Sword Devouring Swordmaster-Chapter 95 : Chapter 95

Chapter 95 — The Domain (3)
Karavan. The family forgotten by history.
According to my father and my master, the Karavan family had once been one of the greatest houses to ever grace an era.
The world had revered us, feared us, and admired us.
But no matter how many times I heard those stories, they were still only that—stories. Echoes from a time I had never lived through.
So the truth was simple.
I did not know what made Karavan great.
“...Karavan? I’m afraid that’s not a name I’ve ever heard before.”
“As expected.”
Tom chuckled softly, the kind smile of an old man who found warmth in honesty.
“I may know a lot for my age,” he said, “but even I can’t claim to know everything about this world, hoho.”
Just as I thought. Even a man as knowledgeable as Tom would never know of a lineage that had been erased from history itself.
So, as he smiled so easily, I spoke again.
“Karavan is my family.”
“Ah, I see. But may I ask—why bring up your family all of a sudden?”
“I suppose... I simply felt like talking about it.”
For a brief moment, Tom blinked in surprise. Then, as if recognizing something deeper in my tone, he nodded with a warm grin.
“As much as you’d like, young lord. I could tell the moment we arrived—you truly love this land. I’ve been hoping to hear your story someday, but if you’re willing to share it first, then this old man will gladly listen.
“One of the few joys left to us elders, after all, is listening to the stories of the young.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“No, thank you. Hearing a friend’s heart is a gift. Please, don’t hold back. This old man loves a good story.” He smiled brightly.
I met his eyes. And then—I began.
“There was once a boy born in a narrow, forgotten corner of land.”
I’ll say it again: I do not know the full extent of Karavan’s greatness.
“The boy’s name was Arhan Karavan.”
And I do not intend to speak of what I do not know. My story will only be made of what I remember.
“A boy born to a kind and romantic lord, and the most beautiful lady in the world. A boy filled with endless curiosity.”
The “Steel Glory” of Karavan had long faded away. What remained was a humble household—and a simple happiness.
“That boy lived a blissful life.”
Small, but unmistakably happy.
“Yes…”
The happiness I still remember.
“Until the year he turned fifteen—”
The year I truly came to know what it meant to lose everything.
“Until the day a Swordmaster visited our domain.”
* * *
When the witch Audrey first left the Sky Empire, she thought of the journey as a vacation.
Her life had always been filled with endless research and training. So when her sisters and mentors told her—
“Take it easy, Audrey. Go clear your head.”
—she had believed them.
Helping the so-called “Heir of Steel” find a treasure’s code seemed simple enough. An excuse to rest.
It wasn’t childish optimism.
The truth was, the “treasure hunt” had long become a burden among the witches.
Even the wisest among them had failed to make progress.
They had tried every method, employed the finest adventurers, and still couldn’t crack the code.
The elders had all but given up, pretending to continue only to save face.
Audrey knew this.
That’s why she had accepted the mission—believing it was meaningless.
A pointless errand disguised as a noble task.
In her mind, it was simply a vacation.
And for someone who had never once left the Sky Empire, traveling to the Iron Kingdom was practically a dream come true.
Her first journey abroad—what could possibly go wrong?
She learned soon enough.
Everything.
‘So that’s why they sent me here,’ she thought bitterly.
‘Not because they wanted to give me a break, but because they didn’t want to come to this miserable dump themselves.’
By the time Audrey realized she had been “dumped” with the job, it was too late.
She’d already made her proud farewell in front of everyone, swearing to return triumphant.
Now, all she could do was grit her teeth and plot petty revenge.
When I get back, I’ll complain all day. And I’ll eat all of their cakes.
Audrey sighed and looked around.
The village was dreadful. No floral-scented baths. No mellow wines. No soft beds to sink into.
Everything was beneath her standards.
Everything.
“Ugh…”
There was only one reason she hadn’t lost her temper completely.
“Ah, there you are.”
Hailyn. The unfortunate girl was once kidnapped by the black mage Jerry Selfit, forced into the world of magic against her will.
“What now? Did you make something again? Want to brag about it?”
“No, I just have a question.”
In this miserable village, Hailyn was the only thing that entertained Audrey.
“When you saw me controlling the golems, you said it was a mess. Which part, exactly? Based on what you told me before, my control method should be sound.”
Audrey studied her.
The girl’s execution was indeed rough—but there was something unmistakable beneath it.
Talent.
“It’s not wrong, exactly,” Audrey said. “Just unrefined. The details are lacking. The golem itself is the problem.”
“The golem?”
“Yes. To you, Jerry Selfit must seem like an excellent mage. His golems are fine—average, even good. But from my perspective, they’re outdated. The way they function is ancient. If you operate them like that—”
Audrey’s words flowed naturally. Teaching came easily to her. Instructing Hailyn allowed her to revisit old principles she hadn’t thought about in years.
Before long, the two were absorbed in discussion.
“What’s your long-term plan for the domain, anyway?” Audrey asked one evening. “It’s developing nicely, but this location’s too remote. Even at best, you’ll only make it a small city.”
“I agree,” Hailyn replied. “We’ll eventually need to absorb more central lands. It’d be simpler if Lord Arhan received a higher title and a territory closer to the capital.”
“But that wouldn’t be any fun. Building something from the ground up—that’s where the thrill lies. Watching something small and precious grow into something great… That's what makes it worth it.”
Their topics were hardly girlish.
Still, the two mages—so far beyond this little countryside—found themselves growing unexpectedly close.
Every time they spoke, the domain changed. New systems, new ideas, new energy. A land once forgotten was now constantly in motion.
Audrey had to admit it: Hailyn was a prodigy.
Given the right training, she could have served any great noble house as its chief steward.
