259 - The Sacred Succession Sword
The more pencil stubs or empty mechanical pencil leads a student has, the harder they've studied—that's the logic. In the Kaizen Empire, a broken wooden sword symbolized the same thing for a knight: their effort.
"I'm innocent."
The scabbard looked like it cost tens of millions of won, so I deliberately didn't touch it. But a wooden sword? At most, 100,000 won. I could buy one with the pocket money Professor Cheon gave me.
But the real issue was the sword itself.
"Nami, your hands are dropping. Hold them higher."
What the hell was I doing at my age?
"Yes, ma'am..."
Principal Gu On-yu's supervision left no gaps. Kneeling in the corner of the auditorium, hands raised in punishment—my situation was utterly pathetic. The attendants were diligently sweeping the wooden sword's remains into a plastic bag with brooms.
"Katsuhata! Is that really how you take punishment? Arms straight out!"
"S-sorry... hic..."
"Aigoo, how did this happen... Yes, hello? This is Koizumi Yoshihiro. Yes, I'm calling the patriarch directly. Yes, it's urgent."
Emika's master, Koizumi, who reeked of old-school rigidity, was on the phone with Japan. Shocking that he was younger than Principal Gu—mid-50s at most.
"Sob... hic..."
Beside me, in the same pose, was Katsuhata Emika, sobbing. She'd clutched the shattered sword at first, sniffling. By the time her master arrived, she was wailing outright. Scolded for failing to protect her treasured blade, she still hadn't composed herself.
"There are so many valuables in the world—how could a wooden sword be a treasure?"
I whispered to Emika. She shot me a sharp glare.
"Thanks to our ancestors' wisdom. The Katsuhata heir must swing the sword more than anyone, so they made one that never breaks."
Surprisingly, Emika explained kindly, not swayed by emotion. Or maybe she held back because I was too young to snap at.
"Cost-saving at its finest."
"It's not that simple! It's only for heirs before adulthood—a vow and rite to inherit the spirits of past patriarchs."
"So 'Sacred Succession Sword' means inheritance, not total victory."
I couldn't shake the image of parents convincing a sibling to hand down old clothes... but I kept it to myself.
Emika chattered on, excited about her expertise. Made from oak in Japan's Akaiishi Mountains mana field, crafted early 19th century, handed down nine generations.
"No wonder it felt so sturdy."
"You...!"
"It wasn't on purpose. Well, I did smash it intentionally, but if I'd known it was an heirloom, I wouldn't have."
"But you said it never breaks. How'd you do it, Nami?"
"Hmm... Honestly, after 200 years, maybe it was due."
"N-no way!"
"The hilt was pitch-black from wear. Since it's broken anyway, sis, let's get you a pretty new one. Swedish ones are all the rage."
She wouldn't make me pay, right? I was saving for the astronomical costs of the Adella transmutation project—no way I'd blow it on this.
I sweet-talked her gently. Koizumi, who'd been glaring and talking on his phone, finally approached.
"Katsuhata, take this. It's the patriarch."
"Y-yes...!"
Emika's voice cracked in panic. A flurry of emotions crossed her face; she didn't look pleased. Clearing her throat, she continued.
"I've switched. This is Katsuhata Emika—"
⊳ "Emika, you've finally done it! I always believed in you!"
⊳ "Pardon?"
⊳ "Disaster turned to fortune! Experience beyond our borders paid off! Such joyous news, happening while you're in Korea—regrettable, but fine. Return home soon; we'll throw a celebration!"
⊳ "W-wait, Patriarch! I don't understand!"
⊳ "Hahaha, so humble! You don't know? Then this patriarch shall enlighten you!"
What the hell? None of us in the auditorium understood this patriarch's ramblings. Emika looked clueless too. But the old man on the line sounded buzzed—high energy.
"Kamiizumi Nobutsuna."
"Kamiizumi...? The supreme sword saint of ancient and modern times?"
