"I greet the Northern Sword Duke."
As soon as Ruin leapt down from his bed and bowed deeply, Damon shook his head and approached.
"Today, I came not as the Patriarch, but as your grandfather. There's no need for such formality."
With a gentle tone, he grasped Ruin's arm and pulled him up.
'What is this power…?'
In that instant, a fierce yet blazing energy surged through Ruin's arm. Unconsciously, he found himself yielding to it—no, more accurately, he realized he dared not even resist.
Just then—
[So that man is the current head of the Laingram family?]
The voice of the Sword Soul echoed in his ears.
[He's achieved more than I expected. Truly, a worthy descendant of Belion.]
Even the Sword Soul, who seemed acquainted with the founding patriarch, let out a tone of admiration at the overwhelming strength and presence of the Northern Sword Duke, Damon.
But why had this man sought him out in secret, late at night?
"What are you thinking about so deeply?"
"I was pondering the reason why Grandfather came to see me."
"And? Did you find an answer?"
At his follow-up question, Ruin's mind spun quickly.
For the Patriarch of the North, the head of Laingram himself, to personally move—there could only be one reason.
Naturally, Ruin turned his gaze to the Sword Soul before speaking again.
"Could it be because of the sword I drew during the Sword Choosing Ceremony?"
"Hahaha, and what makes you think that?"
Earlier that day, in the Patriarch's hall, Damon had exuded an untouchable charisma.
Yet the man standing before him now radiated an aura of calm, even warmth.
"..."
Momentarily at a loss for words at this entirely different side of Damon, Ruin eventually spoke again.
"I simply thought the only reason for Grandfather to seek out a grandson he first met today, and at this hour no less, would be that matter alone."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, that is what I believe."
Despite Damon's invitation to be at ease, Ruin maintained rigid courtesy.
For Damon was once the man he respected and admired most, a peerless martial figure.
And more importantly, he was the only one who could open the path to Ruin's revenge.
'Somehow, in front of this man, it feels like I must conduct myself this way.'
"I told you, there's no need for such formality. You must've been raised under rather strict discipline."
"..."
At those words, Ruin unconsciously recalled his parents.
His mother, who would constantly boast "Our son is the best!" with her finger pointed high.
His father, who puffed up with pride after a successful hunt.
And this man thought they'd raised him with strict discipline?
'Mm… best keep quiet.'
"Not scatterbrained like Kavel, then. Daisy? Was it that girl?"
Damon spoke his mother's name with unexpected familiarity, leaving Ruin tilting his head in puzzlement.
'Wait, could it be… the Northern Sword Duke doesn't dislike Father and Mother?'
Parent-child relations were rarely so simple as love or hate.
Whatever feelings Damon held toward Kavel and Daisy, Ruin couldn't be sure.
But one thing was certain—
'There's no hostility. If anything, it feels closer to affection.'
As those thoughts lingered, Damon looked at him with a pleased gaze and spoke again.
"You're not afraid of me, are you?"
"Huh? Hiccup!"
At Damon's sudden remark, Ruin hiccupped without realizing it.
"Most children your age—or even my other grandchildren—tremble when left alone with me. Even my own sons are no different. Yet your eyes and expression… I see curiosity before fear."
'Damn it, should I have acted scared?'
As he debated whether to avert his gaze now—
"…You truly resemble Kavel."
'Huh?'
Damon muttered softly, his tone tinged with nostalgia. Caught off guard, Ruin missed his chance to look away.
As if he had read every thought running through Ruin's mind, Damon smiled faintly before shifting his gaze toward the Sword Soul resting beside the bed.
"You're right. The reason I came tonight is because of that sword."
His voice was calm, yet steady. He then called Ruin's name.
"Ruin."
"Yes, Grandfather."
"From now, I shall make you a proposal."
"…What?"
The sudden words left Ruin staring blankly at him.
'A proposal? From the Northern Sword Duke… to me?'
It was incomprehensible.
But Damon continued, voice quiet yet sure.
"Don't look so tense. It is only a simple proposal."
"..."
Ruin remained silent, forcing Damon to speak again.
"Would you consider giving up that sword?"
"…What?"
Blinking in shock at the unexpected suggestion, Ruin barely managed a reply. Damon's eyes did not waver.
"Hand me the sword you've obtained, Ruin."
'What, he wants me to give it up?'
[What the hell is that old bastard saying now?]
The Sword Soul's deep, booming voice jolted Ruin's thoughts.
'Didn't you just call this whole thing unfair earlier? Shouldn't this be good for you?'
Ruin smirked inwardly as the Sword Soul snorted.
[That's different. I'll accept it only if you abandon me by your own will—not because you were persuaded or threatened. I won't allow that.]
'Why not?'
[Because whatever the reason, you are the one I chose.]
'...'
Honestly, he could've just said his pride couldn't stand being tossed aside by someone else's words. But no, the Sword Soul had to phrase it dramatically.
Still, Ruin held his tongue.
At that moment, Damon's voice pressed again.
"Ruin?"
"Ah, forgive me. It was just… so sudden."
He trailed his words to buy time. Damon's calm yet firm tone followed.
"Of course, this is no command—merely a proposal. If you abandon the sword, I shall grant you fair compensation."
"Compensation?"
"Yes. A proper price."
Damon's voice carried unshakable weight, but Ruin's eyes grew sharper.
[Ignore that old man. No matter what he offers, nothing surpasses me.]
