The Word "Talent"
He had thought the word talent had nothing to do with him his entire life.
For eighteen long years, he had failed to awaken his aura. All that remained was a battered old sword and the family's scornful gazes. Was he truly a worthless bastard-born trash?
No.
It was only after he left the family on his own and began studying circle magic that he realized the truth. It wasn't a lack of talent. His constitution simply prevented him from storing aura in his heart, blocking his potential from shining through.
His aptitude was so extraordinary that it inspired him anew every day. From forming his first ring on day one, adding four more took just three years. Climbing to the 5th Circle from a blank slate in a mere three years. It was chilling.
That was why he couldn't retort to the man's words: Your talent is the price you traded for that misfortune.
A singular talent unmatched across the entire continent. Now that he had defied the past through regression, no one could stand before him.
He was certain.
Queerix?
Pathetic.
Your vessel is that small, that's all.
He sneered inwardly. He hadn't even touched that low-grade drug. There was no need.
"You... intend to be my sparring partner...?"
"Is there any reason I can't? It seems far more impressive than having your exclusive knight—whom you defeated at your one and only investiture ceremony—take you down and puff out your chest."
"You!"
"If you're still so doubtful."
Licht raised his right hand. His sword was already sheathed at his side. Chris's nearby cutlery floated up, crossing the air before settling softly into Licht's grip.
"Even like this."
The knife glowed with icy light.
"Do you still doubt me?"
Shrieeeek—Boom!
With a sharp whoosh, it embedded itself in the center of the long dining table. And that without even a throwing motion.
Aila's blue eyes widened in an instant. Impossible-level mana control. As a fellow mage, she knew how difficult it was to infuse mana into an object and manipulate it freely with mere will, without incantations or gestures.
The table trembled finely from the impact's aftershock. Abel raised a hand to halt his knight, who was about to move.
"This is... surely some trick... No, when did you...?"
Amella no longer screamed. Her face twisted in madness, she muttered at the knife plunged vertically into the table's center, as if denying reality itself.
Even rotten, it's still from a noble house.
She fell short of her brother, the 7th Circle mage Duke Pavria, but as the lady of a great noble family schooled in magic from childhood, she was no slouch. Rumor had it she hadn't broken past the 4th Circle wall after twenty-seven.
The 4th Circle isn't something to scoff at anywhere else.
Quite the opposite. Mages were elite wherever they went. Even 3rd Circle veterans could lord over mercenary guilds like nobility; a 4th Circle needed no explanation. It only paled in comparison to her position.
"Isn't it fine? If Young Master Licht takes on the sparring role."
Aila, who had watched silently, finally spoke. Her blue eyes turned to Evan.
"Aila...?"
Amella's voice trailed off, but Aila ignored her and continued.
"Not many know Bail Crane became Evan's exclusive knight recently, but rumors travel fast. Imagine the fallout when it spreads: the heir of Barbalte defeated by his one and only investiture knight, who then becomes my exclusive knight. What better gossip fodder? Especially for those who love such whispers."
"That's..."
Amella faltered. Aila's points were spot-on, irrefutable.
Evan glared at Aila, his eyes screaming, How could you?
No, it's different.
It was primal rage. The same dark fire that flickered when he looked at Licht now burned in Evan's gaze.
What is it?
Licht glanced at her sidelong. He couldn't fathom why she'd suddenly say such things. She had no reason to defend him to her fiancé, and they had little connection.
"Planning to run away?"
"...Run?"
"You'll be formally invested soon. And your knight, cowering before the crown prince's fear, refuses the challenge."
"You..."
"If not, there's no reason to refuse... right? Young Master Licht?"
She turned to Licht with a radiant smile, like a flower blooming. Chris, who had been sneaking peeks, went blank-faced. Licht remained expressionless, his thoughts unreadable.
He addressed Evan.
"If you're truly unwilling."
"......"
"You may set conditions."
"...I know what you're thinking. You thought I'd fall for that cheap provocation?"
