"I will ask again. Who is behind you?"
Ikael's voice was as sharp as a blade.
Rodan rolled his eyes downward.
The edge of Ikael's sword was pressing against his neck.
'Surely... he would not really cut me?'
He would not dare.
That was, if this had been yesterday's Ikael.
Gulp.
Rodan swallowed without meaning to.
The Ikael before him was no longer the sickly boy from yesterday.
For some reason, the young body of eleven-year-old Ikael carried the air of a seasoned swordsman.
As though he had become an entirely different person in an instant.
'But I cannot simply confess everything.'
If he carelessly revealed who was behind him, he would meet a far more terrible end.
'I have nothing to lose now.'
"Young Master Ikael, you cannot do this to me. I am the tutor who has been teaching you!"
But Ikael did not so much as blink.
"You are dismissed."
"Young Master!!"
"Or shall I cut you down right now?"
CLINK—
This time, Ikael grasped Cresen, the Recrit Sword.
The sword, symbolizing Recrit blood and authority, gave a sharp ring.
"......!"
Rodan immediately understood what it meant.
'Recrit.'
Ikael was Recrit's youngest son.
In other words, only Ikael had the right to touch that sword.
Yet Rodan had handled a Recrit Sword carelessly.
That alone gave Ikael ample justification to cut Rodan down.
Rodan, who had meant to pressure Ikael by seizing Cresen, had ended up with the tables turned on him instead.
Only then did Rodan hang his head and quietly allow himself to be led away.
Before the door shut, Rodan turned back to look at Ikael.
'Ikael used to be treated like complete shit without even realizing it bothered him... He looks like an entirely different person.'
There was something about Ikael's gaze. It burned with the intensity one might find only in a desert warrior.
Rodan did not dare reveal his thoughts and swallowed them down inside.
For now, he had more reason to worry about his own situation.
* * *
Night fell.
Ikael sent all the maids and servants out of his room.
"I am going to sleep early, so do not come in."
"Yes, Young Master Ikael."
Click—
The maids and servants carefully shut the door behind them.
"About Young Master Ikael... Do you not think he was shocked by what happened earlier today?"
"I do. The tutor was suddenly dragged away by the knights. It was completely out of the blue!"
"What? What happened?"
"I do not know the details either. It was almost time for the lesson, so I was outside the room, when the tutor was suddenly dragged out."
"My goodness!"
The servants could not have imagined it.
That Ikael himself had taken the tutor's sword, threatened to kill him, suspected him of having a backer, and thrown him into prison.
To them, Ikael was merely a sickly eleven-year-old boy.
But Ikael himself had no interest in their chatter.
His attention was entirely elsewhere.
"Hooo."
Ikael sat upright on the bed, concentrating all his attention on his dantian.
'Aura cultivation.'
Today, he would definitely succeed in cultivating aura.
He felt the power inside and outside his body through his skin.
The sound of snow crystals crumbling, even the sensation of the bedsheets brushing against his skin.
'And I gather all of it into my dantian.'
But.
"Hooo—"
With Ikael's exhale, the trace of aura scattered away.
'What in the world is the problem?!'
Thump.
Ikael lightly drove his fist into the wall.
He was in a position where even his frustration had to be kept quiet.
The sickly young master born into the strongest swordsman family was a being that feeble.
'Again. Just once more.'
He tried again several times, but the result was the same.
The aura seemed as though it would barely gather, only to scatter away like smoke.
'Recrit's cold Freezing Aura is surely flowing through this body.'
Whenever he attempted aura cultivation, Ikael could feel a cold energy flowing through his veins.
But it would not head toward his dantian no matter what. It felt as though a waterway had been tightly blocked with a boulder.
In the end, Ikael lay down on the bed, drenched in sweat.
'Something that came as naturally as breathing will not work. It is driving me mad.'
How many times had he cultivated an aura in his previous life before becoming a Seven-Star Knight?
By the time he became a Seven-Star Knight, he had become strong enough to change a river's course by drawing out only half his aura.
Yet Ikael's current body showed no reaction at all, like trying to set a waterlogged match ablaze.
