Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 1

Chapter 1
The world was seriously unfair.
At least, that’s what Leon thought—a young man, turning eighteen the next day.
Two wooden swords collided with a loud clack, and splinters flew through the air as the blades chipped under the intense clash. The air itself seemed to tear apart.
A properly made wooden sword was deadly. Although it couldn’t slice flesh like a real blade, it could still break bones and deal destruction on par with a steel club. Even with protective gear, a blow to a vital spot could be fatal.
Even so, Leon threw in everything he had—down to his last ounce of strength.
Nearly six feet tall[1], he brought the wooden sword crashing down with a cry, using all the power in his well-trained muscles. The way the air split with a sharp rip told how powerful that strike was.
If it landed squarely on the crown of his opponent’s head, it would probably split open the skull. However, that was a futile worry. The wooden sword never reached its target as it was parried away with a crisp crack.
A parry was supposed to be a simple deflection, throwing the attack slightly off its trajectory, but the gap in skill of the two individuals was just too wide. Had this been a real duel and if the parry had been a counterattack, Leon would have been dead on the spot.
Realizing that, Leon took two steps back, seething with frustration.
He shouted, “Lyon! Are you even taking this seriously!? Am I not worth going all out on!?”
Lyon, the boy who had knocked away Leon’s sword, smiled softly.
“Of course not. You’re the only one who still spars with me, you know.”
“Maybe I’m pissed off because you’re always toying with me like this!”
“Well, I’d be lying if I said I gave it my earnest effort, but it would be a little too pitiful if I ended it in just a few seconds, don’t you think?”
Grinding his teeth, Leon charged in again, yelling, “I hate that condescending look on your face!”
Despite his fierce rush, his balance remained perfect. It was proof of well-honed fundamentals. Even in the heat of anger, his eyes stayed cold and focused. It was the one area where he had an edge over Lyon—reach. He used it to repeatedly slam down his attacks.
In a battle without Aura, a swordsman’s effective range came down to height and arm length.
Leon maintained the narrow advantage he had in that regard as he unleashed his flurry of strikes, but Lyon easily blocked each one.
“As expected,” he muttered, grinning all the while. “You’ve improved a lot since our last spar. For someone who’s only learned swordsmanship at the Academy, this is really impressive. I heard you practically train from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to bed. Perhaps that’s why?”
“You little...!”
“Hey, I’m not making fun of you so don’t get mad. Alright, here I come for real,” Lyon said.
His form had distorted even before he could finish the sentence.
Leon’s eyes couldn’t keep up with the sudden burst of speed. His instincts kicked in, and he raised his sword, alert. He managed to block the strike but only barely—it was more luck than skill.
The wooden sword slammed into his side, hammering his blade. His forearm went numb, and he was shoved backward.
Was it strength? Or was it technique?
While Leon staggered from the impact, Lyon didn’t miss the opening. With a chilling crack, Leon’s wooden sword broke in two.
Lyon had aimed perfectly at the spot that had been damaged in the first exchange. Leon gasped in disbelief and lunged with what remained of his weapon, but Lyon’s blade was already at his throat.
It was a complete defeat.
Leon finally accepted the outcome and lowered his arms.
Dammit!
He couldn’t help but curse. He’d lost again.
The broken sword in his hand crumbled under his grip.
He had trained desperately—reviewed every past defeat, studied Lyon’s dueling style, and pushed his body to the brink, day and night. And still, he couldn’t beat him.
Murmurs of other cadets could be heard in the distance.
“Wow! That’s Lyon for you. Leon didn’t even stand a chance.”
“He held out longer than most, though. Lyon usually ends it in one hit.”
“Maybe it’s because they have the same name, just spelled differently.”
“Whatever. Oh, right, I heard you’re doing worse than Charles from class B. What’s up with that?”
“Shut up, Tom.”
Noticing them, Lyon waved happily. He was the victor, as always. The scene was picture-perfect, completely at odds with Leon’s mood.
Lyon had golden hair that shone like sunlight and piercing blue eyes that drew every gaze. In short, he was nothing less than a prince straight out of a storybook. People joked about them sharing the same name, but Lyon was nothing like Leon.
He’s probably lying about being a commoner too
, Leon thought
.
Three years ago, when Lyon transferred to the Royal Academy, his first impression was anything but ordinary.
His looks were striking, even from a man’s perspective. His clothes screamed high status. He even had an elderly attendant who looked every bit the loyal butler. It was obvious—this guy had some dangerous secret. Get involved, and you’d only get hurt.
Then why join the commoners’ class? He should be training with the other noble scum. Why be an obstacle and get in my way as if it’s entertaining?
Leon let out a long sigh and stared at the ground.
“You okay, Leon?” Lyon asked, extending his hand.
Seeing that hand made Leon’s blood boil. If Lyon had been an outright jerk, it would've been easier to hate him. However, for some reason, Lyon always treated him kindly. No matter how often he challenged Lyon, the latter never frowned, never refused.
In a different world, they might’ve become friends.
That is, if not for the voice that called out just then. “Lyon!”
The moment he heard that voice, Leon smacked Lyon’s hand away, saying, “Forget it,” and turned his back.
He knew it was rude, but staying here was worse.
“Wait, Leon!”
Someone stepped in front of him after just a few steps—it was Chloe.
Leon narrowed his eyes, squinting like he was staring into bright sunlight.
Golden hair like Lyon’s, blue eyes to match—on the outside, she looked every bit the noble lady. She had been by Leon’s side since childhood. She was undoubtedly his first love, though he hadn’t realized it just yet.
