The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman 850

Chapter 850

 

“Ah…”

Aris trembled as she gazed at the luxurious brown ceiling adorned with elegant patterns.

‘Am I… alive?’

She had believed she would never open her eyes in this world again, yet here she was, breathing, very much alive.

‘Where is this…?’

Her eyes moved, taking in the sight of ornate decorations and wallpaper. On the table to her right, she spotted medicine and blood-soaked bandages.

It seemed like a lavish mansion had been converted into a medical room.

‘Is this uncle Federick’s mansion?’

Federick had been using one of Zieghart’s mansions as a treatment facility, and this room appeared to be part of it.

With great effort, she tilted her head to look out the window and saw a path leading to the annex building. It was certain. This was Zieghart.

‘Why am I here?’

She vividly recalled being captured by Sif in the deepest part of the dungeon. She couldn’t fathom how she had returned to Zieghart.

‘After I was stabbed in the cavern… Ah!’

As her mind slowly cleared, the final scene in her fading memory came to her.

“Ri… Rimmer…”

Sif’s black sword pierced through Rimmer’s chest, and Raon witnessed the moment. It was a memory so harrowing that it felt like a nightmare, yet it surfaced vividly in her mind.

“Aaargh…”

Aris clutched her head, releasing a pained groan as if her vocal cords were being torn apart.

‘No! No, this can’t be! If I’m here, doesn’t that mean Rimmer is also alive?’

A tiny glimmer of hope flickered in her mind—she had survived and returned to Zieghart, so perhaps Rimmer had as well.

But at the same time, her instincts as a warrior told her the truth. No one could have survived the wound Rimmer had sustained.

‘Sif… Why?’

The Sif she knew wasn’t righteous, but he was kind and gentle.

She had trained him to be strong so his tender heart wouldn’t be broken or hurt. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he could change so drastically.

‘Is Raon okay?’

Sif had absorbed her blood to shatter the wall of Transcendence.

Worries overwhelmed her—what Sif might have done to Raon, whether the children of the Light Wind division were safe.

“Ugh…”

As Aris clutched her head in anguish, the door to the medical room opened, and Federick and Rabawin entered.

“…Aris. You’re awake.”

Federick sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on Aris’ pained eyes.

“Lady Aris!”

Rabawin, dropping the bandages and cloth he was holding, rushed to her side without even realizing it.

“Are… Are you all right?”

He stared at her gaunt face, his trembling lips pressing together tightly.

“Rabawin.”

With a dry, raspy voice, Aris barely managed to speak.

“What happened? No, what about Rimmer and Sif?”

She prioritized asking about the two of them over anything else.

“That is…”

“Rabawin, go and bring the others,” Federick said with a low sigh, motioning toward the door.

“…Yes, sir.”

Rabawin glanced at Aris’ trembling eyes before leaving the medical room with reluctant, heavy steps.

“Uncle, why did you send Rabawin away? Tell me. I feel like I’m going to die again from the frustration…”

Aris clutched her still-healing chest as blood trickled from her lips. Her intense emotions seemed to have aggravated her internal injuries.

“Neither Rabawin nor I can give you the answers you want.”

Federick shook his head as he grabbed a cloth from the table.

“The one who holds the answers you seek will come. Wait for him.”

Without a hint of intention to explain, he simply wiped the blood that trickled from her lips.

“The one with the answers… Is it Raon?”

“Yes.”

Federick nodded calmly as if that was all he could reveal.

“Haah…”

Aris exhaled deeply, clasping her trembling hands together in relief.

She had been worried about Raon’s condition, but knowing he would be coming here put her somewhat at ease. At least it meant Raon was alive.

“That’s… a relief. Truly…”

Holding on to a sliver of hope that Rimmer might also be alive, Aris waited for Raon. Suddenly, loud voices echoed from outside the room.

Hoo.

A faint sound of someone steadying their breath reached her ears before the door opened, revealing Raon and Glenn.

“Ah…”

The moment Aris met Raon’s eyes, the first question she had been about to ask froze in her throat.

Her nephew, who once saw the world with radiant light in his eyes, now carried a shadow of mature darkness.

Drip.

Aris realized that the fragile hope she had been clinging to had just shattered. Her hands, clasped tightly in front of her chest, fell to her sides.

‘Rimmer…’

*   *   *

Raon clenched his teeth as he watched Aris trembling.

‘I never thought aunt would look this weak.’

In many ways, he had always thought of Aris as stronger than Glenn.