'Is it too much for this body?'
Ikael wanted to know what this cursed body was made of.
But his stamina would not hold up any longer.
Before he knew it, Ikael's eyelids grew heavy.
Knock, knock—
Near dawn, when a knight knocked on Ikael's window, Ikael finally realized he had given in to exhaustion and dozed off.
"Young Master Ikael."
"Yes."
Ikael sat up, hiding his drowsiness as well as he could.
Slide—
The knight, concealed in shadow, held out a sheet of paper.
"I have learned the information you ordered in strict confidence, Young Master."
"Yes."
At those words, Ikael became instantly alert.
What he had requested was to find out what medicine he had been taking until now.
But after taking the paper, Ikael said nothing for a long while.
The knight bowed his head deeply in his stead.
"Young Master, I deeply regret it, but that medicine was..."
Crinkle.
Rather than answering, Ikael crumpled the paper.
His eleven-year-old hand clenched so hard that it turned white.
- A medicine that cripples the dantian.
There was no doubt about the paper's contents.
He had searched his memories of his previous life, chosen a knight who had been loyal to Recrit, and given him the task. It could not be a lie.
Ikael's silver eyes flashed.
"Where is Rodan now?"
"That is... When we removed his gag for a moment, he killed himself. We did not have time to stop him. I apologize, Young Master."
Ikael nodded slowly.
He had not yet asked who was responsible, but this was as good as hearing the answer.
'It must be one of the Recrit siblings.'
If there was someone who hated Ikael, the child of a second wife, this much.
If there was someone for whom Rodan would pay for revealing the medicine's true nature with his life.
It had to be someone who bore the surname Recrit.
'Now I am certain.'
Ikael now knew exactly where he had to go.
Kairon. And Recrit.
I will plunge a blade in their direction.
One day, I will place all of it beneath my feet.
'If it is power, I will use it thoroughly.'
The name Recrit itself symbolized power.
If keeping the name Recrit gave him strength, Ikael intended to make full use of it.
'But if the name Recrit stands in my way, I will surely cut it down. No matter when that may be.'
A name Ikael would clench tightly in his hand, then ultimately crush with his own hand.
That name was Recrit.
* * *
Day broke.
Ikael headed alone toward the training grounds.
"Louder!"
"Hup!"
The training grounds were filled with knights.
Before the knights' heat, the dazzling morning sun seemed pale.
The children of Recrit each had their own training ground, assigned in birth order.
The firstborn, Exitor's training ground, was situated deepest inside. After that came those of Lir, Centor, Pelletor, Hector, Isitor, and the other Recrit siblings in turn.
'There is no share for Ikael among them.'
Even if one walked all the way to the outermost castle gate, there was no training ground for Ikael.
Training grounds were not the only things Ikael did not have.
Recrit's fine swords and swordsmanship lessons—he had none of them because he was sickly.
But Ikael began to have one doubt.
'Is being sickly a reason, or an excuse?'
Now that he knew his tutor had been giving him a suspicious medicine that crippled the dantian, Ikael could not trust anything.
'What state is Ikael's body in now? How badly is his dantian damaged?'
Even though a month had passed since he stopped taking the dantian-crippling medicine, Ikael still had not succeeded in cultivating aura.
Even if the dantian was not completely closed off, it was certainly damaged.
'To be unable to use Freezing Aura in a Recrit body. This is a serious problem.'
But it was too early to give up.
Recrit possessed strong bodies worthy of the world's strongest swordsman family.
Their bodies endured the Freezing Aura that froze their veins. Even calling them the strongest in the world could not fully describe them.
'The heights other knights must devote their entire lives to reaching, Recrit reaches as easily as learning to walk.'
How deprived I had felt in my previous life whenever I saw Recrit bodies.
Even after reaching the realm of Seven-Star Knight through talent and effort, there was still the wall called Recrit above my head.
'And now Recrit's superhuman body is in my hands.'
Ikael was also Recrit.
His dantian might be damaged, but the fact that he possessed a Recrit body remained unchanged.
It was time to personally find out what Ikael's body was capable of.
