Sword Devouring Swordmaster-Chapter 76 : Chapter 76

Chapter 76 – Seol Yoon (5)
I had once read a book from the western lands. There was a passage written on its white pages that seemed to describe my life perfectly. It went like this:
“How blessed was the age when people could gaze upon the starry sky and read the map of roads they could—and must—walk? And how blessed was the age when starlight illuminated those paths so brightly?”
I longed for the Age of Stars. Not the Age of War.
Swords and spears, shields—Rusty armor, arrows that poured like rain from the sky. Boys and young men thrown into battle without knowing why.
Countless lives were crushed beneath blood-soaked earth. I knew those lives were no different from stars. They could have become stars. Not extinguished in vain, but shining brilliantly to illuminate the world. Each of them had that possibility, that right to bask in the light.
But war extinguished every light. Before violence, life faded. Hot blood spilled beneath cold steel and stained the continent. Under the darkened sky, I lamented.
Why must they vanish beneath meaningless violence?
The Age of War brought darkness upon this land.
No one sang of peace.
No lovers whispered of love.
Children no longer laughed, telling absurd legends and tales of heroes.
Parents who lost their children hanged themselves.
Children who lost their parents died buried in hunger and thirst.
And in the end, what remained from the war they waged in the name of glory?
Where was glory in parents who hung themselves on shattered spears and swords?
Could there be joy in the dried-up infants seeking the twisted breast of their dead mother?
In a world where light had faded, only darkness remained. All the lights that could illuminate the dark world were gone. And as I looked upon that desolate world, one thought came to me.
The stars that once lit the world were gone. No star remained to show us the road ahead.
The pitiful living had lost their way, and hungry children wandered in tears.
I thought—this world held too many precious things to simply end like this.
I remembered the Age of Stars. And I made a decision.
I would become a star to replace those that had vanished.
I would be a guide so the lost could walk the right path.
I would become the light that illuminated the living.
Gathering the lost wasn’t difficult. Like mayflies drawn to a flame, the pitiful ones gathered around me. But I didn’t use them as limbs or soldiers, as the lords of the War Era had done.
I simply showed them the beauty of the stars.
I taught them the Age of Stars—how radiant life could be. And so, they began to shine. Their eyes began to shine. When they thought themselves worthless, they were indeed insignificant. But once they realized they were beings of light, they began to shine.
Once they knew how beautiful they could be, they became beautiful.
Parents embraced their children and told them trivial stories. Children looked up at their parents, chattering about their dull day.
Young men and women fell in love around campfires. The old watched the young and reminisced about the past.
Elders spoke of good times and sang of peace, the young sang of joy and love in the present,and children sang of the happiness that would someday come to them—with hope in their hearts.
Children dreamed of the future, the young sprinted through a fulfilling present, and the old reflected upon their past and sang of peace. In this most ordinary of scenes, I was deeply moved. To see the long-forgotten past recreated on this small patch of land was truly a joy.
The Age of Stars was returning.
To my eyes, they were all shining stars—stars filled with boundless potential.
Human life could be this beautiful, whether child, youth, or elder.
Peace, humble and quiet, was the essence of all things. Even if not abundant, three meals a day without hunger were a blessing. To embrace someone, to love someone, and to be loved in return—those were blessings beyond all comparison.
I wished that these bright and beautiful lives would not fade away in vain.
The Age of Stars I had longed for was here. Yet, the little stars that had just begun to glimmer could not shine alone in this harsh world.
The wandering living still could not find their own way.
They needed a light to guide them, a leader to walk ahead.
I willingly became that light.
I willingly became that guide.
And for a light to fulfill its duty, it must burn continuously without extinguishing—bright enough to drive away the darkness so all could see.
…Even if that meant burning itself away entirely.
On the twentieth year since I was called King, an unending army came upon our land.
The times would not leave us be.
The Age of War still watched us.
But—
“Do not rise.”
