The root of Sword Technique comes from the combination of sword and technique. Only when one has resonance with the sword can the Sword Technique one performs be considered perfect.
“Is that all?”
Recalling the Sword Technique his older sister had displayed, the power she brought did indeed have a small deviation from Rekulai’s predictions. But if that small deviation were placed on a battlefield, it would become a fatal threat.
“I adapted to using all kinds of weapons long ago. Simply using a sword to produce effects does not make one a qualified Knight Passing By. A true strong person can produce unexpected effects even with an object picked up casually.”
In the seven years since Rekulai’s reincarnation, in every match he had experienced, he discovered a fatal weakness that existed in every magic martial artist in this world. Setting aside the use of swords, when bare-handed, even a powerful expert facing a trained warrior could still have the tables turned on him, because once they lost their weapons, the advantage of the Sword Technique they had learned vanished completely.
This world seemed to have developed fighting techniques other than swords about as much as barbarians had.
In other words, in terms of bare-handed attack techniques alone, Rekulai might have already reached the strongest among humans in this world.
His physical qualities were still lacking, but that was due to age, and there were ways to make up for it.
The sword arts and Sword Techniques he used, and even developed, all originated from martial arts inherited over several hundred or even a thousand years from his previous life.
He had long since adapted to performing Sword Techniques without forming a contract with a sword. The Sword Technique system he developed could even be passed to ordinary people without contracts, and they would still be able to use it.
These were all fruits of his effort. Was that really okay? “I think it’s still necessary to get a suitable sword and form a contract.”
“It doesn’t matter how strong the sword is, as long as it looks cool enough when paired with my Sword Technique.”
“No.”
Rekulai stood atop the roof of his house and grinned.
“As long as it’s cool, it’s right. As long as it fits the mysterious and powerful Knight Passing By, it satisfies my need for a contract sword.”
…..
Time flew by. In the days that followed, Rekulai kept up his daily basic training during the day and disguised himself well, remaining a so-called background extra in front of his father and older sister. When night began, he would run out of the manor alone and search for opponents in the wild. If he encountered goblins or bandits, he would transform into the Handsome Bandit Slayer and wipe them out, conveniently freeing the slaves inside. As payment, he took the stolen goods for himself as start-up funds for his subsequent night outings.
A truly fulfilling life.
At least, that was what Rekulai thought at the time.
……
“Nightfall…. The time of my revival is near…”
Under the bright moonlight, inside the viscount’s house, a youth dressed in black walked about as he pleased.
“Mm. This makes it seem a bit more stylish.”
Rekulai walked on like that, wearing a black-purple hooded robe that shrouded most of his face and head in shadow. The edges of the hood and coat both had gilded stripes. From under the shadow of the hood, only his fair cheeks could be seen, along with the tips of his hair swinging freely with the wind blowing in from outside the window.
“I never expected that after searching outside for two whole years, I still wouldn’t find a single sword to my satisfaction.”
“What a failure of a life.”
“Do I really have to search in the Royal Capital’s Secret Realm? But that would cause too much of a commotion and wouldn’t fit the Knight Passing By persona.”
At nine years old, Rekulai had completely mastered the abilities of mana solidification and mana shaping. With that, he could weave the mana garment he liked according to the images in his mind. This kind of precise control was something even people outside could not master.
Even so, he was still troubled by not having found his ideal sword.
Simply put, he gave up those actions.
Instead, he turned his thoughts to the situation at home.
“Speaking of which, the Caterina Family didn’t seem to have this name before, and at first they didn’t hold office in the Obero Kingdom either. They seemed to be quite a powerful great family. It seems that in the middle, their line declined and suffered a gap, the family began to split apart and scatter in all directions. In the end, reduced to poverty, they came to the kingdom in his great-grandfather’s generation, won great military merits, and were granted a viscount title.”
“The family Cellar has never been searched through, though. Let’s see if I can find a sword that looks relatively cool.”
With the idea of finding a prop to show off, Rekulai stepped into the Cellar one step at a time.
The Cellar was damp and dim, and the smell of mold mixed with the pungent odor of aged alcohol rushed at him. Rekulai walked down step by step, his boot soles stepping on accumulated water and making sticky sounds. He found it hard to imagine that a family once so illustrious had now fallen to such a state.
Rekulai pinched his nose and walked around several fallen wine barrels. His attention was quickly drawn by something unusual in the corner—the brick seams there were neater than elsewhere, as if they had been opened and closed repeatedly.
“There seems to be a hidden door.”
He activated Spirit Vision, and a pale purple film of light covered his field of view, quickly sweeping across the entire wall. After a moment, the outline of a mechanism emerged behind the brick and stone. He reached out and pressed it, and the stone wall slid inward without a sound.
“This should be our family’s Warehouse.”
Rekulai turned sideways and walked in.
All around were display cabinets, exhibiting many badges and proofs of family glory, as well as some magic books that had already yellowed and had probably not been opened for who knew how long. What was more, he even saw that the family had stored some indescribable reading material in the Warehouse? Things like <Another Man’s Wife><Secret ** Lovemaking>…
“What is this? Our ancestors really weren’t picky.” Rekulai quickly shifted his gaze away from them and joked.
What if there might be some great opportunity hidden inside?
That thought flashed through his mind.
Then he shook his head vigorously.
No, if that were the case, my ancestors would be far too unsuccessful.
Besides, the pages of the other books had all yellowed, but these books had not. They had clearly been maintained.
Even if there was an opportunity, it should have been discovered long ago.
Would he lack opportunities? A true strong person would find a way himself.
What a sneaky, petty thought. It seems my training is still insufficient.
Rekulai shook his head helplessly and continued walking deeper into the darkness. Because the environment was dark, it easily affected his vision. He stretched out his palm and gathered a ball of purple flame with mana, and soon his field of view gradually returned to normal.
Walking further in, deeper inside was a very narrow stone staircase. At the end of the stairs, it suddenly opened up. It seemed this was where the Caterina Family’s weapons, collected and passed down to the present, were stored.
On the iron racks, layer upon layer, sabers, swords, spears, and halberds were arranged neatly. Even covered in dust, the cold gleam of metal still leaked through the gaps.
Rekulai’s gaze swept over a row of long sabers, then fell on a longsword lying across the rack. Its blade was narrow and thin, gold thread was wrapped around the guard, and fine gems were inlaid in the hilt, giving off a soft luster under the faint light of Spirit Vision.
It was a treasured sword made of a special metal, with excellent mana conduction. It seemed to have been awarded to his grandfather by the kingdom in his grandfather’s generation.
He reached out, picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and put it back.
“Something solid but unadorned.”
“Eh.”
“Is there really not a single sword I need?”
Rekulai was about to turn and leave, when by coincidence, he tripped over something and fell to the ground. What was it?
He got up somewhat suspiciously and aimed the light in his hand downward.
A Black Broken Sword, its blade cracked, gave off a cold, chilling gleam under the light.
Faint traces of rust could still be seen on it.
The sedimentation of time, that unwanted sense of brokenness—if it were nourished through mana strengthening, perhaps it could still be used.
He picked it up and swung it in his hand. It gave the impression that it was about to shatter at any moment, yet it simply did not break.
“A good thing. This sense of brokenness, this feeling that although it is scrap metal, it still gives off an antique beauty with a historical background—isn’t that exactly the aura I want?”
“Wow, so cool! You’re the one, my contract sword!”
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