Training to become a 「sword runner」.

Several days had passed since we began our endless sparring, dressed up under the name of guided training. Ever since I found a clue, I could distinctly feel my sword changing little by little with each passing day and night. Once I could feel the results of my training, motivation welled up on its own. Nothing was quite as valuable as progress I could see.

Liam had been right.

My training was like the process a blacksmith used to forge a sword. Just as metal was hammered into shape, I was being honed with time.

Into a new shape. Into something harder.

“The square looks quite nice now.”

The Caravan estate was gradually changing too. It was Haylin and Audrey’s joint creation. Both were capable mages, and mages made excellent estate managers. The scenery changed by the day. There were even merchants selling goods out on the streets now. That morning, I had gone out and bought a container of milk, and it tasted quite good. It tasted like the milk people used to give me as a child.

“Oh, young lord. Thanks to you, I’ve learned some wonderful magic.”

“Thanks to me? What do you mean?”

“You’ll see. Thanks to you, I have a wonderful teacher now!”

Haylin was saying things I couldn’t make sense of. A teacher? Had that proud witch agreed to teach her magic? When I gave Audrey a questioning look, she offered no explanation, wearing her usual haughty, harrumphing expression. Haylin beamed as she spoke.

“You can look forward to it. I’ve learned some new magic. Or should I call it shamanism? I’m going to test what I’ve learned tonight, and I’ll be sure to show you too!”

“Oh, all right.”

“Promise!”

In any case, change and growth were good things.

Watching Haylin and Audrey leave, I headed toward the training grounds. Seolyun was there. So were those wooden swords I was thoroughly sick of. Beside the nicked wooden swords lay dozens of broken ones.

“Shall we get started again today?”

Dozens of wooden swords that I had broken.

“Yes.”

Yes, change and growth were good things.

I, too, was changing.

And growing. Unmistakably.

* * *

A sword runner’s wings were, in essence, something like a mirage. They were not actual parts of the body, merely manifestations of Mana. It was easier to understand them as the 「path」 made visible in another form. A sword runner’s wings sprouted naturally once their power began affecting the outside world, created through the resonance between the Mana in nature and the Mana within their body.

Seolyun’s were much the same.

True to the endlessly changing nature of 「Myriad Transformations」, her wings constantly wavered, taking a form that was both incomplete and complete. Wings that could become anything because they had no definite shape. Her Mana therefore tended to be somewhat light. It needed to be able to change at a moment’s notice.

That was Seolyun’s only weakness.

Her Mana was lighter than that of other swordsmen at the same level. If she faced an enemy equal to or stronger than herself, she was bound to suffer Mana shock. But she knew her weakness, so she never tried to meet an opponent head-on. She turned their strength against them or neutralized them through wondrous transformations. Technique taken to its utmost limits. Something possible only with a genius’s talent.

To Seolyun, what Arhan was doing looked insane.

“... Are you growing wings with your mana heart as their root? Instead of sprouting new wings outside your body, you’re going to connect the 「path」 and 「wings」 all the way from your heart? Why on earth would you do that...?”

Arhan had abandoned the process of making his Mana lighter and separating it. Instead, he was trying to form wings rooted in his heart while keeping their hardness intact. Not creating something new, but developing and connecting what already existed. The moment Seolyun realized his idea, she was horrified.

“If you do that, Mana shock against a stronger enemy won’t leave you with just a minor injury. Something you could normally resolve by folding your wings away for a while will reach all the way into your heart. Connecting everything is incredibly dangerous.”

“Yes, it would be dangerous.”

“If you know that, why...?”

Seolyun considered Arhan’s actions a foolish, ignorant eccentricity. She thought he had spent so long agonizing over his wings that he had gone astray.

‘Why on earth did the immortal let him do this?’

The immortal of the sword was always at Arhan’s side. Why had that great immortal stood by and watched him make this mistake? Seolyun couldn’t understand.

But...

“Let’s cross swords before we discuss it.”

Once the sparring began, Seolyun gained a faint understanding of why Arhan had made that choice.

“... Huh?”

A brief exchange.

