Our Little Brother
The next exam was the Sword Aura evaluation.
To teenage warriors not yet twenty years old, the very idea of a Sword Aura test felt more than a little alien. But at Elprime Academy, where Expert rank was the bare minimum for admission, such an exam was entirely possible.
"Shall I begin?"
"Yes. Go ahead."
Whoosh—!
Sword Aura bloomed brilliantly from the evaluation iron sword in Leon's hand. A luminous blue radiance flared for an instant, flooding the hall with light.
"Oh-ho."
The instructor rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a murmur of admiration. The sheer beauty born of that high degree of refinement was more than worthy of praise.
Of course it was. The sword talent Leon had received from Bergopf was not limited to swordsmanship alone. It elevated his understanding of the sword itself—and so Leon's Sword Aura could only be exceptional.
"…Nothing to criticize."
There were five criteria by which Sword Aura was judged.
Output—how much mana one could pack into the blade.
Purity—how refined the released mana was.
Precision—how finely one distributed that mana.
Stability—how long one could maintain peak condition.
And Intensity—how much force the aura actually delivered.
Leon's Sword Aura excelled in every category without exception. But the instructor found himself thinking, Precision and Stability are especially outstanding.
Those two—the ones that truly governed control of the aura—were the best of the lot.
Talent? …No. More than that—this is experience.
It was like watching the Sword Aura of a knight who had spent decades on the battlefield. The way he drew it out so leisurely, without any particular strain. Like a still lake without a single ripple. The mana stretched out straight and true without the slightest tremor, distributed evenly across every part of the blade—neither too much nor too little. It poured forth elastic and lively, heating the edge as though it meant to burn for a lifetime.
Sizzle—crack!
After clashing his own sword against Leon's a few times, the instructor nodded.
"Precision and Stability: A+. Everything else: A."
"Tsk."
Leon clicked his tongue, as if disappointed it wasn't a clean sweep of A+ across the board.
The final portion of the individual evaluation was physical ability measurement—stamina, agility, strength, and flexibility. Leon's scores came back thoroughly solid: Stamina A+ (first in the year), Agility A, Strength A, Flexibility A.
With that, Day One of the exams—written tests and individual evaluations—was finished.
The grades Leon had earned in the individual evaluation more than made up for his abysmal written scores. Of course, the real trial was only just beginning. Even combined, the written and individual evaluations didn't amount to half the total score. In truth, everything would be decided by the group evaluation.
Day Two of the exams.
From early morning, Elprime Academy wore an unusually busy air. The group evaluation. As befitting the Empire's foremost academy, the Empire's most prominent figures took a keen interest—eager to stake claims early on any raw gems that showed promise.
This first-year class, in particular, had been widely hailed as generational, and so an especially large number of dignitaries were pouring in. Imperial officials from the capital, scouts from major guilds, captains of renowned knight orders, investigators from great houses—organizations and warriors whose names one would have heard at least once were arriving one after another to observe the Martial Arts Department's evaluation.
As a result, the academy's main gate and the avenue beyond were packed wall to wall. Carriages lined the front of the gate in dense rows, and dignitaries entered in streams, each attended by their aides.
"Captain Kelton of the Flamebane Corps…!"
"Sir Tessiris of the Cinder Knights is here too!"
"There! Isn't that Lairin, the Saint of the South?!"
Illustrious names flew back and forth as excited reporters scribbled furiously with their pens. Cadets hopped and jostled beyond the crowds, desperate for a glimpse of those faces. Instructors and professors shook hands and exchanged greetings as they received the guests. A thick hum of thrills and murmurs blanketed the entire grounds.
And then—
Tap. Tip-tap.
"…?"
It was a deeply strange thing. That even amid all this clamor, a single set of small footsteps could be heard so clearly. Faint as the sound was, it felt as though a sharp needle were boring into the ear.
The noise that had packed the area began to subside, little by little.
Tip. Tip-tap. Pat. Pat-pat.
Like a spring drizzle. Frivolous. Irregular.
A crawling sensation of goosebumps swept over the crowd, and one by one people stopped speaking, stopped moving.
Tap-tap. Tap.
Soon every mouth had closed, and every gaze began to pour toward a single point.
"Hahah."
At the academy's main gate, a woman was strolling in at her leisure.
