“Lucia.”

“Yes, Master Kyle,” answered Lucia, who had been standing quietly listening to their conversation.

“Your wrist ached a little when you deflected Bruno’s sword earlier, didn’t it?”

“Yes, a little.”

Lucia nodded and rotated her wrist. Even though she had skillfully redirected the blow, Bruno’s strength and the mass of his greatsword were nothing to dismiss. Moreover, she had followed Kyle’s instructions and handled Bruno’s sword with only as much force as necessary, barely using any mana.

“See, Pig? It’s not like your sword had no effect on Lucia at all. Instead of deciding you’d lost and giving up, you could have planted your foot, recovered your balance, and attacked again. Then it wouldn’t have ended in just one exchange.”

“B-balance... Say I recovered my balance. My sword had already been knocked aside. How was I supposed to swing it again?”

“Ugh... Pig, is that big body just for show? Ram her with your shoulder, or let go of the sword and throw a punch. You had plenty of options.”

“Is that... swordsmanship?”

“If you win with a sword in your hand, it’s swordsmanship.”

“Say... say I rammed her with my shoulder. Would Lucia just let me? Her sword would...”

“Stab your shoulder. Nothing you can do about that. Just get stabbed and bear it. You’re tough.”

Bruno’s jaw dropped at the sheer recklessness of that answer.

“And if she cuts your arm off instead of just stabbing you, well, nothing you can do about that either.”

“What do you mean, nothing I can do?!”

“That’s the price of swinging your sword like an idiot. Who else would you blame?”

“You’re the one who told me to spar!”

“Pig. Is it my fault you swung your sword like shit?” Kyle sneered.

“Pig. You waited for your opponent to move, then finally lost patience and attacked first. If you were going to do that, you should obviously have thought about what to do if your attack failed.”

“...”

“Do you think your opponent was waiting because she was stupid? The moment you lost patience and charged first, you played right into her hands. And another thing. Doesn’t standing there waiting for your opponent to move drive you crazy?”

Could this brat really read minds? Flustered, Bruno hesitated.

“Th-that’s...”

“If you’re going to wait, you should wait patiently and make your opponent desperate to come at you—but you don’t want to do that. And standing still waiting frustrates you. So what are you going to do?”

“In... in that case, if I moved in first and pressured my opponent...”

“But you’re not pressuring them. You’re too emotional for that. And on top of it, you give up too easily.”

“Then are you saying I have to fix my emotional personality too...?” Bruno asked, the corners of his mouth twitching. His father was always criticizing his temperament.

“Giving up too easily is pathetic, and you need to fix it. But being emotional can be your own distinctive trait if you put it to good use.”

Kyle cocked his head.

“You get angry easily. Once you lose your temper, you go berserk. You even tried to kill a five-year-old with aura.”

“Th-that time...”

“You got worked up earlier too, when Lucia and I looked down on you.”

“...”

“Just stay angry. Force yourself to be angry even when you aren’t. When you fight, imagine your opponent is your father’s sworn enemy or something.”

“What...?”

“Don’t stand there like an idiot waiting for your opponent, then charge because you can’t stand the frustration. Just charge from the start. You’re huge, and you use a greatsword. Just smash into them with brute force.”

“W-wait.”

Horrified, Bruno interrupted him.

“The Bedrock Sword Style I learned isn’t that kind of swordsmanship. This style...”

“Did Uncle tell you to learn it?”

“...”

“What’s Uncle’s swordsmanship like?”

Kyle folded his arms as he asked, and Bruno answered hesitantly.

“Father’s swordsmanship is... like a towering mountain. Even when he’s just standing still, there are no openings. Just facing him feels like it’s eating away at my spirit. And when I force myself to approach and attack, he comes crashing down on me like that mountain collapsing.”

“What about when he attacks first?”

“I can’t... I can’t do anything. Even if I try to block, I can’t stop him. Even if I try to dodge, I can’t get away... Father’s sword is heavy and enormous.”

Varkas had not struck Kyle as particularly composed. He was fierce as a bear and quick-tempered. Yet Bruno’s account suggested that his swordsmanship was the opposite of his personality. Indeed, that very contrast would make facing his sword all the more oppressive.

‘Swordsmanship doesn’t have to follow your personality.’

Mastering a style contrary to his temperament and wielding the unsettling pressure created by that disparity as a weapon—that was a level Varkas had reached through long years of training. He possessed the self-control to suppress his fiery temper with mountainlike patience.

