Chapter 18 : Chapter 18
Chapter 18: Relic of a Past Life (2)
The scene of death.
Simurtr vividly remembered the death of his past life.
As if to prevent that vividness from fading, it was replayed as a dream every time he slept.
“Crazy bastards.”
They took my relics? To remember me?
“Young Master?”
“Just leave it.”
The laughter wouldn't stop.
Meram shivered as she saw Simurtr returning while laughing like a madman.
‘It's certain.’
A conviction was forming.
It was the moment the suspect was found to be the culprit.
Ignoring the death of his past life. Pinning the name of Mectera on him to take his relics.
‘I said I missed Mectera?’
The will that the traitors spoke of, and that Gerehk had relayed.
‘Mectera?’
The name attached to the dead Exa implied the possibility that Mectera had been involved in the betrayal.
But it was just a suspicion. The reincarnated Simurtr had lived with that suspicion all along.
And today. He had confirmed that one of the relics taken by the traitors was in the main house's repository.
They wouldn't have just donated it. What's so good about Mectera.
And the will.
Whose mind did that bullshit come from?
‘Gerehk Mectera.’
The present is called the era of praise.
But that praise had begun long ago, from the battlefield.
A war they were dragged into. That was how Simurtr had thought of the Doom War. Because humans had never once had the upper hand.
Overwhelming numbers and military power that surpassed the human average. And even high-ranking Doom Species that tore open rifts with their own hands and popped out all over the continent.
That was why those who showed outstanding performance were praised as heroes.
Because there was no hope otherwise.
The Doom War had thoroughly revolved around the heroes. And Mectera was not there.
Though they were clearly an important military force, they were not to the extent of being called heroes.
‘Mectera needed a hero.’
A hero.
Was not something you became just by wanting to.
It was a fame created by the public. Exceptionally outstanding beings on the battlefield.
No matter how hard Gerehk Mectera tried, the people did not call him a hero.
‘There's a way to become a Hero Family even if you can't become a hero.’
Whether the war ended. Or not.
The world would naturally revolve around the heroes.
It was impossible that Gerehk did not know a prediction even little kids could make. The downfall of Mectera was foreseen.
‘There's no way that bastard wouldn't have joined in on such a good opportunity.’
The Emperor and the five heroes.
Among them, the only one without a family was Exa.
A move that could satisfy personal feelings and preserve the family's fame.
It must have been a golden opportunity for Gerehk.
Because the Exa of that time had already made up his mind for a solo assault.
‘Whether that bastard led it. Or the traitorous bastards instigated it.’
It could be a conjecture.
The name of a Hero Family and the relic.
Those could be the price Gerehk received for condoning the traitors' crime.
‘But nothing changes.’
But such specific truths did not resonate with Simurtr.
Knowing that they had joined hands was enough. Grind. The sound of teeth grinding echoed in the room.
‘Why did that bastard have to go and die.’
The fact that Gerehk had already died long ago was incredibly unfortunate.
***
One hour.
In the warm bathtub, Simurtr managed to regain at least a minimum of composure.
“First.”
Though Medeoban Mectera had acted as a duke for decades, his essence was ultimately a swordsman. It couldn't be helped. It was not for nothing that the Duke of Mectera was called the Sword Master.
“He's worse at lying than five-year-old kids.”
Unlike other cunning nobles, he was clumsy at politics and weak at saving face. He didn't know how to put on a thick skin.
That was his temperament. Though Mectera was proficient in all swords, Medeoban did not enjoy the Change Sword or the Phantom Sword.
He considered the battlefield his home but felt awkward at a desk. He was poor at fighting with his tongue.
“It would have all been obvious.”
His words and actions in the repository. Simurtr recalled Medeoban. If he had spoken a lie, it would have surely been obvious. He wouldn't have allowed the relic either.
“It's not the old man.”
Medeoban did not know of Gerehk's crime.
Simurtr reached that conclusion.
Though the old man's temperament had changed, that was a fear regarding the name of Mectera. Other parts had not changed.
“It's a relief, if you can call it that.”
He didn't have to be hostile to the old man, to Mectera.
That fact made Simurtr's heart much lighter. Because he no longer had to turn the siblings or other swordsmen into enemies.
“Except for Gerehk.”
The culprit of Mectera was already dead.
Now, what was left were the Emperor and the traitors.
“…And Aran.”
Aran had not liked Gerehk much.
He had always gone around saying that the position of Sword Master belonged to Exa.
“It's right to exclude Aran too.”
Until just a while ago, Simurtr had not trusted Aran. But now that he had reached a conclusion about Medeoban, Aran deserved to be acquitted.
