Hard Carried by My Sword

Chapter 191

“No,” Lyon replied without blinking an eye.

“Hm?”

The air grew heavy. Without even drawing his sword, Cedric let a single line unfold from him as if to say he would cut down nonsense where it stood. Most would not have seen it, but Lyon did. There was a looming strike, perfectly placed to cleave his body in two.

It was the future of uncertainty. He could cut. He could refrain. However, if Cedric chose to strike, Lyon would be split in half and die without a chance to retaliate.

Even so, Lyon held his gaze steady and declared, “Will you hear me out?”

The standoff did not last long. Perhaps intrigued by that defiance, Cedric lowered the hand resting on his hilt. The line piercing Lyon’s crown blurred, though it did not vanish entirely. It remained a warning that Cedric could strike at any moment.

Lyon bowed once, politely, before speaking.

“Thank you.”

“Spare me the useless courtesy. Speak.”

“Yes. The reason those under me are not rebels, but revolutionaries, is simple.” Placing a fist to his heart, he said, “Because they follow a rightful heir to the throne.”

“You’re telling me you’re royalty?”

“Yes.”

Then, it happened in an instant. Before Gilbert could react, Cedric’s blade flashed forward like lightning, stopping a hair’s breadth before Lyon’s throat.

“Say that again,” Cedric demanded.

The Aura Blade shimmered along the edge, exuding a fragment of pure death. Touch it even once, and there would be no survival.

Yet Lyon did not flinch, not even an eyebrow, and replied, “My full name is Lyon Cailum Gladius Pon Clyde.”

As he spoke, the edge traced a fine red line across his throat. A few drops of blood beaded. A fraction deeper, and he would be dead.

With death itself brushing his skin, Lyon declared, “I am the sole, rightful heir of this Empire’s royal line—survivor of the Mad Emperor, Nex’s purges.”

“I see that you are not lying,” Cedric muttered as he drew his blade back. “So, you’re either a lunatic who truly believes himself royal, or you really are the last of the Imperial blood.”

Lyon neither confirmed nor denied. It no longer mattered what he said.

From the first moment, it had been clear: Cedric’s world was one he judged with his own eyes, not one explained by others. No matter what anyone said, he would trust only his own conviction. To him, rhetoric was nothing but noise.

After several moments of thought, Cedric asked, “What do you want?”

Lyon answered, “I wish to invite you as a guest of our revolution.”

Cedric’s question didn’t end there.

“Do you need a banner, or a blade?”

“I need a blade that cuts.”

“And if it does not distinguish between high and low?”

“Does the wind, which sweeps by, know rank?”

Cedric let out a chilling laugh, enough to make onlookers shudder. At the same time, the line of intent vanished completely.

“Fine. I’ve never played the guest before, but I’ll indulge you.”

“And I am honored.”

Lyon smiled as he clasped Cedric’s hand. He had come to verify reports of suspicious activity, but gaining a Swordmaster was a far greater prize.

The Sword Demon Cedric. The nightmare of Hispania, seeker of the sword.

Unruly, yes—but a blade that sharp overpowers by presence alone. Lyon had already found his use for him, hidden in their earlier exchange.

He responded positively when I said that I was looking for a blade, not a banner. He must be searching for a fight.

So long as Cedric was placed before their enemies, that hunger would guide him. With no forces of their own to match a Master, Cedric filled a dire gap.

However, Lyon wasn’t the only one making calculations. Cedric also had his own thoughts.

This war will not end quickly.

Not only Hispania, but Ferma, the Meril Union, and even Jugend and the Holy Church were moving. A great war was coming. Tens of thousands would die in the storm of that war, and his blade would drink deep in the midst of it all. With that carnage, his cursed sword would be complete. Eventually, he would meet foes worth testing himself against.

Good. Even the Evil Order had its uses, Cedric thought to himself.

And if he stood beneath Lyon, an heir with legitimacy, so much the better. He could turn against him at any time or walk away without consequence.

Just like that, the ambitions of two men crossed paths. Despite the same circumstances, their intentions were wildly different.

Lyon and Cedric. Though they smiled and clasped hands, what formed between them was no trust—only an alliance of convenience, with not a trace of faith.

***

Unaware of the meeting that had taken place in Golden Whale, Leon and his companions departed Alger the very next day.

With the Margrave having firmly resolved to defect to Jugend, Leon judged there was nothing more they could do. It was better to let the sly old fox have his way than spill blood in a siege whose outcome was already certain.

Karen, however, looked thoroughly dissatisfied.

“Ugh, so annoying! In the end, we only did that bastard a favor!”

And indeed, she was right. The Margrave had lost nothing in this affair. At most, he would have to pay to restore the courtyard devastated during the Hive Walker’s chase and the ensuing battle. His “defection” was little more than a change of allegiance; his authority as lord and margrave remained intact.

“Don’t worry too much, Karen. Since it was the Hero’s decision, he must have something in mind,” Elahan soothed her with her usual gentle smile. “Even if he exploited the Hero’s cause for his own gain, the truth is that tens of thousands of lives were spared because of it. I’m sure the Goddess herself would rejoice at such an outcome.”

