The Mausoleum of the Sword (3)
Unlike the Imperial Knight Examination, which evaluates only the strength of one's swordsmanship, the Northern Knight Examination evaluates the strength of one's very existence.
Not merely swordsmanship, but also survival skills in the field, traversing harsh terrain, endurance in prolonged combat, and even covert maneuvering.
That is why, if one were to imagine a one-on-one duel between an Imperial knight and a Northern knight—
the Imperial knight could hold an overwhelming advantage.
But what if the battlefield were an actual warzone?
What if it were the dead of night, where not even an inch ahead could be seen?
What if the battle took place after months of starvation?
The moment those "what ifs" come into play, I can say this with certainty:
An Imperial knight would never be able to defeat a knight of the North.
The greatest reason why they differ so drastically despite both being knights—
lies in where they are primarily dispatched.
Unlike the Empire's knights, whose main profession is duels and warfare, Northern knights fight countless enemies in countless places.
They spend days combing through mountains to subjugate bandits hidden deep within.
They weave through labyrinthine streets and buildings to exterminate undead in plague-ridden cities.
There are times they stay awake for days on end, standing guard against the threat of wild beasts.
And there are no few knights who, once deployed to war, continue fighting nonstop for an entire week.
That is why Northern knights are called experts of war.
And because Leinrant stood at the pinnacle of those Northern knights, he was able to defeat me, Archimond.
"Phew~!"
The grand journey that had lasted a full two days had finally come to an end.
The sacred mountain located at the very center of the Great Berkel Forest—the Mausoleum of Swords.
The moment I climbed onto the plateau at the summit, my legs, trembling from exhaustion, collapsed beneath me.
"So the others… already finished and went back down."
Seeing the snow swept aside in places, I quietly felt relieved.
Judging from the traces of battle, it seemed there had been no stragglers.
Yet at the same time, I felt strangely hollow.
"It's fortunate I made it here safely, but… to think I'd actually come in last."
No matter how much I trained my body, my true nature was not that of a knight, but a necromancer.
There existed a gap that could never be compared to knights, who circulated mana throughout their bodies to generate power.
'If I fought to the death, I could probably kill four or five ordinary knights… but that still isn't enough.'
My talent as a swordsman had limits.
Innate mana.
Without that, swordsmanship for me was merely a means of protecting myself in emergencies—
not a martial art worth devoting my full strength to.
"And besides, my demonic energy is growing steadily."
The obsidian ring that had already burrowed into my body.
The mana from my previous life contained within it had already settled throughout my body.
'At this growth rate, there's a chance. All that remains is obtaining a knighthood title and waiting for the right time for Helian…'
It was just as I stroked my chin, thinking about what was to come—
Whoooooosh—!
"Ugh, cold!"
An icy northern wind struck the parts of my face not covered by my winter gear, snapping me out of my thoughts.
'Both in my previous life and this one, I was born in the North, so why the hell can't I ever get used to this cold…'
Being able to endure something and liking it were entirely different matters.
The moment I recalled Delline, who happily wandered around shirtless in the dead of winter claiming the cold felt good, a deeper chill crawled over my already frozen body.
"More importantly…"
Casting aside the useless thoughts, I decided to focus on the examination before me.
At this rate, I'd catch a cold just from thinking nonsense.
"The examiner said, 'Once you reach the mausoleum, you'll understand naturally.'"
I muttered while surveying the scenery around me.
A flat plateau roughly the size of a training ground.
Throughout the snow-covered plateau, countless ownerless swords were densely embedded into the earth.
"Do I just pull out any sword here?"
Some were ancient blades so rusted they looked ready to snap.
Others gleamed as though they had only just been planted.
'Only knights who died in battle are laid to rest in the mausoleum… meaning quite a few have lost their lives even recently.'
Thinking that, I counted the number of gleaming swords.
Leinrant was the Empire's strongest knightly house.
To preserve that reputation, somewhere on the continent at this very moment, Leinrant knights were surely still fighting.
And then—
"Hah."
"Hm?"
My gaze turned with the cold wind.
At the end of it stood a sword of deeply familiar shape, drawing my eyes toward it.
"Wait… that is?"
As though guiding the countless knights embedded here, it stood alone atop a high mound.
The guard, the hilt, the pommel.
Every part of it was painted black, a plain iron sword devoid of even the slightest ornamentation.
And yet, that sword's appearance was unbearably familiar to me.
No… it was something I could never possibly forget.
"To think I'd see it again like this."
An indescribable nostalgia swelled within my chest.
After all, that sword was the greatest reason this place had come to be called the "Mausoleum of Swords."
"Nordvindt."
With heat filling my entire body, I spoke the sword's name.
