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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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Chapter 8: Revenge (2)
The choice of words wasn’t exactly refined, but Yuren’s message was bluntly delivered.
His half-smiling expression amplified the meaning of his words severalfold.
In short, he was provocatively saying, "My sword is better than yours."
Callios let out a scoff.
“Are you serious? You’re saying you’ll teach me swordsmanship? You, of all people, to teach me?”
The reason for his question was simple. Callios van Ortaire.
He was regarded as a prodigy born to rule, proficient in nearly all fields.
Of course, no one can be equally skilled in every area, but swordsmanship was undoubtedly one of his strongest suits.
He was a man blessed with a level of swordsmanship that could be called a rebirth of the first emperor.
There was a particular story that showcased his swordsmanship prowess.
When Callios was 14, he became an expert and stirred up the empire with his achievement.
He had reached a level that knights with superior talent and rigorous training might attain between the ages of 25 and 30, all while still dealing with the trials of adolescence.
He had reached this pinnacle faster than anyone in royal history—so fast that he was counted among the top three in the entire history of the Ortaire Empire.
This wasn’t a secret.
While the exact level of his skill wasn’t widely known, the fact that he was an expert was something all the citizens of the empire were aware of.
So how could Yuren’s words not sound absurd?
Callios scrutinized Yuren's body.
‘He has mana in his body, but…’
It was normal for nobles’ children to be raised with various elixirs from a young age.
Yuren seemed to have taken slightly more than the average noble, but that was it.
‘…The level of physical training is lacking.’
He had more flesh than muscle.
His posture was also poor, with slouching and bending noticeable.
A swordsman should not appear this way.
There was no presence or aura in him.
Callios made his assessment.
‘A body that’s never held a sword. Even if it has, it’s only been at a basic, cultured level.’
It was an accurate diagnosis—if Yuren wasn’t someone who had returned from the future, that is.
“I’ll give you a chance to retract your statement.”
Callios spoke gently.
He didn’t know what kind of confidence Yuren had to make such a claim, but he assumed it wasn’t just arrogance.
After all, Yuren had helped him regain his sanity, so Callios figured he owed him some respect in return.
But Yuren’s response wasn’t what Callios expected.
“In a gambling den, they say…”
“…?”
“The more nervous one talks the most.”
Callios froze on the spot.
The smile that emerged on his lips was clearly forced.
“…What are you trying to say?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Yuren fiddled with his fingernails, slouching as if he didn’t care.
His relaxed demeanor practically screamed:
—Scared?
After spending time with Rebecca, Yuren had picked up on commoners' slang.
Callios had also grown quite familiar with commoner culture and language.
He fully understood the meaning behind Yuren’s attitude.
The rush of emotion that flooded his mind was instantaneous.
“Hah, hahaha, hahaha!!!”
Smack! Smack! Smack!
As if it was genuinely funny, Callios slapped his thigh so hard that a loud sound echoed in the room, grinning so wide that his gums were visible.
But the bloodshot eyes told another story.
He was truly provoked.
Callios felt a surge of anger boiling up from Yuren’s words.
This wasn’t just an issue of pride.
It was about swordsmanship.
He had been insulted in the very thing that defined him.
The crude equivalent of, "You're nothing but a loser!"
“Interesting! Truly interesting! Erilda!”
“Ah! You startled me!”
“You said we needed a demonstration! Who do I need to prove myself to?”
Erilda, who had been shocked by Callios’ outburst, wore a blank expression but still answered sincerely.
“T-the head of the Imperial Knights…? He’s the one currently teaching you swordsmanship.”
Her polite language was commendable, even in front of outsiders, but Callios was too incensed to notice such nuances.
“Did you hear that? The one teaching me is the head of the knights! The only person qualified to teach me is a sword master!”
“Yes, I heard.”
“Are you sure you’re up for it?! I’m quite interested in learning from someone as confident as you! But for that to happen, you’ll have to prove that you’re better than me! You’ll have to duel me in front of the head knight!!! Won’t it be embarrassing if things don’t go your way?!”
By now, Callios was practically shouting.
Even he hadn’t expected to react this way.
It was no wonder.
Who in the world would ever tell the crown prince, "I could teach you swordsmanship better than anyone could"?
Even if someone were truly stronger than him, they would still show respect to the royal family.
