The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman - Chapter 111

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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 111

Dorian watched from behind a tree as I trained.

“Wow….”

He’d meant to keep watch and prevent others from interfering, but he’d abandoned that duty long ago, now only gasping in admiration.

‘Has he grown stronger again?’

The razor-sharp edge of the blade cutting through air, the grounded stability of footwork pressing down upon the earth—even their seamless harmony. My martial prowess seemed to have advanced considerably from what he’d witnessed in the Training Ground.

‘How is this even possible?’

All I’d done since arriving here was gamble enthusiastically and win, eat mint chocolate eagerly, and steal others’ belongings with gusto.

He’d borne all the worry and tension, yet somehow my swordsmanship had only improved.

‘Wait? Is that aura?’

I began drawing aura as I prepared to execute a proper sword technique. A vivid crimson energy blazed forth, as though sunlight itself had taken form.

“Ugh.”

Unable to contain his excitement, Dorian pulled his favorite round chips from his pouch and bit into one.

Whoooosh!

I stepped into the True Stance and unleashed the Resonance Sword Technique. Every move was one he recognized, yet each carried such magnificent force that none could be defended against.

Screeeech!

Suddenly, the trajectory of the crimson blade shifted ferociously. Light Demon Slash—the vicious technique that had torn through the bodies and spirits of the 5th Training Ground disciples.

Whoooosh!

The rotation of the blade transformed once more. Brilliant scarlet flames bloomed across the sword’s surface, petals scattering like an autumn breeze. A tempest of fire consuming space itself made his hair stand on end.

‘I can’t stop that.’

I’d been watching Raon’s back and trying my best, but I couldn’t shake the conviction that those petals were unstoppable. It was certain. Raon was still growing even in this very moment.

“Sigh….”

Dorian took a deep breath and shook his head.

‘I want to ask for his help.’

If that man came to the family and lent us his strength, perhaps we could achieve ‘that task.’

But.
It felt too risky to broach the subject. No—I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Because that wasn’t why I’d followed him in the first place.

‘It started with curiosity.’

Even when the Branch Family and Main Family mocked him, he remained unflinching, and his tenacity—as if he’d never known the word surrender—drew me to him.

Up close, he was the real deal.
With feats no one anticipated and audacity that astounded, he earned the recognition of the Main Family, Branch Family, vassal clans, and recommended disciples alike.

Though we were separated now, all forty-two trainees of the 5th Training Ground followed Raon in their hearts.

‘He’s truly remarkable.’

As I reached for a second round cracker and brought it to my lips, Raon turned around.

“How long are you planning to just watch?”
“Huh? You knew I was here?”
“You’re eating crackers over there—did you expect me not to notice?”

Raon glanced at the round cracker he’d been eating and let out a hollow laugh.

“Ugh!”

I shoved the remaining cracker into my mouth and dashed toward the Training Courtyard.

“You too.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s been a while since you’ve wielded a sword properly. Loosen up your body.”
“Ah, I’m fine….”
“Do it.”
“Yes, sir!”

Dorian nodded quickly and drew his sword. He unfolded the Soft Sword Technique as Raon had demonstrated.

“Open your elbows a bit more, bend your knees. Slow your breathing to half the normal pace.”
“Yes, sir!”

Following his guidance, I corrected my misaligned stance.

Whoosh!

The moment I settled into the proper form, the wind rising from the blade transformed entirely.

‘With this man, I could go anywhere without worry.’

The conviction returned to me. The certainty that with Raon at my side, I could overcome any trial.

‘Well, except Lower Castle.’

That place honestly frightens me a bit.
Actually, quite a lot….

*

*

*

After finishing breakfast, Raon made his way toward Craftsman Street at the eastern edge of Camelrun. Even at this early hour, the heat rising from the forges warmed the entire street.

‘Memories of the past.’

The days of training at Balkan’s Charcoal Kiln in such sweltering heat came flooding back.

‘That was truly difficult back then.’

I had nearly died enduring the cold rising from within and the heat transmitted from outside.

-Tsk, I suffered far more. The mere sight of heat makes my teeth chatter.

Wrath blew sharp breaths as if pushing away the approaching heat.

“Hmm.”

I surveyed the smithies displaying various weapons—swords, blades, spears, and more.

‘Not bad.’

The blade strength, aura, and balance were well-calibrated. These were masterworks crafted by skilled artisans who poured their passion and sweat into every piece.

