Chapter 120: If You're Frustrated Enough to Cry, Get Stronger (3)
Chapter 120: If You're Frustrated Enough to Cry, Get Stronger (3)
“That damn brat...”
Alex crouched down, clutching his head in self-reproach. He was already dying of embarrassment, and he never imagined Patrick would say something like that right then and there.
Once the sting of defeat faded and his composure returned, the first emotion he felt was pure humiliation.
“Dammit, how am I supposed to look the juniors in the eye now?”
Everyone else had at least tried to look away, but Patrick—that wicked devil—had to go and hit him right where it hurt.
“Bastard has zero tact. None at all.”
Well, he supposed he should be grateful that his dying competitive spirit had been reignited thanks to him. Grateful, sure, but...
“It’s so embarrassing... Argh!”
As Alex sat there tearing at his hair, someone approached and spoke.
“What does it matter? Things like that happen when you’re young.”
Alex lifted his head to look up at the speaker.
Standing there was an old man with a benevolent expression. He wore ordinary clothes and had a short beard; he looked like a perfectly average man of average build.
“Ahem. Who might you be?” Alex asked, stopping his self-torture and standing up to speak politely.
The old man maintained his kind smile. “I saw your match. It was impressive.”
“Was it...?”
Well, it certainly would have been impressive. He’d been toyed with until he snapped and went on a frantic rampage. And even that rampage hadn't worked; he’d been taken down by a single blow. He was definitely an impressive loser.
However, the warm smile on the old man’s face held no hint of mockery or contempt. Instead, it was filled with pride and kindness.
“I came to apologize, but it seems there’s no need. That might actually be an insult to you, wouldn't it?”
“An apology?”
“Continue to devote yourself to your training.”
“...”
With those words, the old man walked away. For some reason, the sight of his straight, sturdy back left a powerful impression on Alex.
“Who the hell was that?”
* * *
A short while later.
In the waiting room for the representatives of the Benator Empire, the strongest nation on the continent.
True to their status, all five of their representatives were still in the running as the second round progressed. Normally, the atmosphere should have been celebratory, but...
“Ugh... Argh...”
“Guh...”
The current reality was nothing short of disastrous.
The professors from the Imperial Academy, who were responsible for leading the Arcana representatives, were collapsed on the floor, covered in blood. The young representatives themselves were frozen stiff, huddled against the walls.
In the middle of this gruesome scene, an old man pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his bloodstained knuckles.
“Everyone, get up.”
“...”
“Now.”
“Ye-Yes, sir!”
“Understood!”
The professors, who had been groaning on the floor, scrambled to their feet. Their faces were swollen beyond recognition as the old man glared at them with cold eyes.
“The children? Fine. Let’s say they’re still immature and thoughtless, so they might act that way.”
“...”
“But you lot are Academy professors. You witness such a disgraceful display and don't say a single word of reprimand to the student when he returns?”
“...”
“Why? Did my grandson use my name to act tough? Did he threaten to have your heads cut off?”
“No, sir. Nothing like that ever happened.”
“Then why? Why did you leave him be?”
“...”
“Did you decide to go easy on him yourselves? Just because Garcia is my grandson?”
At the old man’s accusation, the professors all bowed their heads simultaneously.
“We are sorry.”
“It was a lapse in judgment.”
“We will correct this immediately.”
Among the professors standing before the old man, two were in the 6-Star Realm, and one was a powerhouse who had reached the 7-Star Realm—the so-called Supreme Realm. These were individuals who could stand proudly even before the king of a nation.
“Tsk, pathetic fools...”
“...”
Yet, even a 7-Star master was trembling like a child caught misbehaving by a parent.
It was only natural. The old man before them was a figure revered by every knight on the continent. To those who lived by the sword, he was a being more respected and feared than the Emperor of the Empire or the Pope of the Holy Kingdom.
Duke Carlos Reinardo, the Sword Saint.
The strongest knight on the continent.
The greatest swordsman in the world.
The strongest human alive.
He was the man who held all these illustrious titles.
When the professors and students first heard that he had personally come to the waiting room, they had cheered. They never imagined the Sword Saint would come to encourage them in person.
