I once read a book from the West.
A certain passage written upon those white pages was so magnificent it felt as if it spoke for my very life. It read:
“Blessed are those ages that can read the stars in the sky as a map of the paths open to them, and whose paths are illuminated by the light of those stars.”
I longed for that Age of Stars.
I did not want an Age of War like this.
Swords, spears, and shields. Rusty armor and arrows that stitched the sky as they rained down. Boys and young men were hurled onto the battlefield without knowing a thing. Countless lives were soaked in blood and crumbled into the dirt. I knew that every one of those lives was no different from a star. They could have been stars. Instead of being snuffed out in vain, they could have become a brilliant light illuminating the world. Every single one of them held potential; every one of them deserved to bask in such light.
But war extinguished all light.
Life faded in the face of violence, and the hot blood spilled beneath cold steel drenched the continent. Beneath the dark sky, I lamented. Why did they have to vanish under such meaningless brutality?
The Age of War brought darkness to this land.
No one sang of peace. No lovers whispered of affection. Children no longer laughed while chattering about absurd legends and tales of heroes.
Parents who lost their children hanged themselves, and children who lost their parents died of hunger and thirst. What remained at the end of the wars they waged while singing of glory? Where is the glory in a parent who died by the noose over shattered spears and blades? Can one find ecstasy in the sight of a parched infant searching for the shriveled breast of its dead mother?
In a faded world, there is only darkness.
The lights that would illuminate a world filled with gloom have all vanished.
As I gazed upon this bleak world, I came to one conclusion.
The stars that lit the world are gone. There are no stars left to shine upon the path we must take. The pitiful masses have lost their way, and hungry children wander, weeping. I thought to myself: there are too many things of value in this world for it to end like this.
I remember the Age of Stars.
And so, I made a decision.
In place of the vanished stars, I decided to become a star myself. I decided to become a guide so that those who wander might find the right path. I decided to become a lamp to illuminate the people.
It was not difficult to gather those who had lost their way. Like mayflies drawn to a torch, the pitiful flocked to me. I did not use those who gathered as mere tools. I did not raise them as soldiers, as the monarchs of the Age of War did. I simply showed them the beauty of the stars.
I told them of the Age of Stars.
I told them how brilliant life could be.
And so, they began to shine.
Their eyes began to sparkle. In the days when they held themselves in low regard, they were insignificant. But once they realized they were beings of light, they became radiant. When they learned how beautiful they could be, they finally became beautiful.
Parents embraced their children and shared trivial stories. Young children looked up at their parents and prattled on about the mundane details of their day. Young men and women sitting before a campfire fell in love. The elderly looked at the youth and reminisced about the past. The old, speaking of the good old days, sang of peace; the young sang of immediate joy and love; and the children sang of the happiness that would one day find them. They were filled with anticipation.
Children dreamed of the future, the youth raced through a fulfilling present, and the elderly savored the past they had lived, all singing of peace. I was deeply moved by this utterly ordinary sight. I was truly delighted by this glimpse of the distant past recreated on this tiny patch of land.
The Age of Stars was returning.
In my eyes, every one of them was a twinkling star—stars harboring infinite, boundless potential. Human life could be this beautiful. Whether a small child, a young man, or an old man…
Simple tranquility is the essence of the world.
Even if it is not a feast, three meals eaten without hunger are a grace. To be able to hold someone, to love someone, and to be loved by someone is a blessing that cannot be traded for anything.
I hoped that the lives of these beautiful, twinkling people would not crumble in vain. The Age of Stars I had longed for was right here. But small stars that have only just begun to twinkle cannot shine perfectly on their own in a harsh world. Wandering souls cannot yet find the path themselves. They need a lamp to light the world and a guide to walk before them.
I was willing to be that lamp.
I was willing to be that guide.
And for a lamp to fulfill its role, it must burn continuously without going out. It must drive away the darkness more brightly than anything else so that everyone can see clearly.
…Even if it meant using myself as fuel and burning away until nothing remained.
In the twentieth year since I came to be called King, a vast army of unknown end arrived at our lands.
The era would not leave us be.
The unending Age of War was watching us.
But.
“Do not step forward.”
I could not allow my stars, which had only just begun to shine, to be defiled. I did not want to throw them into a cruel world. I only wished for the people who had shown me the Age of Stars I so desperately craved to shine beautifully. I wanted them to sing of happiness, not war. I wanted them to feel joy, not anger.
“Tend to your wives. Protect your sons and daughters who have yet to grow. Protect the things you love. And protect yourselves. Do not suffer the pain of losing what you love. Do not cause pain to those you love.”
And so, I became the lamp.
“I shall protect this land, so you must protect yourselves and those you love.”
It was enough for me alone to sing of rage.
