Chapter 172 - Damn Reincarnation

The Competition

Ebolt Magius.

He, too, was well acquainted with the rumors about Eugene. A genius hailed as the second coming of Vermouth the Great, Lionheart’s founder. An adopted son, rather than a legitimate blood descendant of the main family.

In other words, all the achievements associated with Eugene Lionheart had been accumulated in just seven years since he first began learning to use mana.

‘... Not merely a prodigiously gifted mage... His talent for martial arts was outstanding enough to convince even the rigid Lionhearts to adopt him.’

Ebolt stopped walking. Measuring the distance between them, he studied Eugene’s face. Twenty years old... Young. Far too young to have made a name for himself across the continent.

“... You’re here to compete, I take it?”

“That’s right.”

Eugene nodded. He did not recognize Ebolt, but the man certainly did not look younger than him, so he politely bowed his head first.

“My name is Eugene Lionheart.”

“Ebolt Magius. I am captain of the White Dragon Knights’ Fourth Division.”

Eugene had suspected as much from the presence the man exuded. So he really was a captain. He raised his head.

Ebolt had no intention of asking what qualified Eugene to stand here. He knew perfectly well that such a question would antagonize the spectators watching with such eager anticipation. Instead, he conspicuously stepped back several paces and tapped the hilt at his waist.

“... How fortunate I am to face the famous young master of Lionheart.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Eugene suppressed a laugh. Wasn’t it obvious? A captain of the White Dragon Knights. A position that practically guaranteed pride in one’s own abilities. He was probably twice Eugene’s age, with more experience and more years of training behind him.

And so Ebolt was prematurely assuming that victory was his. Though Eugene had never appeared in Kiel’s high society, more than enough information about him had already spread throughout the world.

‘No cloak.’

A major part of Eugene Lionheart’s reputation was his versatility, almost inconceivable in someone of twenty. What had brought him widespread fame was his duel in Aroth against Generic Osman, the Green Tower Master. He stored various weapons inside his cloak and switched between them as the situation demanded.

‘... Wynnyd, the Storm Sword. Asphel, the Devouring Sword...’

According to intelligence gathered by the intelligence bureau, he had used “lightning” and “bombardment” when breaking through the barbarians in the Great Forest of Samar. The implication was clear. Pernoa, the Lightning Bow, and Carbos, the Dragon Spear, were inside that cloak as well.

Not even the past heads of Lionheart had ever monopolized four of the family’s treasures. And then there was Akasha, the staff of Senya the Wise... Every one of them was an artifact that warranted custody at a national level.

Taking off the cloak meant he would not be using those artifacts. Eugene’s only weapon now was the sword at his waist.

... Wasn’t it only natural to think this way?

Eugene Lionheart. Ebolt had no intention of doubting his genius. But his “power” was amplified by his ability to wield those extraordinary artifacts freely. Coming out with just one sword, rather than using all the weapons at his disposal, was the rash arrogance of youth.

SHING.

The sword slid free of his waist. He had no intention of conceding the first strike. His Majesty desired a White Dragon victory. Defeating the famed Eugene Lionheart right at the outset would not only crush the White Lion Knights’ morale, but leave a substantial blemish on the Lionheart name.

His decision made, he stepped forward. He did not underestimate his opponent. From the instant he drew his sword, Ebolt was ready for battle. The core he had trained for decades immediately sent mana coursing throughout his body. His sharply awakened senses could read the flow of the wind and even feel the weight of a stray thread landing on his uniform.

Yet he still could not see it.

By the time Ebolt took that one step, Eugene had already closed the entire gap and stood before him. Against such speed, distance was meaningless.

But Eugene had not drawn his sword. He merely stood a few paces in front of Ebolt, silently gazing into his face.

Only belatedly did Ebolt register the situation. That calm golden gaze, the wind arriving in its wake, the crackling flashes of lightning, the scattering white embers,

and the hand merely resting on the sword’s hilt.

“... Ngh...!”

With a strangled grunt, Ebolt dragged his foot backward. At that same instant, slashes filled the space between him and Eugene. The flurry of lightning-fast swordplay made the spectators doubt their own eyes.

But Ebolt wanted to doubt his eyes more than any of them. That hand had only been resting on the hilt a moment ago. When in the world had he drawn? He could not tell. Eugene’s hand was already gripping the hilt, his sword free of its sheath.

It was not flashy. At first glance, the movements seemed disjointed. ... That was precisely why he doubted his eyes. They could not fully keep up with Eugene’s sword. That was what made its movements appear broken. Just when he thought it had swung one way, it was already on the opposite side. When he tried to move his own sword toward where he thought it was, a thrust came from somewhere else entirely.

