Chapter 57

I headed to the training ground early in the morning. The mercenaries, who were swinging their swords as always, welcomed me.

“Lord Ran! Did you rest well? If you have time, could you take a look at my stance?”

“Captain! Good morning, sir! I’ve reached 5-star now, sir!”

“I’ve already beaten this bastard three times in a row in sparring, sir. Just wait and see. I’ll be ranked second in no time. Hahahaha!”

It had been a while since I’d met the mercenaries, so I corrected each of their stances one by one. Perhaps because they all possessed a certain level of talent, they were showing achievements incomparable to before.

‘But it’s still not enough. They need to become even stronger. If they are to become my knights.’

I looked toward Camille, the captain of the mercenary group.

“Camille.”

“Yes, Lord Ran.”

“Don’t worry about money and feed the mercenaries well. If there’s anything you need, tell me or Cecil.”

“Understood. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I’ll send you decent elixirs through Cecil, so don’t just take them half-heartedly. Make sure they’re properly consumed.”

“Yes. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Leaving the mercenaries and Camille behind, I headed to the private training ground I used alone.

After a light warm-up, I swung my sword.

“Hoo… Hoo…”

Through hwan-gol-dal-tae (rebirth by replacing bones and marrow), the new body I obtained had absorbed all of my martial knowledge and brought me to the 8-star level. Only now were my body and mind finally beginning to synchronize.

“Refreshing.”

I felt good.

I, who had once been unable to move my lower body without help, now possessed an overwhelming physique.

Every time I swung my sword through the air, a breeze stirred around me. It was a phenomenon caused purely by physical power. A thrilling transformation.

‘Even throughout the continent’s history, there probably aren’t many who reached the 8-star level at this age.’

But I couldn’t be satisfied with just this. I had to ascend to an even higher level, and soon.

Chwarararak!

I unleashed the Winterbell swordsmanship. The mana coursing through my veins moved freely. Each time my muscles contracted and expanded, explosive strength surged forth.

This was… my body?

The body that once couldn’t even move the lower half!

Purely in terms of physical capability, I was far superior now compared to when I was Van Descartes.

“Yeah. This is it. All that suffering was worth it.”

After reaching 8 stars, my aura had expanded to the point that it enveloped the entire training ground, establishing a unique domain of my own.

I had gained the ability to create a personal space.

Whoong! Whoong!

Since I was already practicing my swordsmanship, I envisioned my past self in my mind and faced off against him. Van Descartes, the vanguard of the Hero’s Party, versus the newly reborn 8-star swordsman, Ran Winterbell.

The result...

“I lasted about five seconds, I think.”

Not bad.

It gave me a strange feeling.

The fact that my past self and my reincarnated self were crossing swords.

Since it had come to this, I once again unleashed the swordsmanship of the Winterbell family.

Then I added in the techniques I had used back when I was Van Descartes. Entranced in a trance-like state, I didn’t even notice someone approaching as I kept swinging my sword.

"Not bad. Where did you learn that swordsmanship? Don’t tell me… you created it yourself?"

Startled, I quickly turned around.

An old man with hair faded to pure white was staring at me. I knew who he was. But I couldn’t understand why he was here.

He was someone with whom I had no prior connection whatsoever.

"What’s this? I heard you couldn’t move your lower body, but is it your mouth that’s actually broken?"

A stern-faced elder.

But he was said to be the strongest in the Winterbell family aside from Arkan.

He was none other than Darkin Winterbell, the second in rank and a senior council member.

He had come to see me.

"Senior Councilor?"

"My eyes are gonna fall out, boy."

"Wh-what brings you here?"

"What do you mean what brings me here? I came on my own two feet. More importantly, I asked where you learned that swordsmanship I just saw."

After a brief moment of thought, I answered.

"...I created it myself."

"You created it?"

I nodded.

"Yes."

He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe it. His red eyes scanned my body up and down. His expression was full of curiosity for some reason.

"You were supposed to be paralyzed from the waist down… and now you’re an entirely different person. Just what on earth did you do to obtain a body like this?"

"I just had a few lucky opportunities."

"Opportunities, huh."

"I was fortunate."

"These are not the kinds of things that can be achieved with mere luck. It must be the flow of fate. And you must’ve worked hard enough to match it."

"……"

"Show me that swordsmanship again."

"Understood."

I looked toward Cecil, who stood to Darkin’s right. With my eyes, I tried to ask, ‘Why is that old man here?!’ but she only slowly shook her head in response. She didn’t know either.

I was curious why such a prominent figure had come here, but for now, I decided to perform my swordsmanship once more.

Calming my breath, I focused my mind and unleashed the Winterbell swordsmanship, followed by the techniques I had used when I was Van Descartes.

A dazzling sword dance where past and present connected.