.
.
.
I slowly opened my eyes amidst the flooding memories. As I did, all my senses keenly took in the world.
The air was murky.
It wasn’t fresh air, but air thick with dust and the heavy scent of blood. It smelled of iron. The smell of war.
The sound was murky.
It wasn’t the sound of people laughing and chatting. It wasn’t laughter singing of peace, but the scream of steel singing of war and rage. It was the sound of death, of flesh and bone crushing, and of lives begging for mercy.
They were unlovely sounds.
It was an unlovely era.
It was an unlovely world.
When I opened my eyes, the landscape before me was filled with countless soldiers pointing steel at one another with somber faces. Swords, spears, and shields. Rusty armor and arrows embroidering the sky. The people who had sung beautifully in a paradise were nowhere to be found, replaced by those manifesting an unwanted malice toward one another.
In my eyes, they all looked like people who had lost their way.
Sad people wandering, lost.
「You must well-forge the flame dwelling within that blade.」
Among the sad people, there was a girl sobbing, drenched in blood.
「A hero dies and becomes a myth. A lowly human is deified and worshipped by later generations, and a human’s life story becomes a legend and even a religion. Thus, the blade you swallowed has lost its original name and gained the ridiculous name of Dragon Sword.」
The lost girl could not stop her weeping.
In the hands of the crying girl, a single sword was held.
「You must reclaim that sword’s name.」
I knew who that girl was.
「The Lamp.」
Seol-yoon.
「The original name of a certain flame that became a star in the pitch-black darkness where not an inch ahead could be seen.」
Genius talent.
Overwhelming martial prowess.
Such things were no longer visible to my eyes.
“…Whew.”
There was only a pitiful girl there who had not yet reached the end of her childhood. That was her essence. A poor girl who had lost everything precious she held in her hands and had received only a single, faded sword from the heavens.
Strangely, I thought the sobbing Seol-yoon resembled me.
The past where I knelt and sobbed in a blood-soaked mansion. The boy who despaired at a reality he could not accept no matter how much he thought about it; the boy who screamed while vomiting rage and hatred toward the world; the boy who broke the final promise and oath he made to his mother and swung a blade with a foolish body and talent.
And so, the boy who awakened the blood of forgotten Steel and is still grinding the blade of revenge. The somber girl before me resembled that boy. Yes, the still-ungrown me and Seol-yoon were alike.
“Seol-yoon.”
Truly, so very much…
“Let us duel, you and I.”
* * *
The final battle of the Conquest War that took place on the Eastern Continent in the past. How did the war between Han and the Khan Empire of the “Great Land” proceed and conclude? That war was not as noble as people thought. The end of the Conquest War proceeded and concluded in a manner that was utterly “war-like.”
The “Great Land” chose tactics unbefitting an invincible conquering army. They blockaded supplies flowing into the peninsula and sent spies disguised as residents of Han to burn down rice paddies and fields. They even mobilized shamans to ruin the harvests. Though unknown to other nations, they also used fake appeasement tactics and the dual-track diplomacy of fire and parley. It was not honorable. But war is precisely that—dishonorable. The Khan Empire knew that history is written by the victors. And they knew that as long as they won, they could distort the facts later, no matter what they did.
The great “Descendant of Khan” turned a blind eye to the dishonorable deeds committed by his subordinates. He feigned ignorance even while knowing. Only then could the “Descendant of Khan” remain noble. Even if he were caught in the future, he could dismiss it all as the independent actions of impious vassals.
Thus, the end of the Conquest War flowed in a very tedious and cliché manner. Arrows flew back and forth, they fought with swords and spears, and they even smeared filth like feces and urine on the city walls, hoping by some fluke that an epidemic would break out in the opposing camp. They even catapulted diseased corpses. Both sides desperately wanted this war to end.
There was no such thing as a great hero from legend or myth appearing to suddenly and drastically change the situation. There was only the “Descendant of Khan,” who was so great he could throw in any number of insignificant soldiers, and a single King who held on tenaciously by any means necessary to fulfill the duty of the monarch he had inherited.
In the midst of such a struggle, it was simply that the “Great Land” had overwhelmingly more supplies and an overwhelmingly larger number of troops, and thus they could hold out longer. That is the nature of war. The side that can hold out longer wins.
Since the Khan Empire planned to advance into the Central Continent after pacifying the Eastern Continent, they did not pour in their elite troops. The “Descendant of Khan” also did not step forward, except for when he killed the Guardian Dragon. To achieve the great task of the future, the Khan Empire poured in all their insignificant cavalry. They had too many anyway, so a culling process was necessary. That is why that war was so horrific, tedious, and overflowing with sorrow.
