Reborn as a Count Family Head, I'll Become a Sword Master!?
Jason was nervous.
Born the third son of a knightly baronet family that ruled a frontier fief so small it was embarrassing to even call it a noble's territory — little more than a village, really — he was, absurdly enough, a man who had swung a sickle and a hoe far more often than a sword.
Compared to the eldest son, who would inherit even that tiny scrap of land, Jason was no better than a commoner.
He felt the bitterness of his station keenly enough, yet he had never sweat himself raw trying to rise above it, nor did he possess the talent to outshine his brothers. Still, he had left home determined to make something of himself — tried his hand at business, tried his hand at mercenary work — and failed at every last one of them.
Then, by pure chance, he visited the Evergarden Territory and happened to hear that they were recruiting soldiers. Unlike the ordinary applicants, he leveraged his baronet name and somehow managed to land a place among the Evergarden troops.
Meals provided. Pay provided. A cramped bunk to sleep in. He was content enough with that.
For more than a decade he lived that way — basic drills, reading military manuals, walking patrols — the same quiet routine day after day. Jason fully expected that peaceful monotony to continue forever. But events moved far too fast.
The previous family head died. The heirs began dropping dead one after another. And the man left standing in that seat was Darian.
Strangely, when Darian took the title, not a single person suspected him of the heirs' deaths. Everyone in the manor knew perfectly well that Darian lacked both the ambition and the brains to orchestrate anything of the sort.
What followed was common knowledge: Darian ruled the territory with an iron fist, and every knight who had once served out of respect for the late count abandoned his post and left. That alone said something about how true a lord the previous head had been — and just how unwilling those knights were to serve under Darian.
A great many soldiers left along with the knights, and Jason, through sheer accident of seniority, became the most veteran man remaining. Darian, who still clung to the empty formalities of nobility, decided that a noble house without a single knight simply would not do, and handed Jason a knighthood roughly equivalent to a baronet's rank.
It was a title he had stumbled into, but the years that followed became the most prosperous of Jason's entire life. On paper, he held the highest rank among anyone in the territory who carried a sword, and with it came a host of security-related duties.
At first he tried to take the work seriously. But a man who had been a mere soldier one day could not simply step into a position of real responsibility without things going sideways. And the people who came calling on that floundering Jason were the criminals of the underworld.
One look at the coin purses they casually slipped him, and Jason's eyes spun. He began openly covering for their crimes in exchange for bribes, promising to watch their backs.
He took dirty money right out in the open, and the foolish count and countess never so much as noticed. His purse grew fat. So did his belly.
But then—
What the hell? Everything was fine until now — why are they suddenly talking about sweeping the underground alleys clean…?!
Hearing Darian and Freya's abrupt plan for a red-light district purge left him thoroughly rattled and deeply anxious. Yesterday they had randomly appointed some beast-eared woman as a knight equal to himself, and now they wanted him to smash the very piggy bank that had been steadily filling his pockets. Jason finally snapped and started pushing back without thinking.
"…And why do you think that, Sir Jason?"
"Ah… well… yes! Launching such a large-scale purge so suddenly could harm the nearby residents of the territory… and there could be unexpected casualties."
Wow. Even I have to admit that was a pretty perfect excuse.
Freya had asked him to justify his opposition, and Jason had improvised an argument that seemed likely to land. He silently congratulated himself.
"This purge only has meaning if we cut out the rotten roots of the territory completely. The alleys themselves are isolated from the surrounding districts, so that will not be a problem."
"Ah… th-that is…!"
"But I understand your concern as well. As expected of a knight — you put the safety of the people first, do you not?"
"H-haha…! That is only the natural mindset of a kni—"
"Then I trust you understand just how meaningful this purge will be."
"…Pardon?"
"Lately it seems the criminal organizations that control the underground alleys have been locked in fierce turf wars. The fighting has grown so chaotic and filthy that more and more of our people are getting caught in the crossfire."
"Under the circumstances, we will split our forces in two. Half will handle the district purge; the other half will focus on rescue — extracting those who have not yet escaped the territorial disputes, and preventing anyone from wandering into the alleys unawares."
"And I trust it will be acceptable to entrust the district purge itself to you, Sir Jason?"
"M-My Lady…!"
"A man of such fine character, who prioritizes the safety of our people — I am certain Sir Jason will carry it out splendidly."
Having his own excuse thrown straight back at him, Jason's mouth went stiff as stone.
"B-But… that is to say…"
"…I've been holding back, but that's enough."
Jason trailed off pitifully, out of excuses entirely. From Freya's side, where he had been watching in silence the whole time, Darian finally opened his mouth.