“Even the old man doesn't know.”
Would he have told Aran something he hadn't even told his closest person? In the first place, Aran was not on good terms with Gerehk.
“That's a relief.”
What if Aran had been involved in the betrayal?
Simurtr was not confident he could feign composure. He could with Medeoban, but even more so with Aran.
He was his escort in his past life, and Aran had followed him so devotedly. Even now, after reincarnating, a sense of familiarity welled up whenever he saw Aran's face.
“But I won't say it.”
He was not an enemy.
If so, then he should not reveal his past life even more.
If he was going to say he was trustworthy, he wouldn't have hidden his identity from Semenu.
He had no intention of causing trouble for the people of his past life. His unit members were the people Simurtr trusted next to his master. Except for the traitorous vice-captain.
“Aran Lubeil is crazy.”
For a moment, Semenu's words came to mind, but Simurtr tried to erase them. He had not yet felt such an inkling. For now, it was time to be satisfied with what he had gained today.
“I can rest easy about Mectera.”
Just 16 years old. A still-growing body. Low attainment. Full of things that were not satisfactory.
He needed time anyway. Now he didn't have to waste mental energy on unnecessary suspicions.
“Besides, I even found this.”
Simurtr took the bracelet out from his clothes.
To be born as an adopted son of Mectera again, and to find this in Mectera.
“I've never believed in fatalism.”
…The fact that he had obtained this here made him sympathize, even if just for a moment, with the ideas of the fatalists.
“Pagna.”
A magic tool created by a dragon itself.
The name of the bracelet was the same as the name of its creator. A friend of his master. It was a bracelet made at his master's request. A gift for the disciple who left to participate in the war.
As soon as Pagna touched his wrist, it stuck to it.
At a glance, it looked like a tattoo. A single black line appeared on his right wrist, then soon faded.
When he had chosen this, Medeoban had been reluctant, but.
“It's what we need most.”
Pagna was a magic tool for Exa or his master. For the successor of the Star-Breaking Style who was always suffering from mana depletion.
An operation that increased speed and power through rotation. The Star-Breaking Style, looking at its theory alone, seemed to be aimed at cost-effectiveness, but in reality, it was the opposite.
To wield immense mana even more immensely.
The mystery of the Star-Breaking Style. The premise of rotation required immense mana. If the mana was not sufficient, rotation itself was impossible.
“It's not cost-effective at all. How much money goes into this.”
His master had consumed the wealth she had accumulated throughout her life for her disciple Exa. She had turned all her wealth into elixirs. To create the mana to satisfy the Star-Breaking Style.
The magic contained in Pagna was not original or rare. It was a simple mana storage, created to reduce the instances of suffering from mana depletion.
‘My beloved Exa. War is difficult. You won't know when your strength will be depleted, and even when it is, you won't have time to rest. If you want to die, this master will kill you, so just live for now.’
Simurtr was newly reminded of his master when she had gifted him Pagna. She had made that request and then taught him how to use Pagna.
‘If there are mana recovery potions in the supplies, you take them all first. Store them until Pagna is full. That way, you'll at least survive until this master kills you, won't you?’
Simurtr operated the Star-Breaking Style.
Now that he had obtained Pagna, he intended to rest from training today. All the mana pooled in his heart rotated through the circuit.
He sent the mana, amplified after instantly rotating 4 times, to his right wrist. The faded Pagna was not visible on the outside, but it was there.
Simurtr recognized the vast space of Pagna. The mana of the Star breaker headed for the empty storage called Pagna.
“Done.”
When he finally succeeded in sending all his mana, Simurtr opened his eyes. His body was heavy from pouring out all his mana.
Emptiness, futility. Simurtr forced his heavy eyelids open and looked at his wrist.
A black line, the thickness of two fingers, had appeared on his right wrist.
Just one line. It meant that all the mana Simurtr possessed had been stored, and that the first storage was full.
“The maximum was nine lines.”
One line of Pagna was equal to Simurtr's total mana. The total power held by Pagna. If the user's total mana increased, the space of Pagna would also increase along with it.
If the attainment of the Star-Breaking Style was 5-star, and he poured out all the mana corresponding to that 5-star, only one line would be formed in the end.
“It's a concept of emergency funds.”
If he called upon Pagna's mana right now, the line on his wrist would disappear, and his heart would be filled with mana.
It would put him in top condition. A measure prepared by his master for her disciple's lack of mana.
“She told me to store it little by little when I don't have to use mana.”
To maintain at least 4 lines, no matter what.
“Usually, I put it in bit by bit.”
It was rare to pour it all in at once like this.
Normally, the standard method was to put it in little by little, forming the lines over a long period of time. That way, daily life was also possible, and training could be done in parallel.
