Chapter 004: The Path of the Stars Leads to the Grave (3)
Palas Benkou was a skilled swordsman and, at the same time, a brilliant talent.
‘A noble who excels in both martial and intellectual pursuits, with an outstanding character to boot.’
…Well done, Bihen.
You’ve even developed the magnanimity to objectively evaluate your sworn enemy from your past life.
“Hoh, so you’re Bihen. It feels like just yesterday I saw you as a newborn, and now you’ve grown into a man. Ha, time flies.”
“….”
One thing I overlooked was that Palas also possessed the cunning of a schemer.
I wondered why he specifically set a one-week deadline.
It turns out he timed it to coincide with the annual family gathering where all the clan elders assemble.
‘He planned to make an impression on the elders beforehand.’
In the past, I might have swallowed my anger, feeling outmaneuvered.
But now, it’s the opposite.
Not because I’m acting magnanimous.
It’s because I felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that the man who would lead the Benkou family was cunning rather than foolish.
Objectively, I lack this kind of political acumen.
Even from these small details, it’s clear that Palas is far better suited to be the family head than I am.
“…So, your father, the ninth cousin of our elder brother’s grandfather’s grandson is…”
Meanwhile, some elders were eagerly tracing the family lineage around me.
A typical scene for a low-ranking martial family in the Empire.
“That boy is the ill-fated bastard, then.”
“Ill-fated bastard? You mean that one-eyed lad?”
“Didn’t you know? The current head has openly declared he’ll end the ‘Curse of the Spectral Body’ in his generation. It seems he plans to pass the next headship to his nephew, not his son.”
“Huh, so that’s what’s been happening in the main branch. Well, that curse has repeatedly thwarted the Benkou family’s attempts to enter the central political stage. The imperial family avoids nobles with even the slightest questionable lineage.”
“That, and it’s hard to train successors. Benkou Swordsmanship can only be wielded by the legitimate heir with the Spectral Body. I hear the head is now entirely devoted to refining the swordsmanship.”
Does reaching the pinnacle sharpen one’s hearing?
I could even catch their hushed whispers.
These were the collateral elders formally attending the meeting.
Still, this was better than them prattling about hierarchy or wealth.
“Ah, here comes the next head.”
“Palas Benkou, was it? Truly, he cuts a fine figure.”
From the end of the corridor, Palas appeared, clad in garments embroidered with the Benkou family crest, just like mine.
A line of attendants trailed behind him.
“….”
We exchanged silent bows.
Even as a bastard, my official rank was higher.
But I couldn’t disregard the courtesy owed to a family elder.
“Please settle down now.”
My uncle, entering before my father, brought order to the room.
The elders, seated in tiered rows circling the hall, adjusted their postures.
Below them, at the center, was a hall suited for conducting meetings or holding contests.
Palas and I knelt at the dimly lit edges of the hall, waiting.
‘Haha, this brings back memories.’
I muttered to myself.
This was the very place where the family trial was held in my past life.
The place where my excommunication was formally decided.
Step, step.
In the solemn atmosphere, our family head finally appeared.
Taking the high seat, my father opened the meeting with brief remarks.
To his left and right sat my grandmother and uncle.
A long, tedious time passed.
To me, it was baffling that such bureaucratic debates were held as an annual event for a martial family.
What grand matters could a low-ranking martial family on the Empire’s fringes possibly have?
Even discussions about imperial affairs felt like a contest of who could sound the most ignorant.
“And with that, we’ll conclude the meeting…”
Finally, my father trailed off. I swallowed a yawn.
“I’d like to formally introduce our family’s two futures to the esteemed elders. Though not announced in advance, today, these two will engage in a sparring match, and the victor will be granted the title of Young Head. As this is directly tied to the succession of the next head, I ask for your attention until the end.”
The room buzzed. I was just as stunned.
But seeing the calm demeanor of the household members, who seemed to know all along, I felt a surge of indignation and quickly composed myself.
‘Father’s made this a grand affair.’
That was the only thought left.
Following my uncle’s instructions, Palas and I faced each other at the center of the hall.
“I’m sorry, Bihen. I didn’t want to humiliate you publicly.”
“It’s the head’s will, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. He also ordered that you not be informed in advance. He feared you might flee.”
I gazed at my father.
…Why did he suddenly seem so imposing?
I realized once again that, even if I were reborn, I could never be suited for the role of head.
I turned my head back, shrugging my shoulders.
“No need for words.”
* * *
The standoff between Bihen and Palas created a peculiar tension.
Bihen’s cousin and Palas’s two younger siblings, Zik and Sena, seated side by side, chimed in.
“That Bihen guy. He’s gonna get trashed, so why’s he acting all dramatic?”
“Wanna bet? On how long Bihen lasts.”
“Last? It’d be a miracle if he doesn’t run away pathetically.”
“Hmm, but you know, doesn’t Bihen seem… different lately?”
Zik snorted without even looking.
“Different, my foot. All I see is a new eyepatch.”
“No, there’s something. His… tone? Aura? Ugh, I don’t know. Something’s off, I’m telling you.”
Sena said this while busy checking herself in a hand mirror.
Zik shook his head at the sight.
Kee—ng!
At that moment, a metallic clash tore through the silence.
It was a live-steel duel, excluding lethal intent.
Bihen and Palas circled each other, probing like predators.
“…Good flow of energy, Bihen.”
Bihen tilted his head, one corner of his mouth curling up.
“You’ll need to give it your all.”
Palas struck first.
He shortened his wide stance and sprang lightly.
His downward-angled sword surged diagonally upward in an instant.
Ka—ng!
Bihen countered with his blade.
Their swords locked in a cross.
‘…!’
Palas’s eyes widened.
