Chapter 28

Ian Leinrant (2)

Bang! Bang! Bang!

As the sunset hung over the horizon, scattering brilliant colors across the sky, the sound of hammering rang clearly from the second-floor wall of the Leinrant mansion.

"Argh!"

...Along with Ian's scream after smashing his own finger instead of the nail.

"No, seriously, what kind of lunatic makes a blind man do construction work?!"
"Then you shouldn't have broken it in the first place."
"Then should I go down the stairs at my age?! The great Ian Leinrant has his pride!"
"What pride does a wanted criminal even have?"

Watching the brothers bicker from early morning, a voice drifted through my mind.

— Those brats haven't changed a bit, even after growing past fifty.

It was Rudel, the father of the two brothers, now a Death Knight.

'He said he died young when Heinkel turned twenty.'

Recalling the years of his birth and death, I took a sip of tea.

"Maybe not Heinkel, but you must've seen Ian often."

— But this is the first time I've seen them fool around like this. If not for you, I never would've seen a sight like this again.

Rudel laughed aloud as he watched his two children, both now nearing sixty.

His laugh sounded empty, almost dazed.
And yet, in the eyes of the father watching them, there was unmistakable pride.

— Honestly... they're no different from when they were children.

"...Is that so."

I accepted his words and took another sip of tea.

Not every soul remaining in the mortal world possesses self-awareness.

What remains in a soul is merely the fragment of its identity and lingering regrets from life.
It is the role of the necromancer to grant that soul an ego and give shape to its desires.

'A necromancer uses souls to wield power, and in return the souls experience and perceive the world through the necromancer's eyes and ears.'

The transaction between the dead and the living was an exchange of the soul's power for the existence of the living.
In other words, the scenery I saw and the sounds I heard were experienced by Rudel exactly the same way.

"Do you resent me?"

— Resent you, Wol?

Without meeting Rudel's gaze, I spoke.

"I captured your granddaughter and turned her into an undead."

Even if she had fallen. Even if she had become a monster.
That did not mean she ceased to be family.

When I mentioned Helian and her son Hector, Rudel, leaning against the window, remained silent for a long while.

— The thing sitting atop Paul Wyvern Castle now is no longer Helian.

— As a necromancer, you should know that best.

After hearing his answer at last, I nodded.

The wooden fragment the Banshee had given me.
More precisely, the crimson liquid staining that fragment.

"If a living person consumed that, they could no longer be called human."

As soon as I said that, Rudel's voice came again.

— If one strays from the righteous path, then they are no longer Leinrant. That's the conclusion I came to.
...
— So there's no need for you to concern yourself with it, Archimond.

At Rudel's words, a hollow laugh escaped me.

"Ha! Concern myself?"

Shrugging exaggeratedly, I continued.

"The great Archimond would concern himself with the descendants of the enemy who stabbed a blade through my heart? Ridiculous."

I had only asked because I wondered if he might lose control.
There was no other meaning to it.

Saying that, I brought the teacup back to my lips.

— Good. Then I'm relieved, if that's truly how you think.

After replying to my loud declaration, Rudel vanished.

And when his presence had completely faded—

"Young Master! I brought the books!"

With a lively voice, Arin burst into my room.

'I keep telling her to knock before entering. She never listens.'

Thinking that, I pointed toward one side of the desk.

"Put them in front of the desk over there. I got some cookies too, so take them."
"Okaaay~!"

Arin stacked the pile of books—almost as tall as herself—onto one corner of the desk, then grabbed the bag of cookies and looked at me.

"Young Master. Young Master."

"What are you doing holding an empty teacup?"

At her words, I froze for a moment and looked down at the teacup in my hand.

"Haa..."

A short sigh.

Then I looked once more at the sunset disappearing beyond the horizon.

"Seriously... what am I even doing right now?"

"Stop! That's enough!"

Early morning, training grounds.

The two who had been sparring nonstop for thirty minutes were Ian and Delline, who had returned from the Wall.

"Haa...! Haa...!"

Unlike Ian, whose breathing remained perfectly steady, Delline was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.

"You have excellent talent."

Though Ian praised him, the bored look in his eyes did not change.

"Your mana capacity, physique, and straight sword path. As the heir of a knightly house, you couldn't ask for better talent."
"Whew, thank you, Uncle!"

The moment Ian praised him, Delline sprang back up as if he had never been exhausted.

'Wow, he already recovered?'

Endless stamina and mana, as though drawn from an inexhaustible spring.

After sheathing his sword and walking toward Ian, Delline looked every bit the image of a Leinrant knight.

"Your swordsmanship was incredible. There was clearly only one opponent, yet it felt as though countless swordsmen were chaining attacks together..."
"Heh, unlike this rude brat over here, this one's actually polite."

Pointing at me as he said that, Ian reviewed the spar with Delline and freely offered advice.

"In the first charge, you feinted toward the side. Do you know why I saw through it?"
"That's..."

As Delline fell silent in thought, Ian opened his mouth.

"Your gaze."
"My gaze?"
"Exactly."

Answering him, Ian raised his sword and slowly traced the sword path.

"Your movement was aimed toward the side like this, but your gaze stayed forward, so it gave you away."

The moment he said that—

Tap.

Ian's scabbard lightly touched Delline's left leg.

"Ah...!"

Apparently not noticing until then, Delline hurriedly pulled his body back.

"See? Even if someone's blind, when your gaze gives a signal, the body reacts on its own."
"Mm."

Only then realizing what had happened, Delline let out a sound of understanding.

"Just like what happened to me."

According to Heinkel, Delline had already reached a level close to that of a knight commander.
And yet this swordsman toyed with Delline as if he were a child.

