Bards wander the world, their voices carrying across the lands.
They sing of legends and heroics, of love and lyricism.
And they sing of life.
The world calls their songs ballads.
*
The Great Steel Empire of Chervil lies in the west of the continent.
In the vast southern Verdi region of the empire—a land so insignificant it was called a backwater or a peripheral province more often than its actual name—lived people who were just as unremarkable as the land itself.
The residents of Verdi did not live like typical citizens of the Steel Empire. Their lives revolved around practical necessity rather than the logic of power. They farmed, raised livestock, produced milk and cheese, or crafted wine worthy of being a local specialty to sell in the cities. Most of them had never held a sword in their lives. The only blades they ever gripped were farm implements or kitchen knives.
It was a place where uneducated country folk, who couldn’t even read properly, lived together in simple harmony. One day, a clever child was born in this remote village. He was born into an ordinarily poor family and raised by parents who were a bit slow but incredibly diligent. The parents, who had spent their entire lives making nothing but cheese, hoped their child would find a different path. These hardworking parents knew that their child, the apple of their eye, was far smarter than they could ever hope to be.
So, the child’s parents decided to send him to the highest and most noble gentleman in this remote backwater. They knew that if he stayed with them, he would likely spend his whole life making cheese until the day he died.
Thus, the child came to live in a manor instead of a shack.
“So, you’re the new servant?”
“Yes! That is correct!”
The child, now living in the manor, spoke up bravely as he had been taught.
“Please call me Sancho!”
Sancho.
The boy with that name grew up quickly, as boys often do. He spent his years managing a house that, while small for a manor, was the most luxurious and grand building in the outskirts. Starting as a servant, he became a butler, and before long, he was the most capable member of the household.
And then, the day came.
“Sancho, look at this.”
The butler, who had grown from a young man into a middle-aged fixture of the manor itself, saw an ecstatic smile on his master’s face. It was a smile so bright it made him realize a person could actually be that happy.
“My friend, come closer.”
The middle-aged butler stepped forward and saw the small thing that made his master so joyful. As he approached slowly, he saw a tiny, red bundle of life wrapped carefully in a blanket.
“Hold him, go on.”
Unable to resist his master’s urging, the butler took the tiny infant into his arms. Though no one had taught him how, he cradled the small child more carefully than if he were holding a fragile glass cup.
“Well?”
He was small and delicate.
He felt as precarious as a candle flame that might go out with a single puff of air.
His breathing was soft and rhythmic.
He was light. So very light.
“You know… throughout my life, I’ve never lived with a clear goal. I’ve just been swept along like a flowing current. As if I were wandering.”
“…….”
“But today, I think I’ve realized what I must live for.”
With disheveled hair and a face covered in dust, the master smiled like a boy. Beside him was the dazzlingly beautiful, tiny infant. The warm sunlight of the Caravan estate streamed in through a slight crack in the door.
“This fragile and fleeting thing. I will protect it from this harsh world.”
The butler…
Sancho still cannot forget that day.
“Join me in this, my friend.”
“…….”
“You are my best friend, after all.”
Sancho…
He still cannot forget the warmth of that day.
“……What is the young master’s name?”
Sancho…
He cannot forget the sensation of that tiny hand gripping his finger that day.
“Arhan.”
Perhaps, he will remember it forever.
*
Thick brush and tangled shadows.
An old man rode an old donkey through the dark mountain path.
It was a ridiculous scene.
An old man and an old donkey.
They were beings far removed from the protagonists of this world.
The young. The knights.
The protagonists who receive wealth, fame, and the continent’s praise—who mingle with beautiful women and are admired by the masses—are supposed to be young, strong, and beautiful.
“Run, Paddle.”
Sancho was far from being a protagonist.
The cleverness that had made him special in the Verdi region was utterly ordinary compared to the scholars of the cities. Sancho simply had a slightly better memory than others and was quick with calculations. He had no flashing creativity, no exceptional insight, and he didn’t know how to brilliantly apply what he had learned.
Sancho was neither special nor great.
And there is no protagonist in this world who is neither special nor great.
“Run faster. Just a little more strength.”
Sancho wasn’t handsome, either.
He was a short, plump, pot-bellied middle-aged man whose clothes fit too tightly. No noble lady, no princess, would ever love Sancho based on his appearance alone.
And Sancho was no longer young.
He had grown old, and a terrible scar had been etched into half of his face by the absolute being who had visited the Caravan estate long ago. There were even times when city guards had mistaken him for a leper and chased him away.
