Sword Saint Of The New World (Reinhard x Overlord)

A man clad in pristine white cloth walked down a path that looked like it led somewhere, though "somewhere" was a concept that currently eluded him. He was simply going… forward.

Reinhard van Astrea stopped for a moment, his blue eyes scanning the horizon. Even though he was hopelessly lost, and even though he could not recall exactly how he had arrived here, he felt no panic.

He tried to retrace his steps mentally, to pull at the thread of memory leading back to the Kingdom of Lugnica, but there was nothing. It was as if a fog had descended over the last hour of his life.

"How troublesome," he murmured, his voice carrying on the wind.

He stood on the grassy shoulder of a dirt road, worn deep by the wheels of carriages, wagons and all.

The world here felt... different. The air was thinner, the mana in the atmosphere stale and sparse compared to home.

If a traveler were to pass by, they would immediately realize one thing: this man did not belong here.

The dirt of the road refused to cling to his boots for some reason. Any dust refuse to stick or go near his white uniform, his red hair vibrant against the dull greens and browns of the forest.

He looked like a painting placed in the wrong frame.

Reinhard resumed his walk on the road. He didn't mind walking. In fact, he found it quite relaxing.

The forest air, while strange, was fresh. He walked with a perfect stance, his breathing even, his expression serene, as if his return home was not a question of if, but simply a matter of when.

He had been walking for perhaps twenty minutes when the surroundings broke the silence.

The creaking of wood under strain. The heavy, rhythmic plodding of hooves.

Reinhard turned his head slightly. A covered wagon pulled by two weary horses was trundling down the road behind him. The canvas cover was stained with travel dust, and the wheels groaned with every rotation.

Reinhard stepped further to the side of the road, halted, and raised a hand with a polite, welcoming smile.

The driver, a heavyset man with a thick, graying beard and eyes that darted nervously toward the tree line, saw the figure and immediately pulled the reins hard.

"Whoa! Easy there!"

The wagon ground to a halt a few meters away.

The driver glared at Reinhard, his hand drifting instinctively toward a loaded crossbow resting on the seat beside him.

In this part of the side, a man standing alone on a forest road was usually one of two things: a bandit lying in ambush, or a corpse waiting to happen.

But Reinhard was neither.

"Lost, pretty boy?" the merchant grunted, his eyes narrowing.

He looked the stranger up and down. The clothes were too expensive and suspiciously too white and too fine.

The red hair was perfectly groomed. And his posture, it wasn't the slouch of a peasant or the swagger of a mercenary.

It was the posture of someone who had never carried a heavy burden in his life. A noble. A very confused, very lost noble.

"I am afraid I am," Reinhard replied. His voice was melodic, carrying a natural warmth that seemed to cut through the merchant's suspicions like some wind. The bearded man's hand loosened slightly on the crossbow grip immediately for some reason.

"I seem to have lost my way," Reinhard continued, offering an apologetic bow. "I cannot recall exactly how I became lost. I would be most grateful if you could allow me to accompany you to the nearest city... if you are comfortable with that, of course."

The merchant squinted, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "You a noble? You sure talk like one."

"I am merely a knight," Reinhard corrected gently. He paused, as if the name had momentarily escaped him. "Ah, I almost forgot to introduce myself. My name is Reinhard. Reinhard van Astrea."

"Hmph. Oh surname huh?! Name is Bale. Just Bale." The merchant sighed, looking at the empty road behind Reinhard.

"Well, 'Sir' Reinhard, this is a trade wagon, not a royal carriage. I don't know what kind of luxury you're expecting. But... I can give you a ride. If you don't mind the smell of spices and horse sweat."

Reinhard's smile brightened, genuine and blinding. "Not at all, Sir Bale. Why would there be any problem with honest work? I am in your debt."

….

Ten minutes later, Reinhard was seated on the wooden bench beside the merchant, watching the scenery roll by.

