The Academy’s Sashimi Sword Master — Chapter 320: One of the Two Will Die (1)

Chapter 320: One of the Two Will Die (1)

“Heavenly‌ Sword—!”

Sung Yuchang came running‍ after me, gasping‌‍ for breath.

He‍ was already a skinny guy, but‌‍ now his cheeks⁠‍ were so sunken⁠⁠⁠ it was chilling‌‌ to see.

Wow…⁠⁠

Watching him arrive without‌‌ even catching his‍‍ breath was touching.⁠⁠ And it was‌‌‍ all the fault⁠ of those damned‍ Parsy Institute bastards.‌‌

Because‍ of them—because they‌ didn’t know their place—Sung Yuchang had ended up sacrificing‌‍⁠ his arms and‍ legs, figuratively, for‍⁠ the cadets’ future.‌ They had pushed‍ him to the⁠⁠ brink.

This‌⁠ couldn’t go unpunished.‌ As someone close⁠⁠ to him, it was my duty‍‍ to settle the⁠⁠ score with those‌‍⁠ responsible for Sung⁠ Yuchang’s stress.

I had clearly underestimated⁠‍ them, thinking this⁠ could be resolved with just words.‌

‘With‌ me, it’ll be‍ different.’

Sullied⁠ the president’s legacy‍⁠‍ and made my‌‌ friend suffer? It‌‍ was only right‌‍⁠ they paid the‌ price.

I’d‍⁠ make an example‍ out of them to lighten the‍ burden on Ryozo‌ and Abel a little.

A single slash of‍‍ my knife would‌ accomplish three goals.‍ The ultimate efficient‌⁠ strike.

“If‍‌⁠ you’re going to⁠⁠ go…!”

Sung‍ Yuchang clung to‍ my waist. Since‍ I kept walking,‌ his grip slipped⁠‍ all the way⁠‌‌ down to my ankles.

This guy… always good⁠ at acting the⁠⁠‍ martyr.

“Then‌ step over me—no, cut me down‍ and go!”

“……”⁠

“……”‍‍

“That‌ was a dumb‌ idea.” I knew⁠ it. He wasn’t‍ a hero.

He⁠ had no intention of risking his⁠‌ life.

“You‍⁠ made the right⁠ call.”

“…Did‍ you really think⁠‌ about cutting me?”⁠

I nodded and kept⁠‌ walking.

“I’ll‍ let it go.”‍‌

But‌ then…

“In‌⁠ exchange for that!”

Sung‌ Yuchang was a seasoned man of‌ the world. Hadn’t‍ he become president‍‍ of the Hero‍ Association without ever⁠ Awakening?

He‍‍‍ wasn’t just any⁠‌ ordinary person. Not‌‍ in the slightest.‌

He‍‌ had anticipated my‌⁠ response. And had‍‌‌ prepared a trump‌‍ card to persuade‌‍‌ me.

That’s‍⁠ why I knew‍⁠ this was all⁠‌‌ an act. That bumbling old-man persona‌ who watched morning⁠‌‍ dramas hid a veteran politician underneath.⁠

“You’ll‍‌ have to go‍‍ with the Lady⁠ of the Sword!”‍‍‌

Sung⁠ Yuchang declared it‍ boldly. I came‌ to a screeching‌ halt. As I slowly looked down‌‌ at him, he⁠ shrank.

The‌‌‌ Lady of the Sword, Abel von⁠ Nibelung.

My⁠ wife belonged to⁠ the highest ranks‌‌‍ of the aristocracy.‌ Her family, the⁠‍ Nibelungs, split the⁠ noble class in⁠⁠ two alongside the pro-monarchy faction of‌‍ Victoria.

It‍ wasn’t a position⁠‍ one earned through‌ strength alone. Political⁠ skill was essential—and‍‌ that usually involved‌‍⁠ words.

Verbal‌ communication. Something I loathed.

‘Wouldn’t‍‌ a single slash‍ solve it all?’‍‍‍

Every⁠‌ time I voiced⁠‌‌ that inhuman thought,⁠‌‌ Abel stepped in⁠ to speak on⁠‌ my behalf. Sung‍‌⁠ Yuchang knew this,⁠ which is why‍‍‍ he mentioned her⁠ title.

“After‌⁠ ten years, you‌ really do look‌⁠ like a raccoon.”⁠

“I’d⁠⁠ prefer you say I’ve improved my‌‍ strategy.”

“Fine.‌‍ You’ve improved… but.”⁠‌

This‌ time, I’d do⁠ things my way.‌

“Not‌⁠ today.”

