“I’ve been touring the training grounds these past few days. Everywhere I went, the only talk was of you, Aiden.”
“Are the knights gossiping behind my back, saying I’m playing house by bringing my clueless personal maid to the grounds?”
“At first, I thought so too.”
But.
Ebel began thus, then continued while gazing at me with deep eyes.
“As it turns out, it was the opposite. The evaluations from a few months ago, stained only with slander, now seemed like lies; everyone was showing respect toward you and anticipating your growth. It appears you’ve properly won the hearts of the order’s members.”
“Moreover, you received the Struggle Seal from me. For now, only the family kin and the Utland father-daughter know, but it’s only a matter of time before this spreads outside. Do you realize what kind of ripple that will create?”
I know it well.
As Ebel says, the handover of the Struggle Seal is by no means ordinary. Rather, it’s an issue hot enough to set the entire continent ablaze. It might even go beyond mere fame and bring real repercussions.
For example, talk might arise that the sword-genius second son is more suitable as heir to a martial house than the politically inclined eldest.
I hadn’t thought much of it until now, but looking back, it’s a situation perfectly ripe for misunderstanding.
“Nevia Lilu Arielti was Foden’s second wife, not a concubine. It’s close to sophistry, but you also have the right to claim you are another firstborn.”
Come to think of it, there was such a setting.
Decades ago, the third prince of Croa Kingdom, born to the second wife, spouted the exact same sophistry to claim legitimacy. After fierce intrigue, he ultimately succeeded in seizing the throne from the eldest—that would be His Majesty the previous king of Croa.
Since such a precedent exists not in some other country but right in the neighboring superior state, it’s not entirely unrealistic for me to belatedly enter the succession race.
I feigned ignorance and said.
“I don’t understand the gist of your words.”
“Hah, so you’re choosing your words carefully now? If you wish, I’ll become your guardian, staking the name of a Continent’s Twelve Hero and the Liperta commander.”
Ebel Stroke is famous for his straightforward speech. This is probably not a probe but a genuine offer.
After staring at Ebel for a moment, I smirked and opened my mouth.
“You seem to be misunderstanding something, great-uncle. I have no interest in the ducal seat.”
“Then why did you demand the Struggle Seal as the wager’s prize? Was it truly not to spread your martial fame and gather the admiration of northern knights?”
“My apologies, but I have no such grand intentions. I just thought life would be more comfortable with it.”
“Huh…”
Ebel stared at me with a dumbfounded expression for a long while, then tched and said.
“Tch, I thought a fellow far more fitting for the ducal seat than that scrawny Litton had finally appeared. But you’re nothing but a wastrel. My judgment isn’t worth much after all.”
So that’s why he was trying to stir a storm of blood in the family. Truly a simple-minded northerner’s way of thinking.
“Let’s bury this conversation.”
“Hmph. Do as you please.”
Ebel left the training room without another word. Watching his retreating back, I momentarily set down the wooden sword and fell into thought.
“Grand Duke of Stroke.”
In truth, I hadn’t completely dismissed the idea of ascending to the ducal seat. Ebel doesn’t know the future, but in a few years, when Litton and Foden die, the succession rights will naturally fall to me.
Prepare for the future with a stable foundation and authority at my back. At first glance, an attractive option.
But it’s not all good.
If I become grand duke, days drowning in duties will inevitably repeat. Naturally, my range of movement will be severely restricted.
Actively roaming the world to personally collect elixirs or talents will also become difficult.
Moreover, the scale of the Stroke Duchy itself is a concern. If the body I possessed had been the second imperial prince of the Wible Empire, maybe, but with merely a duchy’s power, preparing for the events to come is impossible.
“On the other hand, if I leave the family and rough it for a few years, I can rise to a position with zero responsibility yet full authority to wield as I wish.”
I form a faction centered on myself and rapidly grow its power using the future knowledge in my head. In a few years at most, I could build a force with international influence.
While doing physical training with Linia at the grounds, Ebel suddenly showed up.
I entrusted her training to the nearby Linfred—Linia’s face turned pale, sensing trouble—and greeted my great-uncle.
“What business do you have this time?”
“I came out of personal curiosity. Just what did you do in the previous duel to break Energy Armor?”
As expected, the name of a Twelve Hero is no empty title.
Others who watched the duel merely guessed that my mana was stronger than an elite knight’s and let it slide, but Ebel seems to have somewhat grasped the utility of Resonance Shatter Art.
“By chance, I connected with a hidden master and was able to privately learn an extraordinary realm.”