"If I lose, I'll leave the family of my own accord."
"......!"
"And I have no conditions of my own. No value in them."
"Hah!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than someone gasped in disbelief. Even Abel couldn't hide his emotion in that instant. Though fleeting, Licht saw it clearly. The man who hadn't even seen him off when he'd voluntarily left the family before. Such a reaction now was odd.
Even if some paternal affection lingered for the current Licht.
Ridiculous nonsense.
Meaningless. Licht met Abel's gaze. Evan's opinion didn't matter. It all hinged on the family head's will.
Under everyone's eyes, he slowly spoke.
"Licht. Every word carries responsibility. Can you bear the weight of yours?"
"I swear it. If I lose, I'll leave the family on my own two feet."
No hesitation in his reply. Licht answered without pause, closing and opening his eyes once.
"This matter is settled."
"Father!"
"Return."
Abel slowly closed his eyes. Licht bowed his head slightly and turned away. Evan raised no further objection. His escort knight now meekly stepped aside, unlike before.
One month.
More than enough time. Licht left the dining hall. He felt Abel's gaze on his back.
***
"That bastard son of some whore whose origins no one knows!"
"Kyaaak!"
Crash!
The flying porcelain shattered. Shards scattered everywhere. A nearby maid who had been watching nervously screamed as a fragment grazed her cheek. A thin line of blood welled up.
"How dare that illegitimate scum talk back to me? Until just recently, he was trembling like a leaf...!"
Bang!
Something else broke. The table smashed into the room's corner was beyond salvage. Shattered glass bottles littered the floor amid half-destroyed furniture strewn in chaos.
Evan, breathing raggedly, lifted his head.
"...Bail."
"......"
"Why didn't you stop him?"
"My apologies, Young Master."
"Lost? To him? You, a Sword Expert?"
"I have no face."
Bail kept his head bowed. Technically, it wasn't a full defeat, and he was confident of victory in a rematch, but he didn't correct him. He knew unnecessary words would only stoke the fire.
Evan stood before Bail and raised his hand.
"If you'd."
Slap!
"Done it."
Slap!
"Properly."
Slap!
"This disaster!"
Slap!
"My apologies, Young Master."
"Sorry?"
By the time red handprints bloomed on his cheeks, Bail spoke as the maid huddled trembling, unable to flee. The door was shut tight, the room a wreck.
Evan ground his teeth, his suppressed voice leaking out.
"That bastard... the one who couldn't even use aura until recently, whimpering like a dog... not only broke past you, a Sword Expert..."
"If I may speak out of turn."
Bail still didn't lift his head.
"It was certainly strange."
"Strange?"
"That time, it was..."
He trailed off. Bail reflexively recalled it. That light. The bursting pure white radiance. The flickering sword strikes.
From the start.
It was off. He'd parried his square attack with awe-inspiring reaction speed. No mere Queerix injection could produce that. It was beyond aura.
It was as if...
A completed swordsman. Aura purity, control, swordsmanship, reactions—all on a level leagues beyond his own enlightenment. His body simply couldn't keep up with his insight.
That second young master?
Bail chuckled inwardly at the absurd thought. Self-mockery. Am I going mad? Unless some mythic hero possessed that body, no way.
Next time, I'll win. Definitely.
Not bravado, but fact. He'd yielded a path through a gap, not truly lost. In a frontal clash dragged into a prolonged fight, victory was certain.
He raised his head to his lord. Eyes glaring murderously met his.
Evan muttered.
"Right, he must've used Queerix. Makes no sense otherwise. If not, it means he played the fool without blinking an eye before me, before the whole family."
"......"
"Absurd. Hiding his strength? Even if, by some miracle, he held back for my investiture. It changes nothing. No."
Evan pondered briefly before speaking.
"...No reason I can't use it too. Right?"
"Young Master...?"
