Chapter 169
Chapter 169
Pant. Pant.
"This is insane..."
"This is absolute madness."
Gasping voices filled with exhaustion rose from among the new recruits undergoing training.
At first, the morning run that began in the training grounds—circling the massive MacLaine Town ten times—had seemed manageable enough.
But then came the mounted training, a concept so absurd from its very name that it left everyone dumbfounded. More than half the knights let out agonized screams as they were forced to run while carrying their own horses.
And when they started rock climbing with boulders strapped to their backs, groans escaped from nearly every knight's lips.
'Is he seriously trying to weed us all out?'
For a moment, that thought crossed their minds.
Even Jorge, a High Knight who had spent the last decade focusing solely on swordsmanship training rather than physical conditioning, found sweat beading on his forehead from this brutal regimen.
Yet he endured silently.
His determination to settle in MacLaine was one thing, but—
"C-Captain! Captain, please say something—!"
"Shut up, Denmil. Look ahead. What exactly do you expect me to say in this situation?"
"Ugh... I guess you're right."
Despite being instructors, the existing MacLaine knights were undergoing the exact same training. They weren't just barking orders—they were suffering alongside them. How could he be the first to give up?
Above all, even the lowest-ranking knights among them were completing this hellish training with eerily calm expressions.
"So this is the MacLaine Knight Order's regular training... This insane regimen. No wonder they're strong."
At those words, Denmil's complaints died in his throat. The other knights listening in nodded in agreement.
After the civil war, rumors about MacLaine had largely revolved around Logan MacLaine and their weapons. But those who had crossed blades with them on the battlefield almost always added one more reason:
"MacLaine knights are stronger than other knights of the same rank. They overwhelm their peers effortlessly and can even pressure those above them."
Today, Jorge felt he had glimpsed the source of that strength.
What they didn't realize was that their conversation brought a faint smile to Logan's lips as he ran far ahead, listening in.
Several hours later.
"Alright, everyone—rest!"
"WOOOOO! WE'RE ALIVE!"
"Sh-shut up! My ears are ringing!"
The grueling training session finally ended after about a dozen knights collapsed from exhaustion.
'This is brutal...'
Even Jorge clicked his tongue in disbelief.
What he found most devilish was the final stretch—the return to the training grounds after the cliffside endurance training.
Just when they thought they could relax and ride their horses back, they were forced to carry their mounts instead.
It was a sucker punch to the back of the head.
Most of the dozen who dropped out did so right there.
"These knights... just carry their damn horses around?! How does that even make sense?!"
"There... must be a reason."
"Yeah. The reason is torture."
As everyone collapsed in exhaustion from the most extreme training they had ever experienced—
"From now on, I will teach you the Iron Blood Sword Technique—the signature style of the MacLaine Knight Order. It is an intermediate-level swordsmanship, but one we proudly consider the pinnacle of its rank. Everyone, on your feet!"
"UOOOOH!"
"Intermediate swordsmanship?!"
Screams and confusion erupted simultaneously.
"Instruction will be conducted in pairs—one instructor for every two trainees. During this period, you will treat your instructor with humility and respect as your master. And unless there are disqualifying reasons, these temporary masters will also become your senior knights, responsible for teaching you MacLaine's culture moving forward."
The MacLaine knights' faces brightened.
'The Grand Prince truly intends to favor us.'
But at the same time, a chill ran through the new recruits.
They now realized that the kindness shown to them over the past few days had just been bait—preparation for this brutal training.
'These bastards are ruthless.'
And now they had to train with swords? While treating their instructors like masters?
'I might actually die.'
The fallen knights' gazes all converged on one person.
Jorge, meeting their eyes, sighed softly and stood up.
Even he thought this was excessive.
Though for different reasons.
"My Lord. Forgive me, but those of us from the Calia Knight Order have already mastered an intermediate swordsmanship called Wind Breaker. At this point, learning another—"
"You don't want to learn it?"
