kscans

Chapter 2: Sword Demon (Part 2)

2

In the end, Bard decided to spend the night by the riverside. He started gathering stones to build a hearth. The old horse, Stavros, was still munching on the grass nearby. When he finished collecting the stones, he heard the sound of two horses approaching.

One of them was Yotish Payne. He wasn’t bothering to hide his killing intent this time. The other was an unfamiliar man, who looked more like a mercenary than a knight. They dismounted and Yotish approached them.

“Hey there, Lord of the People’s Knights. I forgot something and had to come back. Let me introduce you. This is Lord Ven Uril.”

Ven Uril! So this was the man. He was known as the Red Crow, a wandering knight who used to be a knight in a country in the central plains. He had a tendency to challenge strong opponents to duels and was eventually driven out of his country. It was said that he now made a living by accepting requests to duel and kill his opponents. Was he now offering his temporary sword to the Gwendell family?

When someone dies, an invisible red crow flies in and perches by their pillow. When the red crow is seen by the pillow, the person dies. People call this man the Red Crow based on this legend.

There were many strange rumors about this man. The most prominent one was that he wasn’t human. Some said he was a half-breed with demi-humans, but demi-humans couldn’t have children with humans. It was said that it was possible, but the child wouldn’t survive, let alone grow up. It was a strange rumor. Did someone who hated this man spread it out of malice?

“You’re Bard Roen, aren’t you? I’ve been wanting to meet you,” he said in a low, dark voice. Bard thought he had never seen a man with such sharp eyes. However, he didn’t feel any intimidating fierceness or madness from him. Rather, he exuded a quiet and cool atmosphere.

Bard took off his cloak while clicking his tongue. He had his sword at his waist since he heard the sound of hooves approaching. Yotish Payne and Ven Uril tied their horses to the bushes and walked towards them. They were now about ten steps away from each other. Ven Uril signaled Yotish to stop him from getting any closer to Bard.

“So, Lord Roen. I have some business with you,” Yotish said, and then signaled Ven Uril to take four more steps forward.

“First, die,” he said, and Ven Uril drew his sword in response. Bard also drew his sword. “That’s a good sword,” Bard thought as he looked at his opponent’s sword. It shone differently. It was a masterpiece made by a skilled craftsman who used excellent materials. It was slightly longer but thinner than Bard’s sword. Ven Uril’s sword was the type used by swordsmen who valued speed and skill, and it could only be used with one hand. He wore leather armor that looked easy to move in.

At first glance, Bard’s equipment wasn’t much different from Ven Uril’s. Leather armor and a one-handed sword. However, the reality was very different. If they clashed head-on, Bard’s sword could break with one blow. Bard’s preferred fighting style was to use full-body armor and a heavy, long sword. He had honed his fighting style with that equipment over many years. For Bard, an enemy’s attack wasn’t something to avoid but something to endure. However, he couldn’t receive an attack from his opponent with his current equipment, and his opponent was a renowned sword demon and at least a knight. It would be a hopeless battle.

“I challenge you to a duel,” Ven Uril said. Bard thought it was too late for that, but he couldn’t help but smile at his adherence to the rules.

“If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well go all out. But it’s lonely without a shield in my left hand,” Bard thought, clicking his tongue. He replied, “I accept,” while clicking his tongue. Both of them held their swords with their right hand only. They closed the distance of six steps in an instant, and Ven Uril’s sword approached. Bard stood still.

Ven Uril ran his sword diagonally from the lower right. It was like a gust of wind. Bard pulled his left half of his body back and slightly arched his upper body to avoid it. The tip of the sword passed right in front of his left eye, but Bard didn’t even close his eyes and watched Ven Uril’s movements. Ven Uril maintained the speed of his upward slash and turned it around, trying to slash at Bard’s right side from the lower left. Bard stepped forward with his right half of his body and pushed his sword out, deflecting Ven Uril’s sword with a casual outward motion. Ven Uril realized that he couldn’t maintain his intended trajectory and pulled his sword to the left halfway through. He then jumped forward and tried to strike Bard’s chest with a thrusting slash. However, Bard had pulled his sword straight back, and Ven Uril was afraid of receiving a counterattack to his head. He changed the target of his slash to Bard’s sword. The sound of metal echoed as two swords clashed. Ven Uril’s sword struck Bard’s sword on its side, but fortunately, Bard’s sword did not break. Additionally, Bard’s strength allowed him to withstand Ven Uril’s attack, and his sword did not get knocked away. In that moment, Bard had performed three defensive moves.

