'He does have an eye for this.'

Kyle gazed steadily at Bruno, who was pale and trembling. He had shown no killing intent, nor had he adopted a tight guard. If Bruno wanted to charge in recklessly, nothing was stopping him.

But Bruno did not approach. He had read Kyle's gaze and the subtle pressure Kyle was projecting. That sort of perceptiveness normally came only through extensive combat experience. Bruno's potential was better than Kyle had expected.

'Well, he is a pureblood of this illustrious house. He must have been put through his share of hell since childhood.'

What if Bruno forced himself to attack? Kyle would respond accordingly. Father and son apparently thought their advantage in mana reserves and physical strength would give Bruno the upper hand in this spar, but that assumption underestimated Kyle far too much.

It was true that Kyle currently had far less mana than Bruno, but having more mana and a bigger body did not guarantee victory in a fight. Kyle was confident that a single swing of his sword could overwhelm hundreds of Bruno's.

'Besides, he's insisting on swordsmanship that doesn't even suit him.'

Kyle did not know what spiritual root Bruno had or which sword style he had learned. But judging by that blatant pressure, the nature of his swordsmanship was obvious.

'He's as hotheaded and emotional as fire, yet he's wielding a sword that's heavy and deliberate as a rock.'

In the end, it was like wearing clothes that did not fit. Swordsmanship forced onto someone was bound to betray its wielder at a crucial moment. People were supposed to tame their swords. Letting a sword tame its wielder was ridiculous.

'He's emotional, but not stupidly brave. The little bastard's more of a coward than he looks.'

Simply put, Bruno bullied the weak and cowered before the strong. Judging by how quickly he heated up and cooled down again, his resolve was no better than a thin cooking pot.

"Hey."

Kyle spoke in a low, calm voice.

"Ugh...!"

But that was not how Bruno heard it. He recoiled in terror, hunching his shoulders. His wooden sword trembled, poised on the verge of being lowered.

"Don't chicken out," Kyle whispered. "You wanted to spar. So what are you doing? A wooden sword is still a sword. If you've drawn it, you should at least try swinging it once. Why are you just standing there?"

In a real battle, there was nothing wrong with running because you did not want to die. Kyle himself had fled several times in his previous life.

But this was not a real battle. Kyle's wooden sword would never kill Bruno. Yet Bruno could not see that obvious fact clearly, trapped in his own fear.

"Come on," Kyle whispered again. He raised the wooden sword hanging at his side and pointed it at Bruno. "If you won't come to me, I'll come to you."

They said even a cornered rat would bite a cat. Kyle wondered whether Bruno was even that much of a rat.

STEP.

Kyle took one step forward. That simple movement was the signal. Bruno's fear, stretched taut, passed its breaking point.

"A-aaargh!"

Bruno screamed and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he hoisted his wooden sword overhead and charged blindly forward. Rather than a rat biting a cat, he looked more like one so frightened that it was flailing its forepaws to stay alive.

Even so, the charge was menacing. The mana he had accumulated enveloped his wooden sword, and with his hulking body behind it, he came rushing in like an enraged boar.

'That's clubbing, not swordsmanship.'

And with his eyes shut, too? What a fucking idiot. Kyle could see the course of Bruno's blade all too clearly. There was plenty of force behind it, but its trajectory was simple and slow. Above all, his weight was pitched forward.

CRACKLE.

Lightning energy circulated through Kyle's body. The mana of the Violet Lightning Heaven-Striking Art passed through his right hand into the wooden sword.

BZZZT!

A strand of electricity coiled around the blade. Its light was smaller than Bruno's aura, but far more vivid.

CRACK!

The wooden swords collided. The rock-colored aura surrounding Bruno's blade was as heavy and solid as the ideals pursued by his cultivation method and sword style. But Kyle's blade drove precisely into a gap where that aura had faltered.

Bruno's wooden sword snapped. The impact traveled into his hands, and the destruction of his aura sent his mana surging backward. He choked on a breath and pitched forward.

CRASH!

Bruno tumbled gracelessly across the ground. Sprawled there, covered in dust, he was quite a sight.

"..."

Silence fell. Varkas's mouth hung open. Could that truly be called a knight cadet's spar? Even a fight between back-alley thugs would have been better.