“Have strength. Keep running.”
An old man who was neither special, nor beautiful, nor young. An old man running at the very end of his life, someone who had no right to be on the stage. A pathetic old man gasping for breath after running just a little way down a forest path. No one would ever think of him as a protagonist.
“I must run. I have to run.”
But Sancho runs.
He has a place to return to.
“The young master is still fighting.”
His donkey, Paddle, was now too old to carry Sancho and run. Navigating a rugged mountain path was even harder than flat ground. The gasping donkey limped, but it never stopped. It was as if the beast knew it had a task to complete.
“Yes. He was fighting. Even now.”
And Sancho was no different.
“Even until now…….”
Sancho remembers the words he spoke.
He still remembers the harsh words he had offered to his young master, who had stood blankly after losing everything. He still remembers the sad words he spat at the boy who had been thrown alone into the world—the boy he had failed to protect.
Young master, you must forget.
Only then can you live.
A Swordmaster…
Only a Swordmaster can kill another.
Young master.
“Run, Paddle. We mustn’t be late.”
Sancho must return.
The old butler must return.
He must keep the promise he made to his master, who has now left this world.
‘You are my best friend, after all.’
The old donkey and the old man run.
Piercing through the darkness.
*
The moment I made contact with the piece of wood Edan Rhapsody thrust forward, the 「Path」 he had unfolded became vividly clear to my eyes. It was more accurate to describe it as a world rather than a path. Another world achieved by a single swordsman.
All 「Paths」 are connected.
My master’s words were correct.
The path extending from Edan Rhapsody was different from that of an ordinary 「Sword Walker」. Only a single path extended from him. That single path filled the entire temporary arena, starting from Edan Rhapsody’s surroundings in a spiral shape. It was as if Edan Rhapsody was ruling this entire dueling ground.
A single, perfectly connected path.
There were no gaps. I couldn’t see any opening for my own path to squeeze into. The moment I touched it, my 「Path」 would vanish without a trace. It was like pouring a bucket of water into the vast ocean. Pouring water into the ocean changes nothing; it simply becomes a part of the infinite sea.
Was the difference in realm truly this stark?
The moment I saw it with my own eyes, I felt a sense of awe rather than despair. I felt as if my gaze would be stolen by this dazzlingly beautiful sword built by the man named Edan Rhapsody.
But.
I cannot let that happen.
“Huu—”
Using my burning breath as fuel, I push past my limits. Thus, I taste the authority of wings possessed by 「Sword Runners」, if only for a moment. Acceleration. My thoughts transcend the realm of superhumans. And so, it feels as if my time has slowed to a standstill.
The world of stars that 「Lantern」 desired.
The world of wind that 「Gale」 desired.
I must not stop there.
What is my world?
In front of the arrogant ocean I face, I must forge my own world. Otherwise, I will be swallowed by this sea and swept away by the waves, vanishing without a trace.
When I first faced the sea—when I clashed swords with Toma Rhapsody at the end of the Infinite Duel—I became Steel. I became a single flicker of flame and burned him. I must reach that place once more. To avoid drowning in this sea, to avoid being swept away and disappearing, I must fly. High, higher still.
Creeak.
The piece of wood Edan Rhapsody thrust forward began to gnaw away at my blade.
It was the result of a perfect world clashing with an imperfect one.
In that moment, it felt as if lightning had struck.
I couldn’t tell if it was an epiphany, the fear that comes before death, or a type of mental illness like the madness that had claimed my father. It might have just been a single bolt of lightning.
I couldn’t know anything for sure.
So, I chased the lightning.
His 「Path」 was perfect.
It was a realm I could not imitate. If so, instead of imitating him, I would forge a world of my own. Edan Rhapsody had created an arrogant world, like the sword of a great family that resembled the sea. Within Edan Rhapsody’s arrogant world, I saw the sun once again. Even in the sea that swallows the world, the sun exists. The sun rising over the horizon makes the sea shine and illuminates the sky dazzlingly.
Yes, the sun is everywhere.
The sun was there on the day I was born, during my happy years, on the day I lost everything, and at the moment I first held a sword. It was always there.
What is the sun?
What is the world?
「……Ah.」
The nine goddesses and the seven chief gods.
What are the omniscient and omnipotent absolute beings who reign above the heavens? Why do the great ones, who always look down upon us like the sun in the sky, merely watch my tragedy unfold?
Why is the world so wrong?