The Sword Soul's arrogance almost made Ruin laugh aloud.
But then—
"If you wish… I could personally teach you swordsmanship."
"…?!"
Damon Laingram, the Northern Sword Duke, revealed his card.
He would personally pass on his swordsmanship.
'Why… all of a sudden?'
Even among his direct descendants, only a rare few had ever received Damon's personal instruction.
Yet he was offering it to the grandson of an exile, crossing generational boundaries.
Ruin briefly glanced at the Sword Soul before locking eyes with Damon.
"Grandfather."
"Yes, speak freely. Will you give up the sword?"
A faint smile touched Damon's lips, his gaze filled with the certainty of an elder humoring a child.
But—
"No. I'm sorry. I have no such intention, not now."
"What?"
Damon froze as Ruin shook his head.
Did the boy not realize how weighty, how momentous his offer truly was?
"Think carefully. Such a chance will never come again."
Damon urged him once more. Ruin's expression grew solemn.
Then—
"…Very well. I will relinquish the sword."
[Hey, you brat!]
With a grave look, Ruin nodded. Damon burst into laughter.
"Haha! A wise decision. Now, hand the sword to me—"
"But I have a condition."
"…Condition?"
At those daring words, Damon blinked in surprise.
But soon he composed himself.
"A condition? Did I not already meet it by offering to teach you myself?"
"No. Instead of your instruction, I want something else."
"…What?"
At that, Damon's face hardened.
This child… was rejecting his tutelage?
What could he possibly want that outweighed the Northern Sword Duke's teachings?
If it were something foolish, or something Damon disapproved of—
'I will not let it pass easily.'
The air around Damon grew cold, the gentle smile vanishing.
"…Fine. Then what is this condition you want in place of my guidance?"
With great care, Ruin slowly spoke.
"It's… about my father."
"Kavel?"
The unexpected answer made Damon tilt his head.
And then Ruin's quiet words followed.
"If I surrender this sword, could you allow my father to return here?"
"..."
Damon Laingram, the sky of the North—who had faced countless trials and survived them all—felt, for the first time, a sense of bewilderment at his grandson's request.
Trickle—
In his private study deep within the Patriarch's hall, Damon poured himself a strong drink.
"You seem in a rather good mood tonight," remarked his secretary, Joel.
Damon shook his head, speaking casually.
"No different from usual."
"Hm. If you say so…"
Letting the thought trail, Joel stepped forward and asked.
"So, was the recovery of the swords successful?"
Damon, glass in hand, pointed behind him.
Thunk.
"See for yourself."
Joel's eyes widened at the sight of the neatly stacked swords.
"Quite the harvest once again."
Sixteen children had participated in this Sword Choosing Ceremony.
And Damon had already reclaimed eight swords—half of them.
"As expected. Who could refuse the Northern Sword Duke's offer of instruction?"
"Hmph. Half of them just did."
Damon chuckled, sipping his drink. Joel merely shrugged.
"Then I take it you're not entirely satisfied?"
"Caught minnows, not the big fish. No thrill in that."
"I see."
Joel examined the pile. Indeed, none of the famed swords that had caught attention earlier were among them.
"Still, this happens every time, doesn't it?"
For at every Sword Choosing Ceremony, Damon would test the children a final time, tempting them when they were at their weakest.
Most fell for his offer—or failed to resist their greed—and surrendered their chosen swords.
And those who did…
'They faced bitter days ahead.'
For Damon never broke his word.
He indeed granted them his "guidance."
But his instruction was far from what they imagined.
[Swing the sword ten thousand times a day.]
Even that counted as swordsmanship training, didn't it?
And so, after every ceremony, the Laingram training grounds echoed with groans and wails.
Among certain circles, this had long been an open secret.
'Still, the lesser nobles keep their mouths shut—partly out of loyalty to tradition, partly out of fear.'
And, in truth, partly out of hope their own children would resist the temptation.
"Perhaps I've been at this too long."
Clink.
Damon set his glass on the table. Joel quickly shook his head.
"You're still at your prime."
"At my prime, am I?" Damon chuckled, reclining into the sofa.
"I should've at least gotten the Azure Sky Sword or the Black Dragon Sword."
Though his tone sounded regretful, Joel—who had served him his whole life—recognized the undercurrent of delight.
'What secret could be putting him in such high spirits?'
Joel barely suppressed a smile when Damon suddenly spoke.
"Joel."
"Yes, my lord?"
"In all the orders I've ever given, has there been one you thought… wrong?"
The unexpected question made Joel blink.
"…Am I about to be dismissed?"
"No, just curiosity." Damon waved it off.
Joel pondered briefly before answering with a faint smile.
"My lord has always taken full responsibility for every command given. So no—I'd say there was never room for regret."
"…Is that so?"
Damon's reply carried a faint note of wistfulness, his smile tinged with something else.
"Did something happen?"
"No. Nothing at all."
Damon firmly shook his head, raising his glass again. His eyes, however, sank deep as they turned toward the night sky outside the window.
'You're the first to ever turn my own test back on me, Ruin.'
He whispered words meant for no ears but his own.
"Heh… to live this long and still be surprised."
"…?"
Joel could only blink in confusion at his master's cryptic words.
But Damon merely smiled faintly, murmuring once more.
"Kavel, and Ruin… Truly, they're alike. Like father, like son. Hah."
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T/N:
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