Chapter 8 …
Ishitor was wreaking havoc in his own palace.
“Bring me my sword!!”
Crash! Bang!
Ishitor, thoroughly agitated, hurled teacups, clocks, and whatever else he could grab.
The value of the objects broken in his hands alone probably exceeded a servant’s annual salary.
Ikhael, witnessing the scene, hid briefly behind a pillar.
Maybe I’ll wait a little before going in.
He didn’t want to get hit by the flying objects.
From somewhere nearby, a maid’s gentle voice tried to soothe him.
“Master Ishitor, please calm down. I told you to choose a good sword—you’ll hear news of it soon!”
But her words only fueled Ishitor’s rage.
“Shut up! I don’t need some ordinary sword. I said bring me a sword forged by the blacksmith of the volcano!!”
The blacksmith of the volcano?
Ikhael, hiding and listening, snorted. That was impossible from the start.
Only the volcanic blacksmith could forge the Rekrit sword. But the blacksmith admired only Kairun. The blacksmith giving a sword to Ishitor wasn’t out of respect, but out of reverence for Kairun.
Now Ishitor, having lost his sword, demanded it be reforged? Such a ridiculous request would never be granted.
Moreover, the Rekrit sword wasn’t an ordinary sword forged from iron.
It was a Demon Sword.
There had been six swords Kairun used to fight the Demon King. People called them Demon Swords. And the Rekrit sword was reforged from one of those very Demon Swords.
It required the skill of the volcanic blacksmith and the Rekrit bloodline to wield it.
Losing such a sword was bad enough; asking for it again was sheer audacity.
But if Ishitor listened to reason, he wouldn’t be Ishitor. His anger continued to swell.
“I’ll go see the blacksmith myself! Have the knights ready! I’ll get that sword even if I have to torture him!”
The maid, unable to watch him any longer, grabbed his sleeve to stop him.
“Master Ishitor, please calm down!”
“Get your dirty hands off!!”
Smash—
Ishitor raised his hand as if to strike her cheek.
Suddenly—
Ikhael stepped in swiftly.
“Ishitor, are you looking for this?”
“Huh?”
Snap.
Ikhael waved the legendary sword, Crescen, right before his eyes.
Ishitor’s eyes widened as if they might pop out.
“You… you brat!!”
“Ah! Here’s Master Ishitor’s sword! I’m glad we found your lost sword.”
The maid spoke without realizing the tension. Ishitor couldn’t admit it had been taken, so he only said he lost it.
“Grrr!!!”
As Ishitor flailed, Ikhael approached and draped an arm around his shoulder, close enough to make anyone think they were friends.
He whispered just loud enough for Ishitor to hear.
“Brother, aren’t you going to greet me?”
“Why would I greet a lowly creature like you?”
Impressive.
Even after being struck, he still complained about being called a lowly creature. That was so Ishitor.
But Ikhael had no intention of letting it slide.
If nothing changes, it means he hasn’t been hit enough.
Press—
“Ugh.”
Ikhael lightly pressed Ishitor’s solar plexus. His knees buckled immediately.
Having been hit in the same spot once before, it would be unbearably painful, making it hard to breathe.
Ikhael smirked.
“Good. If you want your sword back, come to me and offer your subordinate’s salute. Just like this.”
Ishitor shot back.
“Ugh… Father will be back soon.”
“So?”
“If I stand at the lineup with a pathetic sword, do you think Father will stay calm? Once he knows the truth, he’ll be furious!!”
“Hmm. Looks like you’re in trouble, brother.”
What a ridiculous threat.
Ikhael scoffed inwardly. That was such a childish idea.
“If I were you, I’d never let Father know. He didn’t give you the Rekrit sword to play childish sword games.”
“Grr…!”
Ishitor, though cruel, was only twelve. He couldn’t grasp what Kairun truly wanted with his small mind.
But Ikhael knew Kairun very well.
In his previous life, he had been closer to Kairun than anyone else.
Damn it.
A memory from his past life made his teeth grit. He shook his head.
It starts now.
Four days later, when Kairun returned. That’s when it all begins.
I am Ikhael Puy Rekrit, the youngest son of Kairun.
At that moment, facing Kairun anew, he would take the first step toward revenge.
The day Kairun’s knights returned had arrived.
They had already announced they would come in the morning, but there was no news until sunset. Yet among the countless people lined up in the Bronze Castle, none dared complain or move.
They simply held their swords straight, silently waiting for their master.
The knights filled the wide front courtyard like a wave, not moving an inch. Even as the sun sank like a golden carpet, blinding their eyes, they remained still. Anyone watching might have thought the armor was merely ornamental.