-Not bad? Are your eyes knotholes? They would shatter if I merely filed my nails with them. Calling them weapons is an insult.
‘What, are your nails made of diamond?’

I chuckled softly and moved toward the next smithy. I said they were decent, not that I’d buy them. These weapons weren’t inferior, but the sword I already possessed was superior. This wasn’t what I was searching for.

“Young Master.”

Dorian, who had finished surveying the entire Craftsman Street, tilted his head while chewing on a pastry.

“I don’t see the smithy the Third Prince mentioned yesterday?”
“It won’t be in a place like this.”

Greer had said yesterday that rather than this central street, there was a place operating without a signboard tucked between the alleys.

‘Could it be that way?’

On the right side, there was an alley so narrow that barely one person could squeeze through. Judging by the heat rising from it, that seemed to be the smithy Greer had mentioned.

Clang! Claaaang!

As I walked into the alley, the sound of a hammer striking as if splitting a mountain reached my ears. The heat flowing out intensified.

‘I found it correctly.’

Just from the sound of hammers striking the heart of steel, I could tell. The craftsmanship here was of an entirely different caliber than the blacksmiths working outside in the Craftsman Street.

I observed the weapons displayed in front of the forge. They weren’t arranged for sale—scattered haphazardly without any semblance of organization.

I picked up a sword lying nearby.

‘This is….’

No flourish, no refinement. Yet the balance of both edges was flawless, and the blade felt unyielding. There was a substantial weight to it—the kind that would endure any battle.

-Hmm, this one’s passable, I suppose. Though it would shatter the moment I used it to file my claws, naturally.

I ignored Wrath’s nonsense and examined the other blades. Swords, sabers, spears, and daggers—all possessed a level of craftsmanship that transcended anything I’d seen elsewhere.

Clang! Clang! Claaang!

I peered into the forge. An elderly man with white hair, his muscles bulging like earthen jars, brought his hammer down upon the steel. He was aware of our arrival, yet he didn’t pause in his work.

‘Are all master craftsmen like this?’

Balkan at Balkan’s Charcoal Kiln had been the same way, and so was this man. Truly skilled artisans seemed indifferent to the presence of others.

‘Either way, this is definitely worthwhile.’

The blades here far surpassed those I’d seen outside. I’d come to the right place.

“Excuse me?”

Dorian, unable to contain his impatience, called out to the blacksmith.

“We have customers!”
“Dorian.”

Before I could stop him, the rhythmic hammering ceased.

“Ahem!”

The blacksmith straightened from his hunched posture. His height was nearly that of the ceiling itself, his frame rippling with muscle. He resembled an orc.

“We don’t accept customers.”

He turned around, his brown eyes blazing with intensity. Now that I looked closer, his presence wasn’t that of an orc—it was an ogre’s raw ferocity.

“Eek!”

Dorian’s eyes met the blacksmith elder’s gaze, and he let out a sound like a terrified monkey, his legs trembling.

“Leave.”

He waved a hand the size of a cauldron lid with complete indifference, as though gold and customers alike meant nothing to him.

“I came on a recommendation.”
“A recommendation?”

Only then did the blacksmith elder’s gaze shift to me.

“Greer mentioned this place was worth visiting.”
“Greer? Greer… you don’t mean the Third Prince, do you?”
“Yes.”
“That sword-obsessed lunatic recommended this place? That can’t be… huh?”

The blacksmith elder’s eyes swept across my body and arms, and his chin tilted in puzzlement.

“You, what are you?”
“Pardon?”
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Younger than Greer!”

The old man’s eyes widened as though they might burst from their sockets.

“At fifteen, wielding sword energy like that! What in the world are you!”
“I’m not sure what you mean…”
“Your body carries swords within it. Not yet perfectly refined, but large, sharp, and solid blades.”
“I see.”

I nodded, observing the elder’s eyes that churned like crashing waves. He was perceiving the realm of swordsmanship I had cultivated.

The craftsman Greer had introduced was no ordinary person.

“How could you cultivate such sword energy at that age?”
“I simply trained diligently.”
“If diligent training alone could reach that level, there wouldn’t be a single mediocre person in this world. Ha, truly remarkable. Are you destined to become the next First Sword of Owen?”
“No. That has nothing to do with me.”
“Hmm, that’s certainly not Owen’s swordsmanship. This momentum is… Zigheart?”
“Gasp!”