There was no one else in the world who would speak to Callios like Yuren had.
In any case—
“Hm, is that so.”
“That’s right, you should reconsider…”
“I hadn’t thought of that. But still, Your Highness, if you were to lose in front of others, your dignity….”
Crack—
Callios snapped.
“…Erilda. Does the head knight have other plans today?”
“Uh… No, he should be training at the barracks….”
“You. Follow me.”
“Are we doing this now?”
“Why, are you scared?”
“Oh, Your Highness, please watch your language….”
“Follow me!”
Boom, boom, Callios stormed out of the room, his steps heavy with agitation.
Yuren rose belatedly and followed him.
Because of the way they exited, Callios didn’t see it, but Erilda did.
Yuren was smiling.
Very happily.
Or perhaps, eerily so.
* * *
The head of the Imperial Knights, Drenor Cheval, received the message while at work.
“Hmm? The crown prince wants me as a witness?”
“Yes, that’s…”
“Ah, I think I get it. Is this about the heir of House Pharos?”
The adjutant nodded.
Those within Callios' faction were well aware.
The rumor was that Callios, having given up on romantic affairs, intended to take the heir of House Pharos as his right-hand man.
There was only one way to bring the Pharos heir into his inner circle—by accepting him as a mentor.
However, Callios already had teachers in all fields.
Someone would have to step aside to make room for Yuren.
Hence, the need for a qualification duel.
“Hmm.”
Although Drenor had always trusted Callios, having watched him grow up, and was confident he wouldn't do anything reckless, this situation was unexpected.
'He's probably looking for an excuse to take him on as a student. But why swordsmanship, of all things?'
It was an easily inferred cause.
In this context, if there were a field where Drenor would serve as a notary, it would be swordsmanship, and the only way to prove that would be through a duel.
But that’s what was puzzling.
If he wanted the man, why choose the hardest path?
Drenor stroked his impressively groomed brown beard and pondered.
'Is there anyone of the same age who could defeat the prince?'
No, not even someone of the same age.
Even bringing in seasoned knights, most of them wouldn’t be able to touch a hair on Callios.
The fact that he was in the middle stage of the Expert level wasn't what mattered.
It was that his swordsmanship was so exceptional that he could instantly grasp his opponent’s technique.
And that wasn't all.
Imperial swordsmanship is a comprehensive secret art passed down only to the royal heirs.
By mastering it, he would naturally have an advantage over any existing swordsmanship.
In short, considering all that, there was no way the young lord of Pharos could defeat him.
If so, the duel would simply be a public execution.
"Hmm…"
What should he do?
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Clara]
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If Callios was playing a nasty trick, Drenor wanted to stop him.
But as his mentor, Drenor had also heard something.
—There's something, something we don't know about the young lord of Pharos.
Just a few days ago, Callios had said that with certainty after regaining his senses.
It was a statement that piqued curiosity.
The look in his eyes wasn’t the gaze of someone planning a cruel prank.
‘In that case…’
There was no method more certain than seeing it with his own eyes.
Drenor made up his mind and nodded.
"Let's go. When did His Highness say the duel was planned for?"
"Right now."
"?"
At that moment,
Knock knock!
A knock at the door.
Then a voice followed.
—C-captain! His Highness is at the training grounds. He requests that you come as quickly as possible…
Is this urgent?
Though Drenor didn’t quite understand the situation, he began to move toward the training grounds.
And there he saw something.
“I greet Your Highness.”
“Ah, thank you for coming.”
Callios, looking somewhat excited.
“I greet you, Commander. I am Yuren of Pharos.”
“Ah…”
Yuren Pharos, with his relaxed demeanor.
His disheveled ashen hair and the sharp, unruly look in his eyes gave off an impression of irritability.
Outwardly, he seemed like a classic troublemaker.
However, a closer look revealed something different.
Drenor’s eyebrows subtly rose.
‘Hmm, that was a clean prayer.’
His physical prowess was lacking, but the flow of mana was impressive.
Was he someone who enjoyed meditation?
If so, there was something certain about it.
‘Could His Highness be right?’
The rumors of him being a scoundrel might be false.
Or it could be the intention of the man himself.
Curiosity welled up within him.
Suppressing it, Drenor asked Callios,
“Are you truly considering taking the young lord as your sword instructor?”
