Sword Devouring Swordmaster-Chapter 80 : Chapter 80

Chapter 80. Whirlpool (3)
Throughout history, kings often had many princes. A prince was a potential sovereign—an heir to absolute power—and producing many candidates was the most stable course. Thus, unless a kingdom had some particular custom against it, most nations had numerous princes.
The Iron Kingdom of Cherville was no exception.
The newly enthroned King of Cherville had seven official wives and even more concubines. And every one of those women bore him children each year. A blessing, certainly—but to the ministers, it was a cause for concern.
For the number of royal offspring had become excessive—so excessive that even remembering their names was difficult.
Their concern was justified.
The Iron Kingdom of Cherville was a realm governed by the law of strength—a nation where the strong devoured the weak.
The iron order established by Cherville ironically granted opportunity to every royal bloodline. If one could prove one’s worth, even the youngest could claim the throne.
The kingdom’s laws recognized equality between men and women, and that rule extended even to the royal family. As long as they proved themselves, prince or princess, anyone could sit upon the throne. And so, the ministers feared the coming storm of blood.
For the current king himself had ascended the throne by mercilessly purging his own kin. Whenever succession approached in Cherville, rivers of blood followed. And not only royal blood—nobles who backed the wrong heir would crumble as well.
So each time the number of princes and princesses grew, everyone braced themselves for another purge. Yet soon, those worries became meaningless.
On a rainy day, the most horrific event in the kingdom’s history took place.
No longer did the ministers or nobles need to worry about mixing up royal names.
The crowded royal nursery had been reduced to one. All the king’s children—save for one—were dead. Now, they only needed to remember a single name.
No—there was no need to remember it at all. For the title Iron Prince could refer to only one person.
Ian Cherville.
***
I could hardly breathe.
Even as I blinked, the man before me remained the same. It wasn’t a mistake.
The Iron Prince truly stood before me—the sole heir destined to rule this kingdom, the madman who had buried all his siblings with his own hands, the monster who commanded a Swordmaster at his whim.
The Iron Prince, Ian Cherville.
“Hm. You’re quiet.”
He sat down casually on a worn chair. His voice was the most aristocratic sound I’d ever heard—not the hollow authority nobles pretended at, but an innate presence, the sound of one born to rule.
Not only his voice—his bearing, the faint movement of his lips, the tilt of his head—all carried that same effortless dominance. It wasn’t learned. It was as if the gods themselves had decreed his rule at birth.
“Your face is hidden by that helmet, yet… I can almost see your expression.”
Ian Cherville smiled. His eyes, sharp as blades, glimmered faintly.
It felt as though they pierced straight through my rusted helmet.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“…No, Your Highness.”
“Oh, come now.”
He leaned his cheek lazily on one hand.
“Of course you are. It’s always been like that since I was young. Wherever I went, people’s mouths said welcome—but their eyes said otherwise. I was never truly received anywhere.”
“……”
“But what does that matter? Such is the seat of an absolute.”
Each time he moved, his ash-grey hair shimmered softly.
“Whether I make others uncomfortable or not—what does it matter? What matters are my amusement and my will. In this kingdom built upon blades of steel, there is nothing I cannot do.”
“…Indeed, Your Highness.”
Such arrogance.
He heard my reply and spoke in a languid tone.
“They call you the ‘Sword Demon,’ don’t they?”
“Yes, that’s the name I’ve been given.”
“I haven’t seen you fight in person, but I’ve heard tales. The sort of struggle that would delight the Goddess Refri, swordplay that made the Steel City’s peasants roar, and—hah!—you sold the Arena’s prize the instant you received it. How entertaining. You have the makings of a fine clown.”
“…I’m honored.”
“Especially that last act—I loved it. It’s the reason I came to see you myself.”
His eyes gleamed.
“You see, I love amusing things. Do you know how empty a prince’s life is in the City of Blades?
The life of an Iron Prince is gray—tedious, predictable, joyless. It was far more interesting when my brothers and sisters were still alive.”
“……”
“Do you know what I wish for these days? That one of my brothers or sisters miraculously survived. That they’d return to the palace—to fight me again. Or that some daring necromancer might raise them from the grave to stage a rebellion. That’s how starved I am for entertainment, pitiful warrior.”
His tone was calm—and that calm made the madness within all the more chilling.
It wasn’t the kind of madness that burned—it crawled, like tar.
“And so I love those who exist to amuse. Warriors, clowns, bards, storytellers—all of them.”
“……”
“Ah, and my dear siblings too—I loved them dearly. They were such a joy to me. Those days were full of entertainment. The noble houses that fled to the frontiers, scrambling to escape my blade—oh, such delightful days.”
Ian Cherville laughed—a sound that raised goosebumps.
“Sword Demon, lowly warrior.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You took the Dragon Sword and decided to sell it the moment it was yours. You ignored honor and propriety for the sake of gold—like the Free City’s merchants.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“What if, instead of the Arena’s gift, that sword had been one I gave you myself? Would you still sell it?”
