The Second Salvation Myth of a Retired Regressed Hero

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Doyun paid full attention to the History class, not even engaging in mana cultivation. The history lessons he had initially dismissed as useless turned out to be unexpectedly beneficial.

While the class covered the era before Enoch, more than half focused on after his birth.

“The great hero Enoch’s full name was ‘Enoch Ruszvolnik’. Doesn’t that name sound familiar?”

The students exchanged puzzled looks.

“Ruszvolnik? His name was Ruszvolnik?”
“If you translate Ruszvolnik literally, it means ‘warrior’.”
“A warrior with the surname Warrior? Enoch the Warrior?”

The students found that name somewhat unnatural.

According to the lessons, ‘Ruszvolnik (Warrior)’ was an honorific bestowed upon the ‘strongest and most righteous adversary against the Demon Lord’ in each nation.

‘Ruszvolnik (Războinic)’ meant ‘warrior’ in a borderland nation’s language and had now become one of the most familiar loanwords across the entire continent.

People generally didn’t distinguish between Ruszvolnik and Warrior, using the two words interchangeably.

The instructor continued the explanation.

“The word Ruszvolnik that we use was derived from Enoch Ruszvolnik himself.”

Doyun squeezed his eyes shut. He could roughly guess what would follow, his face already burning to the point he couldn’t bear listening further.

Instead, he displayed the information on one of his innate traits, [The Original Ruszvolnik (Războinic)].

[The Original Ruszvolnik (Războinic)]
(Surnames were the exclusive privilege of nobles. Your father was a lowly commoner without a surname, and you were born his son.
However, your father wished for his only son to not resign himself to being an unremarkable commoner like himself. He wanted you to live valiantly.
Thus, along with your name, he bestowed upon you the surname ‘Ruszvolnik (Războinic)’ meaning ‘a valiant person’.
You became the bravest person on the continent as your father had hoped, saving the world. To honor your sacrifice, descendants referred to the bravest person in each nation as a ‘Warrior (Ruszvolnik)’.

You are the original Warrior, the original Ruszvolnik.

The etymology of Ruszvolnik (Războinic) stems from the courage to face arduous ordeals and the unbreakable will even in the face of death.

Your willpower strengthens.)

When Doyun had first seen this trait, he couldn’t make sense of it. But he soon learned through the history lessons.

And letting out a sigh, he felt the familiar burning sensation well up again.

‘Phew…’

Being praised even after death was a good thing. Having one’s surname bestowed upon each nation’s strongest was an immense honor.

But witnessing and hearing it directly made him utterly embarrassed. At times like these, he intensely regretted having returned to life.

‘…I can’t bear listening to this class anymore.’

He would simply have to block out the noise by focusing on mana cultivation instead.

However, someone then raised a point of interest for Doyun.

“Yes, the student who raised their hand.”

“Then who is the current Warrior of this nation?”

At that question, everyone’s eyes gleamed with curiosity as they looked towards the instructor.

“An excellent question. In fact, that was the topic for our next lesson.”

As if it would be a lengthy explanation, the instructor cleared his throat with a cough.

“Enoch’s guild had many strong individuals. And among them were the Three Greats renowned as possessing the strongest might in history – the great hero Enoch, the Fist Saint Hecleus, and the Sword Saint Buske.”

Doyun nodded. Those two certainly deserved such titles.

“Even with the overall increase in martial prowess due to the System, no one has emerged to match their strength. Later generations referred to them as the ‘Heroic Era’.”

Doyun frowned slightly.

‘Should I just tune it out completely?’

How cringeworthy, this ‘Heroic Era’ nonsense.

“And! While the lineages of the great hero and Fist Saint ended in that era, the Sword Saint Buske’s alone has continued to this day!”

Indeed. Doyun had been solely focused on the Demon Lord, leaving no descendants behind, eventually vanishing from this world through dimensional banishment. And Hecleus’ crude fist style made taking disciples impossible.

Of the three, only Buske had fostered a student.

Doyun suddenly felt a stinging sensation in his nose.

‘Brhydert. He must have cried a lot too.’

Buske had treated his student Brhydert like a son.

The Sword Emperor had lived his entire life devoted solely to the path of the sword, valuing it above even his own life.

But Brhydert was the sole value Buske had prioritized over the sword’s path in his lifetime.

