Chapter 131: Enough. Let's Just Stick to the Swords (1)
Chapter 131: Enough. Let's Just Stick to the Swords (1)
“Did you see that?”
“I saw it. The sword clearly bent in midair.”
“He was controlling it freely. The sword moved in response to his hand movements.”
“Could it be psychokinesis?”
“No, it wasn't magic. It wasn't an artifact, either.”
“True, there was no mana alignment at all.”
“Then you’re saying he did that with Aura?”
“It’s possible. Aura is also just an energy based on mana. At the stage where it’s processed within the body…”
“Hold on, that’s impossible. That theory was debunked two hundred years ago.”
“Your school might have reached a conclusion, but mine hasn't. If the source of mana and Aura is the same, there’s a possibility of substitution.”
“What? If that’s the case…”
In the waiting room of the Tower of Truth, mages were engaged in a heated debate.
The subject of their discussion was, of course, the existence of Petrik Schneider, who had used the Sword Flight Art.
Bundles of curiosity.
Beings who spend their entire lives exploring and researching something.
That is what mages are.
To such people, Petrik had shown the Sword Flight Art and Void Manipulation—unknown techniques they had never seen in their lives.
The mages no longer cared about the results of Arcana.
Their minds were now solely occupied with how to research Petrik Schneider’s miraculous techniques.
Even Liman Sierra, who lay collapsed in a corner of the waiting room, was outside their field of interest.
“Um, Lord Yurian. Will Liman be okay?”
When a colleague finally couldn't watch any longer and asked cautiously, one of the debating mages spoke up.
“Forget it. Just leave him be.”
“Will he... die?”
“Is this his first or second time? The priests treated him, so his body should be fine.”
“Tsk, tsk. He got hit by Primal Mana, so he’ll need to rest for a while.”
“I told him countless times not to pull that stunt…”
“He never listens, that one.”
Liman’s failure was familiar to the mages. This wasn't the first time.
Extracting Primal Mana by combining the properties of the Four Great Elements—this was a theory that had emerged a long time ago.
It was over five hundred years old, but it had been discarded.
Primal Mana was extremely unstable. Its power was immense, but it was so sensitive that the slightest slip-up would cause an immediate explosion.
Ultimately, it had been concluded that it was a power humans could not handle.
However, aren't there always fringe researchers who defy the trends of the world with the baseless confidence of 'I can do what others can't'?
Liman was one of them.
He wasn't a pure mage but a magic swordsman, yet he was more well-versed in theory than most mages.
Such a man was both a pride of the Tower of Truth and a headache-inducing eccentric. He simply couldn't let go of his obsession with Primal Mana, which everyone else had given up on.
[Logically, there can be no power in this world that cannot be controlled. Primal Mana must also have properties and characteristics that suit it. If we can just find them, we can control it. Being able to control it is what makes logical sense.]
And so, despite being a magic swordsman rather than a mage, Liman continued his research into Primal Mana.
He was a genius and an eccentric.
“Tsk, tsk. I wonder when he’ll finally give up.”
“What a waste of talent. A real waste.”
The supervising mages looked at Liman with pity. And then…
“Once Arcana is over, we must kidnap—no, secure… no, what was the word?”
“Recruit.”
“Ah, right. Let’s recruit that young man named Petrik.”
“How should we go about it?”
“We have to do whatever it takes. It’s obvious what young people like.”
“True. Money, women, fame, power. We must bring him in, even if we have to give him everything we can.”
“Other countries will compete, but when it comes to money, our Tower of Truth has the most.”
“We must bring him. Besides controlling that sword freely in the air, he might have more secrets.”
“Ho-ho-ho. He’s a walking research subject.”
Petrik needed to know: one should never stimulate the curiosity of the mage folk.
* * *
“You look like you have a lot of complaints.”
Garcia flinched.
“No, Grandfather.”
Standing before Garcia was the Sword Saint.
He was sitting in the Empire’s waiting room this time, watching the matches.
He, who hadn't even visited the waiting room when his own grandson was fighting, had made an exceptional visit this time.
He spoke to his grandson.
“Are you unhappy about the win by default?”
