Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 8

Chapter 8
There may have been eras without heroes, but never in history had there been an era without idiots. And as if to prove that point, the ones surrounding Leon now made their hostility plain.
Their eyes brimmed with jealousy, disdain, and suspicion. They were the sort who judged a person’s worth solely by their birthright—who doubted someone else’s success before ever questioning their own inadequacies.
Knowing that, Leon could already guess what they were after. He said, “If you’ve got complaints about the rankings, why don’t you take it up with the instructor?”
It was the textbook answer, but they wouldn’t have come all this way if that was all it was going to take. As if they were waiting for Leon to say just about anything, they snapped back.
“A commoner dares to talk back?!”
“You better spill what kind of trick you pulled!”
“We already knew it was strange when a guy who never pledged loyalty to any house was ranked ninth. Now you’re showing your true colors! Which house is backing you?!”
There was no reasoning with them. Well, that was presumably because talking was never their intention from the start.
They had grown up in a world where their tantrums were accommodated without question. No matter how talented a commoner might be, all it took was a kick from a noble, like themselves, to put them back in their place.
Whether Leon’s ranking was legitimate or not didn’t matter to them. They were just here to rip out the weed that had grown where it shouldn’t.
Then, a young man with soft golden hair stepped in, waving his hand to settle the group.
“Now, now, gentlemen. Let’s not get too worked up.”
Of course, he wasn’t doing this to help Leon. Everything was going exactly according to his plan. Surveying the noble cadets who had so readily followed his lead, the young man spoke with the smug poise of someone delivering a performance.
“Even if he’s a commoner, we’re all cadets here. That means we should administer a punishment that suits this setting, like the distinguished nobles we are, of course. Don’t you agree?”
“Well said, Elmont!”
“Truly, the pride of House Bourbon!”
Leon couldn’t help but scoff aloud at the ridiculous theater, but his brows twitched the moment he heard the name.
Elmont? Of House Bourbon?
El-Cid also jumped in, —Bourbon? What, is that some big-shot family? He looks like a second-stringer, dragging around losers like this.
Responding to El-Cid while analyzing the situation, Leon recalled the name clearly.
He was ranked second... until the last assessment. If I remember right, he’s the second son of Count Bourbon. There were rumors he turned out bitter because his older brother’s too perfect. I guess getting bumped down the rankings didn’t sit well with him.
—But he’s not pulling this with Lyon?
Lyon’s practically untouchable.
There was no way the nobles weren’t interested in Lyon, even with his identity masked. Yet none had dared to uncover it—proving just how formidable his background must be. At a minimum, it had to be a marquess household... if not royalty from another country.
—Yeah, nobles are the best at kissing up to the strong and stepping on the weak.
Speaking from experience?
Before El-Cid could answer, Elmont—having whipped his crowd into just the right mood—stepped up to Leon. Then, with a composed smile, he extended his left hand.
“Apologies for our first meeting being so unpleasant, Leon. I imagine this seems unfair to you, but we nobles couldn’t just sit by. I hope you’ll consider my proposal.”
Leon didn’t even look at the offered hand and replied, “Let’s hear the details first.”
Someone in the back barked out, “How
dare
he speak with such insolence!” but Elmont held up a finger and smiled as if he were willing to generously let Leon speak. After all, if things went his way, he could deal with this disrespect later.
El-Cid instantly saw through the act and said, —Ugh. Baby-faced brat, rotten to the core. These other guys are just backup dancers—he set this whole thing up himself. Let me guess, he’s about to offer some “totally fair” challenge that’s rigged from the start. Probably something like—
“How about a few duels, with an instructor present?” Elmon offered.
Leon tilted his head slightly at the suggestion... and then remembered exactly what El-Cid had just said. Elmont hadn’t mentioned anything about
not
using Aura. In other words, he and his cronies intended to use theirs freely.
Leon hadn’t awakened Aura yet, but if he raised that objection, they would probably accuse him of using tricks to fool the instructor again. And if he refused the match outright, they’d slander him another way.
Just as he hesitated, unsure how to respond, he noticed Lyon watching the scene from a distance.
Lyon?
They’d clashed enough times over the years for Leon to immediately read the look in his eyes. If he asked for help now, Lyon would intervene without a word. Ironically, that was what pushed Leon over the edge.
Yeah, no thanks.
Accepting help from a rival was no different from begging—and to Leon, that was more humiliating than any insult. Worse than a challenge. It was charity. Shrugging off Lyon’s gaze, Leon stood tall and confident.
“All right,” he said to Elmont.
“Oh? You accept my offer?”
“Yes.”
Elmont’s brows twitched in surprise, but then he grinned. Lyon, who had been eavesdropping from afar, nearly did a double-take. A mock duel that was clearly a setup for a beating—and Leon just agreed? All Leon had to do was nod once and Lyon would’ve stepped in.
However, Leon wasn’t finished.
“On one condition: Instructor Helmut will oversee the match. One duel per day with each of you, and the results are to be kept confidential. I trust that’s a fair enough request?”
“Instructor Helmut, huh...”
For the first time, Elmont’s confident mask faltered and so did the expressions of the nobles beside him.