Only one person—Garcia, the Sword Saint’s grandson—had a different reaction.
[I... I have to run.]
At the time, the professors and his peers didn't understand why Garcia was acting that way. But the moment the Sword Saint stepped into the room, the reason became clear.
[Ho ho ho. Let’s start with a beating.]
And now.
The instructors with their swollen faces and the students paralyzed with fear, unable to even look at their teachers. The atmosphere in the waiting room was truly wretched.
“Garcia.”
“Yes! Grandfather!”
“Do you know what you did wrong?”
“Yes. I am aware.”
“...You pathetic boy.”
Carlos frowned.
Aware? Aware of what? Garcia’s stiff, military-style response wasn't coming from a place of self-reflection. It was merely blind submission born of fear toward his grandfather.
Reflexive groveling and obedience.
It was a trait never found in a swordsman who had reached a certain level, but because of who his opponent was, Garcia didn't hesitate to bow his head.
Looking at his grandson, who was fidgeting and watching his every move, Duke Carlos let out a deep sigh.
“Hooo... Lift your head.”
Who is there to blame? This is all my fault...
In truth, Carlos himself had the greatest influence on Garcia’s personality. He had failed miserably at raising his own children. He had three sons, and not one of them had turned out right.
Because he had been so devoted to the Way of the Sword, he had neglected his family, leaving his children’s education entirely to his wife. As a result, all three grew up to be insufferable scoundrels.
The Sword Saint was deeply disappointed to see his sons grow into trash who used their father’s fame and the Duke’s power to act like tyrants. He tried to correct them later on, but his sons were already set in their ways; the admonitions of a father who had been indifferent for so long carried no weight.
In the end, even the world-renowned Sword Saint failed at parenting. The best he could do was send them off to a rural estate so they wouldn't cause any more trouble.
Then came his grandson, Garcia—his great hope.
The Sword Saint had been profoundly shocked when he saw the boy pick up a wooden sword and mimic the adults the moment he could walk. To others, it looked like a cute child’s game, but he knew.
A genius.
A true genius with the talent to surpass even himself.
He practically snatched the child away from his son and daughter-in-law to raise him personally. Unlike his three sons, whom he had ruined through neglect, he poured all his attention into his grandson, honing both his talent and his character.
He disciplined him strictly whenever he strayed and never indulged his whims. He believed he was doing his absolute best to raise a magnificent knight.
As a result, his grandson’s talent blossomed beautifully. However...
His mind is far too unstable.
Because he had been raised strictly to ensure he didn't become a scoundrel like his father and uncles, his outward behavior was fine. At least on the surface.
But he harbored an intense fear of his grandfather and teacher, and to alleviate that fear, he often looked down on his peers to assert a sense of superiority.
At first, Carlos didn't think it was a major issue, but as time passed, it became more pronounced.
Extreme fear and submission toward his grandfather.
And the resulting arrogance toward his peers as a reaction.
This was bad for him as a swordsman and even worse for him as a human being.
Sigh... They say raising children never goes as planned...
Looking at his grandson’s frozen face, it didn't seem like further scolding would solve anything. The Sword Saint calmly gave his grandson an order.
“In your remaining matches, do not lose your courtesy toward your opponents. Give it your all.”
“...Are you telling me to kill them?”
“That is not what I meant. I mean you should show them respect by doing your best in the match.”
“...Yes. I understand, Grandfather.”
Garcia’s face clearly betrayed his thoughts: What kind of ridiculous order is that?
Yet, he complied without question because he could never refuse his grandfather’s command. It was frustrating for the Sword Saint to witness.
If only someone could break this boy’s arrogance...
But was there anyone?
This was Arcana, where the finest talents from across the continent were gathered, but was there truly a monster capable of defeating this genius?
* * *
After Alex, the other representatives of the Athronia Kingdom did their best.
Stung by Patrick’s advice, they didn't give up regardless of who they faced, fighting with everything they had to secure a victory.
However, their skills were not enough to overcome the wall of reality that was the second round of Arcana.
