Chapter 170
Chapter 170
"Iron Blood Sword Technique is clearly a cut above Wind Breaker. It makes you realize that not all intermediate sword techniques are created equal."
At Jorge's words, the expressions of the knights surrounding him shifted.
Though his head was wrapped in bandages, giving him a shabby appearance, no one paid any attention to that.
No matter how he looked, his influence over the former Calia knights remained undiminished.
"Could it be... an advanced sword technique...?"
"Advanced sword techniques are meant for Aura Users, Denmil."
"Ah, my apologies."
"Tch. Anyway, enough of that. Learn it to the best of your ability. The strength of the MacLaine Knights is no joke."
"...Yes, sir!"
After reassuring his former subordinates, Jorge headed toward the training grounds.
'The one teaching me will either be the lord or Grand Prince Logan. This is an opportunity for me as well.'
But the moment he arrived, determined as he was, he was met with something entirely unexpected.
"Excuse me? Sir Dygrom... is teaching me?"
Jorge had to exert considerable effort not to let his disappointment show.
"That's right. Strictly speaking, it should be me or Father instructing you, but unfortunately, we're a bit busy. The essence of the technique can be adequately conveyed by Sir Dygrom, a High Knight. Unless... you're dissatisfied with your instructor?"
"N-No, not at all. I'll follow orders."
"Good. Just mastering the Iron Blood Sword Technique will make you significantly stronger. Make sure to learn it well."
"Yes. Thank you!"
Whether or not Logan sensed his conflicted feelings, he turned away after that single remark.
The moment Logan stepped out of the training grounds—
As expected, the knights, loosely bound by temporary discipline, erupted into chaos.
"At this rate, do you think you can complete a thousand repetitions today?! Wake the hell up!"
"Son of a—"
"What was that?"
"I said I'll train so hard the wind will howl!"
Who in their right mind would demand a thousand repetitions of Iron Blood Sword Technique in a single day? Each proper execution took thirty minutes at normal speed.
"Train as if it's real combat! Don't you know that as a knight?! Bring it on!!"
"But why do I only get a wooden sword...?"
"It's sparring training under disadvantaged conditions."
"Ha..."
"What?"
"...I can do this all day."
Calling this a sparring session was generous—it was outright abuse.
"It's defensive training. Just block."
"All I have to do is block?"
"That's right. No attacking. Until I say stop."
"Bullsh—"
"What?"
"...I'll hold out until I break!"
Some knights were openly trying to pummel their opponents into the ground.
From his office in the manor, Patrick watched the spectacle unfold, clicking his tongue before turning around.
"Isn't this a bit excessive? Seems like our knights have been holding onto some grudges."
"They're just copying what they were taught, I hear."
"What? By whom?! Who the hell taught them to train like—"
"...?"
Only when he noticed his son staring pointedly at him did Patrick stiffen and avert his gaze.
"Ahem. Well, I had to be a little... unconventional given the circumstances. Ahem. Lovely weather today, isn't it?"
Logan stifled a laugh at his father's evasion and turned his attention to an unusually quiet corner of the otherwise chaotic training grounds.
The commotion elsewhere was within expectations—but what was happening there was anything but.
Whoosh.
Though no force was infused, the sheer precision of the sword's form and intent alone produced a thunderous crack as if the air itself had been split.
The instincts of a well-trained High Knight immediately told Jorge that he had just executed a flawless Iron Blood Sword Technique for the first time.
A breakthrough in just ten days.
It was partly due to his own deep understanding of swordsmanship and mastery of force—
"Well done. Now all you need is more practice to get accustomed to it."
—but also because of the exceptional guidance of this composed young "instructor" nodding before him.
Genuinely moved, Jorge bowed deeply to his unlikely teacher.
"Thank you, Sir Dygrom. This is all thanks to your instruction."
Perhaps caught off guard, Dygrom hesitated briefly before waving his hand dismissively.
"Not at all. It's your own hard work, Sir Jorge. Let's end here for today."
Even in the face of sincere gratitude, Dygrom said only what was necessary before turning to leave.
Watching his retreating figure, Jorge suddenly blurted out the question he'd been holding back for days.
"Why are you so kind to me?"
Dygrom paused but didn't turn around, answering in the same calm tone.
"I merely followed orders from above."
"Do you... resent me?"
"Is there any reason I should?"
"Until recently, I was your enemy."
"There are plenty like you here."
As Dygrom replied indifferently and moved to walk away, Jorge voiced something he couldn't ignore.
"It's embarrassing to admit, but my subordinates—no, my former subordinates—are already speculating that I might take on a key position in the knight order. And given what I've heard of the Grand Prince's tendencies... I wondered if that might indeed be the case."
Finally, Dygrom stopped and turned back—
But his answer wasn't what Jorge expected.
"...The Grand Prince values ability above all. He prioritizes practicality over honor. Your assumption isn't unfounded."
"What I want to know is your feelings on the matter."
"...Pardon?"
"Even so, you have no objections?"
Dygrom exhaled softly, but his response came without hesitation.
"A knight obeys his lord's command. My personal feelings are irrelevant."
"But surely, as a person—"
"If it strengthens our knight order, I welcome any direction. The Grand Prince thinks the same. So if you do take on such a role, just keep that in mind."
