Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: 02. Even Legends Have Class Differences (3)
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The Dragon Slayer Sword my uncle showed me wasn't exactly the same as the one I knew.
It wore the Dragon Slayer Sword's skin, but inside it was hollow—an utterly blunt blade suited only as a training sword, just as my uncle had said.
In truth, I'd known from the start why the Dragon Slayer Sword was being treated like such a pathetic practice toy. The sword my uncle showed me lacked the will of the Dragon Slayer.
It was perhaps inevitable.
This was that kind of era. An age where one ascended to realms not through a single will or a single heart, but via a technique called chains.
Damnable Mana Chains.
I hadn't even imagined that the descendants of Leonberger would abandon the Mana Heart for Mana Chains.
It wasn't some outdated rag to discard like that.
Unfortunately, it seemed the descendants of our bloodline lacked the eye to appraise treasures. They had made their choice, and the fake Dragon Slayer Sword before me was the result.
"Hoo."
I let out a deep breath, cooling my tangled, complicated thoughts.
But even as my mind settled, my heart—still burning hot—refused to calm. The artificial heart I'd forged from gathered mana had been writhing nonstop ever since it laid eyes on that half-assed Dragon Slayer Sword.
That's a fake. Not your other half.
At my denial, the seething mana subsided. As if it understood my words.
"...You don't even know how to hold it properly, so no better sword could suit you."
While I was settling my inner turmoil, my uncle prattled on as he pleased.
He seemed to think it unfair to face me with just a training sword himself, yet he had no intention of passing down the family's swordsmanship. If I wanted to learn other techniques later, I could beg my mother for another teacher for all he cared.
He went on at length, but the gist was that winning the bet with just the Dragon Slayer Sword was impossible.
"So..."
"No need for any of that."
I cut my uncle off mid-sentence.
"I won't learn any other swordsmanship."
And then I declared,
"That sword will be enough for the bet."
My uncle looked like he had plenty more to say, but as always, he stepped back, maintaining his observer's demeanor.
"Do as you like."
A single phrase brimming with the intent that my decisions were none of his concern.
"Keep up the sprints and basic stamina training as is. Sword forms come after."
My uncle adjusted my training schedule as if nothing had happened.
A wooden training sword was added to the monotonous routine, and from that day, I began practicing the fake Dragon Slayer Sword—a warped, weakened, utterly pathetic version of the original.
I wanted to flaunt the real Dragon Slayer Sword right in front of him, but sadly, my current body couldn't handle it.
This flesh was too frail to withstand slashes that could cleave dragon scales. The same went for my Mana Heart; one misstep, and my immature heart could shatter.
So I trained with the fake Dragon Slayer Sword my uncle had shown me. As he said, the fake made for an excellent training tool.
I swung the wooden sword in repetitive, monotonous slashes and thrusts. In the process, my body began to change bit by bit. Muscles needed for wielding a blade formed, and my frame adapted for proper footwork.
Another month passed like that.
It was the moment when two months of relentless, daily training without fail finally bore small fruit.
And my changes weren't just external.
My abysmal mana sensitivity had risen to average levels. Thanks to scraping together mana with dogged persistence.
A monumental leap forward.
But I had no intention of settling for this much. The road ahead was still nine myriad miles long.
I ramped up the training intensity. Even after finishing the daily routine with my uncle, I stayed behind in the training grounds alone far more often, pushing further.
It was exhausting, yet joyful at the same time.
I'd always just watched from the sidelines. A wise advisor and excellent mentor, yes—but forever a third party. The effort and passion I poured in were mere fertilizer for others' growth, not my own.
Not anymore.
This sweat, this effort, these fruits—they were all wholly mine.
That fact filled me with a sense of accomplishment I'd never felt before.
I was growing. Even if these gains were still meager, I was undoubtedly getting stronger.
My flesh was more invigorated than ever, my spirit soaring endlessly. The more so, the harder I trained.
Nothing but training entered my sight.
"...!"
I kicked off powerfully and stepped forward.
"...Hah!"
I swung the wooden sword with all my might.
"Stop!"
But before I could fully extend the thrust, someone grabbed me.
"Uncle?"
My uncle glared at me with a deeply furrowed face—an emotional expression I'd never seen from him before.
"Didn't you hear me say stop?!"
My uncle roughly seized my hand.
"Huh?"
Forcibly pried open, my palm was a complete mess.
Torn, burst, oozing pus everywhere—the delayed pain hit, and my drugged-high spirit plummeted in an instant.
Crackle.
Rain pelted my body. I hadn't even noticed it pouring.
"You idiot! What kind of training do you do in weather like this?!"
The rain was coming down hard, but it felt refreshing. About to brush off my uncle's fussing, I finally took in the surroundings and shut my mouth.
