The Sword Emperor's Shadow
The duel between the Sword Emperor and the two future Aura Users from another time had ignited a massive stir across the continent. It was the first clash between Aura Users in over a decade, witnessed firsthand by tens of thousands—no wonder the rumors spread like wildfire. And the outcome? Utterly shocking.
Duke Valentia had defeated the Weapon Master! The master of the sword had triumphed over the master of all weapons! Duke Valentia was the true Sword Emperor.
The moniker "Sword Emperor" began spreading rapidly from the imperial capital outward.
As Tiny marveled, 'In the end, he gets the same nickname again.', someone in the heart of the palace at the capital's core scowled upon hearing the news.
"Of all the nicknames, why that one...? Exilan, can we manipulate public opinion...?"
Crown Prince Bradley's words drew a heavy shake of the head from his guard knight, Exilan.
"...It's difficult, Your Highness. There were simply too many witnesses to the duel. The rumor is spreading from them at an alarming rate..."
"Why Emperor of all things! Won't it just provoke Father again?!"
Exilan bowed his head gravely, watching the prince sigh in frustration.
"The people should know the sacrifices Your Highness is making for the empire's stability."
"...Sacrifices."
A bitter chuckle escaped him. "It's not that much of a sacrifice. No one matches her as a consort... But even that feels meaningless now. What's the point of forging ties if my father-in-law ends up stoking His Majesty's inferiority complex again...?"
Exilan could add nothing to the self-mocking lament. He knew all too well the burdens his young lord had carried since childhood. All he could do was stand silently by his side, gazing at the bright sunlight outside while the prince heaved heavy sighs.
How much time passed like that? The crown prince's calm golden eyes finally met his.
"...Exilan."
"Yes, my lord."
"Does your resolve still hold? Your desire to reform the Imperial Knights..."
Exilan flinched but immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
"Yes, Your Highness. The current Imperial Knights are undoubtedly flawed."
"Indeed... It's a waste of talent for someone like you—who surpassed Sir Griwell a decade ago and is hailed as the strongest knight in the palace—to be tied down as my mere guard."
"Your Highness! That's not what I—"
"No, it's not wrong. If Father's policy of scorning knights continues, the empire will fracture in two. Knights and mages are the twin pillars of our realm... We can't have that."
"Your Highness..."
"Especially when the reason is the ruler's inferiority complex. It's utterly absurd."
The prince's handsome face twisted as he recalled his father, the emperor—wrinkled beyond his years. The man delegated over half his duties to his son yet clung fiercely to the palace's military might, including the Imperial Magic Tower.
'Outsiders see Father as a steady ruler, but the empire is rotting from within because of it. Even the temple...'
Some called this the empire's golden age of peace, but it was merely the nation's potential being squandered by its leader's inadequacies.
As his thoughts reached that point, the prince bit his lip, resolve hardening. Then, abruptly:
"Is the Second Consort still in contact with them?"
"...Yes."
Exilan flinched but quickly bowed his head again.
"What a foolish woman. Clinging to a fallen house and abandoning the present."
"If Your Highness wishes, we can dispose of her at any time..."
"No."
The prince raised a steady hand, cutting him off. "Leave her be."
"...Pardon?"
"This could be a chance to excise the rot from the palace. Especially if it doesn't dirty my own hands."
"Your Highness!?"
Exilan's eyes widened in shock. He knew exactly who the "rotten part" referred to, after all their years together.
"Investigate thoroughly. See if Sir Griwell is the only one acting as her hands and feet. And if she's plotting something, what's her target timeline? I have a guess, but still."
"...The risks are too great, Your Highness."
"Hardly."
"...Pardon?"
"I have you, and now the empire's strongest swordsman—who broke the alliance's blade. With those walls around me, what danger could I face?"
Exilan couldn't argue with that. Moreover:
"The deed will be done by the Second Consort and them anyway. We just watch. Even if they overreach, monitor and observe—don't intervene. A known threat is no threat at all, right?"
His young lord's logic was sound, so after a moment's hesitation, Exilan replied with firm resolve.
"...I shall obey."
"Yes, all this is..."
"...For the empire!"
The prince nodded gravely at the response, then rose with a small sigh.
"Then, shall I go see my fiancée? I hope the spirits have eased her loneliness a bit."
A genuine smile—the first of the day—crossed his face. Partly because thinking of Cloi warmed his heart, but there was another reason.
'That little knight... no, not so little anymore? The sudden growth spurt, and all those bizarre abilities anyway. His talent as a knight is something else.'
Tiny. The black-haired youth with the odd name was a true gem.
'Even if he doesn't rise as a grand knight, I should keep an eye on him and elevate him when the time comes.'
Not even the grandiose title "Knight of Glory" captured his full worth. A future Aura User. The hero who drove out legendary beasts. Fine labels, but above all...
'By elevating a slum orphan like him, the "new emperor" will show the world that talent knows no birthright.'
Unlike his father, he would rule justly and usher in the empire's true golden age.
'Yes, no matter what...!'
As the prince shook off his stress with that positive vow, Exilan—who hadn't fully shed the heavy mood—added one last thing.
"...Wouldn't it be better to inform Duke Valentia about the Second Consort as well?"
It sounded perfectly reasonable, but the prince paused, then shook his head firmly.
"No. Absolutely not."
"Pardon?"