Instructor Helmut was notorious for being the strictest, most principled teacher at the Academy. Thanks to his career achievements and old connections, even high-ranking noble heirs didn’t dare mess with him. If he was the one supervising, there’d be no room for tricks.
Elmont finally nodded after a short pause and replied, “Fine. I accept those terms.”
The rest didn’t matter anyway. No way a commoner could beat him, instructor or no. The only downside was that he couldn’t beat Leon half to death to really blow off steam. Shame, that.
***
After that, they quickly worked out the schedule, exchanged a few hollow pleasantries out of obligation, and Elmont’s gang finally dispersed. Leon, also with a lot on his mind, turned and headed back toward the dorms.
Lyon looked like he had something to say, but Leon had no intention of giving him the time. Not until their next match. He didn’t plan to meet with him in private again before then.
“Who knew I’d get to experience live combat like this?” Leon muttered as he changed clothes in his room.
It turned out El-Cid had been right—whether he meant to be or not. Someone really
had
come out of nowhere and picked a fight. Maybe the saying about speaking things into existence wasn’t so wrong after all.
—Worked out great, didn’t it? If I were a cursed sword, I’d have summoned some orcs by now or something. But
nooo
; apparently, I’m a Holy Sword and I’m not allowed to do anything fun.
“Is that really something a supposed Holy King should say...?”
—Better coming from someone like me than from those high and mighty church guys who’ve never even swung a sword. Honestly, from a pure utility standpoint, cursed swords are more useful—it has a passive Drain skill, no property restriction when using spells, and no seals. Way fewer limitations.
Leon was speechless. What would the Church say if they ever heard
this
? The same Church that revered Holy King Rodrick as the chosen apostle of the goddess?
They would probably melt the sword down on the spot or accuse it of being possessed by a demon impersonating a hero and start an exorcism. Thank the goddess only Leon could hear this voice.
Leon decided to shift the topic, uncomfortable with the conversation.
“So... Do you think I can actually beat them without Aura? I’ve never fought someone who can use it, so I’m not sure.”
—What? Of course, you can.
Leon was caught off-guard by El-Cid’s instant confirmation of his victory.
“H-huh?”
—They’re just a bunch of amateurs barely past the beginner stage. At most, they’ll boost their power a little or reinforce their swings. Just dodge and counter. Easy.
“You say that like it’s no big deal...”
—It
is
no big deal. For you, anyway.
Leon still lacked confidence, but El-Cid meant every word. As naturally as the sun rose every morning, he believed Leon would flatten them with ease.
After a moment of thinking, El-Cid had a flash of inspiration.
—Actually, let me show you. That’ll be faster.
Before Leon could ask “Show me what?”, the mark on the back of his left hand flared with light—and a new window of text appeared before his eyes:
Name: Leon
Title & Class: Hero (who can’t even use Aura yet)
Level: 18
Strength: 119 (D)
Endurance: 124 (D)
Agility: 115 (D)
Aura: 0 (-)
Skills: Sword Mastery I (max), Rodrick’s Vision (1), Acquired Martial Root I
Leon blinked and asked, “El-Cid, what the hell is this?”
—What do you think? That’s your current stat window. And this one here—this is that Elmont or Delmont guy, whatever his name is. Don’t expect perfect objectivity; it’s based on my standards.
Next to Leon’s, another window popped up.
Name: Elmont Bourbon
Title & Class: Brat (who is blinded by inferiority)
Level: 15
Strength: 97 (E)
Endurance: 89 (E)
Agility: 82 (E)
Aura: 63 (E)
Skills: Sword Mastery I (6), Secret Sword Technique I (???), Aura Wielder I (3)
Even without further explanation, Leon could grasp the meaning. Comparing the two screens, he muttered suspiciously, “Wait, Elmont’s really
this
weak? He’s a count’s second son—he must’ve guzzled down all kinds of elixirs and gone through intense training growing up.”
El-Cid replied, —Doesn’t matter how many elixirs he took. If he can’t digest them, they’re just expensive soup. And what he calls “intense training”? Nothing compared to what
you’ve
done.
Leon had never beaten Lyon, and that had warped his self-perception and dented his self-confidence a bit. El-Cid picked up on that and kept going.
—Without Aura, the physical stat cap is around 99—rank E. But you, with my help and your own effort, broke through that wall. Even without Aura, your raw strength is enough to go toe-to-toe with those clowns.
“So I won’t be overpowered physically...”
—Exactly. None of them are skilled enough to channel Aura into their weapons yet. These fights will come down to pure technique—and when it comes to that, they’ve got nothing on you.
El-Cid was right. Leon had trained more than anyone else. He’d swung his sword day in and day out, never skipping, never compromising. He hadn’t managed to beat Lyon—but that didn’t mean it was all for nothing. Those years of effort had been carved into his muscles and technique.
Leon finally understood why El-Cid was so confident. He clenched both fists and raised his head. It was time to stop aiming low—and start reaching upward.
“You’re right. There’s no way I’m losing to someone like Elmont.”
However, just as he was about to move on, something caught his eye.
“Hold on... Why is
that
my title...?”
—What, you don’t like it? Then get stronger, Leon! Back in my day, you weren’t even called a Hero unless you hit Swordmaster by eighteen!
“You crusty old cursed sword!”
And just like that, Leon’s faith in the Holy Sword dropped another ten percent.