Far, far into the future from now.
After the world ended.
When I was staying in a small southern nation with the Resistance, I modified House Karsen's swordsmanship.
To fit my body perfectly. To adapt to any situation.
House Karsen's swordsmanship was among the finest on the continent, but it alone wasn't enough.
My mana wasn't frigid—it was flame-type.
So I drew from the swordsmanship of House Leonhart, praised as the strongest in the South.
In that sense, my modified style—Karsen-style, Revised—was the ultimate swordsmanship for me and me alone.
I'd combined only the strengths of the two styles regarded as the best in the North and the South.
It had been possible because, after the Resistance formed, the exchange of techniques flowed freely across houses and schools.
Why did I learn swordsmanship if I was a Mage?
Obviously, because I needed it.
Right now, Mages and Knights were treated as entirely separate existences, but in the desperate circumstances after most of humanity had fallen, the boundary between the two vanished.
Mages demonstrated devastating firepower against large groups but needed lengthy preparation before combat, and they were particularly vulnerable to assassination or one-on-one fights.
Knights, on the other hand, were useful in every respect—mobility, defense, offense—so it was normal for Mages to wield swords back then.
But. Just as not all Mages were equal, not all Knights were on the same level.
They were classified by skill, reputation, and caliber into Novice Knight, Intermediate Knight, and Advanced Knight.
Above Advanced Knight were beings harder to categorize neatly, but broadly speaking, the tiers were:
Knight Expert.
Knight Master.
Grand Master.
In the final days of the Resistance, I'd fought alongside Knight Masters at minimum. Not that I was at their level—but their swords had become my benchmark.
Therefore, to my eyes, Rui's swordsmanship was crude at best, and I didn't miss a single opening.
I struck upward from the lower left to the upper right, catching Rui's blade.
CLANG—!
Rui's sword finally left his hand. The blade spun through the air and clattered onto the far side of the arena.
CLATTER—
I looked at Rui's expression. I'd expected frustration at the loss, but he looked relieved.
He opened his mouth. It was obvious he was about to declare his surrender.
But who said he could?
"I lo—"
CRACK—!
His words were cut short. My fist connected with his face first.
THUD—!
Rui clutched his face and toppled backward. Shock was written across his features. I didn't care.
Rui had been dismissing my skill for a long time. He'd had reason to, and I wasn't saying it was wrong.
What mattered was that I planned to put him on the team I'd be building. And with someone of his temperament, when you put them in their place, you do it thoroughly.
"An exalted Knight gives up just because he dropped his sword?"
Rui flinched at my provocation. Then, after a moment of thought, he dusted himself off and rose.
"I will fight to the end."
"That's more like it."
Rui reinforced his body with mana and charged at me. Admirable. But not a wise choice.
A man who'd spent his whole life wielding a sword wasn't going to be good with his fists.
I stepped forward, slipped past his punch, and threw my own.
THWACK—!
My fist drove into his ribs.
"GUH!"
A kick buried itself in his side. I drove my ankle bone into his thigh. I gave him no time to surrender.
THUD—!
My final punch sank deep into Rui's gut.
"HURK!"
Rui dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach with both hands. I struck the back of his neck with the edge of my hand.
CRACK—!
Rui foamed at the mouth and collapsed unconscious. A thorough defeat using both hands and feet—an absolute, unequivocal loss.
"Phew."
This wasn't what I'd intended, but somehow it felt satisfying. There were truly no personal feelings involved. Probably.
"Well fought."
At that moment.
Midgal raised his hand high and bellowed:
"Sion Karsen is the victor!"
ROAAAAAR—!
Cheers erupted.
Public opinion had already been swayed considerably by the testimonies of numerous Knights. And now a catalytic result had been added.
I turned to the crowd and gave a light wave.
CLAP, CLAP-CLAP!
A few claps followed, and then—
———CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
Thunderous applause rained down.
In the distance, I could see Brother Sid on his feet with his fist clenched. He seemed quite moved.
The reaction from the rest of the Karsen household was similar. Astonishment, wonder, emotion.
Feeling the changed gazes around me, I felt quite good. But on the other hand, a bitter taste lingered.
Why did I live like that before the regression?
As Rui was carried out on a stretcher, Midgal Rau approached me and clapped a hand on my shoulder.
"Young Lord! What on earth was that swordsmanship?!"
His grip was no joke—my body nearly buckled for an instant, but I clenched my teeth and held firm.
"Karsen-style Classical Swordplay."
"I-is that so? Ah, my apologies. It seemed different from the Lord's swordsmanship, which I am familiar with......"
Hm. I'd tried to moderate it, but he'd noticed my swordsmanship differed from the standard Karsen style.
'As expected of Midgal Rau. Someone of the Iron-Blooded Knight's caliber has keen eyes to match.'
I cleared my throat a couple of times and said:
"The family swordsmanship didn't seem to suit me, so I adjusted it a little to fit."
"......Is that true?!"
Midgal was moved. No—first he was moved, and then his expression shifted to one that said "of course" as he continued.
"As expected of House Karsen's bloodline! Noble blood never lies!"
His booming cave-deep voice laughed heartily. He was in a state of peak excitement.
He threw his head back and laughed uproariously, going on about how extraordinary it was to modify a venerable swordsmanship to suit oneself.
I replied sheepishly.
"Ah... well. I suppose so."
"Oh dear, of course. Congratulations on your victory. Please rest for your next bout."
"Yes. Thank you."
I walked off the arena stage, and someone was waiting for me.
Guseto Ul Daikah. His face alternated between red and pale, clearly furious.
"Congratulations...... on your...... victory."
