The 9th Class Swordmaster: Blade of Truth

Chapter 259: The Black Eyes

Late at night, Karyl opened his eyes.

“You think you’ve earned the right to a private audience with me, do you?” he called out.

Karyl’s gaze was fixed on the darkness, despite the room appearing empty to the untrained eye. He could sense someone’s presence, and he even knew who it was.

“Back-Eyed...”

From the shadows, a pair of pitch-black eyes, darker than the surrounding darkness, stared back at Karyl.

“Whether friend or foe, to meet a leader, you must present something of equal value. Be it the head of your own leader or that of your enemy,” Karyl said with a bitter smile.

“But just because the positions are the same doesn’t mean the scales are always balanced. It’s merely an outdated rule. Beheading the artillery captain was sufficient merit.”

The man said nothing in response.

“I’m not sure if it’s your pride or your stubbornness. The leader of your tribe is already dead. If you want to stick to the rules, then do it right. Bring me the head of an enemy leader before you stand before me again,” Karyl said harshly.

“Go to the White Bunker and bring me Tuli’s head,” he went on. “If you do that, I’ll grant you anything you desire. Understood? Zigra Kum.”

The Black-Eyed warrior’s gaze wavered slightly. Karyl’s uttering his name caused a shift in his otherwise stoic expression.

“That name... Did Hashir tell you? I didn’t think the fox’s tongue was so loose.”

“Does it matter? Names aren’t that important to the Black Eyes. All a warrior needs is a sword and an opponent to wield it against."

“The Kum name is different.”

“Is that so?”

Karyl looked at Zigra, as if he knew more than he let on, but he shrugged it off, deciding this wasn’t worth pursuing.

“You have many questions but seem to be holding back,” Karyl continued. “Just as I said earlier, when you struck down the artillery captain during the assault on Moon Aether, you didn’t just take the head of the enemy leader, but saved thousands of lives as well.”

Karyl spoke as though he was reminiscing about a distant acquaintance, his eyes lingering on the Black-Eyed warrior.

“I will only answer a single question for a single question. That should be fair.”

“Why is Agnel in your possession?” Zigra finally asked, unable to hold back any longer.

“Is that your question? Are you sure? You only get one question, so you should choose carefully.”

Despite Karyl’s warning, Zigra’s expression remained unchanged. Seeing that, Karyl sighed.

“Because I am a Black Eye.”

“...!!”

“And Agnel was entrusted to me by the Great Warrior Karliak just before his death,” Karyl continued. There was a slight quaver in his vice, as though overwhelmed by the memories.

“It’s been a long time. Four years, to be exact.”

Schwing—!

Suddenly, Karyl raised his hand with a bitter smile, covering his face.

Clang... Crack...

A cold blade touched the gauntlet on his hand. Even though the gauntlet was made of mithril, the blade cut into it, leaving a mark. The blade was infused with the properties of Clear Distilled Water, allowing it to bypass mithril’s inherent magical resistance.

Crack...

Mithril fragments fell onto the desk.

The fact that the blade had managed to leave a mark on the gauntlet, despite its legendary hardness, indicated that this had been a silent, all-out strike. And, of course, there was only one individual that could have attacked Karyl at that moment.

“What kind of trickery is this?” Karyl’s voice carried a mix of amusement and bitterness as he nodded, acknowledging Zigra’s reaction as expected.

“You claim that Karliak entrusted Agnel to you? Were you even there on that battlefield?”

Zigra’s voice was laden with suspicion, yet the idea wasn’t entirely implausible to him. A boy with mana, claiming to be of the Black-Eyed tribe, and holding a weapon handed down by their former chief—it was almost too much to believe.

Krrk... Krrkkk...

Zigra pressed down on his dagger as hard as he could, but Karyl’s hand didn’t budge an inch.

What kind of strength is this...?

Zigra was taken aback. Though not as physically strong as the Tiger Shield tribe, he had been the one to cleave the artillery captain in two. Yet here he was, unable to overpower Karyl’s single arm, even with both hands pressing down on the dagger.

“If you think this is enough to get the answers you seek, you’re sorely mistaken... But since you asked your question, I’ll give you an answer.”

Karyl clenched his open palm into a fist, releasing a shockwave that echoed like an explosion.

Bang!!!

The dagger in Zigra’s grip was knocked away, sending him staggering backward.

