson fountain under the starlight. Before the spray could even touch the parched desert sand, another head flew. Then three, then five. By the time ten men had lost their lives without even knowing how they died, the blood finally scattered over the Crusaders. It was as if a ghost had passed through them.
“…It’s you.”
The Crusaders fell into a panic. But the warriors of the plains did not. They knew of the existence capable of such a feat.
A ghost. A ghost of the battlefield.
Their other name was…
“It’s a Sword Runner—!”
*
The nickname for a Sword Runner is the Ghost of the Battlefield.
They are beings who have honed their “Path” to the absolute limit to sprout their wings. A Sword Runner who enters a battlefield can pierce through the entire situation with a single glance. Having grasped everything, they can lay their “Path” across the entire battlefield, allowing them to exist wherever they wish. And no one who is not a “Sword Runner” can escape their blade.
“Morons, don’t scatter, gathe—”
Furthermore, a Sword Runner utilizes their superhuman senses and their perfected “Path” to instinctively sense which enemies are the core and most dangerous forces. It means they can distinguish between a soldier, an officer, and a commander simply by looking at them.
“Bind him! Bind his fee—”
The person meant to give orders dies in the blink of an eye.
While the enemy wanders in confusion, dozens of their comrades are already rolling on the ground, heads missing. In war, a “Sword Runner” reigns as a living nightmare.
Slow. It’s boringly slow.
I hadn’t realized it in Vicente because the enemy’s scale was relatively small. I didn’t know because I had never fought such a large-scale enemy since becoming a “Sword Runner.” Before me, they were merely numerous, never threatening.
The memories of Gale are helping here.
The Ronin of Gale had stood alone against a legion to protect Dorothy. The methods of facing an army I had seen through him were being put to good use at this moment. I was a sliver of wind, and wherever the wind brushed, the heads of these insignificant things fell and scattered like autumn leaves.
“Chains of Punishment!”
Furthermore, the enemies’ authorities did not work on me.
With a heavy thud , chains fired by the priests of the Crusader Order poured down. As miracles utilizing divine power, not a single one of their authorities missed. However, to me, being bound was no different from being given wings.
『Do you know the genius who became a stuffed specimen?』
With a resounding clack , the night sky momentarily became a clear blue firmament. Under the blue sky, I was a single bolt of light, and in my wake, nearly a hundred enemies lay strewn about, cut down by my blade. Crimson blood sprayed across the blue world.
“What… what is this…”
The Crusaders faltered at the sight of me. Soon, the Inquisitors standing in the rear shouted.
“A body to punish the sinner!”
The Inquisitors turned into transparent ethereal forms—beings that could not be cut unless by mystery.
However, that too was futile.
My wings had now become eight pairs, and along with those shining wings, the mysteries I possessed had grown exponentially. I swung my sword in a wide arc and stomped my foot. The Flame of Doubt blooming from me exploded, covering the area.
“Uh…”
In the next moment, the mysteries they had summoned vanished all at once. The Inquisitors who had been standing blankly were all killed.
In an instant, the waist of the legion was snapped. Though the enemies surrounded me in a pincer formation, hilariously, none of them dared to rush me first. They were like children encountering a lion in the forest. As I looked at them one by one, I felt a strange, surging unpleasantness in my mind.
…This isn’t it.
It was dissatisfaction with my sword.
I shouldn’t be swinging it so… insignificantly.
Liam Caravan.
The sword my Master had swung using my body kept flickering in my mind. I had cast off the chaos, but I couldn’t cast off the sensations engraved in my body. The more I swung my sword, the more I felt regret and shabbiness. To the point where I wanted to drop my sword on the ground right this second.
Was my sword always this pathetic?
My Steel. The countless blades I had devoured. All of their souls felt insignificant. Needle, Fang, Wildness, Gale… all of it felt futile. What was the meaning of these things? In the end, even if hundreds of such blades gathered, they would be shabbier than a single stroke of my Master’s sword. Wouldn’t it be better to just throw everything away and accept a single one of Master’s swords…?
…No.
But the inner demon did not last long.
Mary the Swordswoman. The Assassin of the Free City. Orc Great Warrior Berik. The King who wished to become a lamp, the Ronin who became a sliver of wind, and Petel.
Deep in my heart, I knew they were not insignificant beings.
Each of their lives shone.
I am insignificant. Therefore, I have no right to consider others insignificant. I should be treasuring everything I have, so how could I think such a thing? The moment I thought that, the chaos departed once more. As my mind cleared, a shadow loomed over me.
An ambush.
The moment the shadow fell, I extended my Path and retreated a step. As my wings fluttered, a warrior with a massive build appeared where I had just been standing. Not a Crusader. A warrior of the plains. And one who radiated a ferocious aura quite different from the other warriors.
“You… you’re someone who doesn’t belong in this land.”
The warrior glared at me with eyes that seemed to burn. Soon, other warriors appeared to his left and right. Three warriors. The aura they radiated was formidable.
“Ah, so you’re the one.”
And then.
“The Small Gladiator.”
I heard words I hadn’t expected.
