The Sword Emperor Transmigrates - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Leonard made his way to the mess hall with hurried steps so as not to be late. He looked up at the flags decorating the entrance and saw a sun symbolizing the empire with a sword pierced through it. This was the emblem of the Ducal House of Cardenas, one of the founders of the nation.

The family of swordsmen were the only ones allowed to keep their swords in the presence of the emperor, and the instructor in charge of imperial history and ethics constantly spoke of them with reverence.

The Arcadian Empire, their progenitors, and a family that has been producing the best swordsmen for centuries… It was an interesting story.

But it didn’t matter if one was a member of the Wudang or Shaolin Sect, which were arguably the two strongest factions among the Nine Great Sects. Or if one lived by the law of the jungle in the Heavenly Demon Cult or was raised in the palace with an endless supply of resources, which should’ve made it easy to become a great martial artist. Regardless, one group couldn’t produce the greatest fighter every single generation, especially if they were a swordsman every time.

Wudang, the Zhongnan Sect, and the Nangong Clan have a lot of knowledge about swordplay, but I was the best swordsman in my generation.

He was the Sword Emperor.

Even Wudang’s Taiji Sword Immortal and Zhongnan’s Cloud Sword were several levels below him. And unfortunately, the only martial artist who ever defeated him, Heavenly Demon Dan Mok-Jin, did not wield a sword.

Yeon Mu-Hyuk had never been under the tutelage or sponsorship of any big faction. More than half of the basic techniques he used in battle had been developed through innate talent, back-breaking effort, and a hard life that constantly came face-to-face with death.

You can reach a certain level of power simply with talent, effort, and resources, but after that, you need luck.

This didn’t mean that one needed divine intervention to overcome the wall. They needed to beat the odds when they didn’t know if their efforts would pay off and when they couldn’t guarantee victory in a battle. If they wanted to attain transcendent levels of power, they needed to defeat these games of chance and then keep going without stopping to rest.

“But apparently, this family has been producing the greatest fighters for centuries without fail…?”

Were they telling the truth? Or were they lying?

If they were lying, it was probably to uphold their prestige and their reputation as guardians of the empire.

But—and this was a big but—what if they were telling the truth?

There may be some family secret or something in their blood.

Leonard concluded his thoughts and turned his mind elsewhere. There was no point in thinking about it at the moment. He was merely a member of one of many, many branch families, and there was naturally a limit to the information he could access. He had to rise through the ranks, either through promotion or by impressing people with his swordplay. Only then would he be able to find answers.

Creak.

Despite its size, the door opened gracefully.

And as soon as he stepped in, hundreds of pairs of eyes flew toward him.

“Hey, it’s No. 381. Now what about that?”

“So it’s true. He finally woke up.”

“I heard he passed out for four days after being hit by that weakling No. 403. How fragile is this guy? Geez. If I were the one who hit him, I bet he would’ve died.”

“That’s big talk for someone who can’t even break a training dummy.”

The trainees bustled for a moment, but they quickly lost interest and turned back to their food and their friends.

They must all be from branch families. Everyone looks different.

There was a large variety of eye and hair colors that he’d never seen before, even among foreigners. Blond and brunette weren’t uncommon, but bright red and sky blue didn’t seem like natural hair colors to him. Some martial arts techniques that transformed the body could cause changes in one’s appearance as a side effect, but even that was extremely rare. There was the ruler of the North Sea Ice Palace who was the outer region’s so-called patron god, and the Nanman Jungle’s King of Fire, for example.

“Hm.” While he was momentarily locked in thought about the old days, somehow, his tray had become piled with food. He took a seat at an empty table and picked up his spoon.

While he was at the Central Plains, he either ate training rations or things like somen and spring rolls at tea houses. Nothing more. So even though his body remembered the taste of the meat, bread, and eggs heaped onto his plate, it felt a little strange.