I gently shook Sung‍ Yuchang off.

“H-Heavenly‍ Sword…?”

“I’ll‍ contact you later.”⁠

“Heavenly‍ Sworrrrrd!”

“Goodbye,‍ Mr. President.”

I left without looking‌ back.

My⁠‍ body was heating‌ up. In times⁠‍ like this, I remembered that this body once belonged‌‌‌ to the First‍⁠⁠ Commander of the⁠ Demon King’s Army.⁠ When emotions surged,‌ the desire to‍ destroy bubbled up⁠ to my throat.‍

“If‍ they crossed the⁠ line, they must‌ pay the price.”⁠ Parsy Institute… I’ll⁠⁠ cut you down.⁠‍⁠

***

President‌ Sung Yuchang wasn’t‍ an easy man‍ to deal with.‍⁠‌ As the leader‍ of the Hero‌ Association, he was⁠⁠ meticulous.

“Let’s⁠‌ go together.”

Abel was waiting at‍ the entrance with‍⁠ her arms crossed.⁠‌ Her dazzling beauty‌ could steal a man’s soul. I tried to blend⁠⁠ in with the‍ walking corpses around‌⁠ us.

“You, with the black‍ hair. Could you‍⁠ look over here?”‌

I denied it instantly.‍

“You’ve got the wrong⁠⁠ person.”

“This‌‍ is your idea⁠‌ of a joke⁠ before eliminating an‌‍‍ academy, huh?”

“…”⁠

“I’m⁠‍ not letting you‌‍⁠ go alone.”

I had no choice⁠ but to resign myself.

‘That‍ guy…’

Had‍ he met with⁠ Abel ahead of time? I take‌ back the disdain⁠‍⁠ I showed earlier.⁠‍

Sung⁠ Yuchang, ready to‍‍ die, had clung⁠‍ to my pants.‌‍ That act had‌‌ all been part‍ of his plan‍⁠⁠ to buy more⁠‍ time.

He‍⁠ had even calculated⁠ the exact moment‍ Abel would arrive‍ at the entrance.⁠

‘No‍ helping it now.’‍‌‌

I scratched my neck‌ as I approached⁠⁠‍ Abel. Her golden⁠ eyes, as radiant as ever, pierced‍‍ me.

“I‌‌ think you’re misunderstanding.‍⁠‍ I didn’t come‌⁠ to stop you.⁠ I’m not one‌⁠⁠ of those frustrating⁠ characters who give‌‍ you pancreatic cancer.”⁠

As‌‌ she said that,‌‌ Abel slightly raised⁠‍‍ her hip. She‌ was carrying a single sword, unadorned.⁠

“You⁠ brought Notung?”

“I⁠‌ told you I’m⁠‌ not here to⁠‌ stop you.”

Abel‌⁠ crossed her arms‌⁠ more deeply.

‘If‍ she brought Notung,‌‌ then this goes‌⁠‌ beyond Sung’s intentions.’‌

Notung.⁠

A relic passed down‍⁠ through generations in the Nibelung family. Of course, its⁠ rank was S.‍ Technically speaking, on‍⁠ Earth, it would‌⁠ be called an⁠⁠ EX-rank weapon.

Notung‍ was the weapon‍‍‌ of the Sword‍⁠‌ Master, one of‌ the Seven Stars. To lump it‌‍ with other S-rank⁠ weapons was an‌‍ insult.

If‍ a member of the Nibelungs was carrying Notung, it‍ meant only one‌⁠ thing she was‌⁠ ready for battle.‍

Even‍‍ the Sword Master‌ had slaughtered demons⁠‍ with Notung during⁠ the Great Human-Demon‍ War.

If only the weapon‍‍‍ I commissioned from‌⁠‌ Volundr was even‍ half as good‌⁠ as Notung.

I’ll‍ have to mention‌ it next time⁠‌ I see him.⁠ Though I’m sure‌ he’ll curse me‌‌ out, he still⁠‌ owes me.

I’ve⁠ never forgotten the⁠‍ day, ten years⁠ ago, when he⁠‍ turned my Murasame‍ into a rag.‌

People‍ around us whispered.‌ Like the tension‍⁠ between us was‌ pumping them full⁠‌ of dopamine or‌ something.

But Abel remained unfazed.⁠

“That’s⁠ why, we’re going‌⁠ together.”

