Chapter 3

Tatat!

Malon lunged straight in, aiming a textbook thrust at Mero’s chest.

With a sharp backstep, Mero easily deflected the blow.

Malon was stunned. Apart from Haka and Yuma, no one had ever blocked his thrust before. So this is a real knight, he thought, impressed.

In the fishing village of Perol, there wasn’t a single soul outside of Haka and Yuma who could last more than three seconds against him.

Usually, victory was decided within the first or second exchange. After that, it was just a one-sided beating. Malon’s eyes lit up with excitement as he prepared his next attack.

Mero, however, didn’t retaliate. He simply parried Malon’s strikes.

Malon’s approach was straightforward—no feints, no misdirection. Just the foundational forms he had drilled on the beach with Yuma thousands—tens of thousands—of times.

Even a useless knight like Mero, after countless battles, had picked up some instincts.

“Textbook,” Haka said.

“Textbook,” Yuma echoed.

But they weren’t talking about Malon’s form—they meant Mero’s pitiful swordplay.

His defensive style relied entirely on size and brute strength. His footwork was unbalanced, his center of gravity wobbly with every step. It was painfully clear: Mero lacked the fundamentals.

His only asset was his large frame, slightly stronger than the average man. That’s it.

Honestly, he would’ve fit better as a thug boss in some back alley gang—or maybe a sleazy politician who got by clinging to connections.

“I’m pretty sure he’s the only knight in the entire Empire who swings a sword that badly,” Haka concluded flatly.

And he would know. Haka had dueled more knights than he could count.

He was right. Since earning his title, Mero had never once passed a single promotion exam.

Back when Yuma was a eunuch, he’d occasionally hear news about Mero and marvel at his sheer survivability.

It felt like some divine force must be shielding him from death.

“Now, allow me to attack!”

Mero’s strikes were clumsy and awkward. Each swing was disconnected, like a schoolyard brawler flailing their fists.

Still, as terrible as it looked, he had survived real battlefields more than once.

That lack of form ironically made his moves seem unpredictable—at least to someone like Malon, who had only ever seen properly trained swordsmen.

To Malon, these messy, off-rhythm attacks didn’t seem wrong—just unfamiliar. Dangerous, even.

Especially since Mero swung with such force, it felt like he was trying to butcher a cow.

It was nothing like sparring with Haka, who always kept his strikes clean and controlled.

Malon barely managed to parry—but his true talent began to shine.

No matter how aggressively he was pressured, he didn’t retreat recklessly or widen the distance out of fear. He stood his ground.

Mero, eager to show off, had no idea how close he was to getting destroyed. The dynamic between the two had flipped entirely.

“Well done!” Mero exclaimed, genuinely impressed by the skill of this backwater kid. Haka and Yuma, on the other hand, were getting more and more uneasy.

“I think Malon’s starting to realize,” Yuma whispered.

After all, even though he’d only practiced the basics, Malon was the man who would one day be hailed as the Empire’s greatest prodigy—the Divine Sword, later even called the God of the Sword.

There was no way he wouldn’t notice just how bad Mero truly was.

Malon didn’t want to believe this was what a knight was supposed to be.

Mero’s swordplay was clunky when it should be fluid, full of openings when it should be aggressive, and completely lacking in tempo control.

Those “unpredictable” moves? They were just badly timed swings.

“This is… troubling,” Haka muttered.

Malon didn’t want to accept that a knight could be this unimpressive. So he tried a few probing strikes to make sure.

A diagonal sweep aimed at the ankles by lowering his hips—a hook-style strike that twisted midair toward Mero’s neck—flipping the sword grip to jab the hilt at his fingers.

They all landed.

These kinds of advanced techniques required precision most couldn’t hope to replicate without intensive training. But Malon pulled them off effortlessly.

And Mero—good old clueless Mero—didn’t even register most of them, especially the ones that brushed his armor.

“You’ll never kill anyone with flashy tricks like that! You need to focus on landing a decisive blow!”

Malon’s energy deflated instantly.

Is this guy treating it like a real duel to the death?

If he were, Malon wouldn’t be standing there in ragged cloth clothes. He’d have borrowed leather armor at least.

Granted, if both combatants were using Sword Aura with real swords, it might not matter much. But Malon only wanted some advice—not a lecture.

In fact, he was starting to realize he should be the one giving the lesson.

“What do we even do with this guy…” Yuma muttered.

“It’s not just that idiot,” Haka replied. “Malon’s a problem too. If it starts looking like he’s throwing the match, it’ll be even worse.”

And Malon was finally starting to understand why they warned him—so emphatically—not to win.

“Now I’ll show you a true knight’s ultimate move! A sacred technique you’ll never see in a backwater like this!”

Mero dramatically pressed the wooden sword to his chest.

Malon didn’t need to watch—he already knew what was coming.

“Haaaaaah!”

Mero closed his eyes and focused for over five minutes.

