Yeah. That's Why I Chose You.
Twenty years from now, the world would come to an end.
It was a story that was hard to believe—hell, he didn't want to believe it. But with the vanished family heirloom, the secrets of the Temple of Time, and this child's tale of the future all laid out before him, it rang far too true to dismiss. And when the boy even knew the painful secret Eschard had kept buried in his chest his entire life... well, he had no choice but to believe.
It's not like the kid has the brains to spin such a tight, elaborate yarn anyway.
Even so, one thing still didn't add up, no matter how he turned it over in his mind.
Why had his future self chosen this child as the regressor, instead of coming back himself?
...Talent.
He'd reached the superhuman realm before turning thirty, hadn't he? With mana awakened for less than two months and already eyeing Expert level, there was no denying it: the boy was a genius beyond common sense. Even accounting for his foreknowledge from the future.
And his mana control is downright peculiar.
The mana fixed around the child's entire body constantly sucked in the ambient mana around him, even as he spoke and moved. If he'd devised some secret art all on his own—one that blurred the lines between mana circulation methods and mana circuits—then his talent was beyond question.
But... was that all there was to it?
If Eschard had regressed himself, he'd have leveraged his family name and position to systematically rebuild humanity's forces, preparing to stand against the Demon King's army. And that assembled army would dwarf any single genius in raw power. Even if monsters immune to anything but aura appeared, his authority could've forged a way through somehow.
Plus...
With future knowledge, I could've shattered my limits and become an Aura Master myself.
Yet his future self had stubbornly sent this boy back instead. A boy with scant info on the coming calamities.
Which meant...
None of the options I can think of now could overcome the disaster. He must've thought there was no answer, even if he returned himself.
For example, maybe he'd sensed he could never reach Aura Master—or beyond—no matter how hard he tried.
Krunch.
The moment that unwelcome assumption crossed his mind, his unconscious killing intent lashed out, cracking the training ground floor. Staring down at it, he quickly reined in his emotions.
"No. That can't be."
Eschard von Valentia wouldn't define his own limits and give up. No way in hell.
Yeah... so, kid. You need to show me more than just talent. Show me what my future self saw in you.
"...Show me again. Right now."
The current Duke of Valentia—and the lowest of the continent's Seven Great Knights, who would one day vie for the top spot among the Ten Great Knights as the Sword Emperor—fixed his blazing gaze on the black-haired boy.
Show you what!? You're just screwing with me...!
Tiny ground his teeth inwardly at the knight looming like an iron wall. Pitting a not-even-Expert like him against a Superior two whole stages above? Of course any counter exploiting a gap would just bounce right off.
Defense and offense specialized... just like my past life's style.
Hell, this guy was a complete upgrade—making it even tougher to face.
A glance sideways revealed the duke smirking murderously at him.
What a pain-in-the-ass temper...
Apparently, the Sword Emperor back then had a very different personality from the future.
...Not old enough to mellow out yet, maybe.
Whatever. The reward depended on the test results, so he'd give it everything. As Tiny steeled himself again—
"Where are you looking!?"
A gravelly roar hit with bone-chilling pressure.
"Eut!"
Wolrang moved on reflex, and the warhammer grazed right past, smashing the ground where he'd stood.
Kwaaaaang!
Rumble.
One hammer strike shook the entire training ground like an earthquake. But if a stage-5 Superior had swung full-force, it wouldn't have ended at mere vibrations.
Fierce intent, but he's still holding back.
And that was the opening to exploit.
Wolrang, senses hyper-synced, charged Drexler like lightning at Tiny's command. As the opponent swung his warhammer again—
Kwaaaaang!
He whipped around at the razor-edge of contact. Diving into the recovery gap for a counter—
Thung!
Maybe because it wasn't full power?
"Kuhahaha! Weak, kid!"
The warhammer didn't waver, reversing to smash his space.
Boosh!
As it whipped empty air, the burst sent blue ripples exploding into a gale.
Ugh... damn.
Watching him freely wield a hammer bigger than a longsword, Drexler clearly mastered more than just attack power or speed.
Probably pairs it with a shield usually. More defense-focused type.
A nightmare matchup for an underdog to crack.
But.
That just means there's a way to target it.
The moment resolve hardened, Wolrang accelerated, circling Drexler at blurring speed.
Boosh!
