Chapter 72: The Swiftwind Swordmaster

Garen leaped into the enemy ranks like a tiger among sheep, unstoppable and fierce. The pirates, driven into battle by Krieg, barely had time to raise their blades before they were shredded to pieces by the tornado Garen summoned with his whirling greatsword, blood and flesh flying everywhere.

Unlike the earlier descriptions, this time the tornado was a true force of nature. In this world, the most powerful swordmasters all possessed the uncanny ability to conjure artificial tornadoes through their swordplay. Achieving such a feat required not only refined technique but, most importantly, overwhelming personal strength. With enough power, even a breath could summon a howling gale.

Since reaching the sixth level, Garen’s skill “Judgment” had undergone a monumental transformation, the effect amplified by his enhanced physique. As long as Garen spun fast enough, the currents stirred up by his greatsword would transform him into the whirlwind incarnate. A tangible, raging tornado formed around him as he whirled his blade, carving a path of devastation through the pirate horde as he moved.

The high-speed storm more than doubled the range of Garen’s “Judgment,” and the lesser pirates, unable to withstand even the peripheral winds, were swept up, tossed skyward, and sent crashing to the ground, many left paralyzed. Those who barely managed to resist the storm’s pull could not escape the deadly core of the maelstrom, where Garen’s spinning blade worked like a monstrous meat grinder.

With a single skill, Garen had carved a gruesome, blood-soaked vacuum in the midst of the enemy’s dense formation. When the duration of “Judgment” came to an end, Garen halted the whirling of his greatsword. Yet the tornado conjured by his blade did not dissipate instantly with the skill’s conclusion. In recent days, after much experimentation, Garen had learned to control the lingering winds.

The very moment he stopped spinning, he deftly guided the winds with the flat of his sword, and then, with all his might, he swung a slash through the air toward the enemy:

“Hasaki!”

The spiraling storm followed the arc of his blade, roaring forward in the direction of his strike, surging a dozen meters before finally breaking apart and fading away. All the pirates caught in its path were sent spinning into the sky, then crashed back to earth, filling the battlefield with wails of agony.

Yet, as Garen surveyed the pirates still able to scream and writhe on the ground, he could not help but feel dissatisfied.

“This tornado isn’t lethal enough...”

“If I want to kill with the wind alone, I’ll have to become even stronger.”

Muttering to himself, Garen once again raised his sword and plunged into the enemy ranks without pause.

Since arriving on the island, Garen had slain more than fifty men, but the experience he gained was far less than what he had collected during the campaign against the Dragon Pirates. For his ever-increasing experience requirements, these gains were but a drop in the ocean. After all, fish-men were born ten times as strong as humans, and defeating a fish-man grunt was worth many times the experience of killing an ordinary pirate. Lacking in quality, he could only make up the difference with quantity.

In no time, Garen became a pirate-slaying machine, mercilessly mowing down his foes. The laborers waiting in the rear, at first stirred by righteous fervor and eager to join the fray, were soon stunned into inaction at the sight of Garen’s effortless slaughter, his sword reaping lives as easily as a farmer cuts grass. They dutifully followed Garen’s earlier command to remain on the sidelines.

The pirates suffered heavy casualties, yet strangely, Pirate Admiral Krieg’s panic gave way to a cold calm.

He had realized, to his surprise, that the so-called knight of justice was not quite as invincible as the newspapers had proclaimed. Garen was indeed much stronger than him, but not to the point where all resistance was futile. Abandoning his earlier plan to flee alone, Krieg assumed a fierce expression and took up his position at the rear, posturing as the overseer.

Shield in one hand, gun in the other, Krieg glared at Garen with malice and hatred, inwardly seething:

“Damn you! Enjoy your arrogance while you can!”

“When you’ve exhausted yourself, I’ll take your head myself!”

Krieg’s past victories had often come from a tried-and-true tactic—overwhelming numbers.

It was a cruel strategy, requiring a road to victory paved with the lives of his own men. But the word “mercy” had never appeared in Krieg’s dictionary. Cold and heartless, he felt no regret over the deaths of his underlings, only annoyance at the permanent loss of manpower. By deliberately cultivating a strict hierarchy between fighters and civilians, he ensured his subordinates were both expendable and easily replaced.

Yet Gin, Krieg’s loyal lieutenant and the pirate crew’s most formidable enforcer, could no longer bear this butchery. Watching his comrades die in droves, Gin finally spoke up:

“Admiral Krieg! The losses among our brothers have become too great!”

Krieg’s expression remained unchanged, his gaze icy. But, considering that the knight had already been fighting for some time and must be tiring, Krieg relented after a moment’s thought.

“Very well, we’ll act. This time, we’ll use those weapons. Be ready!”

Gin immediately nodded in understanding. As Krieg’s right-hand man, he knew all about the secret weapons hidden within his commander’s armor. The most fearsome was the MH5 Poison Gas—a weapon of indiscriminate destruction, lethal to any who inhaled it, friend or foe alike. Before every battle, Krieg and his chosen few would always don gas masks to avoid falling victim to their own weapon.

After a brief round of preparations, Krieg and Gin, the crew’s two top combatants, finally entered the fray together, charging in perfect sync toward Garen, who was still carving a bloody path through the pirates.

At that moment, Garen had just entered the thick of the pirate rabble, surrounded on all sides by bodies packed so tightly that not a hint of space remained. The pirates, of course, had no intention of blocking Garen’s movements with their own flesh—their first instinct was to turn and flee. But it was already too late.

The first to strike was not Garen, but Krieg, who hurled his massive war lance from afar.

The huddled pirates unwittingly formed a barrier that trapped Garen in place, and Krieg was not about to let such an opportunity slip.

The war lance, weighing a full ton, hurtled through the air with terrifying force, heedless of friend or foe. Hearing the shriek of air being torn apart above them, the pirates frantically tried to escape, causing yet more injuries from trampling and shoving.

As the true target, Garen remained composed, making no move to dodge. With his superhuman perception, he tracked the incoming lance, then suddenly hurled his own greatsword at it.

Sword and lance collided midair with a deafening clang. Despite its greater size and apparent weight, the war lance was instantly knocked aside, sent spinning away by the force of Garen’s throw, while the greatsword continued its unerring course straight at Krieg himself.

Panicked, Krieg raised his specially reinforced golden shield, bracing with all his might to block the incoming blade. A thunderous crash rang out, and Krieg staggered back two steps, his supposedly indestructible shield now bearing a deep dent. Shocked, he grew all the more wary of Garen.

Just then, a swift figure burst out from among the surrounding pirates. Without hesitation, he rushed straight at Garen and closed in tight—none other than Gin, Krieg’s trusted lieutenant, who had seized the fleeting moment when Garen was unarmed.

Gin wielded a pair of tonfas, weapons well suited to close combat. A master of martial arts, Gin knew Garen’s strength far outmatched his own, so he immediately aimed for a joint lock to neutralize Garen’s power. One tonfa clamped down on Garen’s right wrist, locking it against Gin’s chest, while the tip of the other drove straight for Garen’s throat—a lethal strike to a vital point.

As Gin landed the blow, the battlefield fell silent.

“Impressive technique,” Garen said coolly, breaking the hush.

“How...how are you unharmed?” Gin stared in disbelief—after receiving a heavy blow to the throat, this monster could still speak as if nothing had happened?

Garen gave no answer. Instead, he moved his right arm, still pinned by Gin’s tonfa, tightly locked against Gin’s torso.

“Aren’t you going to let go?” Garen said, gazing at the astonished Gin. “I need this hand to wield my sword.”