The Cursed Name
The second-year student who heard Ludenberg Lavante's name instantly shed their annoyed demeanor, their face turning deathly pale as they lifted their head. They began scrutinizing the face of Ludenberg, whom they'd only glanced at carelessly moments before. Their already pallid complexion drained to pure white.
Dark ash-gray hair and piercing green eyes, an excessively refined appearance. Yet a cold ruthlessness blanketed his entire face. At that moment, everyone present recalled a certain rumor.
The cursed eldest son of Lavante, brimming with overflowing talent. They said the curse transferred the instant you crossed paths with him or spoke to him. That his body had deteriorated from the curse, keeping him secluded for five whole years without any public appearances. That his temper was savagely violent... He carried every malicious rumor imaginable. That was Ludenberg.
Everyone around him took a step back from Ludenberg. Just in case the curse might spread. Though it was nothing but baseless gossip, people were all too easily swept up in it. The rumors had been exaggerated and distorted until they masqueraded as truth.
It was something he'd experienced often, but being exposed to such gazes was always exhausting. As Ludenberg's expression darkened ominously, the second-year student began trembling violently while explaining the dormitory and first classes.
"The dorm is room 107 on the first floor of the Knight Faculty men's dormitory. Classes start tomorrow. Y-you... you don't need to bring anything special."
"Any other points I should note?"
"Uh... no."
"How many per room in the dorm?"
"Two... per room."
"Damn it."
Of all things, a double room. He'd hoped for a single.
At Ludenberg's low mutter, the second-year student trembled even more. Still, she fulfilled her duty, explaining everything from meal times to basic guidelines in a quavering voice.
Once she'd finished briefing him on everything, the second-year student desperately hoped Ludenberg would get out of her sight. True to her wish, he didn't dawdle and headed straight to his assigned dormitory without delay.
Ludenberg's mood soured more with each step. For the past five years, he'd deliberately holed up in the ducal estate, avoiding all outside activity. Partly because he hated dealing with people, but also hoping that with time, they might forget about him.
But that had been the worst possible choice. People hadn't forgotten him. If anything, the groundless rumors had ballooned, painting him as some plague incarnate carrying pestilence itself.
Ludenberg pondered how the rumors had swollen so viciously.
Where did it start? I've been inside the ducal estate the whole five years.
As he mulled it over, one incident came to mind: the Eden Asta assault case. It had been the last public event he'd attended before his seclusion. Circumstantially, that must have been the trigger.
Back then, he'd chosen seclusion because he couldn't stand the sight of people wagging their tongues about him. But he hadn't anticipated it leading to this.
Should I not have secluded myself and come out to clear things up instead?
No, pointless.
Quelling a rumor once it started snowballing required immense effort. Ludenberg had no desire to waste his energy and time on such futility.
He sighed once and pushed thoughts of the gossip aside. That wasn't important now. He couldn't forget why he'd come to this school.
It didn't matter if he was scorned for lacking divine power, treated like a monster, or feared. Becoming a knight—that was why Ludenberg had enrolled in Solemnute Adem.
Even without divine power, graduating the Knight Faculty and producing clear achievements would make him a knight. Besides, nobles of the Solemnute Empire needed a Solemnute Adem diploma to inherit their titles, so Ludenberg had to graduate no matter what.
Reaffirming his goal, he quickened his steps toward the dormitory.
But then.
Someone approached him rapidly from behind. Startled by the sudden footsteps, Ludenberg turned to see a girl with deep navy-blue hair and clear blue eyes: Ashytara Solenute.
He realized his earlier premonition of a headache had hit the mark precisely. Irritation began to creep up.
Of all the rotten luck.
He'd run into the one person he least wanted to see at this school—and first thing, no less.
Ludenberg scowled irritably. Ashytara Solenute. Once his closest friend. Also a fellow trainee under his father, Leonard Lavante. The girl who used to gaze at him with unmatched warmth now addressed him with a chilling expression.
"Long time no see."
"......"
To her icy greeting, Ludenberg offered no reply, just a glare laced with annoyance.
