The World Has Become Kinder to Her

Kenneth swung his sword, over and over again. There was no other way to survive.

Ragged breaths escaped his lips, tasting of iron and fatigue. He tried not to show it, but his arms trembled, and the blood-soaked blade was growing too slippery to hold. All around him lay the bodies of both monsters and humans, yet unfortunately, more monsters remained alive than humans. Those who had survived were barely holding on.

If it weren’t for Kenneth and Frederick, the entire force might have been wiped out.

The diversion strategy proposed by Marquis Sordin had failed. The main reason was that there weren’t one but two White Grubs. What should have been a simple calculation of *1+1=2* had led to the army facing enemies over two and a half times more powerful than anticipated.

Kenneth and Kusran had barely managed to hold off one of the White Grubs, while Frederick, Manores, and Rehana dealt with the other, allowing about half of their force to survive. Even those who lived had to fight relentlessly against the monsters protecting the White Grubs.

“Argh!”

“Krrk, krrk!”

A knight slashed the leg of a grasshopper-like monster, while a praying mantis-shaped beast reaped the neck of a wizard with its sickle-like limbs. The battlefield was a hellish landscape filled with the cries of humans and the howls of monsters.

Kill or be killed. This horrifying instinct of survival, deeply embedded in their flesh, drove their exhausted arms to swing their weapons and squeeze out the last remnants of mana.

The White Grubs were not only highly resistant to magic but also had durable, rubbery skin that provided strong physical defense. The only reason they were even wounded was because Kenneth and Kusran, both skilled in wielding sword aura, could inflict some damage.

‘Am I destined to swing this sword until the day I die?’

Kenneth’s stamina was rapidly depleting, and despair began to settle in his tired body. If life looked back for those who desired it, then death, too, followed those who sought it.

As his foot slipped in a pool of blood, Kenneth sensed his death approaching.

The White Grub fired its devastating beam cannon. Accepting his fate, Kenneth decided to go down fighting, pouring all his remaining strength into his sword and slashing at the White Grub’s side. The unexpected strike caused the massive creature to flip partially onto its side, struggling to regain its balance in a grotesque display.

But that damn monster’s misfired beam cannon struck someone else, ripping half their body apart.

“Why…?”

A hoarse voice, strained from a parched throat, reached Kenneth’s ears. He couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

Kusran had intervened at the last moment, saving Kenneth’s life at the cost of his own body. Now, time seemed to slow around the White Grub, as if only Kenneth and Kusran existed in that moment, frozen amidst the chaos of battle.

Kusran, missing an arm, a leg, and half of his torso, was clearly about to die.

Being a strong swordsman, he was only holding onto consciousness for a brief moment longer, but his time was running out. Yet his face, in the face of death, seemed oddly relieved.

“Survive,” Kusran said.

Kusran had no right to say such words to Kenneth. He had only come because he was ordered to by Marquis Zahard.

“…What’s the point of surviving?” Kenneth muttered, staring at the surreal sight of Kusran’s mutilated body, bleeding out and spilling its broken organs. It hardly seemed real.

Kusran was one of the few strong men Kenneth had known. Once, he had looked up to him like a father. He had been a cold and ruthless mentor, teaching Kenneth the sword, and he was the man who had shown Kenneth the pain of betrayal.

“I never taught you how to wield a sword just to die a miserable death here,” Kusran’s voice, gurgling with blood, sounded as grotesque as the wails of the monsters around them.

Their eyes met, and Kusran, his face twisted in pain, smiled faintly.

“Survivors… are the strong. Live… and take back what’s yours.”

Even without lengthy explanations, Kenneth understood. It was a tired and worn-out story.

Kusran, once his mother’s knight, had pretended to serve Marquis Zahard, all the while biding his time. He had deliberately taught Kenneth the sword with harsh and unforgiving methods, hoping to increase Kenneth’s chances of survival, even if it meant making him endure extreme hardship.

‘So what am I supposed to do with that?’

It wasn’t a path Kenneth had ever wanted to take.

“Am I supposed to be moved by those words?” Kenneth asked in a weary voice. Just as he couldn’t stop Kusran from dying, there were things in this world that could never be undone. Knowing that Kusran had cared more for him than for Marquis Zahard didn’t heal the wounds Kenneth had suffered in the past. 

No one had reached out a hand to him during that time.

Empty eyes spoke their final words.

“Live… and find happiness.”

*Find happiness? What a joke.*

Monsters were everywhere, and screams echoed through the battlefield like the wails of the damned. Kenneth couldn’t tell what was the worst part: that Kusran had died, that the truth he had just learned was worse than he’d imagined, that his partner in holding back the White Grub was gone, or that he couldn’t even figure out what bothered him most. It was all just horrific.

Tears fell from his pale, sapphire eyes and landed on Kusran’s bloodied face. He resented the man who claimed to have cared for him in such a twisted way.

The sight of the White Grub struggling to right itself was grotesque, and the humans flailing in their desperate attempts to survive made Kenneth feel sick. The corpses strewn across the ground seemed pitiful—maybe even enviable.

Kenneth picked up Kusran’s sword, channeling all his emotions into it.

It didn’t matter anymore whether he cut down humans or monsters. He just wanted to cleave the sky and earth, leaving nothing behind.

*Swoosh!*

A wave of destructive energy surged from his sword, shredding the thick hide of the White Grub as if it were paper. The once hazy sword aura now had a distinct color and form.

