Sword of Fate 5
Delicate yet refined features. Even here, his strikingly unusual hair and eye color drew every gaze. The Azure Flower gripped in his hand hummed as if greeting them warmly.
The people huddled in the corner, shunning the foes, murmured among themselves.
"Who is that...?"
"Looks familiar... Ah, he was at the royal banquet...!"
"Barbalte! Barbalte's second young master!"
"Barbalte?"
A few who recognized him shouted it out.
Licht's last public appearance had been over seven years ago. It was the grand royal banquet, attended by virtually every noble. The black-haired boy standing aloof amid the crowd had etched himself deeply into memories—for better or worse.
"Sientia?"
The man on the platform muttered.
His surprise at the sudden intrusion was fleeting. As he spoke, his eyes scanned Licht up and down.
He wouldn't know.
It would have been stranger if he did. House Sientia was a barony in one of the most remote corners of the Arhen Kingdom—a feeble house in name only, outshone by even minor knightly families.
Yet the man, glaring steadily at Licht, soon nodded as if it all made sense.
"I've heard the name. That look... You're Barbalte's bastard, aren't you?"
"......"
"I get it. Reckless, childish antics. No idea what brought you to the Arthal auction... but I suppose a bastard like you would be desperate."
"Orkin's lapdog."
Licht cut him off.
"Don't move."
Paaang!
The instant he turned toward the two remnants guarding the door—
Wind blades erupted suddenly, slashing across the floor with ferocious speed.
Kagagak!
They couldn't even react. Their eyes bulged wide as razor winds tore through their bodies.
Puhak!
"Gurk?!"
"Cough!"
Fatal wounds deep enough to spill entrails. Before they could grasp what happened, their bodies crumpled.
Daggers clattered from their sleeves onto the auction floor—daggers no one had seen them draw.
Child's play.
Licht hadn't missed the signal in the man's eyes.
Screams exploded right after.
"Hiiiik!"
"Killed them both at once?"
"Magic? Wind magic?"
"No, it's definitely the mana suppression ritual..."
"Impossible!"
The last cry came from the Vurnek School mages clinging to the second-floor railing. Having just confirmed their own spells had failed, they shouted in utter disbelief at the scene.
Nox, right?
Licht paid them no mind. His gaze locked solely on the man atop the platform—more precisely, on the Ascension Sword he held.
Killing him won't be a problem.
The Arthal auction house operated under the king's direct protection. Masks or not, high officials filled the seats. Eliminating these attackers before things escalated would likely earn a reward. Hell, even Golden King Melberk might hand it out personally.
How long until they arrive?
By now, word would have reached the palace. Royal forces—or Melberk's private guard—would be mobilizing.
"How...?"
"No way..."
Their panic was plain as the situation spiraled.
Openly casting magic under a mana suppression ritual. They glared up at the second-floor VIPs, but even the robed mages looked equally baffled.
Licht lightly gripped the Azure Flower.
Responding to its master, it quivered. Pure white mana streamed from his hand, coiling around the blade like a lover's embrace.
"You claimed the Ascension Sword as yours."
"......"
"No clue where you got it, but I can't fathom wielding it without being chosen. It's worth less than street trash."
"...What the hell are you talking about?"
"Draw your aura."
Licht spoke with utter certainty.
Up close, it was clear. That Ascension Sword hadn't chosen its wielder yet.
Suppression rituals didn't block aura outright—just slashed its efficiency and density to scraps.
Only one explanation. Unchosen, it rejected his infusion.
Why cling to the Ascension Sword? No idea, but it fit.
Not the whole story, though.
Plenty of skilled swordsmen and mages filled the room. Nobles gathered, after all.
Hence the suppression ritual. Mages reduced to husks, aura-crippled swordsmen no real threat.
Licht murmured low.
"Pretty confident in a straight fight, huh."
"......"
"Thought sealing aura and mana would clinch it?"
The man said nothing.
Didn't matter. Mana surged through Licht's limbs as wind currents swirled up from his feet.
The man belatedly raised his arm.
Too late. Licht had already kicked off.
His usual speed. Magic bridged any gaps.
Orkin had similar grand rituals. Breaking one like this? Trivial. For him.
Misstep.
Solid judgment otherwise. If Licht weren't here.
Now, fatal blunder. The instant Licht tapped mana, victory was sealed.
The man's sword path was crystal clear. Even the faint aura stirring along it.
Licht swung. Light resistance met the clash, shoving the man skidding back across the platform.
Deafening boom from the blades' impact.
Kwaang—!
"Captain!"
"Fuck!"
Curses flew as the remnants hurled daggers at the huddled crowd.
Dozens of blades streaked through the air in unison.
Screams rose—and in perfect sync, the foes charged.
Seven.
One skewered by Azure Flower, two just felled.