As that war was being recreated, the War Duel, contrary to people’s expectations, was also very “war-like.” Even though fighters had intervened, the protagonists here were the defender faction and the conquering army. It was because their numbers were overwhelming, and they were far more desperate than the fighters. However, the balance between the two sides was very tight. Even if one side was overwhelmingly more numerous and powerful, a siege is a battle where the defending side has a tremendous advantage.
Therefore, the fighters were originally intended to receive attention from the “latter half” of this War Duel. The fighters, as an external force, were perfect for the role of breaking the tight balance. The plan was for the fighters to distinguish themselves one by one among the exhausted soldiers, highlighting the Dragon’s Relics in the process to increase their value and dramatically build the narrative of the duel.
But.
“…”
At this moment, the protagonists of the War Duel were not the defender faction or the conquering army.
“That guy is a total crazy—”
“Quiet. You’ll break the concentration.”
Silence flowed through the spectator seats.
Everyone was looking at the same place.
“Shut your mouth and watch.”
The protagonists there were two swordsmen.
“Because this might be a sight we’ll never see again…”
Every spectator could feel it.
“Truly.”
The result of this War Duel would be decided by the duel between those two swordsmen.
It was ridiculous that two mere individuals could dictate the outcome of a war, but strangely, none of the spectators found it odd. That was how overwhelming the momentum radiating from the two swordsmen was. It was truly overwhelming.
“Sword Demon Liam and the Black Bride… After this duel is over, there won’t be a soul in Steel City who doesn’t know those two…”
The faction of the fighter who won that duel would soon be the victor.
Everyone naturally thought so.
Everyone’s heart was growing hot.
“Hmm.”
Well.
“But, the Dragon Sword the Sword Demon is holding… why is the blade gone? Isn’t it a bit strange? It’s damaged as if someone bit it off…”
“Shut up! Does that matter right now? A legendary scene we’ll never see again is unfolding—”
“N-No. But isn’t it important? It’s the winner’s prize…”
“I said shut up! You socially inept loser who can’t read the room—”
“…”
It was a stroke of luck for Arhan, who had thoughtlessly stuffed the winner’s prize into his stomach.
A very great stroke of luck.
* * *
Seol-yoon knows the tricks of the small gladiator.
The small gladiator can become many people.
Sometimes he becomes a Ronin like the wind, sometimes an assassin of the Free City who reeks of death, and sometimes he transforms like an Orc. He might even be a boy until last night and become a young man the next day. Seol-yoon does not know what the mysterious talent the small gladiator shows originates from. But rather than doubt, she always harbors anticipation.
Who will he become next?
What kind of sword will he wield?
“…”
This time, too, the small gladiator became a new person.
And as he became a new person, he wielded a new sword.
“…Ha, haha.”
And.
“What is… that?”
This sword was clearly different from the previous ones.
Seol-yoon looked down at her body.
There was a vivid mark on her armor.
A sword mark.
“…It’s quite surprising.”
Just one step.
She lived thanks to that one step.
If it had been just one step deeper, Seol-yoon would have died right then and there. She would have made a lonely exit without even being able to showcase the new realm she had attained or the chance to reveal the clue to the “Sword Runner” she had grasped.
That was how excessively lethal the sword of the small gladiator, Arhan, had just been.
No, could that even be called a sword in the first place?
“As expected, you are amazing.”
Seol-yoon looked straight ahead.
In Seol-yoon’s eyes, Arhan was a very peculiar sight. He was not a venomous swordswoman, an assassin of the Free City, a knight standing before the twilight, a wild Orc, or a wandering Ronin. It was not something that could be defined by such titles. If one had to name it, this expression would be correct:
“Truly.”
A flame.
A lamp that suddenly illuminates its surroundings in a dark world.
“So, I’m going to pour everything in, too.”
Gazing at Arhan, who wavered like a single flame, Seol-yoon murmured. In the next moment, Seol-yoon’s heart throbbed powerfully. What throbbed was not the heart that supplied blood to her body. It was the second heart that supplied Mana instead of blood. The “Mana Heart” surged. Along with it, “The Path” that allowed the power of a superhuman to dwell in Seol-yoon’s body spread out like a spiderweb.
A power unbefitting a girl’s slender body dwelled within her. But the movement of the second heart did not end there. “The Path” circulating within the body resonated with the outside. Thus, “The Path” that spread like veins did not exist only inside Seol-yoon’s body but also clearly manifested outside her body.
As the Mana inside her body and the Mana outside resonated, “The Path” now twinkled clearly for anyone to see. The intricately woven “Path” sprouted behind Seol-yoon’s back like an organ. It was a symbol. A symbol that a swordsman had finally begun to run through the world.
The world calls that symbol, with awe:
“Everything I have.”
Wings.
