The Road of Defeated Swords
The Rose Mansion stood apart even from the city of Vigrid, while the Blade Mountains sprawled to the north of the city.
The direct and collateral lines bearing the Alastor name, along with all the knight orders under their command, resided in Gladiheim within the Blade Mountains.
Arian had lived in Gladiheim before her marriage, but after running away and returning to Vigrid, she never went back. Instead, she used her own savings to buy the Rose Mansion on the outskirts, far from the city, and settled there.
You know that already, don't you.
The eyes of the Alastor family extended even to the foreign land where Arian had married. The maids at the Rose Mansion right now were exclusive attendants who had followed her all the way from Gladiheim.
Yet for five whole years, no one in Vigrid had come looking for her. Not that her return was anything to boast about. Arian glared at the approaching fortress of Vigrid with a furrowed brow.
Father must have strictly forbidden anyone from coming. That stubborn old man.
Her father surely knew she'd borne a child. The fact that things had stayed quiet for five years meant he was clearly waiting for her to come back on her own.
"Hoo..."
Arian, who had married at 23 and left Vigrid, was now 29. The thought of facing her father and siblings after six years filled her with an inevitable tension.
"Mommy."
Squeeze.
A soft hand caressed her tightly clenched fist. Startled, she looked down to see her angelic, adorable, utterly lovable son blinking his golden eyes up at her.
"Don't wanna go?"
This was her first time raising a baby from birth, but having much younger siblings, she knew children could be surprisingly perceptive. Arian immediately softened her expression into a smile and pulled her son into a tight hug.
"No, it's fine. We have to meet them someday anyway."
Guilt washed over her for dragging her son into her own discomfort. Emotional as she was, she swallowed her self-recrimination for that impulsive elopement five years ago and for bringing them back to Vigrid like this.
Kyle picked up on it too.
Well, can't blame her.
Having been showered with motherly love for five years, Kyle could never bring himself to fault Arian. He gently stroked her slightly trembling hand and gazed toward Gladiheim.
The Sword Ghost Raikal had been defeated and slain by the Alastor progenitor.
But reincarnated as Kyle, he harbored no resentment toward Ruin whatsoever. In the era of endless war he had lived through, the weak who lost simply died. If you didn't want to die, you fled—no matter how humiliating.
The Sword Ghost didn't particularly see fleeing defeat as a humiliation. He wasn't some honor-bound knight; he was a mercenary, born the son of mercenaries.
The truth of the battlefield had always been with him from birth. In the end, nothing mattered more than your own life. As long as you didn't die, you could think about the next step. Even if you lost right now, survival meant you could eat, sleep, reflect on your defeat, and fight again.
That was how the Sword Ghost had lived his entire life.
Except for that one time against Ruin Alastor.
That fight... I didn't want to run from it.
Could he have escaped if he'd tried?
Probably. He believed he had the skill for it... and Ruin Alastor likely wouldn't have chased down a fleeing Sword Ghost.
But he hadn't wanted to run. If possible, he'd wanted to fight forever.
It wasn't some desperate resolve to embrace death. He was just having too much fun. He couldn't stop swinging his sword. And so, after clashing for so long...
He died.
Looking back, that was it.
Nothing grand or dramatic. Just curiosity about how strong this no-name guy was—the one who'd holed up in the mountains and come down to end the empire's chaos. Like always, he'd rushed in headlong.
Fought enjoyably, lost, and died.
That was all there was to it—but for Kyle, it inspired reverence. The first person he'd met, the first he'd fought, the first to kill him: Ruin Alastor. It might sound odd, but the feeling was like first love.
No, not quite first love.
If this emotion counted as first love, then Kyle's true first love had been the sword itself. Strictly speaking, Ruin Alastor was his second.
So I hold no grudges against you. Not when the old me killed plenty in my time. Resenting you for killing me would be petty.
Besides, he'd even reincarnated.
Reborn as a descendant of Ruin Alastor was laughable, but still—Kyle felt no hatred, only admiration for the man who'd slain him 500 years ago. Thus, he harbored no ill will toward his descendants either.
At least, not yet.
If they mistreated Arian badly... or turned on him for some reason...
Then yeah, some resentment might brew. That's just how people are.
"Let's head down now."
The flight halted near Gladiheim's gates. Kyle's eyes sparkled as he peered below.
Stuck into the hillside leading to the gates were weathered weapons everywhere.
"That's the Defeat Sword Road. They call it the Hill of Lamentation too."
Arian whispered.
"For 500 years, challengers who've come to face the progenitor or the Alastor family. Or tombstones for enemies invading the Alastors. Ugly, right? I wish they'd just clear them out..."
"Whoaaa!"
