Sword Devouring Swordmaster-Chapter 74 : Chapter 74

Chapter 74. Seol Yoon (3)
“You have to surrender.”
The defeated soldier said quietly.
“It’s the only way to live. The Great Warriors of the Plains don’t take prisoners. Those madmen butcher women and children without hesitation. But the mercenaries sent by the Red Bank of the Black Peninsula, and the Iron Legion of the Iron Kingdom, they’re different. They’re not here for glory. They’re scavengers, come to pick up scraps.”
“……”
“So they won’t kill you. They’ll want to keep you—as a trophy. You know what they say? The nobles of the West have strange fantasies about Easterners. They think that just keeping one brings good fortune. That Eastern children are born with talent for the sword.”
The soldier placed a hand gently on Seol Yoon’s shoulder. She looked up at him.
“Then… What about you?”
He couldn’t answer right away. They both already knew. There was no future for him.
Even if the Westerners held such delusions, they wouldn’t take grown men as captives—especially not a soldier of Han’s defeated army. And certainly not a leper. No one would take a diseased man as plunder.
“I’ll be fine.”
But Seol Yoon was different.
A war orphan made a fine prize. A child could be tamed, molded, indoctrinated. And Seol Yoon—objectively—was beautiful. Many nobles would covet her.
“I should’ve died long ago.”
But the soldier refused to let her live as some noble’s pet. Better to die on the battlefield than live as a chained ornament. So he decided to spend what remained of his life for her sake—to take responsibility for one small life, since he’d failed to protect his nation.
Surely, he thought, his parents, wife, and brothers—already long dead—would understand. It would be a worthy end for a man who had fled in defeat and become a leper.
“I have no future.”
“……”
“But you do.”
He lifted his broken spear.
“Our ancestors said it—children hold infinite possibilities. Pure hearts are like the night sky—they can become anything. I believe that. You’re not like me, worn down by the world. You still have a future. If I can die for that future, it’ll be an honor.”
“……”
“You can become anything, child.”
The wounded man rose to his feet.
“Those men are the Iron Legion of the Iron Kingdom of Cherville. That nation values skill over birth or bloodline. If such men saw a little girl cut down trained soldiers with nothing but a sword, what would they think? Would they rage and execute her?”
He shook his head.
“No. They’d see a treasure. Not a decorative flower—but a rare talent, a priceless gem found in a fallen nation. The people of the Iron Kingdom are all the same—mad in their own way.”
He coughed—wet, heavy, flecked with blood.
“Child, your life from here on will be harsh. But you must endure it. I’ll burn what’s left of my life to open a path for you. I’ll make you into a rose with thorns.”
“……”
“There’ll be no flowered path ahead. But you must live.”
He limped forward, coughing.
“If you live, you’ll see tomorrow.”
“……”
“See tomorrow. Sharpen your sword. Become an Immortal. Go to paradise—and reclaim the things the wretched adults like me failed to protect.”
Muttering those words, the soldier walked toward the Iron Legion.
The soldiers, laughing and chatting among themselves, turned when they saw him—a shambling, limping man removing his helmet. Beneath it was the ruined face of a leper.
“Get lost, filthy leper!”
“Damn it, a diseased beggar!”
They cursed, recoiling in disgust.
But he kept walking. And then he roared—a sound no longer human—and drove his broken spear into them. His fighting was clumsy, but desperate. He wasn’t strong—but he was terrifying. In his frenzy, he killed four Iron Legion soldiers before collapsing, his body a wreck.
Panicked, the others fled, blowing their war horns for reinforcements.
On his knees, the soldier watched them go.
Seol Yoon, who had been hiding, ran to him.
He was covered in blood, his breath ragged.
“They’ll come back,” he said hoarsely.
And then, with eyes clouding, he made his final request.
“They’ll come for revenge—for the insult of being ambushed. Before that, you must kill me.”
His voice trembled.
“Pick up anything sharp and cut my throat. When they return, tell them this—tell them the leper tried to violate you. Say you killed him with one stroke. Say you don’t even know how. If they press for details, make something up. Make it vague—but interesting enough that they’ll imagine you as a prodigy.”
“Ah… ahh…”
“If they tell you to swing a sword, say you can’t now—but that back then, something inside you shone. Let them imagine it. Let them believe you’re gifted.”
“I… I can’t. I can’t do that…”
“You must.”
The soldier smiled weakly.
“You have to live… and see tomorrow.”
Seol Yoon sobbed as she looked down at the man with his eyes closed.
His leprous face no longer looked grotesque. His lips and eyelids trembled.
He was simply a man—a man trying to face death with dignity, even as fear gripped him.
“I’ll… I’ll become an Immortal. I’ll go to paradise. I’ll see my loved ones again.”
“You will.”
“And you’ll be there too. You’ll be in my paradise. So don’t be afraid. Wait for me, just a little longer.”
At her words, the soldier smiled faintly.
“Thank you.”
For the first time, he said not I’m sorry, but thank you.
Her sword struck his neck. It was a clumsy swing. The blade caught on bone.
He suffered for a long time before dying.
Even through her tears, Seol Yoon did what she had to do. Killing a person was a horrific thing. And yet, even as he died, the soldier never cursed her. Never apologized again. Only whispered thank you over and over…Moments later, the Iron Legion’s reinforcements arrived—far more numerous than before.
And among them flew another banner.
The blazing sun—the emblem of Khan.
The Conquest Army of the 「Great Land」 had arrived.
“The leper’s gone… and here’s a girl instead.”
