The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman
Chapter 850

“Ah…”

Aris trembled as she stared up at the brown ceiling adorned with elegant patterns.

‘Am I… alive?’

She had thought she would never open her eyes in this world again, but now she was clearly breathing—alive.

‘Where am I…?’

Turning her eyes, she saw ornate decorations and wallpaper. On a table to her right sat medicine and bloodied bandages.

It appeared to be a high-class mansion being used as a hospital room.

‘Uncle Federick’s mansion?’

Federick had been using one of Zieghart’s estates as a treatment center. This looked like one of its rooms.

She weakly turned her head to look out the window. Beyond it, she could see the path leading to the annex. It was certain—this was Zieghart.

‘How did I get here?’

The last thing she remembered was being captured by Sif deep inside the dungeon. She couldn’t recall how she had returned to Zieghart.

‘After I was stabbed in the pit… Ah!’

As her mind slowly cleared, the last image from her remaining memories surfaced.

“R-Rimmer…”

Sif’s black sword piercing through Rimmer’s chest, and Raon witnessing the scene—an image so painful it felt like a nightmare replayed vividly in her mind.

“Aaahhh…”

Aris clutched her head and let out a cry like her throat was being torn apart.

‘No! No! If I’m here, then maybe Rimmer… maybe he’s alive too?’

If she had returned alive to Zieghart, perhaps Rimmer had also survived. She clung to that faint sliver of hope.

But her instincts as a martial artist told her otherwise. No one could survive the wound Rimmer had suffered.

‘Sif… why…’

The Sif she remembered was not righteous, but he was kind and gentle.

She had trained him to be strong so that his fragile heart wouldn’t be crushed—but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine he could change so completely.

‘Is Raon okay?’

Sif had broken through the wall of transcendence by absorbing her blood.

She was suddenly overwhelmed with worry. What had happened to Raon? To the Light Wind Division?

“Ugh…”

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

“…Aris. You’re awake.”

Federick let out a heavy sigh as he looked into her clouded, pained eyes.

“Lady Aris!”

Rabawin dropped the bandages and towel he was holding and rushed over to her.

“A-Are you alright?”

His lips trembled as he looked at her gaunt cheeks.

“Rabawin…”

Aris finally opened her dry, cracked lips, her voice painfully slow.

“What happened? What about Rimmer and Sif?”

More than anything, she asked about those two first.

“That is…”

“Rabawin. Go fetch the others.”

Federick exhaled and gestured toward Rabawin.

“Ah… yes, sir…”

Rabawin hesitated, then turned and slowly left the room, meeting Aris’s desperate gaze.

“Uncle, why did you send him away? Please tell me. This silence is killing me…”

Aris touched her still-healing chest and coughed up blood. Her internal wounds had reopened due to the surge of emotion.

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

Federick shook his head as he reached for a cloth on the table.

“Someone else will come—someone who has the answers you seek.”

Instead of speaking, he only wiped the blood from her lips.

“Someone with answers…”

Aris forced down the blood rising in her throat and lifted her head.

“Raon?”

“Yes.”

Federick nodded calmly, as if that much he could say.

“Haah…”

Aris brought her trembling hands together and exhaled a breath of relief.

She’d been worried about Raon too, but hearing that he was coming brought some comfort. At the very least, it meant Raon had survived.

“Thank goodness… really…”

Still clinging to a small hope that Rimmer might be alive, she waited for Raon.

From outside the room, there was the sound of voices.

Huuu.

A slow, calming breath echoed—then the door opened, and Raon entered with Glenn.

“Ah…”

The moment she saw Raon’s eyes, the question she had prepared vanished unspoken.

The once bright-eyed nephew who saw the world through light now carried a mature darkness in his gaze.

Thud.

The faint hope she had been clutching shattered, and her hands—clasped before her chest—fell limply.

‘Rimmer…’

* * *

Raon bit his lip as he looked at the trembling Aris.

‘I never thought I’d see her look so… fragile.’

In some ways, he had considered Aris stronger than even Glenn.

Confident, dignified—a martial artist worthy of admiration regardless of gender.

But now, Aris looked pale and shaken. Her entire body trembled in unease.

She looked like someone completely broken by despair.

‘Aunt…’

After Rimmer’s death, Raon had blamed himself, then turned his resentment toward others.

The one he blamed most was Aris.

He had irrationally accused her of bringing Sif, of letting emotions cloud her judgment, of failing to stop Sif’s ambush.

