The Sword Emperor Transmigrates

Standing at nearly two meters tall, the man radiated an overwhelming confidence and presence, matching his massive frame. Despite the significant handicap of a missing eye—something that would cripple even those at the Transcendence Tier—the man showed no apparent vulnerability in his field of vision. This was proof that his perception neared the level of the mind’s eye, an ability bordering on the extraordinary.

Contrary to his bold and almost brash demeanor, his singular eye carried a cold sharpness, sinking deeply into a calm that seemed unnatural.

He feels familiar somehow... Ah, he reminds me of the wandering swordsmen among the vagabonds from the Central Plains—mercenaries.

Vagabonds were individuals without any affiliation or purpose, drifting like reeds on the water, but mercenary swordsmen were different. They were skilled warriors, often ranging from third-class to second-class fighters, and in some rare cases, they were even Peak Realm masters.

These individuals with honed talents and battle-hardened instincts were hired for coin or elixirs. Even the prodigies of prestigious martial sects, pampered in their sheltered environments, had reason to fear these mercenaries.

At the pinnacle of such mercenary swordsmen stood the Wave King, also known as the Poison Blood Wolf, a member of the Seven Absolutes of the Yellow Lotus Temple.

For enough coins, they’ll become savage wolves that spill blood without any regard for morality, moving with cold and ruthless efficiency.

Troublesome as enemies, but passably reliable as allies.

Samuel, hired in a similar fashion, glanced at his employer, Leonard, and let out a hearty laugh as he extended his bulky hand.

“Ha! Let’s exchange names first, shall we? We adventurers may trade money and trust, but there’s no harm in getting to know each other! Especially if it means we can be useful to each other.”

Although Samuel had reached the peak of the Transcendence Tier, he was no match for a Demigod Tier warrior. Unaware of the vast gap in their abilities, Samuel had underestimated Leonard, who stood beyond his comprehension.

Seeing how oblivious Samuel was, the members of Aquamarine stifled their laughter with visible effort. Leonard, understanding Samuel’s misconception, did not mock him but hesitated momentarily before extending his hand.

“I am Leonard of Cardenas. For now, why don’t you take a seat?”

Instead of shaking Samuel’s hand, Leonard clenched the air as if seizing an invisible force. The massive Samuel was lifted effortlessly off the ground, as if weightless, and was flung into a chair. The scene was surreal; a Transcendence Tier warrior floated like a leaf and landed without resistance.

This was Spatial Grasp, a technique that didn’t just manipulate energy like telekinesis but asserted control over space itself. Samuel had failed to react not because he was incapable but because no hostility or killing intent accompanied the move. Even so, the sheer difference in their abilities was undeniable.

The confidence Samuel carried into the room drained from his face, leaving him pale as a marble statue.

If he wanted to kill me… he could’ve just snapped my neck instantly!

Having a clear sense of his own limitations, Samuel could infer Leonard’s unfathomable strength. A Demigod, a being so rare that perhaps only one existed across the entire southern continent, stood before him—someone capable of wiping out the entire Zaratan team alone.

For one of the few times in his life, Samuel found himself genuinely unsettled.

Yet something else caught Leonard’s attention.

What is this presence? It feels like both human and something inhuman... but it doesn’t carry the unpleasantness or repulsiveness typical of Outer Gods.

A curious blend of familiarity and strangeness tugged at him as his gaze turned to the door. Moments later, the visitor entered the reception room.

Frances, recognizing them instantly, exclaimed reflexively, “Ah, Captain Drake!”

“...Frances? Or should I say Captain Frances now?”

The man with a mustache and a scar running across his face greeted Frances warmly. Though they had only met a few times when Njord, Aquamarine’s former captain, was still alive, they were far from strangers.

After a brief nod of acknowledgement, Drake turned his attention to Leonard, locking eyes with him.

Standing before them was none other than the leader of Wild Hunt, the only Rank S expedition team in Atlantis.

