Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Genius
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Hector swung his sword.
*Clang!*
The smell of blood mixed with the rank odor of the beast.
This wolf whelp wasn’t dead, even with its snout split in half.
Instead, its eyes bulged as it tried to sink its teeth into Hector’s skin.
‘This is dangerous…’
He didn’t have the strength to dodge.
“Hector!”
Just then, Basil slammed his body into the wolf, shoving it away.
The impact split the wolf’s already teetering head, and a foul spray of blood showered his face.
“Are you all right?”
“…”
He didn’t even have the energy to reply, so he just gave a slight nod.
Then, he brushed back his hair, stiff with blood, and looked ahead.
The wolf pack had thinned considerably.
There were about ten of them left, but they weren't attacking, merely observing.
‘Have they realized my condition?’
…I suppose I’m in a sorry enough state for even a beast to notice.
He had no idea how many of these filthy mutts he had cut down.
What was clear was that he was about to reach his true limit.
A limit of physical function that could not be overcome by grit or willpower.
“Hector Bednicker.”
That voice called out again.
He didn’t even have the strength to lift his head, but he knew who it was just from the voice.
Caron Woodjack was still watching the situation from atop a tree.
“Will you accept now?”
What was he talking about again?
‘…Points.’
Right, he had offered to help if I gave him my points.
It probably wasn’t a lie…
Caron was, in fact, capable of it.
He knew that insufferable bastard was a genius.
A smirk escaped his lips.
He had spent his entire life running from that word, yet that detestable bastard had persistently chased him to the very end of his life.
Genius.
Hector Bednicker hated geniuses.
* * *
The first sword Hector ever held was a blunt wooden one.
A toy sword, short enough for a child to handle and made of light wood.
The first time he held that sword…
For some reason, Hector felt it stick to his hand as if it belonged there.
Just holding it felt good.
So he swung it.
When he swung it so recklessly, his mother was delighted.
“This child is a genius of the sword!”
He was called a genius before he even knew what the word meant.
Realizing it was a compliment, Hector’s spirits lifted.
Swordsmanship, which he had started for fun, now fulfilled his sense of self-worth.
Excited, Hector swung his sword even more diligently, and his mother clapped her hands every time she saw him.
But this was not a field one could enter with a light heart.
Especially not in the Bednicker family.
In his sixth year, Hector was assigned sword masters.
Not just one or two, but twelve of them.
“I actually wanted to hire the Sword Master Teacher, but he wasn’t a man swayed by money. Still, it’s fine. These men are skilled enough that other families are desperate to recruit them.”
Hector loved his mother.
When she looked at him with her blue eyes and spoke, he would accept anything she said.
“You can do it, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
The six-year-old Hector nodded.
From that day on, Hector was no longer allowed to swing his sword against his peers or scarecrows.
“Still not enough! Now, one hundred more swings!”
“Is it acceptable for a scion of Bednicker to falter like this?”
“Young Master, your right shoulder is exposed.”
The lessons were harsh.
Blisters formed on the soft hands of the young child, and bruises never faded from his body.
“How is Hector doing?”
“…To be honest, his talent itself is not particularly outstanding. His perseverance is remarkable, but—”
“That’s not enough. That child, Hector, must be a genius.”
“…My lady?”
“Help him create a sword art.”
“What do you mean…”
“Do you understand? You are merely advising on the sword art that child will create. The creator is my son, Hector Bednicker.”
Hector Bednicker, the genius.
One of the three most outstanding children of the Bednicker family.
—In truth, none of it was real.
Hector was just a boy who liked swinging a sword,
who didn’t want to disappoint his mother,
and who was just a little smarter than his peers.
He was simply mediocre.
* * *
The Iron-Blooded Duke, Delac C. Bednicker.
Though they were related by blood, Hector first met him when he was twelve.
The Afterimage Sword, said to have been created by Hector but was in fact the product of twelve sword masters who had spent months on it.
He performed that sword art in front of the Iron-Blooded Duke.
“…”
After the demonstration, Hector hung his head low.
He had performed the sword art without a single mistake, but for some reason, he felt ashamed.
“Who did you say created this sword art?”
“Of course, Hector—”
“Enough. I was not asking you, my lady.”
Hector realized the Iron-Blooded Duke’s gaze was on him.
But strangely, his mouth wouldn’t open easily.
A hand, gentle yet firm, wrapped around his shoulder.
It was his mother.
“Hector? You must answer. The Family Head is asking you.”
Hector swallowed hard and answered.
“…I, I created it.”
He couldn’t stop his voice from trembling.
It was his mother who defended her son’s awkward demeanor.
“My. It seems the child is very nervous in front of the Family Head.”
Even then, he could still feel the Iron-Blooded Duke’s gaze.
“Did you truly create it?”
‘…Ah.’
In that moment, Hector knew.
He knows.
He had no proof, but he was certain.
My father knows I didn’t create this sword art, that I’m not really a genius.
His face grew hot.
Shame.
That was the first time Hector had ever felt shame.
At the same time, his lips trembled with fear.
Even as a child, Hector had heard time and again how cold and fearsome the Iron-Blooded Duke was.
He was not a man who would spare a deceiver, even if it was his own son.
“Then, make it completely yours.”
“…!”
At that, Hector’s head shot up.
And for the first time, he saw the Iron-Blooded Duke’s eyes.
The violet eyes, the same as his own, were undeniably cold.
He could see how the moniker ‘Iron-Blooded’ suited him better than anyone.
But within them, a faint heat flickered.
“Hector…! Oh, this is wonderful! The Family Head has acknowledged you!”
“Splendid, Young Master!”
“Congratulations!”