“The Red Crow must be surprised,” Bard thought to himself. In fact, Bard was surprised himself. The attacks were not easy to dodge. The first attack was predictable, so Bard simply moved his body back at the right moment. He didn’t dodge the sword by looking at it. He was able to strike the reversed sword because he knew the technique. He had learned it from Knight of the Flow* many years ago. When he dodged the first attack, he realized that the sword would come back from below, so he made an estimate of the reversed position and managed to hit it. (t/n: Nagare no Kishi, and if you google that, nhnt*i pop up)

The third attack was more of a coincidence, or rather, Ven Uril overthinking. Bard had been taught by his master that when you can’t read your opponent’s sword, you should hold your sword in the middle to restrain your opponent. Ven Uril had read too much into Bard’s sword movement.

Bard felt a sense of amusement at suddenly remembering something from forty-eight years ago and being able to execute it reflexively. At the same time, he realized something. Ven Uril was a trained swordsman in the regular swordsmanship techniques. He was a master of his craft. Bard thought that the quality of his technique was fundamentally different from that of an amateur like himself who had risen through the ranks on the battlefield. It was a different kind of strength.

Not only was his technique amazing, but his speed was also astonishing. The speed at which Ven Uril wielded his sword was tremendous. Mastery of weapon technique requires a great deal of natural talent. However, sword speed is something that can never be achieved by talent alone. Only the time and effort put into training, which is like bleeding blood, can produce such a miraculous sword speed.

Bard realized that Ven Uril was a man of great effort, the likes of which he had never seen before. He must love swords more than anything. He must only be interested in his own swordsmanship, which is honed by risking his life in a duel. Of course, there is no doubt that this man was born with extraordinary talent for the rapier. But this was not a sword that relied on talent alone. You had to throw away everything except the sword to get this kind of technique and sword speed.

Ven Uril pushed the swords he touched with both hands from the left to the right. Bard responded with his right hand, realizing that this was that move. Push and then suddenly pull back, and then strike when the enemy’s posture is broken. Where would he aim? The head or the feet? Bard predicted that he would aim for the feet. It may have been a coincidence, but he hit it. Even though he hit it, he couldn’t dodge it. The sword demon’s sword, which was pulled straight, was about to cut Bard’s left foot. His slow footwork couldn’t keep up with the sword’s amazing speed.

However, Bard was glad that he couldn’t dodge it. He couldn’t win against an opponent like this no matter how much he struggled. If he could just land one blow, that would be enough. Bard’s sword extended straight ahead, aiming for the top of his opponent’s head. If he aimed for the center of the body, he would hit somewhere even if he missed.

The sword demon cut down, aiming for Bard’s right knee. Bard swung his sword down with his right hand while staring at the moving head. The sword demon also showed amazing speed and reflexes here. He quickly switched from a completely forward posture to a backward one. Bard’s sword cut through the air. The sword demon’s attack couldn’t help but be shallow.

Bard fell over because his attack missed and his right leg’s boot was cut off. He couldn’t just fall over, or he would be killed. While rolling over, he grabbed a dead tree and threw it in the direction where the enemy should be. Despite being on the verge of old age, his extraordinary strength was still present. The sword demon dodged the tree to the right, but his breathing was disturbed.

The tree flew towards Yotish Payne, who had been watching from the sidelines. He panicked at the sudden appearance of the tree and managed to avoid it, but fell on his butt. It was a comical sight. After a moment of shock, he blushed and stood up, shouting, “You old man!” He drew his sword with his right hand and tried to jump on Bard. The sword demon stopped him with his left hand.

“It’s not your turn yet,” said the sword demon.

“Now’s the time,” Bard thought. Small tricks might work now. Stavros was waiting behind the gathered stones, signaled by Bard since earlier. As he stood up, he shouted, “Attack!” and charged at the enemy. The sword demon was paying attention to his surroundings, but Bard was the only one in Yotish’s eyes. Stavros kicked the stones he had gathered with his hind legs. The clicking sound was the signal. He had learned it as a prank when he was young. Since the stones were gathered to make a stove, they were of a certain size. Several stones kicked away flew towards the two enemies.

