Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Arthur Banpellyon
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Arthur Banpellyon.
The head of the fallen Banpellyon family.
His father, the previous head, had passed away early from illness.
As a result, Arthur had ascended to the position of family head at a young age.
It wasn't even much of an ascension.
After all, the family now consisted solely of one escort knight and an old butler.
Even so, Arthur took pride in the name of Banpellyon.
He lived his life proudly upholding the family name.
This was all thanks to a tale his father had shared about a certain individual.
"The very man who elevated Banpellyon to one of the Three Great Families during the prosperous era of the Unified Empire."
The prodigy born of Banpellyon.
Sword Saint, Havel Banpellyon.
Now, everyone except those of Banpellyon had forgotten that name.
But his legend had been more than enough to captivate the heart of young Arthur.
However, he had ventured into the Demonic Palace... and never returned.
The Demonic Palace—the most outrageously wicked among the Primordial Three Calamities.
It had devoured even the Sword Saint.
With the loss of its head, its Sword Saint, and the family's pride—the Dawn Knights—the Banpellyon house had staggered badly.
Then, with a series of misfortunes piling on, the family had ultimately crumbled into ruin.
Arthur sought to protect that ruined Banpellyon house.
But it was no easy task.
"Perhaps I may be the last head."
Banpellyon had fallen.
Thus, Arthur staked his final gamble.
The Tower—one of the Primordial Three Calamities, the very place where countless families had risen to fame.
He would climb it and restore Banpellyon's glory.
Yet the only ones left in the family were the old butler and a single escort knight.
Fortunately, the escort knight was skilled enough to draw scouting offers from other houses.
However, no matter how exceptional he was, he couldn't conquer the Tower alone.
"So we hurriedly sought out mercenaries."
But no one came to Banpellyon.
The moment he resolved to climb the Tower himself as a last resort...
"I saw the posting recruiting mercenaries and came."
One man appeared.
After being led to the guest room, Havel sipped a cup of tea while he waited.
"The tea isn't all that great."
As expected, the family's internal affairs were just as dire as its outward appearance.
"The fortune I left behind wasn't insignificant. Where did it all go?"
What in the world had happened over the past century to reduce things to this state?
Havel could only feel a pang of complicated emotions.
Knock knock—
At that moment, a knock echoed through the room.
The door opened to reveal the escort knight standing there.
"Pleased to meet you. My introduction is late. I am Dante, knight of Banpellyon."
His black hair was neatly trimmed.
His posture and bearing were impeccably upright.
The black sword at his waist looked familiar, and his musculature was perfectly balanced.
'Not bad. He's usable.'
Havel hadn't witnessed his skills yet, but he was clearly a knight of considerable caliber.
"Before formally accepting you as a mercenary, we would like to test your abilities, Havel. Is that alright with you?"
Dante addressed him.
He still seemed somewhat wary of Havel.
'At least he's calmed down a bit.'
When Havel had pretended to apply as a mercenary and given his introduction, he'd dropped his surname and stated only his given name.
"H-Havel?! Sword Saint Havel?!"
Havel could still hear Arthur's shout ringing in his ears.
How shocked he must have been.
Just from the name Havel and the sight of his hair, Arthur had been thrown into extreme agitation.
"Sword Saint Havel? What an astonishing coincidence to share a name, but I don't believe I've heard of you."
At those words, Arthur had settled down and slowly examined Havel once more.
Upon closer inspection, he possessed white hair rather than the signature silver locks of the Banpellyon line.
Havel's own hair had originally been silver as well.
However, after expending far too much power within the Demonic Palace...
Its color had faded almost entirely.
As a result, it appeared closer to white unless viewed under direct light.
"I see... Of course. It's been over a century now. The entire world has even forgotten that man's name."
At this juncture, Arthur must have deemed it utterly implausible for the real Havel to return.
Fortunately, he accepted it without further fuss.
'Well, a hundred years have passed.'
It would be hard for anyone to believe he was still alive.
And so, Havel submitted to a skills test in his guise as a mercenary.
In the first place, he was the very culprit who had brought Banpellyon to this state.
It was too shameful to simply announce his return.
"Very well."
Havel rose from his seat to accept Dante's test.
The two men headed to the backyard.
'No training grounds at all?'
The sparring area amounted to nothing more than a shabby backyard with the grass crudely trimmed.
'It's dire.'
He felt at a loss as to where even to begin the revival.
"This will be a simple sparring test. Please go as far as you're able."
"Understood."
Havel lightly drew his sword.
'Perfect timing.'
He had been curious about the current state of Banpellyon swordsmanship anyway.
"Begin."
Dante courteously announced the start and kicked off the ground.
His blade sliced through the air as it rushed forward.
Crisp motions devoid of any excess.
It was neat enough to draw admiration from any onlooker.
Yet it stirred no interest whatsoever in Havel.
Clang!
'Perhaps I've been in the Demonic Palace too long.'
To Havel, Dante's swordplay seemed yawn-inducingly slow.
Dante, meanwhile, was mildly surprised.
'His sword hadn't even budged until the moment I swung.'
Yet Havel's blade was already there, blocking his own.
'He might be more skilled than I thought.'
Dante began to ramp up his speed.
Clang, clang, clang, clang!
The sharp ring of steel clashing against steel echoed repeatedly.
Dante's sword continued to accelerate.
Banpellyon swordsmanship resembled crashing waves.
The more combos one chained together, the greater the mounting power.
As proof, the force behind Dante's strikes grew stronger with time.
Yet bewilderment crept across his face.
'How is he blocking so effortlessly?'
Dante had unquestionably increased both his power and speed.
But Havel parried every blow while maintaining the exact same stance from the start.
