Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 10

Chapter 10
The secret rebellion of Leon the commoner had begun quietly, but its momentum only grew stronger. Starting with Jeff Heinrich, one by one, Elmont’s cronies ended up in the infirmary at a consistent rate of one per day.
Despite their awful personalities, the gang wasn’t weak. And with each of their “noble” sacrifices, Leon’s growth became even more pronounced.
Without Rodrick’s Vision, Leon couldn’t have guaranteed victory. The raw strength of those born into nobility was not to be taken lightly.
And perhaps because of that first match’s outcome, none of them let their guard down. Even though the results of their duels were kept confidential, the trips to the infirmary were documented in the admission log, so it didn’t take much to figure out who won and who lost. Jeff, the first opponent, probably felt the most wronged.
With a chuckle, El-Cid said, —Whether it was the first match or not, he probably never expected to be outclassed
that
badly.
Leon also chuckled to himself, recalling that day.
“Can’t blame him. I didn’t expect it either.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust El-Cid, but he had simply been nervous. After all, he was going up against a noble who could use Aura. However, he won. In one hit, at that.
After the match against Jeff, he used the rest of the matches as an opportunity to train. He quickly realized that one strike was all it took against someone like Jeff. Such certainty might have seemed like arrogance, but he had earned it.
The rest weren’t much different. Their swordplay and martial arts were flashy but without substance. Their movements, overly reliant on Aura, were fully exposed to Leon’s “sharpened” eyes.
However, El-Cid decided to keep Leon on his toes.
—Today might be different. Don’t let your guard down.
“Got it.”
As always, Leon headed to the annex as the sun dipped below the horizon. His shadow stretched long across the ground as he walked toward what would be the final match.
Elmont Bourbon. Unlike the lower nobles—sons of random barons or viscounts—Elmont was on another level entirely. Even if he lived in the shadow of his older brother, there was no way someone of his rank had been neglected by his family.
With Aura in play, Elmont’s physical strength will be above mine... And there was that one skill on his stat window... was it “Secret Sword Technique”...?
It was only at its first tier, but it was the unknown level, marked by “???” that made it dangerous. Even Leon’s eyes might not be able to see through it, and that was probably why El-Cid had warned him not to let his guard down going into this match.
As usual, when he opened the door with a creak, Instructor Helmut was waiting. However, tonight, he had a strange look on his face. Leon immediately sensed something in his gaze.
Worry? No—uncertainty.
And Leon understood why. Elmont had already arrived, standing inside the ring, staring daggers at Leon. Any pretense of politeness was long gone. He was the first to speak.
“I didn’t think it would come to this.”
Leon smiled casually, unfazed by the glare, and stepped into the ring without hesitation.
““Is that so? I did.”
He narrowed his eyes, taking in Elmont’s pale gold hair—much like butter. A different shade than Lyon’s, but still blond. A perfect warm-up before facing
him
. As Helmut stepped forward, Leon ran through his final checklist.
My raw physical ability is better—but once you factor in Aura, he’s above me. And if he’s capable of channeling it into his weapon, even blocking a strike of the wooden sword could be risky...
A head-on clash was out of the question. Running from someone stronger and faster wasn’t easy, but with Leon’s eyes, it wasn’t impossible.
As his focus sharpened, Helmut’s deep voice sent them flying forward.
“Begin!”
Elmont struck first with a thrust that was so fast it sliced a few strands of Leon’s hair. It was a rapid jab, using the wrist and elbow for acceleration, meant to probe and suppress. Not powerful enough to pierce armor, but enough to break bone.
A counter won’t work.
Leon thought to himself.
There was too much of a difference in their speeds. In the time it took Leon to take one step back, three slashes came his way—aimed at his neck, waist, and wrist.
He dodged two and deflected the third at the last second, but even with a clean parry, his wrist stung. If he had tried to block all of them, his grip would have certainly suffered. He may be a punk, but he
was
a count’s son.
“
Hmph
. I can see why those idiots lost.”
Elmont eyed him curiously. If he were just some arrogant commoner, he was someone to crush, but if he was worth recruiting as a pledge into his House... that was a different story. On Elmont’s part, a few petty emotions were nothing if there was value to be gained.
However, Leon had no interest in that.
“
H-huh?!
” Elmont gasped, caught off-guard.
Just as he had opened his mouth to speak, Leon struck—aiming straight for his face. He was telling him that he wasn’t here to chat.
Elmont recoiled instinctively, gritting his teeth, and said, “You insolent peasant! Think you can get away with this just because you’ve got a few cheap tricks?!”
“Maybe,” Leon brushed off the insult with a shrug, but El-Cid, apparently, couldn’t let it slide.
—Oh? Leon?
What is it now?
—Did that little snot-nosed brat just call
my
technique “cheap”?
O-oh, uh...
Leon couldn’t find an appropriate response, realizing how Elmont’s jab could have gotten to El-Cid.
El-Cid took Leon’s silence as confirmation and muttered coldly, —They say that time changes everything. I guess in three hundred years, even
I
get dismissed by little brats who still have milk on their breath...
El-Cid...?
—When a master is insulted, the disciple is the one who must answer.
Leon felt a chill. And sure enough—he knew there was no stopping El-Cid now.
—His teeth.
What...?
—Let’s knock out that bastard’s teeth. One or two’s not enough—get as many as you can. Fail, and you will get your punishment.