The beloved blade of Berkel Leinrant, the first Duke Leinrant.
"Hundreds of years must have passed, yet it hasn't rusted, nor has its edge dulled."
It was a bizarre sight that defied time itself, yet what I felt was closer to relief.
That sword was the legendary blade that never broke until it had cut down all of Archimond's army.
And in the end—
it was the monumental sword that pierced the heart
of the fallen necromancer, Archimond.
"To meet it again like this, beyond the span of a single human life."
Every time I looked upon that sword, the sensations of that day resurfaced vividly in my mind.
The glorious battle where I poured out every last ounce of strength.
And at its end, the sharp sensation and agony of having my heart pierced.
Even the moment of my death.
"Phew…"
A sword that symbolized both my failure and my very existence.
As I stared at it with emotions of both love and hatred intertwined, something began to ripple around the blade.
"That is…?"
As though snow had gathered together.
As though the wind itself had condensed.
A pale, human-shaped figure stood there, gripping Nordvindt's hilt while staring directly at me.
Even though I knew full well such a formless being could not possibly possess eyes—
with the sword drawn, I could still feel its gaze upon me as I prepared for battle.
"Is it a fragment of gathered spirits, or perhaps a cluster of lingering thoughts?"
Countless hypotheses rose in my mind as I looked at the mysterious being of unknown origin, but I decided not to dwell on it.
Neither I, who was seeing it, nor that unidentified swordsman gripping Nordvindt's hilt—
looked like the type to care about such trivial details.
"Yeah… now I understand why the examiner said that."
Bring back a sword.
You'll understand which sword to bring once you arrive there.
Those words meant exactly what they sounded like.
Kakak—!
With a metallic shriek, Nordvindt was pulled free from the summit of the mausoleum.
Despite bearing the weight of countless years, the hero's beloved blade had lost none of the sharpness it possessed when it pierced my heart.
—As the representative of the wills of the swords resting here, I shall judge your qualifications.
The will of the sword, huh.
Whether such a thing truly existed, or whether that remnant spirit merely believed so on its own, I could not tell.
Kaaang—!
Though the past and present overlapped in my mind, what I had to do remained unchanged.
Face that sword.
And fight against it.
Chrrrrk—!
Six consecutive slashes seized control of every possible line of attack before me in succession.
'Phantom Sword? No, it's different. A counterfeit.'
A fake recognizes another fake.
Even while questioning that bizarre swordsmanship, I twisted my blade to break through it.
The moment I questioned its existence, a strike flew toward me.
The battle intent contained within it was far beyond that of a mere lingering thought-form.
—Endure.
Together with that inorganic voice, Nordvindt aimed for my neck.
A sword path that reminded me eerily of that battle long ago.
Though the past and present overlapped in my mind, what I had to do remained unchanged.
Face that sword.
And fight against it.
Chrrrrk—!
Six consecutive slashes seized control of every possible line of attack before me in succession.
'Phantom Sword? No, it's different. A counterfeit.'
A fake recognizes another fake.
Even while questioning that bizarre swordsmanship, I twisted my blade to break through it.
The moment I questioned its existence, a strike flew toward me.
The battle intent contained within it was far beyond that of a mere lingering thought-form.
—Endure.
Together with that inorganic voice, Nordvindt aimed for my neck.
A sword path that reminded me eerily of that battle long ago.
Kiiiiiiing—!
The sword hidden within the feint, aiming for my flank, tangled against the guard of my returning blade and let out a grotesque tearing screech.
A sound like the cry of an enraged serpent.
It was Fierce Serpent, the swordsmanship of southern warriors inspired by that very sound.
"What, all that posing around and you're actually surprised?"
I sneered toward the body whose very possession of will was questionable, then immediately shifted into offense.
The technique I used to pierce through the front was the rapier art, Triadent.
Holding my sword vertically, I thrust in succession toward the eyes, throat, and lower abdomen, causing the thought-form's stance to falter.
But at that very moment—
Kiiiiiiing—!
Together with the serpent-like shriek from earlier, the sword I had thrust forward was knocked upward, exposing my front wide open.
'Fierce Serpent?! This bastard… copied my swordsmanship…!'
Even as panic surged through me, I slammed my raised sword downward, cutting off the follow-up chain.
"What, all that posing around and you're actually surprised?"
I sneered toward the body whose very possession of will was questionable, then immediately shifted into offense.
The technique I used to pierce through the front was the rapier art, Triadent.
Holding my sword vertically, I thrust in succession toward the eyes, throat, and lower abdomen, causing the thought-form's stance to falter.
But at that very moment—
Kiiiiiiing—!
Together with the serpent-like shriek from earlier, the sword I had thrust forward was knocked upward, exposing my front wide open.
