Chapter 18. Geumseong Branch (3)
Episode 18. Golden Star Tournament (3)
In the distant future—
After the world's destruction—
During my time with the Resistance in a small southern nation, I modified the Karsen family's swordsmanship.
Tailored to my body. Adaptable to any situation.
Though the Karsen family's swordsmanship was among the finest on the continent, it wasn't enough.
My mana wasn't of the frigid attribute—it was flame-aligned.
So I incorporated elements from the Leonhardt-style swordsmanship, renowned as the strongest in the South.
In that sense, my modified swordsmanship—Karsen-style (Modified)—was the ultimate form, but only for me.
It combined the strengths of the two greatest swordsmanship styles from the North and South.
This was only possible because, after the Resistance formed, techniques were exchanged freely, disregarding family or school affiliations.
Why would a mage learn swordsmanship?
Because it was necessary.
Nowadays, mages and knights are seen as entirely separate entities, but in the desperate aftermath of humanity's collapse, the line between them blurred.
Mages wielded overwhelming firepower against groups but required lengthy preparation and were vulnerable in assassinations or one-on-one combat.
Knights, on the other hand, excelled in mobility, defense, and offense, so it became common for mages to also train in swordsmanship.
But just as not all mages are equal, not all knights are of the same caliber.
They were classified by skill, reputation, and level:
Beginner Knight.
Intermediate Knight.
Senior Knight.
Beyond Senior Knights were beings difficult to categorize, but broadly:
Knight Expert.
Knight Master.
Grand Master.
By the end of my time with the Resistance, I had fought alongside at least Knight Masters. Not because I was their equal, but because their swords became my benchmark.
Thus, in my eyes, Louis's swordsmanship was crude, and I didn't miss his openings.
I slashed upward from his lower left to his upper right.
CLANG!
His sword flew from his grip, spinning through the air before clattering to the arena floor.
CLINK—
I expected frustration from Louis at his defeat, but instead, he looked relieved.
He opened his mouth, clearly about to concede.
But—
"I surren—"
THUD!
His words were cut short as my fist slammed into his face.
CRACK!
Louis clutched his cheek and staggered back, confusion flashing across his features. I didn't care.
He had always underestimated me—understandably so, and I didn't blame him for that.
What mattered was that I planned to recruit him for my future team. With a personality like his, he needed to be put in his place decisively.
"A knight of your standing gives up just for dropping his sword?"
Louis froze at my taunt. After a brief pause, he dusted himself off and stood.
"I'll see this through."
"That's more like it."
Louis reinforced his body with mana and charged. Admirable, but not wise.
A lifelong swordsman wouldn't fare well with his fists.
WHOOSH— I sidestepped his punch and countered.
THWACK!
My fist buried itself in his ribs.
"Ghk!"
A kick to his side. My shin drove into his thigh. I gave him no chance to yield.
THUD!
Finally, my fist sank deep into his abdomen.
"Guh—!"
Louis collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach. A chop to the back of his neck finished it.
THUMP!
He crumpled, foaming at the mouth—utterly defeated.
"Hah."
This wasn't my intention, but it felt satisfying. No personal feelings involved. Probably.
"Good effort."
Then—
Midgal Lau raised his hand and bellowed:
"Victory goes to Sion Karsen!"
"WOOOOOAH—!"
The crowd erupted.
Public opinion had already shifted significantly in my favor, and this victory sealed it.
I waved lightly at the spectators.
Clap. Clap-clap.
At first, only scattered applause.
Then—
CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!
A thunderous ovation.
In the distance, I saw Sid rise to his feet, fists clenched—deeply moved.
The rest of the family reacted similarly: shock, awe, admiration.
The shift in their gazes felt good. Yet, part of me tasted bitterness.
Why did I live like that in my past life?
As Louis was carried off on a stretcher, Midgal Lau approached and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Young master! What in the world was that swordsmanship?"
His grip nearly knocked me off balance, but I gritted my teeth and held firm.
"Karsen-style Ancient Sword Art."
"R-Really? Ah, my apologies. It didn't quite resemble the lord's style..."
Hmm. I'd tried to temper it, but Midgal had noticed the differences.
As expected of the Iron-Blooded Knight. His perception is sharp.
I coughed awkwardly.
"I adjusted it slightly to suit me better."
"......Seriously?!"
Midgal was awed—no, first awed, then nodded as if it made perfect sense.
"Truly, the blood of Karsen runs strong in you! Noble lineage never fails!"
His booming laughter echoed like a cave's roar. He was ecstatic.
He raved about how modifying an ancient sword style to fit oneself was a monumental feat, throwing his head back in laughter.
I scratched my cheek.
"Well... yeah."
"Ah, of course! Congratulations on your victory. Rest up for the next match."
"Thank you."
