Chapter 34
I felt as though I owed my father a great debt.
“As much as you want. In fact, I was just about to ask you to make vests for the knights. The wool is as tough as steel, so even just wearing it under regular clothes offers protection.”
“Ohh!”
It was estimated that the amount of wool shaved with the help of knights and soldiers could produce over ten vests.
“But it’s a bit dirty. I’ll wash it well and make something out of it.”
“This wool is sensitive to fire. Please make sure the outer fabric is fire-resistant.”
“Don’t worry. A masterpiece made by the Baron himself, I’ll craft a work worthy of the name Hebron.”
Humming a tune, my father gathered the wool. Even though weaving such tough material into fabric wouldn’t be easy, he was already lost in thought, figuring out how to make it work.
After my father left, Ambrod came to see me.
Unlike his stiff demeanor the previous day, his expression had softened a bit. He bowed and then got down on one knee in front of me.
“What does this mean?”
“Please teach me swordsmanship.”
I was disappointed that Ambrod’s conclusion was only this much. Even a knight with all limbs would have difficulty reaching a high level with half-hearted determination.
Let alone a one-legged knight—he would need to be prepared to die if he wanted to rise beyond a mundane life.
My opinion of Ambrod dropped. I had thought a crippled knight might still be of use if he was mine, but now I no longer felt it was worth the effort to keep him.
“No.”
“I’ll pay you whatever you want!”
I chuckled. I calculated the time and effort it would take to craft swordsmanship tailored just for him.
He noticed my cold expression. He must have sensed that things were going wrong. His pupils trembled.
“That’s quite an offer. So how much did Viscount Zylson offer you? A thousand gold, maybe? Enough to secure his brother’s future?”
“...1,400 gold.”
Zylson had probably offered him 1,000 gold. The additional 400 was likely Ambrod’s own contribution.
House Zylson was in the midst of preparing for war. In such times, when everyone was shedding blood and sweat, Ambrod had withdrawn from the front lines. The best position he’d been able to secure was as a training instructor, which technically didn’t even qualify him as a knight.
“Ambrod, I only value what’s mine.”
“If I swear loyalty to you, will I be accepted as a knight of House Hebron? Will I be able to lead soldiers and fight on the front lines?”
His tone had become a bit more respectful.
“Is that really all you’re aiming for?”
He was a man who had once done great things. For someone who used to lead all of Viscount Zylson’s knights, commanding a few soldiers would feel like child’s play.
“...I wanted to be the guardian deity of Viscount Zylson.”
“That’s a modest dream.”
“I wanted to become the most renowned knight in the Kingdom of Xenon.”
“If it’s just fame that you want, that’s not hard. I could make a song about the ‘One-Legged Knight Ambrod’ and echo through the capital.”
“I…”
Ambroad hesitated. He didn’t want to reveal his true feelings.
I was not the patient type. Especially when it came to spending time on things I deemed unworthy. That was a trait passed down from my life as a Breio.
I gestured for him to leave.
Only then did Ambrod open up.
“I want to become the knight commander of House Hebron—when you become a viscount.”
It was an arrogant statement.
He wasn’t just declaring his own ambition, he had assessed me as someone destined to become a viscount.
“That’s your judgment of me?”
“Yes.”
Some might say Ambrod held me in high regard. After all, except in times of war, it was exceedingly rare for a mere baron to rise to the rank of a viscount. In the entire history of Xenon Kingdom, only three had done so—two by marrying into a ducal family, and one who caught the king’s eye and was elevated late in life, only to die as a viscount without land.
“In that case, I suppose I have no choice but to accept you.”
“I, Ambrod, hereby swear loyalty to Louis de Hebron, The Baron of Hebron!”
I placed my hand on Ambrod’s head.
Leaning in close, I said quietly.
“Watch closely. See just how wrong your judgment is.”
Ambrod’s eyes trembled.
He had no idea what kind of place he had stepped into.
I handed him a contract I had prepared in advance.
“Sign it.”
“Th-this is…!”
Ambroad’s face turned pale, then flushed red.
He was already experiencing the extreme ends of emotion here.
“It’s a slave contract.”
“Are you mocking me right now?!”
Ambrod was the second son of a viscount's family and had once risen to a position beyond a baron’s. The document declaring that he would be reduced to a status lower than a commoner—a slave contract—was nothing short of humiliation.
Of course, it wasn’t an ordinary slave contract. It was renewable annually and bound him solely to me. To others, he would still be treated as Ambrod de Zylson.
I sent a servant to summon Bernie, one of my slave soldier.
“You called for me, Baron.”
“Both of you, follow me.”
I led Bernie and Ambrod to my private training ground.
It was a secluded training space, hidden from prying eyes.
“Ambrod, I’ll give you a chance. If you defeat Bernie, I’ll tear up the contract. And I’ll promise you the position of the knight commander of House Hebron—for as long as you live.”
Ambrod’s eyes widened.
He glared at Bernie with intensity, as if the outcome was already decided in his mind.
“Set aside your romantic notions. Bernie has spent a month under my training. He had never learned swordsmanship before, but his strength as a slave was excellent.”
I handed training wooden swords to both Bernie and Ambrod.
Bernie gripped his sword with both hands and took his stance. As his energy sharpened, Ambrod’s confident expression began to falter.
