WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reincarnation of the Sword Demon

Chapter 33

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Must Be Nice, Uncle

'Eyes are open, at least.'

Kyle watched Bruno steadily. Pale-faced, trembling. No killing intent in his own stance, no rigid posture threatening a charge. Anyone who wanted to rush in could do so freely.

Bruno didn't come. He was reading Kyle's gaze, the subtle pressure pressing off him. That kind of instinct had to be earned through real combat. Which meant Bruno's potential was better than expected.

'Well, he's pure-blood of this grand household. He's had to grind through hardships since he was small.'

If Bruno forced a charge? Kyle would have handled it. That father and son seemed to think their combined mana and raw physicality would carry the day, but that assumption badly underestimated him.

True, Kyle's mana was far less than Bruno's right now. But a fight wasn't decided by who had more mana or the bigger body. He was confident a single swing of his sword could flatten hundreds of Bruno's strikes.

'And he's using a sword that doesn't even fit him.'

Kyle didn't know Bruno's spirit root or which techniques he'd trained in. But that naked, grinding pressure Bruno gave off made the answer obvious.

'Personality like fire, impulsive and emotional, but the sword he holds is heavy and measured, like a boulder.'

Moving in two different directions entirely. A sword style forced onto the wrong person would betray its owner at the worst possible moment. Swords were things people broke in, not the other way around. The idea that a sword could break in a person was laughable.

'Hot-headed, but not recklessly brave. The kid is actually scared.'

To put it plainly, Bruno was the type who puffed up against the weak and caved to the strong. The way he flared and cooled so fast, nerve like a pot that boiled over in an instant and went cold just as quickly.

"Hey."

Kyle spoke. Low. Unhurried.

"Ugh...!"

Bruno didn't hear it that way. He flinched hard, shoulders yanking in. The wooden sword, hovering at that edge between raised and lowered, trembled in his grip.

"Don't be scared."

Kyle kept his voice quiet.

"You wanted to spar. So what are you doing? A wooden sword is still a sword. You've got it in your hand, so at least try swinging it. Why are you just standing there?"

In a real fight, running to avoid dying was perfectly fine. Kyle had done it himself, past life, more than once.

But this wasn't a real fight. His wooden sword wasn't going to kill Bruno. Bruno just couldn't seem to see that obvious fact, sealed tight inside his own private terror.

"Come on."

He raised the arm hanging loose and pointed the wooden sword at Bruno.

"If you won't come, I'll come to you."

They said even a cornered rat would bite a cat. Kyle was curious whether Bruno was even that much of a rat.

Crunch.

One step forward. That simple motion was the signal. The taut wire of Bruno's fear snapped past its limit.

"Ah, aaaaaah!"

Bruno screamed and squeezed his eyes shut. Wooden sword raised high, he came barreling forward on pure momentum. Less a rat biting a cat, more a creature so startled it was just flailing to survive.

The ferocity of it was real, for all that. The mana he'd built up coated the wooden sword, and his heavy frame behind that charge was like an angry boar.

'This is less a sword and more just a club swing.'

Eyes shut, too? Idiot. Kyle read Bruno's attack line like a book. Force packed in, but the path was simple and the speed slow. Worse, his center of gravity was pitching forward.

Snap.

Thunder energy cycled through Kyle's body. The mana of the Revolving Heaven Strike flowed through his right hand into the wooden sword. Crackle! A thread of current coiled around it. Small compared to Bruno's Aura, but sharper and cleaner.

Slam!

Wood met wood. The dark, rock-colored Aura wrapped around Bruno's sword was dense and solid, built to match the technique and style he'd trained in. Kyle's blade drove straight into the seam where that Aura had loosened.

Bruno's wooden sword snapped. The shock ran straight up through his hands, and the Aura's collapse sent mana flooding back against itself. Bruno choked and pitched forward.

Crash!

He hit the ground in a sprawl, face-first in the dirt. Dust billowed up around him.

"..."

Silence. Barkas's jaw fell open. Could this honestly be called a sparring match between Knight Candidates? A back-alley brawl would have had more dignity.

