Episode 12
“Are you the first Sword Master and the master of the Crimson Flame Sword, Sir Kyle Fiar?”
Bihan immediately paid his respects, but in response came a disgruntled grumble.
— No matter how many times I hear it, it sounds stale. Yes, that’s me. So what now? Are you going to lock me up, like your ancestors did, until your child comes looking for me?
It seemed he had long-held resentment, pouring out like a drumbeat. What Kyle Fiar said didn’t align with what Bihan knew. He had believed Kyle chose to become a sword and was preserved willingly by the family. Yet Kyle shouted angrily that he had been trapped for ages.
‘Come to think of it, that is strange.’
Why would they hide the Crimson Flame Sword? It was precious enough to boast of before the world, not conceal. Kyle was more boisterous than Bihan had imagined, but regardless, only knights who had reached the rank of Sword Expert could hear his voice at all. Since Sword Experts were rare, there was no reason for the family to keep it so tightly hidden.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to display it than to hide it?’
Ordinary people couldn’t hear the sword’s voice or even touch it. And judging by Kyle’s temper, he wouldn’t let himself be stolen anyway.
Bihan didn’t know he would bitterly regret this moment for the rest of his life. For now, he was simply delighted to have uncovered the family secret and reached the legendary treasure. He stepped closer to the sword.
“No. I did not come here with such intentions.”
— Ho, bold of you. Very well, I shall allow you to grasp me. Be honored.
A single word from the man he revered weighed heavily. Perhaps Kyle would even read his skills and tell him what he lacked.
Mistaking Kyle’s invitation for interest in his descendant, Bihan’s heart raced. He stepped forward and placed his hand on the glass dome.
Crack!
A tingling shock ran from his fingertips throughout his body. Instinctively, Bihan pulled back his hand and stumbled a step away.
— What’s this? Already frightened? Is that all the resolve you brought here?
“No. That’s not why I came here.”
— Then show me your youthful spirit!
Kyle prodded him, striking at his pride. Gritting his teeth, Bihan removed the glass dome and grasped the sword.
“Ugh.”
A power unlike anything he had ever felt surged explosively through his body. Bihan struggled to plant his feet firmly, resisting being swept away.
— Kahahaha! You please me, descendant!
For some reason, Kyle laughed with booming joy. And in the very next instant, Bihan lost consciousness.
— A fool who doesn’t even know why I’m called a cursed sword has walked right in.
Even as Kyle mocked him, Bihan did not stir. Satisfied, Kyle devoured him.
— At last, my wish shall be fulfilled!
Now wearing Bihan’s face, Kyle stretched his lips into a grotesque grin. Bihan’s consciousness sank deep, unable to rise.
The nightmare began. Kyle Fiar raged, declaring war on the humans who had imprisoned him for centuries.
The first victims were—
“I shall annihilate every drop of Fiar blood! I will never forgive them!”
—Bihan’s parents.
No! Please! Stop this!
By the time Bihan awoke from the shock of losing his body, it was too late. His limbs moved without his will, swinging the sword that struck down his parents.
Slaying them with his own hands, Bihan was crushed with despair. He wanted to go mad, but couldn’t. All he could do was watch, helpless, as Kyle acted through his body.
Kyle rampaged through the mansion, staining every corner with blood. When at last not a single soul in the ducal house lived except Bihan himself, Kyle muttered with satisfaction:
“For a boy, your body is not bad. In a few years you’ll reach the ultimate realm.”
Bihan could do nothing. Kyle’s power was immense, and he ruled Bihan completely.
— Why? Why did you kill them, my parents, my people!
Even as Bihan cried blood tears, Kyle ignored him, dismissing his pleas.
‘The heir of House Fiar, Bihan Fiar, has massacred his own household.’
‘He must be executed for his crimes.’
‘We must make an example so such things never happen again.’
The stench of blood in the mansion soon reached the Imperial Palace, and the empire reeled in shock. Public outrage demanded Bihan’s execution. No one knew Kyle had taken over him.
‘If he must die, at least let his death serve the Empire. Exile Bihan Fiar to the battlefield!’
Only the Crown Prince, perceiving some truth and pitying his guilt, spared his life—by sending him to war.
Please. I just want it to stop.
Bihan had pursued strength, not slaughter. Yet every day, he was forced to watch his hands soak in blood.