"That's not what I—"
"Sir Jorge. Then why don't you test it out first?"
Grin.
The amusement in those crimson eyes sent a shiver down Jorge's spine.
"I'll only use the Iron Blood Sword Technique. You're free to employ every method at your disposal."
The confidence in that statement didn't matter.
Jorge was acutely aware that Logan was stronger than him.
But even so—
Clang.
"Pick up your sword. Ah, you can use your artifact sword if you prefer."
"...Pardon?"
Logan's words, spoken as he picked up a wooden training sword, couldn't help but sting Jorge's pride.
"My artifact sword is a Class 3—"
"Doesn't matter. Use everything you've got."
"......"
Jorge's expression darkened dangerously.
What he wanted was recognition of his skill—not outright dismissal.
'Even so, this is...'
Creak.
He knew that while he couldn't do it, some exceptional High Knights could wield Force Blades without swords, using them as substitutes.
And he had a strong suspicion that Logan MacLaine, that monster, was easily capable of such a feat.
But even then, the difference between a real sword and a wooden one was vast.
Being able to substitute a sword didn't mean not needing one at all.
The essence of externalized Force was to maximize the power of the weapon one wielded. Using a wooden sword against a real blade was something you only did against an opponent you considered beneath you.
And he was even allowing Jorge to use an artifact?
'Didn't you yourself rely on that sword and other artifacts to fight Transcendents? And now you're facing me barehanded with a wooden sword? Me? Jorge?!'
Indignation flared into anger.
"If you insist—"
Swoosh.
"—then as you command."
A crimson glow erupted from the tip of his artifact sword, Fortitudo.
But—
"Understanding your place—"
CRACK!
"—is a knight's foremost duty."
THUD!
"And with swordsmanship like this—?!"
WHAM!
"Guh...!"
A series of brutal impacts echoed as Jorge was sent tumbling across the ground.
A High Knight, supposedly equal in rank, had failed to land a single blow—instead being beaten down one-sidedly.
As the onlookers' widened eyes turned toward Jorge's pitifully crumpled form—
The man himself wasn't even embarrassed. He just stared at Logan with pure astonishment.
Cough.
"H-how... such a gap... Could it be—?"
"It's just the difference in swordsmanship."
Understanding the unspoken implication in that gaze, Logan smirked and tossed the wooden sword—
Right at Jorge's forehead.
THWACK.
"Guhhh..."
"Anyone else here think they know a usable intermediate swordsmanship?"
With the High Knight knocked unconscious, bleeding from the forehead—
No one dared raise their hand.
The first day of swordsmanship training was spent reciting stances and forms together.
Since the temporary master-disciple policy hadn't been announced to the MacLaine knights beforehand, they first had to assign who would teach whom.
Gathering the squad leaders for this purpose, Logan dropped a bombshell from the start:
"Push them to their limits."
"Pardon?!"
"I'm saying you can work them as hard as you want. Just don't kill or cripple them."
"My Lord..."
Victor, standing nearby, shot him a bewildered look.
Even Ellen's gaze turned strange, but Logan just shrugged without retracting his words.
The knights were too stunned to respond immediately.
"Not long ago, you were fighting them for your lives. Of course, just seeing them must piss you off. It's unsettling. Maybe you even feel like they're stealing your positions. So I'm giving you a chance to work through those feelings."
Tempting words.
But Digrom's expression stiffened upon hearing them.
'We've been trying so hard to prevent factionalism, and now the Grand Prince is encouraging it?!'
Taking this at face value would be idiocy.
If the knights actually acted on it and some ended up quitting—
"...Are you truly allowing this?"
You idiot!
Digrom's head whipped around.
Fortunately, he wasn't the only one thinking it—everyone was staring wide-eyed at Henderson, who had spoken up.
'Did that guy leave his brain behind even after getting his title...?'
But then—
"Of course. Those who can't handle it weren't fit for our order to begin with. So go ahead—break them in. Until you're satisfied."
The Grand Prince affirmed it.
