Arian thought she might die from how adorable her son looked, pouting as he glared at Fenris.

Partly because her son, precocious in so many ways, rarely wore such an expression. But there was also the sparring match he had just shown them. Even without the rose-colored glasses of a doting mother, she could see it had been anything but ordinary.

Arian had never studied swordsmanship, having awakened her talent for spirit arts at an early age, but that did not mean she lacked an eye for the sword.

As a direct descendant of House Alastor, she had watched her relatives and countless knights wield their swords since childhood. Her own husband was utterly obsessed with the blade.

'Kyle must owe his talent for the sword to his Alastor and Aslan blood.'

Known as the continent’s foremost martial house, Alastor lived up to its reputation by revering martial prowess to an almost mindless degree. Opinions might differ on what martial prowess truly meant, but when it came to measuring it, strength was the simplest yardstick.

To possess martial talent was to possess a definite potential to grow strong. To be young meant having that much more time to grow, with that potential still unripe.

Today, Kyle had demonstrated his tremendous worth before the head of House Alastor. None of Arian’s nieces or nephews were younger than Kyle, and surely none could surpass him in talent, either.

“...”

What brought Arian both joy and worry was that martial talent was not her son’s only natural gift.

An affinity for spirits.

It was not something one could acquire simply by wanting it, nor develop through effort.

There were plenty of fields in which grit and hard work could open the door even to those with little talent. Spirit arts were not one of them. Without the necessary aptitude, one could not even begin.

It had been fully five hundred years since their founder, Ruin Alastor, had ended the continent’s Dark Age with a single sword. The Alastor name that began with him had reigned over Vigrid throughout those long centuries, absorbing countless other names and bloodlines.

There was only one condition for blood to be accepted into House Alastor: talent. Talent for the sword was prized above all, but it did not have to be the sword. It did not even have to be martial. Over five hundred years, the house had come to covet even an aptitude for magic.

Of course, Alastor was not a distinguished house of magic, nor did it aspire to become one. Its reason for seeking so many different gifts, magic included, was to broaden the foundations of its martial disciplines and elevate their ideals. And at the center of those disciplines, naturally, stood the sword.

Yet in all those five hundred years of history, as far as Arian knew, an aptitude for spirits had never once entered the Alastor bloodline.

Unlike magic, which had become widespread after the Dark Age, spirit arts remained rare even now.

As methods of using mana developed, effort had come to compensate for a lack of magical talent to some extent. But not with spirit arts. Without an inborn gift, one could not even begin to learn them.

As a result, spirit arts remained a closed world, and spirit practitioners kept to their own kind. However illustrious the Alastor name might be, their belief that they were a chosen few kept them from intermarrying with the house.

Recalling her childhood, Arian quietly bit her lower lip. Hers had been a gift unlike anyone else’s, one that had never appeared in the family. Her father had celebrated his daughter’s natural talent, but the young Arian had felt different from everyone around her and could not help feeling like an outsider.

She had faced her share of jealousy and scorn, too. After all, she alone among Alastor’s direct descendants had never taken up a sword—or any weapon.

That was why Arian worried that this talent, inherited from her, might complicate her son’s future.

With only one gift, he could simply follow that path. But Kyle’s talent for spirit arts was every bit as extraordinary as his martial talent. Whatever her son chose to do, Arian intended to support him with all her heart. The family’s position was another matter.

“Fath—”

“Grandfather.”

Just as Arian was about to address Julius, Kyle spoke first. He flinched and looked back at her, but she shook her head.

“Go ahead, dear.”

“All right. Grandfather, could I take this with me some other time?”

Kyle asked as he withdrew the hand he had reached toward Fenris. Cartan felt a little dizzy at those words. Asking for Fenris in the first place was absurd, and actually granting that request was even more absurd.

Now the boy was saying he would not take it. Not that he would refuse it altogether—he would take it later.

“My lord... Surely, Fenris is...”

Cartan ventured cautiously. Fenris was not a sword their founder had personally wielded, but it was the first trophy he had claimed. He had kept it at his side until the day before his ascension. It was no exaggeration to call the sword a symbol of the founder himself to the house.

That was why it had been displayed in such an extraordinary place: above the throne in the Hall of Sword Pinnacles, directly beneath the portrait.