At the end of the line, the central stairs of Bronze Castle became visible.
From the top step, Rekrit’s seven sons each occupied one spot.
The eldest, Exitor, was away training. Below him stood Lir, Sentor, Pelethor, Hektor, Ishitor, and the youngest, Ikhael.
The only thing moving was their shadows, shifting with the setting sun.
Then, amidst the quiet, someone spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
“!”
It was Ishitor.
Ikhael could hardly believe his ears. Ishitor… saying sorry? Even if it was a faint voice.
“I said I’m sorry, alright? So give me back my sword.”
Of course. Ishitor wasn’t the type to say such a thing without an ulterior motive.
“No.”
Ikhael cut him off firmly. He didn’t want an insincere apology.
“Salute me as your subordinate. Then I’ll return it.”
“Really!!”
“Don’t need a sword, huh?”
Ikhael tilted Crescen in his hand.
“Grrr…!”
Ishitor was speechless. He had his sword taken by someone he had looked down on. And now he had to stand in the lineup with a mediocre sword instead of the Rekrit sword.
This is absurd!
Even the new sword Ishitor obtained was excellent, just not the same as the original.
That lowly creature… dared touch my sword!!
But Ishitor couldn’t say it. He had to get his original sword back. Just imagining Kairun’s reaction if he stood at the lineup with that sword made him shiver.
Ishitor tried to calm his voice.
“Ikhael, I said I’m sorry. So give me back my sword.”
“I said I’ll give it back. Kneel here and salute me as your subordinate.”
“Grrr!”
Ishitor was dumbfounded. He wanted him to salute in front of all his brothers and the knights gathered here—did he really think that was possible?
In Rekrit, where hierarchy battles were fierce, that was basically a death sentence.
Ishitor, though angry, forced himself to calm down and spoke again.
“Ikhael, you don’t know. Father hates insubordination. If he finds out you dared touch my sword, what will he say?”
Hmph. Ikhael scoffed. That’s the threat?
Kairun hates insubordination, but he despises weakness.
Kairun Phel Rekrit. He would abandon even his own children if they were weak.
“If you want, run and tell him yourself. I’d love to see what he says.”
That was the best advice Ikhael could give Ishitor.
And Ikhael’s real goal wasn’t the apology.
I’ll declare in front of everyone: Crescen belongs to me.
Ikhael imitated the sickly young master only when it suited him. If it didn’t, he wouldn’t bother. He would boldly declare it. He too was a child of the Rekrits.
No knight follows a weakling. Especially not in Rekrit.
Ikhael had realized this clearly after his room was ransacked. Surviving in Rekrit meant becoming strong. That was the path he must take.
I will never let what I hold be taken again. Even if it’s snatched, I’ll take it back.
His gaze hardened. His grip tightened.
Then a knight shouted.
“Master, Kairun Phel Rekrit has arrived!”
Creak—
The heavy iron gates of Bronze Castle opened.
Through the gap, the man entered, bathed in the sunset.
Everyone adjusted their posture. The swords in their hands seemed to come alive, subtly changing their stance.
Ikhael felt something thud in his chest.
“Kairun…”
A soft voice escaped. For a moment, he forgot he was the youngest son of Rekrit.
Kairun Phel Rekrit.
The moment he walked in, it felt as if time itself twisted, as if returning to a previous life.
The feeling of looking at an old master—or rather, an enemy—was so painful.
Ikhael dared not speak his father’s name, drowned out by the next sound.
“The master of Bronze Castle greets you—”
The lined-up knights shouted in unison. The entire castle seemed hammered, then fell silent.
Kairun nodded slightly, acknowledging the greeting.
Step by step, he approached.
Thump. Thump.
The closer he got, the faster Ikhael’s heart raced. He feared his heartbeat might break through the wave of silence.
He had sworn revenge. He had vowed, again and again, to drive a sword into Kairun.
Yet, facing him, his body froze as if his soul had twisted.
“Master greets you.”
“Master greets you.”
As Kairun passed, Rekrit’s knights saluted with their swords. These swords, meant for bloodshed, now adorned the path for Kairun alone. Only the master of Bronze Castle could walk this path.
Before long, Kairun reached the central stairs.
As he passed Ikhael, one would expect Ikhael to salute and greet him—but no sound came.
Kairun’s gaze fell on Ikhael, standing upright, neither bowing nor lowering his stance.
Kairun…
Ikhael and Kairun—two pairs of matching eyes—locked onto each other.