'He's serious.'
The moment everyone realized that, the atmosphere shifted completely.
They had been tiptoeing around, terrified of accusations of favoritism or slacking.
But now, the Grand Prince himself was openly declaring that the existing knights would be prioritized.
The repressed instincts of men who had endured endless hazing erupted in sadistic jokes.
"We'll carve it into their bones!"
Starting with Henderson's booming voice—
"We'll make them train even in their dreams!"
"My goal is to make both of my recruits desert!"
"They won't even dare to look me in the eye after this!"
Watching his comrades regress into childish taunts, Digrom clicked his tongue.
'How immature...'
If he added something slightly more extreme, the others would probably rein themselves in.
"My Lord. If a disciple under my care commits suicide, does that count as my responsibility...?"
His intention was to temper the overheated mood—but perhaps he went too far.
The atmosphere instantly froze.
Did I overdo it...?
"...What? What's with those looks? Am I the only monster here?!"
His comrades stared at him like he was something vile.
And worse—
"Squad 7 Leader, Sir Digrom. Come with me."
It seemed he had caught the Lord's attention.
Like a lamb led to slaughter, Digrom had no choice but to follow Logan.
But then—
The Grand Prince's first words, which should have been scathing, were unexpectedly warm.
"So. Baron Digrom Sephirod. How's the new estate treating you?"
This is no time to relax.
Digrom answered cautiously.
"Yes! Thanks to your consideration, I've been settling in well."
"Good, that's good. But you seem a bit uneasy. Has it been weighing on you that much?"
Called it.
"I was just considering all possibilities. I would never! Even think of doing anything to harm the family."
Digrom rapidly spat out the excuse he had prepared.
"Right, right. I trust you. It was just a joke, wasn't it?"
"Exactly!"
Thankfully, the Grand Prince understood.
As Digrom sighed in relief—
Chuckle.
"Did you really think I called you here for that? Honestly, I should've arranged this talk sooner..."
With a peculiar glint in his eyes, Logan got to the point.
"You reached the High Knight rank during the last war, correct?"
"Yes, I was fortunate."
"Hmm. I hate to say it, but I was quite surprised. I expected the leaders of Squads 1 through 4 to reach it first."
Ronian, Victor, Ellen—three young prodigies—and Henderson, Digrom's fellow recruit.
Even in Digrom's eyes, they were monstrously talented.
The three geniuses had caught up to his fifteen years of training in just a few, and Henderson had always been a step ahead of him.
"Not at all. I thought the same."
He meant it.
He had only reached this level after repeatedly facing life-and-death situations on the battlefield and barely surviving—but they would undoubtedly reach High Knight soon even without such experiences.
Especially the leaders of Squads 1 through 3. Given their ages, they were clearly even more talented than the Lord himself, who had reached High Knight young despite lacking war experience or intermediate swordsmanship.
'They'll probably surpass me in no time.'
That was why Digrom remained humble about his own achievements.
But the Grand Prince seemed to think differently.
"And yet, you were the first to advance. You should take pride in that. On top of that, you're well-liked—many see you as the next Knight Commander."
"...You flatter me."
"Which is why I have a question."
"Yes?"
"What do you think of Sir Jorge?"
"......"
The sudden question left Digrom speechless.
"...What do you mean?"
"Between Sir Jorge and you—who do you think should be the next Knight Commander?"
So that's what this is about...
The bluntness caught him off guard, but Digrom answered honestly.
"I believe the Knight Order should be led by the strongest individual."
"So you think Jorge, who just transferred here, should become Knight Commander?"
"Yes. That is the standard practice."
"Hmm... A very orthodox answer. But wouldn't the existing knights resent that?"
"After today's announcement, most will be satisfied."
"No, no. The mind might accept it, but human emotions don't work that easily."
What does he want me to do?
As Digrom grew confused—
"That's why I'm giving you a choice."
"...Pardon?"
Logan's next words made his eyes widen uncontrollably.