The Man’s 101st Bad Ending

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He regained his senses after taking his own life several times. He couldn’t continue like this.

He had become numb to death, a small mercy. He could maintain his composure even with a blade at his throat.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

He could plan his next move even as he died. It was an impulsive decision, but he grabbed a few swords and fled, seeking refuge in the remote mountains of the East, far from the empire.

The rugged terrain offered him the seclusion he needed.

This was the first time he had left the empire. He didn’t want to waste time wondering what to do. He picked up a sword.

He didn’t just want to be proficient. He wanted to master the blade, even if it killed him.

Could he do it?

He didn’t entertain the possibility of failure. He would make the impossible possible. He knew he lacked talent.

He wouldn’t improve much even after a decade.

He restricted his food intake to sharpen his senses. He had brought enough money to buy food, but he chose to forage instead.

He starved if he couldn’t find anything.

He had initially relied on the food he had brought, but he eventually stopped eating altogether, his body becoming emaciated.

“…Haah…”

He felt like he was starving to death. He realized later that his approach had been wrong.

His malnourished body couldn’t develop properly. Still, he practiced every day until he collapsed. He had no teacher. His previous teachers had given up on him.

He assumed any new teacher would do the same.

He mimicked the movements of the knights he had observed. He swung his sword, drawing lines in the air.

He knew he wouldn’t improve much this way.

He lacked talent.

It took him a month to master a simple movement that others could learn in a day.

He persisted out of sheer stubbornness.

If a simple movement took him a month, he would repeat it countless times until he could move on to the next.

He analyzed the knights’ movements, trying to understand the principles behind them.

Sometimes, understanding the theory allowed him to learn faster.

One day, he realized he had died of exhaustion. He saw the familiar ceiling and chuckled hollowly.

His swordsmanship remained, but his body had reverted to its weak, initial state.

He fled the empire again, seeking a new training ground.

This time, he wanted to test his skills. He didn’t need to fight honorably if he could protect someone.

Winning was all that mattered, even if it meant resorting to dirty tricks. He encountered a group of bandits and barely survived.

He realized he was still far from his goal and returned to the mountains.

“Not enough.”

He had almost died fighting bandits.

He was nowhere near the level of the knights he admired.

Even ordinary knights could single-handedly defeat a group of bandits.

He had been training for five years, and this was the result.

He cut his hair, renewing his resolve.

He wouldn’t be discouraged by a single setback.

He continued to train.

He practiced from sunrise to sunset. He didn’t stop, even when his body was drenched in sweat and blood, even when he shivered in the rain. He wouldn’t give up.

He hadn’t picked up a sword for such trivial reasons.

The memory of Miragen’s death haunted him. He couldn’t forget. He fought the urge to end his own life. But it would be a waste to die now.

He hadn’t mastered the blade yet.

Why give up?

It was an obsession bordering on madness. To be consumed by the sword. He had abandoned everything else, dedicating his life to the pursuit of swordsmanship.

He looked around and realized the trees, once dense, had thinned. It was time to move on.

“Four.”

He had died four times here, spending twenty years in these mountains. He knew it wasn’t enough, but he couldn’t improve any further on his own.

He needed to test his skills against others. He had learned that he had no talent for the sword, but he had a good eye.

He had a photographic memory.

That was how he had been able to mimic the knights’ movements. He still flinched whenever he heard Miragen’s name in the news from the capital.

He had tried to forget, but he couldn’t.

It was pathetic, living in the past. He was the only one who remembered.

She would probably dismiss it as a fantasy if he told her, yet…he couldn’t forget.

He rubbed his forehead, then sighed, running a hand down his face.

…This was his choice.

To carry the burden of his memories. He would never forget. He hoped that if he ever lost himself in this pursuit, if he ever forgot his original purpose, he would die by her hand.

He picked up his sword again.

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The title of Sword Saint had never been bestowed upon anyone in the history of the continent.

There had been discussions of awarding the title to those who reached a certain level of mastery, but even the legendary “King of Knights” had refused it.

A being as revered as a celestial star, yet no one knew what level of skill was required to earn such a title.

Until the day a unit of the imperial army was annihilated.

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“…Three hundred knights…annihilated.”

“By a single man, Your Majesty. The surviving soldier described him as a madman.”

