Chapter 46
The Boy’s Transformation
Rumors spread throughout the estate that Isaac had returned from Vinfelt completely changed.
But most people did not welcome that change.
In what seemed like an instant, a twelve-year-old boy had grown into the body of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old adult.
Though he still had room to grow and retained a youthful look, the servants of the estate found his transformation unsettling.
There were many reasons, but the greatest was the fear of another mana explosion.
Even before his body had grown, his mana eruptions had frightened many and caused injuries both large and small.
Now that he was bigger… it was only natural for them to think the explosion might be even greater.
And on top of that, his appetite had become far more demanding.
“Bring more meat. Quickly. I’m hungry.”
In the past, he never complained about meals no matter what was served.
The head chef had taken pride in that—after all, satisfying Isaac, who had once behaved like a madman and was still feared, was no small feat.
But after Isaac’s return from Vinfelt, the chef had been forced to drastically change parts of the menu.
***
In truth, the ones most troubled by Isaac’s change were the soldiers stationed at the estate.
“Mind if I use the training grounds with you?”
“How do you usually train? Can I join in?”
On the very first day after returning—having finished bathing and eating—Isaac showed up at the training grounds.
It was a difficult situation.
With neither the Count nor the steward present, the young master suddenly insisted on joining their training.
The soldiers were caught in a dilemma.
Refuse him, and he might get angry and explode.
Accept him, and he might get angry during training and explode.
More than anything, they couldn’t ignore the presence of the hell wolf lying nearby, belly flat against the ground, watching from a distance.
What if Isaac got even slightly hurt or irritated during training?
Who knew if that massive wolf would rip their heads off?
“Don’t worry. He’s gentle.”
Isaac reassured them, but not a single soldier believed him.
“My father’s permission? It’s fine. While he’s away, I’m acting head of the house.”
With fewer and fewer reasons to refuse, and Isaac being relentlessly persistent,
the soldiers eventually had no choice but to face what felt like a ticking mana bomb.
***
But contrary to their expectations, the first to “explode”… were the soldiers themselves.
“That’s all you’ve got?”
It began with Isaac finding their training boring.
The soldiers ran along narrow forest paths around the estate, carrying baskets filled with heavy stones on their backs.
Unlike proper roads, the path was uneven—low hills, gravel stretches, rough terrain.
Even soldiers who trained daily were exhausted after just one lap.
They had assumed Isaac would give up before even entering the trail.
After all, some of the more mischievous soldiers had filled his basket not only with stones, but with chunks of iron as well.
A typical initiation ritual for newcomers.
***
Yet Isaac finished the grueling run and remained standing.
He didn’t vomit.
He didn’t even utter a single complaint.
Though he was sweating and breathing heavily like the others, it didn’t look like someone who had just run uphill with a heavy load.
It was more like he had casually jogged around the estate garden a few times.
In fact, he looked satisfied.
“Easier than I expected. What’s next?”
That single remark made veins bulge on the soldiers’ foreheads.
To them—who had not heard of the battle at Vinfelt—Isaac was just a big-bodied brat.
Most of them had served in Winterband, foreign armies, or various mercenary groups.
They were veterans of many battles.
And yet Isaac had just looked down on their training.
***
“Sparring.”
A senior soldier answered.
The soldiers’ eyes burned with hostility.
Though their origins and reasons for being here differed, they all shared the same thought now:
We’ll crush this brat.
Isaac, seeing their expressions, curled his lips into a grin.
“Now this should be fun.”
***
The soldiers were eager.
They wanted to humble him—to show him how cold and high the wall of reality truly was.
But in the end, it was they who ran into that wall.
***
“Aaargh!”
A soldier swung his wooden sword downward.
Isaac leaned back, easily avoiding the strike, then stepped forward with his rear foot and charged, shifting his weight.
Their bodies collided.
No sound echoed outward, but the soldier felt as if every bone in his body had been struck.
He barely regained his balance—only to realize he had been pushed back three steps.
By the time he tried to reset his stance, it was already too late.
Isaac’s wooden sword was resting against his neck.
“That’s all you’ve got?”
The soldier’s face twisted with anger.
But he had no choice.
“I… lost.”
“Next.”
***
One after another, the soldiers challenged Isaac.
And every time, they lost in the same way.
***
None of the soldiers were smaller than Isaac.
They knew how important size was in close combat, so they always ate well and trained hard.
Yet in sparring, they were always pushed back.
Whenever they collided with Isaac’s body, it felt like slamming into a boulder.
***
“He fights like a tribesman…”
The senior soldiers found his style familiar.
They had served in Winterband, where many warriors came from border tribes.
Those fighters used their massive builds and sturdy bodies to create unpredictable outcomes in battles fought with blades and shields.
Isaac fought exactly like that.
Like a veteran who had spent decades in battle.
“Who was that guy’s name again? Ragnar? Bjorn? Didn’t those berserkers fight like this?”
“What the hell did he go through in Vinfelt?”
***
What truly shocked them wasn’t just the tribal style.
It was the refined swordsmanship mixed within it.
His blade flowed like water—attack becoming defense, defense becoming attack.
Yet for the opponent, it was incredibly difficult to predict.
Because Isaac’s style constantly changed.
One moment, he wielded the wooden sword like a blade.
The next, he swung it like an axe, cleaving through the air with brute force.
Soldiers accustomed to the speed and technique of swordplay found themselves overwhelmed by his strength—and by strikes that came half a beat too fast or too slow.
And worse—his weapon wasn’t limited to the wooden sword.
***
“Hah!”
A soldier launched a clean upward strike straight from the training manual.
But he immediately realized his mistake.