Before Arian could finish, Kyle let out a cry of awe. The moment they touched down, he dashed toward the nearest sword.
Called the Defeat Sword Road, but the weapons stabbed across the hill weren't just swords—though swords overwhelmingly dominated.
The Alastor family was famous for more than swords now, but since the progenitor wielded one, their roots were as a sword house. Naturally, most challengers to their stronghold had been swordsmen.
"Tombstones..."
Kyle's heart pounded as he examined the sword before him—no, all the weapons dotting the hill. Having challenged Ruin Alastor himself and lost his life, he felt a senior's kinship with these steles of the fallen.
Wooooo...
At the same time, he understood why it was also the Hill of Lamentation. Winds howling through the Blade Mountains wailed like mourners as they whipped between the weapons.
Zing...!
From that wailing, Kyle felt a sharp tingle deep in his body. Warmth rippled in his lower abdomen.
Huh?
Kyle blinked and rubbed his belly. A familiar sensation... but no way. He tilted his head, then turned to Arian.
"Can I pull this out and take it?"
"Prooobably not?"
Arian trailed off, eyeing the weapons of the Defeat Sword Road. These were relics of the worthless weak, unworthy of memory. Some dated back centuries, untended and rusted to ruin.
"It's taboo to touch them."
"But I waaant it..."
Since his speech had cleared up after age four, Kyle only used his childish lisp when absolutely necessary. Now he deployed it full force.
"No means no! It's taboo! Touch it and it hurts, ow ow!"
"Ugh..."
Even at five, Kyle hadn't so much as gripped a real sword, let alone a wooden one.
There were none at the Rose Mansion, but the real reason was Arian's strict ban.
To walk the martial path in the Alastor family, you needed the family head's permission.
Until then, children couldn't touch real weapons. They were dangerous for kids to handle, and early training hindered growth—but the biggest reason was that they were too immature, body and mind, to bear the Alastor name.
"Inside there, there are tons of similar swords!"
Kyle's eyes lit up at the consolation.
"Really tons?"
"Of course! And there's another spot like this in front of the castle."
"Another tombstone place?"
"Yup! For knights and vassals who've served the Alastors... and for challengers and enemies worth remembering, whose weapons aren't left here."
"Whoa!"
Kyle's eyes sparkled at that.
Worth remembering challengers.
[Sword Ghost Raikal. I will remember you.]
He recalled Ruin Alastor's words at the moment of death. Maybe, just maybe, his sword from 500 years ago was among those tombstones. Kyle clenched his fist in anticipation.
He said he'd remember, so it has to be there. It better be.
The Sword Ghost's father hadn't even earned a name from the knight who killed him.
"If we get the family head's permission today, I'll let you hold a sword. I'll even find you a master to teach you."
Arian pinched Kyle's soft cheek and whispered. She wasn't truly upset—just pretending—but it worked. Kyle beamed and nodded.
There was a hairy-legged Sword Ghost inside, but in front of Arian, Kyle acted his age.
Did I not get enough mom love in my past life or something...?
With that thought, Kyle took Arian's hand and approached Gladiheim's gates.
They must have spotted their approach long ago, yet the gates remained shut. Arian clicked her tongue at the firmly closed entrance.
So they knew I was back in Vigrid.
They hadn't even come to check on her, so a cold reception was fair—but ignoring that she wasn't alone felt like outright bullying. She felt sorry and ashamed in front of her son.
"Halt."
The knights guarding the gates blocked Arian. The Black Iron Knights, who handled the inner fortress's defense and were called the shield of the Alastors. A knight in black uniform bowed politely to her.
"Lady Arian, it's been too long."
"It has, Sir Raymon. The captain himself on gate duty? Did the Black Iron Knights fall on hard times while I was gone?"
"With pureblood Alastor blood returning, of course I must greet you personally."
"Some welcome. Would've been nicer if you'd thrown the gates wide open."
"If Lady Arian had returned alone, we would have flung them open in welcome."
Raymon spoke without lifting his head. Arian chuckled wryly and squeezed Kyle's hand.
"Raise your head, Sir Raymon."
"Yes."
"First off, sorry for showing up unannounced."
"No need. You are pureblood Alastor, and this is Gladiheim. You may come and go as you please, anytime."
"Meaning this child hasn't proven his worth yet."
Raymon answered with an awkward expression in place of words. To meet Kyle's eyes, he knelt and lowered himself.
The family troublemaker who'd married and left six years ago had returned with a child. He hadn't heard directly, but he could guess who the boy was.
But as captain of the Black Iron Knights, dubbed Gladiheim's shield, he couldn't throw open the gates without verifying identity. Raymon asked respectfully.
"Who might this young lord be?"
