Chapter 59: Sword Tournament (6)

 

The wind rolling down from the mountain and the fierce gale whipped up by Red Aura collide, spiraling into a vortex.

 

A spectacle one might think would require the combined efforts of several magic tower mages is, in truth, coursing from nothing more than a single greatsword.

 

“This is Helmut—!”

 

“Insane.”

 

“Hah.”

 

The exclamations that erupted among the audience and nobility were purely in admiration of Lohengrin’s skill.

 

Strangely enough, there was little commentary directed at Isaac, who was actually facing that power head-on.

 

“How do you see this, My Lady?”

 

Anna posed the question to Silverna.

 

She figured that, since Silverna had fought and defeated Lohengrin a few years prior, she might have an interesting perspective.

 

“...Completely different.”

 

To be frank, Silverna thought he’d become a whole new person.

 

Lohengrin’s sword had grown many times over since the days she bested him.

 

It had become, quite literally, a crimson greatsword worthy of the name Helmut.

 

All of this growth was driven by Lohengrin’s craving for recognition:

 

A desire to see a different expression on his father’s face, one that would replace his usual look of disappointment.

 

A desperate fear that his younger sister might take his place, relentlessly goading Lohengrin onward.

 

‘What do you think, Father?’

 

Lohengrin’s gaze shifted toward Arandel Helmut.

 

Even if one’s opponent was subpar—

 

When speaking of Helmut, a simple victory was never enough.

 

A brutal, overwhelming force.

 

Something that induces awe in every onlooker—that was what defined greatness for Helmut.

 

Thus, hearing the spectators’ praises brush against his ears brought a smile to Lohengrin’s lips.

 

But in the end—

 

Arandel Helmut rested his chin on one hand, staring at Lohengrin with indifference.

 

In fact, that increasingly murky expression made Lohengrin’s heart sink like a stone.

 

Crunch!

 

He ground his teeth.

 

His grip on the greatsword tightened unconsciously.

 

Even though he had spent years mulling over this problem and toiling for a solution—

 

He still had no idea how to solve it.

 

“Graaahhh!”

 

And so, as always, Lohengrin channeled his anger into swinging his greatsword at Isaac.

 

Even though it was the same Red Flame Wave that Sharen used, its size and density were incomparable.

 

Its hue, likewise, was a deeper red—eerily similar to that wielded by the head of Helmut.

 

“...”

 

Isaac’s twin swords glimmered.

 

Especially the blade in his left hand, Bricalla, where crackling mana visibly sparked and danced.

 

Bzzzzt!

 

The moment Isaac swung his sword, a roaring torrent of electricity expanded in every direction, as though it had been waiting for this exact moment.

 

Lightning collided with the Red Flame Wave.

 

A monstrous boom reverberated between them, sending a wave of dust billowing out in all directions.

 

For a moment, the audience’s vision was blocked, and a collective groan rose. But the outcome seemed clear enough:

 

After all, Lohengrin’s Red Flame Wave had hammered the spot where Isaac had been standing, crushing everything in its path.

 

Could he be dead?

 

The thought crossed the spectators’ minds naturally.

 

Claaang!

 

Yet the next noise resounded from Lohengrin’s direction.

 

As the dust settled, there stood Isaac, swinging his blade at Lohengrin.

 

Seeing him, Lohengrin grited his teeth.

 

“My... Red Aura—!”

 

There was no reply.

 

Isaac, as if composing a manuscript, focused solely on the fight, already reading his next move.

 

‘I just negated one strike.’

 

Though it was far more powerful than Sharen’s Red Flame Wave, the core principle of the technique was essentially the same.

 

Once Isaac gripped his sword infused with mana, nullifying that attack wasn’t too difficult.

 

But no one lauds Helmut as the strongest just because of long-range slashes from Red Aura.

 

“A close-quarters fight with Helmut?”

 

“Phew, I’d never do that.”

 

Grim remarks spread through the surroundings.

 

Facing the Helmut greatsword up close was akin to striking solid rock with an egg.

 

Claaang! Claaang! Claaang!

 

The exhilarating clash of metal on metal rang out repeatedly, and many assumed it would soon end.

 

“...Huh?”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“Haha.”

 

Yet the exchanges continued.

 

The blades of the two men kept colliding without pause—

 

Even so, not many in the audience believed Isaac had the upper hand.

 

It was like watching someone pound on a turtle’s shell without rest.

 

No matter how fiercely Isaac swung his sword, Lohengrin’s greatsword and Red Aura showed no sign of cracking.

 

Seeing the fight appear so one-sided, some onlookers couldn’t help but sneer.

 

Yet, in truth, the opposite was happening.

 

“You son of a—!”

 

There was a trace of desperation in Lohengrin’s movements.

 

Most of the audience failed to notice, but those truly versed in the sword could only marvel at the sight before them.

 

He was standing toe-to-toe against the greatsword of Helmut.

 

Allowing even a single blow meant defeat, a precarious tightrope act.

 

And the fact that Isaac was swinging his sword nonstop meant something else:

 

Lohengrin’s blade wasn’t reaching Isaac at all.

 

Whoosh!

 

Again, Lohengrin’s greatsword cut only empty air.

 

He’d been sure he’d finally hit his mark, but somehow Isaac had already leapt upward, slashing down with his blade.