"So," Bale asked, keeping his eyes on the trees. "How exactly did you get lost? Knights usually have maps. Or squires."

Reinhard rested his hands on his knees. "That... is a difficult question. I do not know. And I do not recall what I was doing prior to finding myself on this road."

Bale snorted. "You know that sounds like rubbish, right? Extremely suspicious."

"Now that I hear it aloud," Reinhard admitted with a laugh, "it certainly does. But it is the truth."

Bale glanced sideways at his passenger. The kid didn't have a weapon drawn, didn't seem to be checking for loot, and looked about as threatening as a glass of warm milk.

"Well, I don't know about the truth. But you don't look like a bandit. And you certainly don't look... strong. If you looked dangerous, I wouldn't have let you up here."

"Are bandits a common sight in these parts?" Reinhard asked curiously.

Bale let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Common? More than common, kid. If you see a group of bandits, you run. You run fast before they gut you for your boots. And you look like a safe with loot waiting to be looted."

Bale pointed a calloused finger toward the dense treeline known as the Great Forest of Tob. "And that's not to mention the monsters. Goblins are pests, sure, but in numbers, they're deadly. And Ogres? Bad news. Out here, you pray to the gods you don't run into a—"

CRACK.

The sound was deafening, like a lightning bolt striking the earth.

A massive tree trunk, snapped cleanly in half, came flying out of the forest. It slammed into the road just meters ahead of them. The horses screamed, rearing up in panic, nearly tipping the wagon onto its side.

"Whoa! Whoa, dammit!" Bale yanked the reins, his face draining of all color.

From the shaken brush, nightmares emerged.

"T-Trolls!" Bale shrieked.

Two of them. They stood nearly three meters tall, their skin the color of moss and vomit, rippling with grotesque muscles. One held a crude tree trunk as a club.

Between their legs, scurrying like rats, were Goblins, hideous little creatures with rusted blades and yellow eyes, cackling with a sound like grinding glass.

Bale turned to look behind them to reverse the wagon, but his heart stopped.

Two more Trolls had stepped out from the rear, blocking the retreat. They were surrounded.

"Oh gods... oh gods no..." Bale fumbled for his crossbow, his hands shaking so violently that the bolt slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floorboards. "It's an ambush! War Trolls! And a goblin pack! We're dead!"

The stench of the monsters, rotting meat and unwashed fur… washed over the wagon. The Trolls roared, a sound that vibrated in the chest, preparing to smash the wagon into splinters to get at the meat inside.

Reinhard stood up.

He didn't draw the ornate sword at his hip. He didn't scream. He simply hopped off the wagon, his boots landing softly in the dust but not getting dirty.

"Please, Mr. Bale," Reinhard said, his voice calm and polite, as if he were asking for the salt at a dinner table. "Stay in the wagon. I will take care of it."

Bale stared at him, eyes bulging. He looked at the massive, regenerating monsters, and then at the slender, unarmed supposedly a "knight."

"Are you crazy?!" Bale screamed, spit flying. "Get back here! No actually we have to run… You can't fight them! You need fire! You need a whole party of adventurers! You're just one kid!"

Reinhard didn't turn back. He didn't even seem to hear the protest. He walked toward the lead Troll, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve.

Bale cowered in his seat intending tk run the chance he get here… he already tried to save the kid. But he didn't listen so it wasn't his problem. He by clutching his empty crossbow, preparing to run.

But what the merchant was about to see was something that he wouldn't forget for the time being.

....

Bale's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. His hands were slick with sweat as he gripped the reins, his knuckles white.

He knew what he was doing. It was the oldest, cruelest rule of the road: You don't have to outrun the monster; you only have to outrun the guy next to you.

The moment Reinhard hopped off the wagon and walked toward the Trolls, Bale saw his window. The monsters were distracted. Their hungry eyes were fixed on the brave, foolish boy in white.

"Sorry, kid," Bale choked out, his voice cracking. "I told you not to go. I warned you!"

