The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman - Chapter 413

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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 413

“Come now, an opportunity this lucrative won’t come around twice. Watch Raon’s duel, make some money, kill two birds with one stone!”

Rimer clapped his hands together and raised his voice to draw in more customers.

“A spectacular showdown between Raon Zigheart, the dog handler leading a pack of mad dogs in the Mad Dog Squad, and Mustan, the Sword Ghost’s Disciple and the young prodigy who will shake the world! This is the perfect venue to enjoy the spectacle!”

At his exuberant proclamation, the hastily constructed Gambling House filled to capacity.

—Sigh…

Wrath shook his head as he watched Rimer.

—I’ve witnessed countless elves in my time, but this is the first one whose personality is so utterly at odds with his race.

He muttered in wonder at how such a creature could emerge from among the dignified elves.

I nodded curtly.

‘I never knew an elf like that existed either.’

When I thought of the elven race, I typically envisioned beautiful appearances, high affinity with nature, exclusionary temperament, and a quiet life in harmony with the natural world. Of these traits, Rimer possessed only the aesthetic appeal.

—I told you before. Those ears are modular. Pull on them and they’ll come right off.
‘That might actually be true.’

I chuckled and nodded. If not for his handsome face, his behavior would be indistinguishable from the thugs lurking in the Back Alley.
Following Wrath’s logic, I found myself genuinely questioning whether those ears were detachable.

I approached Rimer’s increasingly crowded Gambling House.
The gathered crowd was speculating on today’s victor, placing their wagers accordingly.

“Ah, who should I bet on?”
“Obviously Raon. Did you know he earned the epithet ‘White Sword Dragon’ through gambling?”
“I’d normally pick my benefactor, but the opponent is who they are.”
“Exactly. He’s not just anyone—he’s the disciple of Sword Ghost, one of the Five Sword Masters. We can’t take this lightly.”
“Ugh, this is tough. What do we do….”

Normally, money should have flowed toward Raon, who had shone in this battle, but Sword Ghost’s reputation was so immense that people hesitated to place their bets easily.

“Ah, forget it! I’m betting on my benefactor!”
“Right. If we’re unsure, let’s go with loyalty!”
“The White Sword Dragon is definitely the favorite. He ended this war single-handedly, after all.”
“Me too—Raon!”

As those standing directly in front of the betting counter placed their wagers on Raon, those behind them nodded in agreement to bet on him as well.

“Ah, you all don’t know the full story.”

Rimer smiled smugly as he gazed at the pile of money stacked in front of the betting counter.

“As I mentioned earlier, this war wasn’t ended by Raon’s strength alone. I played a crucial role.”

He spoke of how he had barely managed to end the war thanks to his own support, which came when Raon was exhausted and faltering, and exhaled with excitement.

“Huh? The person in question is right there! Raon!”

Rimer gestured toward Raon, who stood blankly in the background.

“Hah….”

Raon exhaled sharply upon seeing Rimer.

‘That guy really….’

I never imagined he’d try to exploit gambling instead of feeling embarrassed. His shamelessness rivaled even Merlin’s.

“Raon. Tell them yourself! Did you end it alone at the end?”
“No, that’s not the case.”

Without Rimer and Wendy Arian’s help, I wouldn’t have been able to cut through the Fraud Orb, so I shook my head.

“Then what would have happened in the Lower Castle if I hadn’t been there to help?”
“It would have been far more dangerous.”

Once again, I found myself forced to answer honestly.

“See! I told you he’s all hype. Hype created by rubbing soap all over his palms like some king!”

Rimer had just moments ago been singing praises about the Mad Dog Squad’s leader and the White Dragon, but now he was calling me nothing but hot air.

“I can see the confusion on your faces, and it pains my heart. Allow me to offer a hint. Before the Sword Ghost’s Disciple arrived here, there were rumors that he had captured an apostle of the White Blood Cult and a layer master of the Black Tower.”

He claimed he’d only learned during the festival that the Sword Ghost had a disciple, yet he continued spouting nonsense.

“Moreover, Raon once bore the epithet ‘Minor Sword Ghost.’ To seize that very epithet, Mustan will give his absolute all in this duel!”
“Gasp! He captured an apostle and a layer master?”
“His momentum was certainly sharp—more than worthy of the Sword Ghost’s Disciple name.”
“The Minor Sword Ghost epithet, you say? If that’s at stake, he’ll fight with everything he has.”
“Now I’m hearing it, but I’m even more confused….”

As the crowd sank deeper into contemplation, the Third Prince approached the betting stand and placed down a pouch of gold coins.

