Chapter 9: Ecstasy (3)

Bartenberg was the undisputed strongest martial house in the Northern Continent.

Even kingdoms and empires would take a step back in their presence.

Moreover, the current head of the Bartenberg family, Ludwig, was known as the strongest knight on the continent.

But not everyone agreed.

Some said the strongest knight wasn’t Ludwig.

The man making that claim was…

“Hahaha!”

Gulp gulp—

“Ugh!”

It was Vallach, guzzling wine straight from the bottle.

He hated that Ludwig was more widely recognized as stronger than him.

And it made sense.

Ludwig and Vallach were long-time rivals who acknowledged each other.

Their battles always ended in draws—

At least, back when Vallach was in his prime.

“You just here to drink my wine?”

“Tsk, what do you think? I came because of those damn skeleton bastards.”

The sweet scent of sacred wine lingered in Ludwig’s office.

Vallach frowned and asked,

“Still haven’t found their whereabouts?”

The reason Vallach came to Bartenberg was because of three liches he encountered while wandering the continent.

But they weren’t ordinary liches.

The aura surrounding their jet-black bones was like staring into a black sun.

In fact, they were far stronger than the heads of most magic families.

“Didn’t expect them to resonate their mana like that.”

Just as Vallach was about to finish them with his sword, a violent surge of magic swept over him—mana resonance.

Every individual has a unique mana wavelength.

But occasionally, trained twins can share a matching wavelength, amplifying their magic when combined.

A rare phenomenon—yet those liches had used it.

The explosive power threw Vallach off, and they escaped using long-range teleportation.

“I’ve issued warrants, but no leads yet.”

“Tsk, useless.”

Vallach muttered as he sipped more wine.

After losing the liches, he had come straight to Bartenberg, using the upcoming clan meeting as an excuse to issue a warning.

But something didn’t sit right.

Liches of that caliber showing up not in the southern continent—home of mages—but here in the north?

He stayed after the meeting to investigate with Bartenberg’s help.

It had been nearly a week.

Time was precious for an old man like him—especially one who still hadn’t found a successor.

Eventually, Vallach made a decision.

“I can’t waste any more time here. I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“You’re still wandering around at your age? Isn’t it time you settled down?”

Ludwig was annoyed with Vallach, his old rival.

Unlike himself—still in his prime—Vallach was old.

Yet he was still roaming the continent, searching for a worthy disciple.

“Damn it. Not a single decent kid on this whole continent.”

“Maybe your standards are too high.”

Vallach wanted someone who could surpass both him and Ludwig—and so far, none fit the bill.

Ludwig was convinced such a person didn’t exist.

“Tch, out of wine again.”

“Off to see Richard again? You seem quite interested in him lately.”

Vallach rose, shaking the empty bottle.

He had practically lived off sacred wine these past few days.

“That rascal? I just like the wine.”

Yet rumor had it he’d been watching Richard train every day from afar.

Ludwig said nothing as Vallach left, quietly burying the slight hope stirring in his chest.

There was no way Vallach would choose Richard as his disciple… right?

***

Meanwhile…

Despite his words, Vallach couldn’t take his eyes off Richard.

He was starting to doubt if this was the same Richard he once knew.

Smack!

Richard clashed swords with Aaron on the training ground.

It was the sixth day since Vallach had taught him the basics of swordsmanship.

Vallach chuckled from a distance.

The guy who couldn’t even hold a stance on day one was now showing some skill.

Sure, compared to a seasoned knight he was lacking, but—

‘He definitely has no talent.’

If someone had this much progress in under a week, it should have shown in duels too.

But Richard was just swinging his sword stubbornly—no flash, no brilliance.

However…

‘If that level of focus counts as talent…’

Vallach shook his head at the absurd thought.

The Sword Saint’s techniques had already declined—being passed on through single-person transmission.

If the heir lacked the right aptitude, the technique would degrade further.

‘I’ve seen tons of talented people.’

Vallach had tested countless so-called prodigies—none satisfied him.

Their talent might have been great, but none were greater than him.