Seeing that, I could understand how Ian had single-handedly annihilated his own knight order—the Golden Wings, composed entirely of commander-class knights.

"Now that you've experienced it once, be careful next time. You seem likely to surpass even Heinkel, so just keep going like this."
"Th-thank you!"

A spar against someone considered equal to, or even beyond, Heinkel.
For Delline, who had only trained within limited circumstances until now, it would surely become a valuable stimulus.

"From the looks of it, there shouldn't be any problem with the next Duke of Leinrant."

After confirming Delline had left, Ian rose from his seat.

"Your words and expression didn't really match."
"Was it that obvious?"
"Delline didn't notice."

At that, Ian shrugged as if saying, 'Then that's all that matters.'

"It wasn't a lie. If that brat Heinkel keeps guiding him, he'll become a knight beyond either me or Heinkel."
"Then wouldn't it be better to teach Delline instead of me?"

At my question, Ian shook his head.

"A kid like that is completely incompatible with me. Sparring is one thing, but I can't teach him. And besides..."
"And besides?"

When I pressed him after he trailed off, Ian grinned.

"He's talented, sure. But he's boring."
"...Boring?"
"Yeah. Boring."

With those final words, Ian stood and drew his sword.

"Delline's talent is excellent, but it isn't special. You're the exact opposite."

In other words, my talent was special, but not excellent.

'He's right. Even if I master every technique, I still lack the most important thing—mana.'

If technique increased the precision of a sword, mana increased its power.

The overwhelming might to slice through armor like tofu and cleave castle gates apart entirely.
Without that, the efficiency of my talent would plummet drastically.

"But your talent, to me, is treasure."

Saying that, Ian pointed his sword at me.

"The techniques I used just now. You memorized all of them, didn't you?"

Gone was the kind teacher-like demeanor he had shown Delline.
Instead, he looked like someone who had discovered a brand-new toy.

"Did you spar with Delline from the start just to show me those techniques?"

As I walked toward the training grounds and asked that, Ian snickered.

"Knew you'd catch on fast."

The moment his answer reached me, I charged forward.

Clang—!

"Good! Not even the slightest error!"

Ian's voice rose in satisfaction.

At the very least, this time I intended to leave at least one scratch on that smug face of his.

. . .

Heinkel's study.

While examining the documents Klein had brought back, Heinkel slowly frowned.

"This information isn't wrong, is it?"

Without taking his eyes off the papers, he asked the question, and the butler Berkman answered.

"At the same time Duchess Helian returned to Paul Wyvern Castle, the young masters scattered across the border regions have also begun returning."
"To bring back the sons who were pushed aside in the power struggle means..."
"It means something has happened to Young Master Hector."

Hearing Berkman's words, Heinkel rested his chin on his hand.

The information had arrived the very moment Klein returned from Helian's villa.

'Helian's sons are gathering in Paul Wyvern.'

"Surely Young Master Klein didn't...?"
"You're probably right."

Answering Berkman, Heinkel held out the documents on his desk.
It was the report Klein had submitted after receiving Helian's invitation.

"This is..."
"It contains the faction structure of the current Paul Wyvern ducal house, troop deployments, and even the flow of funds."

Berkman's eyes widened at those words.

Which meant that nearly all of the opposing side's critical information had fallen into Leinrant's hands.

"Your Grace. Then does that mean Young Master Klein...?"
"No. Not exactly."

Heinkel shook his head as he looked over the documents.

"There's no way someone could gather and organize this much detailed information in just one week. This is information accumulated over at least half a year."
"And the fact that such information came into our possession means..."
"That he recruited an insider. An insider capable of leaking this level of classified information."

It was staggering.

For a fifteen-year-old young master to infiltrate the depths of a hostile house and survive was already close to miraculous.

But Klein had not stopped there.
He had returned with both intelligence essential for future struggles over power and allies of his own.

"Then could Young Master Hector's death also be...!"
"It's not certain, but it's possible."

Having finished his thoughts, Heinkel rose from his seat.

For thirty years, the main and branch families had remained divided because of Helian, while the Empire manipulated them from the shadows.

And during all that time, no one in Leinrant had ever achieved something like this.

Because they were knights, not strategists.
A stubborn group who possessed nothing but their swords.

"I'll have to speak with him. Where is Klein right now?"

At Heinkel's question, Berkman immediately answered.

"He is at the training grounds with Sir Ian. They are currently sparring."
"Right. Brother..."

As his thoughts reached Ian, Heinkel's expression twisted.

Ian and Klein's first clash.
The technique Klein had used there was undoubtedly Rudel Leinrant's Phantom Sword.
The technique of their dead father.

'He used a forgotten technique that even I failed to master. Then could it be that Klein actually... Father?'

The moment that thought surfaced, disgust and revulsion surged through him.

The necromancy engraved into his common sense was an evil art that defied the natural order.
And if such a thing had been turned upon his own father, then even if the culprit were his son, he could not forgive it.

'Brother is probably thinking the same thing.'

It was just as he accepted the coat Berkman handed him—

Crash—!

A deafening roar shattered the drowsy silence of the afternoon.

The sound of glass breaking.
The clash of weapons.

Unlike the sounds of Ian and Klein sparring that had been heard earlier, these belonged to strangers.

"Intruders! All knights, protect the young master!"

If the noise had come from inside the mansion, then the knights guarding the perimeter had already been dealt with.

The moment Heinkel grabbed his sword and rushed outside, he spotted figures running across the rooftops.

"Those are...?"

A sun-cross emblem engraved in the center of their completely shaved heads.

The instant Heinkel saw it, sparks flashed in his eyes.

The very people who had ruined young Klein's life by branding him as the reincarnation of Archimond.

Emotionless killing machines of the Order.

The Inquisitors.