It would be better to die.
Each morning he awoke was torment, yet Kyle reveled in battle, delighted at being unleashed on the frontlines.
The days blurred into endless killing.
“You can’t go mad or die. I need this body for a long time.”
Even Bihan’s sanity was bound by Kyle’s will.
Ten years passed.
The boy who had been thirteen grew into a man. With age, Bihan sometimes managed to reclaim his consciousness—though at a terrible cost.
“Still defiant? No matter how you struggle, nothing will change.”
— How long will you keep doing this? Stop.
“Keep muttering in there, useless as you are.”
Each attempt at resistance brought crushing torment, yet Bihan never gave up. His only goal was to take back his body long enough to end his own life, to prevent further deaths by his hands.
“Another day, another mountain of corpses. Such bliss.”
On the battlefield, Bihan slew countless foes, earning great military merit. He was elevated to Duke of Fiar—but the honor was hollow, bought with rivers of blood.
“To kill and then grieve—what a contradiction!”
— It wasn’t my will. It was yours.
Kyle mocked him daily.
“To the world, you and I are one. Do you think anyone will believe otherwise?”
— I will never forgive you. I’ll stop you somehow.
“Thanks to you, I get to play duke again. Life is good.”
Now that he had regained power and influence, Kyle sought new pleasures.
“Perhaps I’ll rest at the mansion for a while.”
He never stayed with the same woman for more than a week. Forced into unwanted company, unwanted intimacy, Bihan withered.
— I won’t ask for anything else. Just… please let me go.
At last, Bihan began to learn resignation. His spirit waned. Kyle rejoiced, believing he would soon claim Bihan’s body fully.
“Soon this vessel will be mine alone.”
— ······
Bihan no longer felt even anger toward the man who had ruined his life. He only longed for this hell to end.
Until—
“Sir Bihan, isn’t it?”
Her voice came softly, like moonlight.
— How dare she call my name so freely?
Outraged that she addressed him as Bihan rather than Duke Fiar, Kyle raged. And in that moment, Bihan surfaced—clear-headed, for the first time in so long.
“Ah.”
He couldn’t even count how many years it had been. Unsure whether it was dream or reality, he stood dazed.
A sob jolted him. She was crying before him. A stranger’s tears struck his heart deeply.
“Are you all right?”
Awkwardly, Bihan comforted her. They exchanged a few words, and before he knew it, he remained himself for an unusually long time in her presence. His heart was stolen.
“You must be suffering too, aren’t you, Bihan?”
She didn’t know his plight, possessed by an ancestor, yet her words pierced to his core. Though he knew he shouldn’t, desire welled up.
“Bihan.”
Moonlight traced her lips and eyes, as though she might vanish.
Timidly, Bihan stole a kiss. The very act he had loathed became proof of her existence to him. To his surprise, she returned his affection. For the first time in more than a decade, he felt joy.
“Damn you…”
He barely held Kyle back, resisting his attempt to seize control.
For once—his own will guided him as he made love, the first and only time.
“You dare defy me? Have you lost your mind!”
But that night, warm and intoxicating, he rested in peace.
It didn’t last.
“I’ll teach you a lesson. Never again will you resist me.”
Kyle, furious, crushed Bihan’s consciousness. As his mind faded, only fragments remained.
Bihan realized his memories were slipping away. Who he had met, what he had felt—all dimmed.
‘I must tell her. Now, or never.’
Clinging to the last scraps of clarity, he sought her out. When Kyle slept, he hurried to the palace. By fortune, he found a woman with her familiar back.
He only wished to thank her. Even if she never loved him, he hoped their night was as precious to her as it was to him.
“Your feelings are kind. But I’ve only thought of us as friends.”
She looked bewildered at his thanks.
“Friends? I don’t sleep with friends. My feelings are—”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Her serious face—Sophia’s—revealed his mistake. He had confused her with another. A foolish, irreparable mistake.
‘What have I done…’
He stumbled back to the mansion. Kyle cackled.
— See? You’re hopeless. How many times must I prove it?
Even resting, Kyle needn’t worry; Bihan was powerless.
Until—
Knock, knock.
“I’ve come to see you, Duke. There is something I must say.”
It was Luen—the very one Bihan had longed so desperately to find.
