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I’m Here to End This Fight - Novel Updates
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I'm Here to End This Fight
Chapter 3: Escape (Part 3)
After concluding the skirmish with Dertz Forgery and the commotion that ensued, Yuri stepped out of the territory into a sparsely populated forest path.
Confirming the absence of people around, he urgently hunched over, covering his mouth in response to a sudden cough.
Coughing— his hand hurriedly blocking his mouth.
Between his pale fingers, a crimson tint seeped out.
Even at a glance, it was a concerning amount of blood.
Yet, Yuri casually wiped the bloodstained lips with a face that betrayed no concern.
"Ah... cursed swine."
With an irritated gaze, Yuri, cursing Dertz, slumped down due to a headache that felt like it could split his skull.
"Ck!"
In haste, he pulled a pouch from his chest, unraveling it to reveal a bundle of herbs crafted into a quick-chew remedy.
He swiftly chewed and swallowed the herbal concoction, his rough breathing anticipating the effects.
"Huuk, huuk."
Despite the potent pain-relieving properties of the herbs, the headache did not subside easily.
The sensation of sticky blood on his palm made his distorted face even more contorted.
'Damn it!'
The 'Black Calamity' that had annihilated the Pauly family and hunted down those associated with them suddenly appeared, claiming numerous lives in a wave of terror, only to vanish without a trace.
Some believed it had been eradicated, while others insisted it had moved elsewhere.
However, the truth was different.
'This is why I tried not to use it.'
His eyes flashed back to the madness eight years ago.
The one who halted Yuri, once feared as the 'Black Calamity,' wasn't an extermination force but Yuri himself.
More precisely, it was the state of his body, left in shambles.
'To think it would end up like this just from stepping into that mess....'
The first realization of the 'curse' occurred around the age of 8. As the vengeful tide of blood was nearing its end, Yuri suddenly vomited blood and fainted.
As similar incidents repeated, Yuri could discern that what he had thought of as a power without consequences was, in reality, a curse gnawing at his lifeline.
Currently, Yuri's body could be likened to a bomb with a lit fuse. A quietly burning fuse even when still, accelerating further with every exertion of power.
'How much time does my lifeline have left?'
If the burning fuse consumed everything and the bomb finally exploded, would he die? Or would the black monster devour him?
Regardless, it was undeniably the final chapter of the human known as 'Yuri Holland.'
'I need to find a way to lift this curse.'
Eight years ago, the raging anger and survival instinct that had risen fiercely were engulfed by the instinct to survive. Yuri roamed the world like a stray dog, suppressing his power and seeking ways to handle it.
Yet, nowhere could he uncover the identity of the 'black monster,' and he couldn't even figure out why his body was deteriorating.
As the desire for life turned into an obsession, Yuri's yearning for understanding grew stronger.
Now, at the tender age of fifteen, he knew his deadline was approaching, but the exact moment remained uncertain.
The next ten years could be lived, or tomorrow morning might not arrive. A future both precious and painful unfolded for Yuri day by day.
Exhausted by such a life, he took a brief respite, spending half a year in Irons Territory.
However.
"...It seems it's time to leave here as well."
Yuri felt it was time to depart once again, aware that if he lingered longer, he might succumb to settling.
"Sigh..."
As the headache eased somewhat, Yuri rose from his seat and walked towards the sanctuary he had created for himself.
And into the darkness.
Rustle-.
Eyes watching Yuri entering the forest blinked, then discreetly concealed their presence.
****
The next morning, Yuri found himself in Irons Territory. He blinked, feeling a palpable tension in the air.
"A lot of them gathered."
From the fortress gate leading into the territory to the town square, neatly maintained streets were filled with residents.
Their gathering had one sole purpose – to catch a glimpse of those they had been waiting for over the past three months.
This was also the reason Yuri had entered the territory.
"The Black Swordsmen."
The reputation of the Black Swordsmen (흑검병) was known to everyone on the continent – the personal guard of the Swordmaster, the most powerful martial organization on the surface, guardians of the cradle, and more.
However, despite their formidable reputation, the chance to encounter them might only come once in a lifetime.
Even Yuri, who had roamed the continent for a long time, had never seen them.
"Ironically, leaving Irons, this might be a good opportunity to see the Black Swordsmen."
Otherwise, when would he get another chance to witness them?
With this thought, Yuri's gaze shifted towards the fortress gate.
Creak-.
In the distance, the Irons Territory gate slowly rose.
Soon, cheers erupted from all directions.
"Wow, they're here!"
"They really came!"
People turned their heads towards the gate, curiosity painted on their faces.
Thud-.
Finally, the gate fully opened.
On the other side, there they were.
Black uniforms adorned with golden threads.
Black cloaks draped over their shoulders.
