Sword Devouring Swordmaster-Chapter 90 : Chapter 90

Chapter 90 – The Idler (4)
“Status of remaining contestants?”
“Five… no, four—wait, no. Just those two left, sir.”
“Why the hell does that keep changing?”
“One panicked at the killing intent flooding the arena and ran straight into the barrier—died instantly. Two others turned on each other. One killed the other, but he bled out right after. So yeah. Those two are all that’s left. The winner between them takes it.”
“So you’re telling me the last ones standing are our moneymaker, the Sword Demon, and the young master who’ll get us all executed if he so much as gets a scratch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Means we can intervene if we have to—no complaints either way. Whoever wins, wins. No one can protest that.”
“But, uh… won’t the crowd riot if we stop the fight? They were already pissed off after the race-bout mess earlier.”
“Who cares? Better a riot than getting killed. You gonna take the blame when that crazy bastard shows up looking for his son? The one who doesn’t stop at anything?”
“……”
“Relax. It won’t come to that. That young master’s famous—a prodigy swordsman, right? People in the Free Cities say he’s unbeatable. No matter how strong the Sword Demon is, he can’t beat the heir of House Rhapsody. So all we do is wait. The young master wins, we do the usual. But if—if—by some miracle the Sword Demon starts to hurt him, we step in.”
“And who’s supposed to stop that kind of fight?”
“Don’t worry. I already called in someone who can. Damn near broke my back convincing him, though. Retired old bastard’s still picky as hell…”
***
Toma Rhapsody watched the fighter before him—the man who had rejected his offer without hesitation.
‘Insane bastard.’
He’d told him to name his price, and the first thing the man demanded was the head of Swordmaster Carlos, or the Iron Prince’s torn limbs.
Toma almost laughed. That wasn’t a counteroffer—it was a mockery.
Still, he wasn’t angry. If anything, he was exhilarated.
This was the first time in years someone had dared spit in his face.
The world, it seemed, was larger than he thought.
If this lowly tournament, crawling with peasants, could hide a gem like this—what monsters must roam the Eastern, Northern, or Southern continents? His heart thumped in anticipation.
The fighter before him was gasping for breath, but something was off. Each breath distorted the air—heat rippled outward.
Toma recognized the phenomenon instantly: mana overdrive.
‘So he’s still got something left.’
It was a power that warped the surroundings—a feat only a Sword Runner should be capable of.
That this man, who should’ve been no more than a Sword Walker, could do it—it was puzzling, but irrelevant.
Toma stepped back two paces, drew in a deep breath.
“A gift, for waking me up.”
At that breath, his sword shimmered. And from his back—light.
Wings.
Not one pair.
One, two, three… six wings of pure radiance unfurled behind him.
The three pairs pulsed, resonating like a beast’s roar. With them, the authority of a Sword Runner—Acceleration—awoke.
The first pair blazed—Toma’s thoughts accelerated. The world slowed to a crawl.
The second pair—his body accelerated. He moved like a streak of light, almost teleporting.
The third pair—his mana accelerated, whirling through him at impossible speed.
When the three-fold acceleration was complete, Toma crouched low, like a predator poised to pounce.
His blade shimmered—one of the signature techniques of House Rhapsody’s Spiral Sword.
“Keep your eyes open.”
It was a wave-technique.
The Tidal Sword—a strike that mimicked the surge of the sea, obliterating everything in its path.
“If you can even see it.”
As his wings flared, Toma could almost hear the crash of surf in his head.
The unstoppable freedom of the ocean condensed into his blade.
And Toma Rhapsody became a wave—a living tide—as he charged.
And then—
“……?”
The fighter before him blurred, shifting, reshaping.
Toma blinked.
“...Steel?”
***
A world on fire.
The sun burned everything.
I saw it and remembered.
That day, long ago—when I lost everything, when I was told to give up, to forget—I lay in a blood-soaked garden and looked up.
The sky was cruelly clear.
The sun—unbearably beautiful.
The same sun that had once shone on my happiness now shone on my despair.
And I thought: If only that sun could burn this whole wretched world to ash. All of it—everything unjust, everything that made no sense. If a god truly existed, I prayed He would drag my enemies to His side that very instant.
But he didn't.
My enemies prospered. I withered. And those who’d once stood beside me found no peace either.
Some tried to flee the fief, but couldn’t adapt; others were killed by bandits along the way.
The world was merciless.
And I couldn’t even blame them. I wasn’t strong enough for hatred. I wept instead.
When I heard of their deaths, of how miserably they’d fallen, my heart broke.
Why was this world so cruel?
Every story preaches justice—that the righteous prevail, that the wicked fall.
Every priest of the Nine Goddesses, every cleric of the Seven Lords shouts of virtue.
Then why—why are sinners nobles, and the good trampled and slaughtered?
Whose side is the world on?
Doubt.
