“Reminds me of the old days.”
A voice drifted through the chaotic melee unfolding within the Pitch-black Forest.
“Back then, everyone fought without asking questions. The Arena was nothing but a pit, the custom of sparing lives didn’t exist, and things like justifications or practical interests were laughable nonsense. I believe you young ones call that era the ‘Age of War.’”
“The old man of the forest is getting sentimental. It’s like a history book has come to life right in front of me.”
“Ho-ho, mind your manners. I have lived longer than your parents and grandparents combined, you brat who’s still wet behind the ears.”
It was a rare sight in a Race Duel for the powerhouses representing each race to step onto the front lines. These were individuals who had reached such high realms that they carried heavy burdens. Authority, power, and strength always came with responsibility; thus, they could not afford to fight recklessly.
They had too much following behind them.
“To be honest, this is quite enjoyable.”
But in this moment, they didn’t have to worry about any of that. The stage had been set.
“How long has it been since I’ve roamed a battlefield so freely?”
A youthful vigor, unbefitting their status, flowed from these masters who no longer had to watch their backs. Smelling the thick scent of blood and soil, they savored the feeling of returning to the nostalgic days of their youth, if only for a moment—an era where they could test their skills against one another to their heart’s content, without considering political consequences, convictions, or profit.
“Struggle! It is what makes the heart burn hot! Do you finally realize how fleeting your lives have been?! You knife-ears of the forest! You half-breed beasts! You cowardly dwarves of the Sky Mountain Range!”
His blood boiling, the Orc King—the warrior bearing ID Tag 444—roared with delight. As his green feet stomped the earth, a violent battle spirit erupted. The ground heaved with every step, causing countless fighters to lose their balance and tumble.
“That doesn’t mean we understand you ignorant orcs!”
“Pwahahaha! When has your kind ever understood us in the long history of this continent? We don’t ask for the understanding of others!”
Sprouts bloomed upon the trembling earth. They grew instantly into thick vines that bound the fighters’ bodies, and a heavy rain began to pour from the night sky. As spirits inhabited the falling rain, the droplets transformed into transparent spears that pierced through enemies. With a single gesture from an Elf who had lived for eons, nature itself became an instrument of violence.
“Everyone is losing their dignity and running wild. How vulgar.”
In the midst of the rampant violence, patches of particularly dense darkness formed. Silently, the shadows swallowed the fighters, summoning hell into the mortal realm. Teeming screams and despair began to encroach upon the forest as the Nobles of the Night laughed loftily. However, there were flames that bloomed even through that darkness.
“Those steeped in peace have too much to say. Unlike you, we still live in the midst of war. Do you, who laugh on level ground, know the sorrow of the Sky Mountain Range? Those who are no different from greenhouse flowers will never defeat the hardy dwarves—!”
Lightning crackled.
The violent sparks created by clashing iron swept through the fighters. Loud explosions were followed by screams from all directions, and the Man of Iron, clad in the sturdiest armor on the continent, trampled over those who had fallen. A miniature war was being reenacted here—one that brought to mind the Race War of old, when the seven races fought to assert their dominance.
And then.
“You damned dwarf. What is this bizarre black iron armor?”
“I’m sorry, but the Sky Mountain Range has spirits far more terrifying than the ones you knife-ears command. To survive, we had to find a way to hunt them down and kill them.”
The first race to be eliminated emerged.
“Blame the abundance of the World Tree. You have no need to fight to protect anything, nor do you have the rage required to kill an enemy by any means necessary. It is only natural that you lose to us.”
The Elves.
The Elven King, who held ID Tag 444, had his tag snatched by the Dwarven vanguard, Dwight.
“You dog-like orc bastards!”
Next was…
“Did… did a Great Warrior participate? This makes no sense…”
“Pwahaha! A Great Warrior? I’m honored! But unfortunately, I am merely an elder.”
The Beastfolk.
“If the Great Warrior had come, everyone except the orcs would have been dead before nightfall! Pwahaha!”
The wolf-like beastman had his ID Tag 444 snatched by the Orc King. With that, all beastman fighters lost their right to fight in the Race Duel. In an instant, two races were eliminated.
“Hmm.”
And then.
“The night is almost over. I can smell the dawn.”
The demons quietly withdrew from the fight.
“Even if we fight after the sun rises, we’ll only look unsightly. Rather than clinging on pathetically, we shall make a grand exit. As a certain human once said: leave while they’re still clapping.”
Watching the sky gradually brighten, they surrendered without hesitation. The demons’ ID Tag 444 was tossed onto the ground.
“Let’s end it here. We’ve seen an interesting human, so this is enough.”
Thus, three races departed. As dawn broke, only three remained.
Humans, Orcs, and Dwarves.
And…
“Is that… a Sword Walker…?”
In the center of the melee, one human fighter was drawing the most attention.
* * *
The broken blade of Gale served as the final testament to the ronin.
The sword, which he had refused to let go of until the very end despite being shattered, resembled him in a way. Even if it snapped, even if everyone mocked it, even if no one acknowledged it, and even if he never learned what kind of fruit his efforts finally bore—he still pressed forward steadfastly.
The former master of Gale never knew where the final wind he stirred had reached. But as he died, he did not regret. He did not look back on his past life. He simply faced the present that contained the sum of his existence.
Like a wind wandering without a fixed destination.
Like a gale that flows only forward, brushing past everything.
The wind reached completion only because it never looked back to see the results of its passing.