His eyes sharpened. After a moment’s hesitation, I answered.
“No, Your Highness. How could I—”
“Ah, spare me dull words. Speak the truth.”
He cut me off.
“Whatever you say, I will not take offense. I swear upon the Nine Goddesses and Seven Lords themselves. Speak, you amusing fool.”
His voice lifted with faint excitement. So I answered slowly.
“I would sell it.”
“Would you?”
“Yes. There’s much to gain from doing so.”
“Indeed—you’d earn a mountain of coins. But what if I disapproved?”
“That seems unlikely. You said yourself—you enjoy amusing things.”
“……”
“If I were to sell a gift bestowed by Your Highness, I’d earn both gold and your attention. No one else would dare such a blasphemous act—but that’s precisely why it would amuse you, wouldn’t it? It’s not boring.”
“…Puh… puhahaha.”
“You wouldn’t punish such a fool. You’d give him more—to see what else he might do. And I’d give you a show, Your Highness. I’d sell even your crown if I must.”
“Ha! Hahahahaha! You—! I like you. I truly like you!”
Ian Cherville’s laughter filled the room.
“Sword Demon, if your sword were a little sharper, I’d take you to the City of Blades this instant. I’d treasure you as I do Carlos.”
“…I’m honored.”
Carlos. The name made me flinch, but I hid it well.
Now was not the time for emotion.
“It’s been long since I laughed this hard.”
“I’m glad to have amused you, Your Highness.”
“Then—would you amuse me once more?”
“How…?”
Ian Cherville’s lips curved.
“It wouldn’t be fun if I told you. You’ll find out soon enough.”
“……”
“I’ll see what you do next. After all, isn’t the final event of this Arena carnival still ahead?”
His eyes gleamed with mania.
“The 「Infinite Duel」. Amuse me again there—and I shall reward you.”
Then he rose from his seat.
“Sword Demon.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“What’s your real name? I’d like to remember it.”
For a moment, I stayed silent—then said,
“Wouldn’t it be less fun if I told you now?”
He smiled, satisfied.
“Yes… I do like you.”
Leaving those words behind, the Iron Prince departed like a passing storm.
***
Even after his visit, other guests came—nobles, collectors, envoys—but none of their words registered.
The impression he’d left was too deep.
A whirlpool of thoughts swirled in my head.
Why had the great Iron Prince come personally?
Why reveal such unfiltered madness before me, a mere nameless duelist?
Why offer a Sword Walker like me a reward?
Nothing made sense.
If he were merely a bored mad prince obsessed with amusement, perhaps it would be easier to accept. But this was the man who had orchestrated Cherville’s bloodiest purge in history, the sole heir who’d ascended through slaughter.
Could such a man truly be that simple?
The doubts tore at me.
Who was the Iron Prince really?
Why hide his identity only to attend this vulgar festival of commoners?
And in the coming 「Infinite Duel」—what should I do?
Above all, one question tormented me most.
The sword that destroyed everything I had—Carlos’s blade—was it truly his own doing? Or the will of his master, the Iron Prince? I didn’t know. Perhaps I never could.
In the grand Iron Kingdom, I was but one blade—a speck of dust.
Whose malice had drenched my home in blood?
Why did we have to vanish?
Why had such a tragedy occurred?
I knew nothing.
And because I knew nothing—I couldn’t accept it.
I couldn’t accept that the culprit went unpunished, that the Swordmaster who stole everything from me was celebrated under the same sky.
Confusion changed nothing.
In the end, I had to fight.
In the end, I had to draw my sword.
If only I were more than a mere Sword Walker—if I weren’t just a nameless gladiator barely known in this Steel City—if my blade were sharp enough to reach anyone—then everything would have been different. So I must become that blade.
A sword that can reach anyone.
Yes. The conclusion was the same.
If I didn’t want to be swept away by this raging vortex—if I wanted to stand firm at its center—then I had to grow stronger. Far stronger than now.
「My young descendant.」
“Yes, Master.”
「There’s no need to be swayed. Walk your path, as you always have.」
Liam’s voice was calm.
「Right now, you may feel small—insignificant. That your sword leaves no mark upon the world.
But it’s not true.」
“……”
「That prince spoke of amusement, claiming anything amusing is worthy. He mocked you as a clown and said he’d make a game of your struggle.」
“……”
「But mark my words—」
Liam’s eyes gleamed like true steel—sharper, purer, harder than Ian Cherville’s ever could be.
「When the steel blood within you truly awakens, the Iron Prince will no longer find you amusing. He will no longer dare to laugh before you.」
“……”
「In my age, ‘iron-blooded’ was a word reserved for the Karavan.」
He smiled faintly.
「Under heaven, there is only one true Steel. Because of you, the world will remember that truth once more—in a way it will never forget.」
As always, my master’s words cut through the haze, showing me the path.
