A few months later.
Sien’s growth, after letting go of all the heights he had built up in his past life and simply regaining the innocence of his first beginnings, was nothing short of astonishing.
Even he, who had once attained the realm of Grandmaster, was shocked by his own progress, and even Laila Nightwalker, the Grandmaster of the current era, was no exception.
In the darkness, Sien stretches out his arms.
This basement was not the usual family library that Sien frequented. Here, in pitch-black darkness where no one could see him, in a secluded training chamber where he could temper himself without concern for any watcher.
The room of Black Ascetic Hell.
A body barely past the age of ten, soon to be eleven.
No matter how perfect the enlightenment and realm built up as a Grandmaster may fill his mind, he had assumed that his young body would not be able to keep up, drawing his own arbitrary limits.
But at his fingertips, a vortex of mana began to swirl.
At the core of the first-tier psychic school of magic—rank 1 Telekinetic Magic! The Invisible Hand races forth.
From the empty air, multiple invisible hands emerged around Sien. Like the evil deity of the Eastern continent where founder Kasan was born—a six-armed Asura, each arm wielding a blade.
And there were two more hands than even the Asura possessed.
Moreover, Sien’s magical hands did not stop at mere hands.
Extending the Invisible Hand, new forms branched from the ends.
Rank 2 Telekinetic Magic—Psychic Knife.
One might wonder what’s so special about a mere rank 2 spell. Even the Invisible Hand is, to most magicians, the most basic of the basics, a low-grade spell.
In elemental, destruction, summoning, necromancy and other major schools, a mage’s rank is the measure of their skill.
A rank 1 mage has just begun to learn magic; a rank 3 can proudly call themselves a mage in their own right. From rank 4, equivalent to a sword expert, and rank 7 and above, there are so few that they can be counted on the entire continent. From rank 8, one can found a school and claim the title of “Tower Master.”
Bar Muore, the strongest mage on the continent whom Sien once defeated, was rank 9—a realm equal to a Grandmaster with the sword.
But the psychic school was a little different.
—There is no magic in the psychic school beyond rank 3. This is the single greatest distinction of psychic magic.
A psychic magician’s level is determined entirely by how many Invisible Hands they can summon, how precisely they can control them, and in how many ways they can extend and transform their shapes.
Just as Sien now demonstrated—rank 2 magic, Psychic Knife, seamlessly connected to the Invisible Hand.
Clang.
Suddenly, there was a mechanical sound from within the chamber.
Whoosh!
At the same time, flames ignited in the room, filled with darkness, to engulf and burn Sien.
But amidst the raging fire, Sien focused his consciousness calmly.
He used the power of telekinesis to repel the flames, so that not even a trace would burn him.
Fire intense enough to melt solid lumps enveloped Sien. Yet his body was untouched by the fire.
Just then, from within the flames, black iron cables came lashing toward Sien.
True to its name, in the room of Black Ascetic Hell, searing-hot iron cables whipped from every direction to tear his body to shreds.
Clang!
He swept them all away as they struck.
The Invisible Hand, acting as a net to block the flames, simultaneously combined with the “Psychic Knife” to cut down all the cables charging at Sien.
Blazing flames like a furnace, and iron cables lashing from all directions. Yet Sien did not move a finger.
Instead, eight arms and the eight knives they held shielded Sien.
Of course, this was only possible because the environment was strictly controlled. In real combat, facing a strong opponent with sword or magic, there would never be the leisure to concentrate in such a slow, methodical manner. After all, the opponent wouldn’t just stand by twiddling their fingers, watching.
That was why he had to train even harder. So that he could perform even in the chaos of battle, not just in this controlled environment.
Whirrr!
How many hours had passed?
The flames died down and the cables that had been lashing at Sien halted.
“Sien.”
Without warning, a gentle and familiar voice called out.
“You endured a good while in the room of Black Ascetic Hell.”
“Is it about time to move on to the next room?”
“Hmm, perhaps.”
Laila gave a wry smile at Sien’s question.
The next room. As she said, the training rooms in the mansion’s basement were not limited to just one.
Fire Ascetic Hell, Black Ascetic Hell, Intermediate Ascetic Hell, Howling Ascetic Hell, Greater Howling Ascetic Hell, Extreme Heat Ascetic Hell, Greater Extreme Heat Ascetic Hell, and Abyssal Hell. Of the eight hellish training chambers, the Black Ascetic Hell was only the second.
“Not yet.”
Laila replied softly to Sien, who pestered her like a child.
“Something more important is waiting for us.”
“Something important?”
“Your growth has exceeded expectations, so we’ve decided to move the schedule up a bit.”
“What schedule?”
“A place where you’ll be presented before everyone.”
Laila said.
“There will soon be a grand social gathering at our estate.”
“A social gathering…”
“Our dearest Governor and members of the Grand Council, the prominent families and the heads of great merchant guilds of the Republic, and a few select, trustworthy guests from the Empire and the kingdoms will attend.”
The Nightwalker Family, the continent’s greatest assassin clan, was by no means an open secret hidden behind a veil. Quite the opposite.