"G-get up! Get up this instant!"

Varkas roared. The shout jolted Bruno back to his senses. His whole body ached, but his fear was stronger than the pain.

As he hurried to rise, a shadow fell over his face.

"Hey."

Kyle crouched down to meet Bruno's eyes. His golden gaze swept indifferently over him.

"Your wooden sword broke. I win."

"Ugh... Uhhh..."

"I'm trying to decide what to call you."

TAP. TAP.

Kyle tapped his own shoulder with his wooden sword as he continued.

"You're not even a rat. Dumbass? Boar?"

Wasn't a boar bigger and stronger than a rat? Certainly, but the Bruno Kyle had seen did not even measure up to a cornered rat biting a cat.

"Still, calling family names like dumbass seems a bit much. So I'll call you Boar from now on. Hmm, no. Pig is better than Boar. No complaints, right?"

Bruno could not answer. Normally, his face would have turned bright red and he would have shouted at the top of his lungs. But the Kyle he had just faced was too frightening for that.

"You damned..."

Bruno might have shut his mouth in terror, but Varkas had not. His face twisted viciously as he glared at his son, then turned his eyes on Kyle.

"This is about family bonding, isn't it?"

Before Varkas could say anything, Arian intervened. Hands on her hips, she fixed him with a fierce stare.

"That's what you came here for. You suggested the spar, too. Am I wrong?"

"..."

"Surely you're not about to lash out at my son just because you're upset that yours lost? If you are, I won't stand for it."

"Hah."

The corner of Varkas's mouth twitched.

"You never had a scrap of talent for the sword, even as a child. Yet your son is entirely different. Aslan's son, through and through, is he?"

By now, Kyle knew who that name belonged to.

Aslan Antares. The man who had spent ten years in secluded training without even knowing his wife had become pregnant. Kyle's father.

The world knew him as the Sword Maniac. In the past, Aslan had come to challenge Alastor's famed might and lost to Julius. But defeat had not driven him away.

Though he had not become an Alastor knight, he had remained in Gladiheim as a guest of the house. Julius's swordsmanship had impressed him deeply, and he wanted to face it again.

After staying in Gladiheim as a guest for some time, Aslan had fallen for Arian, the family's notorious tomboy, and she for him. Arian then abruptly announced that she was getting married. After a quiet wedding, she had hustled Aslan out of Gladiheim and left with him.

"I wouldn't know about the blood of a father whose face I've never even seen."

Kyle spoke before Arian could reply.

"Before I'm my father's son, I'm Grandfather's grandson. And your nephew, Uncle."

Varkas's gaze shifted at those audacious words.

"You must be happy, Uncle."

"Me? What have I to be happy about?"

"You have such an outstanding nephew."

Varkas's lips parted slightly.

"Hmm, on second thought, it's not just you. All of Alastor should be happy. After all, I'm a pureblood of this house, too."

"..."

"With such an outstanding descendant born into the family, I'm sure even the founder, who ascended long ago, must be pleased. Perhaps my very existence is a gift he bestowed on his descendants."

How could he say something so outrageous with such confidence and a perfectly straight face? Both Arian and Varkas were astonished. Then Varkas let out a hollow laugh and shook his head.

"You're far too drunk on your own greatness. Keep getting above yourself like that, and you'll get your nose—"

"Broken, yes. If it happens, I'll just put some medicine on it. Anyway, I won today's spar."

"And? Do you want praise?"

"I like sincere praise."

Kyle grinned, then took the hand of Bruno, who was still sprawled on the ground, and pulled him up.

"You don't seem to want to give me any sincere praise right now, Uncle, so I won't pester you for it. Instead, I'll count today's victory as my birthday present."

"You... earned that victory through your own ability. As for a birthday present, yes, I'll arrange something separately. Shall I have a sword made for you?"

"No, I'm fine for swords. If you insist on giving me something—hmm, give me a friend."

"A... friend? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. A friend."

PAT.

Kyle patted the shoulder of Bruno, whom he had just helped to his feet.

"I can call him over to play sometimes, can't I?"

"... Play?"

Bewilderment crossed Varkas's face. The boy was cunning beyond his years. He could hardly be completely oblivious to why this contrived spar had taken place, and he surely sensed Bruno's hostility and Varkas's wariness. Varkas found it difficult to understand why he would approach Bruno talking about friendship.

