Sword Selection Ceremony (6)
"Uh, um... That is..."
The priest stammered his words, then pulled a small booklet from his robes and frantically flipped through it.
The booklet was a dictionary that detailed the list of swords slumbering in Bladelake.
"The, the sword that responded to the call of Ian Greysel of House Greysel... That is..."
But no matter how much he searched, there was no description of the sword Ian had drawn.
After wrestling with the dictionary for a while, the priest finally bowed his head deeply toward Darkan, the Heavenly Sword Lord.
"I-I'm sorry! I do not know the sword that responded to Ian Greysel's call!"
"Hm!"
At those words, a murmur broke out among the assembly.
Everyone was dying to know where that hunk of old scrap metal had come from, and yet the priest said he didn't know!
"Get yourself together! What kind of disgrace is this in front of the Heavenly Sword Lord!"
"A priest who doesn't know the sword? Is that even possible? The man whose whole job is to memorize every sword and the house's history?"
"That fellow isn't one to make such blunders... Maybe he's just getting old. Time is cruel, indeed."
"Silence, all."
When Lord Darkan's voice was tinged with aura, the noisy assembly fell instantly into silence.
"Do not be too harsh on the priest. That sword is one that even I am seeing for the first time."
"E-even the Heavenly Sword Lord has never seen it...?"
Guarding the ancestral swords lying dormant in Bladelake was one of the many duties of the Heavenly Sword Lord.
Thus, before each succession, the Lord also had to memorize, without fail, all swords stored in Bladelake, just like the priest.
The current Lord, Darkan, was no exception—he had gone through that process himself.
So even the Lord, who had memorized every single sword in Bladelake, seeing this sword for the first time meant...
"If even the Heavenly Sword Lord doesn't know it... then it can't be blamed on the priest."
"Right. It's a sword not recorded in history."
"But why did such junk come out of Bladelake in the first place... How bizarre."
"Was it an unofficial addition? You shouldn't toss even a piece of junk like that into Bladelake as a joke..."
"Maybe it belonged to a criminal whose name was stricken from the records..."
"Pfft."
Amidst the whispering crowd, one particularly sharp sneer stood out.
"I'd heard rumors that the eldest son of House Greysel was a dullard, but I never thought I'd witness such a pitiful sword at the Sword Selection Ceremony. It seems even the ancestral sword spirits are saying it's better for a fool like him to lay down his sword early."
The voice, deliberately forceful and meant to be heard, belonged to Katrina Bellator, the head of House Bellator, house Greysel's long-standing rival.
― Swish!
She snapped open a purple velvet fan with a flourish, mocking him.
"A broken, chipped sword... How fitting for your half-witted son. The ancestral spirits must have a wicked sense of humor. Don't you agree, sir Hugo?"
"Ugh... Katrina Bellator..."
― Grit!
Ian's father, Hugo Greysel, ground his teeth as he glared at Katrina.
He wanted desperately to argue back, but in a situation where his own humiliation was laid bare, bickering with that fox would only worsen his disgrace.
Hugo sighed and turned his gaze back to Ian.
'Ian... A half-wit who'll never be able to use aura his entire life...'
The anger he struggled to suppress was directed entirely at his own son.
'I made sure to keep you bound in the manor... And yet, you managed to follow me here and humiliate me like this?'
Hugo's thin mustache quivered.
Ian had long been Hugo's disgrace—
A flaw he wished, more than anything, to hide from the world, forever.
'Why does the heavens seem to take pleasure in mocking me?'
Ever since he was young, Hugo lagged behind in all things and was often scorned by heirs of other houses.
The only reason such a dunce could become the master of Greysel was thanks to his far more capable older brother's death on duty.
Having attained his position not by merit, the contempt and ridicule grew worse, not better, after he became head of house.
'Ian. You are my failure...'
So, at the very least, he wanted to outdo those who mocked him in raising a successful child.
He wanted, at least, for his son to be better than anyone else's, so he could trample the pride of his detractors.
