Chapter 73
Chapter 73
"Hyah!"
With a sharp cry, the tip of his sword unleashed not the usual crimson force, but a blazing orange force resembling flames, forming two layered waves that surged forward.
The range barely spanned two meters.
But—
CRACK-BOOM!
The sheer power was overwhelming—enough to reduce three wooden training dummies to scattered dust.
Hah... Hah...
Yet the one who had created this spectacle, Ronian MacLaine, didn't look satisfied.
Staggering slightly, he slowly regulated his breathing before raising his sword again.
His brother's voice still echoed vividly in his mind.
"This war will end easily. There's no need for you to go. You're still at an age where you need to grow stronger. The times are suspicious—don't let your guard down and train hard."
Because of those words, he hadn't been able to set foot in the last war.
Despite being a Force User and even mastering this incredible secret technique.
'I can't let my brother keep treating me like a child forever. I'm a MacLaine too. A sword meant to protect our family.'
The image of his brother returning home just days ago—covered in dirt, looking utterly exhausted—flashed through his mind again.
He'd claimed he'd fallen asleep and tumbled off his horse, but everyone who heard it knew that was nonsense.
Ronian might not have guessed the exact reason, but he understood the underlying truth.
'Our family still lacks power...'
A faint taste of blood seeped from his tightly bitten lips.
Even though his brother insisted everything was fine, Ronian could sense the urgency.
Right then, the very voice he'd been replaying in his head spoke from directly behind him.
"You're training hard, Ronian. Take a break—I'll introduce someone who'll spar with you from today."
"Brother?!"
Turning around, he saw his brother's smiling face—and beside him, a boy awkwardly fidgeting with a knight's armor emblazoned with the flame crest.
Blue hair. Heterochromatic eyes—one red, one blue.
Even more striking than MacLaine's signature red hair and eyes.
Ronian couldn't help but stare.
"He awakened not long ago, so he's spent this time adjusting to his Force. He's your age—you'll push each other well."
His brother gave the boy a light push forward, and he stepped ahead awkwardly, bowing his head.
"R-Rookie knight Victor, reporting."
His own words sounded stiff, and his face flushed slightly.
Though they were the same age, his build was similar—if anything, he seemed a little shorter than most sixteen-year-olds.
'But a Force User?'
Ronian knew exactly how monstrous his own talent was.
Yet here was someone his age who had also awakened to Force—and with such unusual features. That could only mean...
"Is this the slave boy... I mean, the one you brought for his talent?"
"That's right. He was a slave. As promised, I elevated his status and knighted him. Treat him with the respect he's earned."
"Of course. But sparring with me...?"
"A duel. What else?"
Even the usually composed Ronian couldn't help but be surprised.
There was a reason he trained alone.
The difference in skill between him and ordinary knights was too vast. Even mid-tier knights who reinforced themselves with Force couldn't bridge the gap in raw power—Ronian could still defeat them through sheer swordsmanship.
That was why he trained alone—to avoid ruining the other knights' confidence.
But if this boy wasn't just talented in Force but also matched him in swordsmanship...
As if answering his unspoken question, his brother grinned and suggested:
"How about a quick match first?"
There was no reason to refuse.
"One's exhausted, the other's still inexperienced—perfect conditions for a fair fight. If things get too dangerous, I'll step in. Go all out. Begin!"
The moment his brother's words ended, the boy—who had been wearing nothing but an awkward expression—suddenly ignited with fighting spirit.
And when Ronian saw the strange, ashen-gray Force swirling around him, his grip on his sword instinctively tightened.
THUD.
The moment Victor's right foot stomped down hard right in front of him, his wooden sword shot forward like lightning from behind his fully extended stance.
It wasn't at the level of weapon reinforcement—a hallmark of mid-tier knights—but the wooden sword, rippling with gray Force, was threatening purely in momentum alone.
The slash, brimming with the intent to utterly crush his opponent, carried the essence of a swordsmanship technique that had now become a MacLaine knight's secret art.
'Iron Blood Sword Technique!'
He called this inexperienced?
SWOOSH!
A gale of wind passed just above Ronian's slightly lowered head.
And then—
'I'll return the favor.'
A slash of similar form surged toward Victor's waist.
A full-powered strike that had missed, countered immediately.
Ronian expected him to collapse helplessly—or at best, barely block and retreat.
'Huh?'
Instead, Victor leaped high, spinning midair to evade before using that momentum to bring his sword crashing down.
'Airborne?!'
Jumping during combat was usually idiocy—it left your entire body exposed.
Most knights would never do it.
But in this case, the timing was flawless.
'Tch!'
Ronian poured everything into dodging and retaliating.
CLANG!
CRASH!
One wooden sword went flying skyward.
THUD. THUD.
"Ghk—!"
The recoil forced Ronian back two steps, his palms stinging—a sensation he wasn't used to.
Meanwhile, Victor—who had been flung back even farther—used that momentum to snatch up Ronian's discarded sword.
'He planned even that?!'
Though Victor's face had paled slightly, Ronian didn't feel pleased.
Just a few exchanges, and he already knew.
"You... You're a monster."
"Pfft—HA! Who's calling who a monster here?"
His brother burst into laughter at the unintended praise.
Ronian flushed slightly—those were the exact words he often heard from other knights.
But the joy in his heart outweighed the embarrassment.
'Let's do this properly.'
A peer who could match him in swordsmanship.