Why is the sword that destroyed my everything revered as a hero? If the gods worshipped by the kingdom’s many religions truly exist, why hasn’t that bastard been struck by divine punishment? Why does he become greater as time passes, while I, who lost everything, become more pathetic? Why did he become the Swordmaster among Swordmasters chosen by the heavens, while I must remain a boy from the outskirts who can only live if he forgets?
「It is finally about to bloom.」
What truth is hidden within the tragedy I experienced? If my father’s words were all true, why haven’t the gods bestowed any blessing upon the boy who vowed revenge?
The solemn Continental Law says:
The wicked shall be judged, and the righteous shall be rewarded. Child who has lost everything, you shall be compensated. Greedy one who has everything, you shall lose what you hold in your hands.
If such a law truly exists, why haven’t I been compensated? If such a law truly exists, why do the countless sinners of the continent still live with what they hold in their hands? Why is this world so wrong? Why was the world created in such an unacceptable, irrational form?
Why, just why?
「Yes, that is it.」
The second heart, the Mana Heart.
My bloodline, the 「Path」.
The swords I have devoured. The souls contained within those swords. The techniques I have built up until now. I feel as if all of them are being dismantled. Why is everything that composes me structured this way? Why does what is mine exist? Why do I exist?
The world I step upon.
Why is it so wrong?
I cannot understand anything.
I cannot accept anything.
Everything is suspicious.
In that moment, everything about me was dismantled. It was dismantled and then reassembled. A single path extending from my heart circulated through my entire body. A single bloodline made a full circle from head to toe. The path, having finished its circulation, eventually pierced through my back and grew slowly like a blooming flower. The path sprouted from my heart and finally grew into a form that everyone could see. Everyone here knew its name.
「That is your world.」
Only now do I understand the scenery I saw.
The sky, and the earth.
The sun, and the Steel.
The sky I saw was a wrong world.
The sun I saw was the wrong gods.
Everything I saw was a wrong reality.
My earth is my people.
My father, who suffered from madness and fought to the end.
My neighbors, who fought a Swordmaster with farm tools. My mother, who wept and told me to promise never to hold a sword again. Petel, who struggled until the very end against a wrong fate.
My Steel is my doubt.
My doubt that remained standing, unable to accept the wrong reality presented by this world. My doubt that remained rooted in the ground, unmoving no matter how much the sun glared or what storms blew. My twisted doubt that could not accept the world going wrong, the reality going wrong, and the appalling atrocities. That is my Steel.
“Ah.”
Why is the world like this?
Why do the gods merely watch?
Why is judgment not carried out?
Does reward for good and punishment for evil truly exist?
The moment I reached that point, I saw a hazy landscape. Within the landscape were the sky and the earth. In the deep blue sky, there was a blazing sun. Beneath the sun stood a lone boy. The lone boy was staring blankly up at the sun. The boy asks:
Does God truly exist?
『Doubt.』
The fundamental question I had harbored for so long.
The moment I reached that irreverent and impure question.
A distant voice reached me once again.
My own voice.
『Ironically, humanity has moved one step closer to God not through faith, but through doubt.』
With that, my consciousness grew hazy.
The two blades contained within me.
Blades melting as if on fire. Beyond them, I saw a faint, shimmering blade. I felt like I was beginning to understand what it was. The third blade that even I hadn’t known about. The last sword my master had spoken of.
But.
I was one step short of reaching it.
Yes, exactly one step.
And—
“Young master—!”
A voice rang out, piercing through the frozen world.
The knights. My people.
Pushing through them, an old man was shouting.
“I, too!”
The old man was someone I knew very well.
“I, too, have not yet forgotten! I, too, have not accepted a single thing that happens in this godforsaken world—in this world that has gone wrong—!”
The butler.
The butler who had left this place.
“So! Do not forget! You too, young master!”
My Sancho.
“You!”
The words he spat out as if vomiting them.
Were enough to fill my missing step.
“Will become! A Swordmaster!”
Truly, very much so.
“Without fail—!”
Thump. Thump.
A thrilling heartbeat resounded.
Amidst the ringing heartbeat, I opened my eyes wide. An indescribable power was surging from my heart. I saw Edan Rhapsody’s piece of wood gnawing at my blade. I couldn’t face it head-on. I twisted my blade, lowered my body, and retreated. Edan Rhapsody could not catch up to me as I retreated.
Because.
“You…….”
That retreat had occurred like the teleportation of wizards. High-speed movement that transcended the power of superhumans.
“Those wings, what on earth are they?”
Wings.
In the manner of a 「Sword Runner」.