Five figures, dressed in the unmistakable attire of the Black Swordsmen, entered the territory on brown horses.
Clatter- Clatter-.
"Woah!"
"It's the Black Swordsmen!"
"The Guardians of the Cradle!"
The long-awaited arrival of these ancient figures.
Every time the Black Swordsmen on horseback passed, the residents erupted in cheers.
Yuri, too, observed the Black Swordsmen.
The first thing that struck him was their blade-like aura.
As the Black Swordsmen passed, Yuri felt a subtle cold sweat forming behind him.
"Those guys..."
Did the cheering crowd realize what kind of gaze the Black Swordsmen cast?
Perhaps Yuri was the only one in this gathering who sensed the intense scrutiny in the Black Swordsmen's eyes.
"They see people... not as people."
The gaze of the Black Swordsmen resembled looking at a slightly larger stone on the roadside.
As if sizing it up.
As if ready to clear it away whenever necessary.
"A dirty gaze."
As memories of that day eight years ago flashed in Yuri's mind, his expression hardened.
****
In the neatly arranged training ground, a boy, his hands gripping a sword, sweated profusely. With deep blond hair, green eyes, distinctive features, and a somewhat aloof demeanor, the boy, Gunter, concentrated on his training as if time had ceased to exist.
Swish-.
A substantial force resonated as the longsword descended vertically, following the exact same path with flawless precision, as if measuring every inch with a calibrated blade. The weight of the formidable sword, almost too heavy for an ordinary person to wield, moved through the same trajectory without a hint of deviation.
"He gazes at the sword's tip, clearing his mind."
Gunter, the blond boy, exhibited remarkable focus as he fixed his gaze on the sword's tip. As his consciousness concentrated on the sword, its aura grew increasingly intense.
Then, at a certain moment.
-------!
The resounding force that echoed just moments ago suddenly ceased. Despite the speed of the sword's descent remaining unchanged, the sound vanished completely.
"Inhale!"
Gunter exhaled a short breath at the moment the sound disappeared, followed by a faint cutting sound.
Swish-.
Approximately 0.5 seconds later, a distinctively different sound erupted.
Paahhh- Hang!
Starting from where Gunter stood, a powerful gust of wind swept out at an interval of about 0.5 seconds, creating turbulent airflow.
The strong pressure ruffled Gunter's hair and cooled the sweat trickling down his face.
"Phew..."
Only then did Gunter, who had halted the sword, regain his composure. The heat radiating from his body cleared his mind.
As he finished the physical exertion and calmed his mind.
"Is it over?"
At the authoritative voice from behind, Gunter sheathed his sword and turned around.
"Have you arrived?"
Gunter's gaze fell upon a middle-aged man with an impression as imposing as his voice. It was none other than Ashraf, the Lord of Irons, standing in the place reserved for exclusive use by the lord's family.
The atmosphere between them was rigid, despite the familial bond formed through shared blood. The air seemed to carry the weight of a relationship more akin to that of war deities.
Furthermore, both being men of few words, this atmosphere became even more palpable.
Father and son exchanged glances, the silence thickening. In an unusual departure, Ashraf broke the silence with a lengthy speech.
"If it were you, passing the Yawm's Trial wouldn't be challenging. However, it merely signifies standing at the starting line of competition... What significance does standing at the starting line hold? What I expect from you goes beyond such trivialities."
“…….”
"Over the past 50 years, the Yawm has produced numerous formidable individuals. It's no exaggeration to say that the continent has been shaped by the strength of Yawm's alumni, and those who have experienced Yawm know this fact better than anyone."
These were the words infused with Ashraf's experiences from his journey to Yawm, guiding Irons' resurgence.
Gunter listened attentively to his father's narrative.
"Because those who have visited Yawm continue to place their successors within its halls... the present-day Yawm can be considered a reduced version of global power."
A glint appeared in Ashraf's eyes as he looked at his son.
"So, climb to the pinnacle of Yawm. Gunter Irons, the successor of Ashraf!"
"..."
"Prove your supremacy. The achievements witnessed in Yawm for the past five years will set the stage for Irons' glory in the next fifty."
In Yawm, a miniature version of the continent's political landscape.
Moreover, it was a story of reaching the peak on the stage where geniuses from various factions gathered.
This was undoubtedly a tremendous burden.
But Ashraf knew well.
He knew his son would not be swayed by such a mere challenge.
"I will do so."
Gunter responded firmly with an unwavering expression.
In response to his son's answer, Ashraf cracked a faint smile.
As if he had expected that response.
That moment.
Whoooo-.
Cheers from outside wiped the smile off Ashraf's face.
"It seems the supporting cast has taken the stage on the prepared platform."
The stage, meticulously prepared for today.
The protagonist announcing Irons' stature on this stage, regardless of what others might say, was his own son.