At first, it clashed like wearing clothes that didn’t fit, but before long, the swordsmanships of Winterbell and Van Descartes merged in near-perfect harmony.

"Hoo..."

As I finished the sword dance, sweat that had formed on my forehead dripped to the ground with a plop, plop.

"Fascinating. You certainly didn’t have that kind of talent before… They said you’d changed overnight, but did you also grow a talent that didn’t exist?"

"What do you mean?"

Darkin Winterbell looked at me with abyss-like eyes. The demeanor he had shown earlier now seemed like a mask. His overwhelming presence weighed down on me.

It was a completely different kind of pressure compared to Arkan.

"You weren’t just paralyzed—people said you had no martial talent whatsoever. Aside from your excessive mana, you were a man with no useful traits. And yet, what are you, standing before me now?"

"……"

"I kept hearing your name tossed around, so I came to see just how much you’d changed—and this, this is practically being reborn. That swordsmanship! You said you created it yourself? How could you create something so advanced? That’s not a level one can reach through talent alone… What is it with this family? Why does everyone make the impossible seem like common sense?"

It was absurd.

Wasn’t he the second most unreasonable person in this entire family? If Arkan, the legendary martial genius, had not made an appearance, the king of the North would’ve undoubtedly been Darkin.

“Ryan Winterbell. That monster—how does he grow like a raging storm every time he returns from the outside? Does he have some hidden stash of rare elixirs out there or something? I just can’t make sense of it.”

Boom!

He stomped the floor of the training ground. A thunderous crack echoed out, and from the spot where his foot landed, the ground split like a spiderweb.

“Ugh!”

With just a single step, he created a massive shockwave. A fierce aura surged from his entire body.

“The Swordsmanship of Ascent. Are you truly saying you created it? Don’t even think about lying to me. And don’t assume I’ll go easy on you just because you’re the Patriarch’s son. If I were to kill you right here and now, do you think the Patriarch would even bat an eye?”

“It’s not a lie. I truly created this swordsmanship.”

“Really?”

“Truly.”

I slowly demonstrated the foundational form of the swordsmanship. Every movement contained the reason this technique had been created—what it was for, why it existed. It was all there.

When I showed the clumsy movements from the time when I was at my worst, Darkin spoke in a low voice.

“That’s enough.”

“……”

“So it really was your creation. Could it be… that you were born with the talent of a founder?”

Second in rank within the Winterbell Ducal Family.

The head of the Elder Council.

Darkin Winterbell.

That man was now showing interest in me.

Was it my swordsmanship that drew his attention?

Could someone of his stature really have just happened to visit me by coincidence?

What in the world did he want from me?

I kept my thoughts hidden behind a calm expression and tried to figure it out quickly, but I couldn’t come up with an answer.

“Come with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Are your ears stuffed with iron? I said, come.”

“...Yes.”

Darkin clasped his hands behind his back and turned away. I followed behind him with a bewildered expression.

Cecil mouthed something at me.

Don’t cause trouble, my lord.

Do I look like a child?

Adults aren’t immune to causing trouble either.

---

How long had we walked?

It had been over an hour.

He didn’t say a single word the entire time.

He didn’t even check to see if I was still following him.

Of course, for someone like Darkin, even with his eyes closed, he’d clearly be able to sense my presence.

We arrived at Darkin’s residence, located in a corner of the Winterbell estate. For a senior council member, the house looked quite modest.

Though, of course, the property itself was anything but modest.

‘This is fascinating.’

I looked around and my eyes widened.

Swords were embedded everywhere I could see. This wasn’t an exaggeration—there were swords next to trees, beside flowers, leaning against pillars, near doorways—swords, swords, and more swords.

It felt like I had stepped into a graveyard of blades.

What was even more astonishing was Darkin’s behavior.

On the way to the house, he casually grabbed a sword stuck in the ground and began swinging it however he pleased.

To some, it might have looked random—formless, without structure or pattern. But at least to my eyes, it looked very different.

With every swing, he was creating new sword techniques.

That alone gave me a wealth of inspiration.

I engraved every movement into my mind.

The distance to the mansion didn’t seem like it should’ve taken more than thirty minutes at most, and yet, even after five hours, we still hadn’t arrived. That was because he kept swinging swords along the way.

Old swords.

Worn-out swords.

Swords with chipped edges.

Famous swords.

Treasure swords.

Razor-sharp swords.

He swung all kinds of swords, constantly changing from one to another.

Here, that seemed to be as natural as breathing.

A man utterly obsessed with swords.

A madman—and a mad sword.

Darkin grabbed another blade and swung it through the air. A crescent-shaped slash shot into the sky.

The slash tore through the clouds.

As he looked up at the sky, Darkin spoke in a low voice.

"Swing every sword here ten thousand times."

"...Ten thousand times?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"If you don’t want to follow my instructions..."

He turned to face me.

"I will kill you right here and now."