"If word gets out after the fact that I knew in advance, it'll be disastrous. Aside from the 'Eye of the Dragon,' it stays between us. Remember that, Exilan."
"...Yes, understood."
He replied as such, but Exilan couldn't shake the feeling that the palace nights grew unnaturally dark.
* * *
Just two days after the duel that rocked the capital, the Weapon Master arrived at the Valentia family's capital mansion. And that visit soon turned into praise for its master.
"As expected..."
"His Grace's magnanimity must have moved him."
"Truly the Sword Emperor..."
It was warranted. The full context of their bet—"any demand granted"—had leaked belatedly. And ending it with a mere tour of the capital? To outsiders ignorant of the details, the Sword Emperor's generosity seemed legendary.
Thus, people assumed Grid's visit was to express gratitude.
Of course, the parties involved felt no such warmth or thanks.
"You summoned me, so here I am. Ah, forgive the day's delay—bandages take time. But why this private audience...?"
At the Sword Emperor's request, all attendants had been dismissed. Grid bowed politely, though his expression soured slightly. His furrowed brow betrayed his true feelings, especially with his wide forehead fully exposed under slicked-back, gleaming blue hair—combed so meticulously it shone. His twitching mustache was the cherry on top.
"...Drop the formality between us old rivals and speak freely, Grid."
At that, Grid glanced at Tiny beside him and shook his head.
"Nobles must uphold dignity even in private. You should set an example with your subordinate present."
The Sword Emperor's face twisted at the irrefutable retort.
"Everyone here knows your foul temper anyway, so relax."
"Tch, such slander! As a duke and noble—"
"...Those with power must restrain themselves strictly to avoid harming others. That's why I strive to maintain decorum."
Grid's scolding gaze shifted to Tiny, who had cut in. It was a line Grid often said himself—how did this foreigner know it?
As he eyed him suspiciously:
"...You said it was a habit born from the trauma of killing your cousin as a reckless youth, unable to control your strength."
Grid's face hardened instantly. A deeply buried secret, known only to him and his brother now.
"...Who the hell are you?"
Killing intent spread with his low growl. The room filled with it in an instant, all focused on Tiny—whose face drained of color.
Yet Tiny clenched his teeth so hard they ground audibly, forcing calm as he spat out each word:
"You... told me... yourself..."
"Bullshit! I've never even seen you before!"
"In the future... that is."
"What nonsense—!"
Blue aura flared around Grid's enraged form. The killing intent surged several-fold.
Bzzz...
Tiny could no longer endure it barehanded; he drew up mana to barely push back. Grid's eyes narrowed further.
And then:
"It's true, Grid."
Whoosh...
Red aura rippled, shoving aside Grid's intent. His brown eyes burned crimson with rage—the Sword Emperor's interference had ignited him fully.
"What game is this, As?!"
Still, he restrained himself against such a foe.
"If you remember my nickname, we can talk. Bear with it and listen, Green."
These arch-enemies—lifelong foes turned reluctant bad friends through sheer longevity, even knowing each other's pet names—locked eyes for a long moment before simultaneously reining in their auras, as if by pact.
Tiny exhaled in relief. The Sword Emperor chuckled softly and continued.
"Never thought I'd hear old nicknames at our age."
"Your name's too damn long. Tedious even in private."
"...Well, as long as you're calm. Anyway, hear the boy out. It's worth it—no, essential. Especially for us."
Grid sighed deeply at "us," turning back to Tiny.
"Hey, kid. What do I need to hear? Spit more crap like before, and I'll separate your bones from your flesh."
His eyes blazed murderously, fist clenched. The decorous noble vanished; he looked more back-alley thug than the angry duke. Yet Tiny smiled.
"Haha, yeah... That's more like you."
"You? This punk—"
"Long time no see, old man Grid."
"Ol-old—?! You little shit, have you lost your mind!?"
"...Listen! Just hear him out!! And you, Tiny—cut the bullshit and get to the point!!!"
The duke barely restrained the fuming Grid. Tiny watched with a grin, then spoke quietly.
"Grid van Selden... Let's see, you'd be 56 this year. Normally, I'd first meet you about 15 years from now—when that sky-blue hair the Selden royals boast as angelic proof has half-turned white."
What followed sounded utterly absurd, preposterous.
Yet also...
"Too damn plausible... Yeah, those sound like things I'd do. But really... the future turns to total shit like that?"
"...Yes."
"Hah... Unbelievable."
Grid was at a loss—too factual to dismiss, too outlandish to accept. He glanced at his calm rival, Eschard.
After a brief silence, a small sigh escaped him.
"Fine, even if I buy it... Why tell me? Future comrade? Not yet, you're not. Hell, I'm not even imperial. And you could profit more keeping future knowledge to yourself..."
"As I said, it's a calamity no empire alone can overcome."
"Still..."
Why not reap all the gains first, then share? He almost said it.
But:
"What use is that? Wealth and glory mean nothing to me. Probably the same for the Sword Emperor."
"...I've got plenty already."
His rival nodded, but the boy—who looked barely twenty, or fourteen by his own claim despite the bulk—had earnest eyes.
'No need for riches at that age?'
Moreover:
"Above all... I know. You're a true knight who keeps promises, even at the cost of your life."
"...Fuck."
That pierced his core truer than anything. Grid could only nod.