Chapter 80 : On a Fine Day

Chapter 80: On a Fine Day

The vivid black gleam of a Sword Aura.

And then,

Crack—

The Aura Core split apart.

I, Burson, always woke up from my dream at that scene.

“Gah—!”

A sharp pain stabbed my lower abdomen.

Why did a dream have to hurt for real?

It was something that happened often, so I simply got up, wiped away the cold sweat with a wash, and stood in the middle of the room.

Even then, from the bed to the washbasin, the blue longsword never left my hand.

I always followed Ransen’s teachings.

Not in front of others, but whenever I was alone like this, I lived with the sword in hand.

There wasn’t some grand reason behind it. I no longer had any hope of regaining my old strength anyway.

I just wanted to be helpful.

If I could offer even the tiniest piece of advice to the young masters and ladies who trained so hard, how wonderful would that be? That was why I merely imitated them.

“Hoo—”

Placing the sword across my knees, I sat down.

The moment I opened my eyes, I trained my Aura. That was my routine.

Of course, my Aura Core had long since shattered into pieces, leaving no trace, but still, I trained every day.

This too wasn’t for some great reason.

It was just that doing this made the pain slightly more bearable, and allowed me to move my body.

Most Aura training methods began in stillness, sitting quietly until the Aura warmed, and then gradually moving the body—first like light calisthenics, and finally with full exertion, intense and vigorous.

But my Aura training always ended at the slow, calisthenic stage. From the beginning, my goal was only to suppress the feral remnants of Aura inside me. To go beyond that would have been suicide.

Vmmmmm—

Letting my sword hang down as it hummed faintly, I suddenly recalled a saying.

“The mountain does not collapse. Its rocks and soil merely find a new place....”

It didn’t exactly match my situation, but in some ways, it fit.

“My control over Aura and my understanding of the sword have only deepened.”

The remnants of Aura inside my body.

I had carried that feral energy within me for over three years now.

For the eleven years before that, I had endured life with a damaged Core.

Fourteen years in total.

Fourteen years of enduring raging Aura with a crippled—or altogether absent—Aura Core.

Of course, my control had grown sharper.

Besides, I had always possessed extraordinary talent in swordsmanship.

Even though I hadn’t trained properly for so long, my understanding of the sword had deepened on its own.

‘On top of that, His Highness Ransen himself bestowed such teachings upon me...’

The ancient swordsmanship.

The moment I heard it, clarity struck me like a bolt!

This is it. Yes. The sword has a soul too. I had even wanted to shout it aloud until my voice broke.

Things I only gained now, after having lost everything.

And so,

at this point,

I shamefully found myself wishing—

“I want to become a knight again....”

The minimum qualification for a knight was Low-grade Expert.

With my Aura Core in ruins, I was no longer someone who could call himself a knight.

In my youth, I had burned with a blazing dream, but now all that remained was ashes.

The forest I had cultivated thick and tall through long years of hardship had all been burned away, leaving only heaps of ash.

I had no dream left.

So I wept.

Even on that day—when I was granted an ancient magic potion.

I cried out of gratitude for Ransen’s heart... and I cried out of guilt.

The precious potion surely carried the meaning: why not sow new seeds atop the ashes and nurture a forest once more? But I only felt ashamed, unworthy.

Twinge—

The pain in my lower abdomen flared.

And then, a sudden, draining weakness seized me.

“Urgh—”

Dizzy and enervated, I slumped to the ground.

I knew.

I knew my life had little time left.

Fourteen years of battling inner wounds had already exhausted my life force, dimming it to nothing.

The potion healed scars and distortions, but it could not replenish the life force that was already spent.

I would soon die. I would wither naturally, like a flame burning out.

‘From the seeds His Highness scattered, no sprout will ever break through....’

That thought left me unbearably guilty.

“Sniff.”

My nose prickled again.

Perhaps because my body had weakened, my heart had grown weak as well.

