Chapter 21. Geumseong Branch (6)
Episode 21. Golden Star Tournament (6)
The two days given before the finals.
After composing a letter to Doctor Crombell, I descended into the underground ruins to continue my training.
I would never cease my training—no matter the circumstances. Not on the day I dueled Louis Dykken, nor the day after when I faced my next opponent, nor even after the finals against my childhood friend Sylvia Meyer.
I would prioritize my daily training over all such matters, great and small. When the time came for those significant events, I would approach them with the same ease as my routine practice and return unchanged.
The path ahead would be long and arduous, but it was the only road I could walk. There were no shortcuts.
Sssssssss—
Huuuuuu—
I drew in a slow, measured breath. Stimulating the Flame Dragon Bloodline, I absorbed pure mana, steadily accumulating power within my core and holy wheel.
Thump—thump—
The Breath of the Fire Dragon, now filling my core and holy wheel, pulsed in resonance with the Flame Dragon Bloodline. The coiled energy gradually unfurled, spreading throughout my body.
Oooooooom—!
The Fire Dragon's mana, flowing through my veins, suffused every part of my being before returning—transformed—to my holy wheel and core.
The reward from conquering the first floor of the dungeon, the Breath of the Fire-Ice Dragon, had not been a single item. It had split into two: the "Breath of the Fire Dragon" and the "Breath of the Ice Dragon." I had consumed only the former.
From that day onward, my mana growth had accelerated exponentially.
Oooooooom—
The resonance of these two forces with my core and holy wheel reverberated through the entire underground chamber.
I was certain. No knight or mage could accumulate mana faster than I could now.
After cycling my mana for a long while, I dusted myself off and stood.
In this era, those who walked the paths of both mage and knight were rare. Each discipline took pride in its exclusivity.
But when the Demon Race rises and humanity is pushed to the brink, all people will crave power—by any means necessary.
I would walk that path a little sooner. Fortunately, my bloodline carried the potential for both.
My mother was an Archmage.
My father was a Grand Master.
When the two of them led the family, it was said we lacked for nothing—not wealth, not power, not prestige.
In truth, after their union, the Karsen family—once just one of the North's minor noble houses—became its de facto ruling family. Before long, we were addressed as a Grand Ducal House.
Despite wielding absolute, unchallenged authority, they ruled with wisdom. All revered the Karsen name.
But.
After Mother passed.
Father abandoned all the family's enterprises. Beyond the bare minimum—subjugating monsters and managing the territory—he did only the paperwork demanded by the Central Empire.
A recluse in all but name.
As a child, I hadn't understood. Now, I did. Father's grief. His despair.
But Father. Now is not the time for this.
I want you to rise again. But that day remains distant. I don't know how to make it happen. I doubt force would suffice.
For now. I will prepare for the future. I will dispel the shadows looming over the North and fill the void left by you and Mother.
I clasped my hands as if gripping a sword and assumed my stance. Then, I drew mana from my holy wheel, shaping it into a blade.
Whoooosh—
A blazing Flame Sword. It solidified seamlessly, indistinguishable from a real weapon.
My magic had grown more refined. Its "form" had stabilized to the point where not even its heat leaked indiscriminately.
Gripping the [Flame Sword], I ignited Flame Aura along its length.
Whoooooooom—
The blazing aura flared brilliantly, its radiance splitting the darkness.
I took a Knight Stance. To unleash "Sword Aura"—a technique only Intermediate Knights and above could wield.
Just as I had given "form" to fire through magic, I compressed the Flame Aura, making it denser, sturdier.
I pieced together memories from my Knight Master comrades in my past life.
—Just harden the aura and release it. What's so hard?
—Tch. You're hopeless. Fine. Let's try this.
—First, pull the aura out thin and long. Like unraveling thread from a spool. Try that.
—Oh? You actually did it? Okay. Next, you know how fabric's woven on a loom? Crossing warp and weft to make cloth.
—Feel the aura settling onto the blade?
—Now cut through with that refined edge. That's all there is to it.
Words I hadn't fully grasped back then now made perfect sense. I had tempered the aura into something unyielding.
Fwoooosh!
The aura gathered along the blade condensed tightly. As if fused to the edge. With a single swing, I severed it free.
Shiiing!
A crescent of blazing aura shot forth. A scarlet slash. It streaked through the dark chamber before striking the far wall.
KABOOOOOOOM—!
A deafening explosion. Scorching heat erupted outward. The force exceeded even my expectations.
"Hah... Hah..."
I panted. Elation surged through me, squeezing my skull. To think I could unleash Sword Aura so soon. The exhilaration was overwhelming.
And then.
One face surfaced in my mind.
"Sylvia. Just wait a little longer."
I didn't release my grip. These were my first steps. Tonight, I would train until dawn.
As technology advanced, major cities gradually installed wired communication systems.
But infrastructure remained sorely lacking, leaving plenty of room for courier services specializing in letters.
