Chapter 21
Amidst the shouts of gamblers and the flickering of cards, people driven by pleasure placed their lives on the line, pushing buttons with the hope of winning big. In this den of depravity and simmering madness, humanity was often left behind with the fall of a single chip.
This was an illegal casino—a cesspool of grotesque desires and unbridled insanity.
“Wake him up.”
Splash!
A man who had been lying motionless gasped for breath as cold water hit his face, snapping him back to consciousness.
“Mr. Kim… please… please spare me.”
“Let’s cut to the chase. Where’s the ‘Cursed Sword of Asura’?”
“I-it wasn’t my fault… Optimum took it… I couldn’t…”
Suddenly, Mr. Kim’s foot stomped down on the man’s fingers.
“Aaaagh!!”
“I said we don’t have time. Don’t waste it telling me what I already know. Continue.”
As Mr. Kim lit a cigarette, the man, now writhing in pain, started babbling incoherently.
A changed auction schedule, a sudden business trip to Busan—the man had been certain the cursed sword would go unsold. But then Kim Yeon-hee made an unexpected move, and the reason was Park Gi-hyuk.
“Park Gi-hyuk? The youngest of the Swordmaster family? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! He asked for the sword, and the witch from Optimum bought it for him. I heard it directly from a staff member at the Union, and then…”
“Shut up.”
Mr. Kim cut him off.
“This is strange. Why would the young master of the Swordmaster family want a cursed sword? Does he have a purpose? Just curiosity? Optimum wouldn’t do experiments like us, so unless…”
The only sound in the quiet basement was the eerie dripping of water.
Why? For what purpose?
As Mr. Kim’s mind raced with possibilities, none of them felt certain. Just a series of speculative fragments.
“This is getting complicated.”
At this rate, the quota was going to be dangerously close.
Mr. Kim frowned in frustration as he stood up.
“Is the interrogation over?”
“Yeah. It’s a waste of time. This guy knows nothing. And with Optimum involved, we can’t even send someone after them. What a mess.”
“…”
“Let’s go eat. Clean this up when you’re done.”
“Understood.”
“M-Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim!!”
A subordinate, sword in hand, brushed past Mr. Kim as he turned to leave.
The man’s fate was already sealed. The door closed behind them, leaving only his desperate screams.
Then, a sudden thought occurred to Mr. Kim.
‘Could it be possible that someone could actually remove the curse…?’
He pondered it for a moment before chuckling to himself.
“As if that could be true.”
People in this world have a fundamentally flawed approach to curses.
‘Curses,’ you see, are like scars. A deep wound leaves a scar, and that scar becomes a permanent mark, etched into your skin for life.
But here on Earth, they’re trying to “undo” curses by turning back time—essentially trying to make it so that the curse never happened in the first place.
It’s as if they’re trying to reverse time itself, seeking a form of “regression” that even gods wouldn’t dare attempt.
When I first saw this nonsense, I was speechless. They’re seriously trying to meddle in the domain of gods just to remove a simple curse? Have they lost their minds?
Even now, I find it ridiculous.
I mean, how can they remove curses from humans but fail to do so with cursed artifacts? Does that make any sense?
Granted, it’s true that lifting a curse from an inanimate object is much harder than from a living being. Weapons, for instance, lack the natural defenses that living beings have, so the curse becomes more like a permanent engraving rather than a temporary scar.
But still. If you’re a mage, shouldn’t you at least try to analyze it? Don’t just give up because it’s hard.
Calling it “corruption” and throwing your hands up in defeat—it’s pure laziness.
They think they can just brute-force it with mana and that’ll do the trick. That’s why they’re stuck in this mess.
It’s a clear sign of the shallowness of their magical knowledge.
So, can curses be removed? Of course they can. If they couldn’t, why would I have bothered picking up that cursed sword?
Let’s continue with the scar analogy.
Say you have an unsightly scar on your face. What do you do?
Nine out of ten people would go to a hospital, get a diagnosis, and receive treatment.
But what about scars that can’t be fully healed? Like severe burn scars, for instance.
In those cases, you can use makeup, clothing, accessories—or, if all else fails, you could even cover it up with a tattoo.
It’s that simple.
Doesn’t that seem obvious? Magic is no different.
There are miraculous, extraordinary ways to turn the impossible into the possible, but the truth is, you don’t need such grandiose methods to lift a curse.