A pair of short swords sheathed at either hip. Dark hair with a red sheen. Dark crimson eyes that held a doll-like, inorganic luster. Skin pale as death. And last of all, a grotesquely twisted smile hanging at the corner of her mouth.
Hers was a beauty of rare mystery and allure—and that manic expression ruined every last bit of it.
Someone muttered under their breath.
"The Red Heaven Sword…?"
Even under the rain of countless stares, the woman paid them no mind whatsoever. This kind of frozen, ice-cold atmosphere seemed only natural to her.
With light, bouncing steps, she began to hum.
"Hmm-hmm~ hmm~!"
The voice that spilled out was lovely enough—but the pitch and rhythm were so wildly off that it only sounded uncanny.
The bone-chilling presence radiating from her dominated the grounds.
—Don't touch that one.
Every instinct present was saying the same thing.
But wherever you go, there is always at least one brave soul.
"E-excuse me!"
Whether it was raw nerve, professional duty, or simple greed that refused to let the opportunity slip—a reporter burst forward and blocked her path. It was the same man who had just muttered the name Red Heaven Sword.
"I-is it true that you brutally executed prisoners captured on the eastern border—multiple times?!"
"…Hmm?"
Finding her way obstructed, the woman let out a soft nasal hum and turned her eyes on the reporter—
"…!"
—and his face instantly flooded with pure, hideous terror.
"H-huuuhhhk!"
Thud!
His legs gave out as if the strength had simply left them; he collapsed onto his rear, then began scrambling away on all fours, cold sweat pouring off him in sheets, as though he wanted nothing more than to put even an inch more distance between them. The space between his spread legs was already soaking through.
Crrrk! Crrack!
The woman ground the notebook he had dropped into powder under her heel, then—
"Hmm, hmm-hmm~!"
—resumed that bizarre little hum and started walking again.
The atmosphere grew heavier still.
"My cute little brother~!"
As if searching for someone, her eyes rolled and swept across the crowd. Not a single person dared meet her gaze.
Save one.
"…"
Far off, standing tall amid the throng, a boy was staring straight at her. His eyes held a slick, blood-tinged light that was deeply unsettling.
"…"
"…"
Something seemed to pass between them. For a long moment, the woman and the boy simply stood there, looking into each other's eyes.
An eternity of an instant slipped by.
"My little brother."
Her bewitching eyes glittered with something dangerous. From her widely split mouth, a small tongue flicked out and dragged slowly across her lower lip.
"There you are~?"
Her smile was startlingly like the boy's own.
"Hey, sis."
Waving casually, Leon grinned right back at her.
The Red Heaven Sword. Better known by her other epithet, the Blood Heaven Sword—her name was Hera Crusif. Captain of the Mukwol Squad, a unit whose notoriety shook the Empire, especially the East. And Leon's cousin.
A vast control room, spacious enough to hold hundreds with room to spare. At its center stood an enormous screen wrought of mana, displaying a live feed of the interior of the Tower of Illusions.
Academy instructors and professors. Dignitaries from outside. Representatives from the houses of noble cadets. People from every walk of life packed the seats, all eyes fixed on the screen.
And among them—
"Hnn."
—Hera Crusif wet her lips with the tip of a bright red tongue. She was replaying the image of her little brother, Leon, from just a short while ago.
See. You. Later.
Yes. He had clearly mouthed those words at her.
…See you later, was it.
The cousin she hadn't seen in so long had changed beyond recognition. That fringe he always used to keep hanging over his face—why had he swept it back with such confidence? Those dull, vacant eyes—how had they become so fiercely intense?
"Uuughhh!"
As if a shiver had run through her, her whole body gave a little convulsive tremor, and she rubbed both hands over her goosebump-covered forearms.
Those eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes.
Savage, ferocious, cruel eyes.
"What is it, what is it, what is it?"
Her heart pounded roughly with excitement; hot breath slipped from her lips. She could tell. No—precisely because she was who she was, she could tell.
"Just how many people have you killed…?"
She was dying of curiosity. What on earth had happened to that naive, frustrating little brother of hers in the meantime? What could possibly have happened to change him like this?
"Ha—hahah!"
Hera let out a laugh that teetered on the edge of madness, thick with anticipation. Coming to this observation herself after hearing Leon had changed—she was so glad she had. It had exceeded every expectation. To think he would give her this much fun, this much delight.
"…"
As she stared holes through Leon's face on the screen, her own expression was full of pure mania.