"Let's go."
"Yes."
Ashraf and Gunter.
The lead actors of this stage moved their steps, ready to step onto the platform prepared for this grand performance.
***
The cheers that began at the castle gate resonated through the square as they followed the Black Swordsmen.
In the central square, a vast space specially arranged for today, soldiers formed a circular human barrier.
Those blocked by the soldiers erupted in frustration.
"Hey, this is too far, isn't it? What's the point if we can't see anything?"
"Please let us get closer!"
"Even this is a bit risky. Don't get too close; you might end up spending the evening in jail for disobeying the lord's command."
"Ugh..."
Although these people grumbled about being obstructed by the soldiers, they couldn't express their discontent further due to the lord's order.
The square, full of humanity, forced some to give up approaching and instead find positions on nearby trees or roofs.
Their gaze didn't waver from the Black Swordsmen who descended from their horses in the center of the square.
Despite becoming a spectacle for many, the Black Swordsmen showed no particular emotion.
They merely stood their ground.
How much time passed like this?
Dong-.
With the majestic sound of drums, a considerable number of people appeared from the path leading from the castle.
"It's the lord!"
"Lord Gunter!"
People cheered as they welcomed the lord and today's protagonist, Gunter, standing by his side.
And finally.
Step by step-.
In the center of the square, facing each other, two groups arrived.
Ashraf, as the lord of the territory, welcomed them.
"You have come a long way; I appreciate your efforts."
“……”
Despite the lord's welcoming words, the Black Swordsmen remained unresponsive, offering only indifferent glances, causing a subtle twitch in the eyebrows of the onlookers.
However, the lord, already aware of the nature of the Black Swordsmen, accepted their rudeness without much concern.
At that moment, one of the Black Swordsmen stepped forward.
"Recommender, submit the Dragon Insignia of Ashraf Irons, the 29th generation of Yoram."
Indifferent in tone, the words ended, and a Gashin behind Ashraf, with elegance, brought a wooden shelf.
Within it lay a golden plaque with an intricately carved dragon.
Known as the Dragon Insignia, it served as both an admission ticket and diploma for those from Yoram. Moreover, it was a recommendation that could be used only once in a lifetime.
After confirming and retrieving the Insignia, the Black Swordsman called out again.
"The one who will take the test, step forward."
With these words, Gunter, adorned in armor, stepped forward.
"Irons' eldest son, Gunter. I wish to undergo the Yoram qualification test."
At fifteen years old, his demeanor defied his age, drawing approving expressions not only from the Gashin but also from the audience.
Continuing with the voice of the Black Swordsman:
"Now, according to the laws set by the esteemed master of the sword, under the leadership of the Black Swordsmen 8-5, the Yoram qualification test has begun!"
The voice of the Black Swordsman spread across the square with mana, and Gunter stepped forward.
He raised his sword to face level, a customary ritual among those classified as knights before engaging in combat.
As Gunter assumed his stance, a young-looking Black Swordsman stepped forward among them, drawing a straight, black-bladed sword.
Typically favored by those classified as samurai, it was an unusual choice.
As the two faced off in the center, onlookers began swallowing their dry saliva, focusing intently.
"It begins."
"Lord Gunter, stay strong!"
Within the tense and excited atmosphere, the Black Swordsman who drew his sword spoke again.
"The test concludes with a single exchange. Whenever you're ready, come at each other."
A single exchange – a situation where the fate of the test is determined in just one clash. In other words, Gunter had to pour all his abilities into this single strike.
'Facing a Black Swordsman.'
An adept swordsman, likely at least a certified 1st-dan expert.
For someone like Gunter, who was merely a 1st-class practitioner, this was a challenging situation.
'Do my best.'
Determined, Gunter took a deep breath.
Swoo-.
As he exhaled, Irons' martial art, practiced for ten years, gradually unfolded, and...
Sweeee-.
With the next breath, infused energy into his muscles, as the breath carried the mana from the surrounding air into Gunter's own mana.
Soon, the accumulated mass of mana he had built up since his birth began to stir.
'Mana, a pile of logs collected in the body.'
Finally, as if igniting dry logs, the heat emanated from his well-prepared body.
And...
'Breath is the wind that kindles the fire of mana!'
Hup!
In a short, interrupted breath, Gunter's physique surged explosively.
'Through him, I become the ruler of the sky!'
Thump-.
As his steel boots struck the ground, the indented earth propelled Gunter forward.
Thunk!
A truly explosive movement.
To the eyes of an ordinary person, it appeared as if Gunter's figure had vanished.
Approaching the Black Swordsman with powerful leaping force, Gunter wielded his longsword with both hands and swung.
Shushushu-.
