CLINK—
"We greet the family head!"
The sound of sword salutes rang through Bronze Castle.
It was a powerful cry, as though it would tear apart the quiet sunset.
Even Bronze Castle, which always looked down proudly from above, stretched out its shadow and laid a path beneath Kairon's feet.
Kairon passed by, receiving the greetings with a small nod each time.
Thump. Thump.
'Kairon.'
Each time Kairon took a step closer, Ikael's body stiffened.
And when Kairon finally passed before him, Ikael stood still.
Without offering either a sword salute or a greeting.
Kairon shifted his eyes slightly to look at Ikael, then passed on.
He acted as though Ikael did not exist at all.
'He sees no need to spare a glance for a shadow.'
To a swordsman family, a sickly child born into it would be a shadow, or something even less.
"You have worked hard guarding Bronze Castle, my children."
Kairon left that short remark and was about to enter.
But then.
CLANG!
CLATTER, CLATTER.
The sound of a sword being dropped rang out loudly.
It was like a single crack running through frozen time and space.
Kairon turned around slowly.
The one who had dropped his sword and stood there flustered was...
"Isitor."
None other than a bearer of the Recrit name.
"Th-That is... Father! Ikael deliberately struck me from the side..."
'Ikael struck him?'
Kairon merely nodded once and turned to go inside.
He had no interest in children's fights.
But then he saw something.
The fine sword Cresen, shining in the sunset, was in the hands of his youngest son, Ikael.
"Ikael. Why do you have that?"
Kairon's usually expressionless face twitched once.
Recrit children could possess only what Kairon allowed them.
He had never allowed Ikael a sword.
When no answer came, Kairon walked this way.
Each time Kairon moved a step, Ikael felt as if grim Dark Aura spread across the ground.
Even the sunset seemed to fade.
"Isitor, you answer. Surely you did not have your sword taken from you?"
"Ugh..."
Isitor could not say anything and only fumbled for words.
The Dark Aura settling coldly over him pressed down on his breath.
'What do I do?'
Isitor also knew the degree of disgrace in having a Recrit Sword taken.
It was both the symbol of the family and one of the six Demon Swords that existed in the entire world.
And now he was being asked to say that in front of everyone standing in formation.
"Father, it is... It is..."
Isitor stammered.
Kairon's emotionless gaze rested on him.
Under that gaze, Isitor felt as if chains were winding tightly around his body.
Then Ikael cut in with an answer.
"I borrowed it."
"What?"
"I borrowed it from Brother Isitor."
Borrowing a Recrit Sword was an obvious lie.
The thing Kairon hated most was insubordination, and the next was lies.
Ikael was committing both at once.
Kairon's gaze moved to Ikael.
"A Recrit Sword may only be used by those I have permitted. Do you not know this?"
"I know."
At Ikael's somewhat challenging tone, Kairon's eyebrow twitched.
A grimness that seemed capable of extinguishing the sun touched Ikael's skin.
'Ugh.'
It had been a very long time since he felt the power of Dark Aura. Even so, Ikael continued as calmly as he could.
"But what I borrowed was not the sword. It was the name that allows one to hold a sword."
"The name?"
"Yes. Is it not a fine sword permitted only to Recrit? I, too, wanted to stand at Father's welcoming formation with a proper sword. So I borrowed it."
Kairon slowly looked over his youngest son, then asked.
"Then what of Isitor's honor?"
"Brother will recover his honor on his own. If he is a true child of Recrit, he will do so."
The hint of a smile passed over Kairon's lips.
"Ikael."
"Yes."
SHING—
Kairon drew the sword at his waist.
The blade cut a long path through the sunset.
The eyes of the knights, who had been unmoving as stone, shifted in an instant.
Kairon rarely drew his sword.
Before the man who had pacified the Demon Realm and returned, humans were nothing more than tiny insects.
Yet if Kairon drew his sword, it meant an opponent had appeared whose execution was too difficult to leave to anyone else.
For example, someone from Kairon's own family.
Step. Step.
Kairon, sword drawn, approached Ikael.
"If there is something you want, but the other person will not lend it to you, what will you do then?"
Turn—
Kairon turned the sword so that its hilt faced Ikael.
"Will you take it?"
Ikael read the strange interest in Kairon's eyes.
'He is testing me.'
Ikael understood at once.
Kairon already knew what had happened between the brothers.
That Ikael had taken the sword, then lied as though nothing had happened.
The contrast between the trembling Isitor and the confident Ikael made that clear.
Asking how the formerly sickly Ikael had taken the sword was something for afterward.
'This was expected.'
If he had been afraid to stand before Kairon, Ikael would not have come out carrying Cresen in the first place.
He had intended to declare to everyone that Cresen was his.
He would proudly become a child of Recrit who bore a Recrit Sword.
It was a foundation for the day he would cast aside the Recrit name and return it with his blade.
"Answer me, Ikael. What would you do?"
"To take it is nonsense."
"Then what?"
"If the other person acts that way, I must ask them again to lend it to me."
Kairon gave a small scoff to himself.
Of course. This was sickly Ikael.
If he was only going to use it to borrow an object, the name Recrit was far too grand for him. The name of an ordinary merchant would have been more fitting.
But Ikael's next words shattered that expectation.
"I will ask until they lend it to me. First, I will grip the wrist that holds the object. Then I will squeeze their throat. Then their life. That is my way."
"What strength do you have?"
"I am a child of Recrit."
'A child of Recrit.'
Kairon neither denied nor affirmed it.
A brief silence passed.
Everyone was watching Ikael now.
The youngest young master, who had always remained outside their notice, was standing before the family head and meeting his gaze directly.
"Ikael. You are mistaken about one thing."
