I Want Fenris
Arian was greatly flustered by her son's bold words. With wide eyes, she alternated her gaze between her son and the sword hanging beneath the portrait of the founder.
"K-Kyle?"
Arian cautiously called her son's name, but Kyle's eyes never left Julius.
From the time he was a newborn, Kyle had been different from other children. The servants all said as much, and Arian herself had felt her son's uniqueness.
He almost never showed the greed or stubbornness typical of young children for anything. The one exception—the only thing he'd ever persistently begged for—was always a sword.
The family rules had prevented her from granting her son's request, and that had long weighed heavily on Arian's heart. Now that they had returned to Gladiheim, she wanted to fulfill his wish somehow, but...
"Kyle, that one... you can't."
Even Arian couldn't touch that sword. Wearing an apologetic expression, she knelt down to meet Kyle's eyes at his level.
"You heard Grandpa just now, right? Swords come later—with something even cooler than that..."
"I want that sword."
If it had been anything else, Kyle might have backed down, but not this time. As Arian hesitated, about to say more...
"Why do you want this sword?"
Julius asked.
That sword—Fenris—was the blade Kyle's previous incarnation, Raikal, had wielded throughout his life. No exaggeration: it had been his companion for half a lifetime. He'd used many swords before obtaining Fenris, but after that, he'd never held another.
Raikal had earned the moniker Sword Ghost not because Fenris held some extraordinary power, but because it had been with him during his prime. Kyle could recite countless battlefields and fights he'd shared with it right then and there.
"Just 'cause."
But spilling those memories would get him labeled a madman. So Kyle answered simply.
Five years old was an age where such unreasonable stubbornness was allowed.
"Just 'cause, huh..."
Julius stroked his chin and turned his head.
Beneath the portrait of the revered founder, Ruin Alastor.
Directly behind the black iron throne that only the family head could occupy.
The sword hung slightly higher than the throne itself.
"You've seen plenty of other swords on your way to Gladiheim."
Julius spoke up.
"Not just swords, though."
"Forms differ, but purpose is the same. The meaning behind them is too."
"The blades on Defeat Sword Road were just abandoned. Most rusted and broken—ugly to look at."
"They're worthless losers not worth remembering."
"The swords in the Sword Garden were well-maintained. Beautiful enough to understand why it's named that. My home has lots of flowers, but I've never seen a garden as lovely as the Sword Garden."
Julius smiled faintly at his grandson's responses.
"Those are truly worth remembering. Every vassal of the Alastors hopes to leave their weapon in the Sword Garden. Even the enemies felled by Alastors, probably."
"Wouldn't their wish have been victory?"
"An impossible one. History is written by the victors, and judgment too."
Julius didn't scold his grandson for the cheeky back-and-forth. After decades as the Alastor family head, living as an object of awe, he actually found joy in such conversation.
"Gladiheim has three sword graveyards: Defeat Sword Road, the Sword Garden, and the Sword Tomb beneath the Sword Tower. The Sword Tomb holds the swords of every family head except the founder."
Julius rose from the throne.
"Why no sword from the founder?"
"In his later years, he broke his own blade."
Julius's gaze flicked briefly to Arian.
"You haven't even taught him the family history properly?"
"Uh... I figured Father would teach him better than I could."
"Do I look so idle that I'd waste time on a mere five-year-old grandson?"
Arian flinched at the chilly tone but thought to herself:
'You're saying that, but you're chatting with Kyle plenty.'
The father Arian remembered hadn't been this gentle. From her childhood—no, since her eldest brother Kartan was born—Julius had been a cold patriarch.
There might have been warmth beneath that frost, but his authority as family head had been too towering to sense it. Even now, as an adult, Arian could only converse comfortably with him in bits; as a child, she'd feared him.
Time had dulled the sharpness and thawed the cold, perhaps.
No. Impossible. Arian's father, Julius Alastor, embodied the family creed: Strongest Reign Supreme.
"Why did the founder break his sword?"
Even under the family head's gaze—which even his children rarely met squarely—Kyle showed no fear. His eyes sparkled innocently, questioning like any grandchild would his grandfather.
"No opponents left worth swinging it at."
To Arian's eyes, Julius's faint smile looked utterly ordinary—like any grandpa's, which was absurd.
"No foes to swing at, so no need for a sword. That's what he said. Soon after, he ascended."
"Ascended..."
"This sword's name is Fenris."
Julius turned to stare at the blade beneath the portrait.
"The founder, who broke his own sword, kept Fenris by his side until ascension. He never wielded it himself, though."
"..."
"Five hundred years ago, there was a man called the Sword Ghost, Raikal."
Gulp.
Kyle swallowed dryly, listening intently to Julius.
"Records of him abound. A total scoundrel, they say."
"..."
"Founder of the Crow Mercenary Corps—precursor to the Crows that still terrorize the western frontiers. Father of the Crows. And the Sword Church, which has clashed with Alastors while stirring trouble across the continent, was formed by the Sword Ghost's followers."
"Oh..."
Kyle let out an involuntary gasp.
"The Sword Ghost rampaged during the dark age five centuries ago but challenged the founder, lost, and died. This Fenris was his cherished blade."
"Why is the Sword Ghost's sword decorating beneath the founder's portrait?"
"Because it's the only one the founder cherished."
Kyle's lips twitched upward uncontrollably.