Jorge stared intently into Dygrom's blue eyes.
The answer was so devoid of resentment or ambition—could any ordinary person truly speak like this?
Yet seeing the unwavering certainty in those eyes, Jorge could only nod with a hollow laugh.
Then, raising his voice loud enough for the entire training grounds to hear, he declared:
"I, Jorge, swear to honor and follow Sir Dygrom as my senior knight, in accordance with our lord's will!"
Dygrom's face flashed with surprise.
"W-What is this, Sir Jorge?!"
Only then, seeing Dygrom flustered for the first time, did Jorge allow himself a small smirk.
Patrick, who had witnessed the entire exchange from afar, tilted his head in confusion.
Though he couldn't hear the words, their actions were clear enough.
"Weren't those two supposed to be the most problematic pair? They seem to have reconciled."
"Yes. It appears so."
"Hmm. Faster than expected."
"Yes. And it seems the future knight commander has been decided as well."
"What?"
Logan smiled at his father's bewildered expression and was about to explain—
"Wasn't Ronian supposed to be the future knight commander?"
Patrick's follow-up question caught him off guard.
"What?"
"What do you mean, 'what'? If you're inheriting the family, what were you planning to assign your brother? Hand him an independent territory with his own barony? A talent like his?"
"N-No, that's not what I meant. Ronian must be prepared to take over my or your role if necessary. But knight commander? That's... Sir Heinkel's successor should be chosen from among them."
If circumstances allow, he'll have to take on even greater responsibilities.
As Logan swallowed those unspoken thoughts, his father gave him a strange look.
"Why not?"
"Pardon?"
"In wartime, perhaps, but even if Ronian is still lacking, wouldn't he be fine in peacetime? With experience and growth, he'd be more than qualified. It's not like the knight commander can't act in your stead when you're absent."
"Ah..."
Only then did Logan realize the critical difference in their perspectives.
But before he could respond—
"So what you're telling me is that you expect another war within a few years. Am I right?"
"Ah—hahaha. N-No, that's not it, but..."
Cold sweat trickled down his back unbidden.
"I just thought it'd be better for Ronian to gain experience handling various tasks rather than burdening him with heavy responsibilities before he's even an adult. The future you speak of feels too distant for us."
"I see. That's fair. But Logan, someday you'll realize that time doesn't flow at a constant pace. The older you get, the faster it seems to slip by. At my age, a decade passes in the blink of an eye."
And before half that time passes, this nation could collapse.
"So always plan with the distant future in mind."
"Yes. Understood."
Specifically, I'm focusing on the next five and a half years.
As Logan kept those thoughts to himself, his father suddenly changed the subject.
"Speaking of which, entrusting Ronian with the security force might have been a slight miscalculation."
"Huh? Why? Did something go wrong?"
"No. The organization he built by recruiting retired knights is performing exceptionally well. The number of disturbances in town has plummeted—both in Tesron and MacLaine Castle. The territorial citizens are cheering so loudly I can hear them from here."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"It is. Except for one detail."
Where was the downside in that news?
As Logan frowned in confusion, Patrick's expression grew slightly stern.
"It's nothing major, but Ronian's name is spreading rapidly among the citizens."
"What's the problem with—"
"It's only been a few days, so there's no need to worry yet. But if Ronian continues building his reputation this way, it could lead to complications later."
Finally, Logan understood what his father meant.
Accepting it, however, was another matter entirely.
"There won't be any problems, Father."
"For now, yes. Your position is secure, and Ronian follows you loyally. But the future is unpredictable. Even if Ronian doesn't seek it, succession disputes could arise."
Logan nearly burst into laughter but missed his chance to retort as his father pressed further.
"Perhaps it'd be better to keep Ronian focused solely on swordsmanship training instead? In noble families, the second son only needs to be an outstanding knight. No need to create unnecessary strife."
The dissonance was almost physically painful.
'In my past life, Ronian was the one who saved our family. Who defended this nation to the end. I was just the exiled prodigal son.'
The stark contrast between his past and present lives weighed heavily, drawing a weary sigh from him.
"Father. I intend for Ronian to inherit this territory."
"What?! That's absurd!"
"You heard me. If not now, then someday, Ronian will lead MacLaine Territory."
"What kind of nonsense is this?!"
Patrick's roar echoed, but Logan's expression remained firm.
"It's not nonsense. He's more than capable."
"After everything you've done for this territory—"
"I aim for something greater."
"...What?"
"I can't speak of it yet, but know this much. So Ronian building his reputation is actually a good thing."
"Don't tell me that's why you—"
"Yes. I was pleased to see him voice and resolve territorial matters during the council."
"No, even so, this is too much! I can't accept it!"
"You will. Just as you have until now."
"You... What are you even thinking...?"
Patrick trailed off, and Logan could only smile in response.
'Father...'
Ronian's fist froze mid-air before it could knock on the door.
He had been sneaking toward the office on cat-like feet, eager to boast about his recent achievements—
Hiding even his force, planning to surprise his brother with a sudden appearance.
But now, he'd overheard something he shouldn't have.
'Am I... standing in Brother's way?'
A thought he'd never once entertained.
His clenched fist trembled with tension.
With a somber expression, Ronian MacLaine quietly retreated the way he came.
As if nothing had happened at all.