The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman - Chapter 112

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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 112

“Hmm.”

Kuberard watched Raon’s back as he examined the sword, a satisfied smile crossing his face.

‘The world never stops moving.’

Living as a blacksmith, I had encountered countless warriors. From geniuses hailed as prodigies in their youth to absolute beings who had built their own legacies and stood at the center of the world.

Each one had left an unforgettable impression, but the one before me was different.

‘It’s not a matter of strength.’

At fifteen years old, his martial prowess was remarkable—undoubtedly impressive. Search across the vast Continent, and perhaps a handful might match it.

But his vessel was something else entirely.
Just as a blacksmith forges a sword by tempering crude iron, this boy was tempering his spirit to forge his blade. It was an auspicious nature capable of achieving both divine sword unity in the near term and the sword of the heart in the distant future.
Up close, it was the unity of body and sword. From afar, it was an auspicious quality capable of achieving even the sword of the mind.

“That’s only possible after reaching Master rank…”

Raon’s martial prowess is roughly at the Expert level. I have no idea how he managed to reach that mental state while breaking through so many walls.

“Zigheart will shake the world once more.”

Kuberard muttered that he wanted to see that interesting world and took another swig of alcohol. Now that an interesting guest had arrived, even the cheap liquor tasted sweet.

Vroooom.

He lowered the bottle at the sudden vibration sound and looked up.

“Huh?”

The red dagger on the table cried out, and Raon was reaching toward the blade.

“Wait a second.”

I shouldn’t touch that. I have no idea why the sword I stashed away in the corner is here.

“Stop!”

I cried out urgently, but the crimson dagger was already firmly grasped in Raon’s hand.

“Damn it!”
“Ugh!”

Kuberard sprang to his feet and retreated backward, pulling along Dorian, who stood there dumbfounded.

“Why, why are you doing this? I wasn’t trying to choose two. I was really only trying to pick one….”
“Do you see it over there?”
“Huh? What is that dagger? What kind of aura is….”

Dorian swallowed hard. A strange crimson light shimmered like heat waves from the dagger in Raon’s hand.

“It’s a Demon Blade.”
“A, a Demon Blade?”

A Demon Blade—a strange and sinister sword. It was a treacherous object that harbored negative emotions and attempted to control whoever wielded it.

“Damn.”

Kuberard bit his lip. A child whose mind hadn’t fully matured had grasped a Demon Blade, and he would have been corrupted far more easily by the blade’s malevolent aura.

“You must stop it before the malevolent aura reaches your mind! Coward, draw the sword!”
“Uh….”

I picked up the hammer beside me and urged Dorian on. But he simply tilted his head without drawing the sword.

“What are you doing! If you don’t stop now, it will be dang—”
“No, there’s no need to stop. Young Master seems the same as usual.”
“What? With all that malevolent aura pouring out… huh?”

Kuberard’s mouth fell open. The malevolent aura was indeed overflowing. It was blazing forth abundantly.

Yet that aura only spread around the blade itself and couldn’t even approach Raon.

Screeeech!

The spectral blade cried out once more. Unlike before, it wasn’t an eerie resonance—it sounded like the shriek of a dog straining against its leash.

“Are you… alright?”

At those words, I lifted my gaze from the dagger. My crimson eyes, brimming with vitality, were clear and lucid—showing no signs of being bewitched by malevolent energy.

“I’m fine. But this dagger… it’s no ordinary weapon.”
“Hah…”

Kuberard exhaled sharply and stumbled backward.

“What… what exactly are you?”

*

*

*

—How dare you.

Wrath’s voice descended with a chilling dryness that sent shivers down the spine.

—A wretched insect dares covet my vessel.

Genuine fury ignited within him. A blazing blue chill erupted from the dagger, mercilessly crushing the malevolent energy that had surged forth.

Screeeech!

The dagger shrieked as Wrath’s frigid power bore down upon it.

—I shall obliterate you entirely.

Wrath drove razor-thin shards of ice into the blade itself, as if seeking to annihilate the weapon’s very essence.

‘That’s enough.’
-What?
‘Stop right there.’
-Why not! This wretch tried to steal the King’s meal! Without me, you’d have been devoured by that dagger’s resentment!
‘I’m not your meal, and I wouldn’t be consumed by such a blade even without you.’
-You underestimate resentment far too much. True, this blade doesn’t even reach the tips of my toes, but for humans….
‘You couldn’t pierce me either, so how could this?’
-Ugh….