But after saying goodbye to Rimmer, he realized.

The one to blame, the one to resent—the one who needed to die—was Derus Robert.

He was the one who twisted Sif, who killed Rimmer.

‘Right now, the one suffering the most isn’t me—it’s her…’

She had been betrayed by the son she had finally found, watched that son kill the man who was like a friend, and then had him killed by her own nephew.

If he had gone through that himself, even with his strengthened mind in this second life, he might have gone mad.

“Hoo…”

Raon let out a soft breath, releasing the emotion coiled within him, and stepped closer to Aris.

“Are you… alright?”

“…….”

Aris bit her dry lips as she looked into Raon’s heavy, sunken eyes.

“…Can you tell me what happened?”

Though she seemed to already know the outcome, she needed to hear it directly from him.

“Yes.”

Raon nodded and sat in the chair beside her bed.

“I’ll tell you everything. After you were stabbed by Sif…”

This wasn’t something to be hidden. He decided to trust in Aris’s mental strength and tell her everything.

“…That’s how it happened, and I pursued Sif and Bardiel outside the dungeon.”

Raon paused, looked up at the ceiling briefly, then lowered his gaze again.

Staring into Aris’s eyes—eyes swollen with sorrow—he spoke the final truth.

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

He bowed his head, confessing that he had been the one to end Sif’s life.

“…….”

Aris didn’t respond, only closed her eyes. A tear rolled down from the corner and soaked the bloodstained pillow beneath her head.

“I’m sorry.”

She opened her eyes and clumsily struggled to rise. Nearly falling, she forced herself down from the bed and tried to kneel.

“It’s all my fault.”

Her voice scratched like metal as she bowed deeply.

“If I hadn’t insisted on finding Sif… If I hadn’t lost control of my emotions and weakened my strength… If I hadn’t let my guard down around him! Me! It was me! Meee!”

She pounded her still-healing chest with her fist. Blood soaked through the white bandages, and a mouthful of blood spilled from her lips.

“It’s not your fault, Aunt.”

Raon caught her bloodied fist and shook his head.

“The one to blame is not you—it’s Derus Robert.”

“No! It’s all because of me! I…”

Aris, lacking the strength even to pull her hand away, collapsed into sobs.

“Aunt…”

Raon bit his lip as he watched her cry weakly, her body and spirit both broken.

It hurt in a different way from when he had lost Rimmer. He wanted to say something—anything—but there was nothing that could help.

“Aunt. I…”

“Raon.”

Just as he was about to speak, Glenn placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook his head.

It meant Aris needed time.

-You weren’t calm in the beginning either, were you?

Wrath clicked his tongue bitterly as he looked at Aris.

-That unruly woman needs time too.

‘Yeah, you’re right.’

Just like Wrath said, Aris now wasn’t so different from how he’d been when he first woke up after it all.

“Aaahhh…”

Aris clutched her chest, gasping for breath, then collapsed unconscious.

“Aunt!”

Raon grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently, but she didn’t wake.

“Step aside.”

Federick exhaled and checked her condition.

“She’s just mentally exhausted. It’s not serious. There’s no need to worry.”

He reassured them and laid her back on the bed.

“Lady Aris…”

Rabawin covered his mouth, eyes tearing up, clearly sharing her pain.

“Looks like our spar will have to wait.”

Glenn said somberly, shaking his head.

“Yes…”

Raon nodded, then clenched his teeth as he caught a glimpse of Glenn’s eyes.

‘Now that I think of it…’

Even Grandfather’s face looks terrible.

He’d been too caught up in his own feelings to notice before, but Glenn’s eyes were clouded with sorrow too.

‘Of course.’

He had just lost Rimmer, his most trusted subordinate. His grandson had killed his other grandson. His daughter was physically and mentally devastated.

Right now, Glenn might be the one carrying the heaviest burden of them all.

Yet as the head of Zieghart, he bore it silently, showing no weakness and caring for those around him instead.

That kind of self-restraint was admirable—and heartbreaking.

“I’ll stay here. You go inform the others that Aris has woken up.”

“Understood…”

Raon bowed deeply and left Federick’s mansion.

“……”

As he looked up at the radiant sky that didn’t match the mood of anyone’s heart, Raon let out a thick, weary breath.

“Human relationships… really are complicated.”

* * *

“So this is the black sword.”

