Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 13

Chapter 13
The rainy sky, shrouded in storm clouds, was a dull, lifeless gray that seemed to cast gloom even on those looking up from beneath it. The downpour was so heavy that one couldn’t see even a step ahead. That made it all the more oppressive.
Lyon, who had been staring out the window, found himself feeling much the same. The unwavering storm slammed against the glass more like a typhoon than mere rain. The noise it made was like an unwelcome guest knocking at the door.
Though he knew no one would be visiting, Lyon kept glancing toward the entrance regardless. Today’s weather was just that miserable.
Lyon set down his now-cold coffee and turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Is he back?” he muttered.
In a mansion that housed only a handful of people, there was only one person who would bother making their presence known. As expected, the one to open the door was Gilbert.
“I’ve returned, Your Highness.”
“Come in.”
He had served Lyon faithfully ever since their days in the Clyde Empire, once holding the rank of Vice-Captain of the Imperial Guard. The number of times his strength had helped them escape a crisis was beyond counting.
The aged knight entered with his usual poise. He had clearly taken the time to freshen up before knocking on Lyon’s door; despite the storm, his shoes and coat looked spotless, as though brand-new.
“Did you look into the rumors?” Lyon asked.
With no one else around, Gilbert shed the formalities of a butler and answered as a knight would—kneeling on one knee before his liege.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Though far past his prime, the man who had once commanded the Emperor’s guard found infiltrating a small kingdom’s Academy a trivial task. Even Helmut, the strongest at the academy, was little more than a whelp in comparison.
“It’s confirmed that Leon put those rabble-rousers in their place. Some of them are still making excuses, but none of them have tried to challenge him again. I believe that says enough about the gap in ability.”
“Even those prideful fools had to accept defeat,
huh
?”
“Precisely, Your Highness.”
It meant Leon had beaten them so thoroughly that they couldn’t even think of retaliating. Not just their bodies, but their spirits had been crushed.
A smile tugged at Lyon’s lips. So his judgment had been right after all. Who else but Leon could put noble brats in their place without even using Aura?
“And Elmont too?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impressive. Far more than I expected.”
Gilbert nodded in agreement. It wasn’t something a fellow noble could say proudly, but most of the nobles who entered the Academy weren’t exactly top-tier. Any heir with true potential would be privately trained within the family.
For nobles, raising a successor was a sacred duty. They would go to great lengths to bring in exceptional instructors and pour all the house’s resources into nurturing them. In fact, if even a single Swordmaster emerged from a remote barony, that family could rise above counts.
Sending such a successor to an Academy was unthinkable. In other words, attending an Academy usually meant the child wasn’t worth investing the family’s time and resources in.
But there are always exceptions, like a direct heir of a count, per se.
Count was the threshold of high nobility. A legitimate heir from such a line couldn’t be taken lightly. Even if not the chosen heir, they would still be raised as a spare. He would’ve learned at least some secret sword techniques.
Elmont Bourbon wasn’t someone you could lump in with the rest, and yet, Leon had defeated him in a fair duel.
“One last thing, Your Highness...”
“
Hm?
There’s more?”
Gilbert responded quietly to Lyon’s puzzled tone, “A message from Leon. He says his preparations are complete.’”
“....”
Lyon’s eyes widened for a moment, then settled back into their usual calm. Even if not as much as Leon, the same, melancholic hit him as well. It was time to sever the bond that they had formed over the last three years and forge a brand-new one.
“Finally... It took longer than I expected,” Lyon muttered.
“If the time was spent on someone worthy, I wouldn’t call three years long,” Gilbert replied.
Lyon smiled at the remark.
“
Oh?
So, Sir Gilbert, you acknowledge him now. If I recall, you were still on the fence about him the last time I asked.”
“He has proven himself beyond my judgment,” Gilbert admitted without hesitation. “To defeat the son of a count without Aura—that’s more than enough proof of his potential.”
Age and experience didn’t show through pride but through the depth of one’s life. Without shame or stubbornness, Gilbert accepted Leon’s growth, and that open-mindedness was what made Gilbert special.
There had been stronger knights, to be sure, but it was that pragmatism that earned him the title of Vice-Captain. He was always the first to accept reality and strategize accordingly.
Then, Lyon turned to the window and spoke again.
“Sir Gilbert, please inform Leon that I will be inviting a spectator.”
“A spectator, Your Highness?”
Gilbert tilted his head. As the official overseer of the duel, no additional spectator should have been necessary. However, before he could ask further, he realized and stammered, “Y-Your Highness... don’t tell me—”
“I know it’s cruel...” Lyon’s voice was cold and level—an implicit command not to object. “...But it has to be done. If he doesn’t sever that attachment completely, it’ll linger even after he becomes my knight. You were worried about that too, weren’t you?”
“Your wish is my command.”
“You’re dismissed.”
As Gilbert quietly left, Lyon turned back to the storm raging outside the window. The scene felt like it mirrored the turmoil in his heart.
It couldn’t be helped—or so he tried to believe—but no matter how he justified it, the image of Leon’s twisted expression weighed on him. This wasn’t the way he had wanted to bring both Chloe and Leon to his side.
No matter how he tried to reason it out, no answer came. Born a prince of the Clyde Empire, never having known a true friend, Lyon was simply not equipped to solve this problem.
***
Finally, it was the day of the duel. Stepping out of the dormitory, Leon looked up at the distant sky.
