Chapter 149: Where One Belongs (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 149: Where One Belongs (5)
A sword forged from molten stars. Its unique material absorbed all light, leaving the blade a pitch-black void.
Clang! Clash!
And a silver sword, so brilliant it seemed capable of reflecting a single strand of an opponent’s hair.
If Franz’s sword held the night, Demirea’s held the midday sun.
If there was one commonality between the two utterly different weapons, it was their weight. Both were heavy swords, a world apart from Calian’s own. It made him wonder if Count Aizen Aprin, who was likely training knights at this very moment, also favored a heavy style of swordsmanship.
‘The origin of Kairis’s swordsmanship is Siegfried, after all.’
The sword styles of the few knightly families with deep histories in Kairis could all be categorized as either slightly heavier or slightly lighter, using Suleiman’s sword as the standard.
Clash! Clang!
It was only natural, then, that the sound of blades clashing between Siegfried and Brissen—hailed as the two greatest knightly families of Kairis—was so thunderous.
Sparks flew from Franz’s sword as it parried Demirea’s strike. This wasn’t a mere figure of speech; literal embers scattered in all directions each time the blades of equal power collided.
Claaang! Clang!
As the swords recoiled, Demirea used the momentum to spin and slash downward. But her strike was blocked by Franz’s blade, which seemed to have anticipated her every move. The exchange continued in this vein, with Demirea primarily on the offensive and Franz on the defensive.
Though the spar had only just begun, Calian could already tell that Franz was analyzing Demirea’s swordplay. Calian shook his head, watching his brother strategize even during a fierce exchange of blows.
“I’ll have to tell him that relying on his head in a sword fight isn’t always a good habit.”
“Prince Franz?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, but Lea seems to have improved a lot. Honestly, I thought she would lose right away.”
The mages who had been babbling about useless statues in Wilhelm Hall had been forcibly dismissed. Arsen had yet to arrive, and Franz, who had been by Calian’s side, was now sparring with Demirea in the training grounds. Yan took the opportunity to approach and sit beside the solitary Calian. He sounded less like the prince’s attendant or the eldest son of Siegfried and more like any ordinary older brother talking about his younger sibling.
“You thought Demirea would lose to my brother that quickly?”
“She’s still young, and there’s bound to be a difference in physical strength.”
Naturally, Yan knew how to hold a sword. He literally only knew how to hold one, but that was enough to understand that wielding the swords of Siegfried and Brissen required immense strength.
“A difference in strength… Well, I wonder,” Calian murmured, a faint smile on his lips.
It wasn’t to mock Yan’s inability to gauge their skills, but because Yan saw Demirea as just a young sibling, much like he saw Calian as a delicate prince.
Yan wasn’t entirely wrong. Calian, who could manipulate aura, was an exception, but Demirea could certainly be at a disadvantage against Franz in terms of raw power. There were, after all, physical differences between them.
So what?
This was Demirea. She wasn't just some fifteen-year-old girl who knew how to handle a sword; she was Demirea of Siegfried.
As if to scoff at such physical limitations, every one of her strikes was fierce and heavy. While Calian pushed his light body and sword to their absolute speed limits, Demirea converted the power generated from her own speed—afforded by her lighter frame—back into sheer weight.
Her sword was more than strong enough.
Crash! Clang!
The two blades met head-on once more in a direct collision. Demirea tightened her grip, steadying her recoiling sword. In that brief opening, Franz delivered a precise strike. His sword tore through the air, aimed perfectly at the gap left as Demirea drew her blade back.
“Ah.”
Yan let out a short gasp. As if proving he truly possessed the blood of the elephant, he had also spotted the opening. Calian glanced at him in surprise. Yan’s eyes were sharp enough to track both the gap in Demirea’s defense and the trajectory of Franz’s sword.
And yet, despite having such a keen eye, he still treated Calian like a delicate porcelain doll. Calian’s gaze seemed to say, You can see all that, and you still worry about me?
Clash!
Seeing the sword tip lunging for the space between her arm and neck, Demirea twisted her hilt and blocked the strike. And then—
Clang! Clash! Clink!
—she unleashed a three-hit combo as fluidly as flowing water.
The angle, rotation, and power were completely different from the patterns she had shown Franz just moments ago. Although Franz blocked the attack, Calian clearly saw his brow furrow. He had realized that Demirea, having caught on to his analysis, had deliberately changed her style.
It was a clear message: Do not try to outthink the sword of Siegfried.
“Do you still think she’ll lose?” Calian asked with a satisfied smile.
Demirea was a beast. With a sword in hand, she was a predator at the absolute top of the food chain, moving with meticulous precision to tear out her prey’s throat.
Having weathered the fierce onslaught, Franz shifted his stance. Just like when he had faced Calian, he became a wolf before a beast that was suffocating him. With eyes reflecting both ferocity and composure, he tightened his grip on his sword, blocking, striking, spinning, and thrusting in a continuous exchange.
“Still, it looks like Lea will win,” Yan said.