“……And what is this?”
Edan Rhapsody’s expression contorted.
Flames were flickering on his piece of wood. The flames transferred to Edan Rhapsody’s body, burning the world that surrounded him. I looked at the frowning Edan Rhapsody. What would I look like? I didn’t know. I couldn’t see my own appearance.
I could tell that something had sprouted from my back.
But the thrilling heartbeat had not yet ended. As if ahead of the start of an opera, the heartbeat was still resounding. And the transformation of the wings on my back had not yet ended either. As if there was still further to go from here.
And.
『I was born in war.』
The form of the third sword, which had been hazy and mysterious, began to grow clearer. The blade that had begun to shine within me. It was a form that was all too familiar to me.
『A phoenix blooms from the ashes.』
A heavy voice rang out, enough to drown out all the sounds of the world. A voice as overbearing and dignified as a lion’s roar. The atmosphere of that voice was unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar.
When I thought about who the master of that sword was.
It was actually quite obvious.
『The world threw me into the fire.』
The treasure of the Caravan family.
The sword wielded by the progenitor of the Caravan family, its greatest head, and the most powerful Swordmaster in history. Based on what I had heard from my father, it was a sword that remained excessively sharp despite being made at least five hundred years ago. A blade whose sharpness flashed as if it could cut through anything right this moment.
The first sword I had ever eaten.
『The world broke me and crushed me.』
As the voice continued to ring out.
The face of an old man was vividly drawn.
The face of a hero.
Wrinkled, but with eyes as sharp as a blade.
The great Swordmaster who had come to save a boy who had been sitting broken.
『But the world could not kill me.』
My master, who had called out to his young descendant in the middle of the ruined manor’s living room.
「Have you forgotten the first thing I ever told you?」
Liam Caravan.
「Eat me, descendant of Caravan.」
His sword.
「Then you shall obtain what you desire.」
Was none other than my third sword.
*
He had run excessively.
The old donkey was dead.
The old man was not.
Without dying, he had arrived at the stage of the young.
A brilliantly shining stage.
The old man, arriving at the place where a new era was unfolding, had come back to where he belonged and delivered the words he had to say. He was out of breath, the taste of blood was in his mouth, and his vision was turning yellow, but he still did what he had to do.
“Sancho, people are talking. They say I’m crazy. Do you think so too?”
He remembers the words his master had spoken.
“I don’t think so. Who is crazy? Is it me, who imagines the world that can be achieved in the future, or is it those who see the world only as it is and obediently accept the bizarre things presented by a world gone wrong?”
The master who had suffered from madness.
The eyes of the mad master.
They were burning fiercely, like the sun.
They might seem like pretentious words, but in reality, they were merely lines recited from a chivalric novel. However, the words spat out by the master as he moved his wretched horse still made Sancho’s heart ring.
“To dream an impossible dream, to fight an unbeatable foe, to endure unbearable pain, and to catch the stars in the sky that cannot be caught. That is my destiny, Sancho.”
Yes, still.
Everyone called it madness, but the old butler cannot forget his master from that time. He cannot forget his master’s eyes, which shone as brilliantly as the stars.
“You mustn’t! Please, listen to me. This is madness. Let’s run away. This is no different from a moth jumping into a fire. The greatest madness a human can commit while living in this world is to choose death when no one is killing them!”
The old butler remembers even his master’s end.
The end of one who had finally leaped into the stars and burned to death.
A brilliant yet lingering end.
“Ah.”
The old butler’s master did not become a star.
But.
“Ahhh.”
His son.
The son he had left behind by burning his life.
The boy who had been left suddenly under the burning sun, upon the land that had swallowed the deaths of so many, was shining brilliantly at this moment.
The boy who had grown up under the romance of a pure man, the love of a kind lady, the affection of a clumsy nanny, and the care of an ordinary butler.
“Are you watching? From the heavens, are you watching?”
He had finally become a star while holding a sword.
“The age of glory you loved was real. Your son has reclaimed that glory. Are you watching? I’m asking if you’re watching…….”
The most brilliant star.
Shining brighter than anyone else here.
*
「Name: Liam’s Beloved Sword」
「The sword favored by Liam Caravan, the Progenitor of the Caravan Family.」
「Despite the passage of centuries, it remains unrusted, its keen edge perfectly preserved.」
「A treasure of the Caravan Family.」
.
.
.
「Digestion in progress.」
「Digestion has progressed ‘somewhat.’」
.
.
.
「The ‘First Fragment’ awakens.」