“If he’s qualified, yes. Qualified.”
Drenor couldn't understand why Callios kept repeating the word "qualified."
But it was clear that he wasn't being rational—just from the way Erilda rubbed her temples while looking at him.
‘Could he have been provoked?’
Even so, would someone lose their cool that easily?
No, had the Crown Prince ever been the type to be provoked?
‘...I wouldn't know. I've never tried it.’
Perhaps this was a newfound weakness of Callios.
If Yuren Parros had discovered this, it was something worth acknowledging.
But there was still one thing left.
‘He’s to be a sword instructor. If so, he’ll have to prove it with his sword.’
The reason Drenor, the commander of the Royal Knights, was in charge of Callios's training was simple.
He was the empire's only sword master, and the only person in the imperial capital with a comparable understanding of swordsmanship to Callios.
Whatever personal matters might have arisen, the Crown Prince’s sword instructor was a public office.
In other words, Yuren had to be capable of improving Callios’s swordsmanship.
Drenor intended to judge Yuren purely from a rational perspective, regardless of Callios’s desires.
At that moment—
“Commander, can we start the sparring right away? We're both holding wooden swords here.”
Callios urged him.
Drenor glanced at Yuren.
Yuren swung his wooden sword through the air a couple of times, then nodded and spoke.
“Yes, I believe I’m ready to begin as well.”
There was quite an audience.
Erilda, himself, and the knights of the Royal Guard.
"His Highness will have to exercise restraint."
That was Drenor’s concern at the moment.
“Ah.”
Yuren suddenly spoke.
“Your Highness, could I ask for a promise first?”
“A promise? What is it?”
“That there will be no hard feelings, no matter the outcome of the sparring.”
Grit—
The sound of teeth grinding echoed menacingly.
Drenor was certain.
‘His Highness is weak to provocation.’
That would be a valuable note for future training.
The fact that he was thinking such thoughts meant that Drenor was still certain of Yuren’s defeat.
“Very well. I promise. No! No hard feelings at all!”
Had Callios ever shown such a menacing smile?
The thought that Yuren wouldn’t walk away unscathed became increasingly certain.
And thus, the sparring began.
"Let’s begin."
Boom!
As soon as Drenor spoke, Callios released his mana.
He had no intention of holding back, none at all.
No, more than that, he looked intent on crushing Yuren.
‘Storm Style?’
It was a fierce technique, representative of the empire’s swordsmanship.
Even knights of equal expert rank would sustain injuries from it.
Drenor’s hand moved toward his sword, ready to prevent any disaster.
"Here I come!"
Bang!
Callios struck.
The knights cheered.
But the excitement barely lasted a moment.
Yuren had casually raised his sword, and—
Thud—
The Storm Style was neutralized.
“Huh…?”
Callios’s eyes widened as if they would tear apart.
A startled sound escaped his lips.
The knights, the attendants, even Erilda fell into a stunned silence.
None of them could comprehend the situation.
Except for one person: Drenor.
He held his breath.
Shock, confusion—these emotions filled his mind.
But at the end of it all, what he felt was nothing but awe.
‘What is this?’
A deep sense of astonishment crashed through Drenor’s mind.
It was like someone who had believed the darkness of a cave was all there was to the world, suddenly witnessing the outside world for the first time.
Drenor tried to understand.
‘He didn’t counter it with mana.’
All Drenor had seen was Yuren's nonchalant gaze as he observed Callios’s body, followed by the simple act of raising his sword.
He hadn't felt any great force nullifying Callios’s mana.
And yet, the Storm Style had been blocked.
‘How?’
Even as a sword master, Drenor couldn’t grasp Yuren’s technique.
All he could sense was that it transcended the form of swordsmanship, becoming something more profound.
Unconsciously, Drenor found himself thinking:
‘That…’
Was a swordsmanship he had to see.
A swordsmanship he had to study and replicate.
But no matter how much he studied it, there was no answer to be found.
What Yuren had demonstrated was not merely sword technique, but the concept of "Sword Intent."
It was a concept that had not yet been introduced to the world, one that the Crown Prince would establish ten years later after deep meditation.
In the midst of all this shock,
“If you’re finished, it’s my turn now.”
Yuren struck.
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Clara]
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