Karen pressed at her furrowed brow with a sigh and muttered, “If only I could think like you.”

Raised as an assassin from childhood, she had a visceral aversion to being used by others. It was natural, after all. She had been treated as nothing more than a tool, not a person.

“Maybe not,” Leon interjected, watching them both. “Do you really think my letter of recommendation will carry that much weight?”

“What...?”

“Huh?”

Both Elahan and Karen looked at him in bewilderment.

“Well, you are the Hero...”

“You are the Hero, Leon...”

Then, as if struck by realization like lightning, both exclaimed, “Ah!”

Leon’s true identity was indeed that of the Hero. However, aside from Irexana, no one in Jugend knew that. Outside the Holy Church, Leon’s influence in Jugend was negligible. He had received an arm of Jugend Steel, yes, but it wasn’t like it came with a special title.

A nation might honor flexibility in small matters, but when it came to affairs of weight, such as diplomatic relations, the state acted with cold pragmatism.

“Even if I accepted all the Margrave’s conditions, Jugend won’t take my letter with much seriousness. They’ll seat a proper diplomat across the table and draft a treaty from scratch,” Leon said.

“Now that you say it...! But then why didn’t that man realize? He seemed so cunningly clever...” Karen muttered in confusion, but Elahan was a step ahead of her.

“Because he didn’t know.”

“Huh...?”

“To anyone unaware of Hero Leon’s current identity, he is a Swordmaster in his twenties, dispatched from Jugend, with both Karen and me trailing after him like subordinates. Of course, the Margrave would assume he’s a key figure in the kingdom.”

She was spot on. The Margrave had taken them for secret Masters fostered by Jugend, with Leon as their leader. He had vastly overestimated the weight of Leon’s endorsement—enough that, had Leon declared him something of a great noble position on the spot, he would likely have believed it.

“Mr. Hero, don’t tell me you thought all this through...?”

“Well, I guess I did.”

Leon’s casual reply brought a grin back to Karen’s face, and soon she was laughing aloud, imagining the humiliation the Margrave would suffer later.

Unwittingly amusing his companions, Leon glanced back. The distant silhouette of Alger Fortress stirred memories of the question he had asked El-Cid earlier about handling men like the Margrave.

How did you deal with them? You must have seen this often.

El-Cid’s answer had been simple.

—Me? Nothing special. I just dumped it on someone else. There are plenty of men out there who are bolder and more silver-tongued than I am. Why should I play diplomat?

It might have sounded irresponsible, but Leon learned the lesson straight away. Why should he negotiate directly on Jugend’s behalf?

A Hero’s duty was to smite evil and protect the innocent. Matters of diplomacy and politics could be left to those better suited. Irexana would understand his intent. In time, the Margrave would realize he had ensnared himself.

And in Leon’s mind, that was the end of it. What lingered instead was their later exchange, regarding the last and only heir of the Clyde royal line.

“Lyon Cailum Gladius Pon Clyde. If he were to return to this land, could he depose the Mad Emperor?”

The Margrave had paused, then answered firmly, “It would be impossible. Even if it were, the outcome would be decided by strength, not lineage or legitimacy. With the Emperor’s purges and this civil war, the Empire is in ruins. Claiming to be of Clyde’s blood now would only invite scorn, for sharing the Mad Emperor’s bloodline.”

“Loyalists might be swayed, yes—but to reach them, one would have to march into Calelum itself. And in the attempt, they would surely die.”

“And even if he seized the throne, do you think Ferma, Hispania, or the Meril Union would quietly withdraw? A valid reason is only useful before one crosses the line. After, it has no worth.”

The Margrave’s words were cold ones, but rational ones. If men truly died for loyalty alone, the world would be full of tales of noble lords and vassals.

That was also why no trace of Lyon appeared in rebel reports. Appeals to rightful heirs only held meaning among the few loyal nobles and meant nothing to those who were already ground down by purges; hatred of the Imperial family was already etched into their bones.

“It is what it is, I guess... I’ll have to look into Lyon and Chloe’s situation again later,” Leon murmured to himself, closed his eyes, then opened them again.

They were already deep inside Imperial territory, traveling the opposite way from where Cedric had been lured—toward Calelum, the capital. Several cities lay along their route, marked on the map with quests Leon had chosen.

“What was the next city again?” he said as he drew out the map and traced with his finger.

The Hero Party’s next stop was a city forty kilometers from Alger, Ladoga. It was a city known for its central lake, and, coincidentally, the very lake was marked in yellow. Representing the “Hard” difficulty, the lake quest was the same rank as the “Vein Invader” quest they had faced in Jugend.

If there was one difference between now and back then, it was that the party was now stronger than before. Since the difficulty shown on the map was relative to the Hero’s strength, the scale of this quest might have been greater than the one back in Jugend.

With no time even to breathe between crises, Leon let out a long sigh.

“We’d better hurry.”