They traded three or four attacks, just like those in their dozens of previous bouts. When the short spar ended, Seolyun let her sword slip from her hand without realizing it. No, she hadn’t let it go. She could no longer hold it. With startled eyes, she looked at the wooden sword on the ground. It was intact. Next, she looked at her hands.

“...!”

Her palms were a wreck. Her soft skin had torn and was bleeding, and her fingers were so bruised that she couldn’t put any strength into them. Both her hands had been ruined before she even noticed. Forget holding a sword—she could barely make a fist.

“What...is this?”

Frowning, Seolyun looked at Arhan. He hadn’t moved a single step from his spot. He stood firm, as though rooted in the ground, holding his wooden sword. To her, he looked like a statue erected in a city. A statue made of steel.

Even unfinished, Arhan’s sword was unnaturally solid. So much so that she found herself wondering whether a swordsman truly needed that much solidity. Wiping the blood from her hands, she looked at him again. Only then did she realize.

“Arhan.”

“Yes?”

“... Your sword. Who on earth is it meant to fight?”

Seolyun’s sword was optimized for fighting other swordsmen. She could instantly imitate a sword technique after seeing it once, then improve upon that perfect imitation and put it into practice. Stealing and devouring others’ techniques, wielding them alongside the ever-changing 「Myriad Transformations」, she reigned invincible among those of equal ability. Her talent was a gift from heaven.

She believed swordsmanship was decided by tactical maneuvering and technical perfection. Martial arts had been created in the first place so the weak could stand against the strong. That was why she believed technique mattered most when determining superiority between practitioners of the sword.

That was not merely her personal opinion. In fact, beyond a certain level of swordsmanship, physical conditioning was no longer considered important. The body only needed to meet a basic standard. Even specialized academies reserved stamina and strength training for trainees who had not reached 「sword beginner」 or new students who had only just attained it.

What mattered was technique.

Which sword styles had you mastered, and how thoroughly? How formidable were the styles you possessed? How well could you read your opponent’s moves, and how many moves could you bring to bear yourself? Everyone said those things were the essence of swordsmanship.

Seolyun had heard those words endlessly while learning the sword.

They were considered common sense whenever swords were discussed on this continent.

But...

“Injustice.”

Arhan’s sword was utterly shattering the common sense Seolyun knew.

“Things I cannot accept.”

Technique? His was crude. If they competed on technique alone, he would lose ten out of ten bouts against academy graduates.

Sophisticated tactical maneuvering? He had none. He possessed Suspicion, which let him read an opponent’s moves astonishingly well, but even that would ultimately lose to systematic swordsmanship.

To Seolyun’s eyes, his sword could only look unimpressive.

But...

“This world that takes away precious things without a second thought.”

Seolyun could not picture that unimpressive sword breaking. A blade with neither technique, tactical finesse, nor refined form. Yet a blade that no storm could ever sweep away. A sword that seemed destined to stand proudly in place even if the continent split apart and the sky collapsed. Immovable steel that would neither waver, break, nor retreat.

“My sword is a sword for fighting the world.”

Seolyun could not understand those words.

Nothing like that had existed in the swordsmanship she had learned. Yet strangely, her heart raced. Whenever she looked at Arhan’s sword, an inexplicable thrill stirred within her.

“... How strange.”

Change and growth were good things.

“Let’s go again.”

The boy was not the only one growing.

The girl facing him was changing too.

“Again.”

Everyone was rising higher.

Upward, ever upward.

* * *

「By the standards of this era, that girl’s sword is the right one.」

Liam spoke on a moonlit night.

「A long time has passed since swords first appeared in this world. Countless techniques have been established, countless people have studied them, and countless records have accumulated. That girl’s sword could be called the most efficient, cleanest, most perfect sword.」

“...”

「One could say she walks a path that could not be finer for a swordswoman.」

I listened silently to Liam.

「But tell me.」

“...”

「Can one excellent swordsman truly turn a blade against the world?」

Liam’s question carried more weight than ever.

「Can they point a blade at the continent shaped by the great nine goddesses and seven chief gods, and raise their voice to declare this world unjust and unacceptable? A mere individual? A swordsman who is nothing more than a mortal—can they truly do that? Even if they could...would those exalted beings deign to hear such an insignificant voice? They would not. They would ignore it, look down upon it, and trample it.」

“...”