"Uh..."
In the middle of the training grounds, just slightly off to my side—right next to me—the ground was charred black. A hideous mark that hadn't been there when I started.
Rumble! Boom!
The heavens revealed what had caused it.
Lightning strike. The blackened spot was where a bolt had fallen.
I gauged the distance between the scorched ground and myself. Barely ten steps away—cold sweat broke out late.
"If that had been a real sword, you wouldn't have escaped disaster."
I nodded unconsciously at my uncle's words.
Good thing it was a wooden sword. If it'd been real steel, the lightning would've hit my blade tip, not the ground.
And I'd be a well-roasted pig splayed across the training grounds.
The horrific image made me shudder involuntarily.
At that moment, a message arrived.
Concentrate twice and I'd get fried by lightning.
"Training ends here for today."
With my uncle's declaration, the mad session in the rain was forcibly cut short.
"Y-Your Highness!"
On the way back to my chambers, I ran into the Royal Physician as expected.
"Please, today of all days, don't swat away this humble one's hands..."
"Here."
I extended my hand to the physician, who spoke with a grave face.
Seeing my pus-caked palm, he recoiled in horror. A pristine white glow already clung to his outstretched hand in a fluster.
Where to even put myself.
Hundreds of years ago, skilled mages were scarce. In the great continental war that swept everything, amid ceaseless brutal battles, mages always fell first. Survivors suffered severe mana depletion.
Receiving healing magic for mere flesh wounds was an impossible luxury. Even for a commander leading armies.
"Your Highness, please don't resist and relax your mind."
After cleanly healing the wound on my palm, the physician bathed my entire body in healing light. The fatigue from my overtaxed flesh—dragged along by my abnormally exalted spirit—melted away like snow.
Whew. This is addictive.
Grinning in that languid, pleasant sensation, I suddenly felt eyes on me.
Turning, I saw Kals Yulihi and the other knights watching me with strange expressions.
"What?"
I asked why, but they didn't answer. They simply carefully escorted me to my chambers once the treatment ended.
**
The lightning strike that day made me reflect on myself.
I'm not perfect yet.
It felt like the spirit that had lived by the sword hadn't fully compromised with this wastrel's frail body.
Some might call this state one where spirit transcends flesh. But it wasn't. Right now, it was more like my sword-lived spirit had this weak body on a leash, dragging it along.
That's why I'd pushed past limits that day.
Everyone hopes to surpass their limits and advance, but transcendence always demands a price.
And my current body couldn't pay it.
I'd seen countless people crumble and break that way. Never thought I'd pull something so stupid myself.
Time to compose myself, it seemed.
"Count Ballerhard has instructed that no training proceed without his supervision."
My uncle must've thought the same; he'd even personally told my knights.
"I'm going for a walk."
"I'll accompany you."
Feeling stuffy, I stepped out for a stroll, only for a clump of tails to attach. I tried shaking off the court knights but quickly gave up.
Looking at their stubborn faces, I figured talking would just hurt my mouth.
"Hoo."
I'd resolved to enjoy luxuries denied me in my sword life, yet here I was training all day.
Whatever. As long as it's fun.
If training with this body was a luxury I never had before, then so be it. I shook off the idle thoughts.
"Hm?"
Lost in reverie as I wandered, I spotted a horde of people approaching from afar.
"His Highness the 3rd Prince has arrived!"
So it was the wastrel's brother.
"I heard you met with an accident, but you look surprisingly fine."
The 3rd Prince—definitely the wastrel's younger brother—eyed me with a sinister glint, like he wanted to devour me.
Ah, right. This guy's the black sheep.
Recalling the wastrel's relationships late, I snickered.
"Yeah. Got so obsessed with the legend our founder established that I tried recreating it myself... and stabbed myself instead?"
The 3rd Prince mocked me. I mocked right back. Even thinking about it again, the wastrel's death was pathetic.
As I chuckled along, the 3rd Prince straightened up and rebuked me.
"Don't you feel any shame? Thanks to you, the royal family's honor is in the dirt—and you still find it funny?"
"Yeah. Pretty funny."
"Tch. Back from the brink of death, and not a thing's changed."
Just like his old man. Recalling something the King had once said, the 3rd Prince suddenly asked about my recent affairs.
"So. Made an interesting bet with Count Ballerhard, I hear?"
Why'd this guy come all the way here just to say this?
I jutted my chin, demanding he spit out his business quick. The 3rd Prince's face twisted entertainingly again. Expressive fellow.
Trembling, the 3rd Prince belatedly composed himself.
"Has your opponent for the royal exhibition been decided?"
And then, as if it just occurred to him, he asked.