First Duel and Reunion with Fenris
In the center of the Sword Apex Hall, a five-year-old boy faced off against an eight-year-old girl.
A demonkin hybrid, huh.
In this era, they seemed to be somewhat accepted, living in harmony or whatever, but five hundred years ago during the dark ages, demonkin were nothing more than invaders from another continent.
Back when he was the Sword Ghost, he'd clashed with them a few times. Tasteless bastards who went around calling humans an "inferior race."
Demonkin were superior to humans in many ways, so it wasn't entirely wrong. If not for their race's unique penalties, the continent would've been devoured by them long ago.
First time dealing with a hybrid, though. Kinda hard to get a read on her.
Demonkin far surpassed humans physically, but their real strength lay in their affinity for mana. Humans had to swing a sword like mad for over a decade just to sense it. Demonkin felt it from the moment they were born.
They told her not to use mana, but she's already wielding it at eight? What a gap.
Kyle stared intently at Lucia, pondering this.
At these ages, the size difference was huge—not so much if they were older, but five versus eight was a chasm. Plus, Kyle had spent his time at Rose Mansion playing house with Arian, while Lucia had lived in Gladiheim and trained in swordsmanship for a full year.
Demonkin physical prowess outclasses humans.
Kyle quickly sized her up.
Clashing blades head-on? He wouldn't last a single exchange.
"…"
He sensed a flicker of anger in Lucia's glaring eyes. That little brat must've taken his earlier words as a serious bruise to her pride.
"Hey there."
None of his business. Kyle flashed a grin and greeted her first. Come to think of it, he hadn't even introduced himself.
"I'm Kyle. Kyle Alastor."
"…Lucia."
"Nice to meet you, Lucia. Let's have fun."
"Pl-please take care of me."
Lucia replied stiffly, assuming her stance.
She stood straight, elbow tucked to her side, sword tip aimed at him, poised to exploit any opening—a solid guard specialized for thrusting on the offense. Kyle's eyes flicked rapidly.
She shows real training.
Kyle took his own stance inwardly appraising her.
He didn't raise his wooden sword. Instead, he relaxed completely, letting it hang diagonally downward. Feet spread wide, upper body—chest, shoulders, arms—gone limp.
The long wooden sword, matching his lanky torso, dragged more than halfway on the floor. Anxiety flickered in Arian's eyes at the sight. It looked like Kyle couldn't handle the weight.
Half right. It was a training wooden sword for kids, but way too much for a five-year-old.
"…"
Unlike Arian's worried gaze, Julius and Kartan's eyes held different emotions. A five-year-old couldn't hold a proper stance long—their muscles would tire and stiffen fast.
It looked pathetic on the surface, but Kyle gripped the sword firmly. His eyes scanned Lucia without a hint of playfulness.
Too early to judge, though. If it ended in disaster, the stance meant nothing. Julius, watching silently, spoke.
"Begin."
His low declaration fell. Pa-at! Lucia moved first. No mercy, per the family head's command.
As Kyle predicted, her speed eclipsed an eight-year-old's—adult male level. She closed the gap in an instant, thrusting at his solar plexus.
Fast.
Kyle's eyes tracked the blade, but his immature five-year-old body couldn't counter as he wished. No stubbornness—he chose the best this flesh could do.
His limp upper body swayed. Shiiik! A dodge just before impact. Lucia's eyes widened.
She hadn't expected him to evade. Pureblood Alastor or not, he was an untrained kid.
She tried to retract, but Kyle's left arm moved first. Thud. He clamped her wooden sword between arm and side, grinning at her.
"…!"
Lucia's brow twitched. Caught, but her strength could yank it free easy. She could even hurt him like this.
But she didn't. Glaring, she bit her lip in humiliation. Her sure-win opener dodged and trapped—her pride crushed.
Kyle released after a glance. Plenty of ways to end it, but he didn't want to waste his first sword swing in five years. He hadn't even swung properly yet.
Lucia backed off a few steps, re-stancing. Too hasty? Judging her slip that way, she attacked again.
No thrust this time. She stepped in, swinging. Kyle flowed away without clashing, dodging her blade.
It repeated. Her flurry glanced off harmlessly; Lucia's eyes shook.
Genius or not, just eight years old. Failing to dominate a smaller, younger foe weighed on her mentally. This was the Sword Apex Hall, family head watching.
Her breaths grew ragged. Precise strikes loosened—motions bigger, blade wobbling. Wasteful power, easy to deflect.
They say small force beats great, but it's hard in battle. Needs superior precision, solid center, insight into foe or induced gaps—too many conditions.
Now the board was Kyle's. Lucia's high overhead swing plummeted at his head. Reckless, huge motion, full of holes.
Kyle's drooping sword stirred. It rose abruptly, intercepting the downward arc. Kakagak! Hers slid down his angled blade to the floor.
"…!"
Lucia's eyes shook wildly. She tried to steady, but Kyle's tilted further. Thud. His sword tapped her shoulder.
"Ah…"
Her lips parted wide. She flapped them, then scowled, blurting.