Cartan acknowledged Kyle’s remarkable talent. But Fenris carried far too much significance to give to a small child.

“You wanted it so badly. Do you no longer want it?”

Julius asked, looking at Kyle without so much as acknowledging Cartan’s words.

“It’s too big for me to use right now.”

“You must have known that the moment you saw it.”

“Um... Actually, there’s another reason.”

Damn old man. Did he have to grind away at his pride like this? Swallowing the curses rising in his throat, Kyle put on a childlike expression.

“Fenris says it doesn’t want me to hold it yet.”

This trampled mercilessly on Kyle’s pride—the Sword Demon’s pride. To be rejected by the very sword he had wielded five hundred years ago!

A spirit, a goblin, whatever it was—he could simply take hold of Fenris without communing with that wolf bastard. Even if it was too big for him now, his body would grow with time.

Yes.

With time.

'I can’t use it right now anyway. I can take it later, once I’ve made it acknowledge me properly.'

Kyle clenched his fist. It would have been different if he had no affinity for spirits and had never seen that damned mutt. But now that he had seen it, his pride would not let him ignore it and take Fenris anyway.

“Rejected by a sword. What a peculiar affair.”

Julius chuckled as he looked down at Fenris, planted in the floor. He could neither see nor sense the wolf Kyle had seen.

“You seem confident it will acknowledge you later?”

“Of course.”

“Fenris was the Sword Demon’s sword five hundred years ago. In the end, it remained at our founder’s side. In other words, Fenris has had only two masters thus far: the Sword Demon and our founder. Kyle, are you confident you can become its third?”

Could Ruin really be called Fenris’s master? Kyle genuinely wondered. Still, since he had captured it as a trophy, he supposed one could interpret it that way.

“Yes.”

Those doubts aside, Julius’s question required no consideration. Who in this world but Kyle could possibly be Fenris’s master?

“I like the spirit in that answer. So, when do you think you can become Fenris’s master?”

“I think I’ll have to try before I know.”

“That answer lacks spirit.”

“Well, I don’t know what will happen in the future, either.”

Cartan’s face went through a whole range of expressions as he listened to grandfather and grandson. Even Julius’s grown children sometimes found themselves struggling to breathe when speaking to their father, yet this young nephew of his answered every word without giving an inch...

“I’ll give you ten years.”

“What if it takes longer than ten years?”

“Are you not confident?”

“It’s not that I’m not confident. But I don’t want to rush, either.”

“Hmm. A fair point. Haste can ruin even what ought to succeed.”

As he answered, Julius glanced at Lucia. A child who had lost because she let haste drive her, despite her many advantages. Not yet ordered to withdraw, Lucia stood quietly in a corner of the Hall of Sword Pinnacles with her head bowed.

“Then take it when you feel you are ready.”

“You won’t change your mind, will you?”

“Would I, the head of House Alastor, lie about something like this?”

“Then can I come here and play with Fenris whenever I want?”

Kyle asked with sparkling eyes. At the words “play with Fenris,” Cartan’s jaw dropped, Lucia raised her head in astonishment, and Arian’s eyes went wide.

“...”

Julius’s expression changed as well. He stared blankly at Kyle for a moment, then composed himself and nodded.

“Yes. You may come here and play with Fenris whenever you wish.”

“M-my lord, this is the Hall of Sword—”

“Quiet.”

Horrified, Cartan had ventured a cautious objection. This time Julius did not ignore him. At that chilling gaze, Cartan hastily shut his mouth.

“Can I play with you too, Grandfather?”

Kyle’s body belonged to a five-year-old boy, but his mind did not. He had given ample thought to how both his presence and those words would be received.

The Sword Tower stood at the very top of Gladiheim. This was where the purebloods lived, and the Hall of Sword Pinnacles, housing the family head’s throne and the founder’s portrait, was the tower’s heart. From the look of things, even Cartan, the eldest son, could not come and go freely without the family head’s permission.

Now Kyle had permission to enter that hall whenever he pleased, and he was trying to grow closer to Julius, the family head everyone found so intimidating. This was bound to cause a stir among his relatives.

Kyle had decided that was necessary.

Arian, who had left upon marrying, had returned after six years with a son.

With nothing yet settled about the succession, there would surely be more than a few relatives wary of Arian and Kyle. Besides, hadn’t Arian already been rather shunned within the family?