Even in that situation, the Sword Demon skillfully dodged the stone. However, in doing so, he let go of Yotish. Yotish took a stone to the back. Perhaps due to the impact of the stone or because the Sword Demon let go of him, Yotish lost his balance and fell towards Bard while still off-balance.

“I wanted to strike Ven Uril with a single blow, but there’s nothing to be done,” Bard thought to himself.

As he thought this, Bard slashed Yotish’s throat sideways. Yotish fell face down. A pool of blood spread beneath his face. Bard braced himself for the next attack from the Sword Demon, but the Sword Demon looked down coldly at Yotish and didn’t move. Bard no longer felt any killing intent from the Sword Demon. Bard wondered what had happened.

“Are you disappointed that your employer is dead?” he asked Ven Uril.

“I’m not disappointed that he’s dead. He wasn’t even my employer. I just don’t know what to do now that you killed him. That means I have no more reason to kill you. Let’s postpone the duel for now,” Ven Uril said, saying something that was both understandable and incomprehensible. He waited for the blood to stop flowing, tied Yotish to a horse, held the reins, mounted his own horse, and left.

3

Bard sprinkled sand over the spilled blood, moved to a nearby location, and prepared for camping. While preparing, Bard thought about what they had wanted to do after all. They had undoubtedly wanted to kill Bard, but for what purpose? Were they afraid of something Bard would do in the future? Bard, who wandered alone without anything to his name, had no power to harm Gwendell.

Was it out of resentment? If so, he could understand it to some extent, but hiring a man like Ven Uril was expensive. There were plenty of men in his family who liked rough work, and it would be easy to kill an old man with ten people. There were also those who were more skilled than Bard at the moment. Was it because they couldn’t trust their own family members? It was difficult to send powerful retainers on long trips. Bard himself had hardly ever left the vicinity of the main castle and the fort until this age.

If the purpose was to assassinate Bard, Ven Uril’s behavior was strange. If he didn’t know what to do after killing him, killing him wasn’t the purpose, so there must have been a purpose after killing him.

“Well then, if they didn’t attack me to hurt or kill me, what happens?” Bard wondered.

Were they planning to dispose of his body somehow? Or did they need something from his belongings? But he left behind everything of value. Bard remembered that Yotish had shown an unusual interest in a bag of gold coins. He took out the bag of gold coins and examined its contents, but there was nothing but gold coins inside. The bag was just an ordinary bag.

Bard didn’t know what else to think. And now there was a more important problem. Dinner was ready. Fresh fish was sizzling. He sprinkled delicious rock salt he had purchased in the previous town while crushing it. The aroma was irresistible. Bard took out a jug of wine and cups.

Cedermont had left three bottle of wine as a farewell gift, saying, “This is a farewell gift from me.”

Bard was pleased with his thoughtfulness. It was undoubtedly a high-quality, dry wine that suited Bard’s taste. How to enjoy this wine was the most important task tonight. He would also make soup. He would eat a little bit of dried meat. When the fish was cooked to perfection, he took a sip of wine from his cup.

“Delicious!”

He took a bite of the fish. Starting with the back.

“Wow!”

Sometimes river fish can have a strong odor, but this was incredibly fresh. He then nibbled on the entrails.

“Hmm!”

It wasn’t bitter. Rather, it was sweet. Perhaps because it was fresh. Or maybe it depended on the type of fish. The entrails, which were coated with the roasted fat, were an indescribable delicacy. The sweet and fragrant flavor was a privilege of fishermen.

“Well, complicated things don’t matter. I’m hungry, I have good wine and good food, and I can eat it. There’s no greater happiness than this.”

Bard enjoyed his dinner while looking at the stars in the sky and feeling the wind blowing over the river, exposing his flushed face. The right leg that had been cut still throbbed, but it would stop bothering him if he drank a little more. The pain in his waist was a regular occurrence and there was nothing he could do about it now. He wasn’t at an age where he was afraid of dying anytime soon. He had done what he needed to do.

All that was left was to live and die as he pleased.