Pig for a Friend
'His eyes are still open.'
Kyle gazed steadily at Bruno, who was trembling with a pale face. There was no killing intent in his eyes, and he hadn't assumed a rigid stance. If Bruno charged in recklessly, Kyle could handle it without issue.
But Bruno didn't approach. He read Kyle's gaze and the subtle pressure emanating from him. This kind of insight came from countless real battles, and Bruno's talent seemed better than expected.
'Well, he's a pureblood of this grand family. He's probably endured his fair share of hardships since childhood.'
If Bruno had forced the attack? Kyle would have responded appropriately. The rich kid seemed to think his greater mana reserves and sturdy physique would give him the edge in a spar, but that underestimated Kyle severely.
It was true that Kyle's mana was far less than Bruno's, but fights weren't won just by having more mana or a bigger body. Kyle was confident he could overwhelm hundreds of Bruno's swings with a single sword stroke.
'And he's stubbornly wielding a sword that doesn't suit him.'
Kyle didn't know Bruno's spirit root or the swordsmanship he'd learned. But judging by that blatant pressure, the sword he used was obvious.
'His personality is hot-tempered and emotional like fire, yet he grips something heavy and steady like rock.'
In the end, it was like clothes that didn't fit—body and garb at odds. Forced swordsmanship always betrayed its master at crucial moments. The sword was meant to be tamed by the man, not the other way around.
'He's emotional, but not mindlessly brave. The kid's sneakily cowardly.'
In simple terms, Bruno's temperament was strong against the weak and weak against the strong. His hot flashes cooled quickly, like a pot with no staying power.
"Hey."
Kyle spoke. His voice was low and calm.
"Ugh...!"
But Bruno didn't hear it that way. He flinched in terror, shoulders hunching. The wooden sword hovered at the edge of dropping, trembling violently.
"Don't chicken out."
Kyle whispered.
"You wanted a spar, right? So what's this? A wooden sword is still a sword. If you've got it in hand, swing it once at least. Why're you just standing there?"
In a real fight, running to avoid death was fine. Kyle had fled plenty in his past life.
But this wasn't real combat. Kyle's wooden sword would never kill Bruno. Yet Bruno couldn't see that obvious fact, trapped in his own fear.
"Come on."
Kyle whispered again, raising his lowered wooden sword to point at Bruno.
"If you don't come, I'll come to you."
Even a cornered rat bites a cat, they say. Kyle wondered if Bruno measured up to that rat.
Thud.
Kyle took a step forward. That simple motion was the trigger. Bruno's pent-up fear hit its breaking point.
"Ugh, uwaaaah!"
Bruno screamed, squeezing his eyes shut. He raised his wooden sword overhead and charged blindly. Less a rat biting a cat, more a startled animal flailing its front paws in desperation.
Still, his momentum was fierce. Mana he'd built up enveloped the wooden sword, and his massive frame made the rush resemble an enraged wild boar.
'More like clubbing than swordplay.'
And with his eyes closed? What an idiot. Kyle could see Bruno's sword path clearly. It was all brute force, trajectory simple, speed slow. Worst, his balance pitched forward.
Crackle.
Lightning mana circulated in Kyle's body. The mana of Self-Rotating Lightning Heaven Strike flowed from his right hand into the wooden sword. Crackle! A single bolt of electricity wrapped around it. Dimmer than Bruno's aura but sharper.
Crack!
Wooden sword met wooden sword. The rock-like aura cloaking Bruno's blade was heavy and solid, matching his cultivation method and sword style. But Kyle's struck precisely where the aura faltered.
Thus, Bruno's wooden sword snapped. The shock transmitted to his hand, mana backlash from the aura's destruction. Bruno choked, tumbling forward.
Thud crash!
Bruno rolled ingloriously across the dirt. Covered in dust, sprawled out—a pathetic sight.
"..."
Silence fell. Barkas's jaw dropped. Was that truly a knight candidate's spar? Even street thugs would do better.
"G-Get up! Get up, I said?!"
Barkas bellowed. The shout snapped Bruno alert. His body ached, but fear overpowered pain.
As he scrambled up, a shadow fell over his face.
"Hey."
Kyle squatted, meeting Bruno's eyes. Golden irises scanned him indifferently.
"Your wooden sword broke. I win."
"Ugh... uuu..."
"I'm wondering what to call you."
Tap, tap.
Kyle drummed his wooden sword on his shoulder, continuing.
"Not quite rat level. Idiot? Wild boar?"
Wasn't a wild boar bigger and stronger than a rat? Sure, but Bruno hadn't even reached cornered-rat status in Kyle's eyes.
"Even for family, calling you an idiot feels too harsh. So from now on, you're Pig. Hmm, no—Pig's better than wild boar. No complaints, right?"
Bruno couldn't respond. Normally, he'd flush red and yell, but Kyle's terror from moments ago silenced him.
"This damn..."
Bruno might've clammed up in fear, but Barkas hadn't. Face twisted viciously, he glared at his son, then shifted to Kyle.
"This was for bonding, right?"
Before Barkas could speak, Arian cut in. Hands on hips, she glared at him with wide eyes.
