Chapter 10 : Chapter 10
Chapter 10.
The sword arrived sooner than expected.
When the wooden box bearing House Nordiar’s crest was placed in my room, I merely stared at it for a long while without opening it.
“...You are not going to open it? We even used the teleportation device to go all the way there.”
Perhaps he hoped it would prove worth that much.
My uncle, Nawellon, asked as though he could no longer bear to wait.
I undid the lock on the box.
Slowly, carefully.
With a series of clicking sounds, the lid opened, revealing a sword wrapped in black cloth.
It had almost no outward ornamentation, and the black blade was excessively subdued.
There was no flashing sheen, no ostentation unique to a famous sword.
Perhaps disappointed that its appearance fell short of expectations, Nawellon tilted his head.
“...That is the great famous sword? It does not look like much.”
“We do not know that yet.”
I lightly brushed a hand over the blade, then reached for the hilt.
The moment I gripped the sword, the flow of mana in my palm came to a halt.
“...?”
The sword was definitely alive. I could feel the presence of its ego as well. And yet—
Mana would not seep into it.
When I tried to force it in, I felt the faintest resistance.
“...Strange.”
“What is?”
“The sword is not obeying me.”
“The sword... is not obeying you?”
My uncle’s eyes widened.
I raised the sword and swung it. Its trajectory was exact. The weight distribution was perfect. And yet—
It was light.
No, more precisely, it felt heavy at the moment it should have felt light, and hollow at the moment it should have felt heavy.
“...And this is supposed to be a famous sword?”
“Who knows.”
I lowered my gaze to the blade.
The words of the master craftsman from Singing Quench came back to me.
—On a path it feels to be wrong, it will grow dull.
“...Surely not already?”
***
“Lord Philion.”
Philion, who had been sitting steadily at his desk, lifted his head to face the man before him.
He could not clearly remember his face, but he instinctively knew the man was one of the knights under his command.
“What is it?”
“I truly cannot understand it. Even if he did contend with Lord Cannon....”
“So it is about that brat.”
“......”
“In the North, skill is everything. We defend the North, and we defend this territory. That is enough.”
“I know that, but... dissatisfaction has begun to surface among the soldiers under your command. By rumor, I heard he has obtained a famous sword this time. I am worried that confidence may turn into frustration.”
“So you mean the soldiers are dissatisfied with the conduct of that thunderstruck brat. The conduct of someone who covets fine goods despite not possessing proper skill. It is the perfect condition for a short life.”
“I would not go that far.... It is simply that someone who is not even a proper knight now has a weapon of his own....”
“Is the soldiers’ dissatisfaction jealousy, then? Or is it truly because he sullies honor? Or because he is a bastard?”
“Well... for someone who is neither commander nor soldier, but in an awkward position between the two....”
“So he is doing well and has obtained better arms than the rest of you. Then it is jealousy.”
“......”
“I understand the complaint. I will instruct him personally.”
***
Philion personally requested a spar.
“So at last, the eldest son of Nordiar is going to discipline that scoundrel.”
“I heard he even got himself some exclusive weapons. Should we go take a look at that grand sword of his?”
“Be honest! It is not the weapon you want to see. You just want to watch that scoundrel get crushed, do you not?”
Snickering laughter spread among the soldiers.
Cannon was certainly an outstanding warrior as well, but compared to the eldest son, Philion, he was still far below him.
Since rumor had it that I had fought Cannon to a draw, the winner of this spar seemed obvious to anyone who looked.
“...Ha, honestly. What exactly are you trying to do by gathering all these spectators? I have been busy lately.”
When I pouted and voiced my complaint, Philion answered.
“There is no ill will. I am doing this only because it is necessary.”
“Yes, that was always how you were, Brother. You did what was necessary. You cast aside things like emotion and solved everything with reason.”
“...You speak as if you have watched me for a very long time. Draw your sword.”
“Are you suggesting a real duel?”
“There is no chance I would lose to you. I will hold back. I can stop at any time.”
“...Hah.”
Philion’s provoking words, brimming with confidence.
“Well, fine.”
The moment I finished speaking, I drew the sword from its scabbard.
The dark blade, still nameless.
“...That is your sword?”
“You told me to draw it, did you not? Go on, Brother, draw your real sword as well.”
“Do not regret this.”
Philion said.
Instead of answering, I took my stance.
At the starting signal, Philion lunged in. The angle was not bad.
An attack stripped entirely of emotion, meant only for efficiency.
My eldest brother had always been like this.
The moment I raised my sword to parry.
The blade lagged by half a beat.
“This is...”
Philion’s sword came flying in again.
I blocked it again. But the impact transmitted straight into my arm. A famous sword should have absorbed that shock.
“So this is your famous sword?”
Laughter echoed from the spectators in the distance.
At that moment, a phrase flashed through my mind.
—On a path you feel to be right, it will be the finest sword, sharp enough to cleave even Mount Tai. But on a path it feels to be wrong, it will grow duller than a shabby blade rolling around a marketplace.
A path it feels to be right.
What, exactly, did I feel was right right now?
What was I raising this sword for?
To protect?
What?
My dignity?
My reputation?
The fact that I was strong?
The moment that thought passed through my mind.
The sword became completely heavy.
It no longer felt like I was swinging it, but dragging it around.
“...Tch.”
Forcing strength into my arm, I dragged the heavy blade up.
Clang!
Metal shrieked against metal, sparks scattered, and we pulled apart for a moment.