With a scream of desperation, he snapped the reins hard. "Hyah! Go! Move, you useless bastards!"

The horses, sensing the terror and the proximity of predators, bolted. The wagon lurched forward violently, dust kicking up from the wheels as Bale tore down the road, leaving Reinhard alone to be slaughtered. He didn't look back. He couldn't. If he did, he might see the moment the Trolls tore the boy apart, and that was a nightmare he didn't need etched into his memory.

I will remember your name, boy. Curse your foolish luck not me.

….

Reinhard stood alone on the road, watching the dust cloud of the retreating wagon settle. He didn't shout. He didn't curse the merchant's name. He felt no anger at the betrayal that he just witnessed and got.

In Reinhard's eyes, Bale hadn't done anything malicious; he had simply done what a frightened human does when faced with overwhelming situation or something terrifying.

'At least I know the city lies in that direction,' Reinhard thought calmly, noting the path the wagon had taken. 'And Mr. Bale will be safe now.'

A low, guttural growl brought his attention back to the present.

The two Trolls in front of him were lumbering closer, drool dripping from their tusks. Behind him, the other two blocked the retreat. Their yellow eyes gleamed with malice and hunger. They saw a small, soft human, a snack before the main course.

Reinhard sighed softly. "I could leave," he murmured to himself. With his speed, he could vanish into the forest and leave these creatures biting at empty air.

But then he looked at the Goblins scurrying around the Trolls' legs. They were vile, hungry things. If he left them here, they would simply wait for the next traveler. The next wagon might not be so lucky. It might be a family with innocent people or kids.

"Hmm… I cannot allow that," Reinhard decided.

His hand drifted to his hip, brushing the hilt of the Dragon Sword Reid. The blade remained stubbornly locked in its scabbard. It deemed these opponents unworthy.

"Almost forgot due to this whole situation," Reinhard whispered. He glanced around. He had no other weapon. His eyes landed on a fallen branch near his feet, a sturdy piece of oak, perhaps as thick as a man's finger.

He bent down and picked it up. It was rough, covered in bark, and slightly crooked.

The Trolls paused. The Goblins cackled, pointing at the human who thought he could fight a War Troll with a stick. To any observer, Reinhard looked like a madman who had lost his mind to fear and was just doing anything to survive… even thinking of fighting with a slim branch of the tree.

Reinhard took a breath. He adjusted his stance, holding the branch like a fine rapier.

He reached out, not to his own internal mana, for his Gate was defective, but to the world around him. He acted as a conduit. The atmosphere itself responded to his will.

Even in this unknown world mana acted the same.

The crooked stick began to glow upon having mana thrust into it.

It wasn't a flicker. It was an eruption of pure, white brilliance. The mana saturated the wood, reinforcing it, sharpening it, turning a piece of forest debris into a beacon of devastation. It was like trying to kill an ant with a tactical nuke.

Reinhard swung.

There was no sound of impact. Just a flash that consumed the world.

Flash.

For a split second, the surrounding area was bleached white. The shadows vanished. When the light cleared, the road in front of him was empty.

The Trolls were gone. The Goblins were gone. There were no bodies, no blood. They had been simply... erased. Vaporized by the sheer density of the mana wave.

Reinhard turned instantly. The Trolls behind him, seeing their packmates vanish into thin air, turned to flee. Their primitive brains screamed that this was not prey, this was a predator beyond their comprehension.

They didn't make it three steps.

Reinhard moved. He was a blur of white motion.

Slash. Slash.

The remaining monsters collapsed, their lives ended before they hit the ground.

In less than ten seconds from the time he attacked, the road was silent yet again. There was no sound at all, not even winds flowing for some moments.

Reinhard looked down at the branch in his hand. It crumbled into ash, unable to withstand the power he had channeled through it but still maintaining its form till the task was all done.

"Thank you for your help," Reinhard whispered to the branch in his palm, letting it scatter in the wind.

He let the dust flew off his hands. There was no point in walking leisurely anymore. He knew the direction.

