The God-Possessed Swordsmanship Genius - Chapter 7

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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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Chapter 7 of “The Swordsman Blessed by a God”

Allen’s eyes flew wide.
The sudden window that had appeared could have startled anyone, but Allen did his best not to let the surprise show on his face.
This was the front of the Patriarch’s Hall.
Though a thick iron door stood between them, Father might be watching him even from behind it.
Allen steadied his racing heart and calmly studied the message once more.

‘A new fragment?’

The marbles of the demons he had swallowed were the hearts of the Question Mark.
If there was a heart, it wasn’t strange for another fragment to exist somewhere else.

‘Weren’t those guys only looking for a single heart?’

And now it was the third fragment.
If there was a third, there had to be a second, and there might even be a fourth and a fifth.
They hadn’t torn the continent apart just to find one marble. They were trying to gather every fragment scattered across the land.
If that was the case, then perhaps the reason the demons targeted Bishuken was…

‘Could it be because of the marble here?’

-“Don’t tremble so much.”

That was when Lucas’s voice reached him.
A Whisper Transmission, slipping straight into his mind.
It was a technique that stretched mana thin as a thread, carrying a voice directly into another person’s head.
It seemed Lucas had taken Allen’s agitation for trembling.
Well, having failed his first mission and returned to stand before his father, it was hardly strange for him to be mistaken for someone shaking with nerves.
Thanks to that, Allen quickly composed himself and nodded.

Yes, he could not afford to look stiff for any reason. He hadn’t traveled all that distance and turned back the clock just to put on a pathetic show.
Having regained his composure, Allen flashed a faint smile.

-“Aren’t you trembling too, Brother?”

At Allen’s voice arriving in his head, Lucas gave a visible start.

‘A Whisper Transmission?’

Since Allen now possessed mana too, it wasn’t impossible for him to use Whisper Transmission. For a swordsman who had reached a certain level, Whisper Transmission was not a particularly difficult technique.
But Allen had only received his mana a few days ago.
And yet he was already using Whisper Transmission? And doing it so casually, as if it were nothing at all?
Before the shock could even fade, Iorga spoke.

“The Patriarch is waiting. Please, come in.”

At Iorga’s words, the knights standing at attention on either side pulled open the doors of the Patriarch’s Hall.
With a deep, rumbling groan, the great doors of the Patriarch’s Hall swung open.

Thud.

Guided by Iorga, the two of them stepped inside.
A ceiling soaring well over ten meters high. A long crimson carpet stretching all the way to the back, and far ahead, the snow-white throne.

And there, upon it, sat the very man he had longed so desperately to see.
The closer they drew, the more clearly Father’s face came into view.
Meeting his father felt different from meeting Lucas again.

The greatest swordsman on the continent.
Axion Bishuken.
He sat on the throne, busily working through a mountain of papers.
One might think that the greatest swordsman on the continent would be sharpening his blade even while seated on a throne, but.

Scratch, scratch.

He moved his pen with great urgency.
A towering stack of documents. Eyes skimming page after page. Hands that never stopped moving.
What the continent’s foremost swordsman held in his hand was no razor-edged blade, but a sharp-pointed pen.

The two men halted at a respectful distance and sank to one knee in greeting.

“Lucas Bishuken, reporting my return from the mission.”
“Allen Bishuken, reporting my return from the mission.”

Still kneeling, Allen offered a greeting in his heart.

‘I’m back, Father.’

Despite the two of them bowing before him, Axion’s eyes did not leave his papers.

“You’ve completed the mission?”

The question was directed at Allen.

“Yes.”
“I heard you escaped on your own. By the time Lucas arrived, you had already knocked down every last bandit.”

Tap.

Only then did Axion set down his pen and lift his head.

“Allen Bishuken.”

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.

Somewhere along the way, the Patriarch’s Hall had transformed into a plain where blade-sharp winds howled.
A desolate plain, strewn with countless swords.
This place was a graveyard of blades.
A stage of shattered, broken, gleaming-blue swords where not even an inch of ground could be walked on.
The space itself had not truly changed.
Axion’s aura had stirred up Allen’s mind, provoking a fear that lay buried at the very bottom of his heart.

“Come closer.”

This was a kind of test.
A question of whether you would dare to walk this road and reach me.

‘You look just as I remember.’

He was not merely strict; he was a father who inspired real fear.
Rather than opening his arms to welcome the son he had not seen in decades, he was making him walk a thorny path of blades.
Of course, only Allen himself knew this.