Whether it’s through medication, surgery, or covering it up with a tattoo, as long as you can conceal or neutralize the scar, you can effectively remove the curse.
And a sword that has been through a curse…
Becomes sharper.
Shing!
More precise.
Slash!
And radiates an even stronger spiritual energy.
Hummm!
The crimson blade let out a low hum.
The blade, drenched in the blood of the Dire Wolf it had just cleaved in two, seemed to tremble with something akin to ecstasy. As the sword vibrated, the spirit of the Swordmaster within me began to dance in response.
“Cute little things.”
Let them loose.
Let them have their fun.
My vision narrowed, and the Swordmaster within me awakened.
My previously relaxed muscles tightened as I cleaved the Dire Wolf charging at me from the front.
The Dire Wolf fell without so much as a death cry.
The blade didn’t stop there—it moved on to the wolf beside it, and the one next to that, and then the one in front, until all were cut down in a flurry of death.
Slaughter.
It was indiscriminate carnage. I killed everything in sight.
I drove my blade into the maw of the first wolf that bared its teeth and sliced through the head of the one waiting for an opening. Eventually, I even took the lives of those that tried to flee with their tails between their legs.
The more corpses piled up, and the more my sword drank their blood…
The more my primal instincts surged within my veins.
“Grrrrr…”
A low growl escaped my lips, driven by instinct.
This is who you are.
This is the Swordmaster.
It demanded that I acknowledge it as the true ‘me.’
But then…
Hummmm…
A low hum echoed as Baphomet, my right arm, appeared.
And with it, Asura, now my left arm, materialized on the other side.
Two Archdemons, awakened in the midst of this ominous darkness.
These two loyal servants of the Demon King stood in the path of the Swordmaster’s savage instincts.
A sticky, sinister black mist engulfed the crimson blade, as if warning it not to overstep.
My tensed muscles began to relax. The raging killing intent cooled down, and the boiling blood of the Swordmaster chilled as if doused with cold water.
‘Don’t get cocky. This body is mine.’
‘I won’t tolerate any further rampage.’
The power of the Demon King declared, gravely and resolutely.
But the Swordmaster, now wielding a masterpiece of a blade, wasn’t one to submit so easily.
The crimson energy began to take shape, growing as sharp as fangs, and it snapped at the black mist.
A struggle for dominance between the Demon King and the Swordmaster.
Compared to this clash, the massive Dire Wolves charging at me were mere child’s play.
As the two powers fought for control, the bodies continued to pile up. The ground turned red, and the forest was torn apart.
But this was far from over.
“What are you doing? You should join in too.”
At my words, my veins bulged. My muscles expanded with a deep exhale.
The slumbering body of the Giant awakened.
The ‘masterpiece blade’ held by the Swordmaster.
The ‘Asura’ awakened by the Demon King.
The ‘Evolution Fluid’ that empowered the Giant.
The struggle among these three forces finally began in earnest.
Didn’t I say I’d set the stage for you?
“Now, have fun to your heart’s content.”
Permission granted.
The forces ran wild.
The forest was devastated.
And the howls of the fleeing Dire Wolves echoed through the trees.
Don’t get ahead of yourselves.
The fight is just beginning.
I laughed as I brought my sword down.
“Wow… I’m at a loss for words.”
“You just spoke.”
“…Jun-woo, do you really have to say that right now?”
Despite her rebuke, Merhem’s eyes were fixed on a single figure. Jun-woo was the same—his senses, though distracted by his own quip, were entirely focused on that man.
The man who appeared to be a god of destruction, cutting down everything in sight.
No, calling him a man seemed inaccurate. He was more of a monster.
Park Gi-hyuk.
“He told us to watch closely, and this is what he does? It’s such a Gi-hyuk thing to do.”
“…”
“I knew it. I knew he was holding back because of us. So I was curious about his true self, the one he keeps hidden.”
“I agree.”
“But… I didn’t expect it to be this extreme.”
“I agree with that too.”
Merhem and Jun-woo.
As two people who spent almost every waking moment with Park Gi-hyuk, they were no strangers to his strength.
From their first meeting, when he landed a punch on them, to the day of the assessment when he threw a professor to the ground.
He summoned unheard-of skeletons, taught Merhem magic, and even refined Jun-woo’s swordsmanship.
To them, Park Gi-hyuk was a friend, a comrade, and a mentor.
