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A bonfire was blazing in the ruins by the roadside, and nine people were sitting around it. It was Ricardt’s group, returning to Beringen.

They were heading back to the academy, choosing a slightly longer route, avoiding the forest, which they didn’t want to look at for a while.

As they camped for the night, the students made themselves comfortable in their own ways.

Somehow, Molty and Lara seemed to have gotten closer, sticking together like glue. Some were tending to their weapons, while others were roasting sweet potatoes and regular potatoes in the bonfire as snacks.

Ricardt sat against a wall with his knees pulled together, gazing at a fragment of the night sky through a crack in the ruins.

“First, sense mana. Second, apply mana to physical activities. Third, use mana in real combat. Fourth, infuse your weapon with mana. Fifth, become a Sword Master and cut everything down with a sword that cuts anything. Is that right?”

Volka’s last remark was a joke, but in any case, these five steps were the Beringen Guild’s classification for reaching the level of a Sword Master.

Compared to the more poetic Rubens Guild, it was a bit dry, but at least it was a more detailed breakdown.

“Yeah.”

Jerome, who had been poking a potato in the fire with a stick to check if it was cooked, answered. He used to hang out with Ice in the past.

Perhaps because they’d gone through life-and-death situations together, they were now sharing things that they had previously kept hidden and wouldn’t teach.

But listening to it like this, it didn’t seem like there was much to hide. Knowing it in your head didn’t make it possible. That’s why the professor only taught those students who could sense mana.

“You can somehow practice up to the second step on your own, but from the third step onward, it gets really hard.”

Lara, who had tied her bobbed hair back, said. By now, she was almost completely nestled in Molty’s huge arms.

“Yeah, whether it’s mana or whatever, I can’t focus at all.”

Handling mana required a high degree of concentration. Therefore, it was incredibly difficult to focus on mana while blades were whizzing around in front of you, and your life was on the line.

That’s why, except for Ice, none of the students here had reached the third step. But Ice was at the fourth stage.

And even he had almost died in real combat, showing how truly difficult and dangerous it was to walk the path of the sword.

“But Ricky is strong even without handling mana, right? If you’re not aiming to become a Sword Master, does mana really matter that much?”

Molty said, and everyone turned to look at Ricardt. Ricardt, who had been staring off blankly, snapped back to his senses.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just saying you’re good at fighting.”

“Oh…”

“So, is mana more important, or is swordsmanship more important? It’s tough… really tough…”

Both were important. It wasn’t like only one mattered. However, the idea was about choice and focus. But did they even have the option to choose? Volka, who couldn’t even sense mana, worried about such things.

“In my opinion, if you master swordsmanship to the extreme, mana might not even matter. A well-sharpened sword alone is enough to kill your opponent.”

“But they say the Sword of Light cuts through anything. That means it can cut through armor and shields alike. Even if you master swordsmanship to the extreme, I don’t think you can win against a Sword Master. It seems like the fight itself wouldn’t even be fair.”

“That depends on how you define ‘extreme.’ If you can dodge all of a Sword Master’s attacks and only land your own, wouldn’t swordsmanship win?”

“But it’s not like a Sword Master would be completely ignorant of swordsmanship.”

“True, but I’m talking about when you’ve mastered swordsmanship to the absolute limit.”

“So, what exactly is that ‘extreme’ you’re talking about?”

Volka and Delphi were going back and forth as if they were debating. Molty, watching them, thought to himself, “That’s why they can’t date.”

But, as expected of students from the Adventurers’ Guild, it was a topic that intrigued them.

As the conversation between the two started to heat up, Molty pulled Ricardt back into the discussion. Despite his enormous build, Molty had a surprisingly sensitive nature and tended to mediate conflicts between people.

“Ricky, what do you think?”

“…Huh?”

“Between someone who can’t handle mana but has mastered swordsmanship to the extreme, and a Sword Master. Who do you think would win?”

“Well, I think both are meaningless. It sounds like a word game to me.”

The first Sword Master, the legendary murderer who shocked the world, a one-man army. That was Ricardt’s past life, but he himself had little interest in swordsmanship or being a Sword Master.

