The Academy’s Sashimi Sword Master — Chapter 315: The Transfer Student is a Singularity (3)

Chapter 315: The Transfer Student is a Singularity (3)

During‌ the subspace duel,⁠ Leon suddenly asked‍ me, “Did you…‌⁠⁠ cut death?”

‘…I‌ didn’t, did I?’‍‌

At⁠⁠⁠ my age, I’m⁠ pretty grounded. But‌‍ that line, so⁠‌‌ worthy of a third-rate protagonist, left me dizzy for⁠‌ a moment—just as‌‍‌ a light bulb‍ flicked on in‍⁠ my mind.

“So that’s what happened?”‍

The‌ arena remained as‌ silent as a grave. In the‍‍‌ sky, a bald‍ eagle froze mid-descent.‍

Amidst⁠⁠ that grayish, paused‌ screen, I felt for a moment‍⁠ like the only‌ living being in⁠ color.

Leon’s‍⁠ voice had echoed⁠ several times, so⁠‌‍ surely everyone had⁠‍ heard him. Regardless of what they thought of the past, those words‍‍ had come from⁠ an aspiring hero,⁠ so they’d believe⁠‌ him without question.‍‌

‘Could‍ that nickname be‍⁠‍ making a comeback…?’‌

Yeah,⁠‌ that one.

Death‌ Sashimi.

I’ve‍‌ had so many⁠ nicknames that this⁠ cheap one had‍ been buried for‍ years, but…

Now‍ it felt pretty⁠‌‍ likely it was‍ about to be‌ resurrected.

Damn⁠ it. I’m twenty-seven‌ and married. What’s‌ the point of‍ still calling me‌⁠‌ Death Sashimi?

Caw,⁠ caw.

Just‍ then, the bald‍⁠ eagle—Eagle the 14th—cawed.‌⁠

As‍‌ if announcing the‍⁠ dark cloud looming‌‌ over my mood.‌‌⁠

The place was so‌⁠ quiet I ended up lost in‌ thought, but anyway—‌

Thanks‍‌ to the silence,⁠ Leon began to‍‍ reflect on the‍‍ cause of his‌ sudden bout of⁠⁠ late-teen melodrama.

‘He⁠⁠ confused it with‌ the Blessing of‌‌‌ Physical Rewind.’

Then‌ everything made sense.

From‍ someone else’s point‌‍ of view, it‍ probably did look‍‍ like I really‍ cut death.

And‍‍‍ if you analyze‍ the principle behind it, it’s not entirely wrong.

When‍ you wield a sword, there’s something‍ you feel—a flow.‍‌⁠ A rhythm, maybe?‌⁠

Like⁠ those chefs who⁠‌⁠ slice ingredients in‍ perfect rhythm on‍ the cutting board.‍

I guess it’s something‍ like that. After‌ all, a sashimi⁠ knife is still‌⁠ a sword.

Sure,⁠ cutting food and‌ cutting people aren’t the same—but when‍‍ I wield a sword, I erase‌‍ all emotion, and‌‌ in the end, one resembles the‍⁠ other.

Anyway.‌

‘I‌‌ got a little‌‍‍ carried away.’

To‌‍‍ be honest, without‌ realizing it, I unleashed a slash‌ that split the⁠ world.

The‍ unfair part is⁠ that all my finishing attacks are‍ like that—world-splitting slashes.

And‌ with good reason,‍ I’m called the‍ God of the‍ Sword.

If⁠⁠‌ I don’t control‌‌‌ my strength, this‌ fragile world would⁠ be reduced to‌‍ rags.

The‍ swordsman’s drum, which‍ I usually keep‌ sealed, raised its head.

There‌ weren’t even any‍⁠ evenly matched rivals,‍⁠⁠ no heroes left‌ to face me.‍

And‌ suddenly, after so⁠‍‌ long, I found‍ one. I got‌‌ excited and lost‌ control.

‘So⁠ I instinctively activated⁠ the Blessing of‌‌‍ Physical Rewind and‍ rewound time.’