“I was there. I was the only one who witnessed Karliak’s last moments,” Karyl declared, his voice carrying an air of finality that left Zigra breathless.

“I am Karliak’s son.”

“...!!!”

Zigra's eyes widened in shock, far more than when Karyl had first spoken his name.

“Ramine.”

Swoooooosh...!!!

No sooner had Karyl uttered the Spirit King’s name than a massive wall of flames erupted around him. The flames were so intense they seemed capable of burning the entire room to ash, yet not a single object caught fire.

Zigra’s gaze faltered as the towering figure of the Spirit King of Fire swelled before him, the entity’s chest heaving as if ready to devour everything in sight.

Instinctively, Zigra took a step back.

“T-This is...?"

“You’ve heard from Hashir that I have ties to the tribes,” said Karyl. “Though he doesn’t know that I’m of the Black-Eyed tribe...”

In contrast to the raging flames surrounding him, Karyl’s tone was calm.

“Given my name and the fact that I possess mana, some might think I’m merely borrowing the name Karyl, while others might believe I’m lying outright.”

Fwoosh!

As Karyl extended his hand, Ramine’s figure dissipated, only leaving behind a small fireball that danced around his palm.

“Much has happened, more than I could possibly explain in these circumstances. But what is certain is that I’ve acquired the mana from the Magical Era, and I’ve made a pact with the Spirit King from the Mythical Era.”

Fwoosh!

Once more, Ramine’s flames engulfed Karyl, and as he raised his arm, a blue serpent coiled around his wrist, with its gaze fixed on Zigra like a predator eyeing its prey.

“Hisss...!! Hisss!!”

The serpent bared its fangs at Zigra, ready to strike.

“‘I know it’s hard to believe,” Karyl continued.

Clang!

Zigra seemed more shocked by the serpent than by Ramine’s appearance. He dropped his dagger to the ground, his face marked with disbelief.

“You...”

Karyl nodded at Zigra’s whisper.

As Karyl’s once fiery red eyes slowly turned black, matching Zigra’s own inky gaze, Karyl rubbed his eyes as if they had grown weary.

“Does this help you understand?” Karyl asked in a soft, almost empathetic tone.

“Not the southern Digon nor a hybrid mixed with imperial blood, but a pure northern immigrant with mana—I am the only one,” Karyl declared, glancing at his reflection in a nearby mirror before letting out a faint chuckle.

“One can change the color of their eyes with mana, but not to black. The reason for that is simple—immigrants cannot possess mana,” Karyl explained to Zigra, his voice calm yet firm.

“And conversely, mana cannot create black eyes either. Black devours mana; it’s the shade that no magic can alter.”

“...To have black eyes is proof of being an immigrant,” Zigra responded in a low voice, his tone filled with a mixture of realization and resignation.

“And to live with that unchanging pride,” Karyl continued, to which Zigra finished the thought, “Is to live as a Black Eye.”

“You remember well,” Karyl remarked with a soft smile. “Though that’s expected of someone like you, who still clings to the old rules...”

Karyl’s smile faded slightly.

“But I’m different. Just as the future has changed, I no longer uphold the immutable traditions. I’ve shattered them with my own hands, and I will continue to break them in the face of the fate that lies ahead.”

"...Fate?" Zigra tilted his head slightly, not fully grasping the weight of Karyl’s words. He assumed Karyl was merely speaking of the future of their people, nothing more.

“And as hard as it might be to believe, I remember you. We were quite close once, weren’t we? All three of us brothers learned swordsmanship and hunting from you,” Karyl remarked, closing his eyes briefly as though lost in a painful memory.

In the past, Karyl hadn’t been the only one destined to lead the Black-Eyed tribe. He had two older brothers, both of whom had died before his eyes in a horrific battle. The battlefield had been a nightmare, littered with the bodies of their people.

“To be honest, I never thought you’d still be alive. That’s why I was both surprised and glad when I heard that the Black-Eyed tribe had answered my call. I thought I’d never see any of you again.”

The phrase “never again” held a deeper meaning for Karyl, spanning across his past life. He had assumed there were no survivors from that war, which had nearly wiped out his entire tribe, including his father and brothers.

It wasn’t just speculation. After the Oracle War, the north had become a hellscape, overrun by the Tarak unleashed by Pharel, and news of the immigrants had ceased entirely.

