“Fath...”

Having just been rebuked, Cartan tried calling him Father, but he had not used that title even once since childhood. It felt awkward on his tongue, and his voice would barely come out.

“... My lord. Do you truly intend to give him Fenris?” Cartan asked cautiously.

“Of course. I already said I would. Should I go back on my word now?”

Faced with Julius’s indifferent expression, Cartan swallowed a rising sigh.

“You know better than anyone what that sword represents, my lord. That mad elf from the Sword Cult sends envoys every year, clamoring for Fenris to be returned. And that is not all. The Crows in the west...”

“Of the two, the Crows are preferable. At least they offer to pay for Fenris.”

Five hundred years ago, the Sword Demon had neither married nor fathered children.

In a sense, however, the Sword Cult and the Crows could be called the children he had left behind.

The Crows would have insisted that they merely held him in esteem, but calling the Sword Cult his children would hardly have been an exaggeration. The leader who ruled them was herself a follower of the Sword Demon who had lived for five hundred years.

“Once she learns that the sword she threw such fucking fits demanding back has been given to my five-year-old grandson, we might get to watch that five-hundred-year-old cult leader drop dead from sheer rage.”

“A-are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“My lord...!”

“My son.”

Julius’s eyes turned cold. His gaze flashed as sharply as a blade as it shot toward Cartan. Cartan gasped and retreated a step.

“You are a pureblood of Alastor, the eldest son of the head of this house. What could you possibly have so much to worry about? Don’t tell me you fear the Sword Cult?”

“...”

“Our founder took Fenris after killing the Sword Demon. That made it the property of House Alastor. The Sword Cult’s leader may be out of her mind, but she has not gone so mad that she cannot respect that.”

Speaking in an icy voice, Julius looked at Fenris, planted in the floor of the Hall of Sword Pinnacles.

“Five hundred years ago, before the Sword Demon’s followers were called the Sword Cult, before its leader became its leader, that deranged elf challenged our founder to reclaim Fenris. She lost and withdrew. Since then, she has never once come to Gladiheim to reclaim Fenris in person.”

“That is...”

“Not even after our founder ascended. During her five hundred years of life, the headship of Alastor has changed hands more than ten times. Naturally, some past heads must have been weaker than her. Yet as I said, she has never once come to take Fenris back. Why do you think that is?”

“I... do not know.”

“Out of respect.”

Julius clicked his tongue at his eldest son’s thickheadedness and supplied the answer.

“Mad though she may be, the Sword Cult’s leader is a warrior. She understands and respects why our founder took Fenris and refused to return it. I have never asked her myself, but she will not come to reclaim it in person until she is certain she is worthy.”

“Certain...?”

“Matching the swordsmanship of our founder, who defeated both her and the Sword Demon five hundred years ago—or perhaps matching the Sword Demon’s swordsmanship. That, I imagine, would give her the certainty she needs.”

“Th-then is that not all the more reason to keep Fenris safely stored away?”

“Cartan. Cartan Alastor.”

Julius sighed deeply. An immense surge of pressure erupted from him and engulfed Cartan. Unable to withstand it, Cartan dropped to one knee.

“Stored away? Did you just say stored away? It is not the Sword Cult’s leader who has lost her mind, but you.”

“Ghh...!”

“If she comes to reclaim Fenris, do you intend to carry it out and present it to her yourself?”

“N... no...!”

“Good. Of course not. If I am still the head of Alastor when she comes, I, your father, will face her myself. If you are the head, you will have to face her.”

“...”

“I gave Fenris to my young grandson today, but that does not change the duties of the head of this house. All the less so because I gave it to him as its head. Cartan Alastor. What is the name of my grandson, your nephew?”

“Kyle... Alastor.”

“Yes. An Alastor, just like us. If the Sword Cult’s leader attempts to harm that child over Fenris, what must we do?”

“An outsider... would be defying your decision, my lord, and attempting to insult Alastor. We must fight the Sword Cult.”

“At last, something I like hearing.”

Julius withdrew his oppressive presence.

“Of course, nothing so extreme will happen. She is not that sort of madwoman. Still, she may take an interest and pay us a visit.”

“An... interest?”

“Wouldn’t you be curious? Fenris has been nothing but a decoration for five hundred years, and now it has been bestowed upon the family’s youngest grandson. And a spirit, too... There is no way she would not take an interest. Even I am intrigued.”

Julius quietly watched Cartan steady his breathing.

Cartan Alastor, the eldest of nine children.

The boy had outstanding potential, but he was far too soft. To put it kindly, he was compassionate. Less kindly, he lacked spirit. Yet Julius could not simply fault him for that. It was thanks to Cartan that the nine siblings had managed to live in relative harmony without any major quarrels.

Cartan had never used his position as the eldest to trample his younger siblings. He was always considerate and looked after them, and he was reasonably good at distinguishing important matters from trivial ones.

Occasionally, as he had just done, he displayed excessive fear of beings beyond his understanding. Nevertheless, Cartan was essential to keeping peace in the Sword Tower. He was also dispassionate about the family’s rules, accepting that being the eldest did not necessarily mean he would become its head.

That was why Julius had brought him along to witness the assessment of Kyle’s potential.

“Arian.”

“Yes, Father?”

Though the eldest invariably addressed Julius as “my lord,” Arian still called him Father. In fact, she was the only one of his children who did.

“How do you think my grandson should be raised?”

“You are asking... my opinion?”

“He is your son, after all.”

“...”

Arian hesitated. She had never imagined he would ask her how the boy should be brought up.

“To be honest, I assumed you would raise him however you wished, Father.”

“Were you raised as I wished?”

“...”

“I show the way, but I do not force anyone down it. That is why I said little when you laid down your sword.”

