The Archmage’s Swordsmanship Is Too Strong - Chapter 23

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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23
Chapter 23. A Trade in Blades
***
“You’re the one who can complete me.”
The old man’s shoulders flinched sharply.
He turned his head slowly.
His blue eyes were wavering.
The expression of someone confronting a phantom from the past.
“……Complete, you say.”
Charles let out a bitter smile and lowered his Cane.
He pulled a crumpled pack of Cigarettes from his pocket.
The hand that lit them trembled faintly.
“You’ve got the wrong address. I’m not the kind of man who teaches anyone. My blade is already broken, and my time has passed.”
He exhaled smoke in a long stream, avoiding my gaze.
The eyes of a defeated man.
The typical repertoire of someone who treated himself like refuse.
Ordinarily, I would have backed away or appealed to shallow sentiment.
But I know that precise self-interest moves people far more than emotional manipulation.
Especially if they’re a Hunter.
“No. Your blade hasn’t broken. That strike just now—even active-duty Hunters can’t imitate that level.”
“Just words. Flattering an old man, are you?”
“I’m not lying. I need strength, and you—”
I paused mid-sentence and fixed my gaze on his empty right sleeve.
I’d aimed precisely where it would hurt him most.
“Don’t you need revenge?”
Crunch.
The Cigarette filter Charles had been holding snapped between his teeth.
The helplessness from moments before evaporated instantly, replaced by a thick, chill killing intent.
I’d touched a raw nerve.
“Revenge? What does a pup like you know?”
The air grew heavy.
The killing intent of an S-rank Hunter.
Pressure that would have sent an ordinary person into convulsions.
But I received that killing intent without so much as a blink.
It only confirmed my hypothesis.
Just moments ago, when I’d mentioned the Campania Gate, he’d been angry enough to shatter a Soju glass.
In my memories before the Regression, Campania had been a “land of glory” to him.
But this world is different.
In this world, the Sword Saint Kang Tae-yoon doesn’t exist.
‘Campania without Kang Tae-yoon.’
If that’s the case, there’s only one answer.
He lost.
There would have been nothing but brutal slaughter instead of glory.
He’d lost his arm there, lost his comrades, lost his honor as a Hunter—and emerged as a lone survivor.
The world had surely branded him a coward who abandoned his allies and fled.
It’s predictable.
I’ve seen that scenario play out countless times in the ruined world.
‘That was your wound. That rotting scar.’
Once certainty crystallized, my words became blades.
“The Campania Gate.”
When I spoke that name aloud again, Charles’s expression twisted like a demon’s mask.
“Reinforcements never came. You were isolated.”
“……”
“You watched your comrades torn to shreds one by one. A man like you wouldn’t have dropped your blade until the end—but eventually you had no choice but to flee, leaving an arm behind.”
Charles’s eyes trembled violently.
The reaction of someone hit squarely in the mark.
I didn’t stop—I drove deeper into the wound.
“The relief of survival was consumed by guilt that only you lived. And the hatred for those who pushed you into that hell.”
“Shut your mouth……”
“Is that why you drink—to forget? Or to keep from forgetting that hatred?”
“This bastard!”
Charles’s foot struck the ground.
The shockwave crashed over me.
I didn’t give ground.
If I retreated here, the conversation was over.
I fixed him with a steady gaze and shouted back.
“You didn’t run. You’re not the type to run.”
“······!”
“Then only one answer remains. You were cast out. You barely survived by sacrificing an arm, stripped and expelled into this corner. So you’ve been rotting here, waiting for death that never comes, consuming yourself from within. Isn’t that right?”
“Do you want to die?
The Cane pressed against my throat.
Killing intent pierced my skin.
But I laughed.
“No. I want to kill.”
“······What?”
“Like you, I have people I want to tear apart so badly it’s driving me mad. That’s why I need strength.”
I grabbed the Cane aimed at my throat with my hand.
“You’re old now, and armless. You can’t take revenge yourself. But your sword remains.”
“······.”