The warhammer flew at his rotation path, smashing air again. Ignoring inertia, the silver wolf veered sharply—his rider's mace grazing the shoulder pauldron's edge.
Tang!
"Hoh?"
Drexler's face twisted slightly—he'd been matching levels—and his movements sped up.
From there, it was Drexler's one-sided barrage.
Kwaang! Bang! Boosh!
"Dodging well!"
Drexler's face flushed redder. His strikes grew fiercer, faster.
The duke watching had a stiffened expression.
Reading Drexler like a book.
All that talk of Ten Great Knights checked out—past-life experience wasn't for show. Add the wolf spirit's mobility, and even a somewhat slow Superior like Drexler struggled.
But the duke wasn't satisfied.
Impressive, sure. But not enough. I could do that even old. Is that all you got, kid?
It wasn't an overly harsh bar. Tiny's skill just barely met his expectations.
"Drexler! How long you gonna embarrass me!?"
Slow for a Superior, sure—but relative. The duke's shout—
Drexler's speed tripled, closing the gap instantly. His warhammer browned, swelling three sizes in a blink.
The duke's face hardened.
Soul Weapon too!?
Soul Weapon—attribute fused with mana blade, Superior specialty. Using it on a sub-Expert kid? Overkill, even by the duke's standards.
Damn!
Overzealous subordinate or his own misjudgment? Bewildered—then outright baffled as Tiny charged straight in.
That lunatic...!?
The duke's eyes doubled as—
Kwaaaaang!
Thunderous boom. The black-haired boy spat blood, flung back.
"You mad bastard!!"
"S-sorry. I got carried away..."
Drexler reverted to timid mode, bowing unconsciously. But the duke blew past, sprinting to the boy staggering up from 20 meters away.
"Are you insane!? I said show talent, not recklessness—"
"I won... cough!"
Spit.
"...sir."
Bloody-mouthed, Tiny wiped his lips, trembling hand pointing at Drexler. Dislocated from wrist to shoulder, puking blood—yet grinning.
The duke whirled on Drexler, stunned—then let out a hollow laugh.
A thin, long scratch marred Blue Wing's vice-captain's cheek.
He'd seen it clear: startled by the frontal charge, Drexler hastily canceled his Soul Weapon. In that split-second stagger, Tiny tanked the hammer with his body and swung his mace for the graze.
Meaningless in real combat—but with stakes? Different story.
"I... won..."
Tiny's bloody grin left the duke yelling unwittingly.
"You could've died! Risking that in a spar just to win—?!"
"Didn't... cough... die. Won."
"You always this reckless?"
"Heh... obviously..."
"Why the hell—?!"
"If not like this... huff... back-alley life's got nothing to offer..."
"It was just a spar!!"
"With... a wager."
"What? You psycho—!"
"And I... won."
The duke couldn't fathom it, but Tiny's smirk held zero regret.
"Fool! Betting your life on a wager? That's no sane—!!"
"Had to win... somehow. That's how I lived."
Blood-soaked and ugly, Tiny grinned defiantly. The duke stared blankly.
Shocked, maybe. But Tiny, barely standing, had no bandwidth for it.
Crack.
Using Nian Ti, he forced his bones back into place.
Seven fractures... Ironclad Body can't tank that level gap. But fine. Bones heal in a week, internals too...
Worth it. That's why the searing pain made him smile.
Got it done.
Every moment desperate, every bet life-or-death. The clueless slum orphan with just mana sensitivity grew into a Ten Great Knight that way.
And to Tiny, it wasn't even a true gamble. He'd known the opponent would pull the full-force strike—and the recoil it'd cause.
That natural flow bridged three stages, creating the tiniest gap.
And it'd been in Tiny's head since the spar began.
No need to tell the duke, though.
One thing to clarify:
"...So, Your Grace? Did I... prove it properly?"
A status he could barely look up to now—but a future comrade.
The duke nodded calmly.
"...Yeah. I couldn't pull that off. So that's why I... Maybe I judged true recklessness was necessary."
Tiny didn't get it. Didn't need to.
What mattered:
"Then... what'll you give me?"
"...What you need most right now."
Confirming the promise.
"Thank... cough..."
Hearing what he wanted, Tiny bared bloody teeth in a grin.
"...you."
And as the boy toppled forward, the duke caught him with conflicted eyes.