That strike was a feint to exploit Bihen’s mistake.
Palas had planned to overwhelm Bihen with a flurry of follow-ups the moment he stepped back, ending the match swiftly.
‘As expected, this body’s strength is still lacking.’
Bihen’s choice to meet the attack head-on was deliberate.
From his past life’s experience, he knew that reaching a certain level of swordsmanship didn’t mean physical strength could be entirely ignored—unless one was a mage.
When Bihen clicked his tongue, Palas, misinterpreting it, let out a battle cry.
“Uaaaaaah!”
Breaking the deadlock, Palas spun half a turn and swung his arm.
The blade, fueled by centrifugal force, sliced fiercely through the air.
Tap, tap, tap.
Palas unwittingly clenched his teeth.
Bihen, keeping his distance, looked relaxed.
Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!
The drum signaled the end of the first round.
In live-steel spars, three consecutive rounds were the standard rule.
As the second round began, the two swordsmen steadied their breathing.
‘….’
Miles Benkou, the family head, barely maintained his composure.
His palms were already slick with sweat.
‘You’ve grown, Bihen.’
His son, always kept at a distance despite being near.
All he wanted was for Bihen to gain the strength to stand on his own—not more, not less, just until that moment.
The day he thought was far off had crept closer.
Ka—ng! Kang! Kang! Jjeo—ng!
Each clash of Bihen and Palas’s blades sent a bone-rattling jolt through Miles.
It was no different from the growing pains his only son had endured.
“Oh, dear…”
“Mother!”
His mother slid from her chair, collapsing to the floor.
Her two sons supported her on either side.
Even then, the old woman clutched her eldest son’s empty sleeve.
“My child, it’s all my fault. I’ve done a terrible thing to you and your son.”
“….”
Miles had resented his mother at times.
Back when he was younger than his son is now.
He vowed to break the cycle of the curse with his own hands around the age his son is now.
Perhaps that’s why, despite knowing it was futile, he indulged in greed.
He hoped that before he had to let his son go, there would come a day when his son forgave him, and he could sincerely embrace his pitiable son.
‘The punishment for defying heaven’s will, I’ll bear it at the grave. Until then, I’ll fulfill my role as head to the end.’
Miles, seated, gritted his teeth.
He considered it his karma that he couldn’t fully rejoice in his son’s growth.
‘…I’m sorry, my son.’
Dudung, dudung, dudung, dudung, dudung, dudung—
The second round was nearing its end.
The low drumbeats grew louder.
As if in response, Palas’s footwork quickened, but Bihen gave no openings.
“…What’s going on, Bihen?”
Palas’s breath grew ragged.
All his attacks in the second round had been nullified.
Bihen slowly lowered his raised sword.
“To be honest… I’m glad.”
“Tch, sure. You’re glad. No one in the family expected you to grow this much. But I must defeat you. For the head’s sake.”
“That’s welcome news as well.”
He thought his past life had ended in aimless wandering.
But the rewards earned on the path of carnage shone in this moment, making him glad.
Moreover, knowing there was someone he could entrust the future to felt like a blessing.
Acknowledging that sincerely was proof of his own inner growth.
Dudung! Dudung! Dudung! Dudung!
The final third round began.
Bihen crouched low, his sword tip still pointing to the ground.
“I entrust the Benkou family to you, Young Head.”
“…What?”
As soon as he spoke, Bihen surged into Palas’s range.
Palas, raising his sword to chest level, moved to defend.
Kwa—k!
The impact of the clashing blades was different this time.
As Palas leaned forward, he realized why.
Bihen held the hilt with one hand while his other arm, folded, supported the blade’s spine at the point of contact.
It was his way of compensating for his lesser strength.
‘In a real fight, it’d be over already…’
As Bihen pressed with full force, he twisted his wrist sideways.
The locked blades slid down, stopping abruptly before Palas’s wrist.
“…!”
Palas’s face paled. In a real fight, his wrist would have been severed.
Dudung! Dudung! Dududung… Dung, dung.
The rising drum beats faded.
The match ended in an instant.
“Ohh—! Bihen Benkou’s victory!”
“To settle a live-steel match without shedding a drop of blood…!”
“That was a dominating suppression, like in a real fight! Truly, what a chilling talent!”
The crowd stirred.
Normally, such live-steel spars unfolded like a dance, with both sides showcasing their swordsmanship over three rounds.
The drums were meant to heighten that spectacle.
“No way.”
“What just happened…?”
Zik and Sena muttered.
Zik had risen to his feet without realizing.
Clank.
Bihen sheathed his sword quietly.
The blade slid smoothly into its scabbard.
Step, step.
Bihen passed the frozen Palas and walked toward his father.
For a moment, the surrounding murmurs ceased.
“….”
Father and son gazed at each other silently.
The Young Head title didn’t solely signify the designation of the next head.
Reflecting on this, Miles slowly began to speak.
“As planned, Bihen Benkou will be named the family’s Young Head…”
“I yield the Young Head position to my elder brother Palas.”
There was no time to question. Bihen knelt abruptly.
“I will leave the family.”
It felt as if a heavy stone had been placed on his chest.
Miles’s eyelids trembled faintly.
Murmurs rose from all sides…
The commotion subsided when Bihen, hands on the floor, bowed low.
“I will never forget the grace of being born and raised.”
Thanks to countless rehearsals after his regression, no tears fell.
Bihen raised his head.
“Bihen Benkou, eldest son of Miles Benkou, the fourth head of the Benkou family. I will live by the family’s precepts.”
Here stood a father and son, bearing a task that would lead to the grave.
“Please take care.”
Only after living one life did the son understand its meaning.
“…Father.”
In this moment, that single word was enough.