Garcia hesitated for a moment before opening his mouth.
“Since I’ve won by default twice now, I feel like people will talk even if I win the tournament later.”
“And?”
“I fear it might tarnish your name if things go wrong.”
The Sword Saint gave a short laugh.
“You speak as if your victory is a foregone conclusion.”
For the first time, a look of dissatisfaction appeared on Garcia’s face. It vanished as soon as he met the Sword Saint’s eyes, but he thought to himself:
Victory? That’s a given.
He was Garcia Reinardo.
The successor to the strongest knight on the continent.
Winning Arcana was merely a gateway he was expected to pass through from the moment he was born.
“You fool. Do you still think that after watching all the matches?”
“I know Antorius is strong. But I believe I can sufficiently overcome him.”
“Antorius… Right. You could probably beat someone like him.”
“…Are you saying there is another problem?”
“Can’t you see it for yourself?”
Garcia agonized over the question.
He thought the only person who could possibly block his path in this tournament was Antorius Denar of the Holy Kingdom.
As the rumors of him being the youngest Paladin candidate suggested, he possessed incredible Divine Power, and his level of swordsmanship didn't seem bad either.
But other than him…
“I don’t know. I heard rumors that Liman Sierra, the rising star of the Tower of Truth, was formidable, but he was eliminated, wasn't he?”
“And who was it that eliminated that Liman Sierra?”
“Ah, that lucky… Ahem.”
Only then did Garcia recall Petrik’s existence.
To be honest, his previous match had been impressive.
In a sense, it was remarkable that someone could beat another person so undignifiedly in a glorious tournament like Arcana.
Is everyone from the Atronia Kingdom like that, including that guy Alex I fought?
But that just meant his personality was remarkable—and in a bad way.
If judging by skill alone…
“To be honest, he doesn't seem that impressive.”
At Garcia’s words, the Sword Saint let out a sigh.
“Pathetic boy.”
“……”
Garcia lowered his head deeply.
It wasn't that he agreed with the Sword Saint’s words or was reflecting on them. It was simply a reflexive submission to the Sword Saint’s rebuke.
The Sword Saint spoke to his grandson.
“Keep this in mind. That Petrik fellow is a genius. He is likely stronger than you.”
“…Yes.”
“And he is a total low-life punk who doesn't know the first thing about manners.”
“…Pardon?”
“No, ahem…”
The Sword Saint cleared his throat and glossed over it. Then he spoke to his grandson again.
“If you are matched with him, give it your all from start to finish.”
“My all?”
“Yes. Only then might you find even a sliver of a chance at victory.”
“……”
“No, perhaps even that will be difficult.”
Garcia frowned at the Sword Saint’s words, feeling offended.
Petrik Schneider?
He seemed like a man with a very eccentric personality, but his skills didn't seem that great.
Is he really that amazing?
His grandfather had never evaluated another person so highly.
I’ll see for myself just how good he is.
Jealousy and curiosity, along with an arrogance that refused to disappear no matter how he tried to suppress it, coexisted within Garcia.
* * *
The day of the Arcana semi-finals.
The tournament showcasing the continent’s next generation had finally reached its final stages.
Talents handpicked from across the continent had gathered, and now only four remained.
Garcia Reinardo of the Benator Empire.
Antorius Denar of the Saint Louis Holy Church State.
Sierion Bysus Yuzef of the Yuzef Kingdom.
Petrik Schneider of the Atronia Kingdom.
The moment people saw this list of four, they realized something immediately.
“The final will be between the Sword Saint’s grandson and Antorius, right?”
“Most likely.”
“Then they’ll separate them in the semi-finals.”
“Of course. Then the question is who fights whom…”
“Does it even matter? The ones reaching the final will be the Sword Saint’s grandson and Antorius anyway.”
“It’s unfortunate for their opponents, but they’re basically just extras.”
“Still, reaching the Arcana semi-finals is an achievement to be proud of, isn't it?”
“That’s true.”
As the spectators expected, the organizers seemed to want Garcia and Antorius to clash in the final.
Antorius Denar vs. Sierion Bysus Yuzef.