'Fierce Serpent?! This bastard… copied my swordsmanship…!'
Even as panic surged through me, I slammed my raised sword downward, cutting off the follow-up chain.
As Nordvindt's incoming sword path twisted downward, the swordsman immediately widened the distance between us.
'The technique it tried to chain into was Triadent. Every single move was one I had used myself.'
After seeing the preparatory stance and the trajectory of the first strike, I became certain.
The ability to perfectly reproduce techniques after seeing them only once—this was a type of opponent I had never faced before.
This was like…
"It feels like I'm fighting myself."
Every nerve in my body sharpened, and my thoughts became tangled.
If it could reproduce techniques, that meant it also knew how to counter them.
The moment I used the same move, I'd instead be opening myself up to retaliation.
How do I know?
Because that's exactly how I fight.
'So that old geezer who used to beat me around felt like this, huh?'
I muttered as I recalled my sparring matches with Ian.
If a move cannot finish the opponent in one strike, that move becomes useless.
Which meant that to maintain the advantage, I had to continue using new techniques.
'Without mana, I can perfectly reproduce maybe around thirty techniques…'
For the first time, I truly regretted possessing a body without mana.
'But I need to hurry.'
Unlike me, whose stamina drained the longer the battle continued, that thing had no limits to its endurance.
If I failed to settle this quickly, defeat was nearly guaranteed.
'Even if I tried using necromancy, it's impossible at this distance…'
Grinding my teeth, I immediately raised my sword and charged forward.
"Hyaaaap!"
My Shadow Strike thrust forward, only for Fierce Serpent to intercept it.
The sword path I suppressed using Phantom Sword was pierced into by Triadent from a completely different direction.
And the Red Spider Lily technique I used while aiming for the arm holding the sword turned out to be nothing but an illusion created by Phantom Sword.
Nineteen techniques used already.
The moment my final Falling Star Sword was blocked, I realized I had exhausted every card in my hand.
"Huff…! Huff…!"
A fierce battle fought at high altitude.
The thin air made every breath burn even harder.
Kaaang—!
Now the tide had completely reversed.
I had become desperate merely trying to block the swordsman's attacks after it instantly switched to offense.
"Cough—! Fuck!"
To make matters worse, the freezing air I kept gasping in triggered coughing fits, relentlessly wearing away at my focus.
Honestly speaking, it wouldn't have been strange if I collapsed at any moment.
"Fuck, and to think the test would be something like this…!"
A battle against myself.
It truly was a fitting trial.
The problem was that this test was my absolute worst matchup.
Unlike other swordsmen who gambled everything on overwhelming mana reserves, I was a swordsman who pushed technique to the absolute extreme.
Unlike those who could crush opponents through sheer mana output, once I exhausted all my tricks, I had no way to respond.
"So… what now…"
The swordsman lowered his stance with sword raised.
Judging by the posture, it was Falling Star Sword.
The blade was packed with enough mana that I couldn't even dream of blocking it.
"There has to be… some kind of way…"
As I swallowed dryly and desperately searched for an answer—
"Ah…?"
The moment I recalled my training atop the Barrier, Ian's voice suddenly flashed through my mind.
'Combine two techniques into a single sword path. You can do it, right?'
The training conducted atop the Barrier.
The task given to me there.
If I could just pull it off—
Paaat—!
"Ghk?!"
Having made its decision, the swordsman immediately charged at me.
A Falling Star Sword brimming with mana.
Even knowing it was coming, I could neither evade nor block it.
"If it's come to this…!"
Now that I had been cornered this far, it was all or nothing.
As I thrust my sword toward the descending Falling Star Sword, I desperately gathered together the countless fragments of information filling my head.
The innumerable sword arts crammed within my mind.
I dismantled their sword paths and mana distributions in reverse order, found the optimal combination, and reconstructed them.
Chiiiiiiik—!
My eyes burned as though set ablaze, and the hand gripping my sword moved on its own.
Wooooooong—!
I unfolded the sword path required for Rudel's secret art, Phantom Sword, in reverse and concentrated it into a single point.
Changing the point where force was applied, I melted Heinkel's technique—the essence of Falling Star Sword—into it.
And in that moment, I realized one thing.
If I couldn't infuse my sword with mana—
then I simply had to receive the opponent's mana and send it right back!
Kiiiiiiiiiiing—!
A brilliant radiance of mana burst forth from the sword I swung upward.
Not my mana, but the swordsman's mana contained within Nordvindt.
By clashing my empty blade against it, I intercepted the flow of mana—
and expelled it back outward.
Compressed into a single point before erupting directly into the core.
And as a result—
KUUKWAAAAAAANG—!
The swordsman holding Nordvindt was completely blown apart into pieces.
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