Wrath’s fury ceased in an instant. His mouth hung open as if he had nothing left to say.

‘See? So just leave it alone.’
-How cruelly you speak. You will never die a peaceful death. The King shall gnaw at you for thousands of years, tear you apart….
“What is this short sword?”
-Listen to me!

Raon ignored Wrath’s rambling and approached Kuberard.

“That is….”

Kuberard stared at me and the dagger in bewilderment before exhaling a long sigh.

“A failed creation of mine. As I mentioned, it’s a resentment blade.”
“A resentment blade. I certainly felt the resentment emanating from it.”
“It wasn’t merely emanating—it should have tried to consume your entire body.”
“It was bearable.”
“Hah….”

Though I spoke truthfully, Kuberard let out a hollow sigh as if he couldn’t comprehend it.

“A resentment blade is a sword infused with resentment. Simply put, human negative emotions have taken root in the blade. Within that sword lies….”

Kuberard bit his lip and continued.

“Countless grudges. Viscous, clinging grudges at that.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“Sit down.”

Kuberard gestured to a chair in front of the table. I nodded and took a seat.

“May I listen in as well?”

Dorian retrieved a plush chair from his spatial pouch and leaned back into it.

“In the Southern Region, there exists a small village called Siren. It was a place inhabited by virtuous people who revered a tree named Osello.”

I knew of that village. A small settlement lying just beyond the Robert Family’s sphere of influence, populated by kindhearted folk with little suspicion—I had once used it as an escape route.

“The White Blood Cult’s disciples descended upon that village.”
“The White Blood Cult….”

I narrowed my eyes.

‘Of all people, them.’

The White Blood Cult was a colossal religious organization belonging to Oma, alongside Eden and the Nambuk Alliance.
Based on their First Doctrine of staining the Continent with white blood, they were an utterly deranged collective that assaulted everything in existence.

“Then the village of Siren….”
“Not a single soul survived. Half died on the spot, and half were abducted and dragged away somewhere. They even felled the Osello tree, the village’s guardian spirit. All that remained was white blood.”

Where the White Blood Cult struck, the earth was drenched not in crimson blood, but in white—one of their sorcerous techniques.

“This blade was forged from a meteorite fragment I once possessed and a branch of Osello that remained at the site.

Kuberard gazed at the dagger in my grip with wavering eyes.

“You speak of a sword?”
“Yes. I intended to console the spirits of the victims with this blade in place of a memorial stone. But….”

The memory seemed to strike him then, and Kuberard clutched his temples, his expression darkening.

“The moment it was completed, the white blade and crossguard turned crimson. Contrary to my intentions, the resentment of Siren’s people became embedded within the sword. A resentment so overwhelming it was nearly unbearable.”
“Indeed.”

I nodded in agreement. As he said, the blade was saturated with an immense malevolent aura. Had I been anyone else, I would have been entranced by it and swung the sword without restraint.

“There’s an old saying that virtuous people become terrifying when angered, but I never imagined it would reach this degree. Even those called the strong couldn’t withstand that aura, which is why I’ve had no choice but to keep it. I simply cannot fathom how you’re able to wield it.”
“Hmm….”

I drew the short sword from its sheath. Not just the scabbard and guard, but the blade itself was dyed a vivid crimson—as if to eternally remember the resentment of that day.

Whirrrrring!

The red blade trembled, and a malevolent aura began to spread. A more virulent and sinister energy crept across the back of my hand, far more potent than when it lay dormant in the sheath.

Shhhhring!

I activated the Ring of Fire. The five rings encircling my heart resonated in unison, elevating my very essence.

Screeeech!

The sword’s malevolent aura, as if pushed back by Wrath, began to shriek under the weight of my superior presence.

“Hah! Truly remarkable.”

Kuberard’s eyes wavered like a boat struck by a wave.

‘Like an onion, this one.’

I thought I had seen enough, yet each time I looked again, another layer revealed itself. I could not regard him as merely a child who had not yet earned the qualifications of a swordsman, nor one who had not reached adulthood.