But Bruno lacked that capacity. Forcing it down only choked him. How could a little soy-sauce dish possibly hold lava?

“Uncle is Uncle, and you are you,” Kyle said flatly.

“Uncle suppresses his anger and turns it into the weight of a towering mountain. When you hold yours in, you just become a useless fucking idiot. Uncle is experienced. You’re not. You don’t even have any patience.”

“B-but it’s the swordsmanship Father told me to learn...”

“Who said not to learn it? I’m telling you to change how you use it. What’s your spiritual root?”

“An earth spiritual root...”

The earth was vast and solid. It did not surge like the sea, sway like the wind, rage like fire, or chill like ice. The earth was always tranquil, firmly supporting all those things.

“A jagged rocky mountain is earth too. So is sticky mud, and the soil and sand that run between your fingers. A shaking earthquake is earth, and so is a collapsing landslide.”

Kyle tapped the greatsword with a finger.

“The essence of the Bedrock Sword Style is weight and solidity. Why do you have to stand still to demonstrate them? Rocks can roll downhill. Landslides are made of dirt and stone. Don’t be a mountain standing still. Be a boulder rolling along, crushing everything in its path.”

Bruno’s mouth hung open.

“I’ve spent a lot of time holed up in the grand library reading about sword styles. Turns out plenty of them share the same name. Same names, but slightly different forms and structures. Have you ever read another Bedrock Sword Style manual?”

“No... I haven’t.”

“So you only learned exactly what Uncle told you to, you stupid pig. If Uncle told you to die, would you?”

“...”

“Those bracelets.”

Kyle’s gaze shifted to Bruno’s wrists.

“You said they interfere with mana circulation. Have you tried sending mana through other circuits instead of the blocked ones?”

“N-no.”

“Why not?”

“Because... I’ve never done it before.”

“I don’t know what cultivation method you learned. I’m not particularly interested either. But there’s a saying: if you have no teeth, chew with your gums. If some circuits are blocked, try using others.”

“What a reckless...”

“The way I see it, stubbornly clinging to something that doesn’t work is reckless too.”

Kyle snorted and looked Bruno straight in the face.

“Be flexible, Pig. You don’t swing a sword by following a textbook to the letter. The same goes for controlling mana.”

“That’s only easy for a genius like you...”

“It isn’t easy for me either, but you have a point. You’re not as good as I am, so it’ll be even harder for you. Still, what choice do you have? If you want to be good, you have to work at it.”

Nothing Kyle had said was mockery. From beginning to end, this insolent cousin was sincerely offering advice for Bruno’s sake, so that he could wield his sword better. And that advice had a depth and weight impossible to believe coming from a ten-year-old.

“Why...” Bruno stammered. “Why are you telling me all this?”

That was what Bruno understood least of all. Five years ago, he had fought with Kyle over something trivial and nearly killed him simply because he had lost his temper.

He had done nothing since then to deserve Kyle’s kindness either. When his father had told him to spar with Kyle a week ago, Bruno had secretly been delighted. He had thought it was his chance to trample his unbearably arrogant cousin, the head of the house’s favorite.

There was no way this cousin, who was nothing like a ten-year-old, had failed to notice that. Just today, Kyle had seen through Bruno’s thoughts time and again.

“I... haven’t done anything to deserve you telling me things like—”

“Because we’re family?” Kyle said, tilting his head. “Because we’re cousins? Because we’re close in age? Things like that. We’re going to be seeing each other for a long time.”

“...”

“You’re an Alastor, and so am I. I don’t want to end up embarrassed that you have the same surname as me. And I’d feel sorry for you if you became a disgrace to the house.”

“Am I that bad...?”

“Not that bad, but who knows what’ll happen later?”

Kyle snorted and patted Bruno’s shoulder.

“Go home for today.”

“Why?”

“Go and talk to Uncle properly. Tell him the swordsmanship you’ve learned doesn’t suit you, so you want to try something new. If he asks where you got that nonsense, tell him what I told you.”

“Father would never allow...”

“You’ve never asked.”

“...”

“If he says no, persuade him until he says yes. Then come back.”

“And when I come back?”

“We’ll play with swords like we did today. What else?”

Kyle grinned as he spoke. His smile was so bright that Bruno could find no fault with it. It even had a shameless quality, as if declaring that Bruno’s fears and frustrations were none of his concern.

“Ha...”

