A World Remade in Five Centuries
The corridor connecting the Sword Apex Hall to the central hall was lined with portraits of past family heads. Kyle ignored the murmurs of the relatives he passed, his gaze fixed steadily on Lucia's back as she led the way ahead.
At eight years old, she was small for her age, but her footsteps made not a sound. Every movement was already under perfect control.
Whether it was conscious or instinctive, he couldn't tell. But for an eight-year-old—when one might expect sniffling or hiccuping—it was honestly impressive.
Or is it? Maybe that's just normal here?
Kyle had grown up in a mercenary corps in his past life, running wild with kids his age. But this wasn't some ragtag band of sellswords; this was Alastor, the continent's greatest martial house. Perhaps the cousins he hadn't met yet moved with the same refined grace as Lucia.
"Lord Kyle."
When they returned to the central hall, Lucia halted. She hesitated a moment before turning to face him.
"Did you... truly pick up a sword for the first time today?"
"Yeah."
He couldn't very well mention his past life, so Kyle nodded with a simple reply.
Her eyes flickered at his answer. She'd confirmed it with Arian's oath earlier, but the young girl still couldn't bring herself to believe it.
"Today was... really your first time?"
Lucia's world was crumbling. Yet instead of despair, she bit her lip and steeled her resolve.
"Will you spar with me again someday?"
"Sure."
Kyle grinned. He liked that she didn't crumble.
In battle, mindset and spirit were as crucial as skill. Fights were waged by people, after all. With a temperament like hers, she'd grow even stronger.
"We'll probably see each other a lot from now on. How about dropping the formalities?"
"I absolutely cannot. You are pureblood Alastor. And... we won't meet that often anyway."
"Why not? You live here too."
"The Sword Tower is far vaster and more mysterious than you can imagine, Lord Kyle. And I... am not in a position to seek out the purebloods on my own."
"If we can't meet often, we can't spar often either."
"..."
She might be older than Kyle now, but Lucia was still just eight. She couldn't even respond, her eyes shaking in confusion.
"Th-that's... yes, you're right."
"No worries. I'll come find you."
Kyle chuckled and stepped closer, extending his hand.
"You can't come to me, but I can come to you, right?"
"I'm... not sure."
Lucia glanced uncertainly at his outstretched hand, her face puzzled by its meaning. Kyle sighed in exasperation, grabbed her hand, and shook it up and down.
"Don't your relatives shake hands with you?"
"..."
"Grandfather seemed nice. Uncle Kartan too. Are they only nice to me?"
"The two of them... are kind to me as well."
Lucia mumbled in a tiny voice.
"Lady Katarina is kind too. Many of the purebloods treat me well."
"I see, I see."
Kyle didn't press further. In the heart of the Sword Tower, where the direct line resided, Lucia wouldn't dare say anything that might tarnish them. No doubt unseen eyes were watching them even now.
"A-anyway, allow me to guide you."
Lucia fumbled to release his hand and turned away. Kyle followed leisurely as she hurried ahead.
Along the way, he tried sensing his surroundings, hoping to detect the gaze of those invisible watchers. Unfortunately, he felt nothing. Even with the soul of the Sword Ghost, a five-year-old body untrained in cultivation couldn't possibly sense such things.
They'd need real skill to linger in the Sword Tower anyway.
Lucia stopped before a row of doors lining the inner wall of the hall.
"Why are there so many doors?"
"These are... elevators."
"Ah~ So these are elevators!"
He'd spent his first five years confined to the Rose Mansion, but he wasn't completely ignorant of the outside world. His room there was stuffed with children's books Arian had brought.
This was just his first time seeing one in person.
"Is this your first time seeing an elevator, Lord Kyle?"
"I know what it is. Magic or machinery that... moves you up or down floors, right?"
"This one operates by magic."
"Made by Alastor mages?"
"From what I've heard, it's a gift from the Dragon King.".
Dragon King.
The king of dragons, true to his name.
Dragons...
Kyle's golden eyes sparkled. He'd roamed battlefields five centuries ago but never laid eyes on a real dragon. Still, he'd heard plenty of legends since childhood.
Progenitors of magic.
The great race.
"The Sword Tower itself is a gift from the Dragon King. A symbol of respect and affection for the founder of Alastor."
The Sword Tower was a massive artifact the Dragon King had personally created in the Blade Mountains five hundred years ago. Since it was forged by draconic magic, it housed mysteries beyond Kyle's comprehension.
"Including the underground levels, the Sword Tower has eleven floors."
Lucia pointed to the ornate central door.
"This is the only elevator that accesses every floor, and only the family head may use it."
The Sword Tower's basement held the Sword Tomb, repository of past heads' blades.
The first floor housed the Sword Apex Hall for governing Vigrid, managing Gladiheim, and discussing family affairs. It was also home to the tower's servants.
The second floor contained a vast library, stocked with sword arts, diverse martial treatises, mana cultivation methods, and even spellbooks.
"All collected and authored by the ancestors of Alastor."