 

Clang! Claaang!

 

Red Aura was as sharp as a spear, yet also served as effective armor.

 

Thus, Isaac’s sword failed to breach it; however, the moment he landed, he was on the move again.

 

Though Lohengrin recovered his greatsword a beat earlier and sent it arcing back toward Isaac, it once more hit nothing but a cloud of dust.

 

“Haha! Look at that!”

 

“Pathetic how he has to dodge like that.”

 

“If you’re slower than a greatsword, that says it all. He doesn’t deserve to be out there.”

 

“Tsk, looks like Lohengrin is taking it easy on him just to save face, since he’s affiliated with the family.”

 

Anyone could see Isaac was slower than Lohengrin.

 

The physical prowess of a Helmut allowed for speeds beyond what a normal man could achieve with a greatsword—some would even call it unfair.

 

Yet despite that,

 

Lohengrin’s greatsword still wasn’t landing on Isaac.

 

“Heyrad.”

 

From the VIP seats in the very center, Princess Clarice called out to the knight beside her, the one scheduled to face Helmut’s second son in the next round.

 

“Heyrad.”

 

“...”

 

“Heyrad?”

 

“Ah, yes! Your Highness!”

 

It took three tries for her attendant knight to finally respond.

 

“I apologize, I got caught up in the fight without realizing it.”

 

Normally, she would demand to know what he was doing, but upon noticing his clenched fist, Princess Clarice merely nodded and turned her attention back to the two swordsmen.

 

“The atmosphere feels off.”

 

“...”

 

“It’s subtle, but I can feel it. And the ones who can really sense it—especially the Helmut knights—are all on edge.”

 

A tension that makes one’s skin crawl.

 

Princess Clarice sensed it lingering outside the arena and swiftly gave an order.

 

“Galenia might be plotting something. If the Helmut knights take her side, it’ll disrupt our plans as well. Prepare for that possibility in advance.”

 

At that, Heyrad let out a wry laugh.

 

He thought the princess was undoubtedly gifted—she demonstrated remarkable intuition, especially now, by noticing the slight shift in the air.

 

But whether it was her youth or her limited experience, she often faltered in drawing final conclusions from the information she gathered.

 

“Your Highness, this... is not quite that.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Because you took me in when I was young, I’ve seen and learned far more than most knights.”

 

“What brought this on all of a sudden?”

 

“I’ve read about, studied, and experienced many styles of swordsmanship. But there’s one I’ve never tried to emulate: Helmut’s.”

 

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

 

From her perspective, it was puzzling to ignore what’s touted as the kingdom’s strongest sword style.

 

In truth,

 

Many knights say there’s nothing to gain from Helmut’s sword style—

 

At least, not from its direct bloodline.

 

Why? Because it’s practically useless to study.

 

“Their sword can’t be replicated by ordinary means, and it’s not something you can master just by learning it.”

 

Even the knights who serve Helmut most closely are different from the direct bloodline.

 

They possess immense, innate might.

 

That is why Helmut is called ‘great.’

 

And right now, Lohengrin was displaying glimpses of Arandel.

 

To put it bluntly, in the entire kingdom, only a handful of people could withstand Lohengrin’s sword at its current level.

 

The great Helmut.

 

They were born to swing the sword, making strength their lifeblood.

 

To the kingdom’s knights, they were an object of admiration and an insurmountable peak.

 

“You’re exaggerating. Even the direct Helmut heirs have tasted defeat.”

 

“That’s true, but...”

 

Those who’ve never crossed blades with them—or never tried to learn from them—wouldn’t know.

 

Defeating a direct heir doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve bested the true Helmut sword.

 

Heyrad fell silent for a moment.

 

Likely, other experienced warriors present would also fail to find the right words to explain.

 

“If I had to put it into words... what we’re seeing right now—”

 

At last, Heyrad forced himself to provide some kind of answer, unable to ignore the princess’ question.

 

“It’s like a star is falling.”

 

Princess Clarice didn’t quite understand, but any knights listening might have nodded in agreement.

 

What exactly are they witnessing?

 

Why does it send shivers through their bodies and coat them in cold sweat?

 

This duel has become a sort of textbook—a manual on how to overcome Helmut, something that doesn’t exist in this world.

 

As though there truly is a “right way” to do it, countless people here are learning a lesson.

 

The Sword Festival, meant to showcase the greatness of Helmut.

 

And now, at the center of that grand event—

 

‘Our idol is plummeting before our eyes.’

 

The once steadfast, impenetrable greatsword of Lohengrin is wavering under a continuous onslaught, and the audience erupts in awe and astonishment.

 

Naturally, a question forms:

 

Who is it, that dares drag down this godlike sword?

 

He stands in the heart of the chaos.

 

He’s the Helmut family’s “live-in son-in-law.”

 

Before that, he was a carefree boatman.

 

But in an even more secret history unknown to anyone:

 

He was called Silent Sword—

 

A teacher who offered instruction to countless masters.

 

And today, in front of everyone, Silent Sword writes yet another chapter.

 

A godlike sword—yet not truly divine.

 

An immortal sword—yet not truly undying.

 

The great, ever-great Helmut.

 

In reality, Helmut is neither a deity nor immortal.

 

And so, let it be known:

 

They can be surpassed.

– – – The End of The Chapter – – –

 

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