“That terrifying wench talked about you. She said if we followed the path of the Sun That Never Sets and left the Eastern lands… we would eventually meet you.”
That terrifying wench. For some reason, I felt like I knew who “that wench” was.
Seol-yoon.
“Though I didn’t expect to meet you in this southern land.”
“…”
“You’re exactly as she described. A body that looks like it would break if poked, a pretty face like a greenhouse flower, a sharpness that doesn’t match your appearance… and the skill to command numerous swords.”
The warriors’ eyes gleamed. I carefully observed the three warriors. After a brief probe, I could vaguely tell that the one in the middle was the leader. I immediately prepared to attack. A Sword Runner is, in the end, still human. In the fleeting gap when he inhaled and exhaled, I fluttered my wings and lunged. An ambush that should have been impossible to react to.
But.
“But that wench was wrong about one thing.”
Instead of the sensation of slicing through flesh, a hard impact was transmitted through the tip of my sword. The ambush had failed. Their leader had deflected my sword with the edge of his own blade. Skillfully.
“That wench said the Small Gladiator was stronger than her.”
The leader’s sword twisted. Simultaneously, my sword was forcefully pulled. I retreated before I could fall for his trick.
The leader let out a snort and said, “You are weaker than that wench.”
He was different from the other warriors. Distinctly.
“…Is that so?”
But that wasn’t what mattered.
“Maybe you’re right.”
I looked at the leader, who was staring at me with smoldering eyes. The moment he caught his breath, Doubt began. As if piercing beneath his skin, information about him poured in like a wave within the world reflected in my eyes.
“However.”
I lunged at him once more. He tried to push my sword away in the same manner as before. But this time was different. A single downward stroke, a sword swung from top to bottom, was a single technique. The technique to activate the First Steel: Forging .
“I think I’m stronger than you, at least.”
The leader’s eyes widened.
Steel comes twice.
With a resounding clang , the heaviest sword on the continent was swung. The sand the leader was standing on caved in. Blood leaked from between his lips. Amidst his groans, I lowered my body and prepared the Second Steel: Polishing .
“Rabbit, Eagle!”
The leader shouted. Immediately, the warriors guarding his sides moved. The movements of the two warriors were uncanny, as if one person were controlling two bodies.
These two are more troublesome than the leader.
Individually, they weren’t threatening. But together, they were.
Tsking, I took two steps back. Polishing was canceled just before activation. Instead, I inhaled as I watched the incoming sword tips. It was a sword imbued with techniques far too brilliant for me to simply parry. Normally, I would have retreated and pushed back with my strengths—hardness and Doubt. But there was no need for that now.
I can see it.
The Maverick.
I had only briefly experienced my Master’s sword, and I hadn’t understood a single thing about it. However, even if I didn’t understand it, the sensations from that time were perfectly engraved in my body. For a moment—for just one moment—I could “mimic” it.
“Whew—”
A sword whose logic and essence were incomprehensible. A “Perfect Sword,” as if shouting that all blades were created for its sake. A part of that sword—a mere fraction of a fraction—unfolded from my hand.
“…!”
The two swords pouring toward me were drawn into my blade as if being sucked in. It was as natural as water rippling in the wind or a flame flickering. With a flash, my old sword emitted a keen light. In the next moment, when I looked up, the two warriors had retreated far away.
“Wh-what…”
And one arm from each of them lay on the ground.
“…Attack all at once!”
The leader shouted. At his command, the two warriors, despite having just lost their arms, showed no fear and prepared to charge. I saw the dripping blood. The crimson blood soaked into the desert sand under the night sky. Amidst the stinging scent of blood, I felt the fact that I couldn’t use the Master’s sword I had just shown twice. It was a sword far too great—a sword not yet permitted to the current me. But that wasn’t a problem.
『The stars are beautiful.』
Because the new power I had obtained…
『Because of a flower that cannot be seen.』
…wasn’t just that.
The soul of the one who bore the name “The Little Prince.” The blade held by the soul that had permeated me. The time had come to draw that blade.
『And what makes the desert beautiful…』
The new sword, Radiance .
『…is that somewhere it hides a well.』
The moment I drew that sword, a dazzling light erupted from me. A light so brilliant it momentarily pushed back the night draped over the desert. As the light illuminated the surroundings, the mist of light exploding from me soon took on blurred human forms. There wasn’t just one. A total of three. The three clones made of light all bore faces I knew very well.
“I’m glad it’s night. I hate the heat.”
The owner of Needle , Mary the Swordswoman.
“Yes, you must stand your ground! There is no paradise in the place you flee to!”
The owner of Wildness , Orc Great Warrior Berik.
And…
“…Eastern warriors, it’s been a while.”
The owner of Gale , the Ronin of the Eastern Continent.
The former masters of the blades I had devoured appeared at my call. The swordsmen of the past, appearing with the light, stood before me, each holding the blade that symbolized them.
Simultaneously.
『To be tamed is to risk a few tears.』
The voice of the sword echoing in my head had now become unbearably loud.
As if calling out to me.
