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The sudden voice wasn’t particularly loud, yet it hummed in everyone’s ears as if whispered right beside them.
The people in the plaza turned their heads in confusion, searching for the source of the sound.
And then—the Black Sword Troops froze.
Among them, the Black Sword Captain turned pale as cold sweat streamed down his face.
“……?!”
It was just the voice of an old man. Nothing special.
But the killing intent carried within that voice was anything but ordinary.
Just that alone—just the murderous aura in the voice—was enough to paralyze the body of the captain, a man who had reached the recognized 7th Stage.
Who is it?!
He was a seasoned warrior who had survived countless battlefields. Forcing his stiffened body to move, the captain slowly reached for his sword.
Creak… crack…
His rigid muscles screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through.
And just as his fingers were about to touch the hilt—
“If you draw that thing, you’ll die. No exceptions.”
The voice came again.
This time, everyone could tell where it came from.
No—it was more accurate to say the speaker had deliberately revealed himself.
Clack…
Strange footsteps echoed.
Clack…
As the owner of the voice walked forward, the crowd instinctively parted to the sides as if under a spell.
And then he appeared.
A man around 170 cm tall, his face well past seventy.
Unkempt gray hair and beard.
A cranky-looking face, dressed like a vagrant.
A single blade hung at his waist.
He was peculiar in many ways, but what caught everyone’s attention most was his leg.
Clack, clack…
That strange sound from earlier.
It came from the man’s right leg—from the old wooden prosthetic attached to it.
Clack, clack…
Yet strangely, his gait didn’t resemble that of someone with a prosthetic at all.
If you hadn’t seen it with your eyes, you’d never guess he was missing a leg.
“Who’s that?”
“Some kind of beggar?”
The crowd murmured at the old man’s sudden appearance.
Meanwhile, the Black Sword Captain’s face stiffened even more.
No way…!
The very first thing you do when you become a member of the Black Sword Troops is memorize the identities of the continent’s top powerhouses.
Especially the “Masters”—you have to memorize even the tiniest details about them. And among those Masters, there were a few special cases.
It can’t be… him?
A challenger recognized by the Master of the Great Sword.
The Master of Masters.
The name slipped from the captain’s lips:
“Johan… Redner.”
There wasn’t a single sword practitioner—no, a single person—who didn’t know that name.
All around, gasps erupted.
“Johan Redner?”
“No way… that Johan Redner?!”
The titles of Masters were famous, but Johan’s name was more legendary than any of them.
Born in Yoram, he had challenged the Sword Lord twice—and lost twice.
The failed usurper who, incredibly, survived both attempts.
The only one who ever had.
And so, beyond his title as a Master, he was known by another name:
“The… Unbroken Sword?!”
“The Unbroken Sword, Johan Redner!”
The Sword That Does Not Break (不折劍).
As someone whispered his epithet, all eyes focused on the cranky-looking old man.
And excitement began to spread like wildfire.
“A Master…?! And that Master?!”
“Is this real? The Unbroken Sword himself?”
“Didn’t you hear the Black Sword Troops earlier? You think they’d lie about something like this?!”
“Good heavens… First the Black Swords, now the Unbroken Sword?!”
“But why is a Master here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He’s here to see our young lord!”
“Oh—so the Master staying as the lord’s guest is him?!”
“Then… could it be that Young Master Gunter is going to become his disciple?!”
“Of course! If anyone deserves it, it’s him!”
Johan’s sudden appearance—right in the middle of Gunter’s trial—had the crowd buzzing with wild theories.
Meanwhile, ignoring the attention, Johan calmly scanned the surroundings.
And then, at the far end of the crowd, his golden eyes briefly met someone else’s.
So, there you are.
A faint smile curved Johan’s lips.
At that moment, Ashraf and his retainers approached and bowed deeply.
“I thought you’d left.”
“I was going to. But then something interesting came up.”
“Pardon?”
Ashraf asked, confused, but Johan didn’t answer.
Instead, he rummaged through his robes.
“Now, where did I put it… Ah, here it is!”
He pulled out a black dragon plaque.
It was impossible to tell whether it was black from age or by design.
Ashraf’s eyes gleamed.
That’s…!
In Yoram, dragon plaques were ranked by material.
The most talented received platinum plaques—the White Dragon Plaques—though only a handful existed per generation.
But there were rumors of an even higher grade…
The Black Dragon Plaque.
Ashraf stared in awe at the legendary object.
And then Johan casually tossed the precious plaque to a Black Sword soldier and said in a calm voice:
“I, Johan Redner, Second Generation of Yoram, request a Qualification Trial.”
The crowd erupted in murmurs.
“What did he just say?”