Whoosh—
My lightened body roamed the battlefield. My sharpened senses detected the approach of enemies in advance. My Path and the enemy’s Path collided—a phenomenon that always occurred when swordsmen of Sword Walker rank or higher clashed. Victory or defeat was decided by whose Path was more efficient and perfect.
But now, I didn’t need to go through that process.
“…?”
They didn’t collide.
I simply let them flow past. The moment they brushed against me, the others’ swords shook wildly, becoming tangled and broken. A sword that ruined the flow. A gale that centered on me and swept the enemies away. Even the fighters who had reached the rank of Sword Runner could not easily deal with this mysterious principle.
I could see several Paths.
The orthodox Path of Sir Petel, who had trained honestly his entire life.
The Path filled with doubt, based on my own Flame of Doubt.
The Hero’s Path, resembling a flame that appeared when specific conditions were met.
But in this moment, I followed none of those three. It was fainter than them and wavered aimlessly, but because its destination was not fixed, it was the freest Path of all.
The Path of the Wind that the ronin had possessed.
“What… what kind of clown’s trick is this?!”
It was not a Path meant to cut the enemy’s throat.
It was simply passing through. When I brushed past the enemies like a blowing gust, my free Path and their Paths became entangled into dizzying curves. The Path, having taken the form of a spiral, whirled around me, and the enemies lost their balance without even knowing why.
There is no better sword for a melee than this.
Liam’s words were correct.
In this moment, I became a ghost, just like the nickname I had earned in the Arena. A Sword Demon whom no one could catch, whom they could only watch. However, there was a fact I had to recognize.
No matter how miraculous the power within this sword was…
“Ho.”
In the end, I, the one wielding the blade, was still just a greenhorn.
“Descendant of Steel, you wield a rather interesting sword.”
The swirling wind stopped in the middle of the battlefield. Having been in a brief trance, I slowly raised my head and looked forward. Standing there was a dwarf clad in pitch-black iron armor. No, he wasn’t just a dwarf. His stature was smaller than mine, but the presence he exuded was overwhelmingly massive.
“That power shouldn’t be something one can possess at your level. Is it the power of Steel?”
I could not see a Path from this dwarf. It was impossible to blow him away with the wind.
Because…
You’re about to feel the same way those who were surprised by your sword felt, young descendant.
The aura emanating from this dwarf was far too heavy and solid. It was as if…
It is not the same as ours, but it is strikingly similar.
It was like looking at the sword that originated from my own heart.
This dwarf… he has attained Steel.
Not through the blessing of blood, but through pure effort alone…
Yes. It truly felt like facing a Man of Iron.
“I’ve cleared away everything that would interfere with us. Do you see over there?”
The dwarf grinned. Dwight pointed behind him.
“Now, only us dwarves and the humans are left.”
There lay a massive orc, collapsed with his eyes rolled back. And in the orc’s mouth was ID Tag 444, marked with a large ‘X’.
The King of the Orcs had been defeated. The orcs were eliminated. Likely by the dwarf standing before me.
“Ironically, doesn’t the Descendant of Steel belong to both races? How interesting.”
“…”
“No matter who wins, the Descendant of Steel has nothing to lose. Pwahaha.”
Dwight’s eyes gleamed as he looked at me.
“I showed a disgraceful side of myself earlier. In my heart, I want to do whatever the Descendant of Steel desires. But you wouldn’t want me to just hand you a hollow victory, would you?”
“No.”
“I believe what would satisfy you most is an ordeal. A very, very harsh ordeal that can hammer the Blood of Steel flowing in your body until it’s on the verge of breaking.”
Dwight pulled a hammer from his back.
“As compensation for my earlier disgrace, I shall become your harshest ordeal.”
“…”
“I guarantee it.”
And for a moment, I saw an illusion. Just for a second, the being standing before me ceased to be a dwarf.
“Descendant of Steel, from this moment on, you will face a wall.”
A fortress stood there.
* * *
I’ll be honest with you, young descendant.
“…”
For the dwarves to send this guy out is practically cheating.
Liam spoke seriously.
It’s only natural that powerful orc lost. No matter how skilled that orc was, he was likely just an elder at best.
Dwight stood before me, watching me in silence.
To defeat this dwarf, a Great Chieftain would have had to come at the very least. And even then, they might not have won. It would have barely been a fight.
“…”
Do you know why?
Dwight still looked like a fortress in my eyes. An impregnable iron castle. I was momentarily overwhelmed by that majestic sight, but as I regained my focus, I saw its true form.
It wasn’t a fortress. It looked like one, but it wasn’t. It was armor.
Which meant…
He is a Sword Expert.
The symbol of a Sword Expert.
“I will not hold back. Descendant of Steel, the enemies you must cut down from now on will be far more powerful than I. You will move past those with wings to clash with the masters of armor, and eventually, you will fight absolute beings who have forged their very souls into swords. Just as the great Caravan did during the Age of War.”
“…”
“And inevitably, you will cross blades with the Executioner of the Iron Prince.”
Dwight, holding his hammer, spoke calmly.
“Compared to them, I am but a trivial weakling. They can wipe the dwarves from the face of the earth with a single sword and no legion; they can turn a whole nation into an enemy and excise it from history; and they can cleave the sky and the sea as if mocking the gods.”
“…”
“One day, the Descendant of Steel will stand alongside them. That is the fate of Steel, and the great will that flows in your blood.”
The hammer in his hand began to move slowly.
“I hope the harsh ordeal I am about to impose will be of some help.”
The final battle of the Race Duel began.