She⁠‌ clung to my‌ arm. As if‍ waiting for that⁠ moment, envious stares rained down on⁠ me. I’d gotten‍‌ used to those‌ since marrying Abel.‍

“Shall‍ we use a subspace warp?”

“Hmm.‍ Today’s a special case, so the‍ faster the better.”⁠

That⁠‍‍ was her indirect⁠⁠ way of saying,‌‍‌ “Take me with⁠ you.”

“No‌⁠‌ need to ask.”‍

I immediately wrapped my⁠‌ arm around her‌ waist. The jealous‍ glares intensified even⁠⁠ more. In the⁠ midst of that⁠‌ whirlwind of envy—⁠

Crackle—Ruuuumble!‌

We shot into the‍ sky, leaving only⁠ sparks behind.

***‌⁠

The⁠‌ nobles have money.‌‍

I once asked Abel‍‌ where nobles got‍⁠ all their wealth.⁠‍⁠ She told me‍‌‌ they didn’t pay‌ taxes—no income tax,‍ no value-added tax, no inheritance tax.‌

Since⁠ they’re exempt from‍‌‌ all taxes, it‍ makes sense they’re‍ wealthy. But taxing‍‌ nobles isn’t simple,⁠ because after all,‌ they’re heroes. Their‌ public image may‍ suffer, but the⁠ value of their‍ existence remains intact.⁠‍‍

Demons‌ continued wreaking havoc.⁠‌ The common enemy⁠‌⁠ was still there,‍⁠ steadfast. So people⁠‍ looked the other‌ way.

Besides,‌⁠‍ there were many⁠‍ complicated factors behind‍ that. For all‌⁠‌ these reasons, noble⁠‌‌ tax exemption had‌‍ solidified into social⁠ norm.

I thought about changing‌‌ it, but felt⁠‌‍ it wasn’t my‍‌ place. That’s how‍ this world worked,‌‍⁠ and I didn’t⁠ think it appropriate for an outsider⁠ like me to⁠ shake things up.⁠

Especially⁠ considering that, right now, I’m partly‌ wrapped up in the realm of‌ gods. It’s hard⁠⁠‍ for me to⁠ get involved in‌⁠ worldly affairs. The⁠⁠ repercussions would be⁠‌ immense. On a cosmic scale, more⁠ or less.

So,⁠ please don’t do⁠ anything that drives‌‍ me crazy. If⁠ you keep provoking,‍ I’ll be forced to resort to‍ violence.

That‌ was the unspoken⁠⁠ message behind my⁠ stride as I headed toward Parsy‌ Academy.

But⁠‌ then—

“…I‌‌ think we should⁠‌ start taxing them‍⁠ here.”

The⁠ words slipped out‍‌ the moment I saw Parsy Academy.‌‍

“We⁠‌ absolutely must tax⁠‍ them…”

Abel‍ next to me‌⁠ threw her head⁠ back in response.⁠⁠

“And‌‌ plenty. A lot.”‌

Parsy Academy was showing⁠‍ just how far‍‌ a noble could⁠‌ go when indulging in unchecked luxury.

Their display of ostentation exceeded even what⁠⁠ Abel, a major‌ noble, had ever imagined.

***‍‌‌

“They⁠⁠ say Joaquin Academy’s⁠ in a mess‍‌ lately, right?”

“Ever‍‌⁠ since they installed‌⁠‍ that special admission system, everything’s gone‌‍‍ to hell.”

“Parsy‍‍ Academy is more‍‌⁠ legitimate. At least‌‌ there’s no riffraff⁠‍‌ from low birth. Hohoho!”

“Totally⁠‍ agree, totally.”

The⁠ students were babbling‌ like they didn’t‌‌ even notice us.⁠‍

“What⁠‍⁠ a class…”

Abel‌ clicked her tongue‍‌ in disgust; I offered my honest‌⁠‍ opinion too.

“Ten‌ years ago, Joaquin‌⁠ Academy was a joke by comparison.”‌‌

“Exactly. The buildings are⁠ state-of-the-art, but the‌⁠ students’ mindsets are medieval… What a horrible dissonance.”

As the granddaughter of‌ the Sword Master,‌⁠⁠ Abel spoke antiquatedly—but‍‌ this time, I agreed completely.

The‌⁠ students’ chatter was⁠⁠ bad; worse was‍⁠‌ the entrance.

But‌ that wasn’t the‌ worst of it.‌⁠

The⁠‌ real spectacle was‍‌‌ the building itself.⁠⁠ Parsy Academy’s entrance⁠‍⁠ made a staggering⁠‍ impression.