Faced with that smile, Bruno laughed despite himself. He shook his head, chuckling, then put his greatsword into subspace, pulled his vest back on, and fastened the pouches to his legs.

“Thank you.”

With those words, Bruno headed for the cultivation room’s door. Before leaving, he stopped and looked back.

“You too... Thank you.”

He gave Lucia a small nod. His voice was surprisingly faint for someone his size, and he barely lowered his head. Still, his words reached her.

Bruno left before Lucia could answer. After standing in a daze for a moment, she turned to Kyle.

“Did Master Bruno just... thank me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand why he thanked me. I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly. Rude bastard. He should’ve said sorry, not thank you.”

“Why should he apologize?”

“That pig is the whole reason you were brought here when you should’ve been training. And he’s always looked down on you and bullied you, hasn’t he?”

“That’s all right. I ignore him, so it doesn’t bother me.”

Lucia smiled faintly and sheathed her sword.

“But Master Kyle. Have you nothing to say to me?”

“About what?”

“You spoke to Master Bruno about his swordsmanship.”

“There’s nothing to tell you. You’re too good.”

It wasn’t a lie. Lucia had studied swordsmanship under the Sword Tower’s elders even before becoming a knight cadet. Kyle had sparred with her regularly for five years, but there was little to fault in her swordsmanship.

“Surely you can see the shortcomings in my swordsmanship.”

“Oh, come on. What would I see?”

He had already said far too many things unbecoming of a ten-year-old after bringing Bruno here.

If he started pointing out flaws in Lucia’s swordsmanship too, he might end up discussing matters far too advanced and lofty. So Kyle feigned ignorance and shrugged.

* * *

That evening.

After a long run through the residential district, Bruno returned to the manor, washed, changed, and stood outside Varkas’s cultivation room.

His palms were damp with sweat.

He had never once questioned his father’s words or offered an opinion of his own. To Bruno, his father was an absolute authority as frightening as the head of the house—no, in some ways even more frightening.

‘I... I am a pig.’

Kyle’s teasing words circled his ears like an incantation. Bruno took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in.”

The moment he heard that deep, heavy voice, his knees went weak. He punched his trembling legs a few times, then opened the door and entered.

Varkas sat shirtless in the middle of the cultivation room, which was built of gray ore. With every breath he took, his eyes closed, the ore around him trembled and the contours of his hard muscles twitched.

“You weren’t running this morning.”

He spoke without opening his eyes. His voice was heavy, as though echoing from a deep cavern. He must have known roughly what had happened, yet he was forcing Bruno to confess.

“I went... to see Kyle.”

“Abandoning the training I ordered you to do?”

“Yes...”

“What did you do there?”

“I sparred... with Lucia.”

Varkas opened his eyes at that answer. His dark green eyes stared fiercely at Bruno.

“I wondered why that mongrel had come up to the fourth floor. So that was why.”

“...”

“There’s no chance you won. So, have you come to confess because you’re ashamed of being utterly defeated by a mere mongrel?”

“N-no.”

Bruno shook his head.

“I... came to ask your permission, F-Father.”

“Permission? What permission?”

Varkas’s eyebrow twitched.

“I want to... change the swordsmanship I’m learning...”

Varkas’s eyes narrowed. It was a dangerous sign.

“Change it? I don’t understand what you’re saying. Explain it so your father can understand.”

The imposing presence emanating from Varkas bore down on Bruno. He felt as though he could barely breathe. Deep inside, the urge to apologize and beg forgiveness began to stir.

“I... I am not you, Father.”

Forcing that urge down, Bruno stammered on.

“I cannot wield a sword the way you do. I... don’t have your patience or your experience.”

“So that’s what this is. You’ve come to whine that it’s too difficult and you can’t bear it.”

Varkas’s brows twisted fiercely. The pressure grew stronger, weighing heavily on Bruno’s shoulders, but he forced himself to withstand it without kneeling.

“I’m not... wh-whining...!”

The voice he squeezed out rose in volume. He had never spoken so loudly to his father before.

“I... waiting drives me mad with frustration...! I don’t have the brains to read my opponent’s moves! Trying to imitate you when I’m like this—it doesn’t fit me, and I can’t breathe!”

Bruno pounded his chest.

“Kyle told me. Not to be a mountain standing still, but a boulder rolling down. That it’s my nature to roll along, crushing everything...!”

“You crazy bastard...”

Varkas was no longer sitting. Bracing his hands on his knees, he rose and strode toward Bruno.