"My son. Kyle, say hello. This is Raymon Alastor. A distant relative of yours."
Far removed from the direct line, a collateral. They shared the Alastor name, but direct and collateral were never equals.
"Hello."
Kyle knew the difference, of course. Direct blood didn't need to bow to collaterals.
But Kyle bowed politely anyway. Beyond direct or collateral, he respected Raymon's strength. As Black Iron captain, the man was a proven powerhouse—and that pricked at the Sword Ghost's soul, regardless of this young body.
Ah, if only this body were bigger...
He wanted to fight him. Kyle swallowed his surging desire with a smack of his lips. Even if collaterals couldn't refuse direct blood, no one would accept a duel from a five-year-old.
"Lady Arian's son...!"
He'd suspected, but confirmation brought surprise. Raymon had known Arian since she was young. That wild tomboy a mother now... He snapped back from nostalgia and bowed.
"I greet the new pureblood."
"Nice to meet you, Sir Raymon. I have a question."
Mercenaries had to be cunning. Maximize your advantages, endure humiliation if needed—for profit, survival, victory.
Kyle was the same. The Sword Ghost with full past-life memories, but now a five-year-old boy.
A child's greatest asset was innocence. So Kyle put on an innocent face and asked.
"How strong are you, Sir Raymon?"
"Pardon?"
Raymon blinked at the sudden question.
"Kyle? What's that out of nowhere?"
"Just curious."
"Mm... Sorry, Sir Raymon. My son's got a curious streak."
"No, it's fine. I was the same as a kid—wondering who was the strongest in the world."
Raymon recovered and replied.
"Young Lord Kyle. I... pride myself on being fairly strong."
"How strong in the world?"
"Hard to say. I haven't fought everyone."
"Then in this castle, what's your rank?"
"Mm..."
Even from a child, a pureblood's question couldn't be lied to—but total honesty was tricky too.
"Gladiheim has five knight orders, including the Black Iron. And I'm their captain."
"Whoa!"
This excitement wasn't feigned childish innocence. Kyle grinned widely, heart racing.
"Satisfied with that answer?"
"Yeah, super satisfied."
Raymon smiled warmly at the grin so like young Arian's. He rose and said,
"Verification complete. Opening Gladiheim's gates."
With those words—
Rumble...!
The massive iron gates groaned open.
Kyle held Arian's hand and followed Raymon through.
"The family head and family are waiting in the Sword Tower."
A carriage waited just beyond the gates. Kyle boarded with Arian.
Sitting hand-in-hand, Kyle never kept still, peering out the window at every corner of Gladiheim. Arian smiled softly at the sight.
Her genius, precocious son—but right now, eyes sparkling as he took it all in, he seemed perfectly five.
Iron scent.
Arian assumed her son was lost in age-appropriate wonder. But Kyle's mind was far from innocent.
Iron smelled like blood.
Leaving the rose-perfumed mansion for iron-choked Gladiheim, Kyle shivered all over, blood heating in his veins.
This place reeked of battlefields—the ones where the Sword Ghost was born, lived, roamed 500 years ago. Kyle clenched his fists, memories flooding back.
Sword.
I want to hold a sword.
"We can't go farther by carriage from here."
The carriage stopped short of the Sword Tower. Raymon alighted first and opened the door.
Stepping out with Arian, Kyle lost himself momentarily in the sight before them.
The vast garden before the Sword Tower looked less like a garden and more like a cemetery—just as Arian had said.
Weapons of knights and vassals who'd served the Alastors for 500 years. And of challengers and foes deemed worth remembering.
Unlike the Defeat Sword Road, these were meticulously maintained—not neglected and rusting.
Where the Road was the gloomy Hill of Lamentation, this place was majestic, beautiful.
"This is the Sword Garden."
Kyle deeply agreed with Raymon's introduction.
Arian called it tombstones, but to Kyle, it was a field bursting with beautiful flowers.
A stronger pounding than on the Road, chills racing over his skin, heat surging fiercer in his belly.
...Huh?
Kyle's steps halted abruptly as he scanned the Sword Garden, eyes gleaming.
"Kyle?"
He didn't hear Arian. Eyes wide, he scanned again.
Whaaat...?
"Kyle? What's wrong?"
Arian asked worriedly, but Kyle didn't answer. His mouth gaped open.
It's not here?
No matter where he looked.
His sword from 500 years ago as the Sword Ghost.
The beloved blade he'd used from leaving the Crow Mercenary Corps onward.
Gone.
[Sword Ghost Raikal. I will remember you.]
Words he'd imagined spoken with respect now felt like mockery.
Ruin Alastor, you fucking bastard!
Kyle desperately suppressed the urge to scream it aloud.