The Dimensional Swordmaster C3

Chapter 3 How I Ended Up in Another World (3)

When he was swallowed by the black veil, Yurian had simply thought—so this is how my life ends.

Well, whatever. It hadn’t been such a bad life, all things considered. Sure, dying like a dog was a little unfair and sad, but as the saying goes—there’s no grave without a story behind it.

Thinking of his fallen comrades, he felt no lingering regrets. He’d lived without harming others, lived honestly enough—there was nothing to mourn.

Of course, it was a bit of a shame about his life insurance and all the hard-earned money he’d scraped together through years of blood and sweat… but still.

After such a dogged, brutal life, maybe he’d get a better deal in the next one? He didn’t really believe in reincarnation—but for once, it didn’t sound like such a bad thing to believe in.

Then, when he opened his eyes again, Yurian was struck speechless by the sight before him.

“What in the world…”

The world had changed—literally remade before his eyes. The damp, foul-smelling ravine was gone. In its place stretched a vast expanse of dry, barren land. White dust, like ashes, drifted lazily through the air.

The air was hot and heavy. When he lifted his head, he saw a crimson sky—without a single trace of sunlight.

“…Huh?”

He scratched his head. What is this? What’s going on? What the hell?

While he stood there blankly, a sharp yelp—kyaang!—echoed behind him. Turning around, he saw a pack of hellhounds, looking just as bewildered as he felt.

Panting heavily, their eyes darting in confusion—it seemed the monsters, too, had no idea what was happening.

Though they couldn’t speak, Yurian somehow felt he understood their thoughts. Never in his life had he imagined he’d empathize with monsters—but, well, life was full of surprises.

He cautiously put some distance between himself and the pack. They weren’t attacking yet, but who knew when that might change?

Strike first, survive later. The maxim etched into his bones echoed in his mind as he gathered his mana.

“…Huh?”

But this time, something felt different. The change wasn’t just in the environment—it was in himself. The mana that once barely stirred now surged within him, overflowing from his core. It was the first time he had ever felt so completely charged with energy.

Raising his sword, Yurian coated the blade with aura. The keen, electric sharpness made his skin prickle. His body moved instinctively—faster than his mind could think.

With mana flooding through him, the hellhound pack was no longer a threat.

Yelp!

A few quick slashes, and the beasts dropped one after another. He drove his sword straight through the bloodshot eye of one, then stomped down hard on another as it lunged.

Twisting his body, he swung the blade horizontally. The steel cut cleanly through flesh—an eye burst, blood spraying.

Yurian flicked his sword, shaking off the blood.

Perhaps he’d poured too much mana into it—or maybe the hellhounds’ skulls were just too hard—but a small crack had formed along the blade’s center. Examining it with a sigh, he murmured,

“I really can’t do without this thing.”

It was his favorite sword, after all. Carefully tucking it back into his belt, he surveyed his surroundings.

Seven hellhounds in total. Not bad at all.

Compared to the chaos before he’d been swallowed by that black void, this was practically paradise.

Seven of them? Easy. Stretching his neck and shoulders, Yurian loosened up before charging forward.

He darted toward a hellhound, grabbed its scruff, and murmured no incantation at all—just pure mana. Mist began to rise from his fingertips.

Crackle! Tiny sparks flared, and in the next instant, hundreds of bolts of lightning fell around the monster.

The hellhound was roasted alive. Yurian’s eyes remained cold as he turned to the others.

Within moments, every last one of them lay motionless on the ground. Nudging a corpse with the tip of his boot, Yurian wiped sweat from his brow.

“Well… that’s that.”

The danger was gone. Now all that remained was to explore this unknown land.

Lifting his gaze toward the red sky, he began walking forward.

He hadn’t gone far when he spotted someone approaching in the distance.

The figure wore a deep hood, suspicious as could be. Definitely human—but who was he? Maybe this person knew where they were, or what kind of strange place this was?

Excited but wary, Yurian gripped the sword at his hip once more, ready for anything.

“State your name and affiliation.”

The man’s voice reached him in a language Yurian had never heard before.

His eyes widened. It was unfamiliar—and yet he understood it perfectly, as though the meaning was being engraved directly into his mind.

It wasn’t Imperial, nor Eastern Continental. He mentally cycled through every language he knew, but none matched.

There was something else strange too—the man conjured ice from his fingertips, without so much as an incantation.

An ice spear, then handcuffs—freely manipulating freezing magic at will. At least seventh-circle level, maybe higher.