Confident and commanding, a warrior who radiated self-assurance. Regardless of gender, she was someone to admire.

But the Aris before him now had a pale, ashen face and was trembling with unease, as if consumed by despair.

‘Aunt…’

In truth, after Rimmer’s death, he had blamed himself, redirecting that resentment toward others.

And the person he had blamed most was Aris.

Why did she go looking for Sif? Why did she let her guard down just because she got emotional, failing to stop his sneak attack?

It had been absurd, misplaced anger.

But after letting Rimmer go, he realized the truth. The one to blame was someone else entirely.

The one who corrupted Sif, the one who killed Rimmer, was Derus Robert. The only person to resent, to kill, was him.

‘The person suffering the most isn’t me—it’s Aunt.’

She was betrayed by the son she had painstakingly found, who killed Rimmer, a man he had treated like a friend, only to ultimately die at her nephew's hand.

If all of that had happened to him, even with the mental strength gained from living a second life, he might have gone mad.

“Hoo…”

Raon let out a small sigh to release the pent-up emotions and approached Aris.

“How is your body? Are you all right?”

“……”

Aris bit her dry lips as she met Raon’s calm gaze.

“…Can you tell me what happened?”

She seemed to already know the outcome to some extent, yet she wanted to hear it for herself.

“Yes.”

Raon nodded and sat on the chair by her bedside.

“I’ll tell you everything. From the moment Sif stabbed you…”

Hiding the truth wouldn’t help. Trusting in Aris’ mental strength, he decided to recount everything.

“…Afterward, we chased Sif and Vardiel to the dungeon entrance.”

Pausing, Raon looked at the ceiling before lowering his gaze.

Meeting Aris’ teary, expectant eyes, he delivered the final words.

“After that, I killed them both with my own hands. I’m sorry.”

He lowered his head as he confessed to killing Sif.

“……”

Aris didn’t respond. She lowered her gaze, tears slipping from her eyes and soaking the blood-stained pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

Aris weakly sat up, nearly collapsing as she tried to kneel on the floor.

“It’s all my fault.”

Her voice cracked like scraping iron as she bowed her head.

“If I hadn’t gone looking for Sif, if I hadn’t let my emotions weaken me, if I hadn’t let my guard down! If only I! If only I! If only I…!”

She blamed herself, pounding on her still-healing chest wound. The white bandages turned red, and blood spilled from her lips.

“This isn’t your fault, Aunt.”

Raon grabbed her bloodied fist and shook his head.

“The one to blame isn’t you—it’s Derus Robert.”

“No! It’s all my fault! I…”

Lacking even the strength to resist, Aris collapsed and began sobbing.

“Aunt…”

Raon bit his lip as he watched Aris, too exhausted even to cry properly.

The ache in his chest felt different from when he had learned of Rimmer’s death. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but no words came.

“Aunt, I…”

“Raon.”

Before he could speak further, Glenn placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. It was as though he was telling Raon that right now, what Aris needed most was time.

You weren’t steady from the very beginning either, were you?

Wrath clicked his tongue bitterly as he looked at Aris.

That punk needs time, too.

‘Yeah, that’s true.’

Just like Wrath said, Aris’ current state wasn’t so different from how Raon had been when he first regained consciousness.

“Ugh, aaaaaah…”

Aris, gasping for breath as if her chest felt suffocating, eventually closed her eyes and collapsed.

“Aunt!”

Raon grabbed her shoulders and arms, shaking her, but she didn’t wake up.

“Let me see.”

Federick let out a deep sigh and checked Aris’ condition.

“She fainted from mental exhaustion, that’s all. It’s not too serious, so there’s no need to worry.”

He reassured Raon and gently placed Aris back on the bed.

“Lady Aris…”

Rabawin, covering his mouth with his hand as if he understood her anguish, let out a quiet sob.

“The spar will have to wait.”

Glenn said they should do it some other time, shaking his head heavily.

“Yes.”

Raon nodded but clenched his teeth when he noticed Glenn’s gaze.

‘Come to think of it…’

Even grandfather’s face didn’t look good either.

So focused on his own emotions, Raon hadn’t noticed that Glenn’s expression was just as dark and heavy.

‘Of course, it would be.’

He had just lost Rimmer, one of his closest retainers. His grandson had killed another grandson. His daughter was both mentally and physically devastated. Glenn must have been the one suffering the most.

Yet, as the head of Zieghart, Glenn didn’t show his sadness to anyone. Instead, he comforted and supported those around him.

