Our Young Master Doesn't Have the Brains to Wield a Sword (03)

Thirty days were allotted between the entrance exam and the next descent into a dungeon, and in that span the incoming students had to secure weapons of their own. Before, one could at least meet the trials barehanded, or borrow gear if one wished. From the exams beginning now, each student was expected to bring a weapon. Those who had passed the entrance exam had theirs forged by the Cheonryong Sword Family, of course. Those eliminated from the start had to fight empty-handed, or find a weapon on their own.

Not long after we visited the Cheonryong Sword Family, blades made to each student's measure began arriving one after another. The designs had been sent well in advance, and only the finer lines needed adjusting afterward, so the forging had been quick. Mine was another matter. The design had only been handed over then, and the pattern of my aura cultivation method still had to be analyzed from nothing. I was simply hoping it would arrive before the exam began.

Seven days after that visit, Bak Cheol-son succeeded in analyzing the pattern. There had not been nearly enough time to read a new aura cultivation method and forge a weapon from it. He did it anyway — a blade optimized to receive aura, the pattern sealed into the steel so it would take mine above all else.

A clear metallic note rang out. The steel-toned edge caught the sunlight, and it was not a bright, flashy gleam. The light on it was muted, turned down, purely metallic, and the surface felt unsettling at a mere touch.

"The edge is... blunt."

At Sena's quiet remark, Duna blew up first.

"That old man! He didn't even hone the edge! Sending an unfinished piece — that's too much!"

"No. That was the design."

Hana, who had designed this long blade, had deliberately blunted the edge, afraid that if the steel were too sharp I would cut myself by mistake. I had known. It hardly mattered — I cut with aura — and the finer points would be changed by Bak Cheol-son as he saw fit, so I had left it alone.

A low hum rose. To check the aura pattern first, Duna took the blade in hand and poured her aura in. The Khalid-style aura cultivation method. Except the method I had improved for her through the Black Dragon Yeouiju was no longer purely that. It had become a hybrid — an incomplete Khalid method tangled together with my own.

A faint blue radiance bled from one edge of the blade. Her realm was still low, so the form wavered, but it was unmistakably aura.

"Sena!"

Sena hurled a specially prepared dummy with her magic — monster hide, the sort originally used as bait on dungeon expeditions — and Duna swung the aura-charged blade. A wet, heavy chop. The cut face was a mess, but it sheared clean through. Duna let out a breath and reined in the aura she was releasing.

"The aura response... isn't bad."

Cold sweat beaded on her brow as she handed it over, a thread of pride worked into her expression. She had split, in a single stroke, a monster-hide dummy laid under reinforcement magic until its defense was no different from the living beast's. Of course she wanted to brag.

"Young Master, if you study the Khalid-style aura cultivation method hard enough—!"

She thumped her own chest.

"You'll definitely be able to use aura just like Duna! So let's play toge— no. Let's train!"

Training.

Training with Duna turned up often among the daily quests, but lately it had grown rare — perhaps because the gap in our realms had widened too far.

When the chance comes, I'll have to show what I can actually do. And be the one teaching her.

All that aura had worn her out. Duna staggered, and Sena caught her. With Hana's permission, they dragged her off to the staff room to lay her down for a while.

"Senaaa... my legs are dragggging..."

"Mm... you're heavy..."

"I'm... not heav..."

Watching the two sisters bicker, Hana wiped away the fingerprints Duna had left, slid the blade back into its scabbard, and returned it to its original state.

"Young Master."

I accepted the long blade she offered, both hands proper. My right hand took the scabbard, and my thumb pushed the guard, easing the steel a fraction free. Then my left hand took the scabbard, and I drew — pushing the sheath away as the blade came out. A soft slide of metal. It differed a little from the design, but I confirmed the aura-channeling pattern engraved along the edge.

I held my breath and woke my Aura Heart.

"Hana."

She caught my meaning at once — a request to leave this place — and bowed at the waist.

"I shall withdraw."

She activated only the monster-hide dummy Duna had cut, left it standing, and quietly stepped back.

A soft hiss. The filler packed inside swelled as the dummy restored itself — shock-absorbing material bound up with tough monster hide, durable enough to hold against even an aura user's strike.

Then a longer, searing hiss. The simplified aura pattern began to heat, and the metal-colored blade glowed red with it. I watched the blunt edge drink in flame aura and start to reconstitute itself.

The dummy stood poised in a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dynamic stance. I brought the sword down from overhead — a vertical cut I had repeated millions of times — and sheared it in a single stroke.

It did not burn. It parted, as cleanly as a fire-heated bread knife through cake. The hide split, and the special filler burst out, soaking the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠floor like blood.

Bak Cheol-son. As expected!