“Wasn’t that because I had greater aptitude for spirit arts?”

“That is also true. Had you abandoned the sword without even that talent, you would not have been allowed to remain in the Sword Tower. That is only natural.”

His words were cold, but unlike when she was young, Arian no longer felt they were entirely heartless.

Julius was her father, but he was also the head of Alastor.

“Kyle... is very interested in swords. Even before we came to Gladiheim, he kept telling me he wanted one. Did you know? When he was one year old, he said ‘sword’ to me.”

“Born to it, then. Perhaps it is a memory etched into five hundred years of blood.”

“I think so too, but... Kyle also has a talent for spirit arts. Communing with spirits that inhabit objects is something even I cannot do. I imagine it is exceedingly rare even among elves.”

“So, you wish to raise Kyle as a spirit practitioner?”

“I told you he is very interested in swords.”

Arian shook her head with a rueful smile.

“If Kyle wants to wield a sword, we should let him. But if he wants to learn spirit arts as well... I want to help him.”

Communing with goblins was beyond even Arian, but she could teach him ordinary spirit arts. If Kyle took an interest in them, she would put her heart and soul into helping her son.

“For a human, excelling at even one thing is difficult.”

“Kyle is no ordinary child. You saw that yourself, Father.”

“He is certainly far better than I was at his age. That only makes me want more. I wonder just how far he could go if he devoted himself to the sword alone.”

“Then... are you saying you will raise Kyle as you wish?”

“I will not force him. But surely I can ask. Thankfully, your son approaches me willingly and calls me Grandfather.”

“What if Kyle says he wants to learn spirit arts?”

“Surely I may at least try to persuade him otherwise.”

Julius’s lips curved into a gentle smile. Arian felt inwardly relieved at the sight.

She had worried that the talent Kyle had displayed today might make Julius overbearing. She had also feared that Kyle’s other gift might be crushed before it ever had a chance to shine.

Yet Julius did not seem to intend to raise his grandson with such heavy-handedness. Apparently, he meant to respect Kyle’s talents.

“Then... will you be instructing Kyle yourself, my lord?”

Having finally managed to calm his breathing, Cartan staggered to his feet.

“I can play with my young grandson, but it is far too early to instruct him.”

“Then shall I carefully select a swordsmanship instructor from among our retainers?”

“Hmm...”

Julius considered for a moment before speaking.

“I will give it some more thought. While playing with my grandson.”

His eyes curved into a smile as he briefly glanced toward the closed doors of the Hall of Sword Pinnacles. Cartan could not help feeling bewildered by that look.

Absurd though it seemed, Julius now looked like an ordinary grandfather waiting for his grandson to come and play.

‘He has never looked that way at my children...’

Yet he could not resent Julius for it. Since childhood, Cartan himself had viewed Julius more as the head of the house than as his father. The same was true of Cartan’s children and his other nieces and nephews.

‘Ah...’

Feeling a complicated mixture of hurt and guilt, Cartan lowered his head.

* * *

THUD.

When Kyle followed Lucia out of the Hall of Sword Pinnacles, he found his relatives standing in the adjoining corridor.

“What? Why are only you two coming out?”

His largest uncle, Varkas, demanded imperiously. This was the petty bastard who had supposedly envied Arian’s red hair and golden eyes since childhood.

“Grandfather told me to look around the castle.”

Kyle made a point of saying “Grandfather,” and Varkas’s mouth fell open. With his bear-like bulk and oversized head, opening his mouth that wide only made his face look larger.

“G-Grandfa... The head of the house? You called him that?”

“Yes.”

“You ill-mannered brat. How dare you address him that way...?”

“Is calling my grandfather ‘Grandfather’ ill-mannered?”

Kyle looked up with bright, innocent eyes as he asked. Apparently unable to find an answer, Varkas merely opened and closed his mouth.

“The head of the house has ordered me to show Master Kyle around the Sword Tower.”

Lucia, who had carefully wiped away her tears before leaving the hall, spoke in a composed voice.

“Lucia.”

Varkas’s corridor-blocking bulk was pushed aside.

It was Katarina. Looking at the two wooden swords Lucia carried, she asked,

“Who won?”

“... Master Kyle won.”

Her composed voice grew small. At the mumbled answer, Katarina’s eyes widened, and the other relatives reacted in much the same way.

“Lucia lost?”

“That’s impossible...”

The children who looked about Kyle’s age whispered among themselves. With everyone watching him, Kyle proudly thrust out his chest. Even if his opponent had been an eight-year-old girl, victory was nothing to hide in embarrassment. After all, he was only five himself now.

“There is much I would like to ask, but...”

The first to recover from her surprise, Katarina glanced at the hall’s closed doors and stepped aside.

“Obeying the head of the house comes first. Go on.”

“Thank you, Lady Katarina.”

“Thank you, Aunt Katarina.”

Katarina’s eyes wavered again at Kyle’s smiling thanks. With everyone watching, he followed Lucia down the corridor on the Sword Tower’s first floor.

‘What the hell do the people in this family call each other, to react like that every time I address them?’

His grandfather was surprised to be called Grandfather. His uncle was surprised to be called Uncle. And now his aunt was surprised to be called Aunt.

‘Not a shred of warmth in this family.’

He had known since his previous life that noble, distinguished families were bleak, screwed-up affairs. But the Dark Age was over, and even the family of the very man who had ended it was like this.

‘At least they aren’t killing their own kin.’

Come to think of it, Ruin Alastor had descended from the mountains because of the bloodshed among imperial relatives fighting over the throne. Perhaps such strife was taboo in House Alastor.

‘Still... as long as we don’t kill or truly hate each other, a little fighting should be fine.’

Even among the relatives he had just passed, there were plenty he wanted to fight someday.