CLANG!
The two swords, both protected by their scabbards, collided with tremendous force.
Mael, who had been smiling brightly until the moment of impact, widened his eyes. Contrary to his expectations, Ian’s sword carried considerable force.
Despite bracing himself as firmly as a massive boulder, his arm was driven upward.
An opening appeared in an instant.
Ian did not miss it.
He withdrew the sword he had swung and immediately thrust toward Mael’s solar plexus.
‘He is remarkably aggressive.’
Mael was wearing armor, and the blade was still enclosed within its scabbard, so even if the thrust landed, it would not hurt. It would merely push him backward.
He wanted to receive the attack with his body and counterattack, but that would be unfair.
He could not rely on his armor. He had to behave as though he were not wearing it, so he had no choice but to retreat.
Ian did not simply stand by and watch.
He pursued him relentlessly.
CLANG!
One step. Two steps.
Each time Mael retreated, he was forced to defend against no fewer than two or three attacks, and sometimes as many as four or five.
‘He is fast.’
And vicious.
If Mael allowed his attention to wander for even a moment, the tip of Ian’s sword seemed ready to rap cheerfully against his head.
Yet Mael did not panic.
His talent was far too exceptional for that.
His eyes shifted as he knocked aside a sword aimed at his flank. He redirected an incoming thrust.
He waited calmly for the right moment.
Then the opportunity arrived.
He caught Ian’s sword against his own, guided it outward, and disrupted Ian’s balance.
‘I have him!’
At the same time, Mael attempted to strike Ian’s head with the pommel of his sword, but the blow missed.
Ian slipped away as nimbly as a squirrel, which Mael found infuriating.
‘It is fine.’
That had only been the first move.
He would reclaim the initiative from here.
Before long, however, Mael realized that matters were not proceeding as he intended.
They had already exchanged dozens of attacks and defenses in that brief span, yet rather than advancing, he continued to be driven backward.
No matter how he searched for an opening, he could not touch Ian.
At least one attack should have grazed him, yet every strike missed.
Ian no longer even bothered pretending to block them.
The corner of Mael’s eye twitched.
‘What is happening?’
He did not know.
‘Is he reading the distance of every attack?’
Considering how narrowly each strike failed to reach him, that seemed to be the case.
‘…Incredible.’
More than anything else, however, it was Ian’s swordsmanship that astonished Mael.
Neither the members of the Red Spear Knights nor even Vice-Captain Diol wielded their swords with such savagery.
House Berger’s martial arts were the very embodiment of refinement. They began smoothly and ended cleanly.
Ian’s swordsmanship was the exact opposite.
He lunged forward and tore into his opponent like an enraged beast.
‘A mercenary.’
Yes.
It resembled the swordsmanship of the vicious mercenaries Mael had encountered during missions.
Yet Ian was far more proficient than any of them.
He seemed like a seasoned warrior who had survived countless brushes with death.
‘That is impossible.’
Before visiting the villa, Mael had gathered information about Ian in a nearby village.
Naturally, every account had been unfavorable, and many of the stories had been utterly absurd.
Not one of them had mentioned Ian working as a mercenary or training diligently.
And yet—
The man Mael had encountered again after several years was unmistakably different.
The first indication had been the smell of sweat that filled the air when Ian abruptly opened the front door and entered.
Mael had not found the odor unpleasant.
Rather, it had felt familiar.
For a knight, such a thing was only natural.
Moreover, judging by the servants’ accustomed reactions, it was clear that this had not begun only a day or two ago.
‘A ruined man?’
Had that been true, Ian could never have possessed such a well-trained body.
‘Pathetic?’
No one who met him in person could possibly think that.
The bird whose wings had once been broken was preparing to soar again.
Ian must have spent his time at this villa silently training himself, indifferent to the gazes of others.
At the same time, Mael was curious.
Who had taught him?
Had he reached this level entirely on his own?
If so, why had he not shown such ability during the coming-of-age ceremony?
What had happened to change him so drastically?
Mael could no longer continue those thoughts.
He had to repel the sword slashing toward him from the front.
His wrist tingled.
Even pushing it away was difficult.
He continued to be forced backward.
Taking the duel lightly had been a mistake.
Unconsciously looking down on Ian had been a grave error.
He had arrogantly assumed Ian would be the same as before and that victory would come easily.
At some point, perhaps because Mael’s concentration had wavered, he became unable to follow Ian’s increasingly intricate attacks.
Ian, by contrast, appeared to be enjoying himself.
CLANG!
The sheathed sword brushed Mael’s armored shoulder, then struck his thigh before he could react.
He blocked it, but Ian slid inside his guard, struck his flank, and then drove the pommel into his solar plexus, forcing him backward.
By the time Mael regained his balance, Ian’s sword was already pointed at his throat.
Mael stared blankly at Ian with wide eyes.
It had all happened in an instant.
“…I lost.”
Ian tried to smile broadly, but soon frowned instead.
He had once reached Level 5.
Although the physical abilities he had painstakingly trained in his previous life were gone, he still retained the experience, memories, and techniques he had accumulated through countless battles to the death.
Having defeated Mael with those advantages, Ian felt an intense sense of self-reproach for taking pleasure in the victory.