“Tch, so you learned some shady technique from a rootless fellow. It may seem effective now, just entering the martial path, but if you keep relying on such shortcuts, becoming a great swordsman will be impossible.”
“…What did you say?”
“The saying is that to reach the ultimate realm, you must thoroughly hone only the basics. So from today, keep your hands off that bizarre technique. It’s a petty trick that won’t work on true experts anyway.”
I almost laughed in disbelief.
To call Resonance Shatter Art a petty trick—Estriel would snap this old man’s neck the moment he heard it.
It seems Ebel mistook the Resonance Shatter Art I used for a ‘disruption-type’ realm that scatters the opponent’s energy. Disruption-type is surprisingly useful yet almost unknown in the setting. Despite high acquisition difficulty, it became obsolete because it doesn’t work at all against opponents with mana or energy far stronger than average.
But there’s no need to explain all that to Ebel.
“I’ll engrave great-uncle’s advice deep in my heart.”
After giving a perfunctory reply, I resumed running the training grounds for physical conditioning.
Ebel, bearer of the 『Sword Sovereign (S+)』 trait, is a swordsman who has reached the pinnacle of blunt swordsmanship. Having climbed to the supreme position of Continent’s Twelve Hero by the method he believes right, he possesses fitting pride and arrogance.
But the martial studies he possesses are not absolute truth.
For starters, this world has quite a few powerhouses at Twelve Hero level or above, and among them are several who focused solely on the “petty tricks” Ebel scorns.
Someone ignorant might ask, “Aren’t the Twelve Heroes roughly the top 12 on the Prima continent?”
But any reader who finished all four parts of this power-inflated novel would snort at that.
First, the selection criteria by the Struggle Church, the body that chooses the Twelve Heroes, are extremely vague; publicly, they claim to consider combat ability, fame, achievements, influence, etc., comprehensively.
In other words, those quietly training in remote mountains, not publicly known like Estriel, already retired and unable to accumulate clear achievements, or disliked by each nation’s influential figures are eliminated from candidacy no matter how strong.
Though shady, the amount of political pressure from each faction or bribes slipping into the judges’ pockets also greatly influences the selection.
According to the setting book, the minimum requirement to enter Twelve Heroes candidacy is ‘level 50 or higher.’ Basically, anything above that is influenced by external factors like politics or fame.
Because of this, Reca Chronicles readers commonly called the Twelve Heroes ‘combat power gauges.’
A nickname that naturally brings a wry smile, but I think it fits perfectly. The lowest seat among the Twelve Heroes is exactly the borderline for being called super-first-rate in this world.
Level 40+ is quasi-Twelve Hero tier.
Level 50+ is Twelve Hero tier.
Level 60+ is Triple Star tier.
That was the combat power tier classification circulating among readers.
And in my personal ranking of the Twelve Heroes’ strength, Ebel was 8th—mid-lower tier. There are at least 100 such powerhouses on the Prima continent alone.
As a possessor, I objectively knew this fact, so I could filter Ebel’s advice appropriately.
But…
“Why did you arbitrarily mix variations into the 7th sword form? The current you cannot treat the swordsmanship so lightly!”
“Your energy breathing is disrupted! Focus immediately!”
“Remember! When unfolding the 5th sword form, always draw a straight and rigid sword path.”
Yet this man, oblivious that I’m ignoring him, tirelessly followed and gave pointers.
From the way he talks about disciples and such, he seems genuinely interested in me, but meddling in every little thing is driving me insane.
“…Ah, seriously.”
The knights seemed to romantically accept it as the current Twelve Hero imparting teachings to a future Twelve Hero, finding it pleasing to the martial eye.
But from my position, it was extremely troublesome; because he kept trailing me even to the personal training room, I had almost no time to practice the Alsigima school’s secrets.
…Come to think of it, why am I minding this old man? Whether he nags or not, I should just train Resonance Shatter Art.
With that resolve, I raised the vibrating energy.
susususu—
“Aiden! What is that shady breathing! Planning to touch that vile trick again!”
The moment I began the vibration energy breathing, a roar immediately flew over.
This fucking—
I can’t take it anymore.
I glared at Ebel and shouted.
“This technique, the Alsigima school’s Resonance Shatter Art, is an realm incomparably greater than something like Stroke Swordsmanship. So stop meddling in my training and return to the Liperta front, great-uncle.”
“…Huh, what did you say?”
“I don’t need advice from someone looking down arrogantly—that’s what I mean.”
His expression twisted viciously.