The final expedition to subjugate the Demon Lord. The departure road.

At the city gates, Enoch’s guild members led the cream of the allied forces’ strongest elites in gathering.

The skies were dark, a drizzling rain falling. Yet the crowd stretching beyond the horizon had come to see off the alliance’s last hope.

And there, an untimely quarrel broke out between master and disciple.

‘I wish to go as well.’
‘No.’

The Sword Saint’s values devoted solely to the sword’s path had been instilled in his student Brhydert as well. Like his master, he was someone who would readily sacrifice his life for the pursuit of swordsmanship mastery.

Naturally, Brhydert had wanted to join the expedition to subjugate the Demon Lord.

For a swordsman, the glory of vanquishing the Demon Lord was immense, and that battlefield destined to become history’s cruelest would be an unparalleled place for attaining enlightenment in the way of the sword.

And it aligned with the teachings of Buske, who had pursued only the sword’s path with all emotions, tears and blood extinguished.

Everyone had expected the Sword Saint to permit his student’s participation – Brhydert’s skills were certainly not lacking.

But the ever cold and aloof Buske had revealed his hidden heart on the day of the expedition’s departure.

‘Stay behind.’
‘No, I refuse…!’

Brhydert had naturally objected.

He could not understand his master’s sudden change in demeanor. Citing his master’s usual teachings, he listed all the reasons he should join the expedition point by point.

Bolstering their dwindling elite forces by even one more. Completing the sword through death. The glory of defeating the Demon Lord. Enlightenment on the bloodied battlefield.

All were things Buske had drilled into his student time and again.

But the divide in their opinions did not narrow. Buske only repeated the same words.

‘Stay behind.’
‘…Just this once, I will defy your command, Master. I must! For the sword’s…’

Thunk.

Buske placed his hand on his student’s shoulder.

The student fell silent, unable to speak further. His master’s shadowed face beneath the cowl was not the usual resolute, composed expression.

It seemed frail, pitiful. The appearance of his master, part of the alliance’s strongest forces, was far too weak and sorrowful.

A visage he had never witnessed in his lifetime.

In a hoarse voice, his master softly uttered:

‘Stay behind.’
‘It is too perilous a journey.’
‘I wish for you to live.’
‘Since that day, I have not thought of you as my student.’
‘You are my son. My most beloved… son.’
‘For me… your life matters more than your path of the sword.’
‘Forgive my selfishness.’
‘I apologize. As your master, I cannot respect your sword’s path.’
‘For your life is far too precious to me…’
‘If I return, I wish to see you marry… have children… and grow old.’
‘I beg of you. Stay behind. And… live long. This is your master’s final wish.’
‘My beloved son.’

No one could speak. Swaah. Only the pitter-patter of rain filled the streets.

The confession of the Sword Emperor who had discarded all emotions to walk solely the path of the sword – it was so heartrendingly shocking.

‘If this war ends and peace returns, I wish to adopt you as my son.’
‘Being of such lowly birth myself, I have no surname… but if you don’t mind, I wish to pass down Buske as your surname.’

The student could say no more.

The Sword Saint released his student and slowly walked away to rejoin his comrades.

And so, the march to subjugate the Demon Lord began.

Though Brhydert could not join that historic march or take a step further along the sword’s path…

He simply saw them off in silence, watching his father’s figure disappear beyond the horizon.

And the Sword Saint never returned.

“…”

The Sword Saint had perished during the journey, his remains never recovered.

Many, including Enoch, had died. With the Demon Lord’s destruction and the war’s end, the continent was filled with celebration.

But the capital welcoming the heroes’ return path became an ocean of tears. Far too many had died. Far too many had never come back.

Surely, Brhydert too must have wept until his throat was raw.

“…”

Doyun shook his head, dispelling his reverie. Forcibly calming the welling emotions, he refocused on the lesson.

He could roughly guess why the instructor had brought this up.

Brhydert was human. There was no way he could have lived to this day over a century later.

But there was no way he would have severed his master’s lineage. A house or school must have been established.

And the current so-called Warrior would likely be the head of that line, having inherited the Sword Saint’s swordsmanship.

However, Doyun’s assumption was completely off-base, his eyes widening at the instructor’s next words.

“And gloriously! This nation’s Warrior is none other than the Sword Saint’s direct student!”

“Brhydert Buske!”