Prologue
Blood flowed like rivers. His boot snagged on a nameless corpse as he advanced—the severed arm dangling from a torso cleft clean in half. The presences that had shadowed him were gone now. All dead.
A fishy tang of blood clung to his nostrils. Hundreds of spells rained down from the cloudless sky.
He thrust out his sword-gripping right hand. The spells, plummeting with ferocious speed, froze in unison.
Spells of every element were devoured by white flames, crumbling to nothing. Beneath them glittered blinding shards of mana.
Licht gathered the stray mana onto his blade. In that instant, the sword blazed brighter than the sun.
He swung. A beam of pure white sword aura tore across the battlefield.
Splatter! Blood surged like a tidal wave, ripping through the suddenly exposed front lines.
Eight mana circles whirled madly, drawing in endless mana. One swing, and hundreds of corpses piled up at the blade's end.
The invincible imperial army's momentum shattered for the first time.
"Monster! It's a monster!"
"Don't run! Block it—hold the line!"
"Aaaagh!"
He charged alone into tens of thousands. No allies remained. Yet the sword auras shredding the field lost none of their lethal edge.
Only the grisly rip of flesh and bloodcurdling screams filled the air.
"Any who show their backs, any who falter in fear—capital punishment! Orkin endures eternal as always. We...!"
Puke!
The heart of the vanguard captain pierced clean through. His unfinished words. Two gleaming stars shone on the shoulder of the man collapsing in a spray of blood.
Licht yanked free his white-hot blade.
"Found you. Arhen's Sword Demon."
He looked up. A golden knight had closed in. Six shadows trailed him.
His battle-heated mind cooled to ice. For the first time, light flickered in Licht's eyes.
The Seven Swords. Orkin's seven blades. And...
"Holy Sword."
"You know me? What an honor."
The man chuckled softly. Holy Sword Alfred. The empire's greatest swordsman, the continent's finest. Bolstered by the halo of his sister, Empress Haide of Orkin, his prestige was unmatched—even in the remotest backwater, the name alone commanded awe.
So that's why he hadn't shown.
His eight mana circles had cooled to stillness. The sword's glow faded like a dying life. Blood dripped from the blade in thick plops.
"First time face-to-face, eh? Your fame's legendary, Sword Demon—I had to see you for myself. Younger than I expected."
"......"
"8th Circle. Astonishing. No imperial mage has woven eight rings, and you're not even thirty. Shame you're not one of ours."
He sounded genuinely regretful.
"Especially since that 8th Circle mage hails from Arhen Kingdom. Is it mere stubbornness that keeps you clinging to the sword despite wielding circle magic?"
"...Stubbornness?"
"Beats me. Why use circles as an aura substitute?"
He gestured back.
"Still, you're the better of the two."
"What...?"
One of the knights behind tossed something forward.
Thud. Thud. Roll...
Licht's eyes widened. A human head rolled into view from not far off. Long dead, its face pallid.
A familiar face. Impossible to forget.
"Your father."
"......!"
Licht fell silent. After ten years, reunion—with his throat slit, eyes bulging.
"Abel Barbalte. Arhen's vaunted top swordsman? Honestly, disappointing. Did I expect too much? Licht Barbalte. Or..."
He paused, then spat it out.
"Licht Sientia."
Licht's face hardened at the murmur. A name he'd shed long ago. Sientia—his late mother's house. After fleeing the family's persecution and scorn, he'd never uttered "Barbalte" again. That hell had given him nothing, so he'd discarded the kingdom's premier martial house's name. And so it remained, even now. It would never change.
Mother.
His mana circles spun lazily, ice-cold. Distance to the man: about 25 meters. Half a breath. He'd be upon him in a blink.
Licht instinctively tightened his grip on the sword. Then asked.
"The people at the manor."
"Hm?"
"All of them... dead?"
"Ah."
The man nodded as if he got it. The reason for tossing Abel's head: blood thicker than water, to provoke even a flicker of doubt.
But a grave miscalculation. Ten years severed from the house, Licht felt no tremor at the severed head.
Just one lingering concern.
"I asked. The people at the manor. All of them... dead?"
The two retainers who'd embraced him despite his outcast status.
"The firstborn Barbalte, was it? Your half-brother was barely knight material—pathetic. If you mean the household... yes, all dead."
His blood ran cold. Unaware, the man pressed on.
"Oh, right—there was that. Ransacking the manor to kill them all, and tucked in a corner, this annex. Thought maybe, and sure enough—people. One maid, one butler? Right before dying, she wailed a name..."
His hand clenched the hilt.
"Licht Sientia, I think it was."
Kiiing!
Mana surged like a storm. The eight circles blazed as if to burst.
The air shimmered like heat haze. The surroundings shattered, unable to withstand the mana pressure.
"All of you."
Brilliant white radiance coiled around the blade.
"I'll kill every last one."
A hazy afterimage trailed the white blade as it lunged. Golden aura tangled wildly in its path.