"The founder ended the dark age through countless battles. Yet the sole sword he remembered and kept within reach is this Fenris."
"Was the Sword Ghost that strong?"
"Stronger ones existed in the dark age. The founder himself couldn't settle his fight with the Demon King, and his clash with the Dragon King wasn't a true battle."
Well, fair enough. Kyle felt no disappointment. He'd experienced the world's vastness as Raikal and suffered many defeats.
"But he said the most enjoyable fight was with the Sword Ghost."
"An enjoyable fight..."
"Pure swordplay, unburdened by glory of victory or sting of defeat. That's why Fenris hangs here."
"..."
"I can't give you Fenris."
"Makes me want it more."
"No past family head ever wielded Fenris. It's imbued with the founder's memories, steeped in bloodlust from devouring too much life in the distant past. A sword beyond your grasp."
"Swords aren't decorations."
Julius paused, turning to Kyle.
"Swords are gripped in hand, swung to slash and thrust."
"You, lecturing me on swords? When you've never even held one?"
"Never held one, but I know what a sword is. I'm looking at it right now."
Kyle gazed at Fenris with smiling eyes.
"That sword wasn't made for display, and it doesn't look like it's ever been used as one."
"..."
"Why haven't you used Fenris, Grandpa?"
"I have my own sword."
"I don't have mine."
Kyle grinned broadly.
"So give it to me."
"I said it's full of bloodlust. Fenris is a demonic sword."
"I'm fine."
"Hah..."
Julius let out a hollow chuckle and shook his head.
"Never thought I'd hear a demand for Fenris. From a five-year-old grandson not even verified for talent yet."
"Once verified, I can hold a sword, right?"
"Yes."
"Then verify me now."
Had he ever heard such a demand in his life? Julius stared silently at Kyle before speaking.
"Kartan."
"Yes."
The doors to the Sword Apex Hall opened, and Kartan, waiting in the corridor, entered.
"Bring Lucia. And two wooden training swords for children."
"Pardon? Ah, yes, understood."
Kartan hesitated briefly but nodded and withdrew.
"Lucia? Who's Lucia?"
Arian, fidgeting through the grandparents' exchange, asked. She'd lived in the Sword Tower until six years ago, but the name was new to her.
"A child I took in after you married and left."
"Took in...?"
"Found her abandoned on the northern coast."
"Wait... hold on."
Arian asked in shock.
"You're keeping a child like that in the Sword Tower?"
It was shocking. The Sword Tower was Gladiheim's highest point. Its residents—aside from servants—were the family head, his direct heirs, the elite Black Iron Knights, and retired elders.
Gladiheim was vast. Places to raise an abandoned child abounded beyond the tower. Arian couldn't fathom housing an unknown girl there.
"Her talent overflows."
Julius said.
"Purebloods are sacred and noble, true. But Alastors value strength above all. Lucia has talent that forces her to grow strong. That's why she lives in the tower, groomed by the elders."
"The elders teach her personally...?"
"If she grows as is, she'll join the Black Iron Knights."
For a fleeting moment, regret flickered in Julius's eyes.
"Though she can't mix blood."
The doors opened again.
Can't mix blood. Arian instantly grasped the meaning. She clapped a hand over her gaping mouth, staring at the girl Kartan brought in.
Pale skin, silver hair. Blood-red eyes.
A single horn protruding from the left side of her head.
"D-Demon... kin?"
"Hybrid, they say."
Julius replied. A rare demon-human mix. Lucia, entering with Kartan, bowed politely to Julius.
"I heard you called for me."
Her speech was unnaturally formal for a child. Julius stopped Kartan from leaving and spoke.
"Lucia. How old are you?"
"Eight."
"So she says. Think you can handle it?"
Julius's gaze shifted to Kyle.
"Lucia's been training a year longer than you. Thanks to her demon traits, she's already initiated in mana."
Kartan grasped the situation from the exchange. Glancing between the two small wooden swords in his hand and Kyle, he asked Julius in a low voice.
"Family head... you don't mean to have Kyle and Lucia fight?"
"If the boy wishes."
"But... Family head, Kyle hasn't even started sword training. And Lucia..."
"The decision isn't mine. Or yours."
Kartan fell silent. Instead, he looked worriedly at Kyle.
The five-year-old cousin beamed cheerfully.
"If I win, you'll grant my request?"
"Depends on how you win. I'll consider it."
"Promise?"
"Think I'd go back on my word for this?"
Julius smirked. Only then did Kyle move. Tottering over, he held out both hands to Kartan.
"Give it here."
Kartan handed over the wooden sword with a puzzled look.
'Ah...'
A training sword for children, but it was the first real sword-like grip since reincarnation. The perfect fit in his hand sent shivers of thrill through Kyle's body.
A bit large for a five-year-old's frame, but no issue. Kyle swung it down from above, then sideways once each.
Arian's eyes wavered as his body tilted slightly with each swing. She believed her son a genius without doubt—but hadn't yet confirmed it extended to sword talent.
"Lucia."
Lucia, receiving her wooden sword from Kartan, looked up.
"Yes, family head."
"Go all out, without using mana."
"She'll get hurt."
"Doesn't matter."
Julius answered.
"Don't worry."
Kyle grinned.
"...?"
Lucia frowned, turning to him.
"You won't hurt me."
Holding the sword, he knew it again.
I was born to wield a sword.
Dying and reincarnating—for this.