“...Is this all? I can see why they say you fought Cannon to a draw. But you do not seem to handle that sword very well.”
“Who knows. The sword is not listening very well.”
“Coat it in aura.”
“...Are you serious?”
Even when I asked again to confirm, Philion merely nodded.
“Coating a blade in aura is the privilege of those who have reached the rank of Sword Expert. Show me your full strength. I will teach you that the world is far too vast for you to take pride in aura alone.”
“This is troublesome.”
With the sword in its current state.
I gathered mana and infused the blade with aura.
The sword, already heavy enough, grew even heavier, like cotton soaked through with water.
“...It certainly is aura. I do not know how you attained such a realm at your age, but still.”
Philion likewise coated his own blade in aura.
“...I will teach you that real combat is different.”
“Tch!”
I was driven onto the defensive.
With a blade I could barely lift, I blocked Philion’s attacks from one side to the other.
And then, a slight opening appeared.
An opening born from losing the sword’s balance under its weight.
The moment Philion moved to bring his sword down into that gap, I raised my now-heavy blade to block him somehow.
At that instant, a soldier came running from afar.
“Lord Philion! It is urgent!”
Just before the swords could collide in midair, both blades stopped.
“...What is it?”
“The outpost has raised a beacon fire! An emergency mobilization order has been issued!”
“I am going now.”
***
In the end, the spar ended in a draw.
Clearly, it was not a satisfying result.
I looked down at the sword.
“...You.”
At that moment, the faintest vibration trembled in my palm.
Without missing it, I poured mana into it, and then I heard the ego’s voice.
—You are a curious human. Your attained realm is distant indeed, and yet your mana heart is still unfinished.
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
—I do not know how you reached such a realm with a mana heart this pathetic.
The ego continued.
—Change your question. In this battle, what did you feel was right?
“Well, I came to spar because Brother Philion challenged me....”
—I am not asking for facts. What did you feel was right?
“...Who knows.”
—Your heart has not been brought into order as one. You failed to satisfy even the first condition. So the sword could only grow dull.
“...Bring my heart into order?”
Even after the training ground had gone quiet, I remained there for a long time.
***
The clashing of metal still rang in his ears, along with the murmur of the spectators, and—
Kairun’s sword.
“A famous sword, was it?”
Philion narrowed his eyes slightly.
The spar had ended in a draw due to the messenger’s arrival.
If he had only pressed a little harder at the end, he could have won.
Anyone with eyes could see that much easily.
But the problem was the process.
Kairun’s movements had definitely been sharp. His use of aura had been stable as well. And yet the sword,
“It looked as though he was deliberately holding back his strength. An Ego Sword, was it?”
Even an Ego Sword was still a tool.
It merely conveyed the will of its master.
That was the philosophy of the sword Philion had learned.
“Lord Philion.”
On his way to the operations room in response to the emergency summons, a knight approached and bowed his head.
“How do you judge Young Master Kairun’s sword?”
“How do I judge it?”
Without turning his gaze, Philion answered.
“It is incomplete.”
“I heard it was a famous sword.”
“And if it is a famous sword, is that enough?”
It was a brief reply.
Philion turned and left the training grounds. His footsteps were as regular as ever. His pace, his breathing, all of it without the slightest disorder.
People described him like this.
—The Pillar of Nordiar
—The Unshakable Heir
—The Man Without Emotion
He had never thought those assessments were wrong.
“If emotion goes first, judgment grows clouded.”
It was something Father always said.
And Philion had never once gone against those words.
The doors to the armory opened.
With the cold air, countless swords revealed themselves.
Nordiar’s history hung on every wall and every display rack.
Philion stopped before one of them.
His father’s sword, the one he would inherit.
There was almost no ornamentation, and no unnecessary patterns etched into the blade. It had been made solely for actual battle, the very pinnacle of efficiency.
Philion carefully lifted the sword.
The moment he sent an aura into it, it responded at once.
No delay. No resistance.
“Yes. This is what a sword is supposed to be.”
***
Emergency summons.
Grand Duke Atlin sat in the seat of highest honor, with Philion, Ashili, and Cannon seated in order beneath him.
Kairun arrived late and filled the final seat, and the messenger from the outpost began his report.
“The allied army of the other races stationed at the northernmost edge has launched an attack. The outpost is holding, but their numbers are so great that...”
Grand Duke Atlin’s expression tightened slightly.
“...That outpost is not so easily breached. What happened? Did some king-class warrior chieftain of the other races appear?”
“Well..., monsters poured in from another front, so while some of the knights from the outpost went to provide temporary support, they were left somewhat short-handed.”
“So they are in an uproar, trying to seize the warm and fertile lands of the South. Tch!”
Cannon clicked his tongue.
“...Philion. Can you do it?”
At the Grand Duke’s question, Philion answered hollowly.
“If you grant me sufficient forces.”
To Atlin, it was a thoroughly pleasing answer.
Far preferable to some reckless response that wore itself down in empty bravado.
The heir who moved exactly as he had been molded to move, the one who would preserve Nordiar.
“Good. I will lend you troops. Kairun.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“This time, you will march out as well. Show me your worth.”
“I was planning to go anyway. You will acknowledge my merit, I trust?”
“...That will depend on what you do. Since you are good enough to fight Cannon to a draw, I merely thought you might prove useful as well.”
“Well, this is a fine opportunity.”
“Hmph, just do not charge out and get yourself killed, Kairun.”
Apparently displeased by the fact that I had fought him to a draw, Cannon frowned and snapped at me.