The blurred sight of a familiar setting made me blink several times, just to confirm that what I was seeing wasn't a dream.
From the looks of it… I was back in my old body.
The same calloused hands. The same black uniform with the silver insignia of the Swordmaster stitched onto the chest. Even the faint scent of polished steel lingered in the air cold and sharp, just like before.
Pushing myself up from the couch, I stood and walked toward the door. The faint creak of the hinges greeted me, followed by a young maid waiting in the hallway.
"G-Good morning, Swordmaster Kael."
Her voice trembled slightly, and her posture was as stiff as the pole of a banner.
I didn't bother responding.
She lowered her head immediately, still following me from a respectful distance as I made my way through the castle halls. No matter how many times I ignored her, she would continue to hover nearby a caretaker assigned by the Council to ensure their prized Swordmaster remained in "peak condition."
The sound of steel striking steel echoed from the courtyard below.
When I stepped out, rows of trainees were lined up in formation, swords gripped tightly before them as the instructors barked orders.
"Stance lower!"
"Focus your breathing!"
Their voices carried across the courtyard like the rhythm of war drums.
When one of the instructors caught sight of me, he froze then snapped into a salute. The others followed instantly, including the rows of trainees, their swords raised upright in unison.
I gave a simple nod.
"Continue."
Without another word, I moved past them, my boots crunching softly on the gravel path.
Beyond the courtyard stood a set of large oak doors carved with intricate sigils the office of Valdo, Head of the Council.
I pushed them open.
Inside, an elderly man sat behind a wide desk, his white beard cascading down his chest like snow. His emerald eyes gleamed with a mixture of cunning and false warmth the kind of look politicians wore when pretending to care.
"Lord Kael!" Valdo exclaimed with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "What brings the continent's greatest Swordmaster to my humble dwelling?"
"I'm retiring."
The room fell silent.
Without waiting for his reaction, I unclipped the metal badge from my chest a symbol every duelist in the world dreamed of earning and slammed it onto his desk. The sharp clang of metal against wood echoed through the chamber.
Valdo's expression faltered for a moment, the mask slipping ever so slightly.
"Retiring?" he repeated, forcing a chuckle. "Surely you jest. You, of all people—"
But I had already turned away.
---
The title of Swordmaster was once a dream the pinnacle of honor for a warrior. To the world, it meant power, prestige, the authority to represent an entire kingdom.
To me, it had become nothing more than a gilded cage.
I was never truly free. The Council ruled everything politics, economy, and even life itself. I was their weapon, their living deterrent, their one-man army.
The world no longer fought wars the way it once did. After generations of bloodshed, the nations realized that open war would only lead to extinction. The birth rates had plummeted, and the lands were scarred from the aftermath of destructive weapons.
So the Councils of every kingdom gathered. After months of debate, they reached an agreement to replace wars with a single duel.
Thus was born the tradition of the Blades of Duel.
Whenever conflict arose between nations, a Duel would be declared. Each kingdom would send forth a representative their strongest warrior to fight in place of thousands.
The winner claimed victory for their nation. The loser bore the burden of failure for their people.
And I… was the representative for my kingdom. The undefeated Swordmaster Kael.
A hero. A symbol.
Or so they said.
In truth, I was nothing more than a weapon wielded by those too afraid to fight themselves.
---
As I left the council chamber, my thoughts drifted.
What have I been living for all these years?
I was an orphan raised in a training camp designed to produce duelers from childhood. My entire life revolved around strength, strategy, and survival.
I was twenty-eight now. I had never dated. Never loved. Never truly lived.
All for the sake of being the strongest.
And for what?
Power? Admiration? Glory?
I had all of that.
And yet… it meant nothing.
No amount of fame could replace what I had lost.
The laughter I once heard in the small town of Salem. The warm touch of a mother's hand. My father's quiet pride when I first held a sword. The cheerful banter of friends who fought by my side before they were all taken by war.
...Mother.
...Father.
...My friends...
My throat tightened. For the first time in years, I felt something stir not power, not rage, but a quiet ache.
I miss you all.
My vision blurred. The noise of the castle faded into silence.
If this is a dream… then let me rest.
My eyes closed, the weight of countless battles slipping away.
Maybe, just maybe... I could finally be free.