Karin faced an Elven Knight and fought until seven knives were embedded in his body, but he eventually lost consciousness from excessive blood loss.
Isabella fought a Holy Knight from the Holy Kingdom, but her Illusory Hazy Step—which she had learned from Patrick—was a poor match against him. Her movements were severely restricted by the opponent’s all-encompassing pressure of Divine Power. Once it became a clash of raw strength, she was pushed back relentlessly until she lost by being forced out of bounds.
Three out of the four representatives in the second round were eliminated. For everyone except Patrick, their Arcana journey had come to an end.
“Don't lose heart, everyone. You were all magnificent.”
“Argh... I’m so pissed.”
“Ahem. As a professor of the Knight Department and a knight of the Athronia Kingdom, I am proud of you all.”
“The shame... I’m so embarrassed, you know?”
“So, everyone, lift your heads and stand tall.”
“Where’s a puddle? I just want to go drown in a puddle.”
Professor Late did his best to comfort the representatives, but it was useless because of the "Great Devil" beside him who kept raining on their parade.
Finally, Professor Late sighed and asked, “Is it really something to be that angry about?”
“Of course! Our side losing is the fifteenth thing I hate most in this world!”
“You hate too many things!”
“Regardless!”
Patrick cut off Professor Late and looked at his teammates. The four of them flinched and huddled together.
Patrick spoke to them. “The embarrassment ends here.”
“...”
“The seniors were incompetent and weak, so they lost. But fortunately, it’s not over yet. Because I’m still here.”
“Is you being here supposed to be a good thing?”
“Feels like a bad thing to me.”
“To be precise, it’s a terrifying thing.”
“Terrifying and miserable.”
They spoke that way, but the other teammates also harbored a sliver of hope. They might have hit their limit against the wall of reality, but this monster was different. None of them knew just how deep the well of Patrick Schneider’s power truly went.
Of course, this Arcana was crawling with monsters, including the Sword Saint’s grandson, but if it was Patrick...
“How far do you think you can go?”
At Alex’s question, Patrick puffed out his chest and spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I’m winning the whole thing, obviously.”
“The Sword Saint’s grandson and Antorius of the Holy Kingdom are no pushovers.”
“Maybe for people at your level, Senior.”
“...”
“I’ll show you. I’ll show you what a real difference in level looks like. You seniors just stay here and watch.”
Just then, the referee called Patrick’s name.
“Patrick Schneider!”
“Oh, they’re calling me.”
Patrick grabbed his sword and headed up to the arena. Watching his retreating back, Gerard spoke.
“That crazy bastard talks about winning Arcana like he’s going to a pub to buy a round of drinks.”
“His guts are something else...”
“Alex, what do you think?”
“About what?”
“Can he really win?”
“How should I know?”
“You fought a tournament favorite, didn't you? And you’ve sparred with Patrick. Don't you feel anything?”
At Gerard’s words, Isabella and Karin also turned their gaze toward Alex.
Alex let out a long sigh before speaking.
“What would I know? I couldn't even make him get serious.”
After that grumbling remark, Alex thought for a moment and continued.
“However...”
“However what?”
“I just can't imagine that wicked devil losing.”
The other teammates nodded in agreement.
“Well, I feel the same way.”
“It seems more likely that a demon would descend right here and now than him losing.”
“Then... is Patrick really going to win?”
At Isabella’s question, the group fell into a brief silence.
Patrick Schneider winning Arcana.
After imagining it for a moment, they all spoke with conflicted expressions.
“Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?”
“It’s... a good thing, right? It’s good for our country.”
“What about for the rest of the continent?”
“...”
“A devil so wicked that even the Demon Clan would bow and beg for lessons... ascending to the most glorious position among all the talents on the continent?”
They shook their heads as they imagined the scene.
“...What is the world coming to?”
“Oh, Yupinel...”
“No, at this point, I wouldn't even mind if Kalaron, the God of Destruction, did something about him.”
“Ah, this is driving me crazy. Winning should just be a good thing. Why do we have to worry about this?”
“My thoughts exactly!”
They were young fledglings who had just realized the world wasn't quite so simple.