Translator: AkazaTL
Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
Chapter 120 – Upheaval (5)
A pitch-black sky. The heavens were swallowed by darkness, and amidst that boundless void, the stars shone brilliantly. Beneath them lay a sheer cliff, thick forests and tangled undergrowth spreading below. Beyond the cliff stretched a breathtaking vista — a landscape like a painted masterpiece.
At the very edge of that cliff stood a man. In the man’s arms was a small boy who looked just like him. On the boy’s back were wings made of wax — twisted, lted, no longer recognizable.
The man gazed at his son, who no longer breathed. The boy’s cause of death was clear: a fall.
His arms and legs were shattered, his white ribs had torn through flesh, and his neck hung broken — a ruined puppet of flesh.
Holding the corpse of his child, the man turned his eyes toward the horizon beyond the cliff.
There, towering across from him, stood a mountain so tall that its peak was lost within the clouds — a mountain that reached for the very heavens.
The man knew well what the world called that mountain.
The Sky Range.
He stared at the summit that all others revered — and his gaze was filled with hatred. As that hateful stare lingered, sothing vast stirred atop that holy mountain. With a single beat of its wings, the master of that mountain hovered above the man’s head.
The being his son had dreamt of becoming.
The being every boy in the world once dreamt of.
The greatest of the seven races — a Dragon — now looked down upon the weakest of them all, a re human.
“Why do you gaze at the heavens with such eyes?”
The sacred voice — the Dragon’s Tongue — reverberated across the sky. The great heavens, the noble race, the towering peaks — and beneath them, the pitiful death of a small drear. The father, clutching his lifeless child, answered in a hollow voice.
“...Do you know a genius who beca a relic?”
. . .
“...Young Lord!”
The rushing vision was severed. When I opened my eyes, Tom was in front of .
“Pull yourself together! We must get out of here!”
Tom’s face — rarely so shaken — was frantic. He gripped my shoulders and shook hard.
My mind was fogged; perhaps because I’d awoken in the middle of absorbing the sword’s mory, or because what I’d seen within it was far too vivid. Even with my eyes open, I felt trapped in a dream.
“Lord Arhan, wake up!”
“W-what… what is happening…?”
The world beyond Tom’s shoulder was chaos. Every soldier of the Rhapsody Legion, who had until now remained within their encampnt, was outside — knights, rcenaries, and the mages of the Free Cities known as Wavecatchers. They stood ready, facing a single direction, preparing for battle.
“We have to move! We’ll be caught in the crossfire!”
The enemy they faced was another army — knights clad head to toe in cold, gray steel.
The Ashen Knights, royal guard of the Iron Kingdom, protectors of Blade City, were advancing upon us.
“Why are they here…?”
“There’s no ti to ask! Move, my lord — now!”
Tom shouted, veins bulging on his neck. When I failed to regain my footing, still sluggish and dazed, he simply hoisted onto his back. An old man carrying a young lord — absurd, yet he ran with terrifying strength. He sprinted away from the raging battle, toward the land that was ours — the Karavan Domain.
“Dragons… the Dragons are coming…”
As he muttered, the world dimd.
A deep shadow spread across the battlefield, and at last, the master of that shadow revealed itself. Twin eyes, like faceted jewels, swept over the ground — over all the frail, flightless humans below. Amusent glimred in its gaze.
I could feel it. That monstrous stare.
The eyes of a Dragon were nothing like the ones described in myths.
The legends said Dragons were noble and wise — holy beings who embodied the divine order, paragons to be admired and emulated. But the creature I beheld could be sumd up in a single word.
“Lord Arhan, you understand nothing about Dragons.”
A monster.
***
After the fall of the Grid Republic, its remnants beca the Six Free Cities. They were known by many nas, but none so famous as the Sea Kings. Since the age of the Republic, the Free Cities had never once lost a naval battle. Their fleet was known as the Unbeaten Armada. Their navy rivaled even that of the Celestial Empire itself. The Seven Races sang of their prowess, and the Free Cities were proud of it.
It wasn’t arrogance — they were truly strong.
“Enemy sighted!”
