Weapon of War (4)
A single Sword Master was like a dragon from legend.
Back in the era when dragons roamed the world—an age commonly called the "magitech civilization," when magic had far surpassed modern levels—the Sword Masters of that time wielded power equal to the ancient apex predators: adult dragons.
Some even theorized that the old title "Dragon Slayer" had gradually evolved into "Sword Master" as dragons faded from existence.
Those who could slay dragons. Those who could fell mana-based lifeforms wielding eighth-circle magic—something no modern mage could even dream of touching.
These days, dragons were dismissed as mere "wyrms" about five meters long, but the ancient ones had truly been the strongest.
And if a dragon were active today, swinging a sword, it would surely display that same overwhelming might.
Whoooosh.
Not even the sound of slicing flesh could be heard.
With every swing of his blade, three or four orcs were cleaved clean in half, chunks of their bodies flying apart, while the shockwave of his sword aura sent the heads of a dozen more tumbling through the air.
A human weapon. That was what a Master was.
One person, blessed with talent in the sword, unleashing the vast mana within their body at will.
The orcs couldn't land a single scratch on the margrave.
Even if they swung their rusted axes with all their muscular might—
Slash.
—the blade would cut through axe-head, haft, shoulder, and neck in one go.
Shunk!
Father thrust his sword forward in a massive lunge. It was just a straightforward stab with one hand, yet every orc in front of him spewed blood from their hearts in unison.
"Light Greatsword!!"
Robert let out a boyish cheer.
"The margrave's signature technique!"
Though really, it was just aura extended to an extreme length.
The honest projection of aura from his steel blade stretched nearly ten meters, and Father left the sword extended forward as he stepped one foot back.
Whoooosh!
Then he swung it horizontally in a wide arc.
As the blade traced a great circle, the orcs caught in the crimson sword aura erupted in fountains of blood from their necks.
"Ah, young master! Seeing something like that...!"
"That's my father for you."
"Er, um...."
One might say a child shouldn't witness such brutal slaughter, but the heir to Gibraltar was a different story.
"If I become margrave someday, I'll have to do just like Father, right?"
"Of course, young master."
The margrave had to be strong. Strong enough to deter every enemy eyeing the kingdom, making them think twice before even trying.
"Ahem. Of course, the count is said to be the second strongest Gibraltar margrave after Grand Duke Cardian...."
"That level of strength is off the charts?"
"Yes. The count is simply too strong. No one on the continent could dare cross blades with him."
Hmm. Well, the empire's emperor—the current crown prince—probably could.
'He's still hiding it, so I shouldn't mention it carelessly.'
Robert had a tight lip, but you didn't poke at a knight's pride lightly. If word got out that the enemy crown prince was hiding immense skill, it could spell trouble.
And it wasn't just Robert hearing this—
"He's truly incredible, you know."
—Father, fighting orcs down below, could hear our voices from atop the fifty-meter wall. That would be awkward.
"Right, Sir Robert?"
"Of course! The count is the ideal every knight should aspire to—humanity's pinnacle!"
Robert seemed oblivious. To the fact that Father could hear us. That he was pretending not to while massacring orcs.
Or maybe he knew. That every time we praised Father, his sword swings grew faster.
"Truly."
The orcs had already lost the will to fight, and the sun had dipped below the horizon.
With business here done, it was time to head home.
"Makes me almost jealous of Mother."
"Lady Charlotte?"
"To be loved by a man like that—a warrior like that. She'd have to be the happiest woman in the world."
Whoooosh!!
"Whoa, as expected."
Three hundred orcs gone in one strike.
"I want to be as strong as Father. For real."
It had probably taken four minutes and thirty-three seconds.
Shunk.
Father's final strike—a slash of aura that carved the ground as it chased fleeing orcs—ended the commotion of three thousand strong.
Total annihilation.
Three thousand—an army that could raze a baron's lands—wiped out.
Thud.
Father leaped fifty meters in a single bound, landing before us.
"Well fought, Father."
"Mm."
He sheathed his sword without a drop of sweat. Not a speck of orc blood on him.
'He kept it off so he could cuddle with Mother later.'
He'd wrapped himself in a mana barrier mid-fight to keep the blood from splashing his clothes.
"What brought you all the way out here so dangerously?"
Father fixed me with cold eyes, interrogating.
"M-Margrave! Well, actually, I..."
"Sir Robert, I didn't ask you."
"Ah...."
"And Grey isn't some child who needs half-baked excuses wrapped around him."
"......."
Sir Robert's face flushed beet red, but I rather liked his attitude.
'He really sees me as the successor, not just empty words?'
He'd seen my little brother get personal sword lessons from Father this afternoon.
Normally, that would make people think the eldest was out of the running.
'Is this loyalty?'
It felt unfamiliar, awkward, hard to pin down—but not bad.
"Grey."
"Just came to inspect the rebar, per the business plan."
"All the way here?"
"Yes. All the way."
"......."
Father nodded. His way of saying go on.
"This rope bridge linking the gates—quite the irony, isn't it?"
"Irony?"
"Yes. So narrow, just ropes on the sides, iron pillars holding it midway—but one wrong step, and it's a fatal plunge."
If there were nets below, you could call it a military training rig. But there weren't.
Not even a cat that roams high places would climb this.
Robert couldn't. I couldn't now, either.
"You've already proven its utility, Father. Yes—it's a path for Gibraltar alone... for a Sword Master."
