Chapter 7
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Following the King's Path (3)
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During the two months that Blanc and his group followed the trade road northward, news of the Cardmus Family's tragedy had already spread throughout the entire Felix Kingdom.
It was the most shocking incident to occur as of late.
The families from the Gartaria Kingdom, which shared a border with them, had claimed rights over the Norinton region and invaded without any warning whatsoever—an act that was utterly incomprehensible by the standards of the era.
And the pretexts they wielded were so crude that anyone could see through them.
Even if those claims held a shred of truth, they hardly justified three families banding together to crush a noble house from another kingdom. People couldn't help but harbor suspicions.
In the face of this bizarre and shocking event that no one could make sense of, rumors were bound to spread far and wide.
Among those swirling tales, the one that captured everyone's attention the most was the rumor about the Cardmus Family's young heir.
The protagonist of the tragedy, pursued by no less than three Gartarian families, had slipped through their encirclement and vanished into thin air.
Some said he must have gotten lost in the mountains and died. Others claimed he had already been captured and locked away in some secret place.
But what if that protagonist had escaped and was alive and well?
Naturally, wouldn't he head straight to the only place he could rely on—the Tolome Family?
"So that's why everyone was impersonating me."
"Isn't impersonating a noble a capital offense? How could they take such a risk? Did they really think the Tolome Family—hardly fools—would accept some street urchin as their grandson?"
"They probably weren't hoping for that much. They just wanted to slip into Baltimer. Even begging would be easier there."
Blanc responded indifferently as he roasted the rabbit Rakshar had hunted over the crackling campfire.
Baltimer was the most prosperous city in the Felix Kingdom, befitting its status as the capital. It overflowed with wealth.
The saying went that even the slaves in Baltimer lived better than commoners in other cities.
So it was understandable why black-haired urchins around his age would pretend to be Blanc just to get inside.
Once they made it into the city, they wouldn't have to starve—at least, that's what they hoped.
Whether they'd actually avoid hunger was another matter, but to them, it was just a choice between starving on the streets or dying for impersonating a noble.
"Besides, they were probably just knocking on the gate with the faint hope that the guards might let them in if they asked nicely. I doubt they were prepared to die for it."
"We saw forty-one 'Blanc Cardmus' today..."
Emilia made a troubled face from across the fire.
"Don't tag numbers onto my name. It creeps me out."
Every time one of those urchins claiming to be Blanc Cardmus was tossed aside by the guards, Blanc felt an inexplicable surge of irritation.
"What do we do now...? Was even Lady Nedrian's ancestral tablet useless?"
"The guards have no way to verify if it's genuine in the first place."
If Nedrian Cardmus's ancestral tablet had been adorned with flashy jewels or looked unmistakably expensive, the guards might have given Blanc a second glance. But she wasn't the type.
A baron's wife carrying only a simple jewelry box spoke volumes about how frugally she had lived.
"What are we going to do...?"
Though the rabbit meat was roasting to golden perfection right in front of her, Emilia buried her face in her knees, ignoring it completely.
In my past life, I was sold into slavery and spent my days hauling loads, so I had no idea about all this commotion.
No matter how much experience and memory Blanc had from thirty years, he didn't know everything about this world.
He only knew what he had personally seen, heard, and lived through. Having chosen a different path from his previous life, he could expect more surprises like this ahead.
No helping it.
He had wanted to take his time in a safe place, honing and perfecting it carefully.
Still, I've got the basics down solid, so it should be fine.
Snapping out of his deep thoughts, Blanc called to his loyal gamekeeper.
"Rakshar."
"Yes, young master."
"How much food do we have left?"
"About... four days' worth."
That'll do.
He figured three days would be plenty.
"Then prepare to camp here for three days. Thanks, Rakshar."
"Th-three days, you say? Th-that's not hard, but..."
"And one more thing."
Blanc raised a finger and emphasized firmly.
"From now on, don't leave my side. Guard me. Protect me from external threats."
"Pardon? Y-yes, understood."
It had been three days since they began camping in the forest near Baltimer.
"You've been sitting all day again today."
"H-he's in the lotus position. Th-that's a form of meditation..."
"Still sitting, isn't he?"
"W-well, yes, but..."
Rakshar, who had pathologically avoided people, had grown somewhat comfortable around Emilia after nearly three months of proximity and was starting to exchange words with her.
Emilia, having realized he wasn't as frightening as his werewolf-like appearance suggested, no longer minded much.
Even as he chatted with her, Rakshar's eyes constantly scanned the area around Blanc.