That was because he didn’t know where the golden flames that burned along the blade came from, nor had he ever formally learned swordsmanship from anyone.

Compared to his skills in his past life, his current abilities were nearly at an ant’s level. However, he had mastered something in his own way, so whether he was weak or uncomfortable, he displayed the best swordsmanship possible in each situation, which was why he had no rivals thus far.

Because of this, Ricardt thought other people were a bit foolish. Why do people practice things like that? Is it something you can only do if you practice? Can’t you just do it without training?

In this regard, it was impressive that Volka, after getting beaten by Ricardt and experiencing his own breakthrough, had come to realize something. Ricardt, after all, had no talent for teaching others.

In any case, Ricardt didn’t have the mental space to worry about such things now. He was trying to calm the frustration and resentment that had built up like poison inside him after the deserter incident.

Molty, somewhat disappointed by Ricardt’s bland answer, turned his attention to his next target: Ice.

Coincidentally, Ricardt and Ice were ranked first and second in the group. One couldn’t sense mana at all, while the other had mastered the Mana Drive at an advanced level.

“Ice, what do you think?”

“The Sword Master would win.”

Ice replied decisively, without even thinking.

“Oh? Why? What’s the reason?”

“Because only those who sense mana and reach the extreme in swordsmanship can become Sword Masters.”

“Clear and concise. Well, you heard it?”

Molty said, looking at Volka and Delphi. According to Ice’s answer, Volka had lost the debate.

“I was just curious.”

“Yeah, I was just wondering too.”

There was a slightly awkward tension between Volka and Delphi.

But whether they cared or not, Ice spoke again to Ricardt, who had returned to gazing absentmindedly through the crack in the ruined house.

“Are you okay?”

“…Huh?”

“I’m asking if you’re okay.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Hey, Ricky.”

“Yeah? Go ahead.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been through in the past, and I won’t ask, just like how you don’t ask me about my past. But I just hope you can pull yourself together.”

Ricardt, who had been zoning out ever since the deserter incident, finally let out a slight smile.

“I didn’t expect you to say something like that.”

Since Ice wasn’t one to talk much, he simply smiled back in response.

But because he was so handsome, his smile, on his usually cold face, was more beautiful than moonlight. It was enough to make two female students gasp unintentionally.

“Fucking cheater. Damn it.”

Volka grumbled, which made the students around him burst into laughter.

The next day, Ricardt and his group continued their journey toward Beringen. Along the way, when there were no cities nearby, they spent the night in village barns or were even hosted by a rural lord.

There wasn’t any particular reason for the hospitality, except that the lord had been satisfied with the work of the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild in the past when he had placed requests with them. Though they were confused, they didn’t mind the treatment. The honeyed wine, freshly roasted meat, and soft bread did wonders to relieve their travel fatigue.

Since there were nine of them, all well-armed, they passed through dangerous roads without any trouble. They didn’t encounter any highway robbers, and even bandits only watched them from a distance.

It wasn’t just because of their weapons or their numbers. There was something about their atmosphere, an aura that seemed to warn others to stay away.

The students had completely transformed since the time they first left to support their initial request. Their gaze, composure, breathing, and mindset—everything had changed. It was clear in the way they calmly stared down thugs without flinching or looking away.

While they might not yet be lions or tigers, they exuded the aura of wolves, capable of overpowering most low-level threats.

And in fact, being an adventurer was nothing other than being private detectives or freelance law enforcers. Just by passing through an area, they had the effect of stabilizing the local peace to some degree.

It’s strange how life works—there are always pros and cons. Sure, it was a dark reality that students often lost their lives, but when you saw moments like these, there was something positive about it, too.

Anyway, after five days of walking, they finally arrived in Beringen. As they entered the guild’s headquarters at the bottom of the hill, the adventurers inside looked at them with curiosity. They had unintentionally become famous.

“Are you guys just extraordinary, or has our overall level gone up? Either way, you all did great. When I first heard the news, I couldn’t believe it. You actually killed that scumbag Lorenz.”