“The sword was forged to console a soul, yet it yearns for vengeance. That is why it cannot even serve as a memorial stone. I was working on sealing it, but I never anticipated this.”
“You mentioned earlier that half were abducted?”
“Yes. The White Blood Cult always kills half on the spot and abducts the other half. There were only half the village’s bodies left at the scene.”

I gazed upon the short sword, which wailed as if in sorrow, and closed my eyes.

A childhood from my previous life, now lost to memory. I too had been abducted by the Robert Family’s men.

But these souls had suffered far worse—all had perished. Their resentment must run deeper than my own.

Whirrring.

Hearing the sword’s sobbing cry, it felt as though rough sandpaper scraped across my chest.

“I…”

I opened my eyes once more and gazed down at the short sword with quiet resolve.

“I have much to accomplish, and time is scarce even for those tasks. I cannot dedicate myself to aiding your revenge. However, should I ever cross paths with the White Blood Cult, I will grant you what you desire.”

The short sword’s resonance began to fade into silence.

“Will you come with me?”

The short sword’s cry ceased. Its blade trembled as if contemplating the question.

Uuuuung!

The most powerful resonance yet erupted from the short sword. Spiritual energy flowed forth, but unlike before, it carried no malevolent intent.

Zzzing!

A crystalline blade cry resonated with the spinning ring of fire. It was a pure, luminous sword song.

“A… a blade cry?”

Kuberard watched the short sword emit its brilliant cry alongside Raon, then tumbled backward in his chair.

“I’ll take this one.”

Raon smiled faintly and sheathed the short sword.

“You’re… taking that with you?”
“Is that not acceptable?”
“In all my years, I’ve never met someone so brazenly confident about claiming a legendary weapon.”

Despite his words of disbelief, Kuberard’s expression appeared refreshed and satisfied.

-What are you doing? You’re choosing that wretched creature?
‘Yes.’
-That one is a parasite! A parasite coveting what is mine, and you would harbor it within yourself? Have you lost your mind?
‘A parasite, you say…’

I gazed down at Wrath with an exasperated expression.

—What is the meaning of this! Why do you gaze upon me with such insolence!
‘One parasite or two—there’s hardly any difference, is there.’
—P, parasites? Two parasites? You don’t mean…! Are you speaking of me?
‘Exactly. You coveted this blade just as you coveted my body, after all.’
—This lunacy! I am the Lord of Wrath, master of the entire Northern Region of the Demon Realm….
‘No. Lord, nonsense—the truth is you failed to claim my body and now you’re clinging to me.’
—C, clinging? Me?! Urrrrgh! Raon Zigheart! Your mouth wasn’t pierced so you could spew such drivel! Since my birth, I have never endured such humiliation!
‘Then stop flailing and speak sense.’

Raon turned his head toward Kuberard, leaving Wrath to his rampage.

“What is the name of this blade?”
“I forged it from the beginning as a memorial monument, so I never gave it a name.”
“Then would it be acceptable if I named it?”
“Do you have something in mind?”
“You said you wished to comfort the people of that village. I would like to call it Requiem—the Requiem Blade.”
“A requiem blade that sheds spectral essence. How intriguing.”

He rose with a faint smile.

“Take it. But honor the promise you made earlier.”
“Of course. As long as I bear the name Zigheart, I will continue to clash with Oma.”
“Ah, a spirit blade. To obtain a spirit blade….”

Dorian sat munching on pastries through his peculiar spectacles, as though he had witnessed the most entertaining spectacle.

“Thank you.”

Raon fastened the Requiem Blade at his waist and bowed deeply to Kuberard.

“What are you doing?”
“Pardon?”
“You need to choose a blade.”
“I’m sorry….”
“I said I would give you a blade. I never said I would give you only a short sword.”
“Ah….”

It seemed he intended to give me another blade as well.

“You’re really giving me a sword?”
“As long as you don’t abandon your craft. That’s all a master asks of a swordsman.”

Kuberard handed over the blade he had been examining carefully moments before.

“I’ll visit Zigheart later to see that Balkan fellow, so don’t treat me coldly.”
“Of course. Our house takes pride in its cooking. I’ll make sure to welcome you properly.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“I won’t forget this kindness. Thank you.”
“Kindness? Don’t mention it.”

The two of them smiled warmly, like sunlight filtering through the alley.

“Then.”

I bowed my head and left the Smithy. As I tried to exit the alley, Dorian’s voice called out from inside.

“You haven’t picked me yet!”

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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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