But then Audrey sighed.
‘If only Jerry Selfit hadn’t gotten to her first…’
The girl’s mana still bore the imprint of her captor. Corrupted, tainted. Even her purest spells carried traces of darkness.
No noble family would ever hire a black mage’s student.
That wretched old man had stolen her future.
“One more thing,” Hailyn said one day.
“What now?”
“I don’t know many spells. My training was too limited. Would you… teach me some magic, Lady Audrey?”
Audrey blinked, then let out a quiet laugh.
It wasn’t a mocking laugh—it was just rare to hear such a request.
Among mages, asking to be taught was almost unheard of.
They were proud, arrogant, convinced of their own superiority.
To ask another for guidance was to admit inferiority.
But Hailyn didn’t hesitate.
She was so honest.
Audrey looked at her for a long moment. The girl didn’t even know what her words implied—that she was essentially asking to become her apprentice.
In the world of magic, the bond between master and disciple was sacred and rarely formed.
But this poor child didn’t know that.
And so Audrey smiled faintly.
“Alright, I can teach you a little. But not the real stuff. I can’t teach you proper magic.”
“Because I’m not a witch?”
“No.”
Audrey hesitated for a breath, then said quietly—“Because you’re a black mage’s disciple.”
Normal magic would never flow properly for Hailyn.
“You can only use spells tainted by the dark. The kind Jerry Selfit wielded. Because it was he who first opened your spiritual gate.”
“...I see.”
Disappointment flickered across Hailyn’s face.
But Audrey didn’t sugarcoat it. A true mage never did.
“Dark magic isn’t meant for humans. That’s why black mages alter their bodies or sacrifice others. Your body bears those marks already.
“The only ones who could teach you now are either demons or orc shamans.”
“Demons or… orcs?”
“Exactly. Demons would teach you—if you could pay the price. But they live in the northern continent.
“As for orcs? They’re dangerous. They’ll challenge you to a duel just for making eye contact. And their shamans are unpredictable; if they dislike you, they might banish you from the spirit world altogether.
“I might have helped if I knew a human who’d befriended one… but that’s ridiculous. No one would ever—”
“Oh, but I do know someone!”
Audrey froze.
“Our lord is friends with a very powerful orc shaman.”
***
By the time I finished speaking, the sun had long vanished.
The moon hung cool and bright in its place.
Tom stood beneath it, silent for a long while before finally speaking.
“…That’s a dreadful story.”
“…”
“If it’s true.”
He slowly raised his head.
“Young lord, I trust you. I truly do.
“I can believe that the Iron Prince’s Executioner erased an entire domain—he’s done it before to ruin noble lines. I can believe your parents died tragically.
“I can even believe that a Swordmaster came to this remote land and shattered your world.”
His voice grew quiet.
“But there’s one thing I struggle to believe.”
“What is it?”
“The Karavan family.”
His eyes gleamed faintly blue under the moonlight.
“A family said to descend from the greatest Swordmaster in history. One of the Five Great Houses known as the ‘Names of Steel.’
“A family that achieved countless feats—so many that a Swordmaster himself tried to erase every trace of them.
“And yet… not a single mention of them remains in any record. Not one line in any history book.”
He looked at me steadily.
“Young lord, I’ve devoted my life to studying this continent’s history. I’ve memorized the lineages of thousands of houses—some so ancient no one else remembers them. But never once have I come across the name ‘Karavan.’
“And a lineage with the power to devour swords? Such a thing defies everything I’ve ever known.”
His voice was calm, almost gentle.
“If I were a practical man, I’d dismiss it as a child’s fantasy. I might have stopped you halfway through.”
He paused, smiling faintly.
“But I’ve lived long enough to know this continent holds truths stranger than any fiction.”
He stepped closer.
“So, I want to see it. With my own eyes.”
“…”
“Because if what you’ve said is true—truly true—then it means what I’ve believed all my life was also true.”
“What you’ve believed all your life?”
“That swords hold souls.”
Tom smiled like a child again.
“If you prove it, I may cry. You see, it’s been… lonely. To care for the Hall of Honor, to polish those blades every day knowing no one believes.
“People called me a fool for cherishing dead steel. They said I was wasting my life. But if you show me proof—then I’ll finally be able to say it proudly.
“That they were wrong, and I was right. That my time, my work, my love—all of it had meaning.”
He smiled so warmly that even under the moonlight, I felt its glow.
“So… Can you show me?”
I smiled back.
“With pleasure.”
I drew my sword slowly and closed my eyes.
Tom stepped back, watching in silence.
I didn’t explain. Words weren’t needed.
I simply called forth the blade sleeping within me.
“Then, I’ll begin.”
Tom’s eyes flickered as the night deepened.
Under the starlight, I began to move.
It wasn’t a grand sword dance—just a simple flow, soft and deliberate.
How it looked through Tom’s eyes, I couldn’t know.
I only did what I knew best.
And as I moved, a voice blazed to life inside my head—a voice filled with heat and sorrow.
『The last thing I remember… was the burning mansion.』
A voice fierce enough to sear the night.
Under the moonlight, Tom watched the boy dance.
The moment the sword was drawn, Arhan’s movements changed—graceful, almost weightless.
As he spun once, his hair fluttered like silk.
But then Tom blinked.
The boy’s eyes… were no longer his own.
They were the eyes of a woman—sharp, blazing, unyielding. And her face—though half-burned and twisted—still carried an indomitable light. Just from those eyes, Tom could feel her life.
The battles she had fought.
The losses she had endured.
The purpose that had kept her alive.
The woman danced with her sword, her gaze piercing through the dark like needles of light.
Tom whispered, almost without realizing—“Needle…”