The storm of doubt in my mind slowly began to calm.
And then—
“…May I have a word?”
That night, another unexpected visitor arrived.
“…There are questions we wish to ask the descendant of True Steel.”
The Witches.
The vortex wasn’t over yet.
***
The outskirts of the Steel City, Ferma. While the city buzzed in anticipation for the final event—the 「Infinite Duel」—one inn on the edge of town was eerily silent.
No warriors drinking beer, no chatter, no debates over who might win.
The inn was empty. Someone of high status had rented the entire building.
Only one man sat on the first floor, silent.
The air around him was heavy—so heavy that neither the talkative innkeeper nor her staff dared speak.
The quiet stretched on, until the door creaked open.
“You’re finally here.”
The newcomer was a young man—his face still caught between boy and youth. He removed his hood, letting his ash-grey hair shimmer in the lamplight.
The staff averted their eyes; no commoner in Cherville could look upon the true heir.
“Did the lowborn warrior amuse you, my Prince?”
“Yes. His tongue is as sharp as his sword.”
“Then you should’ve brought him with you as a companion.”
“I’d like to—but how could I?”
Ian Cherville stepped forward, stopping before the seated man.
“I couldn’t possibly make a true heir of Steel my mere companion.”
“……”
“You broke your promise, Carlos.”
The prince’s gaze settled coldly on the man—Swordmaster Carlos.
“There are still traces of Karavan left. You told me you’d erased them completely.”
“…I did.”
“Yes—by your standards.”
Ian Cherville smirked.
“He was under eighteen. His heart is not yet fully tempered. If I hadn’t looked closely, I might not have noticed. Too soft. Too tender.”
“If punishment is due, I’ll accept it.”
At that, Ian laughed—a terrible, manic sound.
“Punishment? Why would I punish you?”
“……”
“You did well! Wonderfully well! Not even the pleasant walks or cool night breezes of my journey here excited me this much. The 「Infinite Duel」? A fine little festival for commoners—but it no longer matters.”
He leaned in close, grinning.
“It was worth coming here. The Nine Goddesses and Seven Lords must have pitied my boredom. They left me this amusement. My brothers, who shattered so easily! My sisters, who wept and begged me to stop! My father, trembling and pleading to name me heir if only I’d drop my sword! My aunts, who hanged themselves after witnessing the blood! None of them filled the void within me—but now, finally, I feel whole.”
“……”
“You broke your promise, but I don’t care. It’s more fun this way! I feared I’d reach the Iron Throne too easily—that I’d ruin all my toys too soon and live a dull, peaceful life till death. But no—one toy remains. One sword still points toward me…”
Ian Cherville couldn’t stop laughing.
“I’ll have to move the schedule up. The bloodstorm will come sooner than planned.”
Carlos looked at him with a stoic face.
The prince continued.
“That boy—he’s bolder than I expected, Carlos. Do you know the name he uses as a duelist? Liam. He dared enter the 「Infinite Duel」 with that name.”
“……”
“Just that tells me how ignorant he is. But when his name spreads across the continent after this duel… every soul who remembers the old age will take notice. The phantoms of the war era will start to stir.”
Ian Cherville smiled.
“I only hope he doesn’t die too soon. If I’d known life could be this dull, I would’ve treated my family more gently. Who knew they’d break so easily?”
“……”
“I’ll pray that the last heir of Steel doesn’t shatter in the coming storm. When I return to the palace, I’ll summon the high priest and pray: ‘Oh gods, please don’t take away my final toy…’”
Carlos looked at him—and realized there wasn’t a hint of falsehood in the prince’s words.
This mad heir truly rejoiced at the survival of Karavan’s bloodline.
“Carlos.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Most records of Karavan have been erased. Even though I know little. So tell me—can the last heir of Karavan raise a sword against me before turning eighteen?”
“I do not know.”
He spoke the truth.
“No one can predict how far his sword will reach. Only the Nine Goddesses and Seven Lords know.”
“And if he reaches your level?”
“That’s impossible. In all of history, only one person ever reached Swordmaster that quickly.”
“That one was Karavan himself, wasn’t he? That’s why I ask.”
Strangely, Ian looked hopeful—as though he truly wished someone would put a blade to his throat.
“…It’s impossible. But—if, by endless chance, such a thing were to happen…”
“Yes, go on—”
“If the last Karavan forges his sword, no one will be able to stop him.”
Carlos’s voice was firm.
“A new order will rise across the continent. The seven races of the land will bow before it and beg for mercy.”
“……”
“As it was in the ancient Age of Steel.”
At those words, Ian Cherville fell silent. Then, slowly, light returned to his eyes—bright, feverish light.
A flush crept across his face, his lips curling wide in delight.
“Ah.”
Ian Cherville whispered—his voice trembling with ecstasy.
“Yes… I truly do like you, Carlos. And this world—this world that never ceases to entertain me…”