‘Then gladly.’

Thud.

Allen walked the road as Axion had summoned him.
It shouldn’t have been real, yet the blade seemed to cut through the floor, and the stabbing pain struck him just the same.
A flicker of interest crossed Axion’s eyes.
Pok, pok, a few shards of blade stabbed into the soles of his feet, and the pain kept coming.

Sseuuuu.

Before he knew it, the scenery had returned to the Patriarch’s Hall.
Along with the scenery, Allen’s footsteps stopped too.
Axion had halted him not with words, but by withdrawing his mana.

“…I’m back.”
“Good work.”

A faint smile bloomed at the corner of Axion’s mouth.
Iorga, watching that smile, realized that something had passed between the two of them.
The Patriarch had often put his sons to the test. And judging by the Patriarch’s reaction, Allen had passed the trial with flying colors.

“Then let me ask. Was your mission a success, or a failure?”

Allen could tell.
Most likely, his answer to this question would decide whether the mission was judged a success or a failure.
Thankfully, he didn’t need long to think. It was a question with a ready answer.

“Neither.”

Neither success nor failure, but somewhere in between.

“Why? Because the family recorded it as a failure? But Lucas’s report states that you subdued the bandits yourself.”
“That is a separate matter from the bandits.”
“Then what?”
“It’s because there is an issue related to this mission that has yet to be resolved.”

Allen sensed it.
That his father already knew the hidden side of this mission.
That he might already know who was behind it, and what sort of scheme had been woven into the assignment.
And choosing not to tell him each detail one by one had been the right decision.

“Oh?”

Axion nodded, as if satisfied with the answer.
Soon after, the verdict on Allen’s mission was handed down.

“This mission is on hold. You will receive neither punishment nor reward.”
“Thank you.”
“Still, you’ve brought back something else apart from the mission.”
“That’s right.”

Allen stirred mana at his fingertips.
A faint trace of mana that flared for only an instant before fading away.
For the first time, a flicker of interest crossed Axion’s eyes. Iorga, who had witnessed the same sight, also wore a face of genuine surprise.

“How did you overcome the Curse of Bima?”
“Heaven must have taken pity on me. I failed the mission, and once I return to the family, I’m sure to be punished.”
“Nonsense.”

That reaction was much like Lucas’s, and like Axion’s as well. I couldn’t help but think that they truly were father and sons.
Perhaps he wasn’t curious about the details, for Axion didn’t press him further.

“Do you have anything else to say?”
“There is one thing I’d like to ask.”
“What is it?”
“What must I do to obtain that sword?”

The one Allen pointed at was one of the two swords behind Axion.
Ever since he had stepped into the Patriarch’s Hall, Allen had been aware of it without pause.

Thump.

His heart was still pounding.
As though it were a magnet, his heart seemed to be drawn toward the Fragment.
To be precise…

‘It’s the orb set into that sword’s hilt.’

He simply knew it, on instinct.
The Fragment was in the sword right there on the right.
The thing the demons had been after was the Fragment in that very sword.

“You mean the Eunha Sword?”
“Is that sword the Eunha Sword?”
“That blade is bestowed upon the Heir Apparent of Bishuken. Since the post of Heir Apparent is still vacant, it rests in the Patriarch’s Hall.”

The sword of the Heir Apparent.
In other words, unless he became Heir Apparent, he would never be able to obtain the Fragment.

‘It’s too big a thing to simply ask for.’

He could feel the System wanting that Fragment. It was as if his heart were a magnet, pulling at it.
If what the demons had sought in the human realm was the existence of the Question Mark, then unraveling the secret of this was important to Allen as well.
But he could not simply steal a sword that was the very token of the Heir Apparent.
It was the moment a great burden landed on Allen’s shoulders.

“Why? Are you interested?”
“Yes.”
“Carrying out missions the way you do now won’t get you anywhere near it.”
“Then I’d better do well from now on, if I want Father to acknowledge me as Heir Apparent.”
“This is a public setting. Use the proper form of address.”
“Understood, Lord Patriarch.”

Allen rose from his seat and bowed his head.

“Then I’ll take my leave first. An uninvited guest ought to step aside. Unlike me, Brother has succeeded in his mission, so he’ll surely be rewarded.”
“Go on.”
“Oh, right, and one more thing.”

As if he had only just remembered, Allen asked.

“Have you eaten?”
“…?”

