Chapter Title: Prologue
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A massive battlefield encompassing the world unfolded.
The prize at stake was absolute power to hold the entire world in its grasp.
All sorts of figures gathered around the arena.
The one who set up the arena.
Those who leaped into the arena themselves.
Those who watched from afar.
Those seeking the scraps of profit falling from the arena.
And I...
"Bullshit."
...am the bastard trying to flip the whole damn board.
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Molting
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Boring.
That was the impression the man dubbed a "monster in human skin" had of the world.
Twenty-five years had passed since he first gripped a sword.
The path walked by this supreme being was stained entirely in blood.
Fights, battles, wars.
His life had been an endless string of struggles, where victory alone proved his existence.
At fifteen, in his first victory, he took one life.
When he cut down a hundred, he made his name known to the world for the first time.
At his thousandth victory, fame attached itself to that name.
When he broke ten thousand swords, people praised him.
When he single-handedly felled an entire nation, the world came to fear the man.
And...
When there were no more swords left to break.
No more opponents to face.
The world prostrated at his feet, revering him as the master of the sword.
Crises had come, but defeat never had.
The supreme lifeform on earth, undefeated even once.
The being said to have reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship attainable by a human.
Sword Lord, Luke Rider.
And what came to this absolute one who had achieved everything was a crushing solitude.
For him, whose life had consisted solely of struggle, a silent existence was no different from torment.
Now just forty years old.
He still thirsted for battle, yearning to advance further.
To grow even stronger.
But...
'No more swords left to break.'
There was no one left in the world who could oppose him.
At that fact, he lamented.
In that moment, a thought flashed through the absolute one's mind.
"A sword to oppose me..."
No opponents existed in this generation.
He had broken them all.
Then...
'Why not forge one myself?'
A sharp sword to clash fiercely with him.
The next generation's rival, aiming for his heart.
Why not raise one with his own hands, no one else?
"Perfect... yes, perfect!"
Just thinking about it filled him with joy and excitement.
Madness filled his eyes as he gazed at the world, gleaming wildly.
And soon after, a single piece of news rippled across the entire world.
[Those with talent, come to me!]
This was the absolute one's promise.
[I shall become fertile soil to bloom your talents, and through this...]
It was also the proclamation heralding a festival of blood.
[Thrust your sword into my heart! The one who severs my neck shall inherit everything I possess!]
The world buzzed at the Sword Lord's declaration.
The Sword Lord's everything.
Some called it the Sword Lord's final enlightenment.
Others called it the absolute authority that moved the world.
Or the Sword Lord's successor, gaining all of it.
Whatever it was, inheriting "the Sword Lord's everything" meant becoming the ruler of the continent.
Those who trusted in their abilities grew greedy with excitement, and the talented threw themselves into the festival the Sword Lord had opened.
Thus, forty-two years after the Sword Lord's proclamation.
The festival called the Sword Throne Usurpation continued unabated.
To claim the absolute one's throne, growing ever more stained with blood.
Drenching the throne in even more blood.
* * *
Splash-.
Crimson blood sprayed in all directions.
"Pah!"
The man who spat blood collapsed to the ground, his dead eyes scanning his surroundings.
'Is this... hell itself?'
The scene before him left him no choice but to think so.
Buildings engulfed in flames.
Blood and corpses strewn everywhere his gaze fell.
'A hell of piled corpses and seas of blood.'
That was the only phrase to describe the situation around him.
'How... did it come to this?'
The order given to his squad this time had been nothing difficult.
Simply erase a small mountain village that had fallen out of the lord's favor from the face of the earth.
It was such a trivial task that they might as well have been out for a midnight stroll.
In fact, as they torched buildings and cut down villagers startled awake from sleep, he hadn't felt even a hint of tension—only boredom.
It took less than ten minutes to reduce the village of just over twenty households to ashes.
Every house burned, and most residents breathed their last under the blade.
