For five years, Julius Alastor’s throne remained secure, and none of his nine children attempted to challenge him and claim it for themselves.

Of the eldest son Cartan’s two sons, eighteen-year-old Cassius had become an apprentice knight of Gladiheim, while fifteen-year-old Vecius was a knight cadet.

Fifteen-year-old Bruno, the son of Julius’s second son Varkas, was also a knight cadet.

Twelve-year-old Vivian, daughter of his fourth son Dante, was training to become a knight cadet.

His third daughter Erika, now eighteen, had become an apprentice knight as well.

* * *

In the middle of the Sword Garden, a red-haired boy sat with his eyes closed and a wooden sword resting across his knees.

His body was large compared with his still-childish face. The fine elixirs he had been taking since the age of five had given him a sturdy frame, now covered in dense muscle. As a result, he was much taller and more solidly built than an ordinary ten-year-old.

To anyone watching, the boy would have seemed to be dozing amid the weapons. His mind, however, was in a realm far removed from reality.

Within the realm of consciousness he had entered by resonating with Baal, Kyle was not sitting with his eyes shut.

It was not a convenient world where time flowed differently from reality, but he had less need to worry about other people watching him here.

Kyle swung his wooden sword.

Not with the grade-five sword styles he had learned in the grand library over the past five years, but with the swordsmanship he had used as the Sword Demon.

If he practiced it in reality, its intense killing intent would draw attention, as would the fact that he had never been taught it.

Here, he could swing that sword to his heart’s content. The longer he stayed in the realm of consciousness, the more severe his mental exhaustion became, but he enjoyed it.

Unlike training the body, this sort of mental conditioning could not be achieved through ordinary exercise. So for five years, he had repeatedly resonated with Baal, tempering his mind and refining the swordsmanship of his days as the Sword Demon.

[...]

Baal narrowed her yellow eyes at Kyle. She had witnessed this sight many times over the past five years, yet she could never make sense of it.

A mere ten-year-old child of an inferior race, who had not even awakened his spiritual root.

How could a child whose experience of killing amounted to swatting gnats wield a sword so steeped in killing intent?

And that swordsmanship had depth. What he showed with his swings was not all there was to it. Since he was using no mana whatsoever, he was merely adapting it to his present circumstances.

["Whelp."]

Baal spoke. Kyle, engrossed in swinging his wooden sword, turned his head at her call.

["Tomorrow is your tenth birthday, is it not?"]

"Yeah."

["Take me in hand tomorrow."]

At that whisper, Kyle gave her an exasperated glance, then resumed swinging his wooden sword.

["Whelp. Did you not hear me?"]

"I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you no."

["Why do you refuse? I, Baal, am offering to lend you my power."]

"Is that any way to ask a favor?"

Baal’s eyes twitched at Kyle’s sneer.

["A favor? I ask no favors of you. This is a command."]

"No."

Over the past five years, he had had this sort of conversation with Baal more times than he could possibly count. She had tried to impose her will on him from their first meeting, but over those five years she had grown increasingly talkative—and desperate.

["Whelp. I shall forgive you for kicking me all those years ago. Swear to wield me, and I, Baal, shall lend you my power without reservation."]

A sharp, powerful sword? Kyle liked those too. But he did not consider one a desperate necessity. Whether a famed blade or a demonic sword, it was ultimately something someone held and swung. Baal’s whole way of thinking was wrong if she could not understand something so obvious and kept prattling about lending him power.

"I’ll wield you later, when I feel like it."

Still, Kyle stopped short of rejecting her outright. For five years, he had dangled the possibility before her, coyly keeping her hopes alive.

Strictly speaking, what interested him was not the power of the sword called Baal, but the Demon King’s swordsmanship remembered by the goblin dwelling within her.

["Why later? Tomorrow, you could simply..."]

"My family would raise hell."

That much was true. Five years earlier, upon learning that Kyle had resonated with Baal, Julius had immediately summoned him from the library, where he had shut himself away, to the Hall of Sword Pinnacles.

There, Kyle had explained the goblin dwelling within Baal and once again been forced to prove that he was not bewitched.

That had settled matters with Julius, but the trouble had not ended there. The fact that Baal housed a goblin, and that Kyle could speak with it, had attracted the attention of the Sword Tower’s elders.

Some wanted to hear the goblin’s stories about the Demon King and their founder, Ruin Alastor. Ultimately, however, they issued Kyle no instructions.

The elders concluded that a demonic sword’s words could not be trusted.

Kyle had not asked Baal either.

If he showed any curiosity, she would inevitably forget her place and try to strike a bargain.

"Time I got going."