I could not allow my stars—those who had just begun to shine—to be stained. I would not cast them into the cruel world. My people, who had shown me the Age of Stars I had yearned for, I wanted them to shine beautifully. To sing of happiness, not war. To feel joy, not rage.
“Take care of your wives. Protect your sons and daughters who have not yet grown. Protect what you love—and protect yourselves. Do not grieve by losing what you love. Do not hurt what you love.”
So I became the light.
“I shall protect this land. You protect yourselves—and those you love.”
To sing of rage—one was enough.
...
Amid the flood of memories, I slowly opened my eyes.
All my senses came alive, sharply receiving the world.
The air was foul—not clean, but heavy with dust and the thick scent of blood.
It smelled of iron.
The smell of war.
The sound was dull—not laughter or chatter, not the laughter that sang of peace, but the metallic scream that sang of war and wrath.
The sound of flesh and bone breaking, of death begging for life.
Unlovely sounds. An unlovely era. An unlovely world.
When I opened my eyes, I saw countless soldiers, faces heavy with gloom, pointing steel at one another.
Swords, spears, shields—rusted armor, arrows tracing the sky.
The people who once sang beautifully of the heavens were gone,replaced by those revealing unwanted malice.
To my eyes, they all looked lost—sad souls wandering without a path.
「You must temper well the flame dwelling in that blade.」
Among those sorrowful souls was a girl, weeping, covered in blood.
「A hero becomes a myth upon death. A lowly human, sanctified by time, worshiped. Life becomes legend, and legend becomes religion. And so, the blade you swallowed lost its true name and came to bear the ridiculous title—‘Dragon Sword’.」
The lost girl could not stop crying. In her trembling hand was a single sword.
「You must return that sword’s true name.」
I knew who that girl was.
「Light.」
Seol Yoon.
「The true name of the flame that became a star within endless darkness.」
Genius. Overwhelming talent. Such things no longer mattered to me.
“……Haa.”
Before me was merely a pitiful girl, one who had not yet reached the end of her childhood.
A girl who had lost everything dear to her, left only with a faded sword granted by the heavens.
Strangely, the sight of the crying Seol Yoon reminded me of myself.
A long time ago, I knelt in a blood-soaked mansion, sobbing.
A boy who despaired at an unforgivable reality.
A boy who screamed his anger and hatred at the world.
A boy who broke his last promise to his mother and swung his blade in foolish rage.
A boy who awakened the forgotten Steel Blood and still sharpened his blade of revenge.
The sorrowful girl before me looked just like that boy.
Yes—Seol Yoon and I, both still ungrown, were alike.
“Seol Yoon.”
Truly, you are…
“Let’s fight.”
***
The final battle of the Conquest War that had once ravaged the Eastern Continent—the war between the Han faction and the Khan Empire of the 「Great Land」—how had it progressed and ended? Not as gloriously as people imagined. Its end was every bit as “war-like” as war could be.
The 「Great Land」 had chosen tactics unworthy of an invincible conquest army.
They blockaded supplies flowing into the peninsula, sent spies disguised as Han citizens to burn fields and farms, and even used shamans to curse the crops.
They employed fake peace offers and scorched-earth strategies—never made public.
It was dishonorable, yes. But dishonor was the nature of war.
The Khan Empire knew that history was written by the victor—and that the victor could always twist the truth afterward.
The noble “Descendant of Khan” turned a blind eye to the vile acts of his subordinates. He had to—for his nobility depended on ignorance. Even if the truth surfaced later, he could blame it on “faithless vassals.”
Thus, the final stage of the Conquest War dragged on tediously. Arrows flew, blades clashed, and soldiers smeared filth upon castle walls, hoping disease would spread among the enemy.
They even hurled corpses infected with plague.
Both sides longed for the war to end.
No mythical hero appeared to end it all in a blaze of glory. There was only the “Descendant of Khan,” great enough to throw away countless soldiers, and one King who clung desperately to his duty as ruler.
The difference lay simply in numbers—the 「Great Land」 had more resources, more soldiers,
and thus could endure longer.
That was all war ever was: victory belonged to those who could endure.