Watching a sweaty, bearded, talentless middle-aged man in armor meditate for five minutes wasn’t exactly thrilling.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and finally—a faint, barely visible flicker of blue light appeared on his wooden sword.

“Behold! This… is Sword Aura! A technique wielded only by knights who have reached the highest level!”

Pfft!

Yuma nearly burst out laughing.

He scrambled to hide his expression—but it didn’t matter.

Mero assumed Yuma was just overcome with emotion.

“Th-that’s incredible, Sir Mero…”

Even Malon, as dense as he could be, had enough sense to recognize it for what it was.

What Mero had summoned wasn’t Sword Aura. It was… something pitiful.

Maybe it added a little cutting power. Maybe a bit more weight.

But it took forever to activate. In real combat, it would get you killed. As a party trick? It barely qualified.

In a word: trash.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Yuma began clapping slowly, blank-faced, like someone stunned into reverence. He just wanted this farce to be over.

His mind felt like it was going numb.

“This is not something to be used lightly,” Mero lectured, “but I’ve shown it to you because I see true spirit in you. If you’re a real man, then one day—leave this backwater and embrace the world!”

“Y-Yes… I understand, Sir Mero…”

Flicking the sweat-drenched hair off his forehead, Mero suddenly turned and pointed his finger at Yuma.

“You! You need to grow some backbone and boldness! A real man’s got to have a thirst for adventure. If you were born with a cock between your legs, then dammit—you’ve got to chase challenges!”

“…I’ll keep that in mind, Sir Mero.”

Yuma had to fight the overwhelming urge to coat his wooden sword in Sword Aura and slice off Mero’s tongue.

If you asked Yuma to name the person least familiar with “challenge,” he wouldn’t hesitate to point to Mero.

That conniving weasel—always groveling behind nobles and licking their boots. That miserable, crawling sycophant. There was no place for a man like that anywhere in the Empire.

“Sir Mero, thank you for sharing such an honorable moment with us today. You must be hungry—how about a cold beer with me at the fish shop?”

“Oh ho! You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, lad. And hey—if there’s still any awkwardness between me and Kage, I’ll clear it up too.”

“This way, Sir Mero.”

It was Haka’s thoughtful gesture—for the kids’ sake.

He was also trying to prevent Yuma from getting caught up in something messy if things escalated.

With a pompous whistle, Mero slung his arm over Haka’s shoulder as they left. Haka didn’t show a hint of discomfort as they made their way to the fish shop.

As soon as Mero and Haka vanished from sight—

WHAM! The kids collapsed to the ground, bursting into laughter.

“Pffttt—Are you serious?! That was insane! Sword Aura?! That’s what that was?!”

“God, don’t even talk about it. I barely held it together.”

“How did you even know it’d be like that? If you and your dad hadn’t warned me, I swear I would’ve snapped something.”

“Me? Oh, uh… I dreamed it. A dream where a knight chopped off my dick. Looked exactly like that guy.”

“…That’s some prophetic nightmare.”

Malon, after laughing himself breathless, suddenly let out a long, bitter sigh.

“Maybe… being a mercenary would be better than a knight. That was just… too weak. That’s an Imperial Knight?”

“Uncle said it too while you were sparring—Imperial Knights aren’t all that pathetic.”

“Hmph.”

Malon fell quiet for a moment, then focused his energy. A thick, blue glow wrapped around his wooden sword—his Sword Aura.

“What was he even doing… all that grunting like he had chronic constipation…”

Yuma activated his Sword Aura as well—his was even deeper, a sharper and colder blue than Malon’s.

“Right?”

The boys dismissed their aura, exchanging another chuckle. If Mero had seen this, he would’ve passed out on the spot.

“There was one thing Mero got right though,” Malon said, gaze intense. “I’m not rotting away in this fishing village.”

“Me neither. I’ve got something to do.”

“What is it?”

“You want the long version or short version?”

“Short.”

“Save the Empire. And rise to power.”

Malon blinked, staring at Yuma.

“Save the Empire? Rising to power is one thing, but… what the hell are you talking about? Did you really eat something weird?”

“You’ll be helping me. A lot. And I’ll help you too. But I need to climb very high.”

“How high we talking?”

“To the top of the Empire.”

“…You’re nuts.”

Suddenly, Malon scanned their surroundings cautiously.

“Don’t go saying that stuff in public. Someone hears you—you’ll get killed.”

Before the regression, Malon used to say things like this all the time when drinking with Yuma—that the Empire was on the brink of collapse.

That was the real reason he was branded a traitor.

The Imperial Palace had ears everywhere. Even when Yuma had been a eunuch, he’d warned Malon repeatedly.

But in the end, they couldn’t escape annihilation.

Even if that hadn’t been the reason, the Empire would’ve found something to label them traitors. After the Dragon-Horse War, Empress Hella Roze had begun to slowly lose her mind.

Yuma and Malon lay in silence, staring up at the sky.

“…Let’s rest a bit, then go find Uncle. I think he took Mero away just for us. He’s probably suffering right now.”