The Pig's Determination
The next day, Kyle woke up early as usual. Before changing clothes and leaving his room, he glanced out the window.
It was just a hunch, but there stood Bruno in front of the Rose Mansion's main gate. At the sight, Kyle couldn't help but smirk.
Didn't expect him to hash it out with his father after just one day.
"Talk about someone who steps up when pushed."
It meant something had been building up inside Bruno for a long time, like dry tinder waiting for a spark—and yesterday's words had lit the fire.
Kyle had always loved the word passion since his past life. To burn fiercely for something, to immerse yourself completely in longing for it—that was a blessing in its own way. Whether it was something you were good at or not. Chasing passion was enjoyable, at least at first.
Fortunately, he managed to kiss Arian's forehead and slip away before she woke. Bursting out of the mansion, Kyle approached Bruno, who stood resolutely before the closed gate.
"Hey, pig."
Kyle waved with a grin.
"What'd your uncle say? Told you not to hang out with me anymore?"
"I got permission."
Bruno replied with a straight face.
"Father said to do whatever I want."
"And what's that?"
"...?"
Bruno blinked at the sudden question. It felt like Kyle was asking as if yesterday's coaxing had never happened, and it took a moment to process.
"What I told you yesterday was my idea, not yours."
What a dense pig. Kyle clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"You've been doing whatever your uncle says all this time, and now you wanna try doing what I say?"
"Th-that's not it."
Bruno shook his head in panic.
"I thought you were right, so I decided to give it a shot. What you said felt more... than what Father taught me all these years."
"See? That's just following my orders."
Kyle cut him off.
"If I say it's right, you do it. If I say it's wrong, you won't? What if I told you smearing shit on yourself makes you stronger—gonna try that too?"
"N-no way...!"
He shouted that it was ridiculous, but he couldn't muster a proper rebuttal. It hit too close to home. Yesterday, yelling at Barkas, Bruno thought it was his own will. But looking back, he'd just parroted what Kyle had told him like a parrot.
No.
Not entirely. Bruno pressed a hand to his churning chest and took a deep breath. Sure, he'd waffled without backbone. But accepting those words as right was his choice. That resolve let him stand against his father's pressure. Even when threatened with disownment, he didn't bend.
"Honestly... I don't know."
Bruno sighed heavily.
"Can't deny what you said. I've swung the sword just like Father told me all this time... and yesterday, your words tempted me to try swinging it your way. But..."
"But what?"
"Father's way... it felt good at first, but lately it doesn't fit me anymore. It felt stifling, and swinging the sword stopped being fun. But your way... it might be fun."
Bruno hesitated, then bowed his head.
"That's why I got permission. Yeah, it looks like I'm just swinging the sword how you say. But... I wanna try it."
"Good."
He'd worried Kyle might see it as a lame excuse instead of a clear answer, but surprisingly, Kyle nodded crisply.
"If thinking 'I wanna try something different' and deciding to do it is your will, then fine. But pig, my words aren't always the absolute truth."
Kyle personally opened the mansion's gate.
"It's your sword in the end. You choose what's right. Once you do, any failure's on you."
"..."
"So think hard, often. If you're stuck, ask. Doesn't have to be me. You've got your uncle, right?"
"Ask Father?"
Bruno looked incredulous.
"No way he'd answer..."
"Did you think he'd give permission yesterday?"
"..."
"If you really ask not knowing, you think your uncle would just tell you to buzz off?"
Kyle headed to the training hall as he spoke. Bruno stared blankly at his back, then hurried after him.
"Lucia's not coming today?"
"She's at the training camp. Starting tomorrow, you go too."
"What? Why?"
"You can learn stuff there. Can't graduate and become a squire otherwise."
"True, but..."
"I can't fix every little insecurity or sword flaw of yours from scratch. I'm just giving advice like 'try it this way.'"
"..."
"I've got my own stuff to do. So tomorrow, finish camp duties and come at night."
Gladiheim drew knight aspirants from across the continent. Only those verified for talent and skill became trainees; the rest became regular soldiers or went home.
Kyle had heard about trainee routines from Lucia and Erica. They stayed in the lower Hilt district camp, with monthly external training outside Gladiheim.