Lucia spoke with pride, despite lacking their blood.
"Some were received as tributes, of course. As you know, Lord Kyle, Alastor has sponsored the talented for five centuries. Those geniuses enter Gladiheim, while lesser prodigies remain in Vigrid, honing themselves in hopes of one day ascending."
"..."
"They all serve Alastor with unwavering loyalty, offering their blossoming talents. They dream that upon death, their beloved swords will grace the Sword Garden, and their techniques the tower's library."
"..."
"Five centuries of curated martial arts and magic. I've never entered, but you... Lord Kyle? Why the strange face?"
"No, uh..."
Kyle hesitated, then whispered his question.
"What's a mana cultivation method?"
"Pardon?"
Lucia blinked at him blankly before realizing.
A child bearing the Alastor name couldn't touch a weapon or touch mana until proven worthy. Arian must have withheld it deliberately, lest he thirst for more.
"Do you know what mana is?"
"Yeah."
"Mana cultivation methods do exactly that—cultivate mana. Techniques to draw it into the body and control it."
"Draw mana... into the body... and control it?"
"Yes."
"And that's a technique?"
"Yes? Of course it is."
Lucia nodded, utterly baffled.
Kyle felt as if a hammer had struck the back of his head. Mana cultivation methods. Techniques to draw and control mana within the body.
Was that even possible? His jaw dropped as he stood frozen.
Memories of five centuries past flooded back. Mana had existed then too. But no one drew or controlled it systematically.
Magic was the domain of other races—demons, elves—seen as exotic scholarship.
Mages existed, but they were rare. Magic was treated less like academia and more like miracles. To learn, one slaved under wrinkled elders for decades just to earn apprentice status.
Even that required talent. Without sensing mana, many died in servitude.
Mana was invisible, intangible. Geniuses claimed to sense it from birth, but they were rare.
Thus, only a handful—geniuses or those close to other races—pursued magic.
If even 'mages' struggled, how could swordsmen specialize in mana? It was utterly foreign.
Knightly houses fared better; mana sensitivity was a prerequisite for knighthood, and bloodlines accumulated experience. Still, no systematic methods existed for drawing and wielding it internally.
Kyle—the Sword Ghost—was a mercenary. His father too. His mother a whore. Grandparents? Who knew.
Such warriors trained relentlessly with weapons, battled through life-or-death trials, endured endless hardship—only then grasping a fragment of that transcendent power beyond human ken. Non-mages called it mana’s blessing.
The Sword Ghost himself hadn't received it until past twenty, after wandering battlefields, surviving mortal combats.
Even blessed, it didn't make one a mana expert. A mystical energy dwelled within, boosting strength, speed, stamina.
Enabling fiercer fights.
To grow stronger? Repeat: swing the sword, swing, fight, fight, defy death, again.
"If you learn mana cultivation methods... you can use aura too, right?"
Kyle stammered. Lucia didn't grasp his shock but nodded to the question.
"Of course. I can use it myself."
"Wh-what?"
Ah, right. Kyle snapped to, eyeing her single horn. She was a demon hybrid. Demons innately attuned to mana from birth, unlike humans.
"Not just me—your cousins can wield aura too."
"Uncles and aunts?"
"Obviously them, and their children as well."
Kyle staggered.
I didn't manifest aura until twenty-one. And here, kids under ten pull it off?
Five centuries—a vast span. Like the first monkey beholding fire? Dizzy, Kyle seized Lucia's hand.
"Show me your aura."
"P-pardon?"
"Show me. I wanna see."
"Are you serious, Lord Kyle?"
"Dead serious. I've never seen aura in my life. Quick, show me."
"A-alright. Just let go of my hand."
Kyle released her instantly. Lucia glanced around awkwardly, stepped back, and raised her hand. Tzztztz... Crimson light soon enveloped it.
"This is aura."
Her mature tone faltered; she was still an eight-year-old girl. Pride shone through as she held her glowing hand high.
"What do you think?"
"..."
Kyle stared wordlessly.
Shocked, yes—but differently than before.
That's... aura?
Mana had coalesced enough to visualize. That hand could shatter boulders with a casual swing.
Yet it differed vastly from what he knew. Power? Laughably inferior. But expected—an eight-year-old demon hybrid, even trained in cultivation methods.
Still astonishing. Kyle exhaled a low sigh of awe, mouth agape.
"Whoa."
The world had improved immensely. What once demanded near-death struggles—earning the name 'blessing'—was now taught via cultivation methods.
Whether truly easy, he couldn't say without trying. But if even non-demon Alastor kids could do it... entry was far simpler than five centuries ago.
Aura, once the prize after blessings and endless peril, bloomed from this child before him.
Alastor might be the continent's top house, but this proved it: the world teemed with powerhouses unlike his era.
Lucky me.
Kyle thought it sincerely.
Truly fortunate to be reincarnated.
At first, reborn after Ruin Alastor's death—or ascension—he'd regretted it deeply. No longer.
The Sword Ghost had died, and in five centuries, the world had become magnificent.