"Get up! Why aren't you getting up?!"

Barkas roared. The shout jolted Bruno back to his senses. His whole body ached, but the fear was louder than the pain.

A shadow fell across Bruno's face as he scrambled to rise.

"Hey."

Kyle crouched down to Bruno's eye level. Those gold irises swept over him without expression.

"Your sword broke. I won."
"Ugh... ngh..."
"I've been trying to figure out what to call you."

Tap. Tap.

Kyle tapped his own shoulder with the wooden sword.

"Not quite a rat. Idiot? Wild boar?"

A wild boar was bigger and stronger than a rat, sure. But from what Kyle had seen, Bruno hadn't even risen to the level of a cornered rat biting back.

"Calling family an idiot feels a bit much, even so. So I'll call you Pig going forward. Plain pig, not wild boar. No complaints, right?"

Bruno couldn't say a word. His usual temper would have had him red-faced and shouting, but the fear from moments ago had locked him solid.

"You little..."

Bruno was frozen, but Barkas wasn't. His face twisted. He stared his son down for a long beat, then shifted his gaze to Kyle.

"This was about getting friendly, wasn't it?"

Arian cut in before Barkas could say anything. Both hands on her hips, eyes sharp.

"That's what you came for, oppa. Sparring was your idea too. Am I wrong?"
"..."
"You're not about to take it out on my son just because yours lost, are you? If that's what you're thinking, I won't let it slide."
"Hmph."

The corner of Barkas's mouth twitched.

"You never had even a scrap of sword talent, not since you were small. Your son is something else entirely. I suppose that's Aslan's blood?"

By now, Kyle knew exactly who that name belonged to.

Aslan Antares. The man ten years into closed-door training, who didn't even know his wife had been pregnant. Kyle's father.

His epithet in the wider world: Sword Fool. Years ago, Aslan had come to Gladiheim to challenge the Alastor name, and Julius had beaten him. But Aslan hadn't left after losing.

He wasn't a knight of Alastor. Just a guest. He stayed in Gladiheim because Julius's swordsmanship had moved him, and he wanted to cross blades again. That was the reason he gave.

While lingering as a guest, Aslan had gotten his eyes caught by the family's notorious wild daughter, Arian. Then Arian had up and declared she was getting married, held a quiet ceremony, and shoved Aslan back out of Gladiheim to continue on his way.

"I wouldn't know anything about the blood of a father I've never met."

Kyle spoke up before Arian could.

"Before I'm my father's son, I'm my grandfather's grandson. And my uncle's nephew."

That blunt declaration pulled Barkas's eyes toward him.

"Uncle must be happy."
"Me? Happy about what?"
"You have such an outstanding nephew."

Barkas's mouth fell open slightly.

"Actually, thinking about it again, it's not just uncle who benefits. The whole of Alastor does. Because I'm pure-blood Alastor too."
"..."
"An exceptional descendant like me being born, surely even the Founding Ancestor who ascended long ago would be pleased. My existence might even be a gift the Founding Ancestor left for his descendants."

How could anyone say something so absurd with a straight face and complete composure? Even Arian was startled. Barkas too. Then he let out a short, humorless laugh and shook his head.

"You're too drunk on your own greatness. Carry on without knowing your place and you'll..."
"Get a bloody nose. Well, medicine fixes that. Either way, I won today's match."
"So? You want praise for it?"
"I like sincere praise."

Kyle grinned, then reached down and pulled Bruno up by the hand.

"You don't seem like you're in the mood to give me sincere praise right now, uncle. So I won't beg for it. Instead, I'll take today's victory as my birthday present."
"You earned that victory yourself. A birthday present, fine. I'll get you something separate. How about a sword?"
"No, I'm fine for swords. If you really want to give me something, give me a friend."
"A... friend? What does that mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. A friend."

Tap.

Kyle patted Bruno's shoulder.

"Can I call on him sometimes, to play?"
"...Play?"

Bewilderment crossed Barkas's face. The kid was cunning beyond his years. There was no way he couldn't sense why this forced sparring had happened, and he was surely reading Bruno's hostility and Barkas's wariness. Yet here he was, talking about friends and pulling Bruno closer. That part Barkas couldn't make sense of.