"Pardon?"
"What you described is neither a transaction nor persuasion. It is called war. Just like the one I have just returned from fighting."
Ikael slowly raised his head.
An expression he had never seen before appeared on Kairon's face.
It was no longer a face that looked at moss in the shade as something insignificant.
It was the face of a father looking at a child of Recrit.
The grimness that had pressed against Ikael's skin had vanished before he knew it.
"You said you borrowed honor. Fine. If you want something, you must take it. But only when you can bear the weight of what you have taken. Ambition without strength will get you killed."
At the cryptic words, Isitor tilted his head.
But Ikael knew their meaning all too well.
"Do you understand what I am saying, my son?"
"Yes, Father."
Ikael nodded once.
"Family Head, shall we go in now?"
Only when the attendant knight spoke did Kairon draw his gaze away.
The attendant knight had not dared hurry Kairon.
Kairon had stood before Ikael for too long.
Before Ikael, the very one he had never even spared a glance.
People's gazes had already gathered here.
"Yes. Let us go."
Kairon thought that it would not do to give too much attention to his youngest son rather than his firstborn.
Kairon climbed the stairs. The knight order followed him.
"Ah. Return Isitor's sword to him, Ikael. That sword does not suit you."
'Does that mean...'
For a moment, Ikael thought he had failed.
But.
"I will write a personal letter to the volcano's blacksmith. I will have him forge a sword that suits you perfectly."
The eyes of Ikael and Isitor both went round.
* * *
There were many fine swords in the world.
All kinds were known: fine swords said to be cursed, fine swords made with magic crystals.
But none could compare to Recrit Swords.
Recrit Swords.
These custom-forged swords, which only Kairon's children could possess, had a special meaning.
'The strongest sword a human can wield.'
They were called that not merely because Recrit Swords were fine swords.
The material of a Recrit Sword was none other than the Demon King's blood.
There were six swords Kairon had used when he fought the Demon King beyond the gate to the Demon Realm.
Recrit Swords were those swords reforged by a blacksmith's skill.
People called the swords stained with the Demon King's blood Demon Swords.
"But Father is going to grant Ikael a Recrit Sword?"
The Recrit brothers could not believe it.
The brief moment of conversation between Ikael and Kairon had remained vividly in their minds.
And now, Kairon was even granting Ikael a Recrit Sword. It was unthinkable before. Ikael was the sickly youngest son.
"Ikael. Come to think of it, there was a child like that too."
"I thought he had died of illness."
"He must have caught Father's eye by chance once."
The brothers each added a word.
"But it is strange. There are only supposed to be six Demon Swords."
The number of Demon Swords did not match.
There were six swords stained with the Demon King's blood, and six Recrit brothers who had been granted Demon Swords.
There could be no more Recrit Swords. If what was known was true.
'Is there something hidden?'
The expressions of the Recrit brothers grew strange.
They could let it pass that sickly Ikael had briefly caught their father's eye and would receive a sword.
After all, they all already possessed one.
But the possibility that something existed which they did not know about.
That was something they could not let pass so calmly.
Would the new wind called Ikael end as a breeze, or grow into a typhoon?
The brothers had already begun to tense up without realizing it.
Meanwhile, Isitor had locked himself in his room, venting his rage.
Cresen, which he had searched for so desperately, had returned to his hand.
But his fury had not faded. It only became worse.
CRASH!
"Aaaaargh!"
Isitor threw whatever he could get his hands on.
A maid barely managed to approach him and offer comfort.
"Young Master Isitor, please calm down! Did you not recover your sword?"
'Recover it?'
Not a chance.
Rather, it was no different from having it taken from him entirely.
Had he not effectively declared his defeat to Ikael?
And before his father Kairon, no less.
Even Isitor, however lazy and incompetent he was, could understand that much.
'Ikael, how dare you invoke my name and catch Father's eye...'
CLENCH—
Isitor clenched his fist tightly.
He wanted to run out at once and tear Ikael apart, but there was no way he could.
That fact turned his stomach even more.
Still, there was one thing Isitor placed his hopes on.
"That bastard Ikael will soon go to Bakuba Volcano to receive a Demon Sword."
Isitor suddenly let out a short laugh.
The maids recoiled in fear.
Whenever Isitor smiled like that, trouble always followed.
'Bakuba Volcano, where the volcano's blacksmith lives, cannot be fully described by merely calling it dangerous. If hell exists on earth, it is there.'
Receiving a Recrit Sword meant going to Bakuba Volcano.
The Bakuba Volcano, teeming with monsters and lava. Even Isitor himself had nearly died climbing it several times.
"Yes. Father surely had a plan. He must mean to send sickly, useless Ikael to the volcano to die!"
Once he reached that conclusion, color returned to Isitor's face.
"That little bastard needs to know his place. This is the punishment for acting out of turn!!"
Isitor desperately hoped his guess was correct.
But as always, Kairon's true thoughts were impossible to know.
* * *
The very next day, Kairon's order came down for Ikael.
"Young Master Ikael has been ordered to depart for Bakuba Volcano."
"Yes."
Ikael had expected it as well.
'At last, I am going to Bakuba Volcano.'
Bakuba Volcano, called hell on earth.
The moment he returned from there, Ikael would become a true child of Recrit.
Ikael completed all his preparations, then finally received his share of the Demon Sword, which would become the material for his new Recrit Sword.
Ikael completed all his preparations and finally received his own Demon Sword.
Now all that remained was to leave this Demon Sword in the blacksmith's hands and receive it back as a true Recrit Sword.
'The seventh Demon Sword.'
But when Ikael confirmed the hidden identity of the seventh Demon Sword, he was astonished.