He leaned forward slightly.

Boom.

A small crater appeared in the road where he had been standing. Reinhard was gone, a streak of white lightning racing toward the horizon.

….

Reinhard stood in line before the massive gates of E-Rantel, the Fortress City.

The walls were imposing, built to withstand sieges from monsters and men alike. The line of travelers was long, merchants, farmers, and mercenaries waiting for inspection. When Reinhard finally reached the front, the chatter of the guards died down.

The guard at the desk, a weary man in chainmail, looked up. He was prepared to be rude, to bark orders as he did with everyone else. But the words died in his throat.

The man before him was... radiant. His clothes were immaculate, contrasting sharply with the dust-covered peasants in line. His sword, even sheathed, looked expensive as hell and not to say a masterpiece even to his eyes..

The guard straightened his posture instinctively. "Name?" he asked, his tone surprisingly respectful.

"Reinhard," the redhead replied with a polite tone. "Reinhard van Astrea."

The guard paused, quill hovering over the parchment. Van Astrea. A surname.

In this world, surnames were a badge of status. Commoners didn't have them. Only nobles, knights, or those of great renown carried a family name. The guard racked his brain, trying to recall a House Astrea among the Kingdom's nobility, but came up blank. Still, he wasn't about to question it. The man though for sure was of nobility.

"Are you a noble, sir?" the guard asked, eyeing him up and down.

"Yes," Reinhard answered simply.

It wasn't a lie. The Astrea family was a line of Sword Saints. Even if he was in a different world, and even if his family was in decline.

The guard nodded, relaxing slightly. A foreign noble, then. "First time visiting E-Rantel?"

"Yes. I happened to come here for... various unknown reasons," Reinhard said, offering a vague, charming smile. "I admit, I am somewhat lost. Have you perhaps heard of the Kingdom of Lugnica?"

Reinhard knew it was a futile question. If Lugnica existed here, he would have already been in the kingdom if he was there. Furthermore, his presence alone, Reinhard van Astrea crossing a border, would be an act of waging a war. The fact that no alarms were ringing confirmed his suspicions.

The guard frowned, scratching his chin. "Lugnica? Never heard of it. Is it far to the East? Or South?" He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Are you perhaps here to become an adventurer? We get a lot of noble third-sons trying to make a name for themselves."

Reinhard considered this. He needed an identity. And a way to gather information and try to find his way back home… so it worked.

"Yes," Reinhard said. "That is my intention."

The guard nodded, scribbling on the parchment. "Right. Standard procedure. There is a toll fee for entering the city."

Reinhard blinked. He patted his pockets, feeling the empty pockets.

"Ah," Reinhard said, his smile becoming apologetic. "I am afraid I do not have any money on me at the moment. If it is alright, I can pay it tomorrow? Or perhaps after I complete a request? As of now, my pockets are empty."

The guard stared at him. Usually, this was where he would kick someone out. No money, no entry.

But he looked at the sword on Reinhard's hip. The scabbard alone was probably worth more than the guard's entire house… no, three of his houses. He looked at the noble bearing, the honest blue eyes.

This wasn't a beggar. This was a rich kid who forgot his wallet. If the guard made a scene, and this guy turned out to be royalty from a neighboring nation, his head would roll.

The guard sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look... I'm not supposed to do this. But you look like you're good for it. And I don't want the paperwork if I arrest a noble."

He waved his hand dismissively. "If you plan on becoming an adventurer, just go straight to the Guild. Register there. Once you have your plate, you can take a quest and earn some coins. Just... pay the toll next time you come through, alright? Consider this a one time only."

"You have my deepest gratitude," Reinhard beamed, placing a hand over his heart. "I will not forget this kindness. I will head to the Guild immediately."

The guard opened the small pedestrian gate. "Yeah, yeah. Move along."

Reinhard stepped into the city of E-Rantel. To him, it seemed the guards were incredibly kind, understanding souls who sympathized with a lost traveler.