Ikael went outside the castle walls by a back path.
From here on, it was the Lower Training Ground.
The Lower Training Ground was where junior knights gathered before receiving the title of official knight.
It was inferior to the training grounds inside the castle, but the eyes of his siblings and servants would not reach it. If anything, it was easier to move his body here.
'In Recrit, the world's strongest swordsman family, the struggle for succession goes beyond imagination. Drawing attention carelessly with a sickly body is foolish.'
As Ikael reached the Lower Training Ground, he heard someone crying in a corner.
"Sniff... Sob..."
A boy was crouched and crying in one corner by the wall.
'Black hair. He is a desert boy.'
Ikael headed toward him.
It was not because he was interested in the desert boy.
To conceal his identity, he needed the armor and wooden sword that had been thrown down beside him.
"Let me borrow these."
At Ikael's words, the boy lowered his head and said nothing.
'I will take that as permission.'
Swish—
Ikael removed his hood.
With practiced hands, he put on the pieces of armor one by one and pulled on the helmet as well.
Then Ikael was the very image of a junior knight.
Dressed like this, he remembered the first time in his previous life that he had grasped a wooden sword at the Lower Training Ground.
'It has been a long time. I was exactly the age of that crying boy then.'
What had it felt like to grasp a wooden sword for the first time after following Kairon to Bronze Castle?
At the time, it had been something he would not have traded for any fine sword in the world.
At the Lower Training Ground, knights from One-Star to Two-Star mingled together, but they all shared the same dream.
'One day, I will enter Bronze Castle.'
From intermediate knights onward, they were recognized as official knights and could enter Bronze Castle. Gazing at Bronze Castle's walls that loomed above them, each nurtured that dream.
As Ikael was caught up in complicated feelings and headed toward the training ground, he heard a voice from behind.
"Someday, I will kill you."
"...What?"
At some point, the desert boy was glaring at him from behind, his eyes flashing.
"My armor. My wooden sword. Someday, I will take them back from you many times over."
A hollow laugh escaped Ikael at the desert boy's words.
His eyes were swollen shut from somewhere, his limbs as thin as a spider's, yet he glared as though he meant to stab Ikael to death with his eyes.
Just like Ikael in the past.
"...Oh, how frightening."
Ikael did not engage him further and headed for the training ground.
Crack—
After sitting around for several days, his entire body was stiff.
'If I swing a sword today, I should be able to roughly tell what Ikael's body is capable of.'
Just as he was about to properly grasp the wooden sword.
"Hey, desert bastard."
A provocative voice called from behind.
When Ikael turned, a large man was approaching.
"You have not gone home yet? After getting beaten that badly?"
Judging by the large man's attitude, he had mistaken Ikael for the owner of this armor.
Press—
Before Ikael could say anything, the large man pressed Ikael's helmet down with his fist.
Press— Press—
"You dare think of stepping into Bronze Castle with those filthy sand-feet? Only Northerners like us can enter that place!"
'Hm.'
Ikael thought he knew why the desert boy he had met earlier had such a battered face.
"Desert bastard, has your tongue turned into a mummy?"
Perhaps Ikael's lack of response annoyed him, because the large man swung his fist.
CLANG—
Ikael's helmet rang out loudly once.
Ikael gripped the straps tightly so that the helmet would not come off.
"Haha, you weak bastard. I see you know fear, hugging that helmet?"
No.
'If this helmet comes off, my identity will be exposed.'
Ikael pressed it down more deeply to keep his silver hair and silver eyes hidden.
Without knowing who he had picked a fight with, the large man continued to sneer.
"If you have a complaint, be sure to say it, all right? I am dying to beat you."
"The feeling is mutual."
"What?"
Ikael's eyes quickly swept over the large man.
This was an excellent opponent.
To test Ikael's strength, that was.
"What is this desert bastard saying—!"
The large man swung his fist.
And the next moment.
THUD—!
CRASH!
"Guh, guuh!!"
The large man was staring up at the sky.
Ikael's fist, which he had not even seen move, was planted directly beneath his chin.