“Hmm.”

Drake, unlike Samuel, stepped back cautiously, a wry smile tugging at his lips. His reaction was the polar opposite of Samuel’s recklessness, and Leonard’s faint smile acknowledged this as if in approval.

Under the scrutiny of Leonard’s Dragon Eyes, Drake’s figure appeared almost otherworldly/ “You’re a little different from a Demigod. Care to introduce yourself?”

“Ah, very well. Facing the real thing does make my own shortcomings painfully clear. I take it you’re a knight commander of Cardenas?”

Leonard nodded and replied, “Leonard, Commander of the Order of the Golden Dragon.”

“Drake, Captain of Wild Hunt. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Drake then settled into a chair opposite Leonard, opening his mouth as if to continue speaking, but before he could, Demian walked in, returning from his exploration of Bermuda.

He tilted his head, puzzled, “What’s this guy? Did he pick up a shard of a Void Deity or something? He feels oddly mixed.”

Caught off guard by Demian’s blunt observation, Drake stiffened, his face betraying his shock. Confronted with someone as strong as Leonard, he couldn’t muster anger.

“... And who might you be?”

“Demian, Commander of the Order of the White Dragon of Cardenas.”

“Of course,” Drake muttered. If someone was at the Demigod Tier, their identity was usually self-evident.

Walking past Drake casually, Demian perched himself on a seat beside Leonard and continued, “You’ve either been bound to a divine artifact or absorbed the remains of a god. Which is it?”

Drake frowned. “Instead of giving an answer to that, I’d like to ask how much you already know.”

“The Order of the White Dragon specialize in subjugating remnants of gods. It’s only natural that we know more than outsiders. So, your answer?”

“...The former. I touched a fragment of a sea god’s trident. That’s how I ended up like this.”

Drake extended his hand. As he released his restraint, blue scales shimmered beneath his skin, radiant and otherworldly. Unlike the coarse scales of monsters, these exuded an air of divinity, a reverent aura that seemed to sanctify the very air around them.

“A trident? So, Poseidon, the Sea God of the Olympus pantheon? It’s rare to manifest such a pure blessing. You’re lucky, as it often takes on a much more violent nature.”

“A blessing? I’ve always thought of it as a curse.”

“Why’s that?” Demian asked.

Agitated, Drake scratched at his shimmering scales. “It took me decades just to stabilize this state. Sure, I’ve gained the power of a Demigod, but I haven’t reached the true pinnacle like you two. I’m only halfway there. Worse, I can’t stay away from the sea for long—barely three or four days a year on land before I’m forced back into the ocean!”

Hearing this, Samuel and the members of Aquamarine exchanged glances, realizing why Wild Hunt seldom ventured into port. The truth behind Drake’s predicament drew a few subdued sighs. Of course, the adventurers of Atlantis chose life at sea, but being bound to it against one’s will was another matter entirely.

But to Demian, it was a trivial matter.

“Leonard, have you finalized the hiring contracts yet?”

“Not yet."”

"Perfect. Here’s the deal—we’ll offer another reward, which is bound to improve his circumstances. As the White Dragon Commander of Cardenas, I’ll personally guarantee it.”

Drake’s eyes widened in astonishment at such an assured statement. If it had come from someone ignorant or powerless, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But given Demian’s overwhelming strength and status, he listened attentively.

As Drake fell silent, deep in thought, Samuel, who had been shrinking into a corner of the room, spoke up cautiously.

“Um, boss?”

When Leonard and Demian both turned their gazes on him, the massive adventurer leader flinched.

“Wh-What compensation would Zaratan receive?” Samuel stammered. “I’m not thinking of backing out, but if the deal is too one-sided, I might not be able to convince my crew…”

“What’s your group’s annual income?”

“Huh? Oh, uh…”

Leonard and Demian exchanged a glance and smirked.