Thud!

The heavy sound of the pouch striking the table drew all eyes toward it.

“Five hundred gold coins on Raon Zigheart.”

His massive wager ignited desire in the eyes of everyone present.

“Gasp!”
“Five… five hundred gold coins?”
“Five hundred means….”

Everyone fell silent, their minds racing through the calculations of potential payouts.

“I’ve decided! I’m betting on the Sword Ghost’s Disciple!”
“Ten silver coins on Mustan!”
“Move aside! I’m going first!”
“I’m even wagering my child’s candy money on Mustan!”

The people who had been hesitating abandoned their doubts and dumped their money onto the table.

“Your Highness?”

I called out to the Third Prince.

“Uh….”

The Third Prince flinched and averted his gaze, looking toward Rimer instead.

‘What’s this?’

It was strange—he had the expression of a child caught stealing after placing his own bets.

‘Don’t tell me…?’

I furrowed my brow and sent an aura message to the Third Prince.

[Did your commander order you to do this?]
[W-well, that is….]

The tremor in his response confirmed it—Rimer had definitely given the order.

[Why would His Highness participate in your commander’s gambling… Oh!]

As I turned it over in my mind, the picture of how Rimer was manipulating the Third Prince became clear.

[Could it be Martha?]
[Gasp!]

Seeing the Third Prince’s shocked reaction, I was certain.

Rimer must have known the Third Prince harbored feelings for Martha, and had promised him information about her in exchange for expanding the gambling den.

I bit my lip.

‘What am I supposed to do with this guy?’

This was practically fraud gambling. I couldn’t believe such a person existed.

“Here! Here!”
“Hurry up and pay us!”
“I’m betting on Sword Ghost’s Disciple!”
“I’m going with Raon!”

I considered stopping them, but their eyes were already glazed over with madness. If I tried to intervene, a riot would surely break out.

“Now it’s your turn!”

Rimer, unable to handle the customers alone, gestured to the side.

“Yes, yes….”

Dorian, who had been hiding in the corner, burst out and began recording the amounts people had wagered, shoving the money into his pouch.

“What are you doing now?”
“I’m the bank today….”

Dorian sniffled as he collected the money.

“A portion of today’s gambling den fees will be donated to rebuild the Arian Family! Please place your bets thinking of it as a donation!”

Rimer loudly announced that a significant portion of today’s commission would be donated to the Arian Family.

“A donation?”
“Then I should bet more!”
“Shut up and give me my winnings!”
“Raon!”
“Mustan!”

With the noble cause of charity now in play, people began wagering even the spare change they’d been holding back.

-As if that would happen.

Wrath shook his head, saying there was no way that bastard would do anything good.

“I can’t back out now that I’ve said I’d donate.”

Even if it’s Rimer, he wouldn’t lie about a donation. I couldn’t have imagined he’d come up with such a good idea, so I let out a hollow laugh.

Looking at it now, I could see that the stall’s signboard also had text about donations written on it.

‘To think I’d see the Unit Master again… huh?’

I dropped my jaw as I read the inscription on the signboard.

At the end of the sign, in letters so minuscule that even a master would need to concentrate to read them, was written: [Commission: 40%].

‘F-forty percent?’

Even illegal gambling operations charged only 10-20% commission, yet 40% was an absolutely insane rate—one that would make loan sharks weep.

‘Now I understand why he’s talking about donations.’

With a 40% commission, he’d rake in money hand over fist, and it was clear he intended to donate only a pittance from that haul.

-The True Demon King said it himself. That fool is beyond redemption.
“Sigh….”

I exhaled deeply as I watched Rimer, whose eyes had turned to gold coins.

So this is what a true dark elf really is….

*

*

*

Mustan finished his preparations for the sparring match and made his way to Lectar’s chamber.

“Master.”

He bowed his head to Lectar, who sat on the sofa gazing out the window.

“It’s time for our match.”
“I see.”

For the first time in two days since meeting me, Lectar turned his head.

Crunch.

Mustan bit his lip as he watched his master’s eyes grow hollow and distant.

‘Damn it…’

He had wanted to fight that bastard to prove he was better than Raon, but instead, all he’d managed to show was Raon’s audacity.

Ever since meeting Raon, Lectar hadn’t spared him a glance—only gazing upward at the sky while sipping wine.

Mustan clenched his scabbard as he pictured Raon reflected in his master’s eyes.

‘Arrogant bastard.’

Defeat me and then cross blades with my master?

The memory of that conceited fool spouting such presumptuous words without even knowing his strength made his grip tighten involuntarily.