The exclamation came not from me, but from Dorian. He stood there with his mouth agape in shock.

-This is what a true master craftsman is. He discerns a swordsman’s origin merely by observing their technique. When I dwelled in the Demon Realm, there existed such craftsmen. My own blade….
“Yes.”

Since Dorian had already exposed everything, I nodded, ignoring Wrath’s nostalgic rambling about the Demon Realm.

“So it was Zigheart after all.”

He chuckled softly and stepped back.

“The tyrant of the Northern Region has been raising a monster. I’ve witnessed countless swordsmen, but never one like you.”
“My name is Raon.”

A man who could discern my martial prowess merely by observation—courtesy demanded I introduce myself properly with my true name.

“I am Kuberard. Just an old man who cannot die, so I swing my hammer instead.”
“Ah!”

I swallowed hard. Kuberard Jaiton—the legendary master craftsman whose name stood alongside Balkan among the greatest artisans of the Continent, who had forged countless masterpieces between Owen and Valcar.

“Why are you here of all places…?”

A grand master dwelling in some obscure alley was nearly as astonishing as the retired Balkan spending over a decade making charcoal.

“I’ve accomplished what I set out to do, so now I simply indulge in my hobbies alone.”

He gestured for me to enter.

“Um, what about me? How am I?”

Dorian sidled up beside me and pointed a finger at himself.

“What are you talking about?”
“Can you see my sword aura or something?”
“Hmm, a round face, round eyes, chubby cheeks. You’re a coward, aren’t you?”
“Ugh!”

Dorian staggered, struck by the truth of those words.

-This old man. Is he a mind reader with a nose like a dog’s?
‘Apparently so.’

I could understand him sensing my sword aura, but I hadn’t expected him to notice Dorian’s cowardice as well.

-Show me the face of this king, and he shall prostrate himself in reverence upon sight.
‘He’s joking.’

I let out a snort. The moment anyone saw Wrath’s gaunt, pallid face, they’d immediately call him a psychopath.

-You fool! This king’s true face is not this frozen corpse. Beauty! Pure beauty! The most gorgeous visage in the Demon Realm….
‘Sure.’

Wrath shrieked indignantly, but I ignored him and turned my attention to Kuberard.

“So why did you want to see me?”
“I came seeking a sword.”
“A sword?”
“I expect to face some brutal combat soon, so I came looking for a sturdy, sharp blade.”
“Hmm, are you asking me to forge one for you?”
“No, that’s not it. I haven’t become a swordsman yet, and there’s someone who promised to craft my first sword.”
“What?”

Kuberard stopped in his tracks.

“You’re saying you’re not a formal swordsman?”
“That’s correct.”
“What have you been doing with your life? How do you possess such power while still being a trainee….”

He muttered in disbelief and dropped heavily onto a wooden crate.

“A genuine monster after so long. Wait, could the person who promised to forge a sword be Balkan?”
“….”
“That’s it! I heard he retired! He’s back! Kahahaha!”

Kuberard took my silence as confirmation and burst into genuine laughter—the kind that came from the heart. He seemed to share some connection with Balkan.

“Well, I can’t intercept a sword Balkan has already claimed.”

His beard trembled as he broke into a wide grin, then he spread his hand open.

“Take whatever pleases you. Nothing here was made carelessly, so whatever you choose will serve you well.”
“Thank you.”
“No, the honor is mine. A blade that might one day belong to the greatest swordsman on the Continent—my work shines brighter for it.”

Kuberard spread his hand wide, then grabbed a bottle of liquor from the table and drank straight from it.

“Um, may I choose one as well?”
“Of course! I’m in the mood! Go on, you coward, pick one!”
“Ugh….”

Dorian pouted but said nothing in protest, his eyes reddening as he examined the blades.

“Hmm….”

I surveyed the haphazardly arranged swords one by one.

‘The craftsmanship is on another level.’

Even the ones that appeared hastily made far exceeded the Rare grade. Any choice would prove satisfactory.

‘Then what should I…hmm?’

As I examined a longer blade, an odd sound emanated from my left—like something crying out in anguish.

Ziiing!

It wasn’t my imagination. I set down the sword and turned my head.

“Huh?”

Between sword and sword, a peculiar short blade—its scabbard and hilt both crimson—stood alone, its blade gleaming with an otherworldly radiance.

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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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