Dunkel spoke. Oddly, he wasn’t behind the bar this time but seated at a table, lightly armed. He was wearing a leather vest and a dark brown hooded cloak.

“That guy made a fatal mistake messing with the Ranger village.”

“He probably didn’t know the situation there very well. It was a surprise attack, after all. In any case, when things go wrong, you need to pull out quickly. If you drag things on too long, that’s how you end up like him. He must’ve been desperate, though. Anyway, welcome back. But, Ricky, what’s up with your hair?”

“It got singed by fire.”

Ricardt’s hair had grown a little since then, making him look even more like a broccoli than before. He figured he’d have to shave it all off soon.

“Aren’t you working the bar today?”

Volka asked.

“Oh, I’ve got some business to take care of.”

Dunkel looked meaningfully at Ice for a moment, then turned his gaze to Ricardt.

“The Master wants to see you, Ricky.”

“Me? Why?”

“Why do you think? You’re the main hero of this whole affair. You all can rest in the city for a bit, take your time returning to your lodgings. Just don’t blow too much money at the gambling houses or brothels. It’s not time to be buying expensive equipment yet. Ricky, come with me.”

Dunkel stood up and led Ricardt out of the building, heading up the hill. It was Ricardt’s first time entering the central city.

As they passed through the gates, he noticed many clean, old buildings lined up. They were mostly used for lodging in peacetime but could be converted into defense structures during wartime, sitting close to the city walls.

When they arrived at the ‘real’ Beringen Guild headquarters, it wasn’t the grandiose building Ricardt had imagined. In fact, parts of the outer walls were peeling, revealing patches of exposed brick.

“Young lord.”

Just before entering the building, Dunkel addressed Ricardt differently than usual.

“…Huh?”

“There’s an elder inside, and he’s a nobleman himself, so be especially mindful of your words and actions. Most importantly, never evade his questions or lie. No matter what you try, you won’t be able to deceive him.”

Elder? Not the Guild Master?

“I don’t lie, anyway.”

“Good. Then go on in.”

Dunkel opened the door but did not follow. Ricardt entered the building alone, and it felt like stepping into a temple with all the chairs removed. It was a place where sounds echoed loudly.

Clunk.

The door closed behind him. Standing there alone in such a vast, empty place gave him an inexplicably strange feeling.

Thud. Thud. Thud…

Ricardt walked slowly, looking around as he went. The only light inside came from outside, casting a faint, serene atmosphere since no lamps had been lit within.

“You’re smaller than I expected, young lord.”

From a distant spot, someone whose upper body was shrouded in shadow spoke, their hands clasped behind their back. A sword hung at their waist. The voice was somewhat aged, and despite the echoing nature of the space, the quiet words were perfectly clear.

“Hello, I am Ricardt of the Caldebern family.”

For the first time since leaving his home, Ricardt introduced himself formally. He wasn’t intimidated, nor did he force himself to appear overly confident.

“I am Hellauman, Court Count of Kelbron and Emperor’s Champion. You may speak freely.”

A Court Count held a higher rank than a regular Count, being someone who managed the Emperor’s lands in his stead. In other words, this man outranked not only Ricardt’s father but also the entire Caldebern household.

However, regardless of rank, nobles had the right to speak to one another as equals. A noble with common sense would act that way. Only royalty or members of the imperial family could truly set themselves apart from other nobles.

And the title “Emperor’s Champion” implied that he was a Sword Master.

Most people would have fainted upon hearing this and immediately bowed down, but Ricardt remained calm.

“You said you wanted to see me.”

“Indeed. I wanted to see you with my own eyes. The promising talent who, at the age of eleven, beheaded a formidable opponent.”

Ricardt had heard this often on his way here, but it seemed that Lorenz had quite the notorious reputation.

“I just got lucky.”

“Luck is also a skill.”

“If you say so, then I guess that’s true.”

At Ricardt’s reply, Hellauman fell silent for a moment, then slowly stepped out from the shadows, his footsteps echoing in the chamber.

He had a striking appearance, with neatly combed white hair pulled back. Despite clearly being old, his skin was as flawless as porcelain, making it difficult to describe precisely.