"You suggested it, brother. You pushed for the spar. Am I wrong?"
"..."
"You wouldn't be picking on my son just 'cause yours lost, would you? If so, I won't stand for it."
"Hmph."
Barkas's lip twitched.
"You never had a lick of sword talent growing up. But your son's different. Must be Aslan's blood, huh?"
Now Kyle knew the name.
Aslan Antares. The man in seclusion for a decade, unaware his wife was pregnant. Kyle's father.
Known as the Sword Maniac. Aslan had come challenging the Alastor prestige, lost to Julius, but stayed as a guest in Gladiheim. Awed by Julius's sword, craving more bouts.
Staying as such, he fell for Arian, the family's wild child. She declared marriage abruptly, they wed quietly, and she pushed him out of Gladiheim.
"I wouldn't know about blood from a father I've never met."
Before Arian could reply, Kyle spoke.
"Before his son, I'm Grandpa's grandson. And your nephew, Uncle."
Barkas's gaze shifted at the bold words.
"Must be nice for Uncle."
"Me? Nice how?"
"Having such an outstanding nephew like me."
Barkas's mouth fell slightly open.
"On second thought, it's not just Uncle— the whole Alastor family benefits. 'Cause I'm a pureblood too."
"..."
"With such an excellent descendant born, the ascended founder must be thrilled. Maybe I'm a gift from him to his descendants."
How could he say such nonsense with a straight face, so confidently? Arian and Barkas alike were stunned. Barkas chuckled dryly, shaking his head.
"Drunk on your own hype. Keep flying that high without knowing your limits, and..."
"You'll get a big comeuppance. Slap some salve on it. Anyway, I won today's spar."
"So? Want praise?"
"I like sincere praise."
Kyle grinned, grabbing the still-prone Bruno's hand and pulling him up.
"Uncle doesn't seem keen on sincere praise right now, so I won't beg. Instead, I'll take today's win as my birthday gift."
"You... earned that win fair and square. Birthday gift—fine, something separate. Want a sword made?"
"No, sword's fine. If you insist on a gift—hmm, give me a friend."
"A... friend? What're you on about?"
"Literal friend."
Tap.
Kyle patted the risen Bruno's shoulder.
"Can I call him out to play sometimes?"
"...Play?"
Confusion flashed on Barkas's face. The kid was sly beyond his years. He must grasp why this forced spar happened, sense Bruno's hostility and Barkas's wariness. Yet approaching as "friend" baffled Barkas.
"I don't have many friends."
Kyle said with an innocently pure smile.
"So I want one. Friends happen naturally when you get close, sure. But if Uncle says no play, this pig'll obey, right?"
"Calling my son pig to my face?"
Barkas glared with force, but Kyle nodded unchanged.
"Yes. That was the bet."
"..."
"Friends okay?"
Barkas pondered without answering. Genius—no, monstrous talent. A rival to check in succession wars. But Alastors forbade kin strife.
Barkas eyed the seat, but the patriarch was too hale, Kyle too young. Not yet.
"Do as you like."
Barkas spat, turning away. Without farewell, he strode off. Bruno hesitated, shook off Kyle's hand, and followed.
"See ya, Pig."
Kyle called to Bruno's retreating back. Bruno shuddered but didn't reply. Watching Barkas go, Kyle thought.
'Ten years enough?'
Generous estimate. Blessed spirit root and talent would pile mana fast—might surpass Barkas sooner.
'He could lay low unnoticed, but why, when he's no sinner.'
Kyle's stance unchanged from five years ago. If this family eyed him warily, disrespected, hostile over recognition—he'd force it. Try to remove him? He'd grow untouchable, roots deep.
For that, solid allies. Kyle sensed Bruno's frailty and fear. Suffocating family pressure, stern father. Barkas bred Bruno's weak-strong temper and shallow grit.
Such types: coax gently, feed recognition hunger, let them melt in gratitude, pull—they'd hesitate then follow.
Before Sword Ghost, Kyle led mercenary kids; first Crow Mercenary Corps captain. He knew people.
Of course, sincerity amplified it. Kyle had plenty for cousins. Past life, only father for blood kin—now, he valued this family.
"How's my boy so perfect?!"
Naturally, Arian topped Kyle's precious "family." He still felt guilt toward her. Hence, from infancy, ditching Sword Ghost dignity for baby act.
"Takes after Mom."
He didn't dodge her hug, smiled cutely, endured her kisses.
Securing place here was for Arian too.
'Family... family, huh...'
In her arms, he recalled 500 years past.
No maternal love from whore mother. She showed none. Sad, but professional.
She bore Raikal for mercenary corps entry. Father allowed—mercs died young, wanted heirs.
Still, ten years with father bred paternal love. Longer with mother? Maybe maternal too. But she died young.
Beyond true family in past life.
Family-like bonds aplenty. Orphaned merc kids. Crow originals. And—Sword Ghost's late followers.
500 years: all dead, he thought. But one lived.
'Sword Church Leader...'
That snot-nosed brat with zero sword skill, now alive as grand Sword Church Leader.
500 years was a long time indeed.