He contemplated the blade.
The graceful patterns.
The keen edge.
A work of art bearing a cold, blue sheen.
The Sword Duke had thought about it for a very long time.
A body made of blood and flesh died, and the mind ended the moment blood ceased flowing through the brain.
But what of this resplendent object forged by humanity?
If something eternal existed, surely the sword had to be one of those things.
That belief of the swordsman had never once been broken since childhood.
How could there be any limit to a swordsman’s love for the sword?
Even after becoming an old man, the Sword Duke’s worldview had remained firm.
But perhaps it was because the end was approaching.
As he watched the old woman collapse, the Sword Duke discovered another kind of eternity.
Memories.
Something that never faded, like pigment spreading through a colorless world, even though he had believed he had left it behind long ago.
He took a step.
Then time gradually began flowing backward.
The hour and minute hands began spinning fiercely in reverse, toward a time several decades ago, when they had been young and full of vigor.
“Elder……!”
His disciple’s breathing was rough.
Judging by the way he panted and sweated, he appeared to have pushed himself somewhat too far.
Naturally.
Though he had pretended otherwise, he had just awakened and immediately drawn out his Mindscape at full strength.
Even a ‘Master’ could not help showing some fatigue after that.
And yet, why was it?
His disciple had grown into a proper swordsman, but…