“Teach me the blade. Then I’ll become your sword. I’ll be the right arm you lost, and I’ll tear apart that Gate, those people for you.”
This wasn’t a disciple’s pleading to serve a master.
It was a contract.
A transaction backed by our shared hatred.
Charles breathed heavily.
His blue eyes swept across me.
Testing whether this was mere recklessness or genuine conviction.
I met his gaze without flinching, staring into his depths.
After a long silence, he lowered the Cane.
“······Ha, hahaha.”
A dry laugh erupted from him.
His lips twisted.
Not a kind smile.
A predator’s grin at the sight of prey—or a villain’s upon finding a fellow conspirator.
“You’re mad. Completely unhinged.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I were sane.”
He pulled a fresh cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
“You’re right. I’m old and sick. I can’t strangle them with my own hands. Every night I kill them in my dreams, but when I wake, I’m just a crippled old man.”
He rose from his seat.
His massive shadow fell over me.
“But I can sharpen a blade. A very keen one. A mad blade.”
He tapped my shoulder.
It was heavy.
“Don’t mistake this, boy. This isn’t instruction. It’s Tempering.”
“······.”
“Master and disciple? I don’t do sentimental games like that. I’m a blacksmith, and you’re the steel. I’ll heat you and hammer you to burn out the impurities. It’ll be agony—bone grinding, flesh burning. Even if you want to run, I won’t let you.”
He saw me not as a person, but as a tool.
An instrument to complete his revenge.
I didn’t care.
I was using him to grow stronger as well.
A thorough symbiosis—mutual exploitation.
Exactly what I wanted.
“That’s what I do best. Enduring pain.”
Charles chuckled at my answer.
“You’re quite the madman.”
He extended his hand.
Calloused, rough, and cold.
I clasped it.
“Remember one thing.”
Charles squeezed the hand he held and pulled me closer.
His blue eyes gleamed with a chill.
“I’m going to use you thoroughly for my revenge. Whether you fall apart or break doesn’t concern me.”
I let out a low chuckle and met his gaze.
“Then I’ll take tuition first. Hand over a Credit Card.”
“······What?”
“I’m hungry.”
He thrust his empty palm forward without a trace of shame.
The lethal atmosphere from moments before had vanished entirely, replaced by the shameless drunk from before.
For a pact with a legend, it was a start far too mundane.
***
The moment I stepped through the front door, my pocket vibrated.
A text message.
[Card Approved: 452,000 KRW – D Mart]
“······What?”
I couldn’t trust my eyes.
I’d handed him a Credit Card to buy a bottle of Soju and some snacks, and he’d spent 450 thousand won?
I checked the detailed receipt.
Lightning Soju (Box) x 3
Mana Stone Cartridge (Household Small) x 10
Spicy Ramen (5-pack) x 2
Dried Seafood Variety Set x 1
Tofu Kimchi Meal Kit x 3
Daily Essentials (Soap, Toothpaste, Toilet Paper, etc.)
Large Mirror x 1
“This old bastard.”
A laugh escaped me despite myself.
The man had claimed he’d only buy alcohol, but he’d gone shopping with intent.
It was absurd enough that he’d bought Soju by the box, but the items were ridiculous.
Tofu kimchi and ramen.
Wasn’t he from England?
On top of that, he’d even been frugal enough to pick up daily essentials.
“Is he… broke?”
It was possible.
After retirement, his pension would’ve gone to buying alcohol, and he lived alone—a one-armed old man with no family.
A legend struggling with poverty. It felt hollow.
“Sigh···.”
I collapsed onto the sofa.
Exhaustion pressed down on me, but my mind was filled with the image of Charles’s empty sleeve.
I pulled out my smartphone and searched for “Campania Gate.”
Before the Regression, articles about the Campania Gate had poured out.
A Korean Hunter had subjugated an S-rank mutant Gate, after all.
But now, things were unfolding as expected.
[The Fall of the Azure Lightning Swordsman]
[45 Hunters Dead: Who Bears Responsibility?]