They never attempted to conceal themselves.
“Show yourself to them.”
Laila said. Show yourself. That was not a suggestion to merely appear.
“Remember the faces of the puppets we control, speak with them, and announce your debut before them.”
Debutante. Strictly speaking, it was the coming-out ceremony for noblewomen who had reached adulthood, but for Sien—still a boy—the meaning was little different.
“I’ll do my best to meet your expectations, Mother.”
Sien replied with a smile.
After all, Sien had already proven his worth before the strongest members of the Nightwalker Family. To demonstrate himself before the puppets dancing at their command would be, compared to the trials he’d endured so far, mere child’s play.
***
Not long after.
Secret invitations, embossed with the Star and Dagger Crest, were sent throughout the Republic and all across the continent.
They never hid their existence. Not even from their enemies.
Thus, among the guests were the era’s greatest knight and, destined to inherit that title and become the strongest knight of the next generation, the Grand Duke Grandel, head of the family, and his young sons.
***
There was not a soul on this continent whose heart would not tremble at the sight of a letter sealed with the Star and Dagger Crest.
“Donna Nightwalker.”
“We greet the esteemed Duke Nightwalker!”
“We thank you deeply for the devotion the great Nightwalkers have shown our country.”
Even those who officially claimed rulership of the nation were no exception.
The Governor, cabinet ministers, members of the Grand Council and prominent families, and even the heads of merchant houses who, though not holding direct political power, wielded influence surpassing that of any government official.
“Welcome, dear Governor, Council members, and guildmasters. Thank you all for making the difficult journey here.”
“Ah, not at all, Your Grace!”
“To have received an invitation from your family is an incomparable honor—”
“We are truly overwhelmed by Your Grace’s favor!”
The most powerful people in the Republic of Veneto bowed so deeply before Laila that their heads nearly touched the ground, kissing the back of her hand. All so as not to offend her, all to win her favor, even if just a little.
But not every guest invited was like that.
“Lord Nightwalker.”
“Oh my.”
When that man arrived with his three sons at the Nightwalkers’ domain, even Laila could not conceal her surprise.
On their ornate gold coats, the image of a griffon—the mythical beast with the head and wings of an eagle and the hindquarters of a lion—was emblazoned.
The crest symbolizing the most loyal blade of the Empire, the Grand Duke Grandel’s family.
“To think Grand Duke Grandel himself would honor our invitation.”
“Your house always manages to surprise us.”
“That’s quite the compliment.”
The man in the gold coat did not shrink back in the slightest before the mother of assassins.
And there were not many on the continent with such courage.
Grand Duke Grandel briefly turned to look at the young Sien standing by Laila’s side.
And for a moment, the iron expression that had not wavered even before Laila’s presence was tinged with a hint of emotion.
“Allow me to introduce, Sien. This is—”
“Sien Nightwalker greets the esteemed Grand Duke Oswald Grandel.”
Sword Demon, Oswald Grandel.
The man who, in Sien’s previous life, became his greatest foe, the one who would be called Sword Saint—Oscar Grandel’s father, and the current family head.
In turn, Oswald’s three sons, standing by his side, offered their greetings.
The eldest, 18-year-old Obert Grandel; the second son, 17-year-old Obel Grandel; and—
“Oscar Grandel greets Duke Nightwalker and Young Master Sien.”
The youngest, Oscar. Yet the future Sword Saint, Oscar—destined to become the next family head of Grandel—was, at this time, only the third son and a mere twelve-year-old, just two years older than Sien.
Would such a little brat really become the future head of the Grandel family?
Of course, as a ten-year-old, Sien was in no position to judge.
After all, in this continent, the rule of primogeniture was absolute. The firstborn inherited everything simply by virtue of being first, and not even a ducal or imperial house could defy this iron rule.
Yet Oscar, the lowest in the line of succession, became the future head of Grandel. That could mean only one thing.
“Kinslaying.”
You can’t judge a person by appearances. Not even that boy who would be called the Saint of the Sword was an exception.
“My sons, mere frogs in a well, need to know just how wide the world truly is.”
Oswald spoke.
“And there are none better to teach them that lesson than your family, with your vast experiences.”
“That’s quite the compliment.”
Laila smiled with her eyes as she replied.
“Regrettably, our domain is nothing more than a meager patch of land, pitifully small compared to the vast territories of Grand Duke Grandel’s house.”
“Land is not the whole world, after all.”
“Oh my, is it not?”
“Watch closely, my sons.”
Sword Demon Oswald continued in a calm voice.
“In time, you will become the loyal blades defending our Empire, and raise your swords against the enemies who threaten it.”
In the voice of a father as stern as steel.
“That’s why, though you have grown up like flowers in a greenhouse, you must see and remember.”
“Yes, Father.”
“To see how vast this world is, and what monstrous beings beyond the well are threatening our Empire.”
The head of the Grand Duke Grandel family, the Empire’s most loyal blade, said,
“And these are the monsters of the Nightwalker Family.”
The tightly drawn air of tension, on the verge of eruption, exploded forth.