The‍⁠⁠ gate gleamed so‌ brightly from gold‍‌ plating that it⁠‍‌ hurt to look⁠ at. They’d decorated‍‌‌ it with every‍ luxury imaginable.

The⁠‍ students’ uniforms shimmered⁠ excessively, too.

Even⁠‌ the doorman’s uniform‍‌ was over the‍⁠ top—like he was‌‍⁠ trying to hide some insecurity.

“I‌‌‍ feel like I’m‍⁠ doing a living-history‍ experience as a commoner.”

“I‍ don’t think you’re⁠‌ the one to‌‍ talk about that,⁠ Miss Nibelung, considering⁠‍ your husband is‌ literally a commoner.”

Inside,‌‌ our clothes felt⁠ ridiculously understated.

“Do⁠ you think anyone⁠‍ would dare treat‌ you like a commoner?”

“Well,⁠ you have a point.”

Abel‍ and I were‍ dressed in disguise—not‍ enough to stand‍ out, but enough‌‍ to go unnoticed.⁠‌

“Who‍‌ are you?”

A guard interrogated us‌⁠ with authority. When‌‍ I lifted the‍⁠ brim of my‍⁠ hat with my‍‌ thumb, his expression‍‌⁠ shifted to something⁠ more tolerant.

“You… how…?”

In⁠⁠ this world, me‍⁠‌ being the only‍⁠ person with both⁠ black hair and‍‌ black eyes had⁠⁠ its uses. No need to show⁠‌ ID.

“I’m‍ going in. Are‌‌ you going to⁠ stop me?”

“…N-no…”‍⁠

“You’re‍ not going to⁠⁠ call your superiors‌ or anything, right?”⁠

I pressed him.

“…“⁠

“Answer.”‌‌

Abel⁠ intimidated him.

“I’ll‌⁠ take it to‍⁠ my grave…”

“So‌ if you turn‍ undead, you’d still‌‍ say that?”

“T-that’s‌‌⁠ it…!”

The‌‍ guard trembled—and so did I.

Considering⁠‍ Abel’s father was⁠⁠ the undead king‍‌ Draugr, that was⁠⁠ a bold joke.‌⁠ But I took‍ it as proof⁠⁠ she’d overcome past pain.

Also,‍‌ her father’s crypt‌ wasn’t far from⁠ Parsy Academy. Maybe‍⁠‍ coincidence—but from Abel’s‌ perspective, it stung.‍‌‌ Maybe that’s why she was sharper than me with‌ the guards.

“Didn’t‌ see anything today…”⁠⁠

“You‌‍ swear?”

“I⁠ swear on God.”

I nearly laughed at‌ someone swearing over‍ a near-stop at‌ the gate.

Anyway,⁠‍⁠ Abel and I made the security⁠⁠ checkpoint as if⁠‌ we were invisible.‍⁠⁠

“Move‌‍ along.”

“Yes,‌⁠‌ sir.”

We⁠⁠ passed several checks similar to the‌ gate. But once they saw my‍‍ face, everyone softened‍ and let us‍‌‌ through.

So⁠ it only took⁠⁠‌ the length of‍⁠ the walk to‌⁠ reach the main building.

A flashy statue marked our arrival. The face seemed vaguely familiar—but unknown.

‘Was‍⁠‌ there a famous‌⁠‍ ancient hero that‍⁠⁠ looked like that?’‍‍

No‌ such aura in‍ any historical records⁠‌‍ I’d seen.

And even if it‍‍ were some unknown⁠ hero, statues violated⁠ a societal norm‌ no hero worship.⁠

At‍‍ Joaquin Academy, there⁠⁠ were only portraits.‌⁠

Not‌ even our president‍ had a statue.‍ So who the⁠ hell was this‍‌ hero, blocking my⁠⁠ path?

“He’s⁠ the founder of Parsy Academy,” Abel‌ said with a mix of mockery⁠‍ and resignation.

“…The⁠ founder? But he’s⁠⁠ still alive, isn’t⁠‌ he? And they‍ already made a statue?”

Are‍⁠ they insane? I felt rage hammer in my skull.‌‍

While⁠ Ryozo barely slept‍‍⁠ over noble affairs,‌‍‌ the director of‍‌ Parsy Academy had‍ the audacity to⁠ statue himself. I felt rage slam⁠ into my crown.⁠⁠‌

“Let’s⁠⁠ go in.”