The black storm clouds that had rolled in over the past few days now blanketed the sky entirely, growling like they might hurl down a waterfall of rain any minute. It was a sky as savage as a beast straining against its leash.
Anyone could see this was no ordinary weather. Even though it was a much-anticipated day off, the students, except for Leon, had all shut themselves indoors.
“Feels like someone in the heavens is setting the stage for us.”
At Leon’s absentminded remark, El Cid answered, —Maybe they really are. A duel where the Holy Sword’s chosen stakes his future—makes sense the skies would stir a little, don’t you think?
“W-wait, really?”
El Cid chuckled in his usual teasing tone.
—Of course not! If the heavens reacted every time a Hero did something, the continent would've been wiped out when I was still alive. Though, to be fair, there were a few lightning strikes whenever the goddess threw a tantrum.
“The goddess of mercy...?”
—Just remember, every god has two faces.
Leon, trying to figure out the opposite of mercy, broke out in a cold sweat. Surely he wouldn’t get struck by lightning just for losing this match... Now he had one more reason not to lose.
As he walked down the empty hallway, Leon spoke again—not to himself this time, but to El Cid.
“By the way, who's the spectator? The overseer is that old man, right?”
El Cid replied as though the answer was obvious, —Huh? You still haven’t figured it out? It’s probably Chloe.
“Chloe? Why her?”
—
Ah,
right. I suppose there’s a bit of a discrepancy in perspectives here.
El Cid muttered and then offered a short explanation for Leon’s benefit.
—Lyon still thinks you have feelings for her. So he’s trying to use this duel to sever that possibility once and for all. You see it all the time—kings and vassals fighting over the same woman.
“I see.”
It made perfect sense. True to form, Lyon was pre-emptively eliminating anything that might hinder a ruler-subordinate relationship.
Of course, in his plan, he spared no consideration for either Chloe or Leon. This was nothing more than a calculated move to unilaterally sever their ties. Leon let out a bitter laugh. He had known it in his head, but only now did he
feel
how deeply noble Lyon really was.
I’ve always hated this side of him.
The noble art of politics, of controlling people’s emotions and relationships as though they were pieces on a board—of never treating others as equals. Leon clenched both fists tightly.
—You mad?
“Yeah.”
He pushed open the door to the annex. His steps were a bit heavier now. Leon didn’t try to suppress the anger surging within him.
Whatever else, this crossed a line. If Lyon truly cared about Chloe, he shouldn’t be manipulating them like this. Emotions left to rot always became wounds that fester.
“I’m gonna make that smug bastard regret this,” Leon muttered under his breath.
With only one door left before the match, Leon paused to steady his breath. His heart was burning, but his mind had to stay cool. Lyon wasn’t someone who could be beaten by raw emotion. As his will settled his body and mind alike, Leon’s eyes shimmered faintly gold.
The door finally opened with a creak, and their gazes met.
“You’re late,” Lyon greeted.
“You’re just early,” Leon responded.
Leon shrugged and walked up to Lyon. There wasn’t much more to say at this point. The two entered the ring and began warming up, almost in sync. Leon was the one to break the silence.
“Where’s the spectator? Thought you were bringing someone.”
“They’re somewhere we can’t see them. Wouldn’t want either of us making a mistake because we’re distracted—especially one we could use as an excuse later.”
“
Mm
. Fair enough.”
Clearly, Lyon had no intention of revealing Chloe. Maybe it was to avoid Leon losing focus, or maybe it was in case she and Leon reacted badly to the situation.
Coincidentally, the two finished warming up at the same time. Seeing this, Gilbert approached and presented two swords.
“Leon, please choose the weapon you prefer.”
“Oh... Alright.”
Caught off guard by the unexpected formal tone, Leon paused—but accepted a sword without showing it. Since Lyon hadn’t revealed his identity, Gilbert seemed intent on staying in his role as a servant.
Lyon took the remaining sword. It rang clear and sharp when tapped. It was clear that this wasn’t one of the worn-out practice blades lying around the training grounds.
Though blunted, the blade was dense enough not to bend even if smashed against stone. Without using Aura, not even Lyon could break it easily.
As Leon examined the sword, Lyon pulled something from his pocket and swallowed it.
“What was that? What did you just take?” Leon asked.
“Oh, it’s an Aura-suppressing pill. I said I wouldn’t use it, but sometimes it leaks out on reflex. If that happened, this wouldn’t be a duel—it’d be a disaster,” Lyon explained.
“Yikes.”
Leon imagined himself getting chopped in half and flinched. Lyon chuckled, then lowered his sword as the pill took effect.
There wasn’t even a hint of playfulness in him now. He was just as serious about this as Leon was.
“Shall we begin?” Lyon suggested.
“Let’s.”
Leon raised his sword and took a diagonal stance.
Lyon’s brow twitched slightly. His innate talent could sense the danger in the opponent before him. Not once in the past three years had he felt this way.
Tension thickened between them. Leon, with focus greater than ever, and Lyon, setting aside all composure and approaching with sincerity.
Reading the moment’s intensity, Gilbert cut in swiftly.
“Then... begin!”
The reply from Leon and Lyon wasn’t in words, but steel. Iron clashed with iron in a shrieking scream. Sparks flew as their swords met, and Leon’s and Lyon’s eyes locked, flashing.
This was the beginning, and this would be the end. Their opposing convictions exploded through their swords.