[Italian Hunter Association Decides on Permanent Seal of Campania Gate]
[Invictus Expels Charles, Taking Responsibility for the Tragedy]
[International Hunter Association Withdraws S-rank Promotion Discussion for Hunter Charles]
‘The butterfly effect.’
The countless catastrophes my brother had held back.
There’s no shield to stop them now.
Hunters crippled or dead like Charles—there would be many.
Weakened humanity.
And the approaching Apocalypse, right on schedule.
‘If that’s the case··· this world is far more dangerous than I thought.’
A chill ran down my spine.
The Evil Divine Dragon Zephyros, ten years from now.
That monster, which my brother couldn’t stop even with all his strength—I have to stop it alone in this depleted world without him.
‘I have to grow stronger.’
Simple leveling up won’t be enough.
Charles’s Swordsmanship.
That technique of detonating Mana to transcend physical limits—I have to make it my own.
That is the only solution.
“Airi.”
[Yes, Successor.]
“You analyzed Charles’s Sword Strike from earlier, didn’t you?”
[Yes. It was an extraordinary level of Aura control.]
[He compressed the Aura inside his muscles, then released it only at the moment of impact.]
“Compared to my Aura, how does it measure up? In numbers.”
[Analysis result: The quantitative amount of Aura is not significantly different from yours, Successor.]
[The total may actually be higher on your end.]
“······What did you just say?”
An answer I hadn’t expected.
I shot to my feet.
“That can’t be right. You said he was a monster. The pressure was different.”
[Data does not lie.]
[Charles’s Aura Core is damaged from age and injury.]
[His output itself is comparable to yours, Successor.]
The revelation struck me hard.
Comparable output. Yet the result was heaven and earth apart.
If what I swung was a club, he had fired a cannon.
“So it comes down to efficiency, then.”
My Synchronization method—converting Mana into Aura.
The loss and delay that came with it.
And the complete absence of technique in handling Aura.
It was like using the same fuel in an F1 engine and a farm tractor.
‘I have to catch up.’
There was only one way forward.
To steal his technique.
To carve that sensation into my own body.
Sleep didn’t seem to be in the cards for tonight.
***
Four in the morning.
The forest before dawn was pitch black.
The Forest behind City Hall.
Charles stood in a clearing where few people ever ventured.
He still wore that weathered trench coat.
In one hand, instead of a Soju Bottle, he held a Wooden Training Sword.
“You came.”
“I did.”
“Your expression is good. There’s hunger in it.”
He nodded with evident satisfaction.
And he tossed me a Wooden Training Sword.
A heavy oak blade.
“Now then, shall we begin? I won’t waste time with complicated explanations.”
He drew a line on the ground.
“Ten thousand strikes. Ten thousand cuts.”
“······What?”
“Just cut. Don’t use Aura—pure strength alone. Until you reach ten thousand, don’t think about resting.”
It was remarkably simple training.
But I took my stance without hesitation.
Before the Regression, I would have faltered.
Now I carry the Sword Saint’s legacy within me.
“Simple is best.
Whoosh, slash.
Whoosh, slash.
Repetitive swings.
A thousand, two thousand.
Sweat ran down and my shoulders grew heavy, but my pace didn’t falter.
If anything, as the count climbed, my body found its rhythm.
The Sword Saint’s muscle memory was optimizing every motion.
‘This is manageable.’
Nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine. Ten thousand.
I finished the last swing and caught my breath.
I was in better shape than I’d expected.
“I’m done.”
I reported with confidence.
Charles had been nodding off on a rock, but my voice snapped his eyes open.
“Hmm, your body’s got more use in it than I thought.”
He yawned as he approached.
Then he seized my wrist.
“Ever trained in Swordsmanship?”
“No, sir.”
“Figured. Your blade work is completely undisciplined. Like English cooking—all brute force, no finesse.”
Charles’s eyes went cold.
A strange force flowed from his grip.
Oppressive weight.
My wrist became impossibly heavy.
It wasn’t mere pressure.
It felt as though gravity had intensified tenfold on my wrist alone.
The air grew thick and sticky, dragging the sword downward.
Heavy Pressure—channeled through Aura.