Nor did it merely look disjointed. The paths of Ebolt’s own swings began to break off. Eugene’s blade intervened from places Ebolt could not comprehend, blocking and cutting off his sword’s course before it could slash or thrust any farther.

‘... What... is this...?’

Ebolt had not intended this. He was not even conscious of it. Helplessly, naturally, as if there were no other choice, his feet began giving ground. The sword his eyes could not follow threatened the senses he had spent a lifetime honing. He would be cut. He was going to be cut. That warning made him retreat unconsciously.

By the time he noticed, he had already backed away ten paces. Had Eugene continued swinging, he would have retreated dozens, even hundreds of steps instead.

“... Ugh...”

He did not understand. What had just happened to him? His mind was in turmoil, his sword hand throbbing. Their blades had clashed dozens, hundreds of times. Not once had he pushed Eugene back. Instead, he had been driven back, tossed about...

Was this... magic? A mental attack that showed illusions and confused the senses...

Ebolt knew perfectly well that it could not be.

‘... Fast. And precise. Far more than I am...’

He acknowledged it. The foot that had done nothing but retreat stepped forward again.

BOOM!

The ground shook violently. Mana surged from Ebolt’s core, enveloping his entire body and seeping into the surrounding space to thicken the mana in the air. That “weight” bore down on Eugene and lent power to Ebolt’s swinging sword.

A slash that seemed capable of cleaving space itself in two. The sword spun in Eugene’s grip.

His blade wavered.

Amid the mounting pressure, Eugene’s sword moved with a freedom impossible to restrain. It was still fast, but unlike before, even the true shape of its slashes was impossible to discern. Mana flowed at tremendous speed. His body, honed and perfected, altered the course of the blade in impossible ways.

It was too dazzling. One swing produced one slash, yet Ebolt could not fathom all the changes woven into that single motion. Nor did it end with one. The slashes connected as though they had been a single entity from the start. What began as swift swordplay had, at some point, become a gentle flow. Contrary to its apparent lightness, immense pressure now bore down on Ebolt instead.

It was like a vast wave of mist rolling toward him. He could not evade it. Could he break through? What would breaking through mist accomplish? Even if he cut his way through, his body would already be enveloped.

WHOOOSH!

Ebolt stopped, unable to advance any farther. He had... no cuts. His sword was intact. His sword force had not been destroyed either. Yet he simply could not take another step.

The “sword” that resembled a wave of mist had stopped right before him. If Eugene had put... even the slightest intent into it, all that mist surrounding him would have become blades and butchered him. His body would have fallen to the ground in dozens, hundreds of scattered pieces.

“... Urgh!”

Unable to hold it in, Ebolt bent over and vomited blood. His body... had not been cut. But his spirit had been hacked to pieces. All he had felt from Eugene’s sword was the despair of facing someone he could never defeat.

“... I... lost...”

“Thank you for the match.”

With a bright smile, Eugene extended his hand toward Ebolt. He meant to offer a handshake, but Ebolt involuntarily hunched his shoulders. Fear had been carved deep into his heart.

“... What a lunatic.”

Carmen shook her head in astonishment. Having fought alongside Eugene against the Rakshasa Princess just a month ago, she had thought she knew his abilities well.

... Had it really only been a month since then? His rate of growth was absurd. He had been unbelievably skilled even then, yet now he was several steps beyond that.

“... Haha...!”

Gilead was equally stunned. Unlike Ebolt, he had not lost sight of Eugene’s sword. But that was because he had been observing from this distance. If... if he faced Eugene at a distance where that sword could strike him directly... would he have been able to follow it as completely as he just had?

“... Magnificent.”

Alchester murmured the word without realizing it. The competition. The confrontation between the two orders. Setting all that aside, the skill Eugene had just displayed set Alchester’s warrior spirit ablaze. He released the reins he had been gripping tightly.

Ebolt, captain of the Fourth Division, was no weakling. He was an expert skilled enough to acquit himself admirably against any of the White Lion Knights.

Yet that same Ebolt had admitted defeat without even getting the chance to swing his sword freely.

... Alchester wanted to dismount immediately and cross blades with that young man. But he knew perfectly well that he must not.

“... Commander.”

“I know.”

Alchester let out a brief sigh.

Plants had been scattered among the spectators to encourage the impression that victory and defeat were not particularly important. But the instant Alchester, commander of the White Dragon Knights, stepped forward, the stakes of this competition would change dramatically.

Even in a contest like this, the opponents had to be of comparable standing.

If Alchester entered, the other side would have to field a knight of equivalent stature. The White Lion Knights’ commander was Grius Miles. Though he had served Lionheart for decades, his standing was slightly below Alchester’s, who was hailed as the empire’s foremost knight.