At the moment when a fifteen-year-old Gunter was about to demonstrate a strike imitating the three claws of a griffin, one of the Black Swordsmen, a young-looking individual, stepped forward.
Swish-.
He drew a straight, black-bladed sword, commonly favored by those classified as samurai.
As the two faced off in the center, onlookers began swallowing their dry saliva, focusing intently.
"It's starting."
"Lord Gunter, stay strong!"
Within the tense and excited atmosphere, the Black Swordsman who drew his sword spoke again.
"The test concludes with a single exchange. Whenever you're ready, come at each other."
A single exchange – a situation where the fate of the test is determined in just one clash. In other words, Gunter had to pour all his abilities into this single strike.
'Facing a Black Swordsman.'
An adept swordsman, likely at least a certified 1st-dan expert.
For someone like Gunter, who was merely a 1st-class practitioner, this was a challenging situation.
'Do my best.'
Determined, Gunter took a deep breath.
Swoo-.
As he exhaled, Irons' martial art, practiced for ten years, gradually unfolded, and...
Sweeee-.
With the next breath, infused energy into his muscles, as the breath carried the mana from the surrounding air into Gunter's own mana.
Soon, the accumulated mass of mana he had built up since his birth began to stir.
'Mana, a pile of logs collected in the body.'
Finally, as if igniting dry logs, the heat emanated from his well-prepared body.
And...
'Breath is the wind that kindles the fire of mana!'
Hup!
In a short, interrupted breath.
“……!?”
Gunter's gaze wavered as he looked at the broken sword.
'Is it... this easy?'
While he expected his attack to be blocked, he hadn't anticipated the sword breaking.
For a knight, the broken sword represented his beliefs and oath, leaving Gunter deeply shaken.
"What... what just happened?"
"Is it over? Well, it sparkled and then ended abruptly."
"Looks like the young master lost... Did he fail the test?"
"Enough with the nonsense!"
"Quiet, please! Let us hear what's being said!"
Amidst the murmurs about the outcome, the Black Swordsman who faced Gunter sheathed his sword.
Click-.
The sound of the sheath acted as a signal, prompting the five Black Swordsmen to sequentially speak.
"Standard upper."
"Standard maximum."
"Standard upper."
"Standard maximum."
"Standard maximum."
Two upper and three maximum standards.
After consolidating opinions, the leader of Black Swordsmen 8-5 reached a conclusion.
"Overall standard, maximum. Passed."
With these words, the leader tossed the Dragon Insignia toward Gunter.
A platinum insignia instead of the retrieved golden Dragon Insignia.
Stamped on it was the number 50.
It was proof that Gunter had become the 50th generation of Yoram.
A moment of silence enveloped the scene as Gunter received the Insignia.
Then, a roar erupted.
A burst of cheers that had been held back echoed through the air.
The people didn't fully understand the significance of the dazzling displays that had transpired before them.
But the fact that the successor to the great lord had passed the Yoram test filled them with immense pride.
Amid the cheers, Ashraf stood by his son.
His tone carried a reproachful air.
"The one you faced was a mere member of the Black Swordsmen. And you broke your sword against him."
"...I apologize."
"Strive harder."
"I will remember."
Watching his son bow deeply, Ashraf turned away.
One of the Gashin approached, whispering in Gunter's ear with a smiling face.
"Don't be too disheartened."
"But... my sword broke."
"Even the lowest-ranking member of the Black Swordsmen holds at least a certified 3rd-dan skill. To think an ordinary member could break your sword means that the young lord's attack was impressive enough to lose control. Lord Ashraf knows this fact well but refrained from explicitly stating it. Don't worry too much."
"Adolf, return to your post."
"Yes!"
Adolf, who whispered to Gunter, withdrew, becoming more subdued after Ashraf's remarks.
He didn't forget to wink at Gunter on his way back.
And, as Adolf said, Ashraf was quietly satisfied.
'Good.'
When he entered Yoram, his rank was upper-class.
But now, his son received the highest-class White Dragon Plaque, and as a father, how could he not be delighted?
Smiling faintly, Ashraf addressed the Black Swordsmen.
"You've come a long way. We've prepared a celebration. Enjoy yourselves and unwind."
However, the leader of the Black Swordsmen responded gruffly to Ashraf's suggestion.
"Our mission is over, so we'll be leaving now. Matters related to the island entrance will be explained by someone from Yoram later."
With these words, the leader, without lingering, led the members away.
The arrival of the Black Swordsmen, from the moment they arrived until the end of the test, took just over ten minutes.
A rather brief period spent in preparation to welcome them.
But none could stop the departing Black Swordsmen; they merely watched their retreating figures with a tinge of regret.
In that moment, a robust voice echoed through the crowd, holding back the Black Swordsmen's departure.
"While you're here, why not engage in one more battle before leaving?"
Fantasy,
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