He saw his child as his last chance to satisfy his hunger for recognition.
'I did everything possible for you!'
He married a noblewoman with good genes and a submissive temperament, lavished every sort of tonic and medicine said to be good for unborn children upon his wife.
And the result...
'The mother died, and Ian was born disabled.'
Those chemicals and potions, though medicine in principle, could easily become highly toxic if improperly mixed.
Thinking that more was always better, Hugo carelessly abused these dangerous substances without proper knowledge, so it was hardly surprising that the mother died and Ian was born handicapped.
'Oh, heavens!!!'
And still, Hugo blamed the heavens alone.
That was why he never made any progress in life, even at his age.
'I tried every way to hide you, Ian, and yet you've brought me this disaster!'
Hugo trembled with his fists clenched.
'I should have cut you off long ago. It was complacency that let this happen!'
The only reason he hadn't expelled Ian from the house sooner was his reluctance for his shame to become public.
He did not want to create a scene and draw more attention and mockery upon himself.
But now, since the boy had so openly exposed his half-wit talents, hiding him served no purpose.
'As soon as we return to the manor, I'll strip you of the Greysel name! You'll come to realize how good you had it being cooped up in the manor!'
Hugo Greysel's narrow eyes blazed with fury.
* * *
Ever since the day Sophia was killed by demons, and Yuria was crippled—
'Where did everything go wrong?'
Ian repeated this question to himself like a habit.
'Most of every day was spent regretting and blaming myself.'
But he never found a clear answer.
'Where did it all go wrong?'
Where, really, had his past life gone off the rails?
—Shh.
Ian slowly ran his hand over Vladiark, the sword he had summoned from Bladelake, savoring the touch.
'Maybe it started to go wrong right here.'
If, in my past life, I had safely participated in the Sword Selection Ceremony...
'I might have met you much earlier.'
If that had happened, the Grand Duke of Gluttony would never have obtained Vladiark.
If that had happened...
—Tightly shut.
Ian's eyes briefly squeezed shut as a traumatic memory flooded past.
He relived the moment when the Grand Duke of Gluttony pierced Yuria's dantian with Vladiark and twisted it mercilessly.
'If the Grand Duke of Gluttony hadn't seized Vladiark, Yuria would never have lost Genesis and her dantian...'
Of course, it was all speculation.
Even if past Ian had participated safely in the Sword Selection Ceremony, there was no guarantee he would have encountered Vladiark like now.
The Sword Selection Ceremony paired the participant with the most suitable sword for their talents, and the former Ian and current Ian were fundamentally different in ability.
'I didn't have the Authority of Projection in my past life, nor had I healed my aura disability, nor did I possess skill or knowledge of the future.'
Back then, save for a gift in swordsmanship, I had nothing. Even had I participated, I might never have met Vladiark.
'But still...'
Despite that...
The more he thought about it...
The more furious and ridden with guilt he felt.
'Even if it's just a possibility... the point is, I could have prevented it. Because I let Vladiark slip away, Yuria ended up... like that.'
Ian gripped Vladiark's hilt tightly.
Countless regrets and self-reproaches flashed through Ian's mind.
'If only I hadn't been kidnapped by bandits... If only I had chosen a safer route... If only I had been stronger...'
No—before that, even.
'Hugo Greysel...! If only you hadn't kept me locked up in the manor from the start!'
If only I had taken hold of Vladiark early, I could have averted Yuria's tragedy!
—Grit.
Ian threw a sharp glare towards the spectator seats.
Whether by chance or fate, his gaze landed squarely upon Hugo Greysel, among all those spectators.
The pointed mustache, gaunt face, those sneering eyes—
Hugo, in turn, coldly met Ian's gaze.
'Hugo! As Greysel's head, it was your duty to bring me here safely. Participating in the Sword Selection Ceremony was my rightful claim!'
And Hugo Greysel had betrayed that duty.
