Chapter 81
The Birth of a Sword Master
“Just as I thought… it was true.”
Sst!
At that moment, Ethelion’s eyes went cold. All warmth drained from his expression, and without even touching it, his sword slid out of its sheath. A purple aura surged up, enveloping the blade.
Rian gaped, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“So what, are you actually planning to cut me down? Right here in the heart of the Imperial Capital?”
“Lady Rasilia is God’s representative. Her safety is as important as God’s own. Any threat to her, I will eliminate with God’s power.”
Srrk… Tak!
The sword floated in midair, and Ethelion grasped it. Rian’s left hand was still stiff and useless, restricting his movements.
“Ah, this is really troublesome. I am still Her Majesty the Empress’s guest, though…”
Clang!
Instead of meeting the blade, Rian hurled himself through a window.
At this hour, Rasilia and Lescal were still in the same room together. Now that a demon intent on Rasilia’s life had appeared, that fact was crucial—and absolutely must not be interrupted.
It was better to move the fight elsewhere than to make a noisy racket near them.
Whish, thud!
Rian leapt onto the phoenix ornament perched on the third-floor corner, then down onto the second-floor balcony railing.
He glanced back—Ethelion had easily followed, the purple aura around his sword growing denser.
“…Even up close it looks like aura. If I didn’t know better, I’d have been fooled.”
Pouting, Rian leapt again, flipping twice in midair to reduce the impact before landing in the first-floor garden.
“His Majesty likely knows already, but we mustn’t let Her Majesty the Empress hear anything… We should move farther still.”
The instant his feet touched the ground, Rian sprinted at full speed. In sheer running ability, he was probably faster.
“Stop.”
Fwip!
“…Ugh!”
When the purple aura brushed his ankle, Rian jolted in alarm, kicking it away and rolling sideways.
“Did you think I’d just watch you run away?”
Ethelion closed the distance sharply. Rian bounced up from his roll, drawing his sword.
“Really, a curse right off the bat? That’s harsh. I haven’t even healed this left hand yet.”
“Even facing death, you can’t rid yourself of that flippant tongue.”
“Oh? My way of speaking is flippant? I never thought so.”
“Are all of the Imperial family insane?”
Tak!
Clang!
Their swords clashed.
Rian barely blocked Ethelion’s swift strike, twisting his wrist desperately to escape the sword’s deadly range.
That purple-coated blade—merely touching it would spell disaster.
“…How am I supposed to deal with this?”
Rian clicked his tongue. It almost felt like his sword was already chipping just from contact.
“You understand well. A human has no means of withstanding God’s curse.”
“Mmm… But I can’t exactly just lie down and die, can I? Not that I’m innocent, of course.”
Clang!
The blade slashed menacingly for his throat. Rian had no choice but to block again, even knowing the cost.
His sword gave a dull crack, and Rian gritted his teeth.
This is real. Each time I parry, the blade is corroding.
The purple aura gnawed away at the steel. No matter how fast he deflected, the moment of contact ruined the weapon.
His left hand was useless, and he hadn’t yet found a counter. Even so, his heart beat wildly.
Is this what it feels like to fight real aura?
His opponent was a wall—unyielding, impenetrable. Yet here he was, exhilarated, pounding against it.
Maybe if he struck enough, even that wall might crack.
Clang, thud!
Blades and strikes flashed in rapid succession.
Ethelion, unfairly, never once let his focus slip. Their swordsmanship was even—if anything, Rian might be a touch faster.
But Ethelion knew Rian’s sword would give out first.
So what now? Then my only chance is to land the first decisive blow.
The problem was that the curse could hit at range, too. Even if he baited an opening and struck from a blind spot, unless it was a killing blow, he’d fall to the curse eventually.
Killing him’s not right. Even if he’s a fallen prince, he’s still royalty—and the Empress’s guest. …Knock him out? No, he’s not that easy. Then…
Rian’s eyes gleamed sharply.
The Empire’s top knight had found one possible answer: the hand.
The curse is a form of divine power. He must be channeling it out through his body—through his hand.
Priests healed by laying hands upon wounds. That alone made it likely.
Let’s test it.
Tak!
Rian lowered his stance—so low that his stiff left hand brushed the ground. As expected, Ethelion raised his sword high.
“Hyaah!”
Rian shifted his weight onto the bad hand, sweeping at Ethelion’s ankle with a kick. Surprised, Ethelion adjusted his footing with ease.