Raon respected that, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Glenn.

“I’ll stay here. Go and let the others know that Aris has regained consciousness.”

“…Understood.”

Raon bowed deeply before leaving Federick’s mansion.

“……”

He looked up at the bright sky, a sky that didn’t match his mood, and exhaled a heavy breath.

“Relationships really are…incredibly difficult.”

*   *   *

“So this is the black sword, huh.”

Vulcan narrowed his eyes as he examined Sif’s black sword, which looked like it was made of fused obsidian.

"What a bizarre shape. It doesn’t look crafted—it’s as if it was carved straight out of a gemstone."

He stroked his chin, saying that it was the first time he had seen a sword like this.

“Young master Raon said it looked like this from the start.”

Roenn nodded as he placed the black sword on the table.

"This sword is possessed by a demon—a demon of the most insidious curse. How could such intense malice and murderous intent be contained in one sword?"

Vulcan muttered that it made sense for Aris’ power to have been stolen, letting out a hollow breath.

“Please don’t touch it yet.”

Roenn stopped Vulcan’s hand as he reached for the sword.

“As you said, it’s cursed. Anyone who isn’t its master will be rejected. Even though it’s dormant now, touching it would render you unconscious unless you’re a Master.”

He frowned, explaining that one likely had to be at least a Master warrior to withstand holding it.

“Then what am I supposed to do with it?”

Vulcan shrugged, frustrated that he couldn’t even touch the sword.

“That’s why we invited a sorcerer from the Beast Union. Once he suppresses the curse, you might be able to examine it.”

At Roenn’s gesture, a gray-bearded old man, who had been leaning against the wall, stepped forward.

“I am Pasiron.”

Introducing himself, the sorcerer of the Beast Union studied the black sword with hawk-like eyes.

“Indeed, a vicious curse dwells here. It seems to have drunk the blood of at least a thousand people.”

He let out a low groan, commenting that it had been a while since he’d seen an object harboring such a potent curse.

“This blade was forged by condensing blood and solidifying it through a cursed ritual. It’s stronger than steel—maybe stronger than any metal out there.”

He covered his nose and mouth as if nauseated.

“For now, the curse is dormant. It seems to require certain conditions to awaken.”

“That’s correct.”

Roenn nodded at Pasiron’s assessment.

“According to the Light Wind division leader, the curse incorporates the blood curse from the cavern.”

“That place must have seen its share of deaths. But that alone doesn’t explain it.”

Placing his hand on the blade, Pasiron chanted an incomprehensible spell.

“What do you mean?”

Vulcan tilted his head in confusion.

"Constraints. Whether it’s martial arts, magic, or sorcery—if constraints are applied, greater power can be achieved. For example, restricting a blade to be used only against a certain person, or committing murder only at a specific location. By imposing such constraints, the power grows stronger." Pasiron furrowed his brow as he explained the basic principle of sorcery.

“……”

Roenn remained silent, saying no more.

“A curse of this caliber could only have been crafted by the White Blood Religion or Eden. Of course, if Derus Robert has hidden forces, it could be them as well.”

Pasiron sighed, saying more investigation was needed.

“So, can the curse on this sword be lifted?”

Vulcan asked with hopeful eyes, wanting a closer look at the sword.

“……”

Pasiron inspected the sword without replying before shaking his head heavily.

“It’s possible, but not by me alone. As I said, the blade has absorbed the blood of over a thousand people. Lifting the curse would require the lives of dozens of sorcerers.”

He lowered his gaze, lamenting the necessary sacrifices to remove the curse.

“Ugh, that’s awful.”

Vulcan bit his lip in frustration.

“Then, do you mind if I take a look?”

The door to the reception room opened, and Denier walked in. With a faint smile, he remarked that he’d like to take a look at the black sword.

“Ah, right. I recall the master of Wise Martial Palace has studied this field as well.”

Roenn clapped his hands lightly as if remembering.

"Right. I’ve heard him being called a jack-of-all-trades."

Vulcan nodded, having heard of Denier's reputation.

“It’s not a jack-of-all-trades’—I’m simply well-versed in various fields.”

Denier chuckled softly as he approached the table and picked up the black sword.

“I’m no expert in sorcery, but I do know a thing or two about curses. Let’s see…”

As he lifted the sword, a gust of blue wind swept through the room, and a hand snatched it away.

"I apologize…"

It was Raon. He appeared like a bolt of lightning, gripping the black sword and shaking his head coldly.

"Palace master, you cannot touch this sword."

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