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Chapter 14 - The Swordfighters of Fireheart

The Swordfighters of Fireheart

Swordfighters.

That was how the warriors who were to confront the terrors that clawed their way out of the Hell Gates came to be known. They were the edge that cut through the sea of demons, the buffer between civilization and destruction.

Each great power in the Martial World—be it the Alliance of the Ten Clans, the Four Noble Clans, or otherwise—desired to claim them. To own Swordfighters was to possess a shield against despair and a torch of prestige.

Among the warriors, none had a greater burden. They battled, bled, and perished at the Gates. They were repaid in turn with the greatest support, rewarded by their sects, and respected by the civilians whose lives they protected.

The Fireheart clan was not different. Their honor rested on the shoulders of their Swordfighters, five groups of whom bore the family's banner into battle.

And biennially, the clan observed the Nine Day of the Flames—a flamboyant ceremony to pay tribute to those Swordfighters who sealed the Gates and sacrificed their lives to the blaze of duty. It was also the day that new Swordfighters were selected, dedicating the clan's future to new blood and untested steel.

On that day, not only the Fireheart clan were present. Small and large sects from all parts of Emberhold City gathered. For the heir of Fireheart bloodline, absence was not an option.

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"Would dying keep me out of going?"

"Isn't dying even worse than showing my face at the gathering…?"

"Pretending to die?"

"Wouldn't the Lord of Fireheart kill me for deception?"

The truth weighed on me with the force of iron: the only way out of this bloody festival was to literally die.

I've got no solutions, damn it…

Kevin spoke next to me, completely unperturbed.

"The upcoming Nine Day of the Flames is being held by the Second Elder. He told me he'll shatter you into pieces if you miss it again."

"Fuck… so it's him…"

The Second Elder—adamant, stubborn-willed, a man whose obstinacy had been the stuff of legend in my childhood.

He was more than anyone the firm believer that the Fireheart clan could ascend to rival the Four Noble Clans, provided—and only provided—that the heir was forged into greatness. His fixation with training and discipline was crushing, his creed pounded into me like a blacksmith hammering steel.

Not even Father believed it.

And yet… despite all that, part of me realized the old man was genuinely in his own way. He wanted me to succeed, even though he rammed duty down my throat every waking second.

And in spite of all that, I still managed to live like an idiot in my previous life.

"It's actually impressive how I still ended up a retard, given how much he tried."

"Huh?" Kevin blinked.

"Nothing. Conversing with myself. So—when do we depart?"

"The party is taking place at Eternal Market. Not very far if we ride in the carriage."

I stood still. "At Eternal Market? Ha. Second Elder went big-time this year, didn't he."

Eternal Market—Emberhold City's pulse. For three generations, it had been at Fireheart's side, flourishing under their wings, growing into Shanxi's most renowned marketplace.

What happened to Eternal Market later on? I combed my mind, and nothing materialized. I recalled no downfall, no scandal. Only success.

I shook the idea away. I couldn't afford to dwell on markets when other issues overshadowed them.

"Anyway, why aren't we leaving yet?" My anger flared. "Shouldn't the servants have prepared by now?"

I stormed towards the courtyard, prepared to lash out at incompetence.

"What's making you all take so lon—"

Words stuck in my throat.

There, among the servants, was Isabella.

Or rather. she did not resemble the Isabella I'd grown to know—the clumsy Isabella whose hair always seemed to fall over her face, whose eyes were hidden behind a curtain of bangs.

No. The girl in front of me bore the imprint of another Isabella—the one I had seen in my last seconds of my previous life, staring down at me with ruthlessly cold eyes.

Same person. Two faces. The difference was enough to make my heart constrict.

Her hair had been brushed, her bangs pulled back.

Her skin was so pale that it shone like polished jade in the light. Her lips were a pale crimson and striking against her skin. But it was her eyes—black, with a bluish cast—which arrested me. Eyes like a still lake at night, clear and compelling, impossible to avoid.

Even with so little effort—simply the act of allowing her real face to appear—she seemed completely different.

"You are so pretty, Isabella…!"

"How is it that a girl can be so lovely? You'll make men cry when you are old enough."

"Honestly, if opportunity permits, I would make you my daughter-in-law—"

"Young Master!"

The servants woke up from their conversation as soon as they saw me, bowing hastily.

One of the ladies who were combing Isabella's hair came forward, face white.

"I… apologize, Young Master. We thought proper etiquette required making her look presentable for the ceremony."

Her reason was weak, yet her wonder was evident. Even she had been swept up, unable to resist after she saw Isabella's beauty flower.

And this is only her hair… no paint, no powder. Nothing more. Just this… and she's so different.

I might have rebuked them, but what purpose would it serve? They knew their sin.

And Isabella came walking towards me.

Those jewel-dark eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, instinct howled at me to glance away. To not be pierced by the memory of what those eyes once were.

I coerced myself to meet them, though. No. These eyes weren't the ones from before. They weren't cold, weren't cruel.

They were warm. Alive.

"Little Master," she said gently, with a tiny, almost demure smile, "the older servants said I'm very pretty."

My heart stuttered. The words, plain as they were, cut deeper than they ought to.

That smile—so far removed from the last smile I remembered before dying—got my pulse racing.

I attempted to will the response away. Be calm, Davis. She can't know. She doesn't know.

But it wasn't simple.

"Do you think so too?"

Her tone was airy, yet in her eyes was sincerity.

And in that instant, looking into those defenseless eyes, I couldn't manage to respond.

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