External drills varied by schedule—usually joint sessions with imperial reserves, sometimes exchanges with foreign knights, or rare demon clan meetups from Erebos every few years.
But trainees loved secret realm raids most. Uncontrolled dangers, but rare resources like spirit herbs were the prize.
Five hundred years ago, secret realms were rare; now, they weren't.
Five hundred years is a long time, but...
Spirit Roots emerging in human bodies, realms popping up more often. To Kyle, who'd lived the distant past, this era felt bizarre.
"I'm cultivating."
Entering the training hall, Kyle plopped down in the center.
"Do your thing. Swing if you want."
He closed his eyes. Focusing on his unfinished Mixed Origin Cultivation Method, Yormungand stirred in his middle dantian.
[Master, I'm hungry.]
There was that joke about a beggar in your belly when you're starving often, but for Kyle, the beggar—or rather, spirit—was in his chest, not his gut.
Work first, food later.
[Ugh...]
Yormungand grumbled but obeyed.
The Mixed Origin Cultivation Method activated. Kyle breathed deeply, drawing the dense mana of the hall into his body. It flowed through circuits to his middle dantian, where Yormungand refined it first.
Crackle...!
A stinging pain in his chest. Each mix of Yormungand and mana stimulated the core, his lower dantian growling hungrily, but Kyle suppressed it, waiting.
This was overwhelmingly efficient. Even now, Yormungand was stimulated by Kyle's Spirit Root. Once refined, he guided the mana to his lower dantian.
Hoo...
For a week, he'd worked on unconsciously cycling mana through circuits, but it was still rough. Past life experience got him through somehow.
Mastering the unfamiliar felt good. Kyle focused deeper.
What the hell...?
From the moment Kyle started, Bruno had stared blankly.
Wasn't it Lightning Spirit Root?
A week ago, yes—but the mana rippling around Kyle now wasn't just lightning aura influenced by thunder. Not just lightning.
Mana's... mixed...?
He'd heard from Barkas that Kyle's root wasn't plain lightning, but not about the Chaos Spirit Root.
Bruno hesitated, then sat. Closing his eyes, he began his own cultivation.
Bracelets on his arms still disrupted mana flow, like yesterday. Unsure if it'd work, he recalled Kyle's words.
[Be flexible, pig.]
Ignoring blocked circuits, he routed mana through others. Tough. Since awakening his root and circuits five years ago, he'd followed the method strictly. Dried, unused circuits tore open like wounds, pain surging.
"Ugh..."
Bruno stifled a groan, focusing. Kyle cracked an eye, impressed by the self-starter.
All morning cultivating, Kyle stood. Sweaty, but Bruno was drenched worse, writhing and groaning but never stopping.
"How was it?"
"Fucking... hurts. Can't move..."
"Quit whining and get up."
Kyle grabbed a wooden sword from the rack.
"Draw your greatsword."
"W-wait, sparring? With that wooden sword?"
Bruno panicked, but Kyle was firm. Stumbling up, Bruno drew yesterday's greatsword.
"Your uncle didn't send you without strings. What'd he say?"
"N-no conditions."
"No bullshit. Spill."
Under pressure, Bruno confessed.
"Once a year... he'll check my progress."
"And if he doesn't like it?"
"..."
"Worried I'll freak? Nah, be straight."
"He'll disown me."
"Hah."
Kyle expected conditions, but disownment? Brutal. He chuckled dryly, shaking his head.
"Don't wanna get cut off? Work hard. Or do you?"
"Don't be crazy...!"
"Yeah, thought so. Come at me."
Kyle's aura shifted instantly—like a week ago. Standing sword-ready, Bruno paled.
Those eyes. Viewing foes not as equals or enemies, but meat to slice mechanically, no killing intent. Cold sweat poured from Bruno's already-drenched brow. He trembled, barely gripping his sword.
"Pig."
Kyle spoke. Eyes cold, aura terrifying, voice calm as ever.
"No uncle to push your back now. The step you take? Your will."
"Uh... ugh..."
"I'll just stand. Until you step and swing. Won't let you chop me easy, though. Swing, and I counter."
