Chapter 8
Chapter 8
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The New Strike Team
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
A log clutched in the old butler's hand soared toward the sky.
Screeeeech!
The boy swung his sword at the flying log.
Dual swords danced after the boy's hands, slicing through the irregular logs.
Shraaaaaack! Crunch!
Ironwood grown near the Great Cataclysm shattered its tough bark under the boy's blade, as if its hardness meant nothing.
"Fweeeeeew..."
The old butler approached the boy, who steadied his breathing and calmed his crimson aura, handing him a towel.
"Well done, Young Master Ian."
"Ah, thanks. Hans."
Ian took Hans's towel and wiped his sweat-soaked face.
The butler stared intently at Ian.
"...I can hardly believe my eyes. I don't know much about martial arts, but even I know that progress this fast is extremely rare."
"...Pfft! Yeah, let's go with that."
Ian gave a faint smile at Hans's words.
Hans, clueless about martial arts? What a lame joke.
Ian didn't bring it up and spoke to Hans instead.
"Well, the Gate Opening Ceremony's been over for a while now. If I want to act like a proper person, don't I need to step it up?"
Indeed.
A full month had passed since the Gate Opening Ceremony.
In that month, Ian's daily routine had been incredibly simple.
At night, in secluded spots, he circulated the Blood Demon Iron Chain Art to loosen the chains binding his Solar Meridian Blockage, pioneering mana pathways for Blood Demon True Qi to flow.
By day, he recalled the feel of wielding the Golden Heaven Chain and swung the Twin-Headed Blood Serpent to get accustomed to it.
Repeating that simple regimen, Ian could now wield the Twin-Headed Blood Serpent like an extension of his limbs.
He'd also succeeded in unraveling one more strand of the twisted meridian chains.
All this in just a month—no wonder Hans was astonished at the unnatural pace.
Of course, to Lucas, who had once risen to Hegemon of the North Continent, it was still pathetically weak.
Splash!
After afternoon training, Ian sank into the bathtub, warm water overflowing.
His body, which had seemed ready to collapse at a touch when he first crawled from the grave, was starting to gain some muscle.
Soaking and loosening his knotted muscles, Ian thought.
'It's about time for some kind of response.'
Completing the Gate Opening Ceremony meant he was now a full-fledged warrior of the Lichtenauer Martial Clan.
In other words, as a family member, he had to pull his weight and contribute.
Put simply, earn his keep.
This absolute rule applied to both direct and branch descendants.
With monsters from the Great Cataclysm eyeing the Aslan Kingdom, the clan couldn't afford useless deadweight.
'Well, the desperate dig the well themselves.'
Being left alone suited Ian even better.
He needed every moment to build his strength.
Ian had something he must do.
...Grrrrrind!
Thinking of certain faces—especially the most irritating one—made Ian's teeth grind harshly.
'...Siegfried Dupel.'
The fox who incited the continent's people, crushed his empire, and stole everything he'd built.
But he wasn't the only one who needed smashing.
The Holy Kingdom's saintess of the West Continent, the Sword Saint of the East Continent's Khan Empire, Kaidu Ballak.
They turned the empire he and his subordinates dreamed of and achieved into a mirage overnight.
This time, he'd dismantle everything they built over ten years.
And rebuild the Alexandros Empire of the North Continent.
For that grand plan, he needed power above all.
Not mere strength, but overwhelming might to shake the entire continent.
If the clan assigned no missions, he'd slowly subdue the Solar Meridian Blockage with the Blood Demon Iron Chain Art and refine himself.
If missions came, he'd hone his dulled battle instincts through real combat.
Either way, Ian would sharpen himself to fit the situation.
What frustrated him was this itchy limbo.
"...No rushing."
Siegfried's empire wouldn't crumble in a day.
Nor would the saintess or Sword Saint fall tomorrow.
Achieving his goals might take ten years—or decades.
Impatience would only lead to failure, like his past life.
Splash!
Having sorted his thoughts, Ian finished bathing and stepped out. Hans, waiting outside, offered another towel.
"You took extra long with the bath today, Young Master."
"Needed to cool my head a bit. Why, something up?"
"A message from the Patriarch's Hall. It says to come immediately upon reading it."
"Really?"
Ian nodded, dried off, dressed properly, and headed to the Patriarch's Hall.
'Moves fast, just like I said.'
Looks like he couldn't play nice after all.
Before the audience chamber of the Patriarch's Hall.
After checking his attire, Ian approached. The guarding knights slowly opened the doors.
Inside, three people welcomed him as the large doors swung wide.
Patriarch Paon Lichtenauer, the extraordinary old mage handling treasures, Nedyr.
And the last was Eldest Young Lord Alex Lichtenauer.
"Oh! Ian, you've come!"
Alex greeted him first with a gentle voice and smile.
"I heard you've been devoted to training lately. Commendable. I hope I didn't interrupt."
Alex patted Ian's shoulder lightly with a pleased smile.