"Even on the way up here, he'd drop into lotus position whenever he got a chance. Now he's barely eating and just sitting there."
For the two months traveling to Baltimer, Blanc had meditated in the lotus position at every opportunity.
But now he was skipping meals altogether, sitting there all day. Emilia watched him with worried eyes.
"You've been having nightmares lately too, and you don't look well..."
It was no wonder. Even before the mansion burned, Blanc had often been plagued by nightmares.
Now he was neglecting his body for training, so Emilia couldn't help but fret.
"Y-you said three days... T-today's the third..."
"Can't you fix that stuttering?"
"S-sorry."
Rakshar, starved of human conversation, still found talking burdensome. Without Emilia initiating, he might not speak all day.
"Cough."
Suddenly, Blanc, seated in lotus position, let out a small cough.
Dark red blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Wh-what?"
"Young master!"
Seeing her young master vomit blood, Emilia rushed to him in a flash and pulled him into her arms.
"Young master! Sob... What are you doing to yourself?"
Tears streamed down her face as she held the staggering, bleeding Blanc.
His parents dead overnight, his family wiped out—trials too much for any ordinary boy.
Emilia had grown anxious every time Blanc acted out of character.
Now, with him collapsing and bleeding from the mouth, it was no wonder she wept; she doted on him fiercely.
Yet Blanc, pale-faced in her arms, wore a satisfied smile.
"It's done."
"What is?"
"I'm good."
"What do you mean?"
The Assansio Family's Aura Cultivation Method: White Lightning.
It was of such high caliber that it could be called an ultimate technique among ultimates. But more importantly, it suited Blanc's nature and body perfectly.
Blanc, having lived as a mercenary, was no expert on aura methods and couldn't judge. But he trusted the one who insisted it matched him and urged him to learn it.
"Since it's based on lightning essence, it's an aura method emphasizing swiftness and speed. There should be a matching sword art, but it's not in practice here."
"Is this the best one?"
"There are surprisingly few aura methods that grant true power. The key is finding one that fits your personal traits."
"So this one...?"
"It matches not just your physique but your preferred sword style best. Even a royal method wouldn't suit you as well."
A middle-aged man with graying hair handed Blanc the tome detailing the Assansio Family's aura method.
"Your talent is superb, but you've missed the prime learning age. Mastering it now will be difficult."
He gazed pityingly at Blanc, in his mid-thirties, too late to start. This man was humanity's last hope amid collapse, the first lost to the void—the Duke of Anton Kingdom, hailed as its First Sword.
Gornas Valtazar, patriarch of the Valtazar Family.
An era hero whose greatness needed no title recommended it himself. Thus, Blanc accepted White Lightning without a doubt.
"Hey, Blanc 32. Back again?"
This was the eighty-ninth fake Blanc the guard had chased off.
After dealing with so many similar black-haired boys of the same age, they all started looking alike.
But he remembered the thirty-second one.
He had the sharpest eyes of any urchin claiming to be Cardmus Blanc—unwittingly seared into his mind.
"You were rude but not brazen. I'll forgive your past offenses."
"What the hell is this kid saying?"
The guard was flustered by the suddenly altered demeanor of the boy before him.
Is he really Blanc Cardmus?
But he couldn't just let in a boy with no identification.
He planned to humor him briefly and send him packing again.
"What are you doing, you brat?!"
"Sheathe that knife, kid! This is Baltimer, home of the king!!"
In an instant, Blanc had drawn a short dagger from his waist and pointed it at the guards.
Of course, a child brandishing a dagger didn't scare these well-trained elite soldiers with seasoned experience.
But the moment Blanc drew his blade, the guards simultaneously unsheathed swords and shields, forming ranks.
This wasn't from fear of Blanc—it was pure ingrained training.
"Drop the dagger, punk! Unless you want to die!"
Crackle.
"Drop the dag... What the—?"
"Wh-what?"
Crackle. Snap-crackle.
A lone boy stood defiantly before the gate.
"Aura!"
And from the small dagger in his hand...
Snap-crackle-pop.
White Lightning
Lightning essence surges through the blade!
Pure white lightning arced wildly.
"I am the true Blanc Cardmus of the Cardmus Family! Son of Palad Cardmus and rightful heir to Norinton—Blanc Cardmus!"
With each shout, white lightning crackled fiercely around him.
"And I bear the blood of the Tolome Family from my mother! I demand to see my grandfather, Bartolomeo Tolome!"
Blanc's bold proclamation filled the gates.