Instead of blocking or deflecting, Isaac stepped forward—closing the distance in an instant.
The soldier’s arm was trapped under Isaac’s armpit, completely immobilized.
With his free hand, Isaac grabbed the soldier’s wrist and twisted.
“—Ah!”
The soldier screamed and dropped his wooden sword.
This was the fifth opponent—one of the most skilled veterans guarding the estate.
***
The soldiers’ expressions changed.
Sword wrestling was described in many manuals, but it wasn’t very practical in real combat.
At best, it appeared occasionally in one-on-one duels.
On a chaotic battlefield, trying something like that would get you stabbed in the side.
Especially against knights who wielded mana—it was pointless.
They would overpower you and never even allow you close enough to attempt such a move.
That’s why it required immense confidence, strength, and understanding of the human body to even try it.
Yet Isaac had done it effortlessly—and disarmed his opponent.
***
“Next. Next! Anyone else!?”
No one stepped forward.
All the soldiers—more than a dozen—had been defeated.
***
“I suppose I’ll be the last.”
One voice broke the silence.
The soldier, clutching his throbbing wrist, answered.
“Is that so? That’s rather disappointing. I’ll have to put in more effort.”
Isaac smacked his lips in mild dissatisfaction.
His muttered remark—clearly meant to be heard—made the soldiers grit their teeth and clench their fists.
The humiliation was anything but light.
“Looking forward to tomorrow.”
The soldiers didn’t know how to take the situation.
A twelve-year-old child.
A boy who had never properly learned swordsmanship, who had suffered from the peculiar condition of mana overflow.
And yet, that same boy had returned as the lord of Vinfelt and subdued every soldier in the estate.
Though it had only been sparring—and though some of the early opponents had held back—the moment they were defeated, the rest had fought with everything they had.
Even so, they lost.
They instinctively knew that even in real combat, the result would have been the same.
Had the young master, who had grown like a sheltered greenhouse plant, become a genius swordsman after his time in Vinfelt?
Watching Isaac’s retreating figure as he left the training ground, each soldier was lost in thought.
Because of that, none of them properly heard his final words.
***
There were three reasons Isaac had provoked the soldiers.
First, they were suitable opponents to test his strength.
Carlson and Besimer were too strong, while the Vinfelt soldiers—who had never trained under Fikel—were too weak.
In contrast, the estate soldiers were veterans in human combat.
They had been personally selected by the Count.
Their skill was far from lacking, and they did not neglect their training.
They took pride in protecting Goethe and were deeply loyal to the Count.
They were the perfect sparring partners for Isaac to loosen up.
The combat techniques he had learned from the Wolf King, and the swordsmanship he had learned from Lucas—
He had long been curious how those two would blend in real combat.
He was also curious about how the mana, now flowing throughout his body after using the Wolf King’s rune stone, would affect him physically.
The rune stone had not simply enlarged Isaac’s body.
Without him realizing it, the mana that had once remained confined within his core now spread throughout his body, reinforcing his joints and muscles.
Just as the Wolf King had been, and as Besimer was,
the reason the Baitur tribe was such a powerful warrior people was because they instinctively knew how to use mana—
much like knights wielded aura.
From that perspective, the first round of sparring had been highly satisfying.
Isaac had found a clue as to how to utilize his newfound abilities.
***
Second, it was to stimulate the estate soldiers.
They were certainly skilled—but from Isaac’s perspective, they still had a long way to go.
War was approaching.
And Goethe was not in a position to easily increase its number of troops.
They would have to fight as one against a hundred.
They needed motivation to grow stronger.
***
Third, it was about shaping Isaac’s public image.
Zik von Goethe—the man who had once burned the royal capital—possessed the peculiar trait known as mana overflow.
Isaac had inherited that legacy.
The moment he used magic, the entire family would be put in danger.
But he could not simply remain hidden, working only behind the scenes.
To avoid suspicion while still acting as needed, Isaac required a carefully crafted public reputation.
One image was that of a genius swordsman.
The other, that of a madman.
Those two reputations would grant him the freedom to move as he wished.
Of course, he didn’t need to act like a madman in front of everyone.
***
“There was an ancestor named Zik von Goethe. He was the first—and last—person in history to reach the 10th class. A transcendent being.”
Inside the family library, Isaac told Jonas an old story.
Normally, such knowledge could only be accessed by the head of the house.
But Jonas, who would one day inherit that position, was better off knowing sooner.
It would weigh heavily on his shoulders—
but it would also become the driving force for him to grow faster.
Though it might seem harsh, it was ultimately for Jonas’s sake.
“…The royal capital burned, and Goethe was driven out to this frontier.”
“Really? So that’s why…?”
Jonas’s childish face, still soft with baby fat, filled with shock.
It was a secret too heavy for someone his age to fully understand,
yet Jonas listened intently—befitting someone destined to lead.
“How do you know all this, hyung?”
“It was written in Father’s private study. And… it seems that the same peculiar trait of Zik von Goethe has manifested in me.”
“…Then… will the people in the capital be afraid of you?”
“If it becomes known… the entire family would be in danger.”
“That’s not good. That can’t happen. Ever.”
“Right. So, Jonas—this is a secret between just you and me.”
“Mm. A secret. I won’t tell. Never, ever, ever.”
Jonas covered his lips with his small finger.
Isaac let out a soft chuckle.
***
“Hyung.”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll become strong. I’ll get strong enough to protect Father, Mother, you… everyone here.”
Jonas spoke with a strangely resolute voice.
“…Alright. I’ll be counting on you.”
Smiling, Isaac ruffled Jonas’s curly blond hair.
He was admirable—and bright.