Chapter 2: The Exiled Young Lord (1)
The knights of Mectera are special.
They wished to be called swordsmen rather than knights, a sentiment in line with the philosophy of the first Mectera.
There is a reason why the Duke of Mectera is called the Sword Master. It is because Mectera is a clan of people obsessed with the sword.
Thus, the knightly order was named the Sword Order, and its commander, the Head of the Sword.
The dream of swordsmen who settled in or came to Mectera was, nine times out of ten, to become a knight of the Ducal House of Mectera—that is, a Mectera swordsman.
Of course, this was a future aspiration that also applied to swordsmen from lands other than Mectera. For any who wielded a sword, they wished to be called not just a swordsman, but a Mectera swordsman.
In that context, Mectera is also known as the land of opportunity for any swordsman.
The criterion by which Mectera selects its swordsmen is pure skill as a swordsman!
They paid no heed to one's background or past crimes, which was both the pride of Mectera, known as a sacred ground, and its arrogant confidence.
As if to say, who could possibly harm Mectera, or the Sword Master?
***
"Young Master! Young Master!"
Meram's voice was heard when Simurtr had finished tending to the bodies of the three servants.
"What."
"What is that! A headless corpse...!"
"This?"
Simurtr casually kicked what was at his feet.
Roll, roll. The head rolled to a stop at Meram's toes.
"Gasp!"
Roll, roll. As the head touched her feet, Meram shot up with her arms raised.
Though she was a war orphan, she had never gotten used to corpses or pieces of flesh.
Rather, they only left deeper scars.
"That bastard. Do you know who he is?"
But even in that state, Meram gritted her teeth. The Young Master's words and actions were unusual.
"That is..."
Meram's heart was still pounding, but… she cautiously examined the face of the head through narrowed eyes.
"He appears to be Swordsman Keito… of the 3rd Sword Order. He was selected five years ago and must have been chosen by the 3rd Sword Order."
Meram knew the faces and names of all the swordsmen belonging to the Sword Order. She had thought it proper to know them if one belonged to Mectera.
"The 3rd Sword Order?"
He hadn't expected such useless memorization to be helpful. The 3rd Sword Order. Simurtr repeated it in his mind.
"Yes. But why is he here..."
As a corpse, no less.
Meram looked at the front yard with teary eyes. Simurtr, who had calmly arranged the servants' bodies, would surely know the answer.
"I killed him."
"Pardon?"
"I said I killed him. That bastard killed Gabi, Haman, and Tyler."
"…He came to kill you, Young Master."
Meram roughly grasped the whole story. It wasn't difficult. The 3rd Sword Order. It was a place where a new Head of the Sword had been appointed after the war. One who had been won over by the second wife.
"Right. You, and them too."
"What will you do now?"
"If I leave, will you follow me, Meram?"
The estate of exile was no longer safe.
Since the swordsman Keito has disappeared, they would soon send a new one.
"..."
"Right?"
Simurtr smirked. It was the silence he had expected. Even to Simurtr's eyes, Meram was a very promising magician.
For such a magician to turn down offers from the Mage Tower or the Sage's Castle and establish herself in Mectera, there must have been a fitting reason.
"I'll have to go to the main estate."
***
"…Are you really going to go?"
In truth, they had already set off.
Meram's question was her way of saying that there was still a chance to escape.
Since they hadn't arrived at the territory yet.
"I have to."
Meram was not safe.
Even if Simurtr left, they wouldn't leave Meram alone, now that she knew the truth.
If one were to put a price on life, a swordsman would undoubtedly fetch a higher price than a spellcaster. In Mectera, that was a matter of course.
'No one would care if a mere spellcaster died.'
Mectera's ideology revolves around the sword.
They despise spellcasters and look down on scholars.
'I have to go to Mectera anyway.'
He had no intention of leaving in the first place.
Mectera. Simurtr felt the need to dig into that clan of sword-crazed people.
Mectera was not among the names of the heroes… even at the moment of his death. It had failed to seize the title of hero.
Originally, it should not have been called a Hero Family.
'Instead, they're tacked onto me. Thanks to that, they're called a Hero Family.'
The exiled Exa had met a new master and lived a life unrelated to Mectera. There was no particular connection or feeling.
The Mectera swordsmen he met during the Doom War held a deep affection for Exa and wanted him to return, but.
'That's bullshit.'
Exa had never accepted the name Mectera again. He had come to understand the expulsion after he had grown older, but his bond with his master was more precious.
The Duke of Mectera at the time was also quite awful.
'Why Mectera and not Baperr?'
Baperr. It was the surname bestowed upon him by the previous emperor when he became a great general, and also the name of Exa's unit. Exa had used that name until his death.
But on his tomb, and in history, it was written as Mectera. Why? Simurtr was still not certain of the reason. He had a guess, but that was all.
'It's ambiguous.'