He stumbled over the honorifics, clearly unaccustomed to them. From my perspective, the man was pathetic enough to make me cringe.
"And?"
"......Do you not have anything to say to me? ......Sir?"
"Say about what?"
"You have been deceiving me all this time."
"What?"
I was so dumbfounded by the absurdity that I reflexively responded in my usual tone. What is this moron? What's he even saying?
But I quickly collected myself and stepped closer to him.
Perhaps because he'd just watched my bout, I felt Guseto flinch.
"Hey."
"......Yes."
"This is your limit. Guseto Ul Daikah."
"......?"
Guseto seemed briefly taken aback that I'd called him by his full name. What a simple man. Before the regression, why did I ever think he was good at politics?
"Throwing tantrums like this is your ceiling. You can't measure up to your brother, so you scramble around trying to fix it with connections, and when that doesn't work, you pout like a child. That's your capacity. Count Daikah must sigh every time he looks at you. Because you're not a vessel capable of holding anything."
"......Wha— what are you—"
"Don't understand? You can play your little games in the social circles all you want. You will never amount to more than that."
Guseto's eyelids trembled. I'd hit the nerve. His insides were churning. It was an infuriating situation, but there was nothing he could do.
Even with this level of insult delivered to his face, his anger management held firm.
So I took one more step toward him. And tapped his shoulder. TAP.
"Time to exit the stage. Guto."
"......!"
I walked past Guseto without another word. All my heightened senses told me was that he was shaking from head to toe.
In a way, Guseto's state resembled mine before the regression. But he was the man who ultimately made the wrong choice and betrayed humanity, so I felt no sympathy.
He was beyond fixing.
Once he'd served his purpose.
Go crawl off and die.
Returning to the waiting room, I found Roman standing there with a beaming smile. His mouth was going to tear. Was he really that happy?
I assigned him one task.
"Roman. From now on, disguise yourself and keep Guto—...... no, Guseto under surveillance. What he's scheming, who he meets. And report back to me."
Roman's expression hardened immediately at my words. He answered with a look of iron resolve.
"His every move. I will not miss a thing."
***
On the first day of the main bracket, I defeated Rui Daiken.
On the second day, I felled another Knight and claimed another victory. The opponent wasn't stronger than Rui, but the crowd's cheers grew louder each time.
And then, at last, the semifinal stage.
My opponent was Sian, a lance fighter and former mercenary known in the North as "the Teal Spear."
He wasn't a Knight, but his skill was Knight-level—a threatening fighter who channeled teal Aura through a lance over two meters long.
But before the bout, the information occupying my mind wasn't his strength. It was something else entirely.
Last night.
A brief report Roman had delivered.
—Guseto Daikah met with the lance fighter Sian.
He offered 3 billion zeni if Sian crippled at least one of your limbs, and 20 billion zeni if he killed you in an "accident."
I believe we should report this to the Lord immediately and sweep out House Daikah.
'3 billion zeni.'
I restrained Roman. I intended to punish this lance fighter for being bought, but I wouldn't take any further action. No—I'd save it for later.
That way, I could drive Guseto even deeper into the abyss.
The instant the match began, Sian leapt to close the distance and thrust his lance.
SWISH—!
I snapped my blade up and deflected the lance.
CRASH—!
The blazing flame Aura and the teal Aura collided, producing a tremendous shockwave.
He quickly twisted the lance's trajectory toward my left shoulder. I shifted my body to let the strike glide past and closed the gap.
Then I swung my sword, aiming to take his head.
SWISH—!
He dodged the blade while creating distance, and even as he retreated, he drove the lance tip at my thigh.
I dodged and closed in and slashed; he dodged and pulled back and thrust.
WHOOOOSH—
The burning Aura scorched the air, and every time the lance tip missed, the arena floor was blasted apart.
I didn't let it show, but there were several moments when his unorthodox lance techniques genuinely startled me.
As expected, he was no easy opponent—and a reminder that my current level was still that of an Intermediate Knight.
But there was one decisive difference between us. The [Mana Detection] I'd activated from the very start of the bout.
The divine senses broke down Sian's muscle contractions and mana flow on a second-by-second basis.
And.
CLANG—!
The moment he and I separated to a distance. I analyzed the combat data I'd collected in real time.
And.
When the fight resumed.
I let Sian's lance slide off my blade at an angle and drove into his blind spot. He clawed desperately to create distance, but it was a pattern I'd already finished analyzing—he couldn't shake me.
I murmured in a voice low enough for only him to hear.
"Isn't your life worth more than 3 billion zeni to sell your soul?"
"......?!"
Shock flooded Sian's eyes. A momentary waver. I didn't let it pass.
——SLASH—!
My blade drove between the gap in Sian's right shoulder, splitting through bone.
His ligament severed and his Aura scattered. He screamed and tried to pull back, but my sword was already tracing its next arc.
CRACK—!
The tendon in Sian's right leg was cut without ceremony as he tried to flee. He crumpled pathetically onto the arena floor.
One arm and one leg.
Exactly as Guseto had ordered.
"GAAAAAH!"
I flicked the blood from my sword with a dry motion and looked down at Sian, writhing on the ground.
Midgal Rau's booming declaration echoed through the arena.
"Sion Karsen is the victor!"
ROAAAAAR—!
The roar of twenty thousand spectators shook Kaiseus. I slowly lifted my head amid the cheers and looked toward the VIP gallery.
There sat Guseto, face drained of all color. He trembled from head to toe and couldn't meet my eyes.
I mouthed the words at him, silently.
'You're next.'
Then I turned and stepped down from the stage.
Not a single territory resident in the North doubted my skill anymore. All that remained was the question of whether I could win—and the anticipation that came with it.