“You said that slave has never learned swordsmanship before?”
“I taught him. Swordsmanship and aura cultivation. He’s only been training for a month, but I drove him relentlessly—as a slave should be trained.”
Bernie had shown the most impressive progress among the slave soldiers.
“Incredible… But…”
Ambrod’s demeanor changed. He was like a well-forged sword. Anyone who stepped too close would be cut down instantly.
‘If I were to face him head-on…’
I imagined a fight with Ambrod. No matter how many times we fought, I wouldn’t lose.
Because of his prosthetic leg.
‘If it were Ambrod from before he was injured…’
I still wouldn’t lose—not because he had weakened, but because I had become stronger.
The teachings of Hebron had helped me surpass Ambrod’s Peak.
‘He must have studied <A Swordsmanship manual for One-Legged Knights>. But he must’ve realized it’s imperfect, which is why he came to beg me for guidance.’
Ambrod’s swordsmanship had changed. He now stood on his real leg instead of relying on the prosthetic. To balance his posture, he twisted his upper body slightly.
The biggest change was in his breathing technique. Ambrod had abandoned Zylson’s aura cultivation method and followed the technique I had taught him.
‘Even after losing a leg, he's still a former knight commander of the viscount’s, huh?’
He must have studied <A Swordsmanship manual for One-Legged Knights> seriously. But that manual was based on theory—I had written it without fully understanding the reality of Ambrod’s condition.
‘Bernie will win.’
I looked away from Ambrod. My judgment was final.
“Bernie, don’t hold back. Go all out from the start.”
“Yes, Baron.”
Bernie charged at Ambrod. He could have easily won just by keeping his distance and circling, but instead, he chose to fight head-on. No wonder Ambrod was getting frustrated.
“You… insolent—!”
Swoooosh!
Ambrod’s sword sliced through the air. Despite his agitation, his swing was sharp.
Sardia Maneuvering Footwork.
Bernie stepped into Ambrod’s blind spot, aiming to strike his side.
‘He redirected the sword’s trajectory!’
Ambrod twisted the trajectory of his powerful swing. His sword came crashing down like a bolt of lightning—aimed right at Bernie’s head.
At that instant, Bernie ducked low. Though his swordsmanship wasn’t on par with Ambrod’s, his survival instincts surpassed those of most knights.
Swooosh!
Ambrod’s sword cut through empty air again and again.
It was a close call, but the fact that Bernie dodged was what mattered.
Bernie used one hand to balance himself on the ground and simultaneously swung his wooden sword at Ambrod’s leg.
CRAAACK!
The wooden sword clashed against the prosthetic.
Ambrod’s prosthetic leg wasn’t made for combat. It couldn’t withstand Bernie’s full-powered strike.
Cracks appeared in the prosthetic that Baryan had painstakingly crafted. It didn’t break entirely, but Ambrod’s mobility was now significantly reduced.
“You insolent wretch!”
Ambrod limped toward Bernie. His prosthetic squeaked ominously, as if it would snap at any moment.
If the fight dragged on, Bernie would win.
But I had told Bernie to go all out from the start.
Dutifully, he charged straight at Ambrod—that was a slave’s way.
Smack! Crack!
Their wooden swords clashed and echoed through the arena.
When Ambrod saw Bernie’s swordplay, his eyes widened. He hadn’t expected such skill from a slave who had trained for barely a month.
Above all, Bernie’s swordsmanship was impressive. Although Sardian swordsmanship was considered inferior to Breio's, it was still classified as a superior martial art compared to the Zylson style.
Woooooo…
Ambrod’s wooden sword began to glow—it was cloaked in aura.
‘That crazy bastard…!’
Even Bernie showed signs of panic for the first time.
It wasn’t even a steel sword, just wood. Far too fragile to withstand a powerful aura.
‘No, wait. Even I could do that…’
It wasn’t easy. Only seasoned knights skilled in manipulating aura could pull it off.
Perhaps aware of the risk, Ambrod infused only a small amount of aura.
Bernie backed away nervously. In that instant, Ambrod’s upper body leaned forward. Just when it looked like he was about to fall, he balanced himself with his prosthetic leg.
Slaaaash!
Ambrod’s sword carved a smooth arc through the air.
Bernie’s wooden sword was cut clean in two. At the same time, a thin red line appeared on his neck, and blood trickled down.
If he hadn’t instinctively pulled his head back, Bernie’s head would have hit the ground.
Ambrod was convinced of his victory.
He raised his sword with a smug look, aiming it at Bernie’s throat.
“Wha—!”
Ambrod let out a startled sound. Bernie hadn’t given up as he expected.
Bernie ignored the blade aimed at his neck. Even though it was surrounded by aura.
Slash!
Another thin red line appeared on Bernie’s neck. It was deeper than the last—but it hadn’t cut his carotid artery.
Ambrod tried to swing his sword again. It was the only way to block Bernie’s strike.
CRACK!
As he shifted his weight too abruptly, Ambrod’s prosthetic leg snapped. His body tilted as Bernie’s blade slashed through the air. Ambrod dropped his sword.
The broken half of Bernie’s wooden sword grazed a few strands of Ambrod’s hair. Ambrod fell flat on his back, while Bernie maintained perfect balance.