It wasn't that unpleasant. Great General or Sword Saint. Simurtr didn't place meaning in such things.
Unlike the other so-called heroes, he had never cherished honor.
'I don't care if they sell my name.'
Did Mectera participate in the betrayal? Simurtr wanted to know. He didn't mind that they had piggybacked on his honor.
'We didn't have a good relationship.'
There was no way to know for now.
His relationship was bad with the previous Duke, but most of the Mectera swordsmen were friendly towards Exa.
'Things were amicable with everyone except for one person.'
The fact that they were not present at his death did not prove their innocence. It meant he lacked information. He was only 16, and had spent all that time at the estate of exile.
'Well. I'll find out when I get there.'
There was no method more direct than entering the main base himself. The youngest of Mectera. Although an adopted son, weren't they still relatively close?
Without needing to take the long way around, if he could just secure a position in the main estate, he would have a chance to get closer to the truth.
'I need time anyway.'
He was still ridiculously young, and weak.
Whatever the truth may be, it was an undeniable fact that Mectera was an excellent background.
'Even if it's last place, it's still a Hero Family.'
Uncovering Mectera's truth was the path to revenge. The fastest one at that.
The reincarnated Simurtr had held that conviction for a long time.
'And I was born as an adopted son on this side anyway.'
In that case, it was right to build up strength from within.
As long as his past life wasn't discovered, there was no better environment than a Hero Family.
'I can't rush this. One by one, slowly. Starting with the closest, Mectera. The Emperor and the four heroes come later.'
If he touched them now, he would have to wish for another reincarnation.
Far from catching up to the prime of his past life, he had just taken his first step.
The Emperor and the four heroes.
Those traitors would have further strengthened their power while he spent his childhood. The starting points were already different, and now the gap had widened even more.
'It would have been better if I had revived in my corpse in the tomb instead of reincarnating.'
If so, couldn't he have killed those shedding fake tears on the spot? It was a fantasy that sometimes crossed his mind.
Whenever such thoughts arose, Simurtr would realize how shabby he had become....
"…Young Master!"
"Huh? What did you say?"
"I said it's all right if you are doing this because of me."
"What is?"
"I mean that you do not need to go to the main estate. I can take care of myself."
If Simurtr left, it would be Meram who was in danger. She was well aware of that fact.
…But it was that Young Master. The only education he had ever received was history education. Simurtr did not have the strength to protect himself in the main estate.
"What are you talking about. You can't even fight. You'll just tremble at the sight of blood again."
"I will manage if I feel my life is threatened."
"Same goes for me. I'm not going because of you."
"Pardon?"
"I have to pay back what I received. The 3rd Sword Order is cooperating with the second wife?"
Simurtr clicked his tongue.
The Mectera he encountered after reincarnating was quite different from the Mectera in his memory. The Sword Order, which should have remained neutral, had participated in the succession competition.
"Are the other Sword Orders like that too?"
"That is not the case. I do not know the details, but it is probably only the places where a new Head of the Sword has been appointed."
"And where are they?"
"The 2nd and 3rd Sword Orders. New Head of the Swords were chosen after the war."
"This is what happens when you choose them in a hurry."
"..."
"The 2nd Sword Order is with the second wife too?"
"The first wife. You will not have to worry about the 2nd Sword Order. It is presumed to be a minimal recruitment to oppose the second wife."
"So they have a conscience."
Meram nodded her head.
In truth, she wasn't sure if they had a conscience. Meram had never met the two ladies of the house, nor did she have any good feelings towards them.
Whatever the reality, hadn't they led and approved of Simurtr's exile?
'If he had been at the main estate, he could have been training like the other direct descendants, instead of just swinging a sword alone in the backyard.'
The direct descendants of Mectera have swordsmen from the Senate of Elders as their masters.
But Simurtr was deprived of that opportunity by the two ladies of the house.
Instead, only Meram was assigned to him. A magician, merely as a history teacher.
"I'm not learning magic."
"I did not say anything."
It was always like this. That quick-witted Young Master would cut her off before Meram could even speak.
Even though he grew up in the estate of exile and not the main estate, he hated magic so much.
"Your face says it all."
Like it or not, Exa in his past life had grown up in Mectera. Naturally, he loathed the Mage Tower and magic, and worshipped the sword.
Of course, he would respect them, but he had no intention of respecting them as much as those who practiced the sword.
Even after reincarnating, that notion hasn't changed.
He still likes the sword and frowns upon magic. Moreover, isn't the one reigning over the Mage Tower now one of the traitors?
"This is enough."
The master he had met with difficulty was also a swordsman, and the teachings of his school were also for martial artists.
If he had to choose between the life of a soldier with a sword and a magician, Simurtr would choose the former without hesitation.
'Still, I'm pretty reasonable compared to others.'
He prided himself on being flexible. If the swordsmen of the main estate had heard that suggestion, they would have drawn their swords, telling him not to insult them.