Reading his face, Ashytara's expression grew even fiercer.
"Why'd you ignore all my messages for five years? Huh?"
"......"
"Even when I came by, you made excuses and wouldn't see me."
"......"
"Why won't you talk? Ignoring me? Answer me, Ludenberg."
Countless words swirled in Ludenberg's mouth and faded away. Better to say nothing than spout nonsense. This was a tie he'd meant to sever anyway; cutting it now wouldn't raise eyebrows.
"Ludenberg!"
"I've got nothing to say."
At his curt, bone-dry response, Ashytara stared into his face. In that instant, she saw it: eyes cracked and worn by scars, forbidding any approach—cold, ruthless, and utterly detached.
What on earth had happened in those five years to turn Ludenberg's eyes like this?
While she reeled in shock, Ludenberg brushed past her without another word, heading to his dorm.
Ludenberg arrived at the Knight Faculty dormitory and found his room, 107. It wasn't hard to locate.
He hoped his roommate would be the quiet type. If they got scared of him for no reason, it'd be a hassle to live with.
As if someone had heard his wish, the room was empty when he opened the door. They might not have arrived yet, but there wasn't even any luggage. Circumstantially, his would-be roommate must have learned he'd be sharing with Ludenberg Lavante and switched rooms.
The moment he confirmed he had the room to himself, Ludenberg showed his first satisfied expression since arriving at Solemnute Adem.
"At least no one to bother me in the dorm."
But the satisfaction was fleeting; his face soon darkened again.
Ashytara. His former closest friend. He'd probably run into her again. Same Knight Faculty, after all—frequent encounters were inevitable.
Could he keep brushing her off like this every time? Knowing her personality, absolutely not. She'd keep approaching and talking until he gave her a satisfying reason.
Maybe it was all the morning drama, but a headache throbbed. Ludenberg lay down on the bed. Sleep overtook him almost immediately.
Ludenberg opened his eyes. Again, this space. A mountain of corpses blending human and erosion beast remains, and there he was—another self swinging a sword, slaughtering everything in sight indiscriminately.
Previously, it started from a distance, but now, as if continuing the prior dream, Ludenberg stood right before this other self.
The version of himself in the dream looked like a monster. Eyes gleaming with madness, face smeared in blood. And... a smile soaked in slaughter.
Why? Why had he become such a monster, and where was this place? Was it his distrustful inner self taking form? Was that why he rampaged like an avatar of destruction, smashing everything?
Questions surged, but no one was there to answer. He simply watched his monstrous self.
Ridiculously, Ludenberg found the monster's corpse-carving motions flawlessly perfect. Setting aside morals or ethics, every action rivaled—no, surpassed—his father, Leonard Lavante.
The sword handled with total freedom, slashes and thrusts exquisitely precise and ferocious. He shattered enemy shields raised in defense, tore foes apart, occasionally hurled his blade to fell them, then crushed skulls with gauntleted fists. Before retrieving his thrown sword, more enemies swarmed; he snatched a nearly broken blade from a headless corpse and cleaved through attackers effortlessly. Swordsmanship without a single flaw.
But the display of brilliance was brief—the blade snapped from overuse. Dream-Ludenberg jammed the broken shard into an enemy's throat, reclaimed his original sword from another, and rampaged anew.
Ludenberg memorized every motion. It didn't matter if it killed people; it wasn't real. The dream-self's swordplay was fluid and ferocious, his sturdy body repelling all attacks. Watching induced awe involuntarily. It seemed like the realm Ludenberg must reach.
"Who are you?"
He questioned his dream-self. But no answer came. The figure silently butchered the foes in his path.
Once all enemies before him lay dead, time froze, just like last time. Ludenberg sensed it. That eerie voice would call to him.
As expected, a voice echoed in his ear.
Don't get buried. Don't yield yourself. To anything.
What did it mean? Who was the voice? Why these dreams? Questions overwhelmed him, but answers eluded him. Then darkness. The world faded, and the dream ended.