Click. Thoroughly trained.
Rian twisted, exposing his chest for an instant. Ethelion lunged without hesitation for the opening.
“You’re fast, Your Highness.”
Rian dropped flat on his back, raising his left hand.
Thud!
A sick crack echoed. Ethelion’s blade had buried itself in his hardened left wrist.
“But that’s exactly what I expected.”
Rian grinned, pushing off the ground with his heel.
Slash!
His target—the right hand holding Ethelion’s sword.
In one seamless motion, he rose and swung.
The blade cut across Ethelion’s wrist. But at the same time, Rian’s sword gave a terrible crack.
“Damn.”
The weakened blade only sliced flesh.
Clatter!
Half the broken sword clanged to the ground.
“…Damn it!”
Rian cursed—the purple aura now roared wildly from Ethelion’s wounded hand.
Ssshhh!
It engulfed Rian.
“…Ghk!”
So this was God’s curse.
Just as his hand had stiffened, now his entire body froze. Not just skin—bones and organs, too.
His lungs locked tight. He was dying.
Damn it… If only the sword hadn’t broken so far…
In that moment before death, one thought consumed him:
If the blade had been just two finger-lengths longer, he could have severed that cursed hand.
Just a little more…!
He poured all his will into the stub of his sword. The thought of death never once entered his mind.
All he cared about was cutting that hand, being strong enough to do so.
“Just a bit… more…!”
Then something impossible happened.
The broken blade extended. Not by much—just those missing two finger-lengths.
“I can do it!”
Slash!
Rian swung.
Tak!
Caught off guard—unable to believe Rian was still alive—Ethelion dodged too late.
“Ah, damn. Missed.”
Rian gestured at the purple-shrouded right hand with his chin.
But blood dripped heavily at Ethelion’s feet. At least half the hand had been split open.
“Shame. Dying now would be such a waste… Wait. Why am I not dead?”
Stranger still—his body surged with wild, overflowing energy.
“…Huh?”
Dazed, Rian flicked his broken sword.
And the blade stretched out again—as though whole.
“Whoa.”
He raised the tip. Fascinatingly, a transparent purple aura now wrapped around his right arm.
“…It looks similar, doesn’t it, Your Highness?”
“That’s… aura?”
“Seems like it. Huh. So this is how one becomes a Sword Master? By accident? …Man, if I retire and write a memoir, I’ll make a fortune.”
“…No… It’s still not over.”
Ethelion bit his lip.
The sudden emergence of aura was shocking enough. His right hand could barely grip the sword from the injury.
But Rian’s left hand was crippled, too.
“Because of this?”
Rian lifted his cursed, blue-tinged left hand. Then he deepened his aura.
“Feels like this should work.”
He swept the blade across his left hand, as if cutting something away.
Snip, slash—
“What…!”
Ethelion’s face went pale.
Rian’s hand returned to normal, fingers flexing freely.
“Do you still want to continue?”
“…”
“I’d suggest we stop here. Then we can pretend His Highness never drew his blade against an Imperial knight. For Her Majesty’s sake, it’d be better if you remained just a guest.”
Ethelion’s expression twisted.
“For… Her Majesty’s sake?”
“Yes. For Her Majesty’s sake, I’d very much prefer that. And truthfully, I should be punished. I was forgiven far too easily.”
“You mean to say… Lady Rasilia forgave you?”
“Of course. Isn’t she incredibly merciful, kind, and just? So I… Oh, come to think of it, doesn’t my aura look like Her Majesty’s eyes? Guess aura resembles its master. Every time I use mine, everyone will know it came from Her Majesty. Makes me feel oddly proud.”
“Lies! Who could forgive what you’ve done?!”
Ethelion roared, his curse flaring again.
Rian calmly raised his sword before his eyes.
—Then become as strong as you wish.
Rasilia’s words had been a spell. Not just like one—they were one. They had planted aura within him.
The demon’s consort was once the greatest sorceress.
That Rasilia still possessed such power was no surprise.
“Once again, I urge you to stop here. I will never die by your hand, Your Highness.”
“I’ll cut that vile mouth first!”
Ethelion’s curse lifted his blade into the air.
Perhaps this was a battle no one else on the continent had ever witnessed.
But someone intervened.
“Your Highness!”
Tion came racing up, faster than anyone else in the continent could match.
“Whatever you were doing—please, just hold back for now! This isn’t the time!”