Whispered words worsened the shakes. Gaze and pressure evoked deaths galore—what if he attacked and Kyle countered?
Bruno's teeth chattered. The wooden sword looked anything but ordinary.
"Pig, conquer fear. Want to live sword-in-hand? You'll face plenty like you. Sword means swinging at some, blocking others."
"..."
"Not ignore fear—overcome it. Grip sword, advance, swing despite terror. Rage at your cowering self. Rage at me instilling it."
Despite the words, Bruno couldn't step. Mere standoff eroded his spirit with fear.
He collapsed, unable to hold. Tried willpower, grit—but exhausted body betrayed him.
"Ugh...!"
Grabbing his legs, face twisted in self-loathing and fury.
"Good job."
Expecting scolding, Bruno blinked at Kyle's words.
"G-good... job?"
"No one behind you, but you didn't run."
Kyle extended a hand.
"Thought you'd charge me today?"
"..."
"Holding out? That's success. Every time you come, same drill. Step even once—"
Kyle grinned.
"Barkas Uncle'll be satisfied."
Swordsmen swing swords. No need for special techniques. Change Bruno's heart, his sword follows.
Staring at the hand, Bruno hesitated, then grabbed it and stood.
"Th-thanks."
"Thanks my ass. Pig, I'm washing up, eating, heading to the library."
"Uh... yeah."
"You too. Wash, eat, go."
"Wh-what? Eat... here?"
"Why? Hate it?"
"N-no..."
Just didn't expect a meal too.
"I'm washing first."
Kyle clarified heading out.
Past life mercenary, often unwashed in war. But ten years pampered? Sweat without a rinse felt gross now.
A year passed. Bruno gave his all but wasn't disowned by Barkas.
No longer Bruno Alastor, just Bruno—he headed to his mother's estate abroad.
"Hey Bruno, good work this year."
"Wasn't disowned."
Bruno snapped, face twisted.
"Father said I passed."
"See? Told you."
At Kyle's tease, Bruno clenched trembling fists, then blurted:
"Thanks to you."
"Partly me, but you rocked it too."
A year without missing: daily Rose Mansion visits, camp training unbroken.
Unfamiliar variations and mindset shift tanked scores at first. But midway, he surged—now on squire candidate list.
And the trembling mess unable to raise his sword? Now crept toward Kyle.
Hasn't swung yet.
Kyle dialed back aura some, but at that age, approaching sword-drawn? Impressive feat.
"Uncle didn't thank me?"
"Said come eat soon."
"Choking vibe with him. Pass."
"Ignoring Father's kindness...?"
"Not ignoring—awkward. Better than before, though."
Kyle clapped his shoulder.
"Anyway, good job. Tell him I'll eat soon."
"You mean it?"
"One meal? Family, even. Easy."
Though Bruno's house was stiff—family meals only Julius's annual birthday.
Not even all attended. Roel and Serros, seeking Rabian's cure, sent letters but hadn't returned.
My old man's still holed up too.
Eleven years secluded? Overkill. Kyle, sword-mad himself, initially respected "Sword Maniac" holing up post-enlightenment. Kid stuff at five.
Didn't think it'd last till I was eleven.
Died in seclusion? Hard to see him as father anymore. Arian's sighs fueled Kyle's anger.
Might hunt him down myself.
Suggested to Arian multiple times; pride kept her refusing.
"Sigh."
Mulling curses for the face-unseen, name-and-title-only father, Kyle sighed.
Kyle's year: routine.
Morning to noon: Mixed Origin Cultivation Method, sword swings, library for scriptures to refine it, occasional Sword Apex Hall visits—show Julius sword, snag gifts.
Evenings: home, test refinements, spar Bruno, feed Yormungand mana before bed.
Today met Bruno at noon, routine unchanged. Kyle left for library.
"Young Master Kyle."
Second-floor library entrance: uniformed Lucia and a few others. Kyle's eyes widened.
"Lucia? What're you doing here?"
"Top scores earned library access."
Trainees ranked yearly. Purebloods like Kyle/Bruno free access; others needed high marks, limited books, one-time.
Kyle eyed the three beside her—fellow uniformed trainees.
"Greetings."
They bowed to Kyle.