At the word “punishment,” Leon’s grip on his sword tightened. It was an involuntary reaction that had been seared into him over a month of suffering. El-Cid never took his words back, which meant Leon had no choice but to comply.
A glint of bloodlust shimmered in his eyes as he stared down Elmont. It was screaming, “You’re dead.”
“W-what the hell?!”
Elmont flinched instinctively at the murderous aura—and Leon, not missing the moment, charged like a bullet. Rodrick’s Vision wasn’t just good for countering. It was the pinnacle of insight—letting him see through every move his opponent could make.
Leon’s wooden sword swung in a savage arc, targeting Elmont’s blind spot. With a loud
thwack,
Elmont blocked the blow from a poor stance and staggered backward. If not for the boost in reaction speed from Aura, he wouldn’t have been able to block at all.
However, Leon didn’t give him time to recover. He launched a relentless flurry of attacks. This wasn’t someone who could be finished with one or two strikes. He had to create openings with precision and stack damage until the guy crumbled. Before Elmont could bring out that secret weapon of his—the secret sword technique—Leon had to smother him.
Wooden swords crashed in a furious storm with thwacks and cracks. Leon’s strikes stabbed forward with frightening precision, and Elmont—barely managing to block them all—fought to regain control.
Leon had momentum, but Elmont’s balance didn’t break easily. Unlike the previous opponents, Elmont had progressed past the first level of Aura use. He had been on the back foot from the start, but he wasn’t in a hopeless position.
Leon had brought the match to a 7:3 advantage, but it was already slipping back toward even footing. 5:5. He felt his brows twitch as he read the situation. He had struck first, seized control—yet still couldn’t end it.
Dammit. I can’t push him any further. If not for his Aura...!
At this rate, he’d be stuck in a war of attrition. His best bet now was to bait Elmont into a mistake or wait for one. However, Elmont was regaining his composure.
Elmont parried Leon’s attack with a loud
thwack.
Leon was pushed back—now down to 4:6. He took a step back, reassessing the situation. The conditions were against him in every way. He’d lost his stamina advantage, and he couldn’t afford to block with his weapon directly.
Keeping up using only his “eyes” was already absurd. Rodrick’s Vision—the secret technique passed down by the Holy Sword El-Cid—was that incredible.
“You’re persistent! Stop clinging and just fall already!” Elmont shouted.
Leon’s eyes blazed at the arrogance. He snapped back, “That’s what I should be saying to
you
!”
Lacking speed and strength, he would make up for it with Rodrick’s Vision. If he could just read the next moment even faster—even clearer—he could turn this around.
Sharper. Wider. Deeper.
Elmont’s movements began to slow. Then slower still—like watching someone wade through water.
Gotcha.
Leon’s eye evolved on the field and read him completely. He slipped past a gusting strike, dodged another, parried the third, and managed to retreat four paces. He had pulled himself back from the brink and leveled the field again.
Realizing this, Elmont’s face twisted. Even using Aura, he couldn’t break the deadlock in a duel against a commoner.
Frustrated, he glanced toward Instructor Helmut and asked, “Sir! Are you
sure
Leon can’t use Aura?”
“He can’t. I confirmed it myself just yesterday, after another complaint.”
“How is this possible...”
Elmont let out a breath and adjusted his grip on the sword. He already lived in his older brother’s shadow. Now some
commoner
was making him look pathetic? His eyes narrowed, burning with resentment.
“I didn’t think I’d be using this on a nobody like you.”
He muttered to himself as he shifted into an unusual stance. His lower body remained firm, but he twisted his upper body halfway around. It looked like something out of a mid-lower stance lance technique, not by someone wielding a sword. Leon’s breath caught the moment he saw it. This had to be the secret sword technique.
That must be it.
The unnamed finisher he’d seen on Elmont’s status screen—the one labeled “Secret Sword Technique I (???)”—was about to reveal its fangs.
El-Cid didn’t say a word, which meant he wanted Leon to handle it himself.
I don’t even know what kind of attack it is. Leading with a strike is too risky. What’s it going to be—a thrust? A slash? Or maybe he’ll throw the sword?
Leon’s eyes blazed, veins rising in the whites. He was ready to catch even the smallest twitch.
And then, Elmont’s torso twisted like a vortex. It was fast. As he stepped forward, his torso snapped around with it. Leon shivered at the sheer speed but reacted immediately. The thrust came down like lightning—aimed straight at his heart.
But...
It was dodgeable. It was fast, yes—but not faster than Rodrick’s Vision.
Leon shifted to the side, but the wooden blade that was charging straight suddenly curved.
Ah.
This one was dangerous. Within that instant of accelerated awareness, Leon understood the nature of Elmont’s secret technique.
The initial thrust, powered by the torsion of the upper body, was bait. The real attack came from the sudden directional shift, driven by the lower body.
It was a strike
designed
to catch evasive movements—a kill move meant to punish anyone who tried to dodge.
This was Crescent Stab; House Bourbon’s secret technique.
How do I stop this?!
Dodging was no longer an option. The blade’s new path would slam directly into his ribs, even if he twisted away. It wouldn’t pierce—wooden sword or not—but broken ribs would be more than enough to end the fight.
For the first time, Leon felt truly cornered, and cold sweat trickled down his back.