Originally,⁠ that blessing wasn’t⁠ that powerful. At‌⁠ most, it could rewind a few‌‌ seconds before and‍‍ after an event.‌⁠

And⁠ that was already‌ powerful. But because‍ the Blessing of‌‌⁠ the Sword God‌‌⁠ was so absurd,‌‌ the Rewind blessing⁠ was also affected.‌⁠

Once⁠⁠ the Sword God‍‌ blessing was completed,⁠ the Rewind one⁠ was automatically upgraded‍ to a “divine” level.

Thanks‌‌⁠ to that, I could interfere even‌ with the laws‍ of the world,‌‌ like I just‍ did.

‘I’d‌ never thought about⁠⁠ cutting death itself.’

But‍‌‌ it’s not like‍ I couldn’t do⁠‍ it.

That⁠⁠ spark of inspiration⁠‌‍ tickled the back‌‍‌ of my brain.⁠‌‍

I wanted to stick⁠ my fingers into‍⁠ my skull and‍ scratch the folds of my brain.‌⁠‍

This‌⁠‍ was supposed to⁠ be a class‍‌ to teach the⁠ students something, but‌‍‌ it looked like‌‌ I was the⁠ one learning.

Which,‌ well, also has⁠ its value.

I shook my head.⁠

The‌‌⁠ world, until then⁠‌‍ frozen, began to⁠ move again.

The‌ students in the⁠‌‌ stands exhaled the‍‌ breath they’d been‌‌ holding, and a sharp groan came‍‌ from Leon’s mouth.

I switched my grip‍ on both sashimi swords to reverse‌‌ and looked at‌‍ Leon.

‘He‍‌ looks pale, but‌ ironically, also brighter.’‌‌

He‌ looked like he⁠ was about to⁠⁠ collapse, yet he‌ was still standing.⁠⁠

With‍ a grateful smile,‌ I said.

“Want‍ to continue?”

“Of⁠‍ course.”

What⁠‍ a hero.

He⁠ was nearly killed—technically,‌‍‌ he died and‌ came back—but he⁠ already wanted to‍‌ fight again.

Though⁠ from how much⁠ his knees were shaking, he wouldn’t⁠ last much longer.‍‌

‘I‍ want to at‌‍‍ least leave him‍ with the feeling⁠ that he fought‌‌‍ well, even if⁠‍ he lost.’

The‌ hesitation lasted only‍ a moment, and‌‍ action followed instantly.⁠‌

I bent my legs‌‌‌ and gathered strength.‌⁠‌

My vision blurred.

As⁠‌ expected, spiritual tears‌⁠‌ welled in my‍ eyes.

Bang!⁠‌‌

In‌ a flash of‍‌ light, my body‌‌ surged forward.

***‍

Thus‍ ended the duel‍‍ in the subspace.⁠⁠

The‌‍ battle, which seemed⁠‍ evenly matched, concluded‌‌ with a single⁠⁠ leap from the‍‍‍ Celestial Sword. The‍ outcome was obvious,‍⁠ but the content⁠‌‌ was always astonishing‍ every time it‌ was witnessed. Even⁠ Lee Woo-Bin, proud‍‍ member of the TOP 100 Bald⁠⁠⁠ Men of the‌‌ Year, thought so.⁠⁠ What could the⁠ students possibly say?‍

With‌ Leon’s sudden appearance,‌‌ their blood rushed‌ to their heads,‍ and the impact‌ of the duel‍⁠ was so overwhelming‍ it defied description.‍ In truth, they⁠⁠ saw nothing.

Their⁠ eyes wide in⁠ shock, they blinked‍ like sickly fish,‌‍ each face seemingly⁠⁠‍ expressing the same⁠⁠ thing.