Even the harmless words of children made my nose tremble with emotion.

Not long ago, one of them had said,

“But Uncle Burson, you’re weak, aren’t you?”

Was it a year ago? There had been a day when I fought a rampaging warrior in front of the children—only to be beaten down instead.

At least I had tried hard to cover my face, so as not to worry His Highness and the young masters and ladies... but the children remembered that scene vividly.

‘It’s fine.’

I simply laughed it off.

My days were quite busy.

I had many tasks, but the most important of them was serving as the chief in charge of training the regular army.

However—

“Um... Chief Instructor Burson. I don’t quite understand this part about ‘unified offense and defense.’”

The problem was the other instructors.

How were they so different from His Highness Ransen or the young masters and ladies?

They spoke clumsily, yet still grasped the meaning as if it were clear, even developing it further....

But sharing the curriculum with the other instructors was exhausting.

‘If only I could show them directly....’

Since I couldn’t, after talking on and on,

“Sigh.... Yes. Understood.”

I’d only receive a sighing reply that clearly meant they had no idea.

Still, I enjoyed talking about martial arts.

So much so that every night, I visited taverns where warriors gathered, eager to chatter about swordplay.

“Swift Sword is the best! Just look at Lord Gepetto and Lord Catch! No warrior can withstand even ten exchanges against them!”

When someone shouted like that,

“But if there’s a disciplined, defensive sword style, it could counter such swift swordsmanship.”

I interjected with a word, only for a warrior to flare up—

“Hey, old man. Do you even know what you’re saying? Want to test it out?”

Startled by his aggressiveness, I slipped out of the tavern in a hurry.

And so the days went on.

One night, Ransen came to see me.

“I’ve got some fine liquor. Care to share a drink?”

“Gladly.”

I accepted with joy.

I still addressed Ransen in plain speech.

Inwardly, I called him Your Highness, but Ransen disliked the title, saying it felt unnatural.

And truth be told, I carried my own inferiority—that I, no longer a knight, had no right.

But then—

“This is a liquor I’ve never seen before.”

What was this?

I looked at the cup before me.

A transparent liquid, shimmering with a faint radiance, filled the small glass.

“It’s precious. Just taste it.”

“And you, Ransen?”

“I’ve already had it before. I’ll drink this instead.”

He uncorked another bottle he had brought and poured it into his own glass.

“No need for a toast, just drink it straight. Don’t spill a single drop.”

How could I refuse His command? I emptied the cup in one go.

“...It has no taste at all?”

Was this really liquor?

As I tilted my head in puzzlement, Ransen grinned mischievously.

“Wait. It comes up a little late.”

*         *         *

One glass for me. One glass for Uncle Burson.

The side dishes were tender dried meat and cheese.

We drank slowly on purpose.

Talking about all sorts of things.

“Remember when you cut down that Swordmaster, Uncle? Ahh... even my father said the same thing. When it comes to pure swordsmanship, Knight Burson is the finest in the kingdom.”

Uncle Burson, embarrassed, averted his gaze, but in truth, that wasn’t an exaggeration.

If anything, it was downplayed.

For my father had actually said this:

If Burson had possessed talent in Aura as well, the title of Greatest Sword in the Kingdom would have been his.

‘Zahir of a Hundred Victories? He doesn’t even compare.’

The pinnacle of all knights, save for the Swordmasters.

A knight whose theoretical grasp of swordsmanship and Aura surpassed all others.

That was why he had once been Captain of the Royal Guard.

That was why he had raised me into a Swordmaster.

That was why he had twice saved my life—once in the kingdom, once again in Delkash’s castle.

The memory was still vivid in my eyes.

On the day we escaped the kingdom.

The sight of Burson cutting down the Empire’s Swordmaster.

Even considering the small assistance from other knights, that was a feat no mere Peak Expert should have been capable of.

A memory that had seared itself into us, unforgettable and powerful.