Baal’s eyes were brimming with reluctance to let him leave. Sensing the red mist coiled around him and the gazes beyond it, Kyle glanced at her.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

["Whelp, what are you talking about?"]

"The weapons in the Sword Garden. They can’t talk to me because of you."

["You brat! Do you think I, Baal, would do anything so petty?"]

Baal flew into a rage, but Kyle remained suspicious.

Other weapons in the Sword Garden clearly housed goblins too, yet none besides Baal had approached him.

They merely watched from a distance. He had tried to resonate with them many times, but whenever he did, the red mist would surge up of its own accord and drag him into Baal’s realm of consciousness instead.

"Stop acting so beneath yourself."

["An inferior race’s little shit dares insult me...!"]

Baal glared and poured out killing intent, but Kyle ignored her and pushed his way out through the mist.

"Hmm."

Back in reality, Kyle opened his eyes.

"Lord Kyle."

A voice approached. Turning toward it, he found a silver-haired girl in uniform looking at him with one knee on the ground.

Lucia. Kyle rose and asked,

"Finished training?"

"Yes."

Children who wished to become knights of House Alastor took an examination at thirteen to become knight cadets. Lucia had fulfilled her dream of becoming one and was now undergoing training.

"How was training today?"

"Lord Vecius and Lord Bruno were scolded by the instructor for chatting during training."

"Business as usual, then."

Kyle laughed as he stretched.

Now ten, Kyle had changed a great deal physically. Perhaps thanks to the elixirs he had taken from an early age, he was much taller than an ordinary ten-year-old, his body packed with dense muscle.

His face still retained some baby fat, young as he was, but his physical development was far beyond his years.

"Allow me to escort you to the Sword Tower."

Lucia stepped in front of him with a dignified air. A Funeral Knight was already watching over him while he was in the Sword Garden, and the Sword Tower was right there. Besides, who in Gladiheim would dare harm a pureblood? Still, Kyle did not refuse her consideration.

As a knight cadet, Lucia had left the Sword Tower and now lived in the cadet quarters in Hilt, Gladiheim’s lower district. She had come all the way to the Sword Garden solely to spend time with Kyle.

That was how close they had grown over five years. They had crossed wooden swords countless times and occasionally shared more personal conversations. Among the younger people in the Sword Tower, only Lucia and his youngest aunt, Erika, had become close to him.

"Your birthday is tomorrow already, Lord Kyle," Lucia said.

The path to the Sword Tower was short. For the usually taciturn Lucia to initiate a conversation meant she was that curious about his birthday tomorrow—and the awakening of his spiritual root.

"Not ‘already.’ More like ‘at last.’"

"What sort of spiritual root are you hoping to awaken?"

"Well... Grandfather and Mother say I’ll awaken a lightning spiritual root. I think they’re probably right."

Kyle answered as he stroked the thunder crystal pendant around his neck. The lightning spirit he had met five years earlier was still coiled up inside it, feeding on the mana stones he gave it.

He had not yet communed with any other spirits. Occasionally, he heard whispers from the wind, the earth, or flames, but communing too much with spirits before awakening his spiritual root was dangerous.

There was a reason spirit practitioners of old had been treated as possessed lunatics.

"I do not possess the organ known as a spiritual root, so I have never experienced it myself... But I have heard that people dream on the day they awaken theirs."

"Yeah. Apparently, you fall asleep before your birthday whether you try to or not. Then, in your dream... you see something related to your spiritual root."

Arian and Julius called it a spiritual vision.

A manifestation of the spirit. If one felt wind within the dream, a wind spiritual root would awaken and take residence in the body, setting off the opening of its circuits.

"Mother said she saw a huge ship made of wind. Aunt Erika saw a garden of ice flowers. And Grandfather—"

"I understand he saw lightning pouring down like rain," Lucia supplied.

'What is this, a dream foretelling a baby’s birth...?'

The more powerful the spiritual vision, the stronger the spiritual root one awakened. Developing and strengthening a spiritual root was an exceedingly difficult, time-consuming process, so every child with ambitions in martial arts or magic hoped for a powerful vision.

Frankly, Kyle disliked the idea that a single dream could set his limits.

"Lord Kyle."

Lucia stopped before the Sword Tower’s main entrance. Turning around, she bowed her head to him.

"I am certain you will awaken an extraordinary spiritual root," she said sincerely.

"Thanks."

Kyle grinned.

'If I’m going to awaken one anyway, obviously a good spiritual root is better than a crappy one.'

The Sword Tower’s main doors opened. Kyle waved to Lucia and went inside.

* * *

That night, Rose Manor was quiet. Normally, Arian would have made a tremendous fuss celebrating Kyle’s upcoming birthday, but she was surprisingly composed.