“What is this?”
“A shackle. To control that wild strength of yours.”
Charles released my hand.
But the weight remained.
The wooden training sword felt like it weighed two hundred kilos.
My arm trembled uncontrollably.
“All right. Round two.”
The old man smiled cruelly.
“Thirty thousand this time. But if the blade wavers even a degree, you start from the beginning.”
Insane.
Thirty thousand swings like this? My arm would snap off.
“What’s wrong? Can’t do it? You were going on about revenge and all that, but you’re folding at this?”
His eyes weren’t smiling.
An unspoken ultimatum: quit now if you’re going to quit.
I gritted my teeth.
Pride flared up inside me.
Who was I?
A man who’d clawed his way to the pinnacle of the Ninth Circle, coughing blood the whole way.
Was I really going to break on some parlor trick of weight?
“I’ll do it. I’m doing this.”
I lifted the sword again.
My shoulder tendons screamed.
But I didn’t stop.
One.
The blade traced an arc and fell.
So heavy. Like swinging a sword through mud.
Two.
My form nearly collapsed. I locked my core and held.
Three, four…
After a thousand swings, sensation vanished.
A state beyond pain—pure emptiness of self.
Only the blade’s trajectory and the contraction of muscle remained in my mind.
“It works…!”
In that process, I understood.
It wasn’t about overpowering the weight.
It was about flowing with it.
Not fighting the heaviness, but using it to cut.
This was what Charles wanted me to see.
The old man set down a soju bottle, settling himself at a distance.
Like an audience at a circus, he watched my desperate struggle with the fascinated gaze of one truly entertained.
***
Whoooosh—
The shower spray hammered against his spine.
Scalding water melted the rigid muscles beneath his skin.
His whole body throbbed, but the sensation wasn’t unwelcome.
‘I did it.’
Thirty thousand strikes.
By the end, his hands had gone numb, but he’d never once lowered the sword.
And he felt it.
The faintest current of Aura merging with his own muscles, flowing as one.
This training works.
He toweled off his hair and changed into fresh clothes.
A comfortable shirt and slacks instead of a crisp suit.
Standard attire for a civil-servant Hunter.
He checked the clock.
8:30 a.m.
Thirty minutes until work.
‘Might as well head in early.’
He made his way to the Annex Building 2nd Floor.
The morning air was crisp.
He opened the office door.
Ding.
Silence.
Not a soul.
The office lay empty.
Hong Tae-hwa certainly wouldn’t be in yet, and Kim Dae-han was apparently out on assignment.
He settled at his desk and spread open the file folder Kim Dae-han had given him.
[Ability Management Division Operations Manual].

– Registration and management of Awakened Ones relocating to jurisdiction
– Scene control and emergency response for small-scale Gate incidents
– Disposal and sanitation of small monster corpses
– Complaint intake (primarily noise and property damage)
“No clerical grunt work, he said.”
Thoroughly bureaucratic duties, all of it.
When would Kim Dae-han reel in the bait he’d thrown?
He drummed his fingers on the desktop, lost in thought.
That’s when it happened.
“Oh? You’re here early?”
The door swung open and someone stepped inside.
It was Chu Jae-hee.
The same checkered shirt as yesterday, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
A convenience store sandwich dangled from his hand.
“Good morning, appraiser. You’re quite diligent.”
“Oh, no—actually, there were some parts of yesterday’s appraisal that kept bothering me.”
He scratched the back of his head with an embarrassed laugh.
Deep shadows bloomed beneath his eyes, but his irises gleamed with an almost feverish brightness.
“I couldn’t sleep at all, so I stayed up all night, and the moment the sun came up I bolted over here. I was dying to verify my findings.”
“Hmm?”
A workaholic.
No—that was obsession.
The fine dust of Mana clinging to his cuff spoke volumes about what he’d been doing through the night.
He hadn’t simply arrived early.
He’d been consumed by the Artifact, burning through the hours.
‘This guy… is far from normal.’
There wasn’t a single sane person in the Ability Management Division.
He smirked and switched on the coffee machine.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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