Black Sail
Chapter 89: LXXXIX. Aran Sword King

Chapter 89: LXXXIX. Aran Sword King

Zahak, thick-skinned, returned to the Imperial City with Jin Mier.

What concept was it to be assigned to the borders as a lieutenant doing clerical work?

Might as well ask a personage from the Emiriken Outer House to become a state trooper in Wisconsin. Wouldn’t that be comfortable?

Aran Sword King.

His name shook the continent.

After the Emperor ascended to the throne, in the ninth month of the year, the Continent Martial Arts Competition was officially founded.

The championship of the Continent Martial Arts Competition had an absolute gold content, pure enough to break through the skies, landing one directly at the highest echelons of the power center.

And the first tournament was always the most fierce.

With his own skills, or it might be said, supernatural powers, the Aran Sword King became the champion, overpowering the multitude.

Now, he was one of the instructors seated at the Continent Martial Arts Competition.

Sword Platform.

This was a place with an elegant name, not within the Imperial City, but beside a waterfall in a mountain on the outskirts, apparently following the architectural style of the Far East Islands.

The Sword King was not a man of the Western Continent, thus the Emperor did not employ him heavily, merely bestowing an honorary title, a monetary reward, and the title of a noble honor, keeping him distant from power.

Even so, his influence was extensive as disciples nearly broke down his door seeking to learn from him.

The sound of the waterfall flowed continuously.

The center courtyard, laid with ebony wood flooring, appeared especially refined, and behind the muslin curtain, the Sword King’s newly accepted female student was playing a musical instrument.

All the furnishings were meticulously crafted, with latticed screens and display shelves for curios.

The scent of sandalwood assaulted the senses, and under the waterfall, the clear pond was planted with carefully tended lotus leaves and flowers, bringing a transcendent quality. One could vaguely see carps leaping in the pond.

Zahak knelt on the ground.

The Sword King was seated facing away from him, meditating beside the waterfall and tasting tea. One could only see his back, dressed in a simple grey martial arts robe. He was far from the burly figure imagined. Though his frame was tall, he appeared somewhat gaunt, with black hair streaked with white.

"Speak of that man."

The Sword King, although in his prime, had a voice that was slightly hoarse.

"He has a disfigured face, likely severely burned before. The disfigured part was also self-mutilated with more than a dozen cuts..."

Zahak didn’t finish.

"How obtuse," the Sword King sighed deeply. "I meant for you to speak of the man’s moves."

Zahak was ashamed, recounting the battle outside of Londen City in detail. His sleeves and shoes were filled with knives, his hidden weapons were flying knives, along with crossbow arrows and strange Wing Blades, two strands of whips, and other standard equipment – he was like a walking armory.

"So it is; he carries all sorts of weapons yet conspicuously lacks a long sword, right?"

The Sword King had a rough guess.

"How did you know, Teacher?"

Zahak was deeply puzzled.

"I have traveled the vast world, seeking the masters within all organizations, and I know a little of each. This man, you are far from his match. If we talk about swordsmanship, he is over a hundred times stronger than you."

The Sword King spoke calmly.

Zahak was extremely shocked.

"In that case, Teacher, do you know who he is?"

"Certainly not. I do not know who he is, but I know his origins. If you can kill him, the matters in your heart will no longer be shackled, Black Sword Netherflame will no longer be your match, and I can consider there to be someone to follow in my footsteps."

"What should I do... to become stronger? I feel I can’t possibly make any more progress."

"You have not yet fully mastered swordsmanship. The sword is nothing more than iron with edges on both sides; what’s important is to achieve an integration, capturing the trajectory of all things. This move is called ’Still Water.’ First, practice to this level, then come to find me again."

The Sword King spoke with an air of mystery, as if communicating the profoundest of secrets.

He picked up the foldable knife from the desk, and without any visible action, a buzzing sound suddenly filled the air, causing Zahak to experience a bit of ringing in his ears.

Then, the waterfall beside the pond seemed frozen in time, in a state of stillness, yet it was not iced over.

Zahak was spellbound. How was this possible? A fish leapt from the pond and splashed into the waterfall, only to find that the waterfall was actually still flowing. The water sprayed for an instant and then returned to stillness, mysteriously profound.

"Swordsmanship," said the Sword King, "is much like this waterfall. It appears still, yet it is merely the layers of water flowing on their own trajectories, without mixing. Do you understand now?"

Zahak... did not understand at all.

But since the teacher had said so, he could only continue to practice until one day, he too, could cut through the waterfall.

Meanwhile.

Inside Heaven Port.

Inner City, Black Sail Inn, the second-floor tavern.

"Will this drink not kill me?"

Morison sat next to the bar.

The inn’s revenue was mostly used to pay the staff’s salaries, with the highest being paid to the Dark Elf bartender before him whose mixology skills were unparalleled.

To earn over eighty silver coins was actually quite profitable, and this was the net income, not the gross revenue.

She finished mixing a cocktail and even left a kiss mark on the rim of the glass with her lips.

Morison was profoundly shocked. Drinking this down was a sure way to be damned to Hell.

They had all planned to get some good sleep first, but having slept on the ship for so long, they were not accustomed to being ashore because they had gotten used to the swaying at sea.

Sleeping in a normal bed felt like it was constantly rocking.

Like a vagrant, if you’re used to sleeping on hard cement, sleeping in a bed feels like you’re continuously sinking.

They had to recalibrate their body clocks, drown themselves in alcohol, and then deal with it.

Liszt hesitated about whether or not to find his cheap wife. It was still daytime, but by nightfall, it would be too dangerous. This time he had to cut ties for good; continuing like this wasn’t an option. That madwoman had a bit of a screw loose.

Six years ago, he borrowed a hundred and sixty Golden Dragons from her as startup capital. The hardships of founding Black Sail forced him to sacrifice more than he’d like.

It’s not that Liszt was exceptionally handsome – far from it – he had the typical rugged pirate face, build, and fashion sense that nobody fancied.

Liszt had heard her say it.

She categorized blood into several grades, with High Elf blood being the most aromatic and Druid’s the most intense, followed by that of virgins.

It’s not that Liszt’s blood was particularly high-grade or tasty, not comparable to a virgin’s, but it was unique, with a fulfilling sensation, just as girls like drinking bubble tea for that strangely addictive buzz.

It’s hard to describe that feeling; it’s like how someone becomes desensitized after too much exposure to something – they need more stimulation. Meals need to be spicier; the bedroom needs props.

Liszt’s blood had that kind of appeal.

"General Fen, you should just go to the casino to collect debts. Both Fish Seller Fei and Mad Tiger listen to you."

Liszt made up his mind; he had to go now or be in trouble later at night. A hundred and sixty Golden Dragons was not a trivial sum, and if he repaid it, there wouldn’t be much left. He was going to pay off eighty as a gesture for now because he had to dissolve this marriage.

"I can’t control those two mad dogs."

Fen refused, not wanting to bother.

"Why don’t you take Brother Ox with you? I have urgent matters to attend to, and you wouldn’t want a madwoman coming after you because you gave me work and it delayed my business," Liszt half-joked, half-threatened.

"God-damn, me commanding you? You’ve really got some nerve."

Fen cursed, not wanting to prolong the conversation, and went off alone to the casino to collect debts. There, with the protection fees and casino’s cut, they made seventy or eighty Golden Dragons in three months, and that was a conservative estimate.

Liszt fortified himself with alcohol for courage and limbered up; today, he had to go through with the breakup. How could he get involved with Goria if everywhere he went, people thought he had a wife?

Eleven Kagomes and twelve Kikyos were still waiting for him.