He was oblivious to the fact that he had essentially "status-checked" his way into the city through sheer charisma and expensive clothing and him being from a noble house.

....

The fortress city of E-Rantel stood at the intersection of three borders, those of the Slaine Theocracy, the Baharuth Empire, and the Re-Estize Kingdom. It was so named because it was defended by three layers of walls.

The districts enclosed by each concentric circle of the walls were distinctly different from each other.

The outermost district was sometimes used to billet the troops from the Royal Army, and so it was fully furnished with barracks and other military facilities.

The innermost district was the administrative area of the city. In addition, the district also contained storehouses for combat rations. Thus, it was heavily guarded.

Between these two areas was the residential district, where the people of E-Rantel made their homes. This place best fit the image that came to mind when one thought of a city.

There were several plazas here, and the largest of them was called the Central Plaza. It was filled with stalls selling vegetables, spices, and other such commercial products.

Amidst the crowds, the stall owners energetically shouted their sales pitches to the people walking by, while the older women haggled with the merchants as they looked for fresh food.

Reinhard stepped through the inner gates, his eyes sweeping over the city of E-Rantel.

It was a city of stone and iron. Unlike the artistic, sprawling capital of Lugnica, this place felt like a fortress first and a home second. The buildings were blocky and practical. The streets were paved, but dirty.

He walked through the plaza, his pristine white uniform cutting through the gloom like a beacon. The air was filled with the cacophony of life, shopkeepers shouting their wares, the clatter of armored patrols, and the murmur of the crowd.

Reinhard observed it all with a calm, analytical gaze. He noted the armed patrols on every corner. 'The security is tight,'he mused. 'Crime must be common here.'

He was oblivious to the ripple effect he was causing just by walking.

As he moved through the crowd, people parted like the way out for him or got out of his way when he walked giving his way.

Men muttered under their breaths, eyeing the massive, ornate sword at his hip. Women blushed and whispered behind their hands.

To the citizens of E-Rantel, he looked like a high-ranking noble from the Empire or the Theocracy, someone not to be touched, bothered, or looked at the wrong way.

Reinhard, in his usual fashion, interpreted this as the locals simply being polite.

After a few minutes of wandering, Reinhard realized a small flaw in his plan: he had no idea where the Adventurer's Guild was. He had forgotten to ask the guard.

'I suppose asking for directions is the most efficient course of action,' he thought.

He spotted an elderly woman crossing the street, carrying a heavy basket of vegetables. Reinhard approached her, his steps silent and graceful.

"Excuse me, madam," he said, offering a gentle smile. "I hope I am not interrupting your work..."

The woman flinched violently, nearly dropping her basket. She looked up, saw the noble attire, the red hair, and the sword, and immediately bowed her head.

"N-No, my Lord!" she stammered, her voice trembling. "How can this humble one serve you?!"

Reinhard blinked, taken aback. He hadn't intended to terrify her. "I apologize if I frightened you," he said quickly, bowing his head slightly in return, a gesture that shocked the woman even more. "I merely wanted to seek directions to the Adventurer's Guild. If it is not too much trouble."

The woman stared at him. A noble apologizing to a commoner?

"Ah... no problem, my Lord," she pointed a shaky finger down the main thoroughfare. "It is just down the main road. Take a left at the smithy, you'll hear the hammers, and you will see the Guild sign. Or... or you could just follow any of the adventurers heading that way."

Reinhard felt somewhat foolish. 'Of course. Following an adventurer would have been logical. Though, following strangers without permission stalking not to mention if I had gone in the opposite direction.'

"Please! Just Reinhard us enough."

"I'm sorry. I will keep that in mind.

"You don't have to apologise ma'am."

"And. Thank you," Reinhard said warmly. "Is there anything I can help you with? That basket looks heavy."

"No! No, thank you!" The woman shook her head frantically and scurried away, eager to escape the presence of such a high-status individual.