For the first time since he began learning the blade, a competitive fire tickled his heart.
Victor seemed to feel the same—grinning, he charged again.
That aggressive spirit suited Ronian just fine.
At least for this moment, the suffocating impatience in his chest had vanished.
Unbeknownst to him, Ronian was smiling just as brightly.
BAM!
SLASH!
THUD! CRACK! THWACK!
"Damn it—fists?!"
"What's wrong with that?!"
"...Just you wait!"
WHAM!
"As expected..."
Logan watched their spar with a satisfied smile.
The meeting of two geniuses was already producing synergy.
Victor had perfectly adapted the Iron Blood Sword Technique over the past few weeks—and was now making it his own.
Meanwhile, Ronian's swordsmanship—which had been confined within rigid forms—was gradually breaking free, moving more fluidly.
A wild, unrestrained sword and a disciplined, precise blade—each absorbing the other's strengths, evolving bit by bit, moment by moment.
Moreover, as their fighting spirits intensified, Logan could sense subtle shifts in their Force.
'The future Aura Users might become the family's main force sooner than expected.'
Those two—and Logan himself.
The knight trainees who were training just as hard at this very moment, and the soldiers who would continue to be recruited under stricter standards.
Assuming history didn't deviate, the Imperial War was still eight years away.
But with this, perhaps those future blades would be forged within five or six.
Only one dilemma remained in Logan's mind.
'Should I teach Victor the Divine Sword Secret Art... or not?'
Considering his father's case, ordinary knights couldn't master the Divine Sword Secret Art even if they tried.
But Victor—with talent equal to or surpassing Ronian's—might just be capable.
However—
'Can I truly trust him completely...?'
Watching as Victor gradually began to falter, Logan pondered deeply.
And finally, he made his decision.
"That's her?"
"Yeah. That's the one..."
On her way to the unfamiliar town's administrative office, Victoria overheard the whispers directed at her.
But by now, it didn't faze her.
Unlike before, she knew most of those voices stemmed from envy.
"That's the brother who went from slave to knight..."
"Then why is she still working as a maid?"
"Dunno. Maybe repaying a debt?"
Of course, mixed in with the admiration were misunderstandings.
'...No.'
Her heart overflowed with gratitude toward Logan—the man who had changed her and her brother's lives.
But her decision to continue working as a maid wasn't purely out of thanks.
'I can't... be a burden to my brother anymore.'
Victoria still remembered vividly.
Being carried on her brother's back as they fled madly through the mountains when she was little.
Hiding from terrifying men, surviving through hunting and begging—all while her brother, barely four years older, bore the scars.
She'd lost count of the nights she'd stayed awake, fearing he wouldn't wake up the next day.
When they'd finally been captured by slave hunters, she'd even felt relief—at least her brother wouldn't have to suffer for her sake anymore.
Of course, that had been naive.
But fortunately, they'd met Logan, and her brother had found hope.
Now, he had a shining future—one no longer shackled by her weakness.
That was what a knight meant to Victoria.
'I'm thirteen now. I have to do what I can.'
Tears threatened to spill every time she thought like this, but she forced them back.
If rumors spread that she was crying, her foolish brother would drop everything and come running.
He might even end up in jail again like last time.
He couldn't afford that now.
'I'll become someone useful to this estate. So that even without my brother, I can survive.'
Only then could he focus on his duties without worry.
That was why Victoria walked with purpose today as well.
But—
"I'm sorry. This won't work anymore. The other girls are uncomfortable—you're the knight's sister, and you're still too young..."
The head maid's words shattered Victoria's fragile heart.
'Am I... really that useless?'
On her way home, the tears she'd held back finally overflowed.
Desperate not to let anyone see her cry, she wiped her face with her sleeve and looked up—but the tears wouldn't stop.
Making matters worse, Victoria was painfully short.
Mistaken for a ten-year-old, she barely reached the waist of the red-haired young man—one of the highest-ranking figures in the estate.
And so, her tear-filled heterochromatic eyes met a pair of crimson ones staring straight down at her.
"Victoria? What's wrong?"
"N-Nothing, Lord Logan! Just dust in my eyes!"
Wipe. Wipe.
She hastily dried her tears and bowed her head.
Even she knew that excuse wouldn't fool anyone.
"Did someone bother you again?"
"No!"
"Then is something else troubling you...?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Hmm. Alright, I'll let Victor know. If there's any issue—"
"N-No! Please don't tell my brother!"
Her desperate plea stopped the Grand Prince in his tracks.
'A problem I can't solve? Not that I need to.'
Hearing her situation, Logan smiled faintly.
Her determination was admirable—but also unnecessarily self-critical.
Human relationships, especially emotional ones, couldn't exist through one-sided giving alone.
Victor, too, had only endured his harsh life because of Victoria.
But such reasoning was beyond her young understanding.
So—
"You're too young to decide what you can or can't do. Let's start searching now. As you learn various things, you'll eventually find something that helps both your brother and yourself."
"R-Really?"
"Of course!"
For now, encouragement was enough.
Or so he thought—
"Then... can I learn to move those clay dolls with the yellow strings too? If I had strong dolls like that..."
"...What?"
Victoria was pointing at Grick—Clayton's top disciple—manipulating a golem at a construction site.
Though the town was officially completed, adjustments were still frequent.
But—
Yellow strings?
"You can see them? The yellow strings connecting that golem—er, clay doll—and that man?"
"Yes!"
...She could see them?