The man who spoke dwarfed the rest. Mounted on a black steed, his presence was overwhelming—like a war god descended to earth.
“So, little girl of the peninsula,” he said, gazing down at the corpse, “you killed this sinner?”
The Descendant of Khan himself.
Seol Yoon followed the script the soldier had given her.
“I—I killed him in one stroke…”
She spun her tale as best she could. But the Khan’s descendants needed no explanation.
He had already read the truth from the scene before him.
Those who had reached the pinnacle of Martial Will could discern what had happened simply from traces left behind.
He saw that the man had not resisted—that he had chosen death.
He even understood why. It was unworthy of a warrior—but he said nothing.
“…Not long ago, a mad knight from the Iron Kingdom came to me,” he said quietly. “He demanded that if he were to lose our duel, no one under eighteen be slain in this war. Disgusting as the memory is, I suppose I must honor my promise as the defeated.”
***
Valkyrie Maia’s consciousness blurred. Her sword hand was slick with blood; her severed wrist bled endlessly. And yet she laughed.
“So this is the world’s breadth!”
Their first clash—when Maia’s and Seol Yoon’s swords met, she had thought them equals.
Their strength, their speed—comparable. At first, Maia even held the advantage.
But as the fight continued, Seol Yoon overwhelmed her.
The process of that domination was something no ordinary person could even comprehend.
“Haaah—!”
Maia swung her greatsword. Seol Yoon mirrored her perfectly.
Their blades followed the same trajectory, colliding at the midpoint.
Every exchange was the same—synchronized, precise, flawless. It was like fighting her reflection.
Everything Maia had built through years of effort, every secret technique passed down through generations of Valkyries of the Lakota Mountains—This girl from the East replicated it all after seeing it once.
“I see now… it’s all been stolen. Every bit of it.”
“……”
“And the longer we fight, the more perfect you become. Your sword is sharper, cleaner… I can hardly believe it.”
Seol Yoon’s eyes gleamed. Then her sword changed.
No longer the Northern barbarian’s style—but a blade of flowing grace, like wind and water.
Maia couldn’t block it. Couldn’t dodge.
She could only think—how beautiful. Like the waterfall she had once seen as a child, holding her father’s hand.
“Ah…”
Her greatsword fell from her right hand. Kneeling, she knew she was finished. Soon, she’d be expelled from the spirit world. Before that, she asked the one question still burning in her heart.
“That sword… Whose did you steal?”
“...I didn’t steal it.”
“Then… from whom did you learn it? What’s its name?”
Seol Yoon’s voice was calm.
“I didn’t learn it from anyone.”
“Then…”
As Maia’s words faltered, Seol Yoon leveled her sword.
The cold edge brushed Maia’s throat.
She remembered the words of her old teachers.
— Seol Yoon, there’s nothing for us to teach you.
At the academy, every swordmaster who’d come to instruct her had said the same.
She had learned dozens of sword arts, yet used none.
— Your talent surpasses all techniques.
The reason was simple.
— In the East, they call such a thing…
There was no need to imitate anyone.
— The Great Master.
For Seol Yoon already possessed the most perfect sword—her own.
— One day, all will know your name.
Her sword evolved with her, created by her, perfected only in her hands—a sword no one else could wield.
“It doesn’t have a name yet. I’m not good at naming things.”
“Ha… haha…”
Maia smiled faintly. She understood now—this was Seol Yoon’s own creation.
Feeling the cold steel at her throat, Maia closed her eyes.
The talent of a true genius is far too cruel, she thought.
“……”
Seol Yoon looked down at Maia’s fallen form, and remembered a question her teachers once asked: — Seol Yoon, how did you come to possess such a sword?
And she had answered: ‘Because someone once told me… I could become anything.’
She remembered his words still—the dying soldier’s voice, the promise made long ago.
That was why she could become anything.
Why she could steal any sword. Because his faith—and her god-given gift—made it possible. And so, Seol Yoon created her own sword.
To survive.
To see tomorrow.
To ascend to the heavens and become an Immortal.
To keep her promise.
To reclaim what was lost.
To prove that the man who had believed in the pitiful, blood-soaked girl had not been wrong.
“…There are still enemies left.”
She turned her eyes forward.
The battle was not yet over.
***
When I came to, the blade in my hand was not the Winter Steel sword—but something else. It wasn’t sharp, but lavishly decorated. Yet, from that ornamented sword, a chilling aura emanated.
“...What the hell.”
The 「Dragon Sword」 was glowing red—drenched in the blood of enemies.
All around me lay the corpses of the Great Warriors of the Plains, their eyes frozen wide.
Other soldiers stared at me as if they’d seen a ghost.
Well, to be fair, what I’d just done had been unnatural.
“What is this?”
「The voice of the sword. I told you, there was a flame sleeping within it.」
“……”
「The soul within the sword recognized the blood of steel—and spoke to you.」
In the middle of the battlefield, Liam looked at me with a wry smile.
「It told you to devour it.」
The Dragon Sword still trembled violently.
「Do as it wishes, young descendant.」
“...Is that allowed?”
「That blade is worthy enough to become your second offering—for your wings.」
“But it’s not even mine. It’s borrowed.”
「Why think so hard?」
Liam chuckled.
「Just do it first, think later. That’s how the Karavans have always lived.」
Utterly irresponsible words. And yet—
“...Well, that’s how I’ve always been anyway.”
I couldn’t deny the pull. If anything, it was strong.
***
「Steel Blood is hungry.」
「Ingest a new sword.」