Now, I think I understand why the Tarak targeted the north first. We are the descendants of those who defied the gods.

The war had been an attempt to root out that defiance. It was ironic that the one chosen to lead the Ten of the Oracle, to protect the gods, was an immigrant.

Yula.

It made Karyl wonder if the gods had orchestrated the entire Oracle and summoned Pharel simply to mock them. If that was true, it was a cruel, bitter joke, one that filled Karyl with cold rage.

“And given that you’re from the northern immigrants, it would be strange if you didn’t know the leader of the Black-Eyed tribe, wouldn’t it?” asked Karyl, his tone light but laden with a deeper meaning.

“Could it really be... Lord Karyl?” Zigra asked, his voice shaking with disbelief.

“If it’s hard to believe, then keep doubting. See me as I am now—Karyl, leader of the Free Army,” Karyl replied calmly, though Zigra’s expression remained uncertain.

“I once spoke to Hashir about our mentor, about how I borrowed the name Karyl. He wouldn’t care much about such details, I’m sure. But showing my black eyes now, after gaining mana, is a first.”

Karyl had kept the secret of his origins even after leaving MacGovern mansion. Though Hashir and Miliana, among others, might have speculated that he was an immigrant, they had no proof.

“...The elders will fiercely oppose this,” Zigra warned with his voice tinged with concern.

“I’ve expected as much,” Karyl replied with a nod.

Tiren MacGovern had warned Karyl that his origins could become an obstacle in uniting the continent. Contrary to Karyl’s initial concerns, his lineage as an immigrant had indeed become an obstacle in uniting the diverse peoples of the continent.

“That’s just another outdated way of thinking,” Karyl mused, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “The emperor, who labels those without mana as heretics, and the elders, who take pride in their lack of mana—both are clinging to the past.”

As Zigra had pointed out, the elders might refuse to acknowledge Karyl simply because he possessed mana, an attribute their traditions rejected.

“Which is precisely why I must earn the title of Great Warrior,” Karyl continued, understanding that the elders wouldn’t grasp the deeper reasons behind the immigrants’ lack of mana. They were bound by tradition and customs, unaware of the true origins of their pride.

Karyl, however, knew the truth. As a descendant of the ancient Blader from the Mythical Era, he recognized that their traditions were not without merit.

A proof of the defeat of those who opposed the gods, he thought, reflecting on the significance of his people’s history.

Looking directly at Zigra, Karyl said with conviction, “Revealing secrets often brings more harm than good. Yet, I’ve chosen to share my secret with you because I believe the Black-Eyed tribe will become my sword.”

Karyl’s tone was firm, and his belief in Zigra and his tribe was unshakable.

Zigra, still processing the weight of Karyl’s words, shook his head slightly.

“I’ve learned more than enough. You’ve already told me far more than I could have asked for,” he replied, acknowledging the depth of the revelations. “I’ll hear the rest when the time is right. Honestly, you’ve changed so much... I’m not sure if the tribe will even believe me.”

From his appearance to the aura he gave off, Karyl had indeed transformed. After absorbing the power of the dragon, his body had grown beyond the typical human standards. Thus, he appeared older, as if he had already undergone the coming-of-age ceremony.

“...I'm just grateful you’re alive,” Zigra finally said, his voice tinged with a mixture of relief and awe.

Karyl caught the underlying sentiment in Zigra’s words and bit his lip, letting his emotions surface briefly.

“Me too...”

At that moment, a tear suddenly escaped Karyl’s eye, trailing down his cheek. He quickly turned away, not wanting to show weakness to Zigra.

“...”

How long had it been since he last cried? The sensation took him by surprise. After spending an eternity within the Tower of Pharel, Karyl had been convinced his heart had withered, leaving him hollow. He had lived his life accordingly, detached and hardened.

Though he had shed tears of rage and resentment for Olivurn in his past life, these tears, born from a deep sense of longing, were entirely new.

Karyl felt an overwhelming flood of emotions, a fullness of heart he hadn’t experienced even when reuniting with his brothers and father after his return. After all, he had known the MacGovern family would be alive, but meeting his tribe, whom he had believed lost to time and war, brought a profound and unexpected sense of joy.

With his eyes closed and his expression heavy with the weight of his emotions, Karyl couldn’t bring himself to face Zigra.

Instead, he continued to gaze out the window, his voice soft as he finally said, “Thank you for staying alive.”