Maybe‍⁠ Abel sensed my⁠⁠ anger. She stepped‌⁠‍ ahead without hesitation,‍ calmly opening the⁠ main building’s door,‌ and gestured me‌‌ inside. Containing my⁠‍ fury, I followed.‌

The‍‍ interior was so‍ lavish words fail‌ me. Every corner⁠‍ adorned with portraits‍‍⁠ of stern-faced men.‍

In‍ the center of‍‍ the split spiral⁠‌‌ staircase, a fountain⁠ spouted water. Again—inside a building. What‍ kind of logic‌⁠ is that?

“Security‌‌ was tight at‌ the entrance. Inside,‍‍⁠ there’s not a single guard. I thought at least‍‌ there’d be an‍ interior gate or‍ something.”

“…”⁠‌

Abel‍⁠ walked on in‍⁠ silence.

I followed, too. Oddly,‌‍ I couldn’t sense‌ human presence. They‌ should have permanent staff, but there‌ was no scent of people—only the overpowering smell of‌‍‌ fresh paint in⁠ a new building.⁠‍

We⁠‌ climbed the winding‌ stairs until my‍⁠ calves felt like⁠ they’d burst. I could’ve teleported there,‌‍ but I wanted‌ my footsteps to mark my presence.‍‍

Finally,‌ we reached the‍ heart of the‌ place.

Another⁠⁠⁠ lavishly decorated door‍ greeted us. I took a deep‍⁠ breath and grabbed the handle.

And‌‍⁠ in that moment—⁠⁠

—Uuuuuugh…‍⁠

A groan came from⁠‍⁠ inside. Had someone⁠‌‌ beat me to‍⁠⁠ it? I felt⁠‍‌ like my prey‌ was stolen from‌‍ before my eyes.⁠‍

BANG!

I kicked the door in and stepped⁠ inside.

“Long‌‍ time no see.”‍

A voluptuous woman offered a slight smile.⁠‌

“Mother–nim.”⁠

She⁠‍ had a metal⁠⁠ rod pointed straight at the stomach⁠‍ of a man‍ who looked almost‌‍ identical to the‍⁠ statue outside. It⁠ was Shail, the‍‌‌ Sigurd Castle servant,‌ now a Warrior-class‌ hero.

“You⁠⁠ look radiant.”

A middle-aged man beside‌ her greeted me.⁠‍‍ It was the⁠ ogre Karon. Every‍ movement he made‌ caused the men,‌⁠‌ who seemed like⁠‌ security staff, to moan in pain.⁠⁠ A loose net⁠⁠‍ held them pinned‌ down.

Familiar⁠⁠ faces.

The‌ two Sigurd Castle‍‍ giants occupied the‍ director’s chamber like⁠‍⁠ guardian statues.

“How‌ are you both…?⁠ Wait, what?”

“The‌‍ lady asked for‌‌ our help.”

“It’s⁠‍ time to earn⁠ our keep, right?”‍⁠

The‌ moment I spoke,‌‌‌ Abel walked ahead⁠ of me. She‌ strode toward Parsy‍ Academy’s director, who‌ began shouting in⁠ desperation.

“Heavenly‍ Sword! This is⁠ a mistake! It’s‍‍ terrorism against Parsy‌‌⁠ Academy! I don’t‌ care about Heavenly⁠ Sword, but you’re‌ from the Nibelung‍‌ family! Don’t you‌‌ care about your‌ family’s reputation?! How⁠ irresponsible!”

Abel⁠‌‌ removed her hat‍ and scarf.

Slap!⁠‍

She⁠⁠ pulled a white‌‌ glove from her‌‌⁠ pocket and slapped⁠⁠ him across the‍‍‍ face. The director’s⁠ chubby cheeks quivered‍ grotesquely.

He‌⁠‌ stood stunned. The‌ guards were in shock, as if‌‌ smacked with a sledgehammer. Maybe they‌‌‌ were first stunned⁠ by her beauty,‍‌ then by her‍ action.

“I‍‌ accept this exchange⁠ challenge.”

Her⁠‌ declaration cut through⁠ the silent chamber. Abel had drawn‌ Notung, pointing it‌⁠ right at the‌‍⁠ director’s nose.

“Loser‌ closes the doors.”⁠

The⁠‍‌ Sword Master, at‌⁠ seventy, had wanted‍⁠ to compete against⁠ me when I was just a student. His granddaughter‌‌ carried his blood‍‌ more than anyone‌⁠ else.

Sung‌ Yuchang had overlooked‍ that.

The martial spirit that‌ ran through Nibelung blood.