That did not mean the family head could personally step forward. If Alchester entered, Lionheart would undoubtedly send Carmen. And if that happened... Alchester could not guarantee his own victory.

‘... Even if Lady Carmen doesn’t step forward... this is no occasion for the commander to compete personally.’

To begin with, he had not received the emperor’s permission to participate. Forcing his disappointment aside, Alchester took up his reins again.

After that,

Eugene defeated three more White Dragon Knights without withdrawing. Their matches went much the same way as Ebolt’s. One of the three wielded a spear, but he could not exploit the advantage of its reach at all and was overwhelmed by Eugene’s sword.

All three lost that way. They were beaten so helplessly that they had no choice but to concede.

“Whew, I’m exhausted.”

After four victories, Eugene stepped back, vigorously rubbing his completely sweat-free forehead as though wiping it dry. He could keep fighting, but if he actually did, the White Dragon Knights would have a fit.

In fact, there were already signs of it. The knights beside Alchester looked to be captains like Ebolt, and two of them were worth keeping an eye on.

“Wooooo!”

As Eugene withdrew, the spectators, people of some rank and dignity, let out primal cheers. Amid the flood of applause, tears streamed down Gerhard’s face. Swelling with pride, Raman offered him a handkerchief.

“Who are those two?”

Eugene answered his father’s fervent gaze with a wave. Returning to the White Lion Knights, he asked their commander, Grius.

“Karian Diark, captain of the White Dragon Knights’ First Division, and Deary Diark, captain of their Second Division.”

The same surname. They did not look particularly alike, but they seemed to be brothers.

Eugene flashed a bright smile at the pair, who were still glaring at him as though they wanted to kill him.

* * *

“My son!”

On the way back to the estate,

Gerhard called out to Eugene again and again, trying to embrace him. Of course, Eugene had no desire to touch his father’s tear-soaked beard, so whenever Gerhard approached with his arms spread wide, he summoned a breeze to push him away.

This filled Gerhard with a complicated sadness. Surely, before he came of age, his son had often let himself be held... In truth, Eugene had never willingly submitted to an embrace, but like all parents, Gerhard was letting excessive nostalgia embellish his son’s childhood.

‘Now he pushes me away with wind without even using his hands...!’

Still, the breeze was pleasantly cool, which was nice.

“I was hoping for a clean sweep.”

Carmen clicked her tongue and put a cigar between her lips. The White Lion Knights had won the competition seven to three, but since Eugene accounted for four victories, the two orders themselves had tied at three apiece.

“Please don’t be too displeased. Our opponents were the White Dragon Knights, after all.”

“Family head. Don’t be so soft. Apart from Ebolt, who came out first, none of their captains even competed.”

“Nor did any of the White Lion captains compete except Sir Hezar. And Sir Hezar won.”

“That doesn’t mean we should take the defeats of our ordinary knights lightly. I think we’ll have to increase their training. Grius, you’re old, so you may sit it out.”

PING.

Hearing those words alongside the sound of the Dupont lighter, Grius had to give serious thought to how he should respond. He had served Lionheart for decades and was indeed a grizzled veteran with white streaks in his hair.

But he was slightly younger than Carmen.

“... No. I will join them.”

“An excellent answer. Starting tomorrow, we’ll be eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner in hell.”

Carmen smiled in satisfaction. In truth, she was not in such a bad mood. As her behavior had demonstrated time and again, she enjoyed the attention and enthusiasm of those around her. The applause that had poured forth throughout the competition. Lionheart’s glory. Its restored honor. These were all things Carmen loved.

“... Hey. How did you do that earlier?”

Looking sulky, Cyan slowly guided his horse over to Eugene’s side.

“The book I gave you. Keep working hard at what it says, and you’ll get there.”

Cyan’s face crumpled miserably at that answer. The book Eugene had given him... He was still following its horrific training methods.

Methods that tormented his core relentlessly. Cyan himself was fairly gifted, and since he had not neglected his training, he was slowly beginning to see results. His core like a heart, his mana like blood.

He could manage that to some extent now. But moving his body with mana alone instead of muscle strength was extraordinarily difficult. As for making mana follow his movements without using his core, he could not even begin to grasp it. The core was an organ meant to draw out mana in the first place. How did it make any sense to tell him to stop it and then draw out mana?

“You must have learned all sorts of things from Sir Genos and the other captains too, right?”

“I did, but... uh... you... son of a bitch.”

“Why are you suddenly swearing at me?”

“I thought I’d been working hard, but now it feels like I haven’t been working hard at all, and it’s pissing me off...”

“Sure. Then just work harder.”

Eugene snickered and slapped Cyan on the back.