"That bastard. From his attitude today, he'll definitely use Queerix in the spar. For his mother's honor. That's why he brought it up now. Leaving the family? Just bluff. He craves Father's approval more than anyone. With eyes on us, I can't kill him, but..."
Evan grinned darkly, eyes narrowed.
"One arm should be fine."
Truth be told, he'd disliked him from the start. Not just because he was a bastard-born illegitimate. His pathetic strength was secondary.
Damn bitch.
His mother. That woman was a bewitching monster. Black hair, black eyes. An appearance that drew you in. After she entered the family, Father grew distant from Mother and him. Soon, family affairs took a backseat as he clung to her.
When did it start? From that bastard's birth, he and Mother were out of sight, out of mind. Father's once-kind face was now a faint, faded memory.
Bringing a rootless whore over his proper wife to begin with.
I didn't like it.
So he killed her. Bribed the head butler, silenced the kitchen staff, dosed minuscule amounts of poison undetectable. Over five years of planning, that damned woman withered day by day, dying the year Licht turned seven.
Afterward, Father's words grew sparse. Emotions hidden away. He was taciturn to begin with; outside official duties, he barely spoke. But it didn't matter.
"He doesn't know. That I killed his mother."
"That matter."
"Does he? Better if he doesn't. Though seeing him fly into a rage might be fun..."
Evan glanced around.
"Bail."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Queerix. Get the kind with minimal side effects. Not injectable—something oral. Possible?"
"That's..."
"Insurance. No guarantee he won't use it... No, he definitely will. For a fair fight, it's unavoidable."
Then.
"How filthy."
The door suddenly opened. Waist-length snow-white hair fluttered behind her. Blue eyes alternated between Evan and Bail. A flustered knight followed.
"You...?"
"Are you alright?"
She approached the cowering maid, pulling a handkerchief from her bosom to wipe her cheek. The maid, stunned, muttered.
"Lady Aila...?"
"It'll scar... Go to the head butler. I'll have a good healer summoned."
"B-but..."
Her head swiveled anxiously between Aila and Evan. Her overt caution was palpable.
Aila's face hardened as she told the maid.
"Go. I'll take responsibility for the aftermath."
"Still..."
"That's an order. Hurry."
"Eek..."
Only then did the maid flee. The knights, glancing panicked at the room, didn't stop her.
"...What is this?"
"I stopped by wondering what was happening... You're as predictable as ever."
"We're not close enough for that. Or did you eat something bad and lose your mind?"
His voice was icy as a frozen field. Insults too vile to utter. Unbelievable from her fiancé. The quick-witted knight had already shut the door and vanished.
Evan pressed on.
"Our engagement was decided arbitrarily by Mother and your family anyway. If you're here for nonsense, leave. Can't stand the sight."
"......"
"Ah. Because of that bastard?"
"...Licht?"
Evan scoffed at Aila's words.
"Ha! Already on first-name basis? That explains it. In the dining hall, you were wagging your tail hard to win his favor..."
"......"
"That desperate? Or have you already rolled in the sheets?"
He crossed the line. Even as Barbalte's heir, she was direct kin to Duke Pavria, rivaling Barbalte. Aila's face twisted in disgust.
But Evan didn't care.
"Flattered by sycophants calling you Snow White or Ice Princess? Know what your trailing fans say? 'Worn-out hem.' Acts noble up front, but rolls with this man and that behind."
"...You never change."
"Into girly types? Explains it. That bastard takes after his mother—face rivals any noble lady. Guess I should cheer you on."
Evan turned away, signaling the end. A de facto dismissal.
Aila stared at his back briefly before gripping the door.
Before leaving, she asked one last thing.
"...Do you really think Licht used Queerix?"
"Curious why you'd ask a question with an obvious answer."
"...I see."
She opened the door. The knight from before lurked nearby, scanning about.
"Still, as your fiancée, I'll offer bold advice."
He hadn't left. Evan scowled and turned.
"You'll lose. Overwhelmingly."
Her cold eyes lingered on him before departing. The door slammed shut with a bang.