“You think the ramblings of that insolent little brat are better than the teachings of the father who raised you for fifteen years?”

“F-Father...”

Bruno’s voice trembled. With every step Varkas took toward him, he wanted to drop to his knees and press his head to the floor. Still, he desperately held his father’s gaze.

“You’ve... never let me do what I wanted.”

“...”

“The cultivation manual I studied, my swordsmanship, all of it... You chose it all for me.”

“Because that’s what I learned,” Varkas spat.

“You are my son. So one day, you must inherit my swordsmanship. Yet here you are, taken in by the glib tongue of a brat five years younger than you, rejecting your father’s sword.”

“I’m not... rejecting it. I want to try wielding my sword the way my heart tells me...”

“You refuse to do as I instructed, and that isn’t rejection? What sophistry have you been listening to?”

“F-Father, do you want me to become a swordsman exactly like you?”

Varkas stopped. For a moment, he stood motionless, glaring at Bruno.

“One day, you must inherit my swordsmanship and surpass it. I don’t want you to be exactly the same swordsman I am. You must become stronger than me.”

“I... don’t believe I can.”

Bruno shook his head.

“I don’t believe I can learn the exact same swordsmanship as you and then surpass you...”

“...”

“Th-that’s why... I want to try holding my sword differently. I’m not discarding your teachings. One day, when I can truly understand your swordsmanship, then...”

“That alone would make your swordsmanship different from mine. How would you understand mine then?”

Varkas sneered. Bruno could not squeeze out an answer to that question. Seeing his son like that, Varkas narrowed his eyes.

A heavy silence fell. Varkas studied his son, who remained standing despite his trembling, refusing to kneel.

He should have been disappointed. Bruno had been bewitched by nonsense he had suddenly heard elsewhere and was spinelessly talking about changing his swordsmanship. He had rejected the teachings of the father who had raised him for fifteen years.

And yet.

‘The look in his eyes has changed.’

The look in Bruno’s eyes as he had shouted back just now. Those knees that still refused to bend. Even now, Bruno was looking Varkas straight in the eye.

Varkas did not believe his swordsmanship or his teachings were wrong. Nor did he believe they were unsuited to Bruno. Sons naturally took after their fathers. Even if it felt uncomfortable now, with continued study, Bruno’s swordsmanship would become what Varkas wanted it to be.

But could that be called Bruno’s swordsmanship? Varkas considered that for a moment.

“Then let us do this,” Varkas said.

“Do as you please. Whether you let that brat bewitch you into changing your swordsmanship or not, I won’t interfere.”

“...!”

“Don’t misunderstand. I’m not allowing this because I think I’m wrong. To break your stubbornness, I’ll have to make you feel in your bones that your way is wrong. Once every year, I will personally test your swordsmanship.”

Varkas’s lips twisted.

“If your results fail to live up to what you’ve spouted today, I will disown you. Then you will no longer be an Alastor. You can go to your mother.”

Bruno’s lips parted blankly.

“If that frightens you, beg forgiveness for today’s nonsense and wield your sword as you did before. What will you do?”

“I... I...”

After hesitating for a long time, Bruno squeezed his eyes shut. Disappointment flickered over Varkas’s face, but Bruno opened his eyes again and straightened.

“U-understood. Every year... I will show you my swordsmanship. If it fails to meet your standards, then... I will do as you say and go to Mother...”

“Hah.”

A short sigh escaped Varkas.

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes...”

“Hah...”

Varkas sighed again and shook his head several times.

“You may leave.”

He had never expected that answer.

Left alone in the cultivation room, Varkas sank to the floor and became lost in thought.

‘Kyle Alastor...’

Only ten years old. A child who had only just awakened his spiritual root. And that child had twisted Bruno around his little finger.

He ought to have felt foul, yet strangely, a chill ran down his spine. Deep down, Varkas had acknowledged it too. Bruno’s temperament was not like his. Bruno’s swordsmanship could not become Varkas’s swordsmanship. To make it so, he would have to melt Bruno down like iron and hammer him into shape anew.

‘Normally, he wouldn’t even have been able to meet my eyes. He should have begged forgiveness...’

This was the first time his son had rebelled like that, dared to raise his voice, and defied his wishes.

“What a strange feeling.”

Varkas shook his head with a hollow chuckle.

He felt offended, irritated, and indignant.

And yet, just a little, he felt proud of his son.