But for Uncle, it must have lingered as a wound.

For the price of that blood-soaked duel had been the shattering of his Core.

Still, I kept drawing that memory back out.

“Uncle, if you properly learn the ancient swordsmanship, your skill will rise quickly. You’ll become even stronger than before.”

Burson averted his gaze.

As if muttering an excuse, he mumbled,

“Even if I do... it’s all... in the past... hm?”

Letting out a sigh as he began to speak, his eyes suddenly went wide.

It had begun!

At last!

“Wha—? Wh-what?”

Uncle Burson looked down at his hands and body.

A radiant light poured forth from every part of him.

“What in the world...”

The light gradually gathered around his lower abdomen and, with a clear chime, seeped inside.

“I told you, didn’t I? It takes a little time to rise.”

Shhhhk!

That single cup of liquor had never tasted so sweet.

And Uncle’s ever-changing expression made it all the more delightful to watch.

Suspicion at first. Then shock. Then... a complex look words could not capture.

“Well? How does it feel?”

Amazing, right?

The sensation of a vanished Aura Core being reborn.

I knew that feeling well.

Uncle stared straight at me.

And stared.

And stared.

With a face brimming with emotion, he gazed at me for a long while, then suddenly rose to his feet.

With solemn gravity, he drew his sword.

“I shall show you... directly.”

He even spoke in honorifics... awkwardly.

I wanted to tease him about it, but I couldn’t.

Because the Banroa royal swordsmanship flowing from his hands held me spellbound.

‘Wow... Uncle hasn’t let go of the sword for even a single day, has he?’

I could feel it the instant he slashed the air.

A strike unfolding with effortless naturalness—exemplary, textbook-perfect.

And even more—

‘Incredible... He’s getting better as he goes.’

His swordsmanship, already refined, became sharper and more formidable with every swing.

Whoosh— whoosh—

The refreshing gusts of sword wind surged.

Aura ripped apart the air.

And then again, once more,

growing ever stronger, ever more precise.

Endlessly.

“What...?”

Without realizing, I narrowed my eyes.

At first, it had only been—he hasn’t lost his touch, not bad—that kind of level.

“But... is this even possible...?”

At some point, he had surged far beyond even the momentum of my siblings, who had trained themselves half to death.

Even Katrina... she wasn’t at this level yet....

Whoooosh—!

The sword wind suddenly grew so fierce it whipped the curtains as though to tear them apart.

The glasses on the table rattled.

And at the end of it, faintly condensed—

“An Aura... Blade?”

The very mark of a Swordmaster.

And then—

Srrrk—

The sliced edge of the curtain showed it clearly—

“An ancient... Sword Energy?”

Proof of an Ancient Low-grade Expert.

‘Father was right.’

Uncle was a genius too.

He had not simply recovered—he had surpassed.

Now, both a Swordmaster and an Ancient Expert.

“....”

Uncle silently looked down at the faint Aura Blade and the sharp mirage shimmering along his sword, then slowly lowered himself to one knee before me.

With one knee bent, his sword set upright with its tip resting on the ground, he bowed his head.

“I, Knight Burson Valancha, greet His Highness Ransen Banroa, sovereign of noble Banroa.”

He gave his salute in the old royal etiquette.

It felt a little awkward to me.

“Not crying? I thought you’d cry. You’re a crybaby, Uncle, aren’t you?”

I teased lightly, but—

“I will not cry. From now on... I will protect with my sword.”

Hearing that voice, firm with resolve, I decided to abandon the jokes too.

I placed my hand over his—no, over the hand of Knight Burson Valancha resting on the hilt.

Feeling that warm, calloused hand,

I finally let out the words I had always held in my heart,

the words I had always wanted to say.

“Knight Burson. My first knight. I truly welcome you.”

The gentle intoxication in the air.

The cool breeze drifting in through the window.

It was a fine day.

One I knew I would long remember.

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