Chloe confronted Leon. “I heard everything. You picked a fight with Lyon again, didn’t you? Why do you keep doing this when you know you can’t win?”
Having no idea of Leon’s low mood, her words jabbed at his chest like needles as if he weren’t already hurt enough. Leon barely held back the rising wave of inferiority that threatened to swallow him whole.
At the very least, he didn’t want to look pathetic in front of her.
“It’s none of your business.” He forced out the words and closed his eyes, afraid she’d see the envy in them and moved to walk past her.
“Leon, your hand’s bleeding!”
“Oh.”
It must’ve happened when his sword broke. He hadn’t even realized it before and only now he looked down at his left palm after her words.
Blood and splinters were matted together in a grotesque mess. No wonder Chloe looked horrified.
“Give it here—I’ll treat it. Let me disinfect it first—”
“I said I’m fine.”
Leon pulled his hand away coldly and walked past her.
Chloe reached out like she wanted to stop him, but before her hand could reach him, he said, “Stop worrying about me.”
Leaving her frozen behind him, Leon walked away, blood dripping from his hand in a trail. It wasn’t something one said to someone worried about them. He hadn’t meant to push her away like this. Still, Leon never looked back.
Even as regret churned inside him, all he wanted was to get somewhere, anywhere, where no one could see him. The taste of defeat, one he’d swallowed dozens, maybe hundreds of times by now, wasn’t any less bitter than the last.
***
Having returned to the dormitory, Leon cleaned the wound on his hand, groaning intermittently.
He soaked a cloth in warm water and wiped away the dried blood. A few wood shavings came loose, along with a bit of torn flesh. He had probably gripped the wooden sword very tightly such that the calluses on his palm had been stripped away.
He winced at the pain, but it passed quickly. Then, without hesitation, Leon picked out the splinters embedded in his palm one by one.
Fortunately, it didn’t take long.
“There.”
With practiced hands, he applied ointment and wrapped the wound in a bandage. After finishing the treatment, he flexed his left hand a few times to check there was no real trouble moving it. The pain had also subsided quite a bit.
It shouldn’t take too long to heal
, Leon thought as he put the first-aid kit away and climbed onto the bed.
Normally, this would be the time he did strength training, but with the possibility of the injury reopening, he decided to skip it.
Well, if he were being honest, that was just an excuse. There had been plenty of days he’d trained through worse pain than this.
I’m tired.
Lying on the bed, he stared blankly at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
It had been three whole years—not just a day or two. That was how long he’d been driving himself relentlessly, all to defeat Lyon just once. He would be lying if he told himself the process hadn’t been grueling. It had only been possible thanks to sheer stubbornness that pushed him past pain.
However, even that iron will was nearing its limit.
Leon wondered if he should just give up. No matter how hard he worked, he just couldn’t win. He’d kept his eyes closed to that fact, but it was undeniably real.
All this time, he had trained from morning until night without wasting a single hour. While other cadets laughed and joked, flirted, searched for new clothes, or cheered over tasty meals, Leon had done nothing but sweat and bleed, swinging that wooden sword.
Yet, today he’d lost in just two exchanges.
It wasn’t like Lyon had trained harder than he had, either.
The thought made Leon laugh under his breath, almost involuntarily. No, deep down, he’d always known. No matter how hard he tried, he would never surpass Lyon. The gap between them wasn’t something effort alone could overcome.
The difference in natural talent, in the mentors in their upbringing, in the swordsmanship they learned, even in whether or not they had family backing them—these were walls far too high and too thick for effort alone to scale.
Staring straight at that ceiling again, Leon turned his eyes away.
So this was a fight I was never going to win from the start.
At some point, as he was immersed in his thoughts, it had started raining outside. The dark clouds that had been gathering earlier had swallowed the sky completely. Now the heavens rumbled and groaned.
Even the rumbling thunder seemed to mock him.
Leon sat up in his bed and pushed the window halfway open. Rain blasted in with the wind, soaking his hair and running down his face in lukewarm streams. His brown hair, a dull and ordinary color, was darkened even more by the rain. So different from Lyon’s golden locks.
Leon had the most absurd thought.
Would things have been different if I’d had blond hair too?
They had the same name. Heck, they even shared the same birthday. And yet, in everything else, they were worlds apart.
If they hadn’t shared even that much, maybe it wouldn’t have been this infuriating. But the world had a cruel sense of humor—placing Lyon right in front of Leon.
Golden hair, blue eyes, noble blood, and talent with a sword... these were all things that Leon had never been given.
It’s not fair.
Of course, he knew the world wasn’t fair.
He would be eighteen tomorrow. After his coming-of-age ceremony, he’d officially be an adult—the clearest indicator of no longer being a kid.
It was time to put aside his pride and accept reality.
The rain pounded against the window, drumming in his ears. Staring blankly at the downpour in the courtyard, he found that a sliver of hope still clung to his heart.
Just one more day. One more try.
Even after all the tears, he still couldn’t give up.
“Let’s try one last time tomorrow.” He resolved.
After wasting three years, what’s one more day?
Leon thought those words as if comforting himself.
He returned to his bed and closed his eyes.
Once he shut his eyes and opened them again, tomorrow would come. A birthday one year ahead of Lyon’s, yet no one would celebrate. A day when he would have to admit the last three years of effort had been meaningless.
Perhaps because of that rather depressing thought, Leon tossed and turned for a long time before finally falling asleep unlike usual.
1. 6 feet = 183cm ☜