His eyes were a sharp blue, and he naturally emanated an aura that, while powerful, was kept carefully restrained.

He approached Ricardt and, keeping a slight distance, stared at him intently.

“How peculiar. Even a mere commoner has a tiny bit of mana, but you, young lord, don’t have a single drop of mana.”

“Uh… I see…”

Ricardt honestly had no idea what to make of this observation.

“It’s a natural law that without a seed, nothing can sprout. If you cannot wield mana, you cannot become a Sword Master. Does that not bother you?”

“Well, I’m not really sure.”

“Hmm…”

From Hellauman’s perspective, Ricardt appeared to lack ambition and showed no pure desire to become stronger.

Though outwardly just a young boy, it seemed as though he had merely been born with a natural talent for handling a sword.

A hint of disappointment briefly flickered across Hellauman’s face. As he had said, without the ability to control mana, becoming a Sword Master was impossible.

Still, the fact that a noble had joined the academy was rare, and Ricardt had accomplished something noteworthy, so Hellauman decided to engage him in conversation, even if only lightly.

Smiling gently, as if he were speaking to a grandson, Hellauman asked,

“Do you know how old I am, young lord?”

“To be honest, you’re quite hard to gauge.”

“Hahaha, even the Empress Dowager often says that. I am 122 years old this year.”

This was the one part that managed to surprise Ricardt. Could someone live that long? And in such good health? For a moment, he wondered if Hellauman was joking.

Seeing Ricardt’s reaction, Hellauman smiled even more warmly. How cute.

“It’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I’ve lived in semi-retirement for so long that most people think my son is the Court Count. Or maybe it’s my grandson now… or was it my great-grandson? I’m not sure. I don’t really care. Anyway, I’m one of the few alive who has personally seen the legendary Sword Master, Ricky. Isn’t that amazing?”

Wait, what? Ricardt scrutinized Hellauman again. No matter how hard he searched his memory, nothing came to mind.

“…That is surprising.”

“I was originally born the son of a swordsmanship guild master in the region of Hilsen. There, I trained in martial arts with my siblings under my father’s guidance. But one day, that Ricky came and killed my parents, my siblings, and all my relatives. I watched it all from inside a closet.”

Ricardt had no idea how to respond. However, Hellauman’s next words were even more shocking.

“Yet I hold no grudge. Do you know why? It’s because I had the privilege of witnessing his perfect swordsmanship. The golden flames dancing along his blade, the blood spraying everywhere—it was so beautiful, it brought me to tears. Ah, even now, when I think back on it, I still get chills.”

To Ricardt, Hellauman seemed slightly… unhinged. He was so obsessed with the sword that he didn’t seem to care about the deaths of his family. Maybe it was because he was so old.

Hellauman continued speaking.

“Every single sword strike was something I had never seen before, things I couldn’t have even dreamed of. It was creative, yet not grotesque, and there were no missteps. From beginning to end, it felt like one continuous poem. What I’ve always wondered is: did he plan every move from the start, or was it all just brilliant improvisation? For 100 years, I’ve been searching for that answer.”

As Ricardt listened, a faint memory resurfaced. The Hilsen Sword Guild. They had tried to hunt him down to make a name for themselves, so he had attacked their base and killed them all.

At the time, he thought he had wiped them all out, but apparently, he hadn’t. Who would have thought someone was hiding? He hadn’t bothered to search thoroughly back then.

Meeting someone who had lived during his past life—should he feel glad, or should he apologize? Ricardt wasn’t sure what to say.

Still, feeling a bit guilty, he wanted to offer an answer. Not that it was much of an answer, really. It was just recalling what had happened back then.

“Uh, well… it’s probably a bit of both.”

“Hmm?”

“When he first stepped into the dojo, maybe he saw it all. How the fight would flow, what variables there might be, how to kill… So, in reality, there was no thought, it just happened that way, and that’s how you saw it, I think.”

Ricardt answered, drawing from his memories of that time as best he could.

Then, suddenly, Hellauman stiffened, his body trembling as if struck by lightning.