"…Huh?"
Meram, who had been staring blankly at Simurtr's sword, tilted her head. Something suddenly flashed through her mind.
I'm not going because of you. The 3rd Sword Order. I can't just let it slide. This is enough. The words Simurtr had uttered so far were filled with confidence.
'Why?'
…The corpse. That cleanly severed cross-section. Meram recalled the dead swordsman, Keito. His neck had been cut by a sword.
'By whom?'
I killed him.
While arranging the servants' bodies, the Young Master had said so. At the time, she hadn't felt a sense of incongruity.
Because the fact that a swordsman belonging to the family had come to kill an adopted son of the family was so shocking.
And of all places, in Mectera.
"It's been a while since I've seen those castle walls."
They would soon arrive at Mectera.
Even while heading into the tiger's den, Simurtr was still confident.
It was the source of the sudden sense of unease. The Young Master, who had never learned the sword? A formal swordsman of Mectera?
"Young Master."
"What is it now."
"Swordsman Keito. Did you really kill him, Young Master?"
"I said so, didn't I?"
"Stop lying."
"It's true."
Something white began to ripple like smoke from Simurtr's scabbard. It was like white ink dropped into water. Sword ki. Meram recognized what had formed on the sword.
"…How? No… Since when?"
Meram dropped the glasses she was taking out to see the gatekeeper. Pure white mana. As far as Meram knew, Mectera's mana was tinged with black. No… that wasn't what was important.
The Young Master, who had never received any instruction, let alone swordsmanship, whose only education in life was Meram's… was wielding mana!
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"There was no one at the estate to teach you..."
"I received a manuscript when I was exiled."
He learned by himself? He became strong enough to kill a swordsman from the main estate on his own? Meram picked up the glasses that had fallen on the road and wiped the lenses.
Putting on the glasses, she looked at Simurtr again, then rubbed her eyes. Still, the white mana did not disappear. It became even clearer.
"Why did you not tell me?"
Simurtr's existence was vaguely known in the Mectera main estate. The exiled young lord. Or the exiled adopted son. In the main estate, Simurtr was called that.
Meram had met that Young Master when he was 9.
The order was to teach him basic knowledge. The dispatch period had long since ended, but Meram did not return.
It was because Simurtr closely resembled the unfortunate childhood of the hero, Exa.
"You didn't know? Even though you saw me every day."
"You never showed me your mana."
Meram's major was magic. If there had been a hint of mana, Meram would have noticed it long ago.
But in the backyard, Meram had never perceived Simurtr's mana.
"I did it in my room every night. Your sensory perception must be dull, Meram. You should get into the habit of expanding your senses to your surroundings."
"..."
"It's possible. Our rooms are so far apart, right? At that distance, it's natural for someone at your level not to know. And my level is still low."
Meram bit her lip. Simurtr's words didn't register. He had hit the nail on the head. She had been complacent, thinking they were in a mansion in the mountains.
Never imagining that there would be such shady schemes in Mectera of all places.
"Don't worry too much about it. You wouldn't have been able to stop it even if you had put up defenses."
"…Yes."
The death of the servants. Simurtr mentioned it.
But what Meram regretted was not their deaths. It was because Simurtr had been in danger.
Meram.
She did not grieve for the deaths of the three servants. She even thought it was a good end.
The young master, who was quite close to the servants, wouldn't know, but… those three were servants and, at the same time, watchers. They had been periodically reporting
Simurtr's movements to someone.
"Are you sad too, Young Master?"
"Of course I am. What about you, Meram?"
Meram did not show it. She lowered her eyes.
She didn't want to show her true feelings to the Young Master, who was making an uncomfortable face. She didn't want to be disliked.
"I am all right. But why did I not see it in the backyard?"
"There's no need to use mana when swinging a sword by myself. It's physical training, isn't it?"
Mana is as familiar as his own body. Sword ki is as natural as breathing. When he wields a
sword alone, he doesn't feel the need for sword ki.
It might be different for others, but he remembered his past life. Sword force? If he had enough mana, he could do it even now.
'Die.'
Though his untrained body wouldn't be able to handle it.
"Isn't it more efficient to use both? It's a matter of not just using mana for physical
enhancement."
"It makes me dizzy."
Meram's words were not wrong, but he still lacked mana by far. Mana training was already overwhelming just by doing it at night.
That was the reason he had immediately cut Keito's neck.
If he had his way, he would have wanted to cut off his limbs before cutting his neck, but he didn't have the luxury.
"I didn't want to show it to those three either. There's no need to hide it, but there's no reason to show it either, right? Who would that benefit?"
As if his uncomfortable expression until now had been a lie, Simurtr grinned.
Meeting that smile, Meram flinched.
Come to think of it… Simurtr had not made graves for the servants.
He had just piled up the bodies.