While he blocked daggers, they'd strike. Gap unavoidable.
Captain down, they acted without hesitation—seasoned work.
But.
Hwaaak!
His thought alone turned ambient mana to wind.
The daggers veered off mid-flight, never reaching.
Licht extended his hand.
Mana seized them, wrenched their path, and hurled them back.
Pababak!
The lead man took several to the body first. Azure Flower grazed his nape.
Beyond the severed neck, their rage-twisted faces glared.
Pointless.
Puhwak! Puhahak! Seogeuk! Kwadeuk!
Each blazing white swing of the Azure Flower sent heads flying.
One strike.
Not one withstood a single clash.
It bordered on slaughter.
Blood sprayed every which way.
Those who'd squeezed their eyes shut against the onslaught blinked in disbelief at what followed.
"What... am I seeing?"
"Aura? But Barbalte's second young master can't use aura, right?"
"He just cast magic! Circle magic?"
"Then that's not aura? Barbalte's a sword house!"
With breathing room, mouths flew open. Folks who'd feared for their lives moments ago now gawked at Licht, speculating wildly.
As the last fell—
Hwiiiing!
Golden sword-light lanced straight at him.
Exploiting the blind spot amid the collapse. No trace of emotion in sacrificing a minion.
Of course.
Licht swept the Azure Flower upward in a rising slash.
His spread mana sense had tracked the man from the ambush's start.
Prediction perfect. The foe's Ascension Sword rebounded off the white glow. Licht's thrust shredded the shoulder clutching it.
Puhwak!
"Krack!"
The man toppled backward.
Licht's left hand now gripped the Ascension Sword from the severed stump.
Unresponsive to its would-be master, it shivered faintly now. Elegant red runes flared briefly, then white mana laced with golden aura rippled along the blade.
The man's eyes bulged impossibly wide.
"H-how...!"
"Looks like it prefers me."
"Impossible! The Ascension Sword... choosing filth like you...!"
Licht tuned him out.
He slammed down the raised Ascension Sword.
Kwajik!
A bone-chilling crunch. The body went limp.
Hush blanketed the abruptly emptied hall.
***
"Is that... even possible?"
"Expert? No, peak Expert at least..."
"He used magic! Wind magic, you saw!"
"So he's a mage? Wielding a sword like that?"
"Hell, I'm questioning if that's even Barbalte's second young master. Looks the part, but..."
Up in the VIP seats.
The apparent swordsman had briefly rallied the others, but the overwhelming display had them all dangling over the rails, gasping in awe.
"This... no way. Since when could he use aura?"
Loren Battenberg. The masked youth—Battenberg's own bastard—muttered in disbelief.
There in the auction's heart stood Licht, two swords lowered. The man sprawled at his feet might not have been breathing. The blue and golden divine blades gleamed with an eerie light.
"That guy's Licht Barbalte? You sure?"
Answering Loren was Liam Bentink.
Vast flesh bulged over the railing from his grip. His eyes shook visibly beyond the mask—pure agitation.
Loren shook his head in denial.
"Nah, you must've misseen."
"Then what the hell is that?"
"Evan was toying with him like a rag doll just the other day. You saw it. More than once—beaten bloody without a scrap of aura."
"Fair, but..."
He glanced aside. Not far off stood Aila and Aren, frozen in a daze.
The sight grated; Loren reflexively ground his teeth.
"Insane."
A rare curse slipped from Aren.
"Miss. Didn't you say he'd mastered circle magic?"
"...I didn't lie."
"Then what? No—circle magic like that. This is... worth a paper for the school. Mana control like his under this ritual? Priceless."
Curiosity ignited, Aren stared unblinking at Licht—lost to it now.
Truth was, she had nothing more to say anyway. She'd glimpsed mere fragments of his magic.
First time seeing him swing a sword.
Just hadn't expected him to kill so casually.
He lied after all.
Recalling earlier sent fresh chills down her spine. He'd claimed no killing, but intentions? Who knew.
Without her intervention, that head might've rolled.
This was Arthal—any with sense wouldn't dare. But to Aila, Licht operated worlds apart from sense.
Power like that at his age? Absurd.
Such thoughts swirled when—
Kkiiik.
The massive auction doors swung wide to the outside.
Three silhouettes etched against the blinding ingress of light.
The flanking knights looked kingdom regulars.
The tall center figure was the problem.
Golden King Melberk.
Harsh features, bones stark under skin.
His gaze swept the bloodbath briefly before locking on the hall's focus: the center.
Licht, just lifting his head from the man, met his eyes.
Their stares tangled in the air for several seconds.
"You're late."
Licht spoke first.
"It's already over."
A faint flicker crossed Melberk's icy face. Licht glanced at the knights flanking him and let out a soft chuckle.