Doubt upon doubt.
Even after taking up the sword, doubt never left me.
Why had the noble knight Fetel, who lived so purely, died so wretchedly?
Why had the gods denied him wings, even in his final moment?
Why could that lonely wolf never speak his heart to his young lord before the end?
Was this world ruled only by strength?
Was there no good, no evil—no justice, no retribution, no heaven or hell?
Nothing made sense.
No one gave answers.
So I had no choice but to keep swinging my sword.
Until one day it reached the world itself.
Until the unjust trembled at my blade.
Until my enemy could no longer breathe the same air as me.
A heartbeat thundered in my chest. The sound shook my whole body.
And I—became a flame.
A merciless flame that burned everything it touched, granting death and pain equally to all.
Instinct told me—this was my Mystery.
I lifted my head.
He was coming.
Step by step.
And with every step, he turned into something else— a wave.
A devouring, all-consuming wave.
Flames flicker and die before the tide.
So how do you fight a wave?
I didn’t know.
Even having drawn out this fire, I didn’t know how to use it.
Then, over my hands—another’s hand. Old, calloused, translucent.
My master’s.
『You’re fortunate. The Karavan sword and your flame complement each other well.』
As his hands guided mine, I followed instinctively, slow and heavy, like a smith at his forge.
『Think of it as hammering.』
My sword rose.
『Think of beating the flame into shape. Picture a blacksmith forging steel—striking the fire, shaping it into a blade.』
I did as he said.
And in that instant, I was no longer a swordsman, but a smith standing before molten steel.
The sword in my hand was no longer a weapon—it was a hammer.
I raised it high. And brought it down. Like a blacksmith.
『That is the first sword of Steel.』
CLANG!
A sound like worlds colliding rang in my head.
My vision snapped clear—and before me stood the Idler.
Our blades met—bound together.
“...You… stopped my wave—?”
Disbelief in his voice.
He faltered.
I brought my blade down again—a vertical slash.
The first Steel.
“Ugh—”
He scrambled to block. Wings flared, Sword Runner power surging—And then.
“……?”
The flame leapt from me to him. His wings ignited—then vanished.
His acceleration stopped. His body froze mid-motion, like a bird whose wings had suddenly burned away.
“W–What… what the—”
Panic.
I didn’t stop.Another downward strike—CRACK.
Steel met steel.
CLANG!
The shockwave cratered the ground.
The Idler’s limbs trembled violently; his black armor shattered piece by piece. Beneath, his skin bloomed red with bruises.
“Wh–What is this…”
His voice broke.
Flames leapt again—from me to him—and his overwhelming presence began to fade.
His 「Line」—gone. His wings—gone. His mana—fading to nothing.
He was being stripped bare—reduced to a mere human.
『Truly fitting, for you.』
“……”
『How is it? Your first Steel.』
Crack.
The edge of his sword began to erode, unable to withstand the weight of mine.
『Karavan’s signature strike—a simple vertical slash infused with the essence of Steel. Heavier than any sword on this continent.』
“……”
『Each swing can carry a Mystery within it—as you’ve just done, embedding your Flame of Doubt into the blade.』
The Flame of Doubt.
My master had already named it.
『No matter how fierce the Rhapsody’s waves, no tide can sweep away steel. No matter how many times the surf crashes, steel simply remains.』
“……”
『That is Steel.』
I felt my strength draining fast. The backlash of the 「Light」 was coming.
Soon the flames would die, the power fade, and I’d no longer be able to swing this impossibly heavy blade.
So before that—just once more.
“St–Stop.”
For the first time, the Idler’s voice trembled.
“Please… stop…”
CLANG!
My sword came down again.
He tried to block, stumbling, desperate.
The shockwave sent him flying like a broken doll.
He crashed and rolled across the arena floor, limbs twisted.
His wings were gone. His 「Line」 was gone. His mana—gone.
No longer a swordsman.
“Ugh… ah…”
I walked toward him.
Step by step.
He crawled backward, whimpering.
I raised my sword, as my master had taught me, and brought it down to end it.
And then—BOOM!
A massive impact struck me from the side.
I flew—slammed into the ground.
Dazed, I looked up.
The Idler was curled on the floor, clutching his head—and before him stood a familiar face.
“Now, now… that’s enough.”
A silver-haired old man.
Impeccably dressed, monocle gleaming, his voice calm and warm.
“Victory has been decided, young master.”
Tom.
The curator of the Hall of Honor.
The one who’d given me my entry recommendation for the Infinite Duel.
He held a silver rapier—its tip still faintly glowing.
“I believe Lady Referee herself would be satisfied with this outcome.”
His voice was kind, gentle. But the aura around him—anything but.
This wasn’t the administrator of the Hall standing before me.
“Let us sheathe our blades and enjoy the glory of victory, hmm?”
No—The man standing there now was Tom the Sword Expert.