Chapter 67
Episode 67
A blade measuring roughly 120cm—slightly longer and broader than a standard longsword, bordering on a greatsword in form.
Though encased in a rugged leather scabbard, the silver hilt, the pommel designed for balance, and the distinctive crossguard shape alone made it an impressive sight.
Shhhhk.
The moment he drew the sword—
"Wow..."
An involuntary gasp escaped Logan's lips.
The broad, elongated silver blade complemented the handspan-length crossguard and flame-shaped pommel perfectly.
And then there was the flawless balance—so natural in his grip that it felt like an extension of his own arm.
Calling it "well-made" would have been an understatement.
This was...
"A sword made for me."
The length, width, blade shape—everything fit him as though tailored. The harmony was so perfect it felt like gaining a new limb.
"How is this possible..."
Swish.
With a flick of his wrist, the sword sliced through the air effortlessly, the crisp sensation of each movement exhilarating against his palm.
Despite its appearance suggesting a weight of at least 5kg, it felt no heavier than a third of that.
"A pure mithril sword..."
Huum.
Even the Force he channeled through it glowed brighter than usual, coating the blade in radiant light.
In that brilliance, Logan recalled the dwarf who had been scrutinizing him so intently lately.
"Truly incredible. Thank you, Hamar..."
It was a masterpiece beyond words.
As he marveled at the dwarf's craftsmanship and sheathed the sword—
Tap.
A note tucked inside the scabbard fluttered to the ground belatedly.
"After finishing the knights' weapons, I'll rest for half a year. I'll give it my all—though yours will still be the best, of course."
That day, Logan found himself grinning uncontrollably.
And for the rest of it, he danced with his new partner, swinging the blade in pure delight.
Two weeks had passed since Silvan's annexation into MacLaine territory.
They say no loyal servant serves two masters.
If that were true, then every knight captured from Silvan must have been a traitor—since they'd all switched allegiances within those two weeks.
Of course, that was ignoring the unique context of territorial warfare.
"Still, problems might arise later. Not all who served a tyrant can be trustworthy."
"Naturally."
"Huh?"
"Were the Tesron defectors any different? Work them to the bone, and they won't have energy for mischief."
"...I see."
Logan chuckled dryly at his father's blunt dismissal of his concern.
"Are you sure you should go alone?"
"It's enemy territory. Bringing attendants or knights would only complicate things if something goes wrong. Alone, I can escape any situation."
Coming from a man who'd evaded the Imperial Army for two decades with nothing but average knight skills in his past life, the argument should have held weight—but of course, it didn't.
"Two hands are better than one. At least take some mid-tier knights—"
"Even our entire order wouldn't stand a chance right now. Alone is better."
"Then take attendants. A noble can't just—"
"Dignity gets people killed."
"If your plan holds, that shouldn't happen. Unless you're planning to— Wait, are you—?"
"I'll be back!"
"Logan! LOGAN!"
Clip-clop clip-clop.
Leaving his shouting father behind, Logan urged his horse into a gallop.
'I don't plan to cause trouble... but I probably will.'
Swallowing the unspoken excuse, he spurred his horse faster.
From Silvan Castle, crossing Silvan territory took two days on foot.
From the border to Vifros Castle at the heart of Vifros territory: another three.
But Logan, now a high-tier knight, could reinforce his mount with Force, compressing the five-day journey to under one—even with rest breaks factored in.
Yet he'd left Silvan Castle with the full five days to spare.
Rather than arriving early, he wanted to scout the surrounding castles, villages, and people—to gauge the state of his potential enemy, Vifros, firsthand.
The results, however, defied his expectations.
"The lord? A good man. Me? Never met him, but taxes are low. Haha."
Avoiding castles to prevent unnecessary delays, he spent four days in various villages—all with similar responses.
At the very least, Vifros wasn't ruling as harshly as Silvan or Peretta.
Which meant...
'They're expanding their forces without needing to exploit their people. They have that much leeway.'
Logan's expression hardened.
And when he finally reached Vifros Castle's eastern outer gate, the first banner he saw twisted his scowl deeper.
An eagle soaring over flames.
'Peretta...'
Apparently, he wasn't the only one cutting it close.
"Who's that?"
"...A flame crest?"
"MacLaine?!"
As he approached, murmurs rippled through the Peretta contingent.
At a glance, they had over twenty knights, a hundred soldiers, and fifty attendants. The extravagant carriage at the front was nearly the size of a small house.
'What's the point of this?'
Too few troops for a fight, too many for an escort. Coming alone like him would've drawn less suspicion.