"......."
"Fifty meters high. Fifty centimeters wide. Fall, and you're dead. But a Sword Master can sprint across at full speed. Just like you did moments ago."
"So, your thoughts now?"
"The plan said reinforcement, but..."
I trailed off, shooting Robert a glance.
"Ahem. Chilly wind."
Father cleared his throat and looked away. The dead orcs littered the ground below, but he ignored it. That cough was just to change the subject.
"Let's head back."
With a flash, Father scooped me up.
"Father?"
He grabbed my collar and twisted my wrist, making my clothes hug tight. No time to resist.
"Charlotte's worried. We go now."
"W-Wait, hold on—"
Thud.
Father bolted across the rope bridge, me in hand.
"......."
A galloping horse at full tilt? A soaring griffon or wyvern? Or even that thing we'll span the gorge with later?
All too slow.
Before a Master sprinting with mana cloaking their body, they all had to bow their heads.
"......."
Sir Robert. Sorry. Open my mouth now, and I'd risk biting my tongue off—or worse, losing it.
'Just walk the rope bridge or climb the walls twice.'
There were ladders and stairs inside the gates, so only worry about imperials crossing over.
I sent mental condolences to Robert as I enjoyed the ride like Father's luggage.
* * *
Back home from the gorge, I drank the mysteriously warm soup provided—hot enough to scald the tongue? No, just pleasantly heated—before being summoned to Father's study.
"Grey."
I fully expected a scolding for taking a knight to the front lines and climbing the wall—
"Don't worry your mother."
"Understood."
—but none came. We hadn't opened the gates or crossed the border, after all.
"So, was scouting to Gate 1 really just a patrol?"
"Patrol... and to watch the sunset."
"......."
"The spot where you confessed to Mother, right? It was beautiful."
"Noted."
Father sank into the sofa, and I took the one to his right.
"So, your impressions of a Sword Master's power?"
"You already know."
"...Say it yourself."
"I already praised you as your admiring son atop the wall. Here, I'll speak as the heir to a traitorous house infamous for selling out the kingdom."
Father nodded, as if he'd expected that.
"Noir. Talented?"
"Yes."
"Odds he becomes a Master in ten years?"
"Not ten. At least fifteen."
Noir Gibraltar. He did become a Sword Master in the future.
"If war breaks out when he does, we'd see that bastard live fifteen more years."
He was below average among Masters, achieving it only after the kingdom fell.
"You become a Sword Master."
"No thanks."
"Why?"
"To become the kingdom-selling Imperial lackey, I need to be the jealous, inferior eldest son envious of my brother's talent."
"You...."
Father covered his face with one hand.
"Son as a Sword Master's heir, or dagger for rebellion?"
"Raise Noir for the former. I'll grow my own way."
"...Pity."
Father clicked his tongue, eyeing me up and down.
"If I squeezed you hard enough, I could force you into a Master."
"Father."
"Every Gibraltar margrave has been a Sword Master. Which means, conversely, no Master, no title."
Obviously.
"Those with Gibraltar blood can be forced into it. You're not too late."
"Swing the sword fourteen hours a day, spar you until I win a bout?"
"Yes."
"Do that with Noir. He can become one without it."
"...You."
Father gave me a strange look.
"You think you can forge your body yourself."
"Yes. I have to get strong."
To beat the emperor.
"Raise your mana."
"......."
I stood, clasping my hands forward.
Hummm.
Gray mana flickered at my fingertips. If Father's was blazing flame, mine was faded steel.
"Haa...."
Father sighed deeply at the sight.
"Little shit."
"Your son. And it will be."
"Your father's the continent's strongest Sword Master, and you have zero interest in surpassing him with the blade."
"Do you want me to surpass you with the sword, Father?"
"That would be your true filial piety to Charlotte."
Mentioning Mother again, but this was key.
"When I married your mother, many worried."
"Because her house was a mere baron's—merchant stock who'd bought their title generations back."
"Yes. No warrior lineage, no great name."
"If I, born of her, surpass you as a swordsman, those who slandered her won't dare show their faces."
"Exactly. And history would record Charlotte as the perfect match for Gibraltar."
Against those scorning my beloved's bloodline, nothing refutes like a child.
"I see. Pity, but I'm the unfilial one."
"Tch."
"Make Noir filial. I have to take another path out of inferiority."
"Fine. Tell me, then. Let's hear it."
Father asked mockingly.
"What will you wield? Kingdom tradition's spear? The bow our founder mastered? Wait—no. Not the empire's 'katana.'"
"Depends on my teacher, I suppose."
"......You don't mean?"
"Yes. If needed, I'll hire from the empire."
Precisely.
"Use the repair budget for high-end tutoring. Kingdoms or empires, money draws teachers anywhere."
Those loyal to coin, not flags.
"Preferably an imperial powerhouse. Perfect excuse if I'm accused of going native."
"...Do as you like. Even I won't beg imperials."
"Yes. I'll submit a plan for teacher recruitment. Approve it, and I'll proceed."
Verbal approval granted.
Now, just find someone at this point in time to teach me in Gibraltar.
"Ah."
Right now? There's a good one.
"Father."
"What."
"Woman okay?"
Not that I'm woman-crazed.
"Imperial woman."
Just happens my teacher is.
"...Young woman?"
"If my info's right, probably."
"Haa...."
And for a young woman, the biggest issue was—
"Convince Charlotte yourself."
"Yes."
Mother.