The Khan Empire, planning to invade the Central Continent next, didn’t even send its elite forces.
The Descendant of Khan himself moved only once—to slay the Guardian Dragon. Otherwise, he held his hand. And so the war was hideous, tedious, and full of sorrow.
And now, that war was being reenacted—but even here, the “War Duel” was just as warlike. Even with Fighters involved, the true stars of this duel were the defenders and conquerors.
Their numbers were vast, their desperation greater. Still, the balance remained taut—for in siege warfare, defenders always held the upper hand.
Thus, the Fighters were meant to shine in the later phase—to break the stalemate. Amid exhausted soldiers, they would rise one by one, their weapons—the Dragon Relics—glorified in dramatic narrative.
But—
“……”
At this moment, the stars of the War Duel were not armies.
“That’s insane—”
“Quiet. You’re ruining my focus.”
Silence swept through the audience. All eyes were fixed on one spot.
“Shut up and watch.”
The stars of the stage were two swordsmen.
“This might be something we’ll never see again…”
Everyone felt it.
“Truly…”
The outcome of this war duel would be decided by the clash of those two swordsmen.
It was absurd—that just two individuals could determine the fate of a war—and yet no one thought it strange.
Their presence was that overwhelming. Truly overwhelming.
“The Sword Demon Liam and the Black Bride…After this duel, there won’t be a soul in Blade City who doesn’t know their names…”
Whichever side’s Fighter triumphed—that side would win.
Everyone believed it. Their hearts blazed.
“Huh.”
Well.
“But hey, why does the Sword Demon’s Dragon Sword look so weird? The blade’s… gone. Like someone bit it off or something…”
“Shut it! Who cares about that now? This is a once-in-a-lifetime scene—”
“No, but it’s kind of important, right? It’s the prize weapon…”
“Shut your mouth, idiot, read the room—”
“……”
For Arhan, who had swallowed the prize blade without a second thought—it was, indeed, an extraordinary stroke of luck.
***
Seol Yoon knew the Little Gladiator’s gift.
He could become many different people.
He could become a wandering Ronin like the wind, an Assassin of the Free City steeped in the scent of death, or even transform into an Orc. One night he was a boy, the next day a young man.
Seol Yoon didn’t know where this mysterious gift came from, but instead of questioning it, she always felt anticipation.
Who will he be next?
What kind of sword will he wield?
“……”
Once again, the Little Gladiator had become someone new. And with his new self came a new sword.
“...Ha, haha.”
And then—
“What… is that?”
This sword was unmistakably different from the ones before.
Seol Yoon looked down at her armor.
There was a clear mark across it.
A sword scar.
“...That’s impressive.”
Just one step. That one step had saved her life. Had it gone one inch deeper, she would have died. She wouldn’t have even had the chance to show her new realm, or reveal the clue she’d grasped about the 「Sword Runner」.
That was how fatal Arhan’s blade had been.
No—could it even be called a blade anymore?
“You really are incredible.”
Seol Yoon looked straight ahead.
Arhan’s figure reflected in her eyes was strange—not the venomous swordswoman, not the Assassin of the Free City, not the Knight before Twilight, not the wild Orc, not the wandering Ronin. It was something beyond such names. If it needed a name—
“Truly…”
A flame.
A light that illuminated the darkness.
“So I’ll give it everything I have.”
Gazing at Arhan, who wavered like a flame, Seol Yoon whispered. And the next moment, her heart throbbed violently. Not her heart that pumped blood—but the second heart that pumped Mana.
Her 「Mana Heart」 began to tremble. With it, the Paths that granted her superhuman strength spread through her body like threads of light.
Power unbefitting her slender frame filled her. Yet her second heart did not stop.
The Paths resonated with the world outside. Like veins, they extended beyond her body—visible now to all eyes.
The Mana within and without her harmonized, and those luminous Paths shone brilliantly—as if wings had sprouted from her back.
It was a symbol. A sign that a swordsman had transcended the world.
And the world called that symbol—
“All I have—”
—Wings.