“All right.”

Katarina Alastor. Of Julius’s nine children, she was the eldest daughter and the second child, born after Cartan.

And she had offered a sincere apology. She had slapped him out of nowhere, but in her own way, she had acted out of concern for her young nephew. Kyle was not petty enough to keep giving her a hard time over it.

“Where are you going?”

As he made to leave the Sword Garden, Katarina asked, still looking apologetic.

“I’m going to visit the library on the second floor.”

“The library...? You?”

“Yes. Grandfather gave me permission.”

Surprise filled Katarina’s eyes at his answer. A five-year-old who had yet to awaken his spiritual root had been allowed into the second-floor library. The nephew her younger sister Arian had brought home surprised her in all sorts of ways.

“Aunt Katarina.”

Kyle looked straight at her as he spoke.

“Is it all right if I keep coming here to see Baal?”

“Well...”

“If you’re really worried, you can stay beside me and keep watch.”

“Whew.”

Katarina let out a short sigh and shook her head.

“I’m not so idle that I can watch you all the time. Instead, while you’re in the Sword Garden... a Funeral Knight will keep an eye on you.”

“That’s fine with me.”

Kyle glanced at Lucia. She had briefly fallen under Baal’s spell, but her gaze was now as steady as ever. Having confirmed that, he took another look around the Sword Garden.

Baal, which had been visible until moments ago, was no longer in sight. Yet when he consciously tried to see it, its shape appeared faintly. The seal seemed to be intact.

“I’ll see you next time, then.”

He bowed to Katarina and waved to Lucia.

The grand library occupied the Sword Tower’s second floor. When Kyle stepped out of the elevator, Nelia, its librarian, greeted him.

“The head of the house told me.”

With a gentle smile, Nelia took his hand and led him along. Enormous bookshelves stretched below the lobby. He had seen their vast scale before, but the sight was just as magnificent the second time.

“No one in Alastor history has entered the grand library as young as you.”

Nelia stroked the railing. With a clunk, a section of the floor detached and began floating over the bookshelves.

“The head of the house has given you access to grade-five sword styles. From now on, if you stroke the railing as I just did, the floor will move and take you to the grade-five shelves.”

“There are so many books.”

Five hundred years was a long time, but every book on these shelves had been judged worthwhile by House Alastor. Viewed that way, there seemed to be far too many.

“That’s because we’ve kept adding to them. Several people read the same book, each finds things to improve, and then they write new books of their own. If you can understand them, comparing the originals with the revisions should be interesting.”

“So the grand library isn’t just for purebloods?”

“Even those who aren’t purebloods may enter if they distinguish themselves or are deemed qualified. They cannot stay as freely as purebloods, though.”

Purebloods enjoyed privileges, but not an unconditional monopoly. That would only lead to stagnation. The house could never have maintained its reputation as the continent’s foremost martial family for five hundred years that way.

In other words, even someone from a collateral branch who was not a pureblood could become head of House Alastor, provided they were strong enough. Yet there had not been a single such case in its five-hundred-year history.

To prevent a collateral branch from wresting the headship away, and to reign supreme over their retainers, purebloods had to endure the pressure and hone themselves. Moreover, over those five hundred years, Alastor “blood” had been refined so that growing stronger was all but inevitable.

“The grade-five sword styles are collected here. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“No, nothing.”

“You’re much brighter than Arian was at your age. Such an adorable, admirable child. If you get hungry while reading, call me anytime. I’ll bring you some delicious treats.”

Smiling gently, Nelia stroked Kyle’s head, then rode another detached section of floor back to the lobby.

‘I can’t get used to this damned tower.’

He had only arrived at the Sword Tower three days ago, so that was hardly surprising. Kyle stroked the railing, getting a feel for the controls. If he thought of going up, it rose. If he thought of going down, it descended. If he wanted to go sideways, it moved sideways.

To his five-year-old body, the shelves towered like an insurmountable wall, but the railing moved as he instructed, making them easy to browse.

