The Bane of Mages
Before my regression, I was called the Sword God.
But the world had many other names for me.
And the most prominent among them was...
"Raygan, the wandering mercenary. The Sword God. I believe the world calls you the natural enemy of mages?"
The natural enemy of mages.
There was no grand story behind that moniker.
The war was fought primarily between the Archduke of Demonic Magic's mages and the Continental Army trying to stop them. As a mercenary on that battlefield, I naturally ended up taking the heads of many mages.
"I heard you've already cut down 7th-tier mages in the double digits. That's an absurd achievement for a mere swordsman."
Before my regression, that was precisely why Lunia, who was leading the resistance, had sought me out.
Part of it was because the war had left almost no Sword Master-level fighters alive, but it was mostly because she had heard the rumors about me.
Unlike ordinary knights, I had a reputation as a mercenary who was exceptionally good at killing mages.
The secret lay entirely in my unique 'vision.'
"Your eyes are truly fascinating, Raygan. I wonder how you came to possess such a talent."
I had never thought of my talent as anything special. It was only after hearing Lunia's explanation that I realized just how massive of an advantage my unique vision gave me.
My eyes could visually perceive the structure of magic.
Just as construction is the most critical phase of spellcasting, precise design is the core of all magic. Therefore, if the structure is disrupted, the spell inevitably collapses.
In other words, being able to see the core of a spell with the naked eye was no different from staring directly at a mage's fatal weakness.
But even if you can see the core, it is useless if you cannot strike faster than the magic can deploy. Thus, my swordsmanship evolved to hone speed and precision over raw destructive power.
Ultimately, by the time I became a Sword Master, all that remained was an ultra-fast sword stripped of all superfluity—one that never even factored in clashing blades with an opponent.
Lunia, who had crossed the line between life and death with me countless times, gave my swordsmanship a name over drinks one night.
"How about Spellbreaker?"
It was a name that sounded a bit childish, but her description wasn't far off.
*Slash!*
Because even with a mere tree branch devoid of aura, I could slice through the Rune Magic Arno unleashed.
*Rumble!*
Deprived of their cores, the spells went wild all at once.
The flames lost their direction and scorched the empty air, while the razor-sharp winds raged like beasts turning on their master. The ground cracked and erupted at random.
"T-this is impossible...!"
Arno faltered.
An outstanding mage might have been able to control the haywire magic, but Arno was still just a novice at the 3rd tier. Despite his brilliant talent, he lacked experience.
Well, to achieve this much at his age is impressive enough.
In the modern magic system divided into ten tiers, the 3rd tier might not seem like much, but even that requires over a decade of dedicated study to reach.
And since Arno von Benheim hadn't even reached adulthood yet, he was undoubtedly a genius.
Furthermore, Arno wasn't just any ordinary 3rd-tier mage. He was on the cusp of the 4th tier, possessing enough skill to overwhelm mages of the same rank.
If even peer mages struggled against him, it should have been utterly impossible for some nobody without a mana core to break through those spells.
Unfortunately for him, he had met the wrong opponent.
I was no nobody.
I was someone who had lived and breathed alongside an Archmage who had reached the absolute pinnacle of Rune Magic.
Dismantling low-tier magic was child's play.
Maintaining my stance on the churning ground, I tightened my grip on the branch.
I raised my left hand forward and drew my right hand back to my waist.
My razor-sharp senses allowed me to keep my balance even amidst the raging torrent of haywire Rune Magic.
My target was Arno von Benheim himself, who was panicking behind his wall of flames.
Honestly, even if I left things as they were, Sheryl, the shadow mage, would probably step in to mediate, but I intended to secure a decisive victory.
I caught my breath before making my move.
I took a step forward, shifting my center of gravity.
First step.
The writhing earth clawed at my ankles.
But I had no intention of falling.
*Whoosh!*
I put weight on my right foot and twisted my body.
Before the ground could catch up, my left foot, already carrying my momentum, stepped through the air.
In that split second, I took the next step.
Second step.
I saw a gap in the chaos.
The flames were fierce, but with the mana loop severed, their flow was highly unstable.
And I could easily read that instability with my bare eyes.
Third step.
In just three steps, I slipped through the rampaging spells and arrived right in front of Arno.
The magic poured down menacingly. The haywire Rune Magic, a chaotic fusion of fire and wind, would tear flesh at the slightest graze.
*Hummm.*
The rune Kenaz materialized on my left hand.
I inscribed Kenaz onto the branch in my right hand. It would only be temporary, but it would suffice to repel the opponent's mana.
*Tap.*
I tapped the ground with my toe as if plucking a string, lowering my posture.
Springing forward like a flash of lightning, I swung the branch.
*Whoosh!*
Through the gap in the instantly severed Rune Magic, Arno stared at me, his mouth hanging wide open.
"H-he cut it? The magic?"
Once could be dismissed as a fluke.
But twice, thrice? That was inevitability.
"Well, nothing personal."
Having closed the distance to the completely defenseless Arno, I tucked the branch away and raised my fist.
To put an end to the rampaging magic, I needed to knock out the caster.
"W-wait! I can—"
Before Arno could finish his sentence, my fist shot forward.
First, a blow right under the chin.
*Crack!*
Next, my left hand struck his shoulder. I didn't miss the moment Arno lost his balance and stumbled.