Creak.

His scabbard groaned as if it might splinter under the pressure.

Thinking of Raon—who had claimed the Minor Sword Ghost’s title and the Sword Dragon’s epithet that he’d coveted, and stolen even his master’s attention—made his chest burn with bitter resentment.

‘No matter what, I’ll break him.’

Raon merely belonged to Zigheart; he hadn’t inherited Glen Zigheart’s martial arts.
It was only natural that he, who had inherited the Sword Ghost’s techniques and trained for far longer, would emerge victorious.

“Master.”

Mustan stepped closer to the Sword Ghost.

“I will win today’s duel and ensure that arrogant fool’s blade never reaches you.”
“Be careful.”

Lectar slowly turned his head.

“That child is strong. Don’t underestimate him. Treat him as the mightiest opponent you’ve ever faced.”
“The mightiest opponent….”

Mustan bit his lip.

‘So he does acknowledge that bastard….’

Lectar was not someone who granted recognition easily. The thought that his proud master would praise that young brat over him made his heart clench painfully.

Especially since he hadn’t been chosen as Lectar’s disciple directly—his anger had long since transformed into seething rage.

“Please watch, Master. I will prove that I alone am worthy of being your disciple!”

Mustan turned away, his eyes burning with a chilling intensity.

Lectar shook his head as he watched Mustan’s retreating back.

“He’s deeply mistaken.”

His first disciple appeared to be laboring under a grave misunderstanding, but there seemed little point in saying anything more now.
In fact, it might even prove beneficial for him. So Lectar let it be.

“Sigh….”

Lectar gazed out the window once more and exhaled a heavy breath.

“I’ll know whether my suspicions are correct soon enough.”

*

*

*

Raon ascended to the Sparring Arena before the sun reached its zenith.

Word of the duel had spread far and wide, so the area surrounding the Sparring Arena was packed not only with the martial artists who had come to participate in recruitment, but also with members of the Arian Family.

“Uwaaaaaaaa!”
“He’s arrived!”
“Raon! Raon! Raon!”
“White Sword Dragon! White Sword Dragon! White Sword Dragon!”

The roar that erupted was even more magnificent than what Zigheart had received—perhaps because these were all people who had faced me at least once.

As I raised my hand to acknowledge the cheers, the crowd on the opposite side parted, and Lectar and his disciple Mustan approached with heavy, deliberate steps.

Mustan bowed his head to Lectar before ascending to the Sparring Arena.

“Uooooo!”
“Mustan! Mustan!”
“The Sword Ghost’s Disciple!”
“The Saint who slew the Apostle and the Layer Master!”

Thanks to those who had fallen for Rimer’s schemes and wagered money on Mustan, the cheers supporting him were equally fervent.

Mustan approached the center, his eyes gleaming with a murderous intensity as if we were about to engage in a life-or-death duel.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day.”
“Neither have I.”

I nodded calmly in response.

“The epithets ‘Minor Sword Ghost’ and ‘Sword Dragon’—you obtained them through luck. Had I emerged before you, those names would have been attached to me instead.”
“I have little interest in such titles. You’re welcome to take them.”

I truly held no attachment to epithets. I would have been content being called simply Raon Zigheart as before, so I shrugged indifferently.

“That’s precisely what irritates me. Your arrogance.”
“That doesn’t seem to be all of it.”

Mustan had emanated a similar savage aura from our first encounter until now. This wasn’t mere irritation at arrogance.

“Today, I’ll silence that mouth of yours.”

He grasped his sword, his eyes blazing with an intensity that seemed to burn with raging fire.

“No one’s ever done that before.”
“Shut your mouth!”
“Even your curses are identical.”

I chuckled softly and stepped forward. I faced Mustan at a distance where our breathing nearly touched.

As we both assumed our ready stances, Borini Kitten climbed onto the Sparring Arena.

“I am Borini Kitten of Owen, serving as today’s arbiter.”

He bowed respectfully to Mustan and me in turn.

“Killing is absolutely forbidden. Since this is a sparring match, I ask that you show each other proper respect.”
“Understood.”
“Acknowledged.”

Borini Kitten heard our responses and withdrew to the edge of the Sparring Arena.

“Then I shall commence the sparring match between Raon Zigheart and Mustan!”

He lowered his hand that had pointed skyward and descended from the arena.

“Raon Zigheart.”

Mustan drew his blade and rushed forward immediately. From the start, he unleashed his aura at full power. With eyes burning with inferiority, he brought his sword crashing down.

“Hm?”