Garcia Reinardo vs. Petrik Schneider.
The bracket was announced.
As everyone predicted, it was a bracket designed to have Garcia and Antorius collide in the final.
However, it was questionable whether the final would go according to their expectations.
* * *
“Antorius Denar, step forward!”
Antorius Denar appeared gallantly, his silver hair—changed by divine blessing—fluttering in the wind.
As he stepped onto the arena, the referee called out his opponent.
“Sierion Bysus Yuzef, step forward!”
Sierion took his two-handed sword and walked toward the arena.
Before him, the knights of the Yuzef Kingdom lined up on both sides, kneeling and bowing their heads.
“This is unnecessarily grand.”
“Prince.”
The one who answered Sierion was the supervising teacher from the Yuzef Kingdom’s academy.
As someone who held a formal knighthood and was a professor at the academy, he didn't need to kneel to Sierion, who was technically a student.
Nevertheless, he knelt and showed respect because, to him, Sierion was not just royalty but the lord to whom he had sworn his loyalty.
He spoke to Sierion on behalf of everyone.
“Please prove that our choice was not wrong.”
To that request, Sierion did not say whether he could or couldn't.
He simply passed them by and left a short remark as he climbed onto the arena.
“Watch closely.”
That one sentence was enough.
The youngest Paladin candidate?
The future of the Holy Kingdom?
None of that meant anything.
At least, not compared to the tiger that had been crouching in that small eastern kingdom.
“May you be victorious!”
“May you be victorious!”
With his subordinates seeing him off, Sierion Bysus Yuzef stood upon the arena.
Antorius spoke to Sierion as he arrived.
“You kept me waiting.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not at all. Reaching the semi-finals… it’s quite a joyous occasion for the Yuzef Kingdom. Congratulations.”
“……”
“Even if you lose here, do not be too disappointed. You are—”
“Enough.”
“What?”
Sierion cut Antorius off and pointed his sword at him.
“I tried to listen, but I can't. Talking to you Western hypocrites makes me want to vomit.”
“……”
“Shut up and draw your sword, you Holy Kingdom softie.”
“I shall see if your skills match your confidence.”
Antorius turned away with a displeased expression.
And immediately after they both took their positions.
“Begin!”
The referee’s signal rang out, and at the same time, Antorius released Divine Power from his entire body.
“O Yupinel!”
Golden Divine Power erupted from him.
Until now, Antorius had won his matches without much of a fight, simply through the overwhelming pressure of his Divine Power.
The power of the golden radiance he emitted had already been fully proven. However…
“Hah!”
Boom!
This opponent was different.
Sierion released Aura from his entire body, resisting the Divine Power Antorius was emitting.
The standard tactic when facing a Holy Knight.
Releasing Aura from the entire body to neutralize the pressure of Divine Power while fighting.
It wasn't that previous opponents didn't know this.
It was just that even when they tried, Antorius’s Divine Power was so overwhelmingly strong that they couldn't do it. However…
“Oh…”
“He’s holding his ground. He’s moving?”
“Incredible. To think the Prince of the Yuzef Kingdom had that much skill…”
Sierion was easily shaking off the pressure exerted by Antorius’s Divine Power.
The spectators marveled at the sight, and Antorius felt the same.
“Impressive.”
To neutralize Antorius’s Divine Power meant that his level was at least 6-Star.
To have achieved such a realm at that age meant his talent was truly no less than that of the Sword Saint’s grandson.
Sierion walked forward with steady thuds, overcoming Antorius’s Divine Power.
He leveled his two-handed sword and said:
“Winning easily with the power of a god ends here. Draw your sword, you greenhouse flower of the Holy Kingdom.”
“A greenhouse flower…”
Every single word the opponent said was grating. That tone, that look—daring to insult the Holy Kingdom, which served God and maintained the order of the continent.
Everything about him was irritating.
“I shall show you the skill of this greenhouse flower.”
Antorius finally drew his sword.
Sierion beckoned with his hand.
“Come.”
Simultaneously, the two charged forward and clashed.
Amidst the exploding sounds of Aura colliding, someone watching whispered softly.
“That one’s mine.”