The dinner table, however, was anything but restrained. His birthday had not even arrived, yet elaborate dishes covered the table. Kyle recognized several of them.

Dishes prepared with ingredients associated with lightning energy. When Kyle glanced up, Arian met his eyes and smiled sheepishly.

"Your grandfather sent the ingredients."

"He didn’t summon me yesterday or today, but he sent all this?"

"I suppose this is his way of trying not to put pressure on you."

"That doesn’t exactly fit with sending ingredients like these."

"He doesn’t want to pressure you, but I suppose he still has his hopes."

Kyle chuckled and picked up his utensils.

"There’s too much for me to finish. If I get too full, my stomach will be uncomfortable and I won’t sleep well."

"Still, have a bite of each for your grandfather’s sake. All right?"

"Yes."

Even after five years, Kyle remained a dutiful son.

After dinner, he spent some time reading, then washed up. When he went to his room, he found Arian waiting at the door.

"Going to bed already, son?"

"No, I’ll let my food settle first."

"Don’t leave it too late before getting into bed. All right?"

On the eve of one’s tenth birthday, a body on the verge of awakening its spiritual root would succumb to sleep before midnight. Those who did not lie down ahead of time sometimes collapsed asleep on the floor.

"Sweet dreams, son."

Arian hugged Kyle and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Yes. I’ll have a good dream."

Once inside his room, Kyle sat on the edge of his bed and tapped the thunder crystal.

CRACKLE!

A purple snake, twice the size it had been five years earlier, emerged from the thunder crystal.

"Today’s the last day I feed you mana stones."

When he held out a small mana stone, the snake opened its mouth wide and sank its fangs into it. Soon, the mana flowed into the snake, and the stone lost its glow.

After feeding it, Kyle turned off the light and lay down.

He had been waiting for this day since he was five. There was still some time before midnight, but he closed his eyes at once and tried to sleep.

He was not particularly sleepy, yet strangely, the moment he closed his eyes and tried to drift off, his consciousness grew hazy. It was as though someone were drawing his mind into a dream. A distant, dizzying sensation, as though his soul were separating from his body and being sucked away somewhere.

Blackness.

The world flashed into view.

He saw a vast expanse of land.

An endless wilderness. Dust swirled, and rugged rocky peaks stood in rows like a folding screen. They were no mere masses of stone. Each peak thrusting up through the earth resembled an enormous sword piercing the heavens.

The earth screamed and split apart. Crimson lava surged from the fissures like blood. Ferocious flames, burning as though to devour everything, dyed the world scarlet. The seething heat became a ravenous sword, setting the air ablaze.

The flames did not stop at burning the world. They heated and smelted the melting earth. Golden flashes plunged into that incandescent world. Lightning began to strike. It was both thunderbolt and blade. Swift, sharp lightning cleaved the flames and carved away the land.

Dark clouds covered the sky, turning it black. Icy snow and rain poured down together. Waves swept in, tracing gentle curves as they worked their way into the world’s crevices and filled them. An unbroken, unstoppable current performed a sword dance.

The world became an ocean, and a horizon appeared. The sky stretched as boundlessly as the sea. Black with storm clouds one moment, it cleared until not a single cloud remained, and a vast sun blazed.

Before long, life was born within the currents. An enormous forest drove back the sea in an instant, growing to cover the world. Densely packed trees stretched toward the heavens like blades.

A fierce wind blew. Like wild, indiscriminate slashes, it cut the trees down. And so the world became a wilderness once more.

It repeated.

The world cycled from wilderness to raging flames, became a mass of metal, sank beneath water, then turned to forest and wilderness again.

The world spun round and round. The cycle exploded, then converged upon a single point.

Every form he had just witnessed condensed together. That swirling thing was none of them, yet could become anything. It was chaos.

Kyle stared blankly at the chaos. He knew he was dreaming. He also understood instinctively what stood before him. He had just seen the world itself—its creation and its twilight.

Before him was the chaos that wove all of it into one. As Kyle gazed at the chaos, the chaos gazed back at him.

Slowly, he reached toward it.

"..."

His eyes opened.

He had woken from the dream.

Despite having just awakened, his eyelids felt light, and his mind was clear rather than groggy. Kyle stared blankly at the ceiling. His hand was foolishly outstretched toward it.

"...?"

After opening and closing that hand a few times, Kyle sat up.

"What the hell was that nonsense dream?"

He remembered the dream vividly, but had no idea what to make of that nonsense. It had been absurdly grandiose, and he had even linked every phenomenon in it to a sword.

"..."

Kyle began to harbor quiet concerns about his own mental state.