"Revenge…" the headmaster echoed quietly.
Of course that was his answer.Predictable and Understandable.
But this boy—he didn't see the beauty of the blade. He only saw it as a tool, a weapon means to end something.
"I've already told you my goal," Kael muttered. "And now that I've said it out loud, it's obvious.You should kill me now. What I said is treason against the royal family."
The headmaster raised a brow.
"At least you're aware. And bold enough to say it to my face?"
Kael's voice held firm despite the strain in his body.
"I won't change my mind.Even if you let me live today, I'll never back down."
The principal studied him.That flicker in Kael's eyes—defiance but underneath it… a spark. Dim, but burning.He just needed a little more fuel.
"Hmm. I see. But let me ask you something, child," the headmaster said, his tone shifting.
"Have you ever wanted to hold a sword?Have you ever felt its beauty? Its weight? Its joy?"
Joy?Kael blinked, confused.Was this old man serious?Fun? What's fun about this?
He'd only ever picked up a sword to survive, and now to avenge.He never understood why knights smiled when they fought, or why they sparred for sport.After all… his father…
"No. I haven't," Kael said coldly.
It was a sharp answer.But the headmaster wasn't disappointed. If anything, he looked thoughtful.
There was something in Kael—hesitation.
A shield he was holding tight, like someone he knew,he reminded him of silvius.
"Then let me show you," the headmaster said."Let me show you what a sword really is."
He rose and reached over his shoulder, drawing the old blade strapped to his back.It was chipped, weathered, and ugly by noble standards.But in his hands—it gleamed.
And then…
Aether bloomed around it, flowing like smoke.
And then—boom.
A radiant burst of light exploded from it.
Kael's eyes widened.
Aura.
He'd seen this before.
His grandfather had wielded it once. So had the knights in the old courtyard.
But after Grandfather died, it was forbidden.
His father never allowed it inside the estate.
"I heard," the headmaster said, eyes still locked on the glowing blade,"that your father had a weak body. Could barely hold a sword.""That's why the Ash Crow rejected him."
He turned toward Kael, voice sharpening.
"But now that I look at you, Kael…Are you following in his footsteps out of pity?"
"No—it's not true!"
Kael's voice cracked as he screamed he didn't want to hear it.Was the old bastard mocking his father? Was this just another insult?
"I see…" the headmaster said calmly. "You're still bound by the past.Still blind. But how do you expect to move forward like that?"
Kael clenched his jaw and he hated this man.Hated how his words cut deeper than any blade.Hated how… they made sense.
"The sword," the headmaster continued, stepping forward, "is not just for killing.It's for feeling."
"You feel the weight of it in your hand—and you remember why you're still breathing."
"You feel rage, and it gives you direction.
You feel loss, and it gives you aim and when there's nothing left but ash in your soul—good.Because that's when you ignite."
He turned, raising his chipped sword skyward.
"Live, Kael. Not just for pride.Not just for revenge."
"Because one day, someone will need your sword.And if you're not here to raise it…Who the hell else will?"
The night was still.
Then—shhk.
In one clean motion, the headmaster cut Kael's bindings.
The boy collapsed—weak, limp, barely conscious.A Strong arms caught him before he hit the ground.
"Stand when you can," the headmaster said quietly.
"Until then… I'll carry the weight for you."
"Carry… the weight?" Kael mumbled. His knees trembled beneath him.
The headmaster looked down at him—not as a warrior, not as a principal.But like a man looking at a son.
"I'll turn a blind eye to the things you said today.But grow, Kael.Find out why the sword is beautiful."
"And maybe… just maybe… when the time comes,you'll follow a different path for your revenge."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Kael didn't understand why—but suddenly, his heart was racing.
"The beauty of a sword…" he whispered.
A pause.
"Do you… really think my family was a traitor?"
The headmaster—Orvahn—smiled faintly.
"I'm not a fool, boy.I know they didn't do a damn thing wrong."
Kael's lips trembled.
"Are you… saying that out of pity?"
"No," Orvahn said. "Because I've seen worse things in this world.And I know who's guilty—and who's not."
"Don't let it consume you.You've endured too much already.The pain. The silence. The loneliness. You carried it all."
Kael froze.
Those words hit deeper than any truth.It was like he was speaking to the eight-year-old boy who once crawled through blood and shadow—starving, forgotten, barely human.
A hand landed gently on his head. Warm.
"You survived," Orvahn said softly."I'm sure your parents are proud.Not because you're strong—But because you're still alive."
That was it.
Kael—the boy who grew up with no one—who tore through beasts and hunger and grief just to stay standing—He wept.
Not as a noble but as a child who finally heard the words he needed most.And for once…he didn't care who saw.
He was alive.
And maybe that was enough—for now.