— You need to‍‍ see something in‌ order to learn!‍‌

Entirely‍‌ understandable. This was‍‌⁠ the first and⁠‌ probably the last⁠ time they would‌ see both of them draw their swords with such‍ elegance. Even Lee‍⁠ Woo-Bin, using his‌‍‌ blessing, managed to‍⁠ visually capture only‌‍ up to the‍ fifth exchange before⁠⁠ losing the rhythm.‌⁠‍

‘Rather‍ than an educational spar, it felt‍‌ more like a release of the‍⁠⁠ Celestial Sword’s pent-up‌ urges.’

The‌ backs of his‍‌ two disciples, walking‍ away, looked lighter than ever. Lee‍ Woo-Bin felt a bittersweet blend of‌ joy and sorrow.‌

A helplessness for not⁠‌ being able to⁠‍⁠ fulfill his role⁠‌ as a teacher.⁠

“Senior.”

A clear voice called‌ Lee Woo-Bin. Turning⁠⁠ around, he saw⁠⁠ Choi Seol-Ah already⁠ beside him.

“When⁠ did you arrive?”‌‍⁠

“Just‍‌ now.”

“More importantly, can a secretary of the‍⁠‌ director leave like‍ that?”

“I‌ do know what‍‌ common sense is!”⁠‍

Choi⁠ Seol-Ah got annoyed‌ and pointed with her finger. Beyond‌ her hand was⁠ an empty seat—the‌‍ director had just⁠ gotten up and⁠‍ left.

And‍ of course, it⁠‌ was Saki, the director, who had‍ to give permission‍‍‌ for Leon to⁠‍ enter the Academy.‍‌

‘You’ve⁠‍ grown a lot,‌‌ Saki.’

The‌‍ fact that she was the one‍‌ to allow it‌ made it even more significant. Her⁠ father, Kojima, had‌ died in the‌ Second Great Human-Demon‍‍ War. The relationship‌ between father and‍ daughter had been‍‍ disastrous—everyone at the‌‍‍ Academy knew it,‍⁠ even if it‌‍⁠ was never said out loud. However,‌ Kojima’s end was‍ heroic.

He‍‌ showed the greatest‍ heroic spirit sacrifice.‍ And with his⁠ body, he laid⁠ the foundation for‌ what is now⁠⁠‍ Joaquin Academy.

Perhaps‍ that’s why Saki⁠ eventually forgave him.‍‌ Maybe he was‌⁠‍ the worst father,‍‍ but as a hero, he was⁠ worthy of respect. She had confessed⁠‍‍ as much to⁠ Lee Woo-Bin in‍‌⁠ the past.

‘The‌ direct cause of‌ Kojima’s death was⁠‌ none other than⁠ Leon van Reinhardt.’‍

And⁠⁠ yet, Saki allowed⁠ that very Leon‌‍ to enter the⁠ Academy. That means‍‍ she even forgave⁠‍ that.

As‌‌⁠ her mentor, Lee‍⁠ Woo-Bin could say‌ it proudly among⁠ all his students,‌‍⁠ Saki had the‍‌‌ deepest heart—and in strength, her husband,‌‍⁠ Kang Geom-Ma.

Choi‌ Seol-Ah glanced sideways at Lee Woo-Bin’s⁠‍⁠ calm profile.

Then‍‍‌ suddenly, she noticed‍⁠ the group of‌⁠ political heirs in⁠‍ the distance. As‌ if on cue,‌‌ they all looked‍ pale as clay.‌

“Oh…”⁠

What‌ you learn at⁠ three stays with⁠ you for life.‍ Choi Seol-Ah’s old‌⁠ villainous streak, forged in her youth,‌ activated.

“Senior,⁠‍⁠ senior.”

She‍‌‌ nudged him and‌‌ gestured toward the⁠⁠ nobles.

“What?”‌‌

“They’ve⁠ been so intense‍ lately that the director’s had a headache.”