"Yes. You've earned the right to be called his reincarnation worldwide, Katsuhata Emika. And more: you've proven our Katsuhata style—the sole lineage inheriting Japan's three great origins, Shinto-ryu and Kage-ryu."
"Patriarch, wait...!"
"I want to hand you the patriarchy now. You can't imagine my excitement for the next council. I can't wait to see the elders squirm."
Something was seriously off. Koizumi's face said it all: initial relief turned to a rainbow of expressions.
Emika paused mid-call, glancing at me.
What.
My arms ached; I couldn't hold them up anymore. I lowered them naturally, brushing off her heavy stare.
Emika resumed softly. "Um... Patriarch...?"
⊳ "Yes, Emika! What do you want to eat in Japan? No nagging that day—just say it. Hamburger? Pizza?"
⊳ "It wasn't me... I mean, I didn't break it!"
⊳ "Your sword, but not you? Hahaha! Even in a duel, it's fine! Breaking the Sacred Succession Sword means you withstood that power! Incredible—no need to downplay it."
⊳ "Nami broke it alone."
Emika yelled, face crumpling as the patriarch sank into delusion. I snatched the phone.
"Hello, this is NoName."
"Huh? Who... who are you?"
The patriarch switched from polite to casual mid-sentence at my childish voice.
"Anyway, the Sacred Succession Sword seems dispensable for House Katsuhata, so no compensation. Or is its absence troubling?"
"Not really, but..."
"Then, since you vouched for it, no compensation talk. I'll buy Emika-sis a practice wooden sword and ship it to Japan."
Click.
Problem solved.
"Why hang up, Nami?!"
"Can't risk you changing your mind."
Hanging up first is rude? A bit sneaky, but counting past lives, I'm older than your patriarch—it's fine.
16th century, Sengoku era—warring factions everywhere. 'Kamiizumi Nobutsuna' was hailed the world's greatest samurai, his legend enduring today. Records brimmed with exaggerations: splitting mountains, mastering sword esoterica in a day.
One verified fact: at 16, he bisected the era's finest magic sword, gifted by a castle lord.
Centuries later, 19th-century Edo shogunate. To mediate hundreds of successor schools, the shogun distributed 12 'Sacred Succession Swords' modeled after Kamiizumi's blade to major houses.
Promise: if an heir under 16 replicated the feat, they'd rule all houses.
A few broke swords, but all via accomplices—fraud. The shogunate fell faster than the swords, rendering it moot.
"What to do..."
Katsuhata Akitaro, patriarch of House Katsuhata, pondered deeply. The six remaining swords were house treasures. He'd planned to publicize this for glory.
[I didn't break it!]
Emika was fourteen. No mage in Katsuhata outshone her talent, the patriarch believed.
Even advancing the sword saint's 16-year feat by two years is astonishing...
At 16, the Aura Heart still grows—infusing massive aura was tough. Medievals called 16 adulthood, but real growth hits 18-20.
But 8 years old? Emika wouldn't prank like that...
At 8, Katsuhata kids barely touched swords. Manifesting aura outside the body earned genius praise. Dizziness hit him.
He paced garden and engawa for hours. Tong-tong—the shishiodoshi's bamboo chime failed to soothe.
He called Emika's master, his senior, Koizumi Yoshihiro.
"Patriarch of House Katsuhata, Katsuhata Akitaro."
"That Nami kid claims she made her own unique magic, Adella. True?"
Math wasn't her only gift? Over 50 years, the patriarch had seen geniuses—including himself, once dominant. But this felt fundamentally different. Like deep learning AI crushing humans at Go after months—like fear of the unknown.
"What’s Emika doing? Still with that kid?"
"What?"
Thud—the phone hit the garden stones.
The patriarch doubted his ears. Thoughts raced. Composing himself, he shakily retrieved it.
"What did you say? What happened to our Emika?"
"Eleventh?!"
"You scared me, you fool!"
Crack—the Katsuhata patriarch needed a new phone.