‘Maybe I really am tired of searching…’

Still, Richard kept drawing his attention.

It wasn’t just about his progress in swordsmanship.

It was his terrifying level of focus.

Even while gasping for breath, his eyes never left his opponent.

Aaron, too, was unsettled by how completely immersed Richard became—like he was entering a trance.

“This is the first time I’ve seen someone like that…”

Vallach tried convincing himself it was just novelty.

Still—‘Maybe I should give him a chance.’

Just then—

“Well done!”

“Good work, Aaron.”

The duel ended. Richard checked his status window.

[Basic Swordsmanship rank increased.]

[Current rank: B->A]

Impressive for just six days of training.

It was thanks to his faith and hyperfocus.

The synergy between the two accelerated his growth.

‘It’s like my body moves on its own, instinctively…’

Even he was surprised at how easily new movements emerged.

“You’ve improved quickly,” Aaron said, wiping sweat from his brow.

The knights watching were shocked too.

“Is the Bartenberg blood finally blooming?”

They nodded in agreement.

They respected strength—and Richard’s growth excited them.

Meanwhile, Richard looked around.

“He should be showing up any moment now.”

Sure enough, Vallach was approaching.

“You’ve arrived, Master.”

Richard greeted him and handed over a bottle of sacred wine—chilled and special grade, infused with 30 Faith points.

Vallach’s face twitched.

“Who said I was your master? …Still, you’re sharp. You chilled it beforehand.”

“Haha! It’s hot—drink up!”

Vallach opened the bottle, seemingly reluctant, but gave in.

The thick, sticky aroma spread across the field.

Even nearby knights swallowed involuntarily.

“This one’s the premium batch,” Richard said with a grin.

“…Heh.”

Vallach tried to hide his expression, but he was weak against good alcohol.

Gulp gulp—

The wine flowed down his throat.

“This… is the devil’s drink.”

“I’d prefer you call it holy wine, Master.”

Vallach ignored him and kept drinking until the bottle was empty.

“…Got any more?”

“Sorry, that was the only special batch.”

Vallach recomposed himself.

He couldn’t push Richard in front of everyone.

Besides, the brat wasn’t sharing where he got it from.

“Master, would you evaluate my growth?”

“I already did—watched the whole duel.”

Richard smiled.

“Then I win our bet, don’t I?”

“…Oh, right. That bet.”

It was from three days ago—if Vallach acknowledged his swordsmanship, he’d grant Richard one request.

“Tch, did you think I’d stay here forever?”

“Guess I got lucky.”

Of course, Richard knew why Vallach had come—and when he’d leave.

Just as he was about to state his wish—

“Let’s talk in your room,” Vallach interrupted.

***

In Richard’s room…

Vallach had made up his mind.

He couldn’t just leave—it would haunt him.

His gut had saved his life countless times, and now it was telling him this mattered.

Vmmm—

Blue mana formed a tiny sword in Vallach’s palm.

Without hesitation, he stabbed it into the back of Richard’s hand.

“Gah!”

Startled, Richard looked at his hand—but it was uninjured.

The only change: a hexagonal mark appeared.

“A seal,” Vallach explained.

“If you’re worthy, you’ll be able to unlock it—by passing a trial.”

“If you succeed, I’ll accept you as my disciple.”

“Ah…!”

Richard stared at the mark in awe.

He knew heirs of the Sword Saint’s line inherited through seals and stigmas, but he never expected Vallach to initiate it himself.

“You’ll need to train like your life depends on it. If the seal deems you unworthy, it’ll disappear. Many have failed.”

“…Understood.”

Of course he would train like hell.

He had just obtained an incredible opportunity.

Clearly, bribing Vallach with wine had paid off.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. Oh—and if you have any more sacred wine, pack it for me. The premium stuff, if possible.”

With that, Vallach turned to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“I have preparations to make.”

No way.

Richard still had business with him.

“But I haven’t made my wish yet.”

Vallach had jumped the gun—granting the prize before even hearing the request.

“You shouldn’t give me such an opening,” Richard muttered with a sly grin.