Though deprived of their mages, and thus of early warning, they were still confident: on the sea, there was no enemy they could not defeat.
“It’s the Iron Kingdom’s Iron Fleet!”
“The Iron Fleet? Have they lost their minds? Those rust-bucket ships dare to invade our sea?”
No attack yet — but violating their territorial waters without declaration was already an act of war. According to divine law, hostilities had already begun. And this incursion was far too deep to be a mistake. The enemy’s banners flew proudly — the sigil of the Iron Kingdom.
“What are your orders, sir?”
The commander didn’t hesitate. A dishonorable sneak attack from a pitiful navy — the Free Fleet would answer in kind.
“Sink every last one of those scrap heaps to the bottom of the sea.”
Attack. At his command, the crews moved like a single organism.
Once the range was right, the Iron Fleet would be erased from the face of the world. Amid the tense silence of preparation, soone muttered—“...What is that?”
The commander almost barked at them to focus — until he, too, saw it. A small dot in the distance, growing rapidly larger. When it ca close enough to see clearly, all color drained from his face.
“...A Dragon.”
A vast shadow fell over the entire armada. Unease spread; so crews aid their cannons skyward, determined to strike down the flying beast. But their hopes were futile.
“Huh…?”
The cannons would not fire. No, the fire itself would not appear.
Voices rose from across the decks —
“The fuses won’t light!”
“The powder won’t burn!”
And the commander rembered a legend.
The Dragons — greatest of all races — are beloved by every spirit of the world. They are the masters of the spirits, and the spirits, in turn, are masters of the elents. Thus, the Dragons command the elents themselves.
Realization struck him cold. The spirits were resisting.
They would not allow their own master to be hard.
“What in the—!”
Terror prickled down his spine. Nature itself had betrayed them. And that betrayal would not end there. Fire was only one elent. What lay beneath their ships? The sea — nature’s domain. And nature belonged to the Dragons.
“Retreat.”
“Sir?”
“Retre—ghk!”
His command was cut off. Eyes bulging, he realized no sound would co from his throat.
He couldn’t breathe — as though subrged in water.
The air elent…
Nature had abandoned them. And in that mont, every sailor aboard felt true despair.
They were insects now. Powerless. As the commander choked and fell to the deck, he looked up — and saw the Dragon’s eyes above, gleaming with delight.
The sa delight as a child crushing ants underfoot.
Then ca the wave. A wall of water so massive it could have swallowed cities. When it passed, the Free Fleet was gone. Not a single trace remained.
The Iron Fleet of the Iron Kingdom sailed through the emptied sea unopposed, and landed upon the Free Cities’ shores— without suffering a single casualty.
***
The Rhapsody Legion drew their swords and spears.
A Dragon had appeared — a creature of legend — but they did not flinch.
They were the blades of Rhapsody. And here stood their greatest blade of all. With a Swordmaster among them, what was there to fear? Even if the Nine Goddesses and Seven Lords themselves descended, they would fight to the bitter end.
“Lay down your swords.”
But Hugo Rhapsody ordered them to disarm. Confusion rippled through the ranks. Why surrender before the first strike? Hugo Rhapsody had never spoken such words — not as a Swordmaster, not even as a common knight.
Yet soon, they understood.
“This is not a fight you can join.”
At his words, the world turned white. The barren plain, the camp, the blue sky and the sun — all beca flawless, blinding white. And then, snow began to fall. Winter has co to the white world.
“Hugo Rhapsody.”
Out of the falling snow, a man appeared. And the instant he did, the stage beca his. Not even the Dragons, nor the Ashen Knights, nor the fearless legions could remain the center of this scene.
“The Watchers of White never forget a debt. Whether grace or grievance, it is always repaid. That is our oldest rule.”
“……”
“I have been called many nas, but I am, above all, a Watcher. And now I shall honor that oldest rule.”
Russell White, Grand Duke of the North. Lord of the White family. One of the Six Swordmasters.
“Draw your sword, Hugo Rhapsody.”
Two masters. Two Swordmasters, face to face.
“I have co,” said Russell White, “to settle a debt.”
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