What frustrated him even more was how long it had taken him to win despite fighting seriously from the beginning.
Admittedly, he had toyed with Mael somewhat in the middle of the duel, but even accounting for that, the victory had taken too long.
‘A genius truly is a genius.’
Or perhaps Ian was simply that inadequate.
Muttering bitterly, Ian wiped away the sweat running down his face and lowered the sword he had aimed at Mael.
He then approached Marie, who had been watching from one side, returned the sword, and apologized.
“I am sorry. I swung it rather violently…. The blade inside may have been damaged.”
Or perhaps the scabbard had been damaged instead.
Marie drew the sword, inspected the edge, and peered inside the scabbard before letting out a quiet sigh.
“It is fine. I can request a replacement when we return.”
“Good. Use my name if necessary.”
He was still a member of the main family, so they would replace it without complaint.
“From whom did you learn the sword?”
“What?”
Ian turned around and found Mael staring at him with a serious expression.
“My own learning remains incomplete, so I cannot be certain. However, unless my instincts are mistaken, that was a mercenary’s swordsmanship. It had a distinctive….”
“Filthiness to it? Tenacious, clinging, and brutal?”
“…I did not intend to disparage it in that manner.”
Yet he did not seem inclined to deny it either.
That was, after all, an accurate description.
Ian chuckled.
It could hardly have been otherwise. They were techniques he had learned by watching others during his years as a mercenary or acquired by paying a considerable price.
He had then incorporated his family’s swordsmanship and independently refined it through blood and sweat.
He would not dare call it the finest swordsmanship in existence, but he had pursued that goal, so it had reached a certain degree of completion.
The fact that he alone had survived while everyone else fell could have served as proof.
In a sense, every mercenary he had encountered had been his teacher.
Those who survived were strong.
Some might have been fortunate, but luck alone was not enough. Their skill had supported them.
Ian had therefore observed their movements closely and stolen their techniques.
‘Then I made them my own.’
He had suffered tremendously in the process.
Even now, the memory made him grit his teeth.
Naturally, there had not been a single person among them whom he could truly have treated as a teacher….
‘No. There were a few.’
Not every mercenary had been wicked.
Some had been foolishly kind.
Ian pushed away the complicated emotions rising within him and looked at Mael.
“You asked who taught me?”
“Yes.”
“I will not tell you.”
“…Pardon?”
“I said I will not tell you. Even if I did, you would not know them.”
“That is… true, but….”
“Then I will not tell you.”
Leaving the dumbfounded Mael behind, Ian suggested that they return.
A great deal of time had already passed while they cultivated mana, and now that the duel was over, there was nothing left to do.
Before taking the lead, Ian looked around the Mana Vein one last time.
It was a place that had served him well for the past year.
It remained as silent as ever.
As gloomy as ever.
As dark as ever.
“……”
Ian suddenly wondered whether he could illuminate the entire place.
He extended one hand.
Ignoring the gazes of Mael and Marie, who watched him curiously, he roused his mana.
A small flame blossomed in his palm.
It twisted like a vortex and gradually swelled in size.
At first, it was no larger than a candle flame. After a short while, it had grown as large as a massive boulder.
There was no technique behind it.
There was no special method.
It was simply fire created through the use of pure mana.
The intense heat warmed the surrounding air, while the brilliant light drove away the darkness that blanketed the area.
However, its limits were clear.
The ball of fire grew no larger.
This was the end.
Ian could barely maintain the phenomenon, and after a brief time, the flame began to shrink little by little.
The darkness that had momentarily retreated crept back as though determined to reclaim its domain.
For some reason, the sight filled Ian with displeasure.
He frowned and extinguished the flame.
FWOOSH!
In the blink of an eye, the surroundings became dark once more.
His head throbbed, perhaps because he had consumed too much mana.
Without a word, Ian turned his back and began walking.
Mael and Marie followed him.
By the time they returned from the Mana Vein to the villa, dinner had already been prepared.
Ian filled his stomach with a generous meal, then went upstairs to his room, where the display cabinet caught his eye.
Several unopened bottles remained among the empty ones.
Even though he had drunk from his collection occasionally over the past year, there were still many left.
‘Should I drink all of them?’
Drinking them alone, however, would be nothing more than a waste.
He would not be able to appreciate their flavors properly, and he had no food to accompany them….
Yet leaving them behind felt regrettable as well.
After considering the matter briefly, Ian decided to keep only one bottle and distribute the rest among the people at the villa.
He would give two bottles to the gamekeeper, who had helped him considerably over the past year.
He would give three bottles to Sir Arot, the villa’s steward—
No.
Two bottles should suffice.
Then he could give one bottle to each of the remaining servants.
When Ian announced that he was distributing liquor, everyone gladly came to receive a bottle.
Once he had given them all away, only empty bottles remained in the display cabinet.
It was regrettable, but it also left him feeling strangely relieved.
Ian took the single bottle he had kept and a glass, then sat at the table beside the window.
The moon hung in the night sky, surrounded by glittering stars.
The view possessed considerable charm.
A famous poet from the Garam Empire had once said that a man needed nothing else if he could drink with nature as his companion.
Ian felt as though he could understand those words, at least a little.
For some reason, the liquor tasted especially sweet that night.