“Three years’ earnings as a down payment,” said Leonard, the one calling the shots here. “Seven years’ worth as the final payment. You’ll earn in one job what would otherwise take a decade. Is that enough?”

“...”

Samuel was utterly dumbfounded by the sheer scale of the offer. After a moment of stunned silence, he seemed to forget even his fears and began eagerly rubbing his hands together.

“Yes, sir! Work us to the bone, right up until we drop dead!”

Demian chuckled at Samuel’s abrupt shift in attitude. “Well, you may not know much about navigation, but you’ve got a knack for survival.”

Leonard had a similar assessment, though he didn’t voice it. The conclusion was clear—the Atlantis Rank A adventurer team, equipped with their Masterpiece ships, would now join the mission.

* * *

After finalizing the contracts for the three adventurer teams and handling the rest of the paperwork, Leonard and Demian returned to their temporary lodgings, arranged by Gordon. There, they regrouped with the mages who had accompanied them and set out for the port. Their goal was to assess the Masterpiece ships bound for the Sixth Sea District.

Although none of them specialized in magic engineering, as Class 9 Magi, even a casual inspection allowed them to assess the functionality of the ships, identifying strengths and weaknesses with precision.

As expected, they were impressed.

“Oooh? This is better than I anticipated. Some of the techniques surpass even those of Jehoia,” Cruella remarked.

“Agreed. It may not date back to ancient times, but the shipbuilding methods here are remarkable. I guess those rumors about lost technologies lingering in remote regions have some truth in them." Nicholas replied in agreement.

Cruella and Nicholas, after a few rounds of detection magic, delivered a favorable evaluation of the ships.

“All three are capable of operating even in the Corroded Realm. The optimal formation would be to place Zaratan at the forefront to absorb the brunt of the attacks, with Aquamarine holding the center to maintain balance, and Golden Hind taking a flexible, responsive position. What do you think?”

“That sounds about right. I’ll take Zaratan, and you can board the Aquamarine. As for Golden Hind, it seems difficult to cast magic with precision due to its unstable energy flow from the artifacts.’

“Yeah.”

Their exchange piqued Leonard’s curiosity, prompting him to ask, “Does the presence of artifacts negatively impact casting magic?”

“Hm? It can, but not always.” Cruella paused, realizing her answer might be unclear. After a moment’s thought, she added, “The Golden Hind’s hull is infused with multiple artifacts, each granting unique abilities. If we try to enhance it further,the chances of those abilities conflicting are high. While creating synergy is possible, it’s extremely difficult when dealing with dozens of overlapping artifacts.”

“That’s not all,” Nicholas chimed in. “Many ancient artifacts are unique traits in themselves. For a mage, dealing with variables that even the Dragon Eyes can’t predict—and that require extensive calculations—is hardly ideal.”

“Understood.” Leonard nodded, satisfied with their explanation.

He turned his attention to the ships moored at the docks, each drawing the eyes of the surrounding onlookers. His gaze lingered particularly on Zaratan and the Golden Hind, which exuded a presence distinct from Aquamarine.

I see. The Golden Hind’s hull is cloaked in layers of unstable world laws, almost like a shroud of mist.

Just as the Grand Magi had said, the chaotic flow of energy surrounding the Golden Hind was far more intricate than the other ships. A careless addition of magical enhancements could lead to parts of the ship exploding or distorting dramatically.

Nevertheless, the ships were deemed more than capable of navigating the Corroded Realm. The departure for the Sixth Sea District was already set.

Three days, huh?

Beyond the serene coastline, where gentle waves lapped at the shore, the calm felt reminiscent of the eerie stillness before a storm.

Leonard’s mind drifted back to the memory of that fateful day—the Outer God descending upon the shore like an ominous shadow, sacrificing its apostle, Pablo, like a disposable tool; the blood-red moon and ominous constellations that painted the once-blue sky in a profane darkness.

His gaze burned with fierce determination as he replayed that moment in his mind.