“A genius! My son is truly a genius!”
After his father left, his mother and the sword masters swarmed him, saying something, but he couldn’t remember it well.
—Make it completely yours.
But the last words the Iron-Blooded Duke had left him were etched into his heart, raging like a fierce storm.
* * *
From that day on, Hector dedicated himself to the sword to the point of death.
He cut down on his rest time, his mealtime, his sleeping time. He minimized his interactions with his peers.
The rest of his time was spent swinging his sword, all to become stronger, to develop his swordsmanship, to earn his father’s recognition.
Then, at some point, the attitudes of those around him changed.
“The Young Master’s swordsmanship grows more refined by the day.”
“As expected of the Family Head’s bloodline.”
The sword masters gave him their genuine respect, and the servants’ attitudes became much more deferential.
His mother’s family also gained much prestige.
But for Hector, the greatest joy was being able to see his father more often.
Even so, it was only two or three times a year.
One day, when his father summoned him to the fifth floor, Hector was ecstatic.
Only a select few of the children were ever permitted entry to that place.
‘Father has acknowledged me…!’
The fifth floor, a place he was stepping into for the first time.
The place, which was supposed to be the main family’s mansion, instantly transformed its appearance into a coastline at sunset.
Hector saw his father standing on the orange-hued sandy beach.
“Hector.”
“Yes.”
“One day, I will slay the Demon King.”
Hector flinched.
He knew the weight the name ‘Demon King’ carried.
“I know I cannot do it alone. It is a long-cherished wish that even our great ancestor, the hero—the dark elf Kuset—could not achieve.”
“…”
“But if I am not alone, if I have allies who can lend me their strength, it is certainly possible. That is why I had you children.”
The confession of having children out of necessity might have sounded overly bleak coming from a father.
But Hector was not shocked.
Nor did he feel any disappointment.
“One day, I want you to fight by my side.”
Instead, an indescribable sense of fulfillment filled his entire being.
Whatever the reason, the fact that his father needed him was simply an honor, and he was overjoyed.
The Iron-Blooded Duke’s wish soon became Hector’s own.
To one day be able to stand by his father’s side on the battlefield he needed would surely be a dream come true.
‘I can do it.’
Genius.
Hector now considered himself a genius.
He could feel his swordsmanship improving daily, and a conviction that he was stronger than his peers began to bloom.
He thought that now, he could bear the weight of that once-burdensome word on his shoulders.
The moment he thought that, Hector witnessed it.
A true genius.
“…I can’t believe the difference is this great.”
“I guess Lord Hiiro is the only one fit to be the Family Head’s successor.”
“Shh…! The lady might hear you.”
He had been defeated in a duel with Hiiro Bednicker, the eldest son, in just over ten seconds.
But what struck him more sharply than the defeat was the single remark Hiiro left behind.
“…Strange. Why would Father place his hopes on a mediocrity like this?”
“…”
That word he had all but forgotten, the one he thought he would never have to recall, once again took a distinct shape and crushed Hector.
Mediocrity.
And genius.
Hector had a premonition.
The rest of my life will be a constant chase between those two.
* * *
He hated geniuses.
He loathed those who, under the banner of talent, mocked those who strove through effort.
He knew this feeling stemmed from an inferiority complex.
He knew, but so what?
“…I refuse.”
If he didn't follow this feeling, he would no longer be Hector Bednicker.
Caron’s head tilted.
“You’ll die if this continues.”
“I know.”
“And you still refuse? Is your pride more important than your life? I don’t understand.”
Of course you wouldn't.
From the lofty perspective of a high-and-mighty genius, the pride of a wretch at the bottom like me is probably invisible.
Besides, Hector had no intention of dying here.
‘There’s still a chance.’
He had recovered some stamina while the wolves were assessing the situation.
Hector voiced the plan he had formulated in his head.
“Basil.”
“Y-Yes?”
“I’ll create a path. Use that opening to escape.”
It was possible now that the number of wolves had decreased. There were gaps in their encirclement.
Basil’s face turned pale.
“Th-Then what about you, Sir Hector?”
“I’ll follow soon… I can’t promise, but it’s harder to fight while protecting you.”
“I can pull my own weight.”
“Don’t bluff. You’re on the verge of collapsing.”
“But…”
“I told you at the beginning. In this test, you obey the leader’s orders without question.”
“…”
Hector was grateful to Basil.
Even in this crisis, the man had not once pressured him to hand over his points.
He didn't know the reason.
Perhaps he was just too gentle to assert his own will.
But Hector chose to believe that this fellow had respected his petty pride.
In that case, Hector had to respect this dwarf's life in return.
“…I understand.”
In that moment, forgetting the situation, a laugh burst out of him.
‘So that’s how dwarves cry.’
Looking at Basil’s ridiculous face, Hector said.
“Basil, being a hero doesn’t seem to suit you. If you survive, you should look for a different line of work.”
“Actually, my dream was to be a brewer.”
“Really? I heard dwarven craft stout is a masterpiece.”
“That’s an understatement. I’ll treat you next time.”
Caron, who had been watching their exchange, spoke again.
“Hector Bednicker, are you really going to let you both die over some points?”
“This isn’t about points. It’s because I’m a Bednicker.”
“What about being a Bednicker?”
“—Bednickers don’t deal with trash.”
Those words were not Hector’s reply.
With a sickening crunch, something fell from the sky.
A wolf, crushed into a bloody pulp as if a boulder had fallen on it.
The boy who had caused the spectacle.
“…”
Hector let out a faint smile.
A face just as infuriating as Caron's.
But right now, a most welcome face.
“…Right, brother?”
Ruan looked at Hector and smiled back.