Chapter 371
Chapter 371
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 371
Chapter Title: Sword and Star (1)
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“Huff... haa, damn it...!”
A full moon shone brightly.
The white-haired old man, who had retreated while unleashing waves of sword ki, gasped for breath.
The duel, which had begun at dawn, showed no signs of ending even under the clear light of the full moon.
His pure white robe fluttered in the wind, matching the color of his hair.
'Truly astonishing. To think I'd be pushed this far!'
His left hand, gripping the long blade, trembled.
He had nearly exhausted his inner energy.
The forest, chosen as their battlefield, had already been reduced to a clearing.
Around them, five whirlwinds twisted like ascending dragons.
Seventy-five years of life.
Through decades that could change mountains and rivers, he had wandered the martial world, facing countless battles, yet this was his first encounter with such a formidable foe.
Suddenly, a low voice emanated from the spot where the old man had fired his sword ki.
“Will you continue?”
“I knew it. You monster.”
The old man let out a hollow laugh.
He had sensed it the moment the whirlwinds failed to dissipate.
The faint glimmer of hope vanished like embers in the darkness upon seeing the glowing blue eyes.
Soon, the owner of those eyes revealed himself.
A refined face and jet-black hair.
An exotic uniform fluttering in the wind.
Schlieffen Sinivan de Grancia continued.
“If you acknowledge your defeat, I will sheathe my sword. I have no desire to kill a seasoned swordsman like you.”
“Arrogant brat. So you're already certain of victory?”
“Yes.”
“...Haha, the world is vast indeed. To think a monster like you still remained!”
Suddenly, the old man burst into hearty laughter.
There was no trace of doubt on Schlieffen's face, which affirmed his victory.
Schlieffen shook his head.
“There are many stronger than me. Definitely two who are far stronger.”
“If that's true, it's utterly despairing. Enough, then. This old man cannot defeat you.”
“Very well. Thank you for accepting the challenge.”
Schlieffen bowed his head.
There was no reason to fight an opponent who had lost the will to battle.
The two sheathed their swords and approached each other.
Exchanging courtesies after a duel was a universal etiquette, East and West alike.
The moment Schlieffen raised his right hand for a fist salute.
“Fool! You've let your guard down!”
The old man shouted a ki battle cry.
In an instant, the long blade drawn to his hand traced a red arc.
Schlieffen's eyes widened.
“......!”
“Don't mock this old man! How dare you speak of mercy in a duel to the death?!”
The old man's form blurred.
A thrust evoking a hawk's dive pierced toward Schlieffen's throat.
It was a strike pouring out every last drop of his remaining inner energy.
As he smirked, certain of victory.
“...Huh?”
The old man furrowed his brow.
The blade hovering in midair bore no blood.
Where Schlieffen had stood, there was nothing.
Only a few moonflowers swayed gently at his feet.
“I have never let my guard down. Seasoned swordsman.”
“What...!”
The reply came from behind.
There was no need to turn to see.
Schlieffen's figure stood beside the old man's blade.
A sword was now in his hand.
The half-disappeared blade, turned to wind, was stained red with blood.
The moment Schlieffen silently sheathed his sword.
A chilling sensation, as if wind tore through his body, enveloped the old man.
“Haha... indeed. Even your mindset is exemplary.”
“I'm sorry it came to this.”
“No. Thank you for granting me an honorable end. If only I'd met you sooner.”
The old man chuckled.
A night breeze blew.
The moonflowers swayed once more.
The old man's head, still leaking a quiet laugh, fell to the ground.
“......Hoo.”
The old man's body stood for a few more seconds before slowly toppling backward.
The thick undergrowth muffled the sound of his fall.
Schlieffen brushed back his bangs and muttered.
“This level won't reach it.”
Even though the day-long duel had concluded, his expression held no satisfaction.
The elder of the White Mountain Sect had been a worthy opponent, but not enough to aid his growth.
'Just how...'
Suddenly, a dull ache throbbed in his chest.
The spot where Naviroje had struck him in the Sword Saint tournament.
The woman who had reclaimed the throne of the strongest.
His master, welcoming late spring, had delivered an overwhelming defeat to the overwhelming him.
- I'll be waiting above. Schlieffen.
Her final words flashed through his mind.
Schlieffen clenched his fist.
Staying here would never get him to where Naviroje waited.
A murmur escaped his parched lips.
“...I will ascend.”
Schlieffen buried the old man and departed.
The long blade he favored became his tombstone, planted in the earth.
Moist moonlight illuminated the path of the departing man.
Three days later.
“Welcome back, my lord.”
A middle-aged man in uniform bowed.
He was the head butler overseeing the Grancia estate.
Before him stood Schlieffen, returned from nearly a month of training.
The servants around paused their work to greet their master.
“You must be weary from your journey to the distant East. Did you achieve what you sought?”
“No gains worth mentioning. Take this.”
“Oh, this is...?”
Schlieffen handed over a silk-wrapped bundle.
The butler tilted his head.
The luster suggested it was no ordinary gift, even from the packaging.
Schlieffen said.
“Their jade craftsmanship is superior in the East. I chose something decent—share it with the others.”
“Such grace again...! Thank you truly.”
“Think nothing of it. Where are my wife and Aria?”
“Both are in the estate. Madam is preparing lunch.”
“Good.”