Except for the last house.
No one could have predicted that the smallest, most rundown shack at the village's edge—barely fit for human habitation—would become the variable.
Roar-.
Flames engulfed the final house, and the first to burst out, an old woman, fell to a sword.
With that, he thought the mission was over.
But from that very last house...
'Mons... ter.'
...a monster emerged.
A monster cloaked in deep darkness.
Growl-.
The monster that appeared out of nowhere began rampaging madly amid the flames.
[Block it!]
[What the hell is that?!]
[Run!]
No will to fight.
No martial prowess honed over a lifetime.
None of it meant anything to the monster.
In the blink of an eye, all twenty comrades were torn to shreds.
"Haha..."
A sigh-like laugh escaped the man as he recalled that horrific moment.
'So, survival was impossible after all...'
His sword arm had been ripped off, and with his spine injured, he felt no sensation in his lower body.
He'd lost so much blood that his vision was already blurring.
'Never thought I'd go out like this...'
He'd always figured death could come anytime without issue, but he hadn't imagined a backwater mountain village would be his grave.
As the man lamented,
Step- step-.
A pair of small, moving feet entered his hazy field of vision.
His heart pounded at the sight, and his blurred sight cleared.
Soon, a single figure filled his eyes.
Jet-black hair and golden pupils.
And a small beauty mark beneath the left eye.
A boy who looked just seven years old stood there, gripping a broken kitchen knife.
His skin was fair and his features adorably cute—unlike a mountain village kid—but a faint fear settled on the man's face at the sight of the child.
"You..."
A small child who looked fragile.
But the man knew.
The monster that had torn apart twenty comrades.
The monster that had ripped off his arm.
It was that very kid.
"Cough!"
His heart racing suddenly surged the blood through him, and he spat up more.
The boy, who had been staring indifferently, finally spoke.
"Why did you do it?"
"..."
"Why the hell did you do it!"
His prepubescent, frail voice boomed, and a black shadow rippled like heat haze behind him.
And then.
Splash-.
The man's remaining arm flew off.
Blood spurted up.
Sensing true finality now, the fear drained from the man's face.
He smiled at the boy.
"Kuk, kukuku. Why... did I do it?"
The boy was asking.
Why burn the village.
Why kill the innocent villagers.
The man had only one answer.
"Because you're... weak. You were... crushed because... you're weak."
"..."
"And because... I'm weak... I'm dying... to you."
A faint voice, on the verge of cutting out.
Yet it carried unshakeable conviction, branding itself into the boy's heart.
"...Because we're weak?"
"The weak are trampled and culled, while the strong... trample and evolve."
"..."
"That's... the Sword Lord's era."
The world had been pacified by the Sword Lord, yet grown more chaotic because of him.
A brutal age ruled by the law of the strongest devouring all, more ruthlessly than ever before.
People called it the Sword Lord's era.
"In that sense... you're more than qualified to thrive in the Sword Lord's era."
A monster who massacred twenty knights with just a kitchen knife—he'd surely become a protagonist of this merciless age.
'Have fun out there. Kukuku.'
With that thought, the light faded from the man's eyes.
"..."
The boy stared silently at the dead man before turning away.
Step step-.
He hadn't gone far when his steps halted.
Near the boy's feet.
There lay the old woman, bleeding out in death.
The boy gazed blankly at her corpse.
Soon, a choked voice escaped his lips.
"You were just... just going to die like this..."
Sorrow or joy.
Pain or relief.
A strange emotion, impossible for a child, mingled in his voice.
Growl-.
As if in response, the black shadow behind him surged massively before vanishing.
Three days later.
A middle-aged peddler carrying a large wooden box entered the mountain village.
"Wh-what is this?!"
He had been trading daily necessities and buying hides from mountain villages for years.
He gasped in horror at the惨 spectacle before him.
'It's all burned to cinders!'
Just three weeks ago, a village had stood here; now only charred ruins remained.