Balkan narrowed his eyes as he examined Sif’s black sword, its surface gleaming like fused black amethyst.

“Disgustingly strange form. It’s not forged—it looks like it was carved from a gem.”

He stroked his chin, saying it was unlike any weapon he’d ever seen.

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

Roenn placed the sword on the table and nodded.

“There’s a demon sealed in this sword. A powerful curse demon. I’ve never felt such intense killing intent and malice from a weapon before.”

Balkan exhaled sharply, murmuring that now he understood how it managed to steal Aris’s power.

“Don’t touch it directly yet.”

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

“As you said, it’s cursed. Anyone who’s not the owner will be rejected. Even now, while it’s dormant, touching it without being the master will render you unconscious.”

He furrowed his brows, saying at minimum, one had to be the weapon’s master to hold it safely.

“Then what do you expect me to do with it?”

Balkan shrugged. If he couldn’t touch it, what was he supposed to do?

“That’s why we’ve brought a shaman from the Beast Union. If he can suppress the curse, you should be able to examine it safely.”

As Roenn stepped back, an old man with gray beard leaning against the wall stepped forward.

“I am Phasilon.”

The shaman introduced himself and stared at the sword with hawk-like eyes.

“This thing is steeped in a vicious curse. It must have absorbed the blood of at least a thousand people.”

Phasilon let out a low groan, saying it had been a long time since he’d seen an artifact with such a potent curse.

“This blade was forged by congealing compressed blood through a sorcery-based curse. Not steel—something far denser than any metal.”

He covered his mouth and nose, as if nauseated.

“Fortunately, the curse is dormant now. It seems it only awakens under certain conditions.”

“Just as you said.”

Roenn nodded toward Phasilon.

“According to the Light Wind Division leader, the curse from the pit, soaked in blood, was also used for this blade.”

“Then many must have died there too. But… I don’t think that’s all.”

Phasilon placed his hand on the edge of the black blade and muttered an incantation in an unknown tongue.

“What do you mean?”

Balkan tilted his head, puzzled.

“Restrictions. Whether martial arts, magic, or sorcery—if conditions are imposed, the power becomes stronger. For example, if the blade is used only on a certain person, or if it can only kill in a specific place, the curse gains greater strength.”

Phasilon furrowed his brow and said this was a basic principle of sorcery.

“……”

Roenn remained silent after that, saying nothing further.

“The only forces capable of handling a sorcery of this scale are the White Blood Cult and Eden. Of course, if Derus Robert—that demon—has a hidden faction, that changes things.”

Phasilon sighed, saying they would need to examine the sword further.

“So, can the curse embedded in this sword be broken?”

Balkan’s eyes glinted with interest. Without lifting the curse, he couldn’t properly examine the weapon.

“……”

Phasilon silently inspected the sword for a while, then slowly shook his head.

“It can be broken—but not by me alone. As I said, it has absorbed the blood of over a thousand. Dozens of shamans would die in the process.”

He closed his eyes, saying the cost of lifting the curse would be steep.

“Tch. Damn thing.”

Balkan bit his lip, clearly annoyed.

“Then… may I take a look?”

The door to the drawing room opened, and Denier stepped in with a faint smile, asking if he could examine the sword.

“Ah, that’s right—Master of the Black Tortoise Unit, you studied this field too, didn’t you?”

Roenn clapped softly, recalling the detail.

“Yeah, I remember you were nicknamed ‘omnivore’ for a reason.”

Balkan nodded as well, saying he’d heard the rumors.

“It’s not ‘omnivore’—I just have a lot of random knowledge.”

Denier chuckled and reached for the sword on the table.

“I’m no shaman, but I do know a thing or two about curses. This one is… hmm?”

Just as he was about to lift the black sword—

Whoosh!

A hand appeared with a burst of blue wind and snatched the sword away.

“Apologies, but…”

It was Raon. Appearing like a lightning strike, he gripped the sword tightly, his voice cold as he shook his head.

“You cannot touch this sword, Vice Master.”

* * * * * * *

(T/N: Damn. This week’s chapter is too emotional. Rimmer’s death was handled perfectly. )

* * * * * * *

(T/N: I’m alive! 😂 Just dropping in with a quick update. Still not back to a regular upload schedule, but I’ll be uploading at least 5 chapters per series every week, in order based on the most recent series I picked up. No fixed days yet, but I’ll keep the bulk uploads coming as best as I can!)

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