Chapter 33 – Moonlight Sculptor: My Dad Is a Legend

Weed had the typical stubborn mindset of someone who didn’t think he was old-fashioned, but very much was.

“Want to succeed? Then work hard. Can’t do it? Work—haaard. Still hard? Just keep wooorking, I’m telling you!”

If you lacked talent, then effort would make up for it.

If you had talent and worked hard? Then you’d do even better.

“Hard work is always the answer.”

From real-life construction sites to the magical continent, he had grown through pure grind.

On Royal Road, he had fond memories of beating on scarecrows and savoring the thrill of watching his stats rise, one by one.

Grinding was an inseparable part of life.

Looking back now, all the grinds he did in Royal Road had turned into real-world experience and skills.

Effort, over time, had transformed into talent and technique.

“Chwiik!”

“Chwiiiiik!”

Weed heard the warning and angry snorts of the orcs.

‘I can’t see, and I’ve lost my right arm. But at least I can still walk, and my hearing is fine. That’s something.’

He had tackled all sorts of absurd quests.

Even if he was missing parts of his body, he judged he could still take on these orcs.

‘It’s not as bad as I feared.’

Even if he took a few hits, with double their level and physical ability, he believed he could win.

Besides, he had the best artificial intelligence with him.

It took less than 0.001 seconds to calculate spacecraft trajectories across the solar system—tracking orc movements was nothing.

(Using audio tracking system.)
(Three are positioned at the front and sides. One is circling from the right.)

‘Just let me know their basic movement patterns. I’ll handle the rest.’

Weed stood still, focused and waiting.

If he moved first and the orcs scattered, things would become more complicated. So he waited for them to attack.

“Chwik!”

“Kill him! Chwik!”

The leader of the remaining four orcs gave the signal.

The orcs flanked him from the sides and rear, while the leader charged from the front.

(Attack has begun. Distance is closing. They’ll reach you in 0.4 seconds.)

Weed heard the warning from the AI, Bertha, and swung his sword.

He had swung his sword tens of thousands of times before.

Imagining their movements in his mind, he attacked purely on instinct.

His left-handed swing was smooth and lightning-fast.

He stepped into the invisible range of the glaive and struck.

Slash!

The orc in front was cut down.

But one orc’s glaive sliced deeply into his thigh.

You have lost 92 HP.

‘I thought I could dodge that… the weapon’s range is longer than expected.’

(The orc’s glaive is at least 15 cm longer than the ones you faced in Royal Road.)

He had no armor on.

The wound hurt, but thanks to the Dragon-Bearer trait that raised HP to 100%, it wasn’t fatal.

‘Getting hit won’t kill me—but still better not to get hit.’

He immediately swung his sword wide, instinctively deflecting the incoming glaives.

One aimed at his head, another at his torso from the right, and one grazed his shoulder from the left.

Your shoulder has been scratched by the orc’s glaive.
You have lost 221 HP.

A deep enough wound to rip flesh, but in battle, there’s no time to feel pain.

‘Got their positions. Not many chances—have to finish this in one blow.’

Weed gripped the sword tighter with his left hand.

He used the torque from his legs, knees, waist, and shoulders—channeling full-body power into one strike.

Putting every ounce of strength into it, he unleashed a devastating circular slash.

Swaaaaash!

All three orcs were cut down at once.

“….”

Weed stood still, drenched in the hot blood of the orcs.

He could tell from the feel of the blade—there were no more enemies left.

“Rosar won!”

“Wooooah!”

“Thought he was just a blind corpse walking around.”

“That was insane!”

The audience in the arena erupted into cheers.

[Defeat the Orcs!] — Complete

You have defeated all 5 orcs.

A swift, brutal, blood-soaked battle.

You have achieved a heroic feat in the arena!

The audience has witnessed your ferocious combat and is captivated.

This moment will be remembered in tales for a long time.

Audience Favorability +20
Strength +4
Agility +3
Hero Points +2
You’ve acquired the epic word: “Sword”

The roars of the crowd shook the arena.

“That was amazing! Exactly the kind of match I wanted!”

“Wow. I thought he was a blind dead man.”

“What a refreshing battle!”

“The odds were 50 to 1! Hahaha!”

Excited spectators were tossing coins into the air, the clinking echoing throughout the arena.

* * *

“This way, please follow me.”

A frightened young girl’s voice.

After the battle, Weed was led by the girl to the waiting room.

“Gotta return the sword I borrowed.”

As they walked, a familiar voice from earlier—the one managing equipment—spoke.

“Thanks for using it well.”

He had used the sword well.

Without it, he would’ve had to punch the orcs bare-handed.

It might have been safer while blind, but nowhere near as entertaining for the audience.

“Been a while since we had a real fighter in the arena. I’ll prepare a much better weapon next time.”

