Sword Devouring Swordmaster-Chapter 87 : Chapter 87

Chapter 87 – The Idler (1)
The Age of War.
In that era of madness, when every living being perished as if life meant nothing, humankind was pitifully weak. Among the seven races, humans were born the most insignificant. They possessed neither superior bodies nor eternal lifespans, nor were they particularly brave. What’s worse, they lacked unity even in their weakness.
Even when the insanity of the War Age reached its peak, humans were too busy fighting amongst themselves. The six other races of the continent mocked their foolishness.
Even if all humans united as one, survival against the other six races would still be near impossible—so how could they waste their strength on infighting? To the six races, humans were truly laughable. Even as the world was dyed red with their own blood, humans could not become one. Their allegiances remained split among kingdoms, empires, islands, and republics. They did not cooperate, not even between fellow human nations. If even the smallest opportunity presented itself, they waged war.
It was so absurd that, to the six races, humans seemed like a species doomed to destroy itself without any help.
Indeed, as a result of the wars humans fought amongst themselves, half of their population perished. The six races merely waited until their wars were done, then swooped in to slaughter the exhausted survivors and seize their lands and treasures. Thus, humanity’s already halved numbers were halved again.
Of the dozens of human nations that once existed, fewer than ten remained. Across the vast continent, the dead outnumbered the living. More humans died to blades than were born anew. Only then did humankind begin to realize that something had gone terribly wrong.
Who would rule which fertile land, who would hoard the most gold and jewels, who would be the most glorious monarch—none of that mattered anymore. The very survival of their race was at stake. If this continued, the continent would not have seven races, but six. Humanity was on the brink of extinction…
Only when the crisis loomed at their doorstep did the humans hastily unite. Yet their numbers were too few, their bodies too weary. Endless war had left them starved, broken, and sick of it all. Humanity was too weak—far too weak to stand against the other six races.
And soon, their numbers halved again.
At that point, every human bard sang of the world’s end. Devout priests and even the Pope abandoned their temples to curse the gods. Priests and nuns became drunkards, collapsing in the streets in despair. The usual drunks who spent their lives in wine and debauchery stumbled into empty temples and sobbed, offering clumsy prayers for salvation.
“Please, just let us live.”
Royalty, who bore the duty of protecting their people, now schemed only to preserve their own lives. The nobles had long since fled, and the soldiers who should have defended the realm now turned their blades on civilians. They plundered food, drowned themselves in alcohol, and assaulted any woman they saw.
All believed humanity would vanish when this war was over. None wished to fight. Instead, they sought fleeting pleasure before the end came.
It was, in the truest sense, a “human” scene.
The six races that witnessed such depravity laughed without restraint.
“What a wretched species—hardly better than monkeys.”
Every living being on the continent believed in humanity’s annihilation.
Until five banners rose upon the battlefield.
“……?”
From that day on, the six races never again mocked humankind.
As if forged by gods who wished to end the War Age, five miraculous beings appeared. Thanks to their overwhelming feats, that age of carnage concluded with a shocking result—victory for the pitiful humans.
In the aftermath, humanity called the five families who had achieved such glory the Great Houses.
***
The residents of the Iron City of Ferma loved the 「Arena」.
This grand coliseum, where thrilling duels unfolded daily, was their lifeblood and their joy.
Among all its spectacles, none were as beloved as the 「Infinite Duel」—a tradition dating back to the Arena’s earliest days. Life-and-death battles that drove warriors into a frenzy and made spectators’ hearts race.
But this time, the 「Infinite Duel」 was different.
Most of the audience had seen the previous matches, even those before that, yet none were like this. The tempo was far too fast. Normally, the Infinite Duel was about desperate, muddy struggle—fighters biting, clawing, crawling through agony. But what unfolded before them now was nothing like that.
“...Huh.”
Before the match, the Arena’s organizers had added “barriers” to encourage faster engagements. They wanted more intensity, more contact, more blood. But the match was progressing too fast—far beyond what they intended.