Axion, Lucas, and Iorga all wore puzzled expressions.
I wondered what he was going to say, and it turned out to be whether they had eaten.
Unlike the other two, who looked as though this were some out-of-the-blue, absurd question, Axion raised one corner of his mouth and answered.

“Not yet.”
“You must be hungry. The sun’s already high overhead. Would you care to join me?”
“I’m fine. See that you take care of yourself.”
“What a pity. I’d hoped we might share a meal together after such a long time.”

At their exchange, Lucas’s eyelids fluttered.
Part of him wanted to send a whisper transmission and shout at him. What do you think you’re doing? How is this not rude? Aren’t you afraid of Father?
Of course, Allen was afraid too.
But still.

‘Father can’t imagine how glad I am right now.’

Every part of him wanted to leap toward the Patriarch’s seat, throw his arms around his father, and embrace his elder brother as well, savoring a reunion decades in the making.
But that was impossible. The three of them stood in entirely different positions.

A simple inquiry after their meal.
That was the most joy Allen could show at this moment.
His wish to share a meal together was no empty courtesy.
It would likely be awkward and uncomfortable enough to make him want to disappear, but even so, Allen wanted to eat with his father.
Of course, he was flatly refused.

‘But I’ll make sure we eat together next time.’

As Allen left the Patriarch’s Hall, his eyes gleamed.

‘First, let’s settle the matter at hand.’

* * *

Rustle, rustle.

The sound of paper turning.
Bartolo, Duke of the Owen Kingdom, felt his skin prickle each time a sheet of paper was turned.

As the Royal Chief Archivist, he had handled countless documents. Stack every page that had passed through his hands, and he might build a castle.
Even so, each time the man before him turned a page, Bartolo could not help but tense up.

‘I’m going to lose my mind.’

He was so tense he could barely bring himself to swallow.
Bartolo stole a glance past the man, toward the figure behind him.
The young nobleman standing behind the man wore a sword at his waist. His eyes were so fierce that it seemed he would draw his blade at the slightest misstep.
It was quite literally like sitting on a bed of needles.
If only someone would say something, anything, he thought, just then.

“There seems to be a problem.”

The man with the steel-hard bearing and a small scar near his eye spoke.

Saul, Steel Castle Lord.

He was one of the seven Castle Lords said to rank just below the Bishuken’s Head of the Family.
Castle Lords governed the Bishuken’s power scattered across the continent, and they stood as symbols of the Bishuken’s strength.
Before him, the Royal Chief Archivist was no more than a lamp flickering in the wind.

“W-which part, if I may ask?”
“The part where the swordsmen of Steel Castle attacked five border guards of the Owen Kingdom. As far as I understand, it was a justified fight born of misunderstanding, wasn’t it?”
“That’s… well…”

A curse rose right up to the back of Bartolo’s throat.

‘Over a single sentence like this, they summon a duke of the kingdom all the way out here?’

It was truly beyond anything he could have imagined.
To begin with, it made no sense at all that they were poring over the Chief Archivist’s records, which ranked among the kingdom’s state secrets.
Above all, this was the sort of matter that could have been settled by letter. Never mind wasting ten full days to travel all this way.
Even so, Bartolo did not dare to argue.
No, he couldn’t even allow his expression to show anything.

A few years ago, the king of Mel Kingdom, who had clashed with the Steel Castle’s lord, was overthrown. The Steel Castle’s swordsmen had reduced an entire royal house to ruin in a single morning.
Before the man who led such people, what was a royal chronicler-in-chief supposed to say?
In the end, Bartolo bowed his head politely, despite everything he truly thought.

“It seems there was some mistake on our end. I apologize.”
“See that it’s corrected.”
“Y-yes, of course. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

At Bartolo’s reply, the Steel Castle’s lord handed over the records he had been reading and took a sip of tea.
Only then did Bartolo let out a breath of relief and changed the subject.

“Our royal house is doing everything in its power to keep our relations with the Steel Castle, and beyond that with Bishuken, smooth and steady. And not just in this matter, but…”
“My lord.”

It was just then that a servant’s voice came from outside.

“A guest has arrived.”
“A guest?”

They were already receiving a guest here.
Yet the announcement of a new guest meant that this newcomer was either more important than the one inside, or had brought a more pressing matter with them.
The Steel Castle’s lord raised a hand to cut off Bartolo’s words and asked.

“Who is it?”
“Well…”

The servant hesitated for a moment.
As though this were a visitor who, by all rights, should never have come at all.

“It is Young Master Allen.”

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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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