I narrowed my eyes as I observed Mustan’s diagonal slash descending toward me.

‘What is this?’

There wasn’t just one or two subtleties woven into that blade strike.

Crash!

It was swift, heavy, intense, sharp, multifaceted in its variations, and infused with phantasmal essence.

Boom!

I retreated to the left, stepping into a Taehwa stance to observe his sword more carefully.

“Where do you think you’re running to!”

Mustan’s blade curved like a serpent chasing a mouse, following relentlessly. The diverse sword techniques I’d sensed moments before now moved with precision and fluidity.

Screech!

I arched my back, letting Mustan’s sword slip past. My bangs, not yet fully settled, split apart and fluttered through the air.

Thud!

I pushed off the ice with force in my ankles, retreating while narrowing my eyes.

‘…Is it the Myriad Sword?’

Sword techniques vary as much as there are swordsmen. Most sword arts harmonize several principles from different martial schools, but those who master the Myriad Sword are different.

They gather the sword techniques they’re currently learning and those they’ll learn in the future, constantly developing them into new forms.

The scent of the Myriad Sword emanated from Mustan’s swordplay.

‘So the Sword Ghost mastered the Myriad Sword….’

Until now, only Glen Zigheart and Derus Robert were known to have mastered the Myriad Sword, but it seemed the Sword Ghost had also achieved it.

‘However….’

I clicked my tongue softly as I watched Mustan unleash consecutive sword strikes while wrapped in blazing aura.

‘This one is all show.’

The Myriad Sword is one’s own technique created from the convergence of countless sword arts, but Mustan’s blade lacked harmony between its principles.

Swift yet not fast, heavy yet not weighty, strong yet lacking power. He’d mixed every technique together, but none were truly his own, and none harmonized.

‘And he’s not even looking at me.’

His shoulders were tense, his hands gripping with excessive force. From the start, he’d been using sword techniques unnecessarily filled with power—not to target me, but to show off to the Sword Ghost behind me.

‘A meaningless sparring match.’

My eyes grew cold and sharp. There was no point in prolonging this any further—my opponent was merely venting his frustration without gaining anything from our exchange.

“You won’t be able to dodge this!”

Mustan rushed forward like lightning, thrusting his sword that had been held back in a reverse grip.
He wove the techniques of his heavy blade to seal off every escape route, layering within it the essence of swift strikes, powerful strikes, and even the deceptive techniques of illusory and phantom strikes that dazzled the eye.

Rumble, rumble, rumble!

My body grew heavy as if gravity itself had intensified, and my vision filled with the radiant glow of his blade wrapped in crimson aura. It was a sword strike of unparalleled brilliance.

‘Even a master of exceptional skill couldn’t properly counter such a dazzling and overwhelming sword momentum. But…’

I’m not one of them.

I walked a path of ten thousand swords one step further ahead of Mustan, so I could easily shatter such clumsily woven swordplay.

I decided to offer a lesson to this fool who walked the same path of ten thousand swords.

Boom!

I stepped into the True Stance. Hot energy surged from my legs, enveloping my entire body as I closed the distance between myself and Mustan.

Zing!

The moment his sword strike was about to reach my skin, I drew the Heaven-Piercing Sword. The explosive aura of Manhwagong surged through every mana circuit in my body, erupting from my right hand in intense crimson flames.

Mustan’s eyes, which had been consumed by envy, transformed. His pupils dilated in shock as his mouth fell open.

‘It’s already too late.’

There was no point in regaining composure now. My drawing technique had already reached his sword strike.

Boom!

The essence contained within the Heaven-Piercing Sword wasn’t as varied as Mustan’s, but in this moment, it achieved perfect harmony—the speed, precision, and power that were most needed.

The subtle yet harmonious principles of my technique shattered like moonlight, colliding head-on with the formidable sword strike Mustan unleashed.

Clang!

The principles embedded in Mustan’s blade were erased one by one.
Swiftness vanished, weight crumbled, transformation and illusion faded. When all principles disappeared, what remained was a single ordinary sword.

Screech!

I poured every last ounce of strength into my wrist as I drew the Celestial Sword across.

Crash!

Mustan’s sword, stripped of everything, split in half and embedded itself in the Sparring Arena floor.

“Ah….”

I spun the Celestial Sword and brought it to the throat of the terrified Mustan. He trembled, his lips quivering, unable to muster any response.

“I have kept my promise to show you the results.”

Rather than looking at Mustan, whose eyes had yet to comprehend reality, I lowered the Celestial Sword while gazing at the Sword Ghost behind him.

“I would like to request a second match.”

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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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