I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple

Glenn said, ”You won’t actually enter the imperial palace.”

”What?”

”The Tomb of the Nameless King is in the manor on the east side of the palace. That’s where most past kings rest,” he explained.

”Got it...”

The capital was enormous, so we left the academy without delay. After officially receiving a leave permit, we headed to the nearest station and boarded the streetcar.

The ride had a strangely lulling effect. I shifted in my seat and occasionally glanced out the window at the city passing by. Glenn spoke quietly, ”It reminds me of our first meeting.”

”Huh?”

”The academy tram,” he clarified.

”Oh, yeah.”

It was true. Back then, I hadn’t known he was a prince.

”So, what makes you admire him enough to visit the Tomb of the Nameless King? As a Badniker, shouldn’t you favor Kuset?” Glenn asked.

Glenn clearly knew a lot about my family.

”Does admiration need a reason? He’s just cool. His armor, his sword, his deeds—all of it was cool,” I said lightly.

Glenn nodded casually. ”I see.”

Time passed faster than I expected, even though the streetcar wasn’t particularly fast. By the time we reached the palace, the sun was dipping low.

”It’ll be midnight by the time I get back to the academy,” I grumbled.

”You’re going back tonight?” Glenn asked.

”I planned to.”

”If there’s nothing urgent, stay here tonight. I’ll prepare a room. You’ll also need to complete some procedures to enter the imperial tomb,” he suggested.

I hummed. ”That sounds reasonable.”

I never imagined being invited as a guest of the imperial palace. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to my attire. Still, a student’s uniform counted as formal clothing. At the very least, the academy uniform allowed me to uphold a presentable appearance.

As we walked confidently forward, the knight guarding the gate stopped us. ”Hold. What are you doing in the imperial palace?”

”It is me, Sir Bass.”

”Your Highness?”

Were they familiar with each other?

The knight looked briefly surprised before saluting. ”It has been a while since I last saw you. You said you wouldn’t return home until graduation, so I didn’t expect you here.”

Glenn chuckled. ”People’s plans change.”

Their exchange carried an unexpected ease. After the greetings, Glenn pointed toward me. ”This is my friend, Luan Badniker.”

”If it is Luan Badniker... The Golden Fairy!”

This again...

The man called Bass studied me for a moment, then smiled. ”I have long heard your name. As someone contributing to the order and stability of the capital, I respect your achievements.”

His tone was sincere, but I responded coldly, since he had already lost my favor. ”It’s nothing.”

”What brings you to the imperial palace?” Bass asked.

”I really want to see the Tomb of the Nameless King. I pestered Glenn a bit,” I said.

”So it is like that.” The knight’s gaze flicked briefly to the weapon at my waist. ”I’m sorry, but you cannot enter with weapons.”

”This isn’t a weapon. Look.” I drew the Seven Sins Sword.

At a glance, it looked no different from a toy. The blade was chipped, rusted, and clearly aged. Still, even in its ruined state, it unsettled the knight simply because it was technically a sword.

”Please allow it just this once, Sir Bass. I’m asking you,” Glenn said while bowing his head.

The knight hesitated, then said, ”I understand. If you are a friend of His Highness, I have no choice but to trust you. However, please do not carry the sword with you. Keep it in your room.”

”Of course.”

With the checkpoint cleared, we stepped beyond the castle walls.

This was the imperial palace, a place so prestigious that even the most prominent nobles considered it an honor to visit at least once. Meanwhile, my first impression after entering was simple.

”It’s busy,” I remarked.

In addition to the armored knights, middle-aged men in scholars’ robes scurried about. Yet, because this was the imperial palace, none of the movements felt hurried or careless. Instead, everyone advanced with measured precision, like a flock of ducks gliding across a lake.

Glenn nodded. ”Indeed. I wonder what is going on.”

Right. A demon king had almost descended upon the capital. The palace had no chance of remaining quiet. On top of that, the Middle Names had been summoned.

We navigated through the bustling crowd and reached a side building of the imperial palace. It was a guest mansion, containing only guest rooms, yet it was unnecessarily large.

Glenn told me, ”Eat here today. I’ll return at sunrise.”

”Very well. I’ll head inside.”

After finishing my meal, I was taken straight to my room, where three servants were assigned to me.

”Please let us know if anything feels uncomfortable,” one of them said. ”Then rest well.”

I noticed the three servants had combat training. Their presence wasn’t just for service—they were also here to watch over me. Not out of distrust, but as a precaution. In a place where anything could happen, maintaining a minimal level of vigilance was necessary.

I preferred it this way. It was far better than having someone manipulate events from behind the scenes.

Having slept poorly last night, I dozed briefly before leaving my room sometime in the very early morning. I had to move in secret, so I opened the window and leapt outside.

Did the imperial palace ever sleep? Even at this hour, life stirred all around me.

I already had a sense of the average knight’s ability, so slipping past them was not difficult. That did not mean there was no danger. What I was doing was undeniably risky. If I were caught, I could end up in a dungeon rather than earning the emperor’s praise.

I kept my senses sharp and advanced slowly. This was the imperial palace, after all. It would not be strange if someone far stronger than I could imagine lay hidden in an unexpected place.

Of course, my destination was not inside the palace itself. I skirted the grounds where security was lighter, though caution still seemed wise.

The imperial tomb lay in a manor east of the palace. Despite the estate’s size, it was easy to locate. Contrary to what I expected, the defenses were not particularly strict. Only three or four tomb keepers patrolled the area.

Naturally, I could not lower my guard just because there were so few. Magical defenses could be in place, and I had no way of knowing.