*Thud!*
I hooked his shin with the top of my foot and flipped him, sending his back spinning through the air.
"Agh!"
*Thud!*
Arno planted headfirst into the ground.
And that was that.
It was dusk when the news reached the ears of the patriarch, Stern von Benheim.
Chief Seneschal Allet and the shadow mage Sheryl had come to deliver the report. Stern, who was sipping his tea, narrowed his eyes.
"My son challenged the boy, Raygan, to a duel?"
In truth, Stern had somewhat anticipated this. Arno was at a hot-blooded age; it was only natural for him to feel competitive toward a newly arrived mage in the family.
But what shocked him was the news that followed.
"...And yet, he lost?"
"Yes. I am deeply sorry to report so."
"My son... to that boy?"
Stern looked at Allet as if demanding confirmation, and the seneschal reluctantly nodded.
"Was it a fair fight?"
"Sheryl was present as an observer."
Allet stepped aside, and the maid, Sheryl, bowed her head deeply.
"I see. Sheryl, is this truly the case? My son was defeated by that boy? And by a novice who can only use 2nd-tier Rune Magic, no less?"
"It is true that the boy used 2nd-tier magic, as you say. However, I believe we must consider that the nature of the duel was far from a conventional battle between mages."
"Explain in detail."
Sheryl described exactly what she had witnessed—how Raygan had inscribed a rune onto a tree branch to slice through Arno's magic.
And how he had even broken through the rampaging spells to close the distance and subdue Arno directly.
"...With a mere tree branch."
Stern wore a look of utter bewilderment.
A mage attempting close-quarters combat was absurd enough, but the part about slicing through magic with a swung branch made him let out a hollow laugh.
Slicing magic... Even as a 7th-tier Archmage, Stern had never heard of such an outrageous feat.
Yet Sheryl's expression was deadpan and entirely serious. There was no reason for her to lie. Stern let out a low hum and asked,
"Tell me, Sheryl. Having witnessed the duel firsthand, how do you evaluate the boy's combat ability?"
"It was a cowardly and underhanded style that relied on catching the opponent off guard and exploiting their complacency."
"Perhaps my question was poorly phrased. I am not asking you to speak on behalf of the family's doctrine. I am asking for your personal opinion."
At Stern's prompting, Sheryl fell silent for a moment as if contemplating, before speaking again.
"...I believe it was highly efficient. Furthermore, while it is true that Young Master Arno let his guard down, it is also undeniable that the boy is exceptional."
"Exceptional?"
"It was a display of skill born from an innate combat instinct combined with cold, precise situational judgment."
Before she was a maid, Sheryl was a shadow mage dispatched from the guild. Thus, she understood better than anyone just how efficient and practical Raygan's combat style truly was.
"High praise indeed."
Having heard the full story, Stern set down his teacup.
"Where is Arno?"
"The family physician is treating his injuries."
"Is he badly hurt?"
"No. I was told it is merely some bruising."
"So he even controlled his strength. The name Benheim is weeping today."
Stern chuckled dryly at Allet's words, his eyebrows arching. It wasn't simply because the defeat of his son was humiliating.
"For Raygan to defeat my son... well, well."
Rather, it was because of the surging curiosity he felt toward the boy named Raygan.
"...Yes. He would have to be at least that capable to be the talent chosen by Benheim's mage. Fascinating. Truly fascinating."
Stern was genuinely impressed. A novice who had been with the family for barely two weeks had challenged and triumphantly defeated a direct descendant raised with the family's full backing.
Even if Raygan's fighting style was un-magelike, as Sheryl had said, the victory itself was worthy of praise.
As Stern fell into deep thought, Chief Seneschal Allet stepped forward and spoke cautiously.
"...My Lord, I have a concern. Even if it was the result of a fair duel, the defeat of the heir is a serious matter. I worry that if word of this spreads outside, it will tarnish the honor of House Benheim."
"Allet, you worry too much. My son's defeat is an undeniable fact. As long as it is not a malicious slander, House Benheim has nothing to hide. There is no reason to fret over an honor that will not so easily fall."
"But..."
"On the contrary, it means Benheim has acquired an outstanding talent. What is this if not a cause for celebration? There is no need to worry about Arno. He carries the blood of Benheim; he will use this defeat as fuel to grow stronger."
Stern held his son in high regard. From what he had seen, Arno was already an excellent mage. His passion for magic would not be easily extinguished.
The duty of the patriarch was not to blame the defeated Arno, but to bestow a fitting reward upon the talented mage who had bested his son.
Of course, a sliver of doubt still lingered regarding the boy.
Raygan was shrouded in secrets, the depths of which even Stern, the patriarch, could not fathom.
Is it truly wise to bring such a person into the very heart of the family?
But that talent... was too precious to let go.
Above all, he was the talent chosen by Benheim's legendary Archmage.
Having made his decision, Stern rose from his seat.
"Sheryl."
"Yes, My Lord."
"Lead me to the annex. I wish to see the boy myself. And..."
Stern trailed off, the corners of his mouth curving upward as he added,
"Chief Seneschal Allet, pay a visit to the main estate's treasury."
"...May I ask what business you have in the treasury so suddenly?"
"You lack wit. I am telling you to fetch the family's secret grimoire."
At Stern's nonchalant command, both Allet and Sheryl were left utterly speechless.