「Young descendant, you said you would turn your blade against the world. You said you would avenge yourself upon the swordmaster who took everything from you, and that you would become a swordmaster to do so. For that, you must become a being capable of taking on the world. You must become a single sword that can stand against anyone.」

My reflection filled Liam’s eyes.

「You have little natural aptitude. You cannot walk the same path as that girl. But you possess another talent.」

“...”

「A hero’s talent.」

Reflected in Liam’s eyes, I still looked unimpressive.

「The talent to become a legend, build an epic, and finally become a myth.」

“...”

「Fortunately, that talent is the one best suited to learning the sword of Caravan.」

My frame had grown larger, my body thicker, but my face had yet to lose its boyishness. I was panting from exertion. All of it looked pathetic and insignificant.

「In the first age, there was no such thing as a sword. When I first took up a sword and swung it, the enemies I had to face were not swordsmen wielding excellent techniques. Nor were they enemies divided into levels by mana hearts, paths, or wings. My enemy was an age stained with blood. My enemy was a world gone wrong, filled with malice.」

“... Ah.”

「And so I had to take up a sword capable of facing them.」

The midnight moon shone coldly.

Beneath its blue light, Liam’s eyes shone too.

「A sword that would not break even against the entire world.」

“...”

「Steel was born of that resolve.」

My stamina was exhausted.

I had swung my sword to my limit, and felt as though I might collapse at any moment.

「Young descendant.」

“Yes.”

「Are you ready to take flight?」

“Yes.”

Even so, I do not fall.

Instead, I stand firm and look at Master.

「Do you remember what I told you before?」

“Which words do you mean?”

「That you would need three blades to take flight.」

I remembered.

Since Master had told me that, I had eaten 「Gale」 and 「Lantern」. I needed to eat just one more blade to make three. Why was he bringing it up now? Was he about to choose the final blade I needed to eat? As those questions arose, Master spoke.

「There are already three blades within your body that can serve as offerings for your wings.」

“What? Aren’t you mistaken? So far, I’ve only eaten two swords—”

「No, there are indeed three. You simply have yet to recognize it.」

Those were words I had not expected.

「From now on, you will swing your sword without rest so that you can properly melt down the Gale and Lantern you have digested. When you understand those two blades completely, you will learn the identity of the third sword melted within you.」

“...”

「And only then will your Wings of Steel sprout.」

I had never imagined anything like this.

There was a third sword I knew nothing about?

As my mind reeled, Master continued.

「You would do well to hurry.」

He wore a sinister smile.

「It seems the world has no intention of leaving you in peace.」

Master was gazing far into the distance.

* * *

While the boy and girl continued their training, a groaning voice rang out in one corner of the village.

“Ugh.”

The voice belonged to Haylin. At an hour when she would ordinarily have been in bed, she had climbed a ridge on the estate and was gazing up at the night sky. At the pitch-black sky where the stars and moon had risen.

“According to the method he taught me, this should be right. Ugh. I don’t know if I’m seeing it correctly. I should have come with Lady Audrey. Maybe I got too ambitious...”

Haylin had climbed the mountain alone to try out what she had learned. The art she performed was a somewhat unusual one. It was neither the dark magic she had learned from Jerry Selpit nor the basic magic she had learned from Audrey. It was newly imparted magic—or, more precisely, shamanism.

“Hmm.”

Shamanism taught to her by the orc shaman Sherdik.

A traditional shamanic art passed down among the orcs, called 「Constellations」. Normally, a human body could not perform it, but the Mana rendered sinister by Jerry Selpit’s influence allowed Haylin to use orc shamanism. Thus, her eyes were seeing a vista no human could see. An arcane power that read the movements of the stars to foresee the future. Astrology, the foundation of 「Constellations」. Reading the orderly movements of the stars, Haylin discerned the fate approaching the Caravan estate—a fate unfolding in the highly abstract, symbolic manner characteristic of shamans.

“What is this? Seven...swords...?”