Kyle had never been one to worry much about what others thought, but he did not want Arian to suffer for getting caught up in his ways.

'But getting along with every last relative would be a tiresome pain.'

The easiest way to win on the battlefield was to take down the enemy commander.

On this battlefield, that commander was naturally Julius. That was only a metaphor, of course; he had no intention of committing the atrocity of killing his grandfather. In this case, it meant that if he grew close to Julius, he would not need to concern himself with his relatives’ opinions.

“With... me?”

“Yes.”

Julius’s carefully composed expression faltered again. He stared at Kyle with his mouth open for a moment, then gave a small laugh and nodded.

“If you prove worth playing with, I see no reason not to.”

“Yay!”

Kyle beamed like the five-year-old boy he was. Of course, he had no desire to force himself to befriend someone he disliked, even for Arian’s sake.

But the Julius he had seen today struck him as a fairly decent man. That judgment was not about him as a “grandfather,” or as Arian’s “father.”

'He keeps his word, he’s strong, and he has pride.'

Had they met five hundred years ago, Kyle would definitely have fought him.

“Lucia.”

Lucia could not answer Julius’s summons immediately, so stunned was she by the conversation. But it was not as though she had failed to hear him. She soon collected herself and stood at attention.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Take Kyle outside and show him around the Sword Tower.”

“Yes, understood.”

“Cartan, Arian. You two will remain here a while.”

“Yes... my lord.”

“Yes.”

Lucia picked up her wooden sword and headed for the hall’s doors. Before following her, Kyle gave Julius a sweet smile and a bow.

“See you later, Grandfather!”

He did not say goodbye. It felt too distant, especially when they would be seeing each other often from now on.

Silence settled over the Hall of Sword Pinnacles after the children left. This was its usual atmosphere. Feeling as though he could barely breathe, Cartan studied Julius’s expression.

“To think the mood could change so much with the departure of one little boy.”

Julius murmured as he dropped onto his throne. Cartan offered an awkward smile.

“Well... It must be your imposing presence, my lord...”

“Even in a situation like this, you won’t call me Father?”

“As the eldest son, I merely wish to set an example in observing our rules...”

“Since when have our family rules forbidden a son from calling his father Father?”

At Julius’s sardonic remark, Cartan cleared his throat, and Arian laughed softly.

“Don’t you think it might be because you were too strict, Father?”

“Arian. At least when you were here, this place felt somewhat like a home.”

“Before I came of age, I seem to remember hearing nothing but tedious lectures here.”

“Most of those were your own fault.”

“Yes, most. Not all.”

Arian smiled bitterly at the memories. It was true that others had envied and scorned her for her different talent, and true that she had been isolated. But looking back, she had also kept herself apart. At least Julius had never once said that her gift was “wrong.”

“Do you... like Kyle?”

“What an odd question. Was there anything I saw in your son today that I ought to dislike?”

Julius considered for a moment.

“He does have a somewhat cheeky streak. But remembering that he is your son, I can only conclude that blood runs true. His aptitude for spirits, too.”

“...”

“What pleases me is that Kyle’s gifts are not confined to spirits.”

“You make me feel I ought to apologize. I’m sorry, Father, for being a daughter whose talents are confined to spirit arts.”

“At your age, you still haven’t broken that bad habit. It sets a poor example for your son. See that you correct it.”

Julius’s voice turned cold, and Arian flinched, drawing in her shoulders.

“I’m joking. Just joking.”

“Even as a joke, do not say such things in front of Kyle.”

“All right...”

“From now on, you will live on the fourth floor of the Sword Tower.”

“What?”

“Why do you ask?”

Julius looked as though he was the one who could not understand.

“Your son... No, my grandson. Didn’t he say he would come to play often? Surely you don’t expect to bring Kyle all the way here every time, yourself or through someone else?”

“Um... Well... But I rather like the mansion we’re living in now...”

“What nonsense. Even supposing you truly do, why would that be a problem? We can simply move the entire thing here.”

After six years away, she had momentarily forgotten the Sword Tower’s layout. Arian shook her head with a wry smile.

“It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then let us talk some more about my grandson.”

Julius stroked his chin with a warm smile.

“And how we should raise that delightful little fellow.”