After the departure of the Northern Sword Duke, Daemon.
[Just what in the world were you thinking, trying to hand me over like that?]
The sword spirit's nagging went on endlessly, and Ruin closed his eyes with a long sigh.
"I already told you, didn't I? They were never going to accept those terms anyway."
[And what if they had accepted them? What then?!]
'Then I would've dealt with it.'
To be honest, Ruin felt no obligation of loyalty or affection toward this newly bound sword spirit.
If there were even the slightest chance of restoring his father, Kavel, to his rightful place, Ruin was more than willing to use the sword spirit as a bargaining chip.
Of course, that was a thought he kept entirely to himself.
"Haah, think whatever you like."
Watching the sword spirit flare up in rage, Ruin simply shook his head and brushed it off.
But then his mind returned to the expression on Daemon's face when he had asked for his father's reinstatement into the clan.
'Looks like that won't be easy.'
Daemon had shaken his head with a faint smile.
Why he had come in person in the dead of night to demand Ruin give up the sword was unclear, but—
'Bringing Father back into the clan… that'll be extremely difficult.'
Judging from the reaction of the clan and Daemon's rejection alike, this was no mere youthful elopement scandal.
And then—
'His eyes… they flickered in surprise.'
Others might have missed it, but Ruin, who had lived as a shadow for so long, could never overlook the brief tremor in Daemon's gaze.
'He was caught off guard.'
After all, who would dare make demands or set conditions before the man hailed as the "Sky of the North," the absolute ruler of his era?
'Well, only possible because I'm in the body of a child.'
Had an adult made such a bold proposal, they might have faced severe punishment.
Only because Ruin had played the part of a grandson devoted to his parents above all else did Daemon respond with a faint, indulgent smile.
"Phew… pretending ignorance all the time isn't easy."
With another small sigh, Ruin muttered to himself.
[See? This is why you're such an ungrateful—wait, what did you just say?]
"It's nothing."
Deflecting the sword spirit's suspicion, Ruin gathered his thoughts.
'My parents' happiness and safety.'
That was one of his small, immediate goals.
But his ultimate purpose remained unchanged.
'I will kill Roeben Paterion, the West Wing Duke.'
The path before him was one of blood and carnage.
Countless enemies would appear, striking at him not only directly but also at those around him.
And naturally—
'Family is always the first target.'
Though both his father and mother had formidable backgrounds—Kavel as a son of the Laingraim and his mother from the Kaphtalen line—
'…for now, they're cut off from that power.'
Ruin, with the vivid experience of Unit 1872, knew better than anyone the vast difference between individual might and the strength of an entire organization.
Which meant—
'The safest way is to return them to their rightful places.'
No matter how many grudges he accumulated, very few would dare touch direct heirs of Laingraim or Kaphtalen.
And so, one of his immediate goals was to restore his parents to their clans.
"Well, at least the mood wasn't entirely bad."
Even if Daemon had refused his request, Ruin had felt the Sword Duke's gaze soften toward him before leaving.
'So this is what people call the bond between grandparent and grandchild?'
Having grown up an orphan in his past life, Ruin found it strangely moving to feel such familial warmth.
Perhaps Daemon had been touched by his grandson's apparent devotion to family over personal gain.
'Still, no point getting my hopes up.'
The look Daemon had shown him was nothing more than a fleeting warmth.
As the head of a great clan, he was not the kind of man to make decisions swayed by sentiment.
[What are you mumbling about again? You sound like some old man. Why's a kid acting so gloomy?]
Ignoring the sword spirit's chatter, Ruin fell silent.
"..."
[And now that face again! Fine. I'll just teach you swordsmanship directly. Be honored. Other than Belion, no one has ever—]
'Just what is this sword?'
Aside from knowing it was tied to the First Patriarch, Ruin still had no clear answers about the sword's true nature.
And the fact that Daemon himself had demanded he give it up…
'There's a major secret hidden here.'
Staring at the blade with a thoughtful frown, Ruin eventually shook his head and lay back on his bed.
[Hey! You ignoring me again?!]
The sword spirit's indignant shouting went unanswered.
The next day.
Because the Sword Selection Ceremony had concluded, the Laingraim stronghold, Castle Vanapen, was alive with preparations for a grand banquet.
Nobles and guests from far and wide had gathered, and the servants had been frantically preparing since dawn.
The stars of the evening were, of course, the children who had taken part in the ceremony.
Daemon had given them each a condition: they were to attend the banquet bearing the swords they had chosen and been tested by.
But then—
"What? You gave up your sword?"
"N-no, Father! The Sword Duke himself came to me and said he would personally teach me—"
"You fool! And you actually believed that?! Bring me a switch, at once! Tonight I'll beat some sense into this idiot!"
"F-Father, wait—Aaghhh!"
Cries of pain and confusion echoed throughout the castle.
The cause of all the commotion was none other than—
"Ahem. Seems preparations are going well."
"Over half the invitees have already declined attendance, my lord."