Casting high-level ice magic without a single spell word? That was something only a grand mage could do.

Unfamiliar clothing, an unknown language, and a kind of power he had never witnessed before—

Yurian’s instincts, honed by countless battles, screamed at him. Warning signs were everywhere.

Maybe the hellhounds weren’t the real danger here.

Until he figured out who this man was, keeping his head down was the smartest move.

When the ice cuffs locked around his wrists, he wasn’t sure if he was making the right call—but within ten minutes of following the man, he was convinced.

Once again, he’d made the right decision.

He rode a vehicle faster than any carriage he’d ever seen, smoother than magic itself, and arrived at a massive building that defied imagination. Everything—every single thing—was bizarre enough to make his head spin. Yurian couldn’t go a minute without gasping, “Wow, that’s insane.”

Eventually, they reached a room that looked oddly plain compared to the rest—a simple wooden door. But when it opened, several people were waiting inside.

“So… you’re telling me you picked him up in a dungeon?”

The man who had dragged Yurian here—Gong Siyoung—nodded tiredly.

He had clearly had enough of Yurian’s nonstop chatter on the way over. Even now, Siyoung swore he could still hear the man’s awestruck voice echoing in his head—‘Wow, that’s crazy!’

Shuddering, Siyoung turned his head away.

“I’m leaving.”

With that irresponsible remark, he headed for the door. Just before stepping out, he threw a glance back, pointing toward Yurian like a warning sign.

“That guy’s definitely not right in the head.”

It was unclear whether that was a warning or an insult. The door slammed shut with a sharp bang, leaving a strange silence in the room.

Yurian smiled out of habit under the weight of all the gazes fixed on him.

Five men in total—all watching him, their eyes full of suspicion.

Given the circumstances, Yurian couldn’t blame them. He’d been swallowed by a black void, only to wake up in a strange world surrounded by unknown people and unfamiliar civilization.

Could this be… that “other world” people talk about?

Whether it was another world or not, it clearly wasn’t his. Raising his cuffed hands, Yurian waved cheerfully.

“Hello?”

He would’ve liked to wave properly, but the cuffs were still frozen solid around his wrists. Still, he tried his best to appear friendly—though that only seemed to deepen the silence.

Was that not it? He glanced around, gauging their reactions.

The man standing across from him looked like the leader. His eyes were hidden behind black-rimmed glasses. Tall and broad-shouldered, but not a warrior or swordsman—probably a mage.

“Why don’t we sit down and talk first?”

The man gestured to the table. Yurian obediently followed and took a seat.

As if on cue, the others moved to encircle him, taking seats around the table. It would’ve felt intimidating to anyone else—but Yurian’s attention was elsewhere.

“These chairs… have wheels?”

He nudged one foot experimentally. The chair rolled smoothly across the floor with a soft glide.

What was this plush, springy, gliding sensation? The cushion was firm yet comfortable, the wheels so smooth it felt like he was sliding on clouds.

Had they enchanted the chair? But no—there was no sign of refined mana stones or spellwork anywhere.

It was like floating on air. Mesmerized, Yurian kept pushing his feet back and forth, fascinated.

Thrrrk, thrrrk—the chair rolled noisily around until it suddenly stopped.

Startled, Yurian turned around. His gaze followed the hand gripping the backrest—up to the man in black glasses, who was smiling, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“If you’re done playing, can we start the conversation now?”

Yurian nodded meekly. Okay, maybe don’t mess around. Folding his hands politely, he waited.

“Let’s start with introductions. You might already know, but—I’m Gong Sijin, Guildmaster of Yeollak Guild.”

Was that an invitation to shake hands? Without much thought, Yurian extended his bound hands forward.

Sijin motioned to a man standing behind him.

That man stepped up and clasped Yurian’s hands—well, technically, the ice cuffs.

The instant their hands touched, the man’s gaze sharpened, and a faint flow of mana could be felt.

Warmth spread over Yurian’s wrists. With a clang, the cuffs shattered into fragments.

Finally freed, Yurian rubbed at his wrists.

It had to be magic—but somehow, it wasn’t. How could that be?

His sparkling, curious eyes turned toward the man who’d freed him. The sheer intensity of his gaze made the man instinctively step back.

Yurian opened his mouth to ask something, but Gong Sijin spoke first—smiling like a fox, his tone soft and deliberate.

“So then… may I ask for your name, sir?”