This was not flame aura that merely burned. Built on that foundation, the blade's cutting power had been driven higher still.

I drove the burning long blade into its scabbard. The fire died. It cooled in an instant and found its original shape again. It heated quickly, and so, once the aura was gone, it cooled just as fast. Without this scabbard the cooling would have taken far longer, but the specially forged sheath worked in opposition to the blade, drawing out the aura already infused and quenching the heat.

For a test, I drew it again. The long blade emerged gleaming the same steel color as before — except the edge was keen now, nothing like the first time, and more than adequate for a real fight. I swung horizontally and cut through what remained of the halved dummy. Even that much was worthy of being called a fine famed sword.

With a structure like this, even if the edge chips or the blade takes damage, pour in aura and it melts and reforges itself. That would be how it recovers, wouldn't it?

Part of the edge melted away to form a keener edge than anything else, and aura locked that shape in place — a long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blade made so that even a chipped edge would restore itself in short order. If the Ink-Iron Dragon Scale Sword was a sword that would never break and never lose its bite, then mine was one that could make its edge anew, no matter how many enemies it cut.

A clear ring. Drawn fully, the true name Bak Cheol-son had engraved beside the pattern lay revealed — visible only after the blade had burned once and set its edge, carved in classical script.

Flame Dragon's Fang. Was that the meaning?

The swordsmiths of the Cheonryong Sword Family loved to work the word dragon into their creations. However much affection he claimed to have lost, Bak Cheol-son was still one of their smiths.

A few unhurried claps.

"You seem pleased with it."

Cheon Yu-rin had been watching the whole time ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— the reason I had sent Hana away. She was applauding, offering her congratulations.

"Your fundamentals are as fine as ever. If I had a new weapon in my hands right now, I would like to cross blades, but..."

I had received Yeomryonga. She had not yet received hers. Set against my simple aura pattern, hers was intricate, and the forging was clearly taking time.

"Private spars between students are supposed to be forbidden."

At that, Cheon Yu-rin gave a subtle smile. Then again, her own older brother, Cheon Dae-seong, was the sort of bastard who beat people under the cover of a private spar. There was no world in which that rule was actually kept.

"What are you here for?"

"If I said it was a coincidence... would you believe me?"

"No. You've got a way to track Aura Hearts."

The point had landed dead center, and still she hardly looked surprised. Wherever I moved, she found me with perfect accuracy. This was already something like the third time. Past that, the only reasonable conclusion was certainty.

In the original novel, too, she had a way of seeking out the protagonist, Cheon So-hyeong, whenever she needed him. A technique for tracking Aura Hearts. She had one. No question.

She neither confirmed it nor denied it. She only stepped closer.

"Are you aware of what the next exam entails?"

The second exam after admission. You chose a dungeon of suitable difficulty, then either brought down its boss or survived inside for at least six hours and escaped. Most students, as a matter of course, chose to last the six hours and get out.

A dungeon was a dangerous place. Even a student from a respectable great house could die there — not to a strong enemy, but to a trap, or an ambush. Still short on experience, charge in recklessly and the instructors would come drag you out at the edge of death; endure in moderation, hide, and walk back out, and the score came out higher. If the first trial meant face the enemy with courage, the second was training that could be read as know your place.

That, of course, was only once you set aside the bloodline of the Cheonryong Sword Family.

While students of the other great houses scrambled merely to survive, the clansmen of Cheonryong each cleared a dungeon of their own. It had begun when the current patriarch, Cheon Jin-myeong, cleared a C-rank dungeon on his second exam. The eldest son likewise cleared a D-minus dungeon, the second son a D-rank, the third daughter a D-plus — and from that, or so the telling went, came the standing line that a descendant of the Cheonryong Sword Family did not survive. They cleared.

Thanks to that, Cheon So-hyeong nearly died for real.

Cheon Dae-seong at least did not kill with his own hands. In a dungeon, though, die with a little oops before the instructors arrived, and you were simply dead. Worse, instructors eager to look good in front of him had deliberately vacated Cheon So-hyeong's dungeon, so he could not even call for rescue properly.

Seen that far, it looked absurdly difficult. Look closer, and there was a method everyone who cleared it had used.

You could form a party.

You chose the dungeon yourself, and you either cleared it or you survived. Beyond that, there were no restrictions. Several people could apply for the same dungeon, enter a little apart in time, and join their strength, and the instructors would say nothing.

Cheon Jin-myeong had cleared his alone, and so had the eldest son. From the second son on, though, they brought one friend they could trust and cleared a dungeon of higher rank than the eldest son's, and the third daughter went in with a party outright. Cheon Dae-seong would form one too, of course. The numbers would be the greatest yet.