“That’s‌ just age. If⁠‌‍ they were adults,‍‍ life would’ve already⁠ crushed that kind‌ of arrogance. And‌⁠ they’re hero candidates‌ for a reason.‌‌ Their brains are different from those‍ of ordinary citizens.‍‍ This is a place to learn⁠ the value of⁠‌ facing death—Joaquin Academy.”‌

“In‌‌⁠ that case…”

Choi⁠‌ Seol-Ah smirked with‍‌ a strange grin.‌⁠

“It⁠‌ looks like Kang⁠ Geom-Ma… no, the Celestial Sword, completely⁠‌‍ shattered that courage.”‍‌

And⁠ it made sense.‍‍‌ This Academy was⁠ for learning the courage to face⁠‍‍ death. But no⁠ one teaches you‍ what to do‌ after dying and‌ returning. Not in‍ this universe or⁠ any other.

Choi‍‌ Seol-Ah looked at⁠‍⁠ the third-year students‌⁠ with satisfied scorn.‍‍ What a ridiculous⁠⁠ attitude for someone‌‍ calling themselves an⁠‍ instructor.

She⁠⁠‌ thought of scolding⁠ them but instead‌ just looked up at the sky.‌‌

There,‍⁠ high above, her‌ gaze met that‌⁠ of a bald‍ eagle soaring overhead.‍⁠

“I⁠‍ trust the founding‍ hero is watching‍ over them.”

***‌⁠

As‍⁠ expected, night in⁠ Gehenna’s subspace is‌‌ dangerous. That’s when⁠ magical energy becomes‍‌‍ far denser than⁠ during the day.‌‍

From‌‍‌ a human perspective, already lethal toxins‍ grow even more‌⁠ extreme.

Even⁠ heroes ranked Warrior‍‍ or higher couldn’t‌‌ roam Gehenna at‍‌ night.

In‌‍ fact, it could‍⁠ be said that,‌ within humanity, only‌‍‍ Kang Geom-Ma could‌‌‌ do so.

However…‌

Step,‍‍⁠ step.

A figure walked through‍‍ the gloom. Skin⁠ white as jade,⁠‌⁠ black hair, dull‍ black eyes. At‌ a glance, she‌‌ looked human.

A naked girl wandered‍ aimlessly. Sometimes she‍⁠ followed a path,⁠⁠ other times she‌⁠ made her own.‍‌‍

There was no defined‌‌ direction. She walked⁠ wherever her consciousness‌‍ guided her.

The black sun had⁠⁠ already vanished completely.‌⁠‌ As the girl‍⁠ moved down a trail, the bushes‌ ahead trembled.

Moments‌ later, a group‌ emerged from the‍ forest shadows. Three‌ in total.

All‍ had long pointed ears and softly‍‌⁠ glowing eyes. They‍ were high elves.⁠‍‌

Having been brutally defeated⁠‌ by Kang Geom-Ma,‌ they now staggered‌ toward a dark‌ forest.

“…What⁠ is that?”

One‍ elf murmured in⁠‌‌ disbelief. A human‌ wandering at night?‌‌ And naked?

While⁠‌ the three elves stood baffled, the⁠‌ girl passed by⁠ them without reaction.‍

Being⁠⁠ ignored by a human ignited a repressed rage on‌ their faces. Already‍ irritable from their‌‌ earlier encounter, this‌‌‍ was too much… a mere human‍‍ disregarded them?

They⁠⁠⁠ didn’t know how‌ she got there,‍‍ but felt the need to take‌ it out on someone.

“Human.”‍

One elf grabbed the‌ girl’s shoulder. Then,‍‍ with a crooked‌‌⁠ smile, she said.‍⁠

“We’re⁠⁠⁠ in a bad mood. Maybe killing⁠⁠ you will make⁠‌ us feel better.‍‍ Come with us⁠⁠ for a moment?”‌⁠

The‌ girl slowly turned‍ around. The three‍ elves’ shoulders trembled.‍

That’s when they noticed‌ her eyes were‍⁠⁠ completely black. Panic‌‌‌ set in. She tilted her head.‌‌

“…?”‍‌

“What‍‍ is that…?”

The elf felt sudden‌ heat beneath her⁠‌ nose. She let‍⁠ go of the‌‌ girl’s shoulder and‌⁠ touched her face.⁠‌

Blue‌ liquid. Blood.

