Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 6

Chapter 6
Leon met Lyon’s gaze and spoke calmly.
“It’s been a while, Lyon.”
It really had been a while. Ever since his training with El-Cid began, Leon’s schedule—already tight—had become completely isolating.
Whether he was eating or doing physical drills, he had no bandwidth for anything else. He never knew when El-Cid would throw a question at him, so he couldn’t afford distractions. Naturally, it had been at least two weeks since he had even spoken to his love, Chloe, let alone Lyon.
Lyon stepped forward with a cheerful smile and said, “Running off to the training yard right after lunch, huh? I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Leon.”
It was as if he were trying to smooth over the tension with light banter. Whatever serious expression he had worn earlier had completely vanished.
He stopped a short distance away, about four steps. Then, in a tone far too casual for what was about to follow, he said, “I came by just in case. I’m relieved.”
“Relieved about what?” Leon replied curtly.
Lyon, shrugging off Leon’s snap, explained, “You haven’t asked to spar in almost a month. I was starting to think maybe you’d given up, like the others. But looking at your face now... seems like you haven’t just yet.”
“You can see that?”
Leon’s reply dripped with hostility, but Lyon answered without hesitation. “I can.”
A genius could always recognize the moment someone gave up. That sharp, overwhelming force called talent—it shattered pride and left either resentment or admiration in its wake. Some called it charisma, and Lyon wielded that charisma more times than he could count, so he knew.
“The look of someone who’s given up... it’s nothing like yours.”
Leon hadn’t surrendered. Lyon saw that clearly, and it pleased him. Had Leon caved like everyone else, he might have been disappointed. However, this also meant that things would only get harder.
A contradiction, maybe, but that flicker of emotion stirred within him. Of course, Leon had no way of knowing what Lyon was really feeling.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re amazing. The great Lyon can even read people’s
minds
,” Leon muttered. “So what, you came all the way here just to say that? If you’re done, get lost.”
Lyon let out a dry chuckle at the dismissal and replied, “You’re so cold, Leon. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. You could at least humor me for a few more words.”
“What’s there to say between us?”
“Give me ten minutes. That’s all I ask for.”
Leon sighed, weary from Lyon’s persistence. Lyon, taking that as a yes, sat down nearby without waiting for permission.
His usual playful glint faded from his green eyes, replaced by something more serious. What he was about to say wasn’t going to come from a “fellow student” Lyon.
“You’ve heard the rumors, right? That I’m not a commoner.”
“Rumors, huh...” Leon muttered and then twisted his lips, glancing over at Lyon. “No need to beat around the bush. Doesn’t seem like you’ve tried very hard to hide it anyway. Or would you like me to address you with appropriate respect from now on?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what is?”
Lyon’s expression darkened with solemn weight.
There was pressure in the air—the atmosphere of someone raised as royalty. Resolve forged through hardship glinted in his eyes. He didn’t quite radiate majesty just yet, but it was only a matter of time.
His voice naturally carried that growing weight.
“Right now, I’m not speaking as your ‘junior’ at the Academy. Think of this as the real Lyon, with his identity hidden.”
Leon nodded, understanding the implications.
“Fine.”
It might’ve been an open secret, but concealing his identity clearly served a purpose. And for Lyon to reveal it so directly—it could easily carry danger to both sides.
Having reset the tone, Lyon paused briefly, then spoke.
“You know I’ve been unilaterally accepting your spar requests, right?”
“I do.”
Even with how relaxed the Academy was about student duels, no one challenged Lyon as frequently as Leon did. Lyon could have refused any time—he didn’t even need to invoke his status to avoid the matches. The only reason their bouts continued was because Lyon allowed it.
He’d humored Leon out of generosity. Letting him keep trying, even after loss after loss. To put it plainly, Lyon could have ended it at any time.
“So let’s finish it, once and for all,” Lyon declared, finally drawing the line after more than three years.
“Finish it?”
“Oh, I don’t mean right this second. I’m saying let the next match be our last. Like always—no Aura. Just pure swordsmanship. But this time, not with wooden swords. With training blades.”
After his declaration, Lyon watched Leon closely, gauging his reaction with a faint smile. Whatever answer he found, he moved on to the real reason he’d come all the way out to the training grounds.
“And if I win that match... you’ll become my retainer.”
“...”
It was not only a declaration but a deliberate challenge that would define their relationship. Leon replied without changing his expression.
“So it’s a wager. But what makes you think I would keep that promise? It’s not a magical contract. A verbal agreement is easy to walk away from.”
Lyon dismissed the idea with confidence.
“Walk away? Hah
.
Most people would, probably. But I know you, Leon. You’re someone who’s driven himself for years on nothing but pride. You’re standing here right now because you refuse to bend—even a little.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult...?”
“I’m saying I trust your word. You’re the type who’ll do whatever it takes to honor a promise you made.”
“
Hmph
.”
Denying it now would just make him look like a hypocrite. Leon scoffed and let the comment pass.
Then, staring straight at Lyon—who was clearly waiting for his response—Leon threw the question back at him, not so different from an acceptance.
“If I lose, I become your retainer. That’s the deal, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then what if
I
win?”
Leon’s question wasn’t the kind of thing someone who had never won even once should mutter, but his voice was nothing but serious. He wasn’t bluffing or hoping for a miracle—he truly meant it. He intended to fight to win.