Calian, watching the fight with intrigued eyes, chuckled. If Franz ate a bit more regularly, Calian might have thought similarly—that Demirea would probably win. But Calian had correctly predicted every outcome at the gambling den when he went to rescue Kyrie, and this time was no different. The moment their swords first crossed, the victor had already been decided in his mind. He had seen the tip of Franz’s sword pushed back, ever so slightly.
“Demirea will definitely win. My brother is still no match for her.”
Demirea might not have known it, but Franz must have sensed he couldn’t win. That was likely why he had tried to rely on his head.
Clang!
With a heavy, sharp roar, the two swords collided head-on for a third time. As raw strength met raw strength, the sound was like thunder tearing through a clear sky.
“I should have called Kyrie. He’ll be disappointed he missed such a great spectacle.”
Before coming here, Calian had told Kyrie he would be busy at Wilhelm Hall and that he should focus on his training. Knowing it wasn’t a matter of Calian’s safety, the steadfast knight would be going about his duties, regardless of any killing intent radiating nearby.
“By the way, Lea said she wanted to spar with you, Your Highness.” Yan, who had arrived later than Demirea, posed a question that wasn't quite a question. He had been the one to tell Demirea that Calian would be here.
Calian shook his head. “Not today.”
He offered no other explanation, just a simple smile. He had no intention of picking up a sword today, no matter the opponent. He had just been angry enough to nearly revert to ‘Bern’ and worried he might repeat what had happened with Kyrie. He feared that, by some slim chance, he might fail to distinguish a spar from a real battle.
“Then shall I bring you some warm tea? It might help you calm down.”
Had he understood the unspoken meaning? Yan’s expression was filled with concern. The man was truly remarkable. While he could be more oblivious than anyone, he could also read Calian’s mood with near-perfect accuracy. It had been the same when he realized Calian had grown to dislike coffee. Calian had shown no outward sign, but after serving it once, Yan never brought it again.
Calian stared at him for a moment before nodding. “I’d like some honey tea with lemon.”
“Yes, I’ll bring it right away.”
The exchange between Demirea and Franz was still ongoing, but their spar wasn’t Calian’s biggest concern. It didn’t seem like Demirea would get hurt or lose. Yan stood without hesitation and went inside Wilhelm Hall to prepare the tea.
Calian watched his retreating figure blankly before turning his gaze back to the training ground.
Clash! Clang!
Franz’s breathing had grown ragged. Demirea, still wearing her potentially restrictive black jacket, showed little change in her expression.
Soon, she raised her sword and slashed vertically, the sunlight glinting dazzlingly off her mirror-like blade. As if rejecting that brilliance, Franz swung his own sword upward, the blade containing the dark night sky blocking her attack.
Clang! Clash! Clash! Clink!
Then came Franz’s counterattack. After parrying her blade away, he spun his body with the force of the blow, unleashing a rapid succession of thrusts aimed at her vital points. It was as if his sword were splitting into multiple paths. Watching the attack, Calian’s face registered surprise once more.
This time, it wasn’t because of Yan, but because of Franz.
“That’s… mine.”
It was, without a doubt, an attack Calian had shown him only once during their past duel.
“My brother has picked up more than I thought,” Calian murmured to himself, chuckling at his clever older brother who learned things he was never taught. Teaching Franz might not take as long as he’d anticipated.
Unaware of Calian’s reaction, Demirea executed a wide sweep to block the onslaught.
Whoosh!
Her sword made one final sound as it tore through the air. Franz blocked it, but the silver blade, carrying all her strength and weight, sent the pitch-black sword flying from his grasp.
Clang!
Clatter!
The sword sailed several meters before hitting the training ground floor with a loud clatter that echoed through the area. Franz didn’t look where it had landed. He stared first at the tip of Demirea’s sword, stopped precisely before his heart, then at her hand, which remained perfectly steady, and finally at her resolute blue-gray eyes.
“I lost.”
He conceded defeat.
Demirea sheathed her sword with a practiced motion and bowed slightly. “Thank you for the match, Your Highness.”
She then picked up the fallen sword and offered the hilt to Franz. He chuckled at the victor’s kindness and accepted it. After a light inspection of the blade, which was completely undamaged, he sheathed it.
Watching him, Demirea spoke. “It is an excellent sword.”
Had Calian heard, he would have worn a remorseful expression. Another sword made of the same material had been given to Kyrie—a sword that had once belonged to Demirea.
Franz nodded slightly. “It’s as heavy as it is good.”
It was the sword Calian had given him as the price for keeping his secret. In the end, wasn't it this very sword that anchored Franz—who once hadn’t a single shred of attachment to life—to the earth? To him, it was heavier than anything else.
Demirea, who had taken off her jacket and draped it over her arm, replied, “It is an object that divides the path of life and death. How could it not be heavy?”
Different reasons, but ultimately, the same conclusion. For Franz, and for Demirea, there was no one whose sword did not feel heavy in their hand.
The same held true for Calian, who sat some distance away, sipping his tea.
“Ah, it’s tangerine.”
“I thought you might have grown to prefer tangerines over lemons.”
“Yes. I love it.”
How on earth had Yan figured this out, too?
The scent of the honey tea, filled with tangerine instead of lemon, was sweet. In that fragrance, Calian—the one who carried the heaviest sword of all—looked at Yan and smiled.