"Hey. You."
"Y-Yes?!"
"What the hell are you?"
"…Are you speaking to me, sir?"
"Yeah. What the hell are you?"
"I-I am… Jason, the one responsible for the territory's public order…"
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
Bang.
"Eek?!"
Unable to contain his temper, Darian slammed his fist down on the desk. Jason squeezed his eyes shut at the sound.
"Who the fuck is your boss? Me, right? You're wearing the knight title I gave you, taking my money, eating my food, sleeping under my roof. Am I wrong?"
"Y-You're correct!"
"Then why the fuck do you have so much to say?! Huh? When I tell you to do something, you just bow your head and do it! If you had a decent reason, fine. Don't want to do it? Then say so, you bastard! If you don't want to, get the hell out!"
"I-I'm sorry! I'll do it!"
"…You should've done that from the start. Always have to make me lose my temper. Tch."
When Darian finally grabbed the inkwell on the table in his fist and threatened him with it, Jason had no choice but to slam his head down in submission.
"…Ahem. Then allow me to explain the details of the upcoming purge operation."
"Hey. Keep that empty skull of yours up and those clogged ears of yours open. If you tell me later that you forgot, you're actually dead."
"Y-Yes, sir!!"
Pinned between Freya's logic and Darian's brute force, Jason ultimately betrayed the criminals who had been fattening him up all this time.
Or, looked at another way, since he was a knight of the count's house to begin with, it was not betrayal at all — merely loyalty to the Evergarden family.
"Haa… this is stifling."
Having finished his morning exercise, Darian muttered to himself as he washed the sweat from his body with water from a basin.
The plan was proceeding smoothly. Under Freya's command, the underground alley cleanup was advancing without a hitch, and nothing looked likely to go wrong.
But Darian wanted to go himself.
A man deeply interested in saving people, he was equally gifted at beating the people who put others in danger. And being cooped up in the manor every single day was driving him out of his mind with restlessness.
So he had told Freya he wanted to join the purge operation… and been refused flat-out. What kind of family head personally marched off on something like this? And it could be dangerous — those were her reasons.
"…What's so dangerous about it? That was basically my whole job before."
In his previous life, throwing himself into life-threatening infernos had been his profession. Being told it was "dangerous" now only stoked his defiance. But this was not the modern world, and his wife had been working herself to the bone lately, so in the end he had no choice but to accept it.
He was bored.
A few days of rest was one thing. But Darian had never been the type who could sit still in one place, and the boredom creeping over him was becoming nearly unbearable.
If only he had a goal the way Freya did, or something to throw himself into the way Felix did, or could simply drift along empty-headed the way Rosaria did — but none of those three applied to him.
He was sitting blankly by the well, heaving sigh after sigh, when—
"My lord, the morning air is cold."
"Oh. Ah. Thanks for this. You didn't have to go to the trouble."
Gordon, the head butler, had approached without a sound, Darian's outer coat in hand.
"My lord. You seem to have something weighing on your mind of late. If it would not be an imposition, I wonder whether I might be of some assistance…"
"Wouldn't Fre— I mean, Freya have it harder than me?"
"For the time being, an excellent talent will be attending Her Ladyship in my place, so I find myself with a little free time. And you, my lord, are also a master I serve. How could I possibly rest easy?"
"Hmm… something weighing on me, something weighing on me…"
Darian fell into thought for a moment at Gordon's question.
"Ah, I got it. That thing. You know, that thing."
"'That thing'… if I may ask, to what does my lord refer…?"
"You know, when we brought that little kid back last time."
"By 'little kid,' you mean Lady Tene, I presume. Good heavens — I believe my lord is the only person alive who could call Lady Tene a little kid."
When Darian mentioned his first meeting with Tene and called her a little kid, Gordon — who had experienced her power firsthand — felt a chill run down his spine at the memory.
"Anyway, the thing I saw back then. You know, on the sword… color? Like painting color onto it? That thing."
"Color on a sword… ah. You are referring to Sword Aura."
"Is that what it's called?"
"Yes. Is this what you mean?"
Fwoosh—
"Ohh! Yeah! That!"
Gordon had perfectly deciphered Darian's mangled description. In a single smooth motion he drew a letter opener from his coat and coated it in Sword Aura. Between the heat-haze shimmering along the blade's surface, a faint blue light flickered into view — beautiful enough to call to mind the aurora itself.
"Regarding Sword Aura, for what purpose—"
"Teach me that."
"…I beg your pardon?"
I need to do something with myself, at least.
Unable to endure the boredom any longer, Darian had, almost by accident, found himself a grand and formidable goal: Sword Aura.