Anyone else might have laughed at such bold yet unfounded words, but not Lyon. As if he had expected them, he simply nodded and laid out terms he had clearly prepared in advance.
“I’ll grant you whatever you ask for, as long as it doesn’t bring dishonor to my name or family. That includes secret sword techniques, Aura training methods, or even elixirs.”
“Alright. I get to choose when we fight. That okay?”
“Just let me know once you’re ready. I’ll need at least three days’ notice to prepare a proper venue.”
Though nothing about their pact was binding, the two men reached an agreement without a shred of doubt between them.
This was the moment of the first true battle between the two men. Leon, the hero chosen on the whim of the Holy Sword, and Lyon, the prince who sought to reclaim the imperial throne.
***
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this...” Leon muttered after finally calming the competitive fire in his chest after his conversation with Lyon.
It was just a stray thought, born of three years of defeat and the bitter weight of inferiority toward Lyon. He himself didn’t mean much with it, but someone didn’t let that casual murmur slide.
—What was that? You have a “bad feeling”? You had your slick comebacks ready a minute ago, and now you’re telling me you’re scared?
N-no, that’s not it.
Leon broke into a cold sweat and waved his hands in panic at El-Cid’s annoyed tone.
Not much would be more shameful and unjust than earning another “punishment” because of a simple slip of the tongue. He racked his brain desperately and managed to pull out an honest answer.
I was just wondering... am I really stronger now?
—
Hm?
I mean, yeah, the last month of training was brutal, but... I still don’t really feel all that much stronger, you know?
For some reason, El-Cid seemed satisfied with that answer and reassured him, —Don’t worry. You may not realize it yet, but you’ve already gotten a lot stronger.
You think so?
—“The way to see” is different from building raw muscle—it’s a different kind of strength. And we haven’t actually put it to use yet, so of course you wouldn’t feel the change. Besides... well, I’ve tweaked a thing or two on my part, too, so relax. Oh—!
El-Cid, speaking half to Leon and half to himself, suddenly remembered something and asked, —Leon, didn’t you say there’s a physical assessment today?
Yeah. You remembered?
—Of course. You’d better get excited. You’re about to experience something way beyond your expectations. After today, you won’t be able to doubt your progress again.
Huh...?
Leon tilted his head, confused. What did this sword mean by looking forward to the assessment? He hadn’t done much physical training lately, what with all the focus on “seeing.” At most, he’d done a bit of stretching and warm-ups. What results could he possibly expect when he hadn’t learned anything new?
Whether El-Cid sensed his doubt or not, he didn’t offer further explanation—just told Leon to trust him. And so, with zero answers and plenty of confusion, the day’s class began.
The instructor stood on the podium and gave the usual orders.
“Alright, line up in order of your student number. If you’re not feeling well, step aside and give your name. Everyone else, start warming up.”
Leon followed along and stretched out his arms and legs.
The physical assessment was done without Aura—purely a measure of natural athletic ability. Because of that, it was one of the few areas where the noble and commoner classes weren’t graded separately. Even so, the top scores almost always came from the noble class.
I think I was ranked... ninth last time.
Even after pushing his body to the limit, the best Leon could do was barely make it into the top ten. Aura or not, nobles simply had a head start. They were raised on elixirs and trained in special conditioning techniques from a young age, and those on top of having learned Aura were more than enough to strengthen the body significantly.
Even making it to ninth without any of that was a big deal.
—What about that Lyon guy? Where’s he ranked?
First.
—Thought so. He wasn’t as insane about training as you are, but I could tell he wasn’t coasting either. He’s not like the other rich brats who are complacent just because they got lucky with status at birth.
Leon glanced at Lyon briefly, then turned forward and centered his focus. If El-Cid was right, then today would bring something new. No harm in sharpening his mindset.
As Leon prepared himself, the assessments began. The first event was a short-distance run—a standard test. Of course, “short” meant two laps around the training grounds. At four hundred meters per lap, that was a grueling eight hundred meters total.
“Go!”
The first group of cadets burst forward all at once at the instructor’s signal, kicking up a cloud of dust in the still air. These were would-be knights. Their stamina was no joke. Even the slowest runner barely passed the two-minute mark.
Lyon ran it in the minute-twenty range last time.
For a run without Aura, that was absurd. Leon had only managed a minute-forty, and Lyon beat that by nearly twenty seconds. Even among nobles, Lyon was in a league of his own.
—Don’t back down before you even start. Hell, don’t back down even
after
you start. This time you’ve got
me
backing you.
Heh... yeah. I’ll trust you, Holy Sword!
—Hoho! That’s the spirit!
With El-Cid’s encouragement ringing in his ears, Leon stepped forward when his number was called. As the other cadets in his group got into position, he stood at the white chalk line. The instructor raised his hand, signaling the start.
Leon’s thighs tightened like drawn bowstrings, muscles coiled to launch him forward. Then—
“Go!”
The instructor’s hand dropped. Leon and the others kicked off the ground.
Thump!
Chunks of earth flew up in clumps. The still air pressed hard against Leon’s face. Strands of hair whipped back and tickled his ears. As he surged ahead of everyone else, Leon couldn’t help but be astonished.
What the?! W-why am I so fast?!