"I don't have many friends."

Kyle said it with a smile that looked, at first glance, almost innocent.

"So I'd like one. Friends happen naturally when you just get close to someone, sure. But if you tell him not to spend time with me, uncle, he'll listen to you, won't he?"
"You'd call my son a pig right here, to my face?"

Barkas's voice sharpened. Kyle didn't flinch. Just nodded.

"Yes. That was the bet."
"..."
"Can we be friends?"

Barkas didn't answer right away. He turned it over. A genius, or something closer to a monster. That kind of talent. Someone to watch carefully in the succession, always. But Alastor forbade blood feuds within the family.

Of course, Barkas was genuinely after the Family Head seat, which meant that if it came to it, he'd be ruthless. Not yet, though. Julius was far too strong and healthy, and Kyle was still too young.

"Do as you like."

He said it and turned away. No farewell. He walked off in long strides. Bruno hesitated, then pulled his hand free of Kyle's and followed.

"See you next time, Pig."

Kyle called after Bruno's retreating back. Bruno's shoulders jerked once. No reply. Kyle watched Barkas's back shrink into the distance and thought:

'Ten years enough?'

The generous estimate. With his blessed spirit roots and the speed at which his mana was growing, maybe he could surpass Barkas in less.

'I could stay low, stay quiet, keep out of sight. But I haven't done anything wrong. Why should I bother?'

Nothing had changed since five years ago. If the people in this household chose wariness over acknowledgment, hostility over respect, then Kyle would simply make himself impossible to ignore, impossible to remove. Try to cut him down and he'd grow too large to cut, with roots too deep to pull.

For that, he needed solid allies.

He'd felt it in Bruno, the weakness, the fear living inside the boy. The household's air that made even children clench up, and a father who was both feared and harsh. Bruno's bravado against those weaker and his crumbling nerve against the strong, that was Barkas's doing, in the end.

Someone like that, you handled with care. Feed their need to be recognized, let them feel warmth, and they'd feel it deeply, all on their own. Point them in a direction and they'd hesitate, then follow.

Before the name Sword Demon was ever attached to him, Kyle had been the leader of the orphan children in the mercenary band. First commander of the Crow Mercenary Band. He knew how people worked.

That kind of handling worked best with genuine feeling behind it, of course. He was confident he could offer that much sincerity. Annoying and grating as the kid was, Bruno was still a cousin. His past life had given him only one blood family member, his father. The family he'd been born into this time around meant something real to him.

"My son is just so incredible!"

The most precious family member, obviously, was Arian. Kyle still carried a quiet guilt toward her, even now. That was why, from his earliest days as a newborn, he'd swallowed the Sword Demon's pride and committed fully to acting like a baby.

"That's because I take after mom."

He didn't resist when she lunged to hug him. He let her shower him with kisses and smiled like a child without a care in the world.

Securing his place in this household was, in truth, something he was doing for her too.

'Family... family, huh.'

Held in her arms, his mind drifted back five hundred years.

No maternal warmth had ever reached him from the woman who'd given birth to him. She hadn't shown any particular love, and he'd never felt any. Sad, maybe, but she had been a professional about it.

The reason she'd had him at all, had Raikal, was simply to join the mercenary company. His father had agreed to the child for the same blunt reason: mercenaries didn't know which day would be their last, and he'd wanted to leave something behind.

Still, ten years living beside his father had given him something real. Would the same have happened with his mother, if she'd lived longer? Probably. But she had died when Raikal was still too young to know her.

In his past life, beyond those actual family members.

There had been people who were like family. The mercenary children who'd all lost their parents on the same day. The founding members of the Crow Mercenary Band. And in Raikal's later years, the followers who stayed by his side until the end.

Five hundred years had passed. He'd assumed every bond from his past life was long dead.

One was still alive.

'The Sword Church Master...'

That snot-nosed little kid who hadn't had a scrap of sword talent, still alive after all this time, going by the grand name of Sword Church Master.

Five hundred years really was a long time.

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