Kaitel, now Emperor, chuckled dryly.

This had happened just as the unification of the continent was within his grasp. His subordinates cowered at his laughter, remembering his madness from his days as Crown Prince.

Who knew how many more he would kill if he was displeased?

A red glint flickered in his golden eyes, the symbol of the imperial family, then vanished.

He looked at the kneeling knight and spoke.

“Is the Knight Commander dead as well?”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty. He was killed in a single blow. The other knights were thrown into disarray. If we assemble another force…”

“Enough. How pathetic.”

He didn’t know the identity of the madman who had defeated his knights. But he had a feeling he knew who it was.

A name that had been haunting him.

He whispered the name, Robert Taylor, and chuckled softly. So, he had been training.

He wondered what kind of chaos Robert Taylor’s return, after ten years of absence, would bring.

He rose from his throne.

“Order the Grand General to lead the subjugation force.”

The name that came to mind was Miragen. The current Grand General, who had led the imperial army since he became Emperor.

She was far more skilled than the deceased Knight Commander. If even Miragen couldn’t defeat him, he would have to mobilize the entire imperial army.

He smiled, looking at Miragen, who bowed her head with her usual impassive expression. He didn’t understand why he was smiling.

He should be furious at Robert Taylor for killing his knights, yet…he found himself amused by the thought of their reunion.

‘Is the madness returning?’

Miragen stared at Kaitel for a moment, then sighed and left the throne room. She knew he was unstable, but his reaction to this incident was strange.

She had never understood his thoughts, or why he had appointed her as Grand General in the first place.

“It’s the first time His Majesty has ordered you to personally lead a subjugation force.”

“I know. He usually sends someone else. I wonder why he chose me.”

“It’s a good opportunity to earn some merit. There haven’t been many battles since the subjugation of the South.”

Merit.

Miragen wasn’t interested in war.

She would have resigned long ago if she hadn’t discovered her unexpected talent for swordsmanship.

She had only practiced swordsmanship for self-defense before Kaitel became Emperor. She still didn’t understand why he had appointed her as Grand General.

Miragen received the report from her adjutant and frowned, seeing the name written in the document. She had been told the attacker’s identity was unknown.

Why was his name here now?

Robert Taylor.

She whispered the name, then her eyes widened in realization.

“Isn’t he the one who ran away with a few swords? Why did he kill the knights?”

“Who knows? He’s being called a madman, so perhaps there’s a reason.”

It was reckless to assemble a subjugation force without any information.

They had to gather intel on this madman. They couldn’t afford to waste time. Reports poured in from all over the empire.

The problem was, they were all outlandish tales that belonged in fairy tales.

Miragen sighed, rubbing her forehead, looking at the pile of reports.

Was this a joke? Did they expect her to believe this? A single man clearing an entire mountain?

There was even a legend about him obliterating a mountain in the East with a single sword strike.

“I asked for information, not children’s stories.”

“I wish that were the case, but these are the only credible reports we have.”

Miragen looked at her adjutant, Loken, skeptically, then picked up a report and started reading.

The reports described a man who single-handedly slaughtered countless soldiers, achieving feats beyond human capability with a single sword.

She had never heard of such things, even in ancient legends. One soldier even claimed to have seen a cleanly bisected mountain.

Miragen touched her sword, a strange feeling unsettling her. She was annoyed by her own unease and by the existence of such a man.

They expected her to face this…monster? Even with her elite troops?

This was a suicide mission.

She couldn’t comprehend the extent of Robert Taylor’s power, so she decided to examine the images captured by the mage who had been dispatched to the scene.

Magic could reveal traces of the battle.

🚨 Important Notice 🚨

); }

It was absurd to send an army against a single man, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

But what she saw defied belief.

“They want me to subjugate…this?”

She couldn’t believe it.

Even the most skilled swordsman had limits. They could kill people, but that was it. They couldn’t cut down castles, and they certainly couldn’t defeat monsters larger than themselves.

The image showed a mountain that had vanished from the map.

A single sword strike altering the landscape? Was that even possible?

Loken gasped, remembering a passage from a childhood book.

A passage that described the ultimate swordsman, one who could cleave mountains, as worthy of the most glorious title.

“…Sword Saint.”

He wondered who was actually being subjugated.

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[Translator Notes]

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