Slurp. He took a few sips of warm soup, then devoured the meat, bread, and eggs.

It was essential to provide enough nutrients for a body that was still growing. At the very least, he needed enough to maintain his physique, and he couldn’t afford to skimp on meals until he reached the Creation Realm again—or rather, became a Master, as they called them here.

“… It is more palatable than I expected.”

Leonard looked down at his empty plate, a little dumbstruck. It had been decades since he’d last felt the joy of a good meal because he’d always been in a hurry to get back to training.

Both his heart and stomach felt full. After starving for three days, his body happily accepted the nutrients. The color returned to his face, and his blood started to rush.

“Damn, No. 381. You must’ve been hungry after sleeping for so long.” A trainee plopped down next to him without even asking. He was about twice as big as the others.

Leonard recognized his face. “You’re… No. 8?”

“Nope, it’s No. 7 now. I beat someone out a day or two ago,” No. 7 said with a triumphant grin. Despite his large build, he still had baby fat left on his cheeks.

The trainees’ numbers represented their ranking. At this stage, the only extra privileges they could receive were bigger rooms and tidier, more dashing clothes, but the family would grant more benefits as time went on.

The way they pit people against each other from a young age is similar to what I’ve seen in demonic factions… but this is nothing compared to them. It doesn’t seem like they hold killing matches to reduce their numbers either.

Leonard thought about this as he turned to No. 8, or rather, No. 7.

“What business do you have with me?”

“Hey, have you always spoken like that?” No. 7 gave him a strange look, but it quickly faded. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I came here to let you in on some things you probably didn’t hear about.”

“Things I didn’t hear about?”

“Yup. Lower your voice and listen closely.” He leaned close to Leonard’s ear and whispered. “During the four days you were out, nearly all of the high rankers started to consolidate their power. You know who I’m talking about, right? No. 1, No. 2, No. 4—”

“You mean the direct descendants?”

“Hush! You’re being too loud, you idiot!” Panicked by his response, No. 7 reflexively raised his hand. But of course, his pathetic hit never landed.

Leonard merely cocked his head and swiftly dodged the blow.

“Huh? Wha?”

“Stop fooling around and keep talking. What about them?”

“Oh, uh, anyway, those three each made gangs of their own. Out of the five hundred of us, over half have already joined them. But there’s no rule that states every group needs to have direct descendants, you know? So 3, 9, and I are thinking about teaming up.”

Leonard immediately understood why No. 7 had come to speak with him. It was a plan hatched by kids, after all.

He cut him off right there. “Count me out of it. I have no desire to join any sort of group.”

“Huh?”

“Thank you for telling me. I will repay you in the future.”

No. 7 was at a loss for words. Leonard got up and walked past the dumbstruck boy to return his tray. He was out of the mess hall in no time.

In his past life, Yeon Mu-Hyuk had refused to affiliate himself with any faction because it would reduce his training time and the number of enemies he could fight. After living an entire life like that, there was no reason Leonard would have an interest in the petty squabbles of children.

I would want to join if there were some techniques unique to direct descendants, but I’d still have to wait a few years. After all, how much could he learn from a few runts who were barely fourteen? Thus, Leonard decided to focus on himself instead.

I’ll hold off on internal cultivation methods for now. It would be a waste if I happened to get caught, and then I might not be able to find out about the Cardenas’ cultivation methods.

In that case, there was only one thing he could do.

“Physical cultivation.”

***

The very next day, Leonard woke up at the crack of dawn. As soon as his eyes opened, he began to move around on the bed in a peculiar way. Cracking sounds kept coming from his ankles, knees, hips, and shoulders, but he didn’t stop. He was trying to stretch and twist his body through its full range of motion.

He was doing basic yoga, which was something he’d stumbled across while visiting the Potala Palace in Tianzhu. He remembered someone saying at the time, “Hehe. Having strong bones and muscles isn’t enough. If your body is all stiff, how well can you really use techniques? It’s a shame you’re too old. Yoga is most effective when you start from a young age.”