But they seemed to think otherwise.
"Alone?"
"Is he insane? No guards?"
"Must've overextended taking Silvan."
"If we'd met earlier on the road... Shame."
The knights' hushed whispers reached Logan's ears perfectly.
He smirked.
'Earlier? I wish.'
Three mid-tier knights among them wouldn't have stopped him.
'Lucky bastards.'
Vifros saved their house, and this timing saved their heir.
Seemed Peretta was burning through their last scraps of luck.
'Just wait six—no, five more months.'
Masking his killing intent, he approached—only for Peretta's soldiers to block his path, spears raised.
Their tense faces made him snort.
Then—
"Lord MacLaine's heir? This way, please."
Knights bearing a rose engulfed in flames stepped between them.
"Yes. Logan MacLaine. Am I to enter with them?"
Displaying his identity plate, Logan watched as the knight bowed again.
"An escort for both heirs will arrive shortly. Please wait."
As Logan puzzled over "escort," an irritating voice cut in from Peretta's side.
"What's this? He comes like that? Am I to be treated as his equal?"
"My lord!"
"Oh, relax. No one heard. Ugh, this is tedious. If not for the Count's mediation, he'd be begging for his life at my feet."
'Excuse me?'
The owner of the delusional voice emerged from the ornate carriage—a blond, blue-eyed youth in a tailcoat embroidered with noble crests, offering a handshake with a plastic smile.
"Flon Peretta. Heard much from Rihalt. They say you cut down six knights in one stroke."
Logan studied him as the Vifros knights tensed.
Beneath the finery was a trained physique. Despite his mid-twenties age, the aura of a Force-user was unmistakable.
The absurdity of his earlier words made Logan reluctant to engage, but this was enemy territory. Drawing attention served no purpose.
"Pleasure. Logan MacLaine."
He shook the offered hand—
"You look younger than I expected. The rumors must be exaggerated. Haha."
Crunch.
The instant their hands met, Flon squeezed with childish force.
Logan almost ignored it—until inspiration struck.
'This fool might just react how I want...'
Creeeak.
A sound no handshake should make.
Flon's right hand turned deathly pale. His gritted teeth couldn't hide his trembling face.
"Ah, my apologies. I thought you wanted an arm wrestle."
Logan's feigned innocence was masterful. He released Flon's hand, figuring the lesson was enough.
Any sane man would back down here.
Shing!
"Y-You coward!"
Flon predictably drew his sword.
'Hook, line, and sinker.'
With provocation given, Logan could've taken his head—but that wasn't necessary.
A weak enemy was more useful alive than a strong ally.
So—
Snick.
He simply bisected Flon's blade and pressed his own to the man's throat.
The silver line from his hip to Flon's neck was poetry in motion.
His new sword, gleaming in the sunset, was no less perfect.
"Spout nonsense you can't back up, and you're no heir—just a fool who forgot his place."
Flon paled further at Logan's icy tone.
Vifros knights froze mid-intervention.
Peretta's knights, however, charged forward.
"You dare—!"
"Attack!"
Fools bred fools, it seemed.
"Private duels are forbidde— Huh?"
Before the Vifros knights could stop them—
Shink shink shink!
Logan's blade cleaved through three advancing knights' swords simultaneously.
Thud.
The stunned knights stared at their halved blades as murmurs spread among gathering locals.
Slowly, deliberately, Logan sheathed his sword.
He'd used no Force—just the blade's pure sharpness.
Hamar's masterpiece—Lux, named for the ancient word meaning "light" or "dawn"—was worthy of the feat.
'Any knight would recognize this.'
The pristine hilt alone marked it as newly forged.
Shhk.
As intended, the mithril sword Hamar had poured his soul into held every eye until it vanished into its scabbard.
"...Not an artifact."
"Right. No magic. But..."
A treasure beyond compare.
The thought struck every onlooker simultaneously.
"Magnificent sword."
"Indeed."
"Might I ask where you acquired it? It's no ordinary blade—"
"That's rude."
"..."
He shut down the greedy inquiries with cold finality.
Show the treasure, share no details.
Let curiosity spread until it reached a certain artifact-collecting count.
If that count had eyes to match his reputation, he wouldn't dare harm Logan—not with this sword's origin at stake.
'Not how I planned to reveal it, but this works.'
His original preparations might still hold, but contingencies mattered.
This was insurance.
As murmurs swelled, Logan smirked.
Then—
"...His Lordship approaches!"
At the guards' announcement, a distinctive figure emerged through the outer gate.