Schlieffen nodded.
His heavy heart lightened at the news of the two.
As he opened the estate doors.
A lively voice rang out as if on cue.
“Ehehe, Daddy!”
“Aria.”
The girl with jet-black hair came running.
Schlieffen smiled, closing the door.
It was Aria, the daughter of him and Iril.
Her right hand clutched a small wooden sword, as if she'd been playing soldier.
The moment Schlieffen spread his arms to embrace his beloved daughter.
“Take this! Boom-boom sword!”
Aria swung her wooden sword as she charged.
The wooden blade was wrapped in a blue wind—her budding aura.
The corner of Schlieffen's mouth curved faintly.
“Storm sword, you mean.”
He didn't draw his sword, merely tilting the sheath forward.
Crack!
A sharp impact rang out, like a light drum tap.
Naturally, the sheath bore not a single scratch.
Aria's eyes went wide.
“Eek! How did you block it!?”
“The wind is too weak. As I said last time, focus more on fundamentals than aura.”
“Hiiing... I practiced so hard...”
Aria sniffled, lowering her wooden sword.
Her big eyes brimmed with tears.
She'd trained all day to show Daddy, yet hadn't even touched his collar.
Schlieffen scooped her up.
“Still, it was impressive. Unbelievable for your age.”
“Sniff, really?”
“Of course. Better than Daddy already.”
Schlieffen gently patted her back.
Feeling much better, she buried her face in his chest.
“Daddy, can't you stay home now?”
“Hm?”
“You're always going out lately. I'm bored.”
“Mommy's always home.”
“It'd be nice if Daddy was too. Mommy can't sword fight.”
Aria whined in her stuffy nose voice.
Schlieffen nearly replied that her mother might wield a sword better than he did.
That wasn't the point of the conversation.
Reflecting, he realized he rarely stayed home since losing to Naviroje in the Sword Saint tournament.
As Schlieffen pondered his response in silence.
“Princess Aria~ Where'd you run off to in the middle of lunch?”
Iril appeared from around the corner.
For a moment, the estate felt bathed in light.
She wore a frilled apron, holding a spatula in one hand.
The yolk on it suggested she was making Aria's favorite rolled omelet.
Scanning for her daughter, Iril's gaze fixed on Schlieffen.
“Ah, you're back!”
Iril's face lit up.
She stuffed the spatula in her pocket and ran to hug Schlieffen.
Her silvery-white hair, swaying, carried the scent of wildflowers.
After a long embrace, she stroked Aria's head.
“Aria, come to Mommy, okay? Daddy must be tired.”
“Mhm.”
Aria obeyed.
Snot smeared the spot she left, but Schlieffen paid it no mind.
Iril rocked her skillfully a few times, and Aria fell asleep in an instant.
Iril smiled.
“You must be exhausted. Such a long trip—across the sea to the East, how could you not be? Go rest.”
“I'm fine. You, on the other hand...”
“Oh, come on. How many times have I said I cook because I enjoy it? No excessive worrying, remember?”
Iril pressed her index finger to Schlieffen's lips.
He'd been about to say she must be tired cooking herself.
And his guess was spot on.
Schlieffen grumbled.
“...Understood. No worrying.”
“Ehehe, that's right! A housewife wants to cook for her daughter and husband—you can't stop me. Unless you're too tired, shall we eat now?”
Iril beamed.
Her sun-like smile, seen after so long, melted Schlieffen's heart.
Even after having a child, his parents occasionally chided him for good reason.
(You heartless fool. You'll spend your life grateful!)
“I...”
But Schlieffen couldn't answer.
He still had an unresolved issue.
Gazing quietly at Iril, Schlieffen shook his head.
“......I'd love to, but I can't. I need to head out again soon. This time, to Parjan.”
“Whaaat?! All the way there!?”
Iril gasped.
Parjan, host of the Sword Festival, was days away by land.
Shaking her head, she blocked the front door.
“Absolutely not! What if you collapse? Outside training is banned for now!”
“But...”
“You've been pushing too hard lately. I understand your feelings, but please rest a little. Is the Sword Saint title that important?”
Iril pleaded.
As his wife, she couldn't ignore his recent behavior.
After losing to Naviroje in the Sword Saint tournament, he threw himself into training relentlessly.
Trips like this Eastern journey under the guise of training were frequent.
Her voice grew slightly tearful.
“I don't care if you're the Sword Saint or not. Just being together like this makes me happy enough... Are you not happy?”
“N-no! Of course I am! Please, calm down...!”
Schlieffen's face paled.
Iril rarely showed tears.
Flustered, he hurriedly continued.
“Of course I'm happy! Utterly blissful. But like this... I can't keep my promise.”
“Promise?”
“A promise I made with a friend long before we married. To protect Miss Iril. I've lived cherishing that promise more than my life.”
Iril nodded.
“I know. The one with Ronan.”
“Yes. As he said, I have a lifelong duty to protect Miss Iril. But I can't swear to do so absolutely unless I'm the strongest swordsman... That's why I've been so obsessed.”
Finishing, Schlieffen bowed his head.
It was a reason thirtyfold more important than personal pride.
The proposition of eternally protecting Iril held only if he was the strongest.
Silence lingered.
Iril wiped her eyes and spoke.
“......Let's.”
“Pardon?”
“How about a family trip this weekend?”