There were three bookcases in all. By a rough count, each held about five hundred books. That meant fifteen hundred volumes on sword styles alone, all in grade five, the lowest grade. Marveling at the sheer scale, Kyle approached the first sword manual that caught his eye.

Gale Sword Style.

A blatant name. There must have been more than ten sword styles with that name circulating five hundred years ago.

‘Why are there so many?’

Seven manuals bore the title Gale Sword Style. Kyle took out the first and opened it.

The name alone gave a fair idea of what sort of sword style it was, and it lived up to that impression. The Gale Sword Style pursued windlike speed, its movements consisting of sweeping cuts and straightforward thrusts.

‘It doesn’t just describe the movements. It explains how to circulate mana in detail, too.’

As the arm swung to guide the sword, the mana within the body had to move with it. Describing that process naturally made for lengthy explanations. Nodding, Kyle took out another Gale Sword Style manual.

The first had been the original. This one was a revision. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the book.

‘The movements are the same, but the mana circulation is different.’

Kyle had used mana five hundred years ago, too. He had received the blessing of mana through countless battles and brushes with death.

Upon receiving that blessing, a crystallization of mana—a core—formed where the heart was. Once it formed, continuing to fight and overcome mortal peril as before gradually increased the mana within it.

It sounded simple, but it was anything but. For one thing, growing the core was so agonizing that death seemed preferable. The first time he circulated mana, and whenever he circulated it in a slightly different way, pain tore through him as though his insides were being ripped into thousands upon thousands of pieces. The growth of a core could be likened to the growth of muscle.

Even while enduring that pain, one had to swing a sword, fight, and survive. The blessing of mana was a reward for suffering.

‘Mana circulation in this era really is different.’

He now clearly understood how spiritual roots, which he had only heard about, had changed the use of mana from five hundred years ago.

When a spiritual root awakened, the body could “feel” the mana in the atmosphere. A cultivation method then guided that mana into the body. Five hundred years ago, mana accumulated in a core at the heart. In this era, it accumulated in a place in the lower abdomen called the lower energy center.

There was no need to fight brutal battles or overcome mortal peril. Cultivation methods offered a more stable way to form a core in the lower energy center and accumulate mana.

Furthermore, awakening a spiritual root opened “circuits” within the body. Five hundred years ago, distributing mana throughout the body had meant gritting one’s teeth and using mana to rip open pathways inside oneself. Now spiritual roots awakened and circuits opened simultaneously, making it easy to spread mana through the body.

‘I suspected as much when I saw ten-year-old Bruno producing aura, but I never imagined it would be this convenient.’

As he compared the original Gale Sword Style with its revisions, a realization began to dawn on Kyle.

‘Convenience doesn’t necessarily mean superiority.’

The bodies of this era, with their awakening spiritual roots and opening circuits, were excessively accommodating. At least, compared with five hundred years ago, when people had forcibly torn open what was difficult—no, impossible—to open.

‘There’s no need for that in this era. The spiritual root awakens and the circuits open at the same time.’

In comparison, each had its strengths and weaknesses.

The methods the Sword Demon had experienced five hundred years ago were crude and painful, but fast and powerful. By forcing mana into their bodies, people had reached heights that physical training alone could never achieve.

But it was dangerous. One misstep could shatter the core or send the mana flowing through the body out of control. The result was either a lifetime as an invalid who could barely lift a finger—or death.

By contrast, training one’s mana in this era was fairly safe. Not absolutely safe, of course. Various factors could still leave a practitioner partially paralyzed.

But the odds were low. Circulating mana through already-open circuits was refined and precise.

Still, he felt it lacked explosive power. That was his impression from the books, at least. One might say its ceiling was lower.

‘Just as people aren’t born with equal gifts, the spiritual roots they awaken aren’t equal, either. The spiritual root places limits on the circuits.’

Now he understood why a single original had spawned so many revisions. Everyone had different circuits within their bodies, and their individual insights and tricks added to the number of books.