The spectators felt they weren’t watching a duel, but an execution. It was as if a wild beast had been thrown into a cage with a doomed prisoner. And indeed, such one-sided spectacles were often called “executions.”
A massacre, not a fight.
All because of one man.
That single combatant defied logic. The moment the match began, he sprinted straight to the center—where the most fighters were gathered—and slaughtered everyone in his path. Each kill took him no longer than three seconds.
The match became chaotic, and the organizers hurried to identify this rampaging fighter. It wasn’t difficult—each helm and armor piece had an internal code known only to Arena staff.
If that man turned out to be some nameless drifter, killing commoners for sport, they planned to make an example of him. After all, everyone was still seething about the disastrous results of the recent War Duel, ruined by those damned witches.
The Arena organizers wielded immense power within the Iron Kingdom, and they intended to use it.
But then—
“...Is this for real?”
When they confirmed his identity, all thoughts of “discipline” vanished. They burned every note, every draft of a plan.
“It matches, sir.”
“Shit.”
The Arena organizers were infamous cowards toward the strong. And this man was someone far beyond their reach.
“The youngest son of a Great House... why the hell is he at some commoner’s event?”
The staffer’s contained a name the organizer knew well—one known by anyone standing.
“Everyone listen up. We never saw anything. We don’t know who he is. That young master came here to mingle with fighters on a whim, got it? That’s all. We. Don’t. Know.”
The youngest son of the Six Free Cities’ ruler, of the House of Rhapsody—Toma Rhapsody.
“Remember this—if one word leaks, we’re all dead. Assign a judge, and if—by some miracle—that young master’s life looks endangered, you get him out. Immediately.”
“Do we really have to? That breaks Arena tradition. And no matter how high-born he is, if he loses fair and square—”
“Shut up and do it! Now!”
Though Toma Rhapsody had only recently taken up the sword, he had already risen as a prodigy. Yet his fame came not from his skill—but from his lineage.
“You have no idea how insane that boy’s father is.”
Toma Rhapsody’s father, Hugo Rhapsody, was among the most powerful figures on the continent and the continent’s most notorious doting father.
“I’m not about to find out what that monster would do if his son got hurt. So do as I say, for the love of god…”
***
Boring. Drowsy. Sleepy.
Why did I even bother coming?
Such were the honest thoughts of the fighter who had just slaughtered over a hundred men and turned the Infinite Duel on its head—Toma Rhapsody.
‘I came all this way for this? Not one decent fighter among them. I’d have had more fun sparring with the gardener back home…’
Boredom washed over me. I was already regretting entering this thing. Should’ve just taken a nap instead. Maybe I’d expected too much.
Life in the Free City was unbearably dull. My father sheltered me from everything, always keeping me safe. Though I’d learned the sword, I’d never had a real fight. The kind of burning duels I’d read about in knightly tales—those existed only in dreams.
In the Free City, people thought it was better to kill themselves than to fight me seriously.
Everyone knew what the Rhapsody family was capable of, and just how far its master—the man obsessed with his son—would go.
That’s why I was safe.
That’s why I’d never felt excitement.
“Yawn.”
Just once, I wanted to shake off the sleepiness weighing me down. To feel something.
Even if it meant mingling with these lowborns—though father would hate it.
But the drowsiness didn’t fade. I trudged forward, my body heavy as ever. The only reason I was forcing myself to walk was simple.
‘Those scars on that beast’s body... that was interesting.’
The fighter I’d just killed—his corpse bore curious marks. Any swordsman worth his steel could read a battle’s story from the wounds left behind. My conclusion had been simple:
This one’s different.
That alone made it worth moving.
I kept walking.
Eventually, I came face to face with another fighter. The man raised his sword toward me without hesitation—no fear, no retreat.
I hadn’t even seen his face, but I knew instantly. This was the one I’d been looking for.
Warm sunlight poured down. I felt the sleepiness ease a little, and a smile crept onto my face as I raised my sword.
My weapon was peculiar—its blade unusually long and thin, like a needle. Fragile at a glance, seemingly incapable of killing anyone. But a sword’s worth depends entirely on who wields it.