Leonard spent an hour moving his body to its limits, moving with precision so he wouldn’t injure his muscles or ligaments. By the time he was finished, his clothes were drenched with sweat from nervousness and soreness, but he could feel the effects much more clearly now than when he was an adult. This made him forget all his discomfort.

I’m progressing more than twice as fast as I did in my past life. At this rate, I should be able to master the fundamentals within three months.

Soon enough, his incredible flexibility would become a secret weapon, especially when fighting enemies who weren’t sharp enough to take it into consideration. There was a reason some people saw the Potala Palace masters’ fist arts and palm arts and called it magic. However, the techniques themselves were quite simple, and it was the practitioners who were extraordinary. Those who continually practiced yoga from a young age could move as if they didn’t have a skeleton.

“… I think the morning training session starts at 7.”

In a bit, the bell would ring, and all the students would gather in the basement of the facility to begin stamina training under the tutelage of the instructor. However, Leonard was officially on sick leave for a week.

The training system they use here is quite impressive. In some ways, they’re more systematic than the Shaolin.

Leonard recalled memories from the morning sessions and nodded as if satisfied. A regimen of barbells and dumbbells was clearly effective, considering the solid muscles on the children he had seen the other day.

Apparently, the training room is always open, so I should take a look when no one is around.

Leonard stepped off his bed and changed. Much like the clothes he’d slept in, his training uniform was drab. He pinned a badge with his number onto his gray-and-white tunic. And with that, he was ready to go. He was planning to roam around the still-unfamiliar facility before breakfast.

“Oh, I need my practice sword too.”

Trainees had to carry their wooden swords at all times. No one had said anything yesterday because he’d just been discharged, but someone might scold him today. Once he fastened his sword to his belt, Leonard stepped out of his room.

So far, I’ve been to the infirmary and the mess hall and I’ll see the training room in a bit once we start. Then where else should—

Leonard stopped in his tracks just as he started to draw out a map of the training facility in his head. He stopped not because he’d decided where to go but because he’d sensed someone.

“Do you have business with me? It’s almost time for training,” he called out to the three children hiding behind a pillar.

They stepped out, looking like they were planning to intimidate him. The Sword Emperor, however, had killed a Creation Realm assassin before, so to him, their posturing was adorable.

“That’s pretty impressive, No. 381. We’re from No. 1’s gang,” one of them said. As soon as he spoke, the other two followed.

“You probably don’t know this, but No. 1 is one of the most powerful swordsmen, even among the direct descendants. It would be good for you to swear your loyalty.”

“And you get bonus points for turning down that moron No. 7.”

Leonard smirked. Apparently, No. 1 had already caught wind of the branch families’ plot to mutiny.

Things are getting pretty interesting for a kids’ game.

“I have no interest in any sort of gang fight, so get out of the way,” he said flatly.

The three children blocked his way and scowled, angered at No. 381’s refusal to accept their “generous offer.”

No. 157, the lowest-ranking among them, stepped forward and drew his practice sword from his waist. He narrowed his eyes. “You should’ve listened while we were being nice. Look how weak you are.”

The other two snickered behind him.

“Beat him until he says he’ll join No. 1’s ranks. Oh, but be careful around the head. We wouldn’t want him to be out for three days again.”

“And it would be a hassle to carry him to the infirmary.”

It was only morning, and Leonard was already annoyed out of his mind.

He gave a deep sigh. He was about to grab his own sword, but he stopped. Even though this would be his first duel, albeit with wooden swords, his opponent was a fourteen-year-old brat. This was going to be boring.

“Stop blabbering and just come at me. All three of you, while you’re at it.”

For a moment, the trainees blanched, wondering if they had misheard him. Then their eyes narrowed.

“You cocky bastard!”

No. 157 rushed him, his eyes ablaze.