'What happened?'
The peddler cautiously entered the village, looking around warily.
Then he spotted something and froze.
Blackened debris and dark red stains everywhere.
He recognized them at once.
'Bloodstains?!"
A chill ran up his spine.
'I need to get out of here!'
Bloodstains meant some calamity had struck here.
The village's disaster might not be over yet.
As he turned to flee,
"Mister."
"Eek!"
The voice from behind startled him into whipping around.
Seeing who had called, his pale face brightened.
"You... you're that... Yuri, right?"
Jet-black hair and golden eyes—an unusual look.
Plus, the kid who always hovered curiously whenever he visited the village—he remembered well.
The peddler sidled up to Yuri.
"What happened here?! Why is the village like this?"
As he asked, he scanned Yuri's appearance.
Clothes covered in black soot and crusted dark red scabs, hands caked in blood and dirt.
And.
'What the hell's with that kid's eyes?!'
Meeting Yuri's hollow gaze, the peddler shuddered involuntarily.
As he unwittingly stepped back, Yuri—who had stood silently till now—spoke again.
"...Mister."
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Do you... know what this is?"
Yuri held out a small metal token to the peddler.
Something from the pocket of one of the raiders.
The peddler's brows furrowed as he examined it.
"Huh? That's..."
An iron token emblazoned with a serpentine, twisting sword emblem.
As a local peddler, he recognized it immediately.
"Looks like the Pauli House crest?"
"Pauli... House?"
"Yeah, the family that just took over as lord of these parts, right? Greedy bastards with no talent—hiked the tolls by 50%! What do they expect to get out of a dump like this? Sheesh! It's like they want peddlers like us to starve!"
"..."
"Rumor is, to become lord, they scraped together some swordsmen and forcibly made a knight order... Now they're squeezing the territory dry to cover the costs."
Full of grievances, the peddler blabbered on.
Realizing his tone, he cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Ahem! Anyway, that looks like the Pauli House crest... Where'd you get it?"
"...Thank you."
Ignoring the question, Yuri pocketed the token and bowed slightly.
Then he walked away without a word.
"Kid!"
The peddler tried to grab him, but his body wouldn't obey.
An inexplicable chill had frozen him stiff.
Meanwhile, Yuri's eyes burned red as he walked.
'Crushed because you're weak?'
That's the Sword Lord's era?
If this tragedy really happened for such a pathetic reason...
'You should get crushed too.'
His shadow twitched faintly in response to his fierce resolve.
Only after Yuri had vanished into the distance did the peddler exhale the breath he'd held.
"Phew! What... what was that?!"
Catching his breath, he tilted his head.
'Come to think of it, that thing on his waist... wasn't that a knife?'
His mind had been elsewhere, so memory was fuzzy, but it seemed like a half-broken kitchen knife at Yuri's waist.
Covered in mud, no less.
'A kitchen knife?'
As he probed his memory, he noticed something behind where Yuri had stood—and froze solid.
Where his gaze fell.
Dozens of freshly made dirt mounds rose modestly.
"Huh..."
With a sigh, the peddler realized.
Yuri's hands, stained with blood and dirt.
The mud-caked broken kitchen knife.
What it all meant.
'He... made the graves all by himself?'
The peddler's eyes lingered on the dozens of mounds, unable to tear away.
And two weeks later.
A rumor swept through the area near Yuri's mountain village.
[The Pauli House devoured by a monster!]
A family that had some standing in the backwater wiped out overnight.
The Pauli manor had burned, and no survivors remained among those in it that night.
Some who woke to the agonized screams from the manor that day agreed on one thing.
A house-sized black monster had swallowed the Pauli manor whole.
For a time, people gossiped whenever they met about the monster that exterminated the Pauli House.
But no one knew of the half-broken kitchen knife abandoned in one corner of the burned Pauli manor.
And from then...
Eight years passed.