But to Ian, it sounded entirely different.
Since the ceremony, Ian hadn't left his quarters once.
Yet Alex knew his movements precisely...
'A warning.'
—You're in my palm anyway. Don't get any funny ideas.
What childish intimidation.
A sneer nearly escaped, but Ian calmly replied, hiding his thoughts.
"I've completed the Gate Opening Ceremony. Though I'm still lacking, I'm now a proper Lichtenauer warrior. Better late than never—I must strive not to shame the family name from here on."
"Hahaha! Excellent attitude!"
Pleased with the response, Alex laughed heartily and turned to Paon, who had listened quietly.
"Father, see? I told you—Ian is changing. With him thinking so commendably, please don't view my opinion too negatively."
"Hmmm..."
Paon's brow furrowed with three deep lines, displeased.
But soon, deeming Alex's words reasonable, he reluctantly turned to Ian.
"Ian, are you willing to take charge of a new strike team?"
'...Take charge of a new strike team?'
To him, fresh from the ceremony—with zero proper training?
What nonsense was this?
What crazy proposal out of nowhere?
Stunned by Paon's unexpected question, Ian hesitated. Paon asked again.
"What, don't want to?"
"N-no. It's just... isn't it too soon for me to lead a strike team?"
Ian's counter was perfectly reasonable.
The Lichtenauer Martial Clan's fame across all Agena came from steadily building experience from the bottom, regardless of direct or branch lines.
That vast experience made the clan strong.
Naturally, Ian expected to start as a grunt in one of the strike teams.
That was the clan's standard judgment.
Even if Alex schemed to hinder him, Ian figured it'd be assignment to the brutal Ghost Demon Squad or the frontline Blood Wolf Team facing the Cataclysm.
But leading an entire strike team? Entirely different.
Each team's leaders were clan executives.
Leading a group was no small feat.
Even if he'd aced the ceremony better than expected, Ian knew his current clan evaluation best.
'What's your game, Alex?'
Mistaking Ian's probing gaze for hesitation, Paon added,
"If you're not confident, you can refuse."
To block any refusal, Alex spoke first.
"Hahaha! Father, be more precise. You're scaring him."
Smooth!
Alex turned to Ian, his face free of greed or malice.
"Ian, don't overthink it. I saw your potential at the ceremony. Others ignore it, but your talent inside the Weapon Orb's barrier was extraordinary. The new strike team will gather kids like you—young warriors with outstanding talent and strong self-belief. The clan's future."
On the surface, the ideal brother supporting his lacking sibling to the end.
"In time, everyone will see. That assigning you the team isn't favoritism, but just."
...Sure.
'Only if I really do 'well'.'
They'll see in time?
Sounds great on the surface.
But only if he produced results.
Overwhelming results no one could nitpick.
Otherwise, it'd be blatant favoritism from the Patriarch.
Alex's plan was obvious to Paon from the start, yet he couldn't outright refuse.
Ian had shown above-average skill at the ceremony.
Assigning the capable to fitting roles—that was a patriarch's virtue.
Starting a second son who chose an extraordinary weapon as a mere rank-and-filer? That could seem like favoritism too.
A stretch, perhaps.
But Alex had more than enough sway to push it.
If Paon crushed it outright, no one would dare oppose—but Alex had his ace.
Paon had never intervened in heir struggles.
He saw factional fights as trials to become Lichtenauer's lord.
Thus, despite knowing all, Paon accepted Alex's proposal.
As this qualified as heir strife.
'Ian, if you truly have something... you'll see through Alex.'
Against Paon's hopes, Ian nodded eagerly, as if he'd been waiting.
"I never thought Brother would trust me like this... Understood. I'll deliver results you'll be satisfied with."
Misjudged.
Ian foolishly got excited and accepted.
'...Tsk, it's over.'
Paon shelved his faint expectations.
The ceremony's anomaly was just illusion after all.
'Right on plan.'
Alex barely suppressed his leaking grin at Ian's acceptance.
Ian's team would collect all the troublemakers deemed headaches by direct and branch lines.
'Plenty to test him.'
Fail to control it, and Ian's reputation hits rock bottom—proving Alex right.
If he succeeded? Fine too—proof Ian had hidden claws till now.
Ian gains minor surprise and a handful of fringe warriors, exiled or treated as such.
Best way to test him at minimal cost.
'Ian. Show me your limits.'
Whatever Alex schemed, Ian accepted easily for one reason.
'Why refuse when they're handing me a strike team?'
He'd ruled an empire.
Refining one strike team into elites? Trivial.
'I'd devour this clan for my forces anyway.'
Displacing an incumbent leader was harder, despite seeming easier.
Winning over veterans loyal to their captain? Tough.
But building a new team from scratch? Initial struggles, then unbreakable bonds—stronger than any.
Thus, amid Alex and Ian's mismatched dreams, Ian's mind summed up perfectly:
'Thanks for the strike team. I'll take good care of it.'