Even in Royal Road, Weed had made efforts to build rapport with locals.

No harm in becoming friends with the arena’s equipment manager.

“Thank you. I look forward to it.”

He gave a light bow and followed the girl back to his seat.

Ears open, he listened to the chatter around him.

“Earned 82 crocks in the last match.”

“Just 520 more and you’ll be free.”

“Heh, not long now.”

“Free? I’m staying here. Good money, and all life’s pleasures are here.”

“True that!”

Other gladiators were drinking and laughing boisterously.

After a while, the girl who had guided him returned and handed him coins.

“Here’s your share, sir.”

You’ve received 10 crocks.

Crocks can be freely used within the arena.

You can buy your freedom with crocks.
Your current buyout price is 2,000 crocks.

He didn’t know the exact exchange rate, but the price of freedom felt steep.

The trembling girl who had led the blind Weed was now…

‘She wouldn’t skim off the top, would she?’

While he was still suspicious, the girl sat beside him.

Growl.

Her stomach rumbled.

With his hearing heightened from blindness, he couldn’t ignore it.

“You haven’t eaten?”

“Slaves like me don’t get meals.”

“Then how do you survive?”

“Well…”

The girl couldn’t bring herself to say more.

(There are affiliated gladiators in the arena.)
(Some are freemen; others are slaves bought from various places.)
(Due to ongoing wars, many foreign slaves are brought here.)
(Slaves serve the gladiators and survive on the tips they receive.)

‘Tips?’

Weed hated tipping culture.

That system where people were expected to throw coins just because someone worked hard.

(“Serving” includes everything—even the gladiator’s bed.)

‘But she’s just a young girl…’

(This is Roanoke. Originally, such “services” weren’t provided.)
(But after the Roanoke Incident, all crime restrictions were lifted.)

Anything went—from theft to murder.

Growl.

Weed asked the starving girl:

“How much is food?”

He was ready to ignore her if she asked for too much.

“Half a crock. But sir, you don’t need to give me a tip. I can hold out for two more days.”

“If you haven’t eaten for two days… did you eat yesterday?”

“No, but I can manage. You earned that money with your life on the line.”

Weed didn’t want to give her money.

But hearing her voice, he remembered his own childhood.

When he was poor and starving, nothing felt more miserable.

He recalled passing soup shops while delivering newspapers and milk at dawn, stomach growling with desire.

That was why, after inheriting Dr. Yoo Byungjoon’s legacy, he had tried to ensure no child in the world would starve.

“Here’s 1 crock. Go buy some food.”

“But…”

“It might sound strange, but you remind me of my daughter. Go eat something.”

* * *

Endless fields of corn and barley.

Retired mercenary Pancre entered through a summoning scroll.

He had to complete five summons before he could return to Roanoke.

“Hmm, that challenger was pretty good.”

He stroked his chin.

He had meant to teach swordsmanship, but the challenger had said:

“That was swordsmanship.”

The challenger’s skill had been so impressive that all Pancre could do was admire it.

“Ugh…”

Pancre had broken ribs and a fractured ankle.

Enduring the pain, he wrapped his injuries with bandages.

A little later…

“That challenger was impressive. I wasn’t at full power though.”

Sir Benhur of the Levante Kingdom arrived.

Though noble in bearing, he pretended not to be hurt, standing with a calm face.

But his legs were trembling uncontrollably.

‘He got beaten even worse than I did.’
‘It hurts. It really hurts.’

They weren’t sliced by a sword—just beaten.

As the awkward silence lingered, another voice arrived.

“There’s purity in his swordsmanship.”

Sir Bahart, Levante’s most esteemed knight, arrived—arms, ribs, and shoulders shattered, but still smiling through the pain.

A veteran mercenary and two knights.

In Roanoke, they had wielded devastating skills and fought with unmatched bravery.

But now, each pretended not to have been that badly beaten.

“Uuuuugh…”

A groan announced the arrival of yet another victim.

Aksium, hero of the Albrecht Kingdom—who had fought in the land of demons—staggered in with crushed armor and broken limbs.

He couldn’t even lift himself off the ground.

“That pattern… that’s Aksium, isn’t it?”

“Even he went down?”

They hadn’t just lost—each had been defeated in shockingly short time.

The instructors exchanged awkward glances.

‘Just how powerful is this challenger’s swordsmanship?’

‘To take us down this fast?’

Having faced him directly, they still couldn’t comprehend it.

His sword had gone beyond skill—perhaps to an unreachable realm.

Even though their levels and abilities were mostly sealed, they had still fought him with all they had.

“We’ll repay this humiliation in a real fight. Let’s hope he summons us again.”

As they tended to their injuries, determined to settle the score someday…

Plop.

A foaming crab flopped in, upside down.

It was the guardian beast of the Temple of the Sword.