“The Unbroken Sword is requesting a qualification trial?”
“But Young Master Gunter’s test is over.”
“You fool! It means he’s recommending someone else to Yoram!”
“Then… who?”
“Yeah, who?”
Nobody could imagine anyone else but Gunter receiving such an honor. Confusion spread.
Then Johan raised his hand and pointed.
“The one who will take the trial… is him.”
His finger extended.
The people standing in its path scrambled aside.
One person, two, three—
Dozens of people parted, revealing a single boy.
A black-haired boy with golden eyes.
Yuri.
He didn’t flinch from Johan’s pointing finger.
Instead, he pointed to his own face in disbelief.
“…Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Johan smirked. Yuri gave him a cold, unreadable look.
Murmurs swept through the crowd.
“Isn’t that Yuri?”
“Who?”
“You know—the orphan kid who lives outside the outer walls.”
“Wait… Johan Redner is recommending him to Yoram?!”
“What in the world is going on…?”
Unlike the crowd, Yuri stood still, watching Johan warily.
So this old man’s a Master, huh?
The infamous Unbroken Sword—that part was a surprise.
But that was it.
What’s this old bastard scheming?
Yuri knew there was no such thing as free kindness.
In his experience, “kindness” often hid far uglier motives.
That was why he didn’t let his guard down.
“Why me?” he asked flatly.
“Because I recommended you,” Johan replied.
“Yes, but why?”
“Because I feel like it.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not.”
“That trial weeds out even prodigies. You expect me to pass it?”
“Heh. Do you truly think so?”
Johan laughed, looking at Yuri as if he could see right through him.
Yuri’s face hardened.
“You know me or something, old man? Why are you acting familiar?”
His tone was sharp, disrespectful.
But Johan only laughed merrily.
“Of course I know you! Very well, in fact!”
“…?”
“Because you’re a fool. A fool who’s about to die.”
“…?!”
Yuri’s pupils widened.
His heart pounded violently.
He knows…?!
Did this old man know about his condition?
Or was he just insulting him?
Yuri forced himself to stay composed.
“So you’re recommending me to Yoram…?”
“Yes.”
“I appreciate the offer, but whether I take the trial or not is up to me.”
A choice most would kill for—but he rejected it without hesitation.
And Johan liked him even more for it.
Suspicious. Cautious. Always re-examining his situation.
The traits of a survivor.
Johan grinned.
“Offer? No. This is a deal.”
“A deal?”
“There’s something I want to confirm through you.”
“…And what’s that?”
“I’ll tell you if you pass the trial.”
Yuri’s gaze darkened.
“And what do I get out of this deal?”
Johan’s eyes gleamed.
“You’re broken somewhere, aren’t you?”
“…?!”
Yuri froze.
He… knows.
Johan’s earlier insult wasn’t random.
He’d seen right through Yuri’s condition.
But how? I’ve never told anyone…
Johan smiled knowingly.
“Terrible headaches, coughing up blood… and sometimes, in your dreams, you see yourself, don’t you? You become a monster and lose control.”
The more Johan spoke, the darker Yuri’s expression became.
Yuri whispered hoarsely:
“You… know about the curse?”
“Curse, eh? Heh, not a bad word for it. If left alone, ‘it’ would’ve devoured you by now. You already suspect it, don’t you? That your life is a candle flickering in the wind?”
“……”
“You want to know what you’d gain from this deal?”
Johan smiled, offering an irresistible proposal:
“I’ll save you. And I’ll tell you what that curse truly is. But only if you accept my deal.”
He untied his sword from his waist and extended it toward Yuri.
“Take this sword. Show me whether you’re worth saving from that curse.”
Yuri stared at the sword.
He’ll… save me?
The curse that had turned his life into a ticking time bomb.
He had spent years searching the continent for a cure, driven by the will to live.
But all he’d found were harsh realities—mockery, exploitation, dead ends.
Yet here was a man he’d just met, claiming to know everything.
Can I trust him?
It didn’t seem like a bad deal for him.
He had nothing to lose.
Questions swirled, but his heart had already decided.
Yuri stepped forward with a sigh.
Step.
“Haa…”
Fifteen years old.
And yet, his desire to live burned stronger than anyone’s.
I want to live.
He didn’t want to die like this.
He wanted to live more.
Driven by that desire, he took another step.
Step… step.
Passing through the crowd, he stopped in front of Johan.
“…Just a warning,” Yuri muttered, extending his hand.
His white hand finally touched Johan’s sword.
“You asked me to show you, so I will. But if anyone dies because of this, it’s your fault, old man.”
Clack.
The heavy sound of the sword changing hands echoed.
The deal was sealed.