As I walked out of the arena, someone was waiting.
Guseto Ul Daikah. His face flushed red and purple with barely contained rage.
"Congratulations... on your... victory."
His forced honorifics stumbled—pathetic.
"And?"
"...Don't you have anything to say to me?"
"About what?"
"You've been deceiving me all this time."
"What?"
I was so baffled I nearly retorted in my usual tone. What is this idiot saying?
But I caught myself and stepped closer.
Guseto flinched—likely still shaken from watching my match.
"Hey."
"...Yes?"
"That's your limit. Guseto Ul Daikah."
"...?"
He seemed startled that I'd used his full name properly. So easy to read. Why had I ever thought he was politically savvy in my past life?
"Throwing tantrums like this is your limit. Losing to your brother, scrambling for connections, then whining like a brat when it fails. That's your caliber. Even Count Daikah must sigh at the sight of you. A vessel too small to hold anything."
"...What are you—"
"Don't get it? No matter how much you flail around in social circles, this is as far as you'll go."
Guseto's eyelids twitched. I'd struck a nerve—his insides must be churning. But he couldn't retaliate.
Even faced with this humiliation, his self-control held.
So I stepped closer and patted his shoulder.
Tap.
"Exit the stage, Gus."
"......!"
I walked past him. My heightened senses caught only the faint tremors wracking his body.
In a way, Guseto resembled my past self. But he was the kind of man who would eventually betray humanity. No sympathy for that.
No redemption for trash like him.
Once he's outlived his usefulness—
Go rot in a ditch.
Back in the waiting room, Roman greeted me with a grin so wide it threatened to split his face. How can anyone be this happy?
I gave him a new assignment.
"Roman. Disguise yourself and tail Guseto—no, Guseto. Report every move he makes."
Roman's expression hardened instantly. With grim resolve, he nodded.
"Every step. Every breath. I won't miss a thing."
On the first day of the finals, I defeated Louis Daiken.
The second day, I claimed another victory against a different knight—not as strong as Louis, but the crowd's cheers grew louder.
And then, the semifinals.
My opponent: Sian, a mercenary spearman known as the Blue-green Spear.
Though not a knight, his skill rivaled one. Wielding a spear over two meters long, he channeled turquoise aura—a formidable threat.
But before the match, another piece of information dominated my thoughts.
Last night.
Roman's brief report:
Guseto Daikah met with spearman Sian.
He offered 3 billion Jeni to cripple you and 20 billion if you died in an "accident."
I recommend informing the lord and wiping out House Daikah immediately.
Three billion Jeni, huh.
I stopped Roman. This spearman would pay for taking the bribe, but I wouldn't escalate further. Not yet.
I needed Guseto to dig himself deeper.
WHOOSH— The moment the match began, Sian closed the distance and thrust.
SHING!
I parried with my sword.
BOOM!
Flame aura clashed with turquoise, sending shockwaves through the arena.
He twisted his spear toward my left shoulder. I pivoted, dodging, and closed in.
My sword aimed for his neck.
SLASH!
He evaded and retaliated, stabbing at my thigh.
I dodged, advanced, swung—he retreated, stabbed.
WHOOSH—
Burning aura scorched the air. Every missed strike exploded against the arena floor.
I didn't show it, but his unorthodox spearwork startled me more than once.
As expected, no pushover. A stark reminder that I was still at the Intermediate Knight level.
But one critical difference set us apart: [Mana Detection], active from the start.
Divine Sense dissected Sian's muscle contractions and mana flow in real time.
Then—
CRASH!
As we broke apart, I analyzed the data.
When we clashed again—
I deflected his spear at an angle and slipped into his blind spot. He desperately tried to create distance, but his patterns were already deciphered.
In a voice only he could hear, I murmured:
"Is your life really so cheap you'd sell your soul for three billion Jeni?"
"...?!"
His eyes widened in shock. That split-second hesitation—I didn't miss it.
SCHLICK!
My sword pierced his right shoulder, splitting bone.
Tendons severed. Aura scattered. He screamed, stumbling back, but my blade was already tracing its next arc.
CRACK!
The tendons in his fleeing leg snapped. He collapsed onto the arena, pitiful.
One arm. One leg.
Exactly as Guseto ordered.
"GAAAAAH!"
I flicked blood from my sword and looked down at the writhing spearman.
Midgal Lau's voice boomed:
"Victory goes to Sion Karsen!"
"WOOOOOAH—!"
Twenty thousand spectators shook Kaisus Arena with their roar. Amid the cheers, I slowly lifted my gaze to the VIP seats.
There sat Guseto, pale and trembling, unable to meet my eyes.
I mouthed silently:
'You're next.'
Then I turned and walked offstage.
No one in the Northern Territory doubted my strength now. The only question remained:
Could I win the championship?