But.
Even so.
Even knowing what they knew.
Seeing it with their own eyes was entirely different.
He was effortlessly crushing Dire Wolves, monsters known for their pack tactics, notorious for their difficulty in dealing with.
It was almost pitiful.
“Jun-woo, let me ask you something. Do you think you could survive if you got caught up in that?”
“…I’m not confident.”
“Neither am I. It’s frustrating.”
They thought back to the day they called him a friend.
“I feel ashamed. We boldly declared ourselves friends, saying we were in this together, but look at us now. Together? We’re just dragging him down.”
“…”
“And do you know what’s even more shameful?”
“What is it?”
Merhem spoke with difficulty, her lips trembling.
“I’m scared.”
“…!”
“To be honest, I’m terrified. I know that’s Gi-hyuk out there. I know he wouldn’t hurt me. But my hands are shaking. Look at this. They won’t stop.”
“…”
“Jun-woo, you’re the same.”
Yes.
Jun-woo was trembling too.
He gritted his teeth, trying to calm himself, but the overwhelming power on display before him was something that no human, no matter how much they denied it, could help but fear.
“We have to admit it. At this rate, we can’t be his friends.”
“…I admit it. We need to try harder.”
Merhem fiddled with the hairpin Gi-hyuk had given her.
“I’ve always been the one to help others, never the one who needed help.”
Jun-woo placed his hand on the sword Gi-hyuk had gifted him and spoke.
“Same here.”
Just for today.
They would be stunned just for today.
But starting tomorrow, they would act like nothing had happened.
“Just watch. I’ve never broken a promise I made.”
“Same goes for me.”
Today, the word ‘friend’ carried a heavy weight for both of them.
A few days later, after finishing class, I headed to our usual hangout, the clubroom.
I casually opened the massive door, which had become known as the “Gate of Hell” due to a delivery mistake that made it weigh over 400 kilograms.
Inside, the scene that greeted me was…
“Huff!”
Jun-woo, slashing his sword with lightning speed in perfect rhythm.
“Wait… just wait…”
Merhem, hiding behind her shield, waiting for the right moment amidst the chaos.
“Ho~.”
Jun-woo is a training maniac, but what’s gotten into Merhem?
I grabbed a coffee from the machine and sat down in front of the sparring court.
Jun-woo clearly had the upper hand.
In terms of reflexes, agility, swordsmanship, and the power of the Dance of the Swordmaster—there was no way Merhem could overpower Jun-woo.
In fact, this wasn’t just true for Merhem. As I mentioned before, there’s no one in our grade who can best Jun-woo in a one-on-one fight.
First Squad Leader Jin Yu-ri and Second Squad Leader Henry are probably the only ones who could give him a run for his money.
Me? I’m not counting myself. It would be uncool for someone like me to play with the kids.
As I watched, lost in thought, Merhem seized an opportunity to counterattack. She unleashed her magic and swung her mace with all her might.
A clean strike. But her opponent was Jun-woo.
He dodged gracefully, as if flowing like water.
But then, with a groan, Merhem let out a wild cry and twisted her mace in mid-swing.
“Whoa!”
That was impressive.
An attack that bent at a sharp angle.
It might not seem like much, but it’s actually quite significant.
There’s a reason why heavy weapons are called heavy. Each strike carries the weight of a mountain, making them powerful but slow and predictable. For her to pull off such a seamless directional change with a mace?
That alone would be a headache for any opponent.
“Grrr!”
Look at that. Jun-woo’s already been hit.
He tried to block with his swords, but the mace, now carrying her full weight, easily broke through and struck Jun-woo’s side.
This is another advantage of heavy weapons.
Once you gain the upper hand, you can press the attack relentlessly.
“Die!!”
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Merhem unleashed the pent-up power she had been saving.
Water, wood, earth, and more.
A dazzling array of magic erupted all around, and Jun-woo, not to be outdone, rolled his eyes and entered serious mode, charging in with everything he had.
Neither of them would back down, giving it their all.
It was breathtaking.
Their brilliance—their talent, their determination—was more dazzling than the morning sun.
“I can’t afford to lose either.”
I have to set a good example for my adorable friends.
I stopped watching and picked up the barbells set up in one corner of the clubroom.
“Let’s start with an easy 300.”
And so, time passed as we each sweated for our own reasons.
Finally, the highly anticipated midterm exams arrived.
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