Five hundred years ago, simply forcing pathways open had been the natural thing to do. Not anymore. People living in this era could not imagine a time without spiritual roots.

‘And once you awaken a spiritual root, you become heavily bound by the nature of your mana.’

Erika had awakened an ice spiritual root and learned the cold-emitting Snow Blossom Sword Style. Though he had not seen it himself, Julius, who had reportedly awakened a lightning spiritual root, must also have learned a sword style involving lightning.

A spiritual root was an affinity for an elemental attribute. The mana one sensed upon awakening it and accumulated through a cultivation method took on that element’s properties.

Someone who had awakened a wind spiritual root would find it extremely difficult to imbue mana with flame. Their cultivation method would be less efficient, and their aura markedly weaker.

‘From my perspective, the very idea of putting an element into mana defies common sense. Mana is just mana, and aura is just aura.’

Kyle opened the other Gale Sword Style manuals and read them intently. Even without a spiritual root or circuits yet, he had the Sword Demon’s memories. Books at this level were easy to understand simply by reading them.

“Hmm.”

After taking the time to read all seven volumes, Kyle returned the Gale Sword Style manuals to the shelf.

‘The Gale Sword Style. It’s not bad, but...’

It might have been premature to judge from this one example, but Kyle boldly reached a conclusion.

‘Swordsmanship in this era is convenient and safe, but far too tame.’

Confined within the framework of spiritual roots and circuits, practitioners sought only to follow predetermined paths. Awaken a wind spiritual root, and learn the Gale Sword Style. Awaken an ice spiritual root, and learn the Snow Blossom Sword Style.

‘It’s efficient, certainly. But they’re so caught up in efficiency that they shut off other possibilities.’

The convenience and ease of learning mana through an awakened spiritual root had instead become a poison. Frankly, receiving the blessing of mana through sheer hell five hundred years ago had offered greater freedom. This era drew the line on people’s limits far too young.

‘From what I’ve read, circuits aren’t unchangeable... but a flow that starts in the lower energy center makes forging new circuits far too difficult.’

Only after spending a long time honing the established circuits and filling the lower energy center with mana could one open new circuits. All seven Gale Sword Style manuals pursued the greatest possible efficiency and power within existing circuits, each in its own way.

The Sword Demon’s era had been crude and barbaric. But it had been just as free and limitless.

And if you failed?

‘You died, or you ended up a cripple.’

It had been an era of forty years of unbroken war. Without that resolve and madness, no one could have survived on the battlefield with a sword in hand.

‘I’ll embrace what’s worth embracing. The swordsmanship of this era is interesting, after all.’

Kyle surveyed the shelves. Fifteen hundred books. Plenty of their titles interested him.

Five years remained until this body’s spiritual root awakened and its circuits opened. Looking at the shelves, Kyle grinned.

The next five years were unlikely to be boring. In that time, he would thoroughly study every grade-five sword style. Along the way, he would adapt and evolve the Sword Demon’s experience and strengths to suit this era.

‘I’ll sense mana with my spiritual root and form cores in both my energy center and my heart. If my circuits are insufficient or inconvenient, I’ll forge new ones, while making every sword style here my own.’

His heart pounded.

‘Even I don’t know what spiritual root I’ll awaken. Perhaps the thunder crystal and lightning spirit will influence me, and I’ll awaken a lightning spiritual root. If so, I just need to blend it into my swordsmanship in my own way.’

The corners of his mouth twitched.

‘Besides, I have a talent for spirit arts. Eventually, I should be able to contract with spirits other than the lightning spirit. Then I might be able to learn and use sword styles without being bound by my spiritual root. I have an affinity with goblins, too. What if I could obtain unrecorded martial knowledge from the weapons in the Sword Garden?’

Possibilities he had yet to realize, but could already imagine.

Kyle’s eyes gleamed with greed. A thirst for knowledge and a yearning to grow stronger shone like gold within them. Chuckling, he pulled out another book.

* * *

Five years passed, and Kyle Alastor’s tenth birthday arrived.