“Today is the first day.”
Simurtr smiled as he looked at the black line of Pagna, which he hadn't seen in a long time.
He hadn't expected to find a trace of his master so quickly.
***
Jahar read the letter Arnea had sent.
His mother preferred letters.
She said that the traces of one's own handwriting could make the recipient indulge in that emotion.
“I'm telling you, it's because it's easy to check whether you're lying or not.”
“How can you tell that from handwriting.”
“I can. Our mother can too. You're probably the only one who can't, brother.”
His sister was truly quick-witted.
The originator was their mother. Unlike Jahar, Ael took after their mother completely.
“Father probably can't either.”
“That's also true. Grandfather probably can't either. Since you take after the paternal side of the family, brother. So. What did she say?”
“She says she will return after her first mission.”
Ael quickly scanned the letter Jahar handed her. Starting with greetings, then the Selection Ceremony. The adopted son, Simurtr. And finally, the news of her return.
As expected. After reading the letter, Ael was certain.
Her brother couldn't figure it out because she had beaten around the bush too much, but what her mother was most curious about was the existence of their youngest brother.
It was her mother's scheme. She was asking Ael, not Jahar. Because it was obvious that her son would not understand the true meaning of this letter.
“But brother. Aren't you jealous?”
“Of what.”
“You know.”
“It was grandfather who threatened him first.”
The Selection Ceremony came to mind.
But Jahar shook his head.
Because it didn't resonate much with him. The threat was Simurtr's best option.
“Not that.”
“Talent? Attainment?”
“Yes.”
“I am. It's natural.”
Sword ki. Reaching that level at the age of 16 was an incredible talent in itself. His skills too.
He felt the gap was considerable.
“Just the sword ki alone is amazing.”
The truth was even greater. To already have Sword Aura.
The siblings, who were one year older than Simurtr, had succeeded in manifesting sword ki in January of this year.
“Then why are you taking his side?”
“You're doing it too.”
“You and I are different, brother. You want to become the Sword Master.”
“Simurtr said he has no intention of becoming the Sword Master.”
“Do you believe that? As grandfather said, he might be like that now, but we don't know about the future. He just doesn't have greed because he's still young.”
Ael slightly shivered as she recalled the memory of that time.
That attainment at that age. The heroes who had defeated the Doom Species, the protagonists from fairy tales and legends, didn't seem to be that much.
“If that is the case, then we must compete fairly. If he is more suitable than me, it is right for Simurtr to do it.”
“Even if grandfather dislikes it?”
“Little sister. Grandfather may have said that, but we are Mectera. We must not attach meaning to bloodline.”
“You don't want to become the Sword Master, brother?”
“No. I do.”
What am I supposed to do then.
“Then it's better if he's not here. Like grandfather said.”
“Why must he not be here? I refuse. If I lose in a competition with Simurtr, it means I was lacking to become the Sword Master in the first place. That is my fault.”
The person Ael knew best was Jahar.
Her older brother. A face she had seen since birth. The words he spoke with that characteristic expressionless face were all sincere.
“It means my effort did not make up for my lack of talent. On the other hand, if our youngest brother became the Sword Master, it would mean my little brother has captured the hearts of the main house.”
The moment to challenge for the position of Sword Master would come someday. To be the Sword Master of Mectera meant to be more outstanding than any other swordsman.
“Grandfather will not last long either. Simurtr has the power for that.”
“…Because in the end, it's Mectera.”
“Yes. In the end, it will be decided by the sword.”
“He's strangely too good. Though his body isn't great.”
Ael had once focused on Simurtr's physical specs.
“Our physical conditions are much better.”
But everything else surpassed the siblings.
“Little sister, you can't compare yourself to him. You inherited mother's Strong Body.”
If they were to have a power struggle right now, excluding other factors, Ael would win. Ael was born with a Strong Body.
“Even without me. You're better than him too, brother.”
“That is why our youngest brother's efforts shine even brighter.”
Jahar nodded. There was still no change in his expression.
“He was exiled at the age of 5 and cultivated his skills alone. Instead of complaining about moment of wasted time.”
“……”
“Only by putting in the same effort can one complain about talent. I have not yet put in that much effort.”
“…From what I see, you must have been picked up from the streets, brother.”
“That can't be. We are clearly siblings. Little sister, are you not also worried about Simurtr?”
“You and I are different, brother.”
“Whatever the reason, our desire to watch him more is the same.”
“Pushover.”
Who does this brother take after to be so foolish and upright?
Would it be the same, even if I said I wanted to become the Sword Master?
For a moment, Ael became curious about that.