"Is that so? Well, the other half will still come, won't they?"
"Which means those who didn't will have their first banquet delayed for quite some time."
"That's their problem. Their fate, their responsibility."
"..."
Daemon merely shrugged, unconcerned. His secretary, Joel, silently shook his head at his lord's coldness.
Daemon's sharp eyes immediately caught it.
"What's with that look?"
"Eh? What do you mean, my lord?"
"Your face just now—"
Daemon was about to snap when Joel smoothly changed the subject.
"Ah, speaking of which—who have you chosen as Young Master Ruin's guardian for the banquet?"
"Of course, it'll be Grandmaster Seor—ahem! Hmph. You've grown skilled at changing the topic."
Realizing he had been sidetracked, Daemon glared at Joel.
"Hahaha, change the subject? No, I simply wished to confirm the arrangements."
Feigning innocence with a sly smile, Joel continued.
"But if it's Lord Freon, then I'm certain he'll carry out the duty honorably and justly."
Joel nodded respectfully, praising Freon Zircarjin, the Master of the Seor Division.
But Daemon shook his head slightly.
"Too much purity isn't always a good thing. In water too clean, nothing can live."
The guardian in question referred to the representative adult who would accompany each child to a formal clan banquet.
They symbolized the child's background and standing.
Often, parents, siblings, or close kin served this role, though occasionally it could be a master or the head of an affiliated group.
For that reason, the role of guardian was highly coveted among nobles.
But Ruin had neither parents who could attend nor a master or patron to speak of.
Thus, the one selected was Freon Zircarjin, the Seor Division Master—the only figure with even a faint connection.
Which meant that, from this day forth, Freon would be the official backing Ruin carried as a member of House Laingraim.
Of course, Freon's personal opinion had not been considered in the slightest.
"..."
Freon gazed silently at the boy standing beside him.
'So it's come to this.'
He had been the one to bring Ruin back on Daemon's orders, the first to notice something extraordinary about him.
He had reported as much to his lord, and ever since, he had kept an eye on the boy.
And now—
'Never thought I'd end up someone's guardian…'
But as Daemon's most loyal vassal, refusal had never been an option.
Thus Freon Zircarjin had accepted the role.
"Are the preparations complete?"
"Yes, Master."
Ruin nodded brightly, his smile unshaken.
"There's no need to be nervous. Just smile, and that will be enough."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"..."
Freon's tone was curt, his demeanor far from warm.
After all, he had never once imagined himself playing caretaker to a child.
'…I'm not cut out for this.'
Freon Zircarjin.
Among the Laingraim, he was known by another name:
The Mad Clear Sword (Gwangcheonggeom, 狂淸劍).
At first glance, the title sounded poetic—"madly pure."
But in truth, it was far from a compliment.
Freon was notorious for his obsessive, almost pathological devotion to order and duty.
He drew no personal connections, never mixing private and official matters.
Though he had served Laingraim his entire life, he had not a single true friend—only unswerving loyalty to Daemon's commands.
'Hah… I'd rather just train with my sword.'
Whenever free, he devoted himself solely to practice, earning the epithet "Mad Clear Sword."
Under him, the Seor Division suffered mercilessly.
It was said that only the insane or the broken could endure life there.
"..."
Standing with a cold, sunken gaze, Freon betrayed no emotion.
But Ruin's smile never wavered.
'Freon Zircarjin, Master of the Seor Division, one of the Eleven Azure Swords, an orphan raised within Laingraim.'
Ruin already knew his story.
Or rather, the memories of Unit 1872 did.
Freon Zircarjin had grown up in a clan-funded orphanage, with no parents or family.
Dreaming of becoming a warrior, he enlisted as a common soldier the moment he came of age.
Though his talent shone bright, he remained but a soldier for many years—until fate intervened.
By chance, he met the previous Seor Master, Palam Zircarjin, himself an orphan who had risen by sheer strength alone.
Moved by the young man's talent—and perhaps by shared origins—Palam adopted Freon as his foster son.
Years later, Palam passed everything he had onto his successor.
"Zircarjin is the surname bestowed by the Sword Duke himself. Never bring shame to it."
That had been his dying words.
And ever since, they had been the compass guiding Freon's life.
Through unrelenting discipline, Freon became one of the Eleven Azure Swords, Daemon's most trusted warriors.
'In his own way, a rather romantic figure.'
Ruin smiled faintly, recalling what he had learned in his past life while gathering intelligence on House Laingraim.
"Hm."
Freon's expression shifted slightly, uncertainty flickering across his face.
After a moment of hesitation, he spoke.
"Just in case… if someone causes trouble for you during the banquet—"
"Don't worry. I know."
"Come to me at once, no matter what—wait, what?"
"No matter what happens inside, I promise not to cause a scene or stir up trouble."
Ruin grinned, watching Freon's stunned expression.
Then, with a sly, almost mischievous smile, he murmured softly:
"…Though I can't guarantee it completely."
Unfortunately, Freon failed to catch that last whisper.
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T/N:
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