And I was a descendant of one of the Great Houses.
“Haah—”
The fighter drew in a deep breath. I responded with a light thrust. My sword shot forward in a clean, straight line. The man raised his blade to block—a proper, textbook defense.
But it was the wrong move.
My wrist twisted. The slender blade bent like a whip, curving around his guard. The man reacted quickly—he dropped his sword and dodged. Cowardly, perhaps, but smart. It was the only way to live.
With a clang, his sword hit the ground. I thrust again—five times in the blink of an eye. Two struck true; three missed. I frowned. Why had those three failed?
‘A dagger?’
He held a short blade in reverse grip. A backup weapon? How did he parry thrusts like that with something so small? Lacking power and speed, yet compensating perfectly with technique.
‘Interesting…’
A smile tugged at my lips. I stopped my assault, picked up his fallen sword, and tossed it back to him—like feeding a dog.
“Show me how you fight with a real blade.”
“……”
“Impressive. Your aura barely reaches a Sword Walker’s level, yet your technique’s that refined.”
He paused, perhaps insulted. His silence amused me even more.
“Got no wings, huh? Fine. I won’t use mine either. Let’s just do this—sword to sword.”
The man slowly raised his weapon and pointed it at me. After a tense silence, he spoke.
“You’re arrogant.”
“You can be, if you’re strong enough.”
He said nothing more—and lunged.
The thrust was bizarrely creative, almost acrobatic, his wrist twisting to impossible angles. But that was all it was—creative. It lacked depth, polish, and lethality.
I counter-thrust. My whip-like sword curved, slicing his arm open. Blood splattered. I heard him grit his teeth. But what could he possibly do? I breathed in calmly.
With a short exhale, countless golden 「Lines」 burst forth, flooding the field. His own lines couldn’t even form. My radiant, dazzling paths conquered the arena.
Thrust after thrust—Simple, basic movements, yet he couldn’t respond. How could he, when he couldn’t even see them?
But then…
‘How did he block them earlier?’
A fluke? No—it had been too precise. Maybe he was better with a dagger? I could wait, let him switch weapons if he liked. I had time to spare.
And then—
“...?”
Something strange happened.
“Ah.”
Within my golden lines, something faint shimmered. A thin, distinct Line of its own.
The hairs on my neck stood up.
A thrust—irrational, unpredictable—pierced through my pattern. It was a thrust unlike anything I’d ever seen, or even imagined.
‘My Line... it’s breaking. Why?’
Watching my golden path shatter, I felt a chill of awe. Then I understood.
That thrust wasn’t skill—it was Mana.
Condensed Mana, hardened to steel, pushing through everything weaker than itself. Unyielding. Unstoppable.
‘Ah…’
A laugh escaped me.
The beautiful, unbreakable Mana within that strike—the sword that shattered all obstacles—was mesmerizing. A sword that broke everything in its path was the freest sword in the world.
And as the heir of the House that embodied freedom—Rhapsody—I couldn’t help but admire it.
“Magnificent.”
I wanted to see more.
But if I stood still, that strike would pierce my guard, my blade, my helm, my skull—and end my life.
That wouldn’t do. Father would cry. I didn’t want that. Never.
“Truly magnificent.”
So I decided to go a little further—beyond mere basics. I’d restrained myself to avoid revealing who I was, but this was no time for that. My wrist moved differently this time.
‘Good thing I snuck out today.’
Compressed Mana forming a Line? Even an average Sword Runner would be overwhelmed. But unfortunately for him—I wasn’t average.
I laughed. My sword began to glow with a different power.
‘See? Being outside does wake me up…’
The power that made House Rhapsody one of the Five Great Houses.
***
“……”
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
‘What—’
This had never happened before.
It shouldn’t be possible.
“This…”
The Line bent.
“What the—”
The path my master swore was unbreakable—the Iron Line itself.
“Why?”
My thoughts froze.
And the fighter before me murmured,
“Never seen something like this before?”