She tried to look‌ at the girl⁠ again—but it was⁠‌ too late.

Bang!!!‌⁠

The decapitated body hit‌ the ground. A pool of blue‌ blood spread at‍‍‌ the girl’s bare⁠ feet.

The‌⁠ remaining two elves‌⁠ went pale.

The‌‌⁠ girl’s dark gaze‍ slowly dropped from⁠ the dead elf‌ to the two‍⁠ retreating ones.

She‌⁠‍ spoke again.

“◻️⁠ ◻️”

The‍ other two met‍ the same fate.‌⁠

The‌ girl stared at‌ the three corpses.⁠⁠ Then she took⁠‌ the clothes of‍‍ the elf who‍ had first grabbed‍‌‍ her and put‍‌‌ them on.

Since‌‍ high elves were taller than humans,‌ the sleeves and⁠‍ pants hung loosely.⁠

She⁠⁠⁠ didn’t care. With‌‌ the garments dragging‍ on the ground⁠⁠ like a brush,⁠ she kept walking.‍‌‌

Her⁠‌‍ goal was to⁠‍ find the man‍⁠ who had lived‌‍‍ in her thoughts⁠‌‍ since birth.

A man with the⁠ same hair and‌⁠ eye color as‍‍‍ hers.

***

That‌‍ night, I had dinner with Ryozo.‍⁠‌ It was an⁠‍‍ odd-numbered day.

Before‌‌ the actual meal⁠‌ began, I thanked⁠‍‍ her.

“Thank⁠‌ you, Ryozo.”

“Huh?⁠ What for?”

“For‌ allowing Leon to⁠‍‍ come and go⁠⁠ from the academy.⁠‌‌ At least, with‍ you…”

“And‌‍ you’re saying this‍ after ten years?”⁠

Ryozo‌‍ shook her head‌ calmly.

“You‍ explained it enough‍ already. It was‌ just a difference⁠ in understanding. Leon⁠ was also manipulated‌ by the second commander.”

“To⁠‌ save his father.”‍

It’s⁠ one thing to‌⁠⁠ know that. Another to accept it.⁠⁠⁠

I knew better than‌ anyone the poor⁠ relationship between Ryozo⁠ and Kojima. But⁠⁠ blood is blood.‍‌‍ Just like his‌ mother, the goddess‍ Cynthia, who was⁠⁠ never able to⁠ completely let go⁠ of him.

Leon,⁠ to save his‌‌‌ father, had to‍ kill another’s. That’s war. Victims carry⁠ those scars like tattoos for life.‌‍

“Speaking‌‍ of fathers…”

Ryozo‌‍ suddenly asked me,⁠⁠

“You‌⁠ said you had‍‍ a father too,‌‌ right?”

“I‌ did. Though he⁠‍ was adoptive.”

“…Would it be selfish⁠⁠ to want to⁠ know more?”

Ryozo‌ put down her‍ chopsticks silently and⁠ lowered her head slightly. She fidgeted‍‌‍ with her fingers,⁠‍ looking at me⁠‌ with those sky-blue‌⁠ eyes. It was⁠ still hard for⁠‍‌ her to show‍ consideration for others.‍‍

I smiled.

“Not‍⁠ at all. If⁠⁠ anything, I should‍ apologize for not‍ telling you sooner.”

Ryozo⁠ stood up suddenly⁠ and rushed over‍ to me. Pressing‌ close to my⁠‍ side, she sharpened her ear and‌⁠‌ focused.

“Before‍ that.”

She‌ gave me a serious look.

“Does⁠‍‌ Abel know this?”‌

“You’re⁠‍ the first person‌‍ I’ve told.”

Ryozo⁠ clenched her fists‍ and nodded.

“I’m⁠ ready.”

I felt Ryozo’s warmth against my chest.⁠

And‍‍ I spoke the name of the⁠‌ man who had taken me in‌‍ and raised me‍ with familial warmth‍ — the founding‍⁠ hero, Balor Joaquin.⁠