'A master of this level?'
There was no feedback at all, despite the strength involved.
An odd sense of dissonance washed over Dante.
Someone this formidable... and yet no presence of power?
'Just a bit more.'
Dante kept pouring on more power and speed.
But the outcome remained unchanged.
Terror now began to take root.
Just who—or what—was this man?
'Even if I go all out...'
Would he remain unmoved?
The thought flashed through his mind just as his sword came to an abrupt halt.
"Is that it?"
Havel inquired with evident puzzlement.
His breathing hadn't been disrupted in the slightest.
"......"
The demonstration of skill had been more than sufficient.
"......Yes. You pass."
"I see."
Havel regarded Dante.
'Why isn't he using Banpellyon swordsmanship?'
Because it was just a spar?
The question lingered briefly in Havel's mind.
At the same time, a possibility occurred to him.
'Come to think of it, the Banpellyon swordsmanship might have been lost entirely.'
After all, both he and the Dawn Knights were gone.
'......I'll have opportunities to confirm it bit by bit once we're traveling together.'
Havel gave Dante one last complicated glance before turning to leave.
'Why did he look at me like that?'
Dante puzzled over Havel's gaze from moments before.
Then his eyes fell upon Havel's footprints in the dirt.
"Huh?"
Unlike his own frantic footwork, the prints where Havel had stood...
hadn't shifted even an inch.
A jolt rocked his mind.
Dante felt as though he'd glimpsed an unfathomable abyss.
'What......'
Just what was that man's true nature?
Dante's suspicions deepened further.
That very night, after Havel was formally hired as a mercenary...
Dante found himself at a tavern for the first time in ages.
His head was still muddled from the test earlier that day.
'What is that man's true identity?'
Someone of that caliber would surely have made a name for himself.
The name of the Sword Saint, who vanished into the Demonic Palace a century ago...
had been deliberately erased by the houses that betrayed Banpellyon.
Moreover, the era had been plunged into chaos by the calamities.
Legends of past heroes were utterly forgotten within a single generation.
'These days, only Banpellyon remembers the name Havel.'
And now, someone bearing that name had reappeared.
A man of impressive skill, no less.
'If he's skilled enough to use the name Havel...
he must have at least heard the rumors while in Banpellyon."
Dante had served as a knight in Banpellyon for years, yet this was his first time laying eyes on the man.
"I have no idea."
His expression whenever he glanced at young master Arthur particularly gnawed at him.
'Guilt? Remorse?'
Strange, inexplicable reactions.
'At least he doesn't seem intent on harming Banpellyon.'
They were in dire need of any help they could get—even a cat's paw.
This wasn't the time to be choosy.
Still, he couldn't shake the nagging concern.
He was a knight of Banpellyon.
If the man harbored ill intentions, it fell to him to stop it.
'With both of us shrouded in doubts... is it truly wise to tackle the Tower together?'
As these troubled thoughts swirled and he reached for his beer mug once more...
Clatter!
"Hahaha! Drinks on me today to celebrate conquering the 3rd hierarchy!"
"If we keep climbing like this, we'll catch up to the seniors, right?"
"Damn straight!"
The door burst open amid raucous laughter.
Dante turned to see a group of men.
Emblazoned on their chests was the same crest.
A sword carved from ice, entwined with a flower.
Knights of the Glasis family.
And their apparent leader was a face Dante recognized.
"Huh? Hey, it's Dante."
They'd spotted him too.
"You know him?"
"Yeah, classmate from knight academy."
Volants, Dante's classmate, reacted with evident displeasure.
It was only natural.
Back at the academy, Volants had been the perennial runner-up.
Dante had always taken first.
Volants had never once bested him.
But things were different now.
A smug sneer twisted Volants' features.
"Well, well, Dante. Long time no see. Having fun playing knight all by your lonesome in that ruined house?"
He served as a knight of Glasis, one of the Five Great Families.
Even if it was just a lesser knight order, he was their vice-captain.
Dante, by contrast, was a mere figurehead knight from the utterly hollow Banpellyon.
Their social standings couldn't be more disparate.
"I told you, didn't I? Joining a dump like Banpellyon would ruin your life."
He leered at Dante with thinly veiled malice.
He'd always been like this.
Harboring an inferiority complex toward Dante, he'd despised him.
This was how he vented the grudges from their school days.
"Leave."
Dante issued a quiet warning.
His head was already a mess from the day's events.
He had no desire to deal with this.
But the warning only ruffled Volants' feathers.
"Leave? Who the hell are you to order me around? You think we're still back at the academy dorms?"
Volants glared daggers.
"A knight from a bankrupt house dares? Nah, this won't cut it. You'll only cool my temper if the master you serve drags his sorry ass here and begs on his knees."
Volants sneered in a goading tone.
"That's three."
Dante had drawn his sword in an instant, its edge hovering at Volants' throat.
"I've endured three insults about myself."
Dante's eyes gleamed with chilling menace.
"But I tolerate not a single word disparaging Master Arthur."
His quickdraw remained lightning-fast.
Volants' eyes could barely track it.
Yet Volants merely scoffed.
"You dare draw on me?"
In that instant, multiple blades turned toward Dante.
Volants' subordinates had followed suit and drawn their weapons.
"Hey, come outside."
Tension chilled the tavern air.
Volants jerked his chin, and Dante rose from his seat.
As the entire group filed out, the tavern's atmosphere finally thawed.
"That was intense."
"Whew, thought it'd ruin the drinks."
"That was Glasis knights, right?"
"Where's the guy they picked a fight with from?"
The tavern erupted back into lively chatter.
In the midst of it all, a white-haired man quietly rose from his seat.
Not a soul in the place noticed as he slipped out the door.