Fearing that his son, with a disabled dantian and mana circuit, would draw an embarrassing sword and disgrace him, he trampled Ian's rights for his own convenience.
'If you weren't going to help me, you could at least have stayed out of my way!'
At the time, Hugo Greysel not only locked Ian in his room but took steps so no carriage, warp gate, or servant of the house could possibly help him attend the ritual.
'You stole and trampled on my rights.'
Murderous intent gleamed unmistakably in Ian's eyes.
—Flinch!
Hugo Greysel involuntarily shrank at that look.
He had never seen such an expression from his son.
'Hugo. In this life, you'd best not act as you did before.'
But more than a warning to Hugo, it was Ian quietly vowing to himself.
'If you insist on getting in my way this time...'
Without taking his eyes off Hugo Greysel, Ian hefted Vladiark onto his shoulder.
'I won't hesitate to feed you to Vladiark.'
* * *
About an hour later.
With Yuria's turn as the finale, the Sword Selection Ceremony concluded successfully.
Just as in the previous life, Yuria was chosen by the divine sword Genesis, and everyone present in Bladelake witnessed that shining, historic spectacle.
The advent of Genesis filled the central hall with radiance.
Windshowers burst forth from the divine sword.
Countless blades in attendance rang their names in honor, as if saluting the divine sword.
Before that wondrous and majestic display, some prayed, others lost themselves in awe or tears, still others swiftly calculated politics and whispered schemes.
And thus, with an event destined for legend, the Sword Selection Ceremony ended.
Lord Darkan of the Heavenly Sword lingered with his trusted retainer, Kelbian, savouring the afterglow.
Within minutes, all others had departed. Only Darkan and Kelbian remained in Bladelake.
"Interesting."
Darkan stroked his stubbly chin, a sharp smile on his lips.
"Congratulations, my lord."
Kelbian, his long blue hair falling loose, bowed deeply.
"For the youngest lady to be chosen by the divine sword—truly, a great event after a thousand years!"
"Yes. That in itself is impressive too."
"?"
Kelbian, the trusted retainer, glanced up, sensing discord in the lord's reply.
That, 'too'...?
It was as if the youngest, Yuria, being chosen by the divine sword was only a secondary matter.
'For the youngest to summon Genesis, the Sword of Creation, for the first time in a millennium—an epochal event.'
Yet the lord seemed to keep his focus elsewhere, as if thinking of something much more important.
"Forgive me... but is there someone else in particular on your mind?"
"Right before Yuria... That gray-haired boy."
"Yes. Ian Greysel. The eldest son of House Greysel."
"Right. The little fellow from Greysel. That broken scrap sword he called forth."
Darkan's smile deepened.
"Kelbian. Did you feel nothing from that sword?"
"... Forgive me. To my eyes, it looked like nothing more than a broken, decrepit blade at the end of its life."
It may once have been a great sword, having slept in Bladelake, but as it now appeared, it seemed utterly useless—scrap rather than sword.
A sword in name, but unfit for a swordsman.
As if the ancestral sword spirits had played a cruel jest—perfect for Ian Greysel's nickname, the 'half-wit'.
"I see... Not even you, a master of the highest order, could sense anything?"
Darkan licked his lips.
"The true protagonist of this Sword Selection Ceremony is not my youngest daughter."
"... Do you mean...?"
"Ian Greysel. He is the true main character of this Sword Selection Ceremony."
The moment that gray-haired boy summoned the broken greatsword, Darkan's beloved sword, Dominating Dragon Fang, had wept.
Like a beast howling in terror at the approach of a predator.
"How fascinating."
Dominating Dragon Fang, the cherished sword of the Heavenly Sword Lord, contained the soul of the Dragon Lord.
It was the proudest and most haughty blade in existence, never bowing even to the divine sword Genesis.
Yet those arrogant, ferocious dragon fangs...
"Were frightened by that pile of scrap."
-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
At least, Ian's father-in-law isn't ignorant unlike the others.
【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】