"I lo-lost…"
"You can go more."
Breaths heaving, sweat beading his brow, but Kyle's golden eyes sparkled with pure joy, no fatigue.
"Just a bit longer."
He whispered. Lucia glanced startled at him, then Julius.
Kartan and Arian looked shocked; Julius's eyes were wide. He nodded slowly, permitting resumption.
Lucia bit her lip, backed up, attacked anew.
Cautious now—no rush. She closed carefully, pressuring with precise, quick strikes over heavy ones.
Sensible shift after her flow got dismantled, but meaningless to Kyle. How precise could an eight-year-old be? All her aims danced in his palm; even fast, they missed.
Stamina's the issue.
Dodge, deflect. Repeating wore his breath to the brink. Not disappointing.
Past life at five, he couldn't move like this. Untuned body performing this well? Joyful. This flesh was blessed.
But limits loomed; time to end the fun fight. Kyle let his breath show, stance waver. Dodges left gaps, retreating knees buckled.
Lucia's stamina topped his. She could go longer without haste.
But haste gripped her. She'd lost twice already: first thrust caught, second deflected to shoulder hit.
To redeem, she needed clear victory. Stubborn vision narrowed. Her eyes fixed on the heaving, stumbling boy.
Then—her retreating foot tangled. Gotcha. She thrust without mercy.
That instant, Kyle's "stumbling" body twisted. Full-body swing targeted her side.
Hers missed; his struck. Thwack! Dull thud, solid impact in his palm.
Hit too hard?
Victory expected, no big thrill. Kyle eyed her. Too brutal for an eight-year-old. Normal kid? Cracked ribs.
"…"
Lucia looked fine. Not normal. Demonkin hybrid wielding mana—no bone damage.
But pride bruised. Eyes round, she stared at the sword on her side. Tears welled.
"Ah… uh… uuu…"
Genius girl, trained by elders despite heritage, beaten by a three-years-younger boy who'd never held a sword. Overwhelming flow, no contest.
Crushed ego welled as tears, but she tilted her head back, set sword down.
"I… I, lost, I lost…"
Choked, stammering sobs. No way he could push more.
No strength left anyway.
Body heavy, aching. Days of soreness ahead, especially sword hand. Kyle caressed the hilt. Damp not just sweat—palms shredded like gripping thorns.
"…"
What to say? Seeing her desperately hold back tears froze his thoughts.
"Good fight"? Too taunting. "Well done"? Too adult. "You worked hard"? Same issue.
"Th-thank you."
Awkward silence post-loss rude, so he said that. Genuine—fun fight, rare opponent at this age.
"Uh…"
He meant well, but she didn't take it. Fists clenched, she bowed sharply. Drip, drip. Tears hit the floor.
"My god…"
Kartan muttered, aghast. He knew her genius—no cousin or nephew matched her swordplay at that age.
Yet she lost. Mana banned, but physical edge remained—still dominated. Unbelieving, he whispered to Arian.
"Your son… really never trained?"
"I swear on the spirits."
Arian, mouth agape, composed herself, hand on chest.
"I, Arian Alastor, have never permitted my son Kyle Alastor to learn the sword. I swear he gripped one for the first time here today."
Kartan's eyes widened more. Never held a sword, yet fought like that? At five? Only one explanation.
Genius…
He swallowed, glancing at Julius. Pure curiosity—what reaction from the man witnessing this absurdity? And why this sudden duel?
"You won."
"Yeah, I did."
Kyle steadied his breath, replying.
"You'll keep the promise, right?"
Promise.
Kartan tilted his head. He'd heard "promise" earlier.
"Said I'd think on it based on how you won."
"I won pretty good, didn't I?"
"Indeed."
Julius's stunned lips softened to a smile. He grasped Fenris beneath the portrait.
"Take it."
Clang. Fenris stabbed the floor. Kartan's jaw dropped.
"F-Family head! You're giving Fenris to that child?!"
"That was the promise."
"B-but Fenris is…!"
"Just a sword."
Julius chuckled.
"Why's no one seen that simple truth in five hundred years?"
Kyle approached slowly.
His beloved sword from five centuries past.
Unchanged since last seen. Practical—no gaudy ornaments.
For a sword, practical meant optimized for thrust and slash.
That inky blade like drawn ink—cut dozens, hundreds, never dulled, no oil cling. Roughly handled eighteen years, yet Fenris never betrayed Sword Ghost Raikal.
Pierced when needed, slashed true. Raikal failed often, but it avenged later.
Save once.
Against Ruin Alastor.
Fenris…
Never dreamed reunion after five hundred years. Heart pounding like chance meet with first love, Kyle drew near.
Thump, thump, thump…
…
Something off. First duel post-rebirth—exhausted, excited, Fenris reunion. Heart racing natural.
But too fast. Kyle pressed his chest. Not just heart—lower belly warm, then achy; body tingling.
With that.
From Fenris in the Sword Apex Hall center, black mist-like fog poured out.
"…?"
A black wolf blocked Kyle's path.