In this niche, [North Wing] reigned as the North's premier delivery service.
They employed trained pigeons and crows, of course, but also "Snow Hawks"—birds capable of braving the North's bitter winters.
People called them the fastest, most reliable wings in the North.
The catch? Their avian network only covered the North.
Deliveries beyond required human couriers—a far more expensive service.
But North Wing's creed was simple: Pay enough, and they'd sprint through hell itself to make the delivery.
Thus, the letter Sion Karsen entrusted to them, along with a small fortune, ended up in the hands of their top courier, P.
And now.
Courier P found himself thinking:
'Is this my last delivery?'
A remote mountain valley, far from civilization. A laboratory nestled in a hollow between dense trees. The inaccessibility didn't bother him—that was part of the job.
But the lab's aesthetics? Horrific. Downright unsettling.
Stone walls patched haphazardly with steel plates. A roof cobbled together from scrap metal, cloth, and copper sheets.
The kind of place where half the ceiling would leak in rain and collapse under snow.
No proper door—just a creaky iron grate at the entrance, plastered with drawings that screamed "deranged."
Signs scrawled in red—[DANGER: EXPLOSIVES], [NO ENTRY DURING EXPERIMENTS]—littered the ground.
The interior was worse.
Warped floorboards that groaned underfoot. Machine parts sporadically sparking.
Acrid fumes of gunpowder and chemicals searing the nostrils. The stench of scorched metal, thick enough to dizzy.
'What the hell is this place?'
And yet.
Courier P felt an odd sense of... order.
Amid the chaos, a pristine workbench stood at the center, its surface neatly organized with disassembled machinery.
A space that screamed madness, yet whispered meticulous care.
He placed the letter on the cleanest spot he could find—a desk—and bellowed:
"Delivery!"
Then he fled without looking back, escaping both the lab and the mountain.
The moment he left, a floorboard flipped over with a crack, followed by an enraged shout:
"Goddammit!"
Doctor Crombell emerged, pausing his research. In his hand—a steel boomerang.
"Which bastard's making noise during experiments?! Show yourself! Or this'll give your skull a new part!"
......
......
Silence, of course.
"Hmph."
Crombell shoved back his greasy, unwashed hair, securing it with a pin. Ash and oil stains caked his appearance, which he clearly couldn't care less about.
After fumbling for his glasses, he surveyed the scene.
Then.
He spotted the envelope on the desk. Stomping over, he tore it open.
His eyes darted across the page.
"The—the hell? Who writes 'go die in a ditch, you lunatic' like this?! What kind of psycho—?!"
From his pocket, Crombell produced a pebble-sized capsule.
Click—
A twist, and—POOF!—white smoke billowed out.
In an instant, the grime-covered mad scientist transformed. Now, a dapper gentleman in a sleek black suit, top hat and all.
Not a trace remained of the disheveled crank from moments ago.
"Perfect. Research funds were running low anyway."
He pulled out another capsule and hurled it to the ground.
WHOOSH—!
Smoke engulfed the lab. The bizarre machinery, golem parts, shattered vials—everything vanished as if swept away.
In seconds, the derelict lab had been packed into a single capsule.
Amid the haze, Crombell adjusted his hat with a fingertip. A manic grin split his face.
"Time to go crush someone!"
His furious declaration echoed.
Crombell set off for the North. He knew the Karsens ruled there, of course.
But.
Sion Karsen?
The name meant nothing to him.
'Need to check what kind of sucker we're dealing with.'
Doctor Crombell revved his custom-modified car.
VROOOOOOM—!
The engine roared like a raging bull through the rugged mountains.
After a breakneck drive to the Northern Duchy, Crombell's first stop was a tavern.
The classic method for intel.
He ordered a drink and asked about Sion Karsen.
"Sion Karsen? Pfft. The Karsen family's disgrace."
"Hate to say it, but seeing him strut around the Inspection Bureau... kinda pitiful."
Drunken pity, dismissive waves, mocking laughter—the responses piled up.
Crombell nodded. 'Another nutjob, then,' and hit the road.
After a full day's drive, he reached the outskirts of Siren, the North's capital.
Another tavern, same question. This time, unexpected answers.
"My buddy saw it at the Kaisus Arena. Overwhelmed Louis Dykken—the prodigy knight—they say."
"Bullshit. That half-wit?"
"Word's spreading fast lately."
"Heard it too. Shot flaming sword aura in the arena."
No mockery now. Instead, a simmering anticipation.
Crombell drained his glass, lips quirking.
"Khhah! North's booze hits right!"
A swordsmanship family's failure wielding aura? Flame-attribute, no less, in this frozen mana-rich hellscape?
"Sion Karsen."
Crombell's eyebrow twitched.
"One madman's enough for this world."
Where the hell did you crawl out from?
Doctor Crombell's eyes glittered with curiosity.