Reinhard watched her go, a bit confused by her haste, then turned toward the smithy.

He walked for a few more minutes, the sounds of hammering steel growing louder. He was just about to turn the corner when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Reinhard?"

The voice was small, raspy, and filled with disbelief.

Reinhard froze. He didn't need to turn around. He didn't need to analyze the sound. He knew that voice better than his own heartbeat. It was a voice that commanded his loyalty, his sword, and his life.

He turned slowly, his blue eyes widening.

Standing there, in the shadow of an alleyway, was a small girl. She wore ragged, thieving clothes that had seen better days. Her short, blonde hair looked like it had been hacked off with a dull knife. Her red eyes were sharp, alert, and currently wide with shock.

"Lady Felt!" Reinhard's voice was filled with pure, unadulterated joy.

Felt stared at him. She had been in this strange city for days. Days of stealing stale bread and all. Days of asking people where "Lugnica" was, only to be looked at like she was crazy. She had been alone. No Rom. No Reinhard.

She hated him. She hated how perfect he was, how he forced her into a royal selection she didn't want. But in this unknown, gray city... she realized she would give anything to see that stupid, perfect red hair again.

And there he was.

"You..." Felt's voice cracked.

Tears, hot and unbidden, welled up in her crimson eyes. Before she could stop herself, she launched herself at him.

"You idiot!"

She buried her face in his pristine white coat, her small hands gripping the fabric so hard her knuckles turned white, scared he would vanish again.

Reinhard didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her small frame, holding her securely, shielding her from the stares of the passersby.

He didn't care about the dirt on her clothes. He didn't care about dignity. He simply closed his eyes and exhaled a long, shaky breath.

He didn't know the full picture as to what happened. But he didn't need to know.

"I am sorry," Reinhard whispered. "I am so terribly sorry, Lady Felt. I should have found you sooner."

"You're late!" she screamed into his chest, her voice muffled and wet. "You're so stupidly late! I was alone! I didn't know where I was! I couldn't find Rom... I couldn't find anyone!"

Reinhard knelt down on the cobblestones, bringing himself to her eye level. He ignored the gasps of the crowd seeing a "noble" kneel before a commoner kid.

"I was scared," she admitted, her voice tiny, stripped of all its usual bravado. "I thought... I thought I was never going to see you guys again."

Reinhard's expression hardened with absolute resolve. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Never," he vowed. "I am here now. As long as I draw breath, you will never be alone in this world. I swear it on my name. I swear it on my soul."

Felt cried for a minute longer, letting out the fear and exhaustion of the last few days. Slowly, the sobs turned into sniffles. She pulled back, wiping her runny nose on her sleeve, trying to regain a shred of her dignity.

"Here, Lady Felt." He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Always so prepared, huh?" Felt said.

She looked at him. He was perfect. He was clean. He was looking at her like she was the most important thing in the universe.

It was annoying. It was relieving.

"You better have a plan, Knight," she sniffled, trying to sound bossy, though her voice wavered. "I'm starving. And I haven't been able to steal anything good today. The guards here are sharp and more. Not to mention people here having no worthwhile things."

He didn't say anything about the stealing comment; he had no idea how long she'd been here or how long she'd felt alone.

So he let the correction go.

Reinhard smiled, standing up and offering her his hand.

"I have a plan, Lady Felt. We should register as an adventurer. That way we can have identity in this unknown place and that way we shall be able to secure food and lodging immediately."

He paused, patting his pockets. His smile turned slightly sheepish.

"Ah... though I may need to complete a quest rather urgently. I am currently... penniless."

Felt stared at him. She blinked, the tears drying on her cheeks. She let out a wet, incredulous laugh.

"Seriously? The Sword Saint is broke?"

"I am afraid so," Reinhard admitted. "I could not even pay the toll fee."

"You're useless," she said, shaking her head. But she took his hand, squeezing it tight. "Absolutely useless."

"I will endeavor to do better," Reinhard promised, squeezing back.

....

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