I slipped past the tomb keepers without trouble and entered the tomb. Just as Glenn had said, many kings rested here, yet the Tomb of the Nameless King was not hard to find. I already possessed information about it.

It was a cave tomb. Such tombs were built with a great stone chamber first, then buried beneath earth. This one, being imperial, was far larger than ordinary cave tombs. Even so, its simplicity felt strange for the resting place of the empire’s most revered king.

I studied it with Fiery Golden Eyes but noticed nothing unusual. I approached the entrance, passed through a damp corridor, and reached the burial chamber. At its center stood a reddish-brown coffin, with murals stretching across the walls of the spacious chamber.

”What is this?”

The mural appeared to depict the age when the seven races united. A knight in red armor challenged the chieftains of each race in turn, dueling them one after another. It told the tale of a hero who, as king of humanity, defeated the fairies, dwarves, giants, beastfolk, the winged race, and even the dragons.

Yet something felt wrong. The King’s Red Armor—the sight of that crimson armor stirred an unsettling sense of familiarity.

—You have arrived.

For the first time in a long while, I heard the Martial God’s voice.

”Yes. This is the Tomb of the Nameless King you mentioned,” I answered.

—I see.

His tone carried a lonely melancholy. I realized the forgotten god was gazing at the mural.

The Nameless King was said to be the Martial God’s first disciple. What I saw as history carved in stone would instead be a memory to him.

A faint light suddenly flared from the reddish-brown coffin in the center of the chamber. I stepped back in alarm, but the Martial God’s calm voice followed.

—There is nothing to be wary of.

The light spilling from the coffin glowed red. Like a star against the night sky, it illuminated nothing around it yet shone with its own brilliance.

—This is a fragment of Dubhe. Draw the Seven Sins Sword.

I lifted the sword with reverence, as though presenting an offering to the gods. The fragment of Dubhe, which had drifted aimlessly, stilled and moved toward the sword. The instant its light sank into the Seven Sins Sword, my vision turned white, and a strange sensation swept through me.

It felt as though my senses stretched outward through the blade, though no words could capture the experience. The Seven Sins Sword no longer seemed separate from me. Was this what people called the unity of a divine sword and its wielder?

”What is this...?”

The Martial God sighed. His voice sounded clearer than ever, and a pale smoke began to rise from the Seven Sins Sword, which had absorbed the light.

The haze twisted into human form, just as I had seen when I first discovered the Altar of a Forgotten God, when the Martial God had appeared to demonstrate the Galaxy Sword.

Yet this time felt different. His figure was far more solid. A man stood before me, red-haired and seemingly in his thirties. His long hair was tied high and flowed in elegant strands, and his long-sleeved robe carried a style both familiar and strange. It reminded me of the uniform I once wore on Spirit Mountain.

”Martial God?”

—It’s me.

”Why do you look so young?” I asked.

The Martial God tilted his head.

—The higher an individual’s realm, the slower their aging. The level I reached in life was not low, so I kept the appearance of a youth until the day I died.

”I see.”

—It is strange. Haven’t you been listening to my voice this whole time?

”It’s hard to judge a person’s age from their voice.”

—I see.

His tone sounded so old that I had assumed he was an old man.

By the way, why is his hair red? Could the Martial God have been part of the imperial family? That seemed unlikely. He lived in an age before the imperial family even existed. Perhaps he was a distant ancestor.

—By obtaining a piece of Dubhe, I’ve gained more freedom from my restraints. Thanks to you, I’ve become more solid. I can at least tell you a story.

”A story?”

The Martial God’s gaze shifted to the red coffin.

—First of all, the Nameless King is still alive.

”What?” My voice slipped out in shock. I had heard something similar before, but this startled me even more. ”Didn’t you say the Nameless King is human?”

—He is.

”Then how can a human still be alive?”

This was different from Dark Fairy Kuset. Humans had limited lifespans. No matter how high a person’s realm, they could not guarantee centuries of life. Yet the Martial God now claimed otherwise.

—I also learned of his survival through you.

”What do you mean...?”

—As you said, a human cannot live until now. But don’t you know a way to transcend that causality?

At that moment, I recalled what the Iron-Blooded Lord had once told me in the main house.

”Most of the gods that exist on this continent were mortals. They became gods only after death,” he had said.

I hesitated before asking, ”Then has the Nameless King become a god?”

Some worshiped the five kings as gods, but revering the dead as objects of faith was one thing. For the dead to truly ascend as a god was another matter entirely.

—You aren’t wrong.

”Huh?”

—Look closely at the mural. You’ve already seen that armor.

Armor? I turned back to the mural. The relics most closely tied to the Nameless King, said to be lost, came to mind. One was the Seven Sins Sword, the toy-like blade I held in my hand. The other was the King’s Red Armor, which I had never found among the ruins of the Martial God.

The King’s Red Armor...

From the moment I first laid eyes on the mural, I had felt an uncanny sense of familiarity. Where had I seen that armor before?

The memory struck me. The vision the Blood Moon Demon King had shown me on the fourth floor of the building in the Otherworld.

In that pitch-dark void, Tantata and Ahop played tug-of-war with a doll version of me. Just before they tore it apart, an intruder appeared, cutting down both demon kings with a single strike. The figure wore a tattered robe over black armor. Around him gleamed three divine artifacts I knew all too well.

I studied the mural once more. The King’s Red Armor. If its crimson hue was stained black, if countless gashes marred its surface, and if a dark cloak was thrown across its shoulders...

The Martial God spoke with bitterness.

—The gods of disaster are still gods. My messenger, last disciple of the true Martial God, Bai Luguang, listen well. From this point forward, I will reveal the truth of this world.