"I don't have many friends."

Kyle smiled in a way that looked innocent at first glance.

"So I'd like one. Of course, friendship is really something that happens naturally as you get close. But if you told him not to play with me, Uncle, this pig would do as he was told, wouldn't he?"

"You intend to call my son a pig even in my presence?"

Varkas glared, putting steel into his voice, but Kyle nodded without the slightest change in expression.

"Yes. That was the wager."

"..."

"We can be friends, right?"

Varkas considered without answering immediately. The boy possessed genius—no, monstrous talent. In the struggle over the succession, he would have to be kept in check, but Alastor strictly forbade strife between blood relatives.

Of course, Varkas genuinely coveted the position of head of the house. If circumstances left him no choice, he would be ruthless. But not yet. The head of the house was still far too strong, and Kyle was too young.

"Do as you please."

Varkas spat out the words and turned away. He strode off without so much as announcing his departure. Bruno hesitated, then removed Kyle's hand and hurried after him.

"See you next time, Pig!"

Kyle called after Bruno's retreating back. Bruno merely flinched, his shoulders twitching, and did not return the farewell. Watching Varkas walk away, Kyle thought:

'Will ten years do it?'

That was a very generous estimate. With his blessed spiritual root and talent allowing him to accumulate mana quickly, he might surpass Varkas in less than ten years.

'I could keep my head down and stay out of sight, but it's not as if I've done anything wrong. Why should I?'

Kyle's stance had not changed from five years ago. If the people in this damn family regarded him with suspicion instead of acknowledgment, hostility instead of respect, he would make them acknowledge and respect him. If they tried to remove him because he was a nuisance, he would grow too large to remove and sink his roots deep into the earth.

For that, he needed dependable allies. Kyle had sensed the weakness and fear in Bruno's heart. Family traditions that suffocated a child, and a terrifying, stern father. Ultimately, Varkas was to blame for Bruno's bullying nature and his fickle resolve.

With someone like that, a little gentle coaxing and satisfaction of his craving for approval would leave him deeply moved all on his own. Then, if you tugged him in your direction, he would hesitate before following along.

Before becoming the Sword Demon, Kyle had led the children of the mercenary company. He had also been the first commander of the Crow Mercenaries. He knew more than enough about handling people.

Of course, those methods worked better with some sincerity behind them. Kyle was confident he could supply as much sincerity as needed. However pathetic and unlikable the boy might be, he was still his cousin. In his previous life, his father had been his only blood relative, so Kyle placed considerable value on the family he had gained through reincarnation.

"How did my son turn out so wonderful!"

Naturally, the member of his family Kyle treasured most was Arian. He even still felt guilty toward her deep down. That was why, ever since infancy, he had thrown himself into acting like a baby at the expense of the Sword Demon's dignity.

"Because I take after you, Mom."

He did not resist as Arian swept him into her arms. Smiling like a child, he submitted to her shower of kisses.

In truth, his desire to secure a firm place in this damn family was partly for Arian's sake.

'Family... Family, huh...'

In Arian's embrace, he thought back five hundred years.

He had never felt any maternal love from his mother, who had been a prostitute. Nor had she shown much motherly affection. Sad as it was, his mother had been a professional.

Her reason for going to the trouble of giving birth to Kyle—to Raikal—had simply been to join the mercenary company. His father had agreed to Raikal's birth because a mercenary never knew when he might die. In other words, he had wanted to leave offspring behind.

Still, he had lived with his father for ten years and had felt his paternal love. Would he have felt maternal love if he had lived with his mother longer? Perhaps, but she had died when Raikal was far too young.

Aside from those actual relatives in his previous life, there had been quite a few people who were like family. The mercenary children who had lost their parents on the same day, at the same hour. The founding members of the Crow Mercenaries. And the follower who had accompanied Raikal—the Sword Demon—in his later years.

He had assumed that, after five hundred years, everyone he had known in his previous life would be dead. Yet one was still alive.

'The Sword Cult's leader...'

To think that snot-nosed child, who had not possessed the slightest talent with a blade, was still alive and bore the grand title of the Sword Cult's leader.

Five hundred years really was a long time.