It was called a *Sword Wave*—the tidal force of a blade.

The monster, overturned by this unprecedented attack, had no time to resist.

*“Kill, kill, kill. Kill them all.”*

Someone, or something, whispered in his mind, a voice like a haunting echo. Kenneth found this demonic whisper far more soothing than Kusran’s parting words.

There was still another White Grub left. He had to kill it. That thought, more like an obsessive compulsion, filled his mind.

Dragging his exhausted body, with a splitting headache and torn hands, Kenneth staggered forward.

*Crack!*

Unstable energy continued to leak from his sword, tearing apart the bodies of the fallen as he passed.

“Rehana, how much longer can you maintain the Fire Wall?” Frederick called out.

“At most, three more minutes!” Rehana replied.

Frederick, who had been holding off the White Grub to buy time for the retreat, was the first to notice Kenneth’s approach. A sharp aura radiated from Kenneth, prickling Frederick’s skin.

*“That guy…”*

Frederick remembered Kenneth, but not just because of his excellent memory.

Kenneth Zahard, quiet but more noticeable than he realized, like a beast watching its surroundings.

His striking appearance—handsome enough to be compared to Apollo, the god of beauty—and his swordsmanship, far beyond his years, made him impossible to ignore.

*“And yet, they call him the abandoned wolf of Zahard.”*

For some reason, the house of Zahard had cast him aside. If the rumors were true, and Marquis Zahard had forsaken Kenneth out of jealousy for his son’s superior talent, then the marquis was a fool.

*“If I had him on my side, he would be a powerful sword.”*

But what mattered now was that Kenneth was approaching in a state of eerie imbalance—no, he seemed on the verge of losing his mind.

Frederick’s instincts kicked in. The sword Kenneth wielded now wouldn’t distinguish between monsters and humans.

“Everyone, fall back! Get out of his way!”

The wizards, despite Frederick’s sudden command, did not hesitate and quickly retreated. As the wizards, who had been holding back the White Grub and other large monsters, withdrew, the soldiers and knights began to flee as well. Frederick remained behind, casting suppression magic at the monsters to buy time.

As a barrage of *Fire Arrows* caused the monsters to falter, the very atmosphere around them began to stir. The sense of danger wasn’t felt by the monsters alone—Frederick, too, wrapped himself in three layers of shields. And at that moment, a dark blue wave of energy surged forward like a tidal wave.

Frederick felt as if the sky had split and the earth was groaning beneath him. What could possibly withstand such a massive and destructive sword aura? The shield he had created, infused with the maximum amount of mana, felt like it could shatter at any moment.

Gritting his teeth, Frederick maintained his shield.

When the storm of sword energy finally passed, the area around him had been completely cleared. Only Frederick Abran remained standing.

The massive body of the White Grub that Frederick and the wizards had been battling was now split into two pieces. The insect-type monsters that had been its subordinates, along with the humans who had failed to escape in time, were all reduced to pieces, as if they had been butchered in a slaughterhouse.

At least in this part of the battlefield, the only two living beings left were Kenneth and Frederick.

“Hah, this is insane!” 

Even to Frederick, who was regarded as the next Tower Master, Kenneth’s attack just now was overwhelmingly powerful. Had he, before even turning twenty, already reached the level of *Sword Master*—a title that only one person in the empire had ever attained?

“…The sword, Kusran…” Kenneth muttered something incomprehensible, standing there like a lifeless tree. Then, without warning, he collapsed. Startled, Frederick hurried over to check on his condition.

Kenneth’s breathing was shallow and slow, but his physical condition was surprisingly stable for someone so utterly exhausted.

“Ah, damn it!” Frederick swore under his breath, even though Kenneth was unharmed. His frustration was overwhelming.

Because of Marquis Sordin’s idiotic plan, they had lost a significant portion of their command and troops, and now the hero who had single-handedly killed the White Grub was out cold. That left Frederick alone to clean up the battlefield and confront the marquis, the commander-in-chief, in the aftermath.

“Ugh! This is so frustrating!”

Frederick let out a crazed scream, and as his anger subsided, the gruesome battlefield came into focus. While the death of monsters was a welcome sight, the death of humans, unless they were unforgivable criminals, was always a sad affair. The fact that some of the dead were cut down by Kenneth’s sword made it even more painful.

Frederick understood that it couldn’t be helped. He didn’t blame Kenneth for what had happened. The moment the diversion strategy failed, he had anticipated the possibility of complete annihilation. 

But thanks to the wizards holding their ground better than expected, and Kenneth unleashing a superhuman display of power, they had managed to save about a quarter of their troops. More importantly, they had achieved the primary objective—killing the king of the monsters. 

At this point, Kenneth had become the central figure of the subjugation and a new hero.

“…He’s more interesting than I thought.”

Frederick muttered an incantation, flicking his fingers. With a simple gesture, he used a levitation spell to lift himself into the air. As he floated above the battlefield, he finished off the remaining monsters that were barely clinging to life and returned to the base camp with the unconscious Kenneth in tow.

Even while the other wizards were utterly exhausted, their mana drained, unable to even lift a finger, Frederick still freely wielded his magic. Of all the wizards deployed to this battlefield, only Frederick had such stamina and skill.

After all, like Kenneth, Frederick was also known as a prodigy of magic.