Not long after I left my father’s study, a figure appeared at the opposite end of the hallway—the last person I wished to encounter. The feeling, it seemed, was mutual. The moment our eyes met, she grimaced, making no effort to hide her displeasure.
With a soft sigh, I bowed my head as respectfully as I could manage.
“It has been a while, Mother.”
At my words, the approaching woman’s footsteps halted.
“‘Mother?’” Her voice was laced with ice. “The word sounds so very awkward, coming from you, your grace.”
Her cold gaze fixed on me, a cynical cast to her features that was only accentuated by her long, black hair. This was Merian Courtenay—my stepmother, Julian’s biological mother, and the current lady of the Ashford household. She was no mere figurehead. Thanks to her, the Courtenay family propped up more than half of the Ashford family’s finances, a fact that gave her enormous influence over the entire lineage.
More than that, she was the one who, in my previous life, had spearheaded the opposition against me, arguing most fiercely for my exile during the incident that was soon to unfold.
“It is merely a greeting, Mother.”
If I could show a changed demeanor now, perhaps this relationship could slowly be repaired. Clinging to that hope, I bowed once more.
Of course, it wouldn’t be resolved overnight.
“What is this sudden change of heart? Are you preparing for another pathetic spectacle?”
Her response was as frosty as ever.
When her barb failed to draw a reaction, she simply snorted and swept past me. Her loyal subordinate, Steward Victor, followed in her wake, offering only the barest, most perfunctory nod required by protocol before ignoring me completely.
‘This is all my own doing.’
All of it was the natural consequence of my past incompetence.
Watching my stepmother’s receding figure, I let out another small sigh and turned away.
Word that the young lord had defeated the Grand Duke in a duel spread quickly through Ashford Castle. Such news would have been a topic of great discussion in any noble or martial house, but it held special significance here. The Ashford family had nearly lost its lands and title due to the atrocities of an ancestor four generations ago and the incompetence of the lords that followed.
It was only because the current head, Patrick Ashford, had become a senior knight that the family had managed to cling to its lineage. Consequently, the martial prowess of the heirs always drew considerable attention.
The fact that the second son, who had bested the Grand Duke, was only fourteen years old only added fuel to the fire. Rumors flew, ranging from Julian’s prodigious talent to Ethan’s utter incompetence. The scandal of Ethan’s defeat spread like wildfire, its infamy growing far out of proportion to the actual failure.
The man himself, however, was too busy packing up his quarters to care about the gossip. His concern was for the person who was fretting far more than he was.
“Oh, my lord! Whatever are we going to do!”
“Stop the fuss, Simon. It’s true that Julian is a genius.”
“It’s not the young master who’s the problem! It’s the rumors, my lord! They’re painting you as the world’s biggest fool—Ah! I mean… I didn’t mean to say… my tongue slipped…”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Don’t worry about it. If we let every little thing bother us, we’ll never get anything done.”
“But is secluded training really the answer?”
“…It looks like you’re running away.”
Simon pressed the point right to the end. ‘Ah, right. This is the kind of kid he was.’
Simon, my most faithful servant and childhood companion, was impossibly talkative and meddlesome—though every word he said stemmed from a genuine concern for me.
In my previous life, the broken Ethan had dismissed all those worries. But now, they held a different meaning… though I still had no intention of heeding Simon’s words.
‘Hah, I owe this kid so much, too.’
With a sigh, Ethan stopped his packing and patted Simon’s shoulder.
“I’m not running away. Just trust me. From now on, our path will be paved with roses.”
In my past life, during the next official duel, I had Simon lace Julian’s meal with hallucinogens, and then with a paralytic poison.
As a result, I was stripped of my right of succession and sentenced to a punishment that amounted to extended house arrest.
I was the mastermind, yet my punishment was lenient. Simon, for the crime of poisoning a direct family member, was executed. Even the completely shattered Ethan of that time had suffered many sleepless nights over it.
It was a blessing to have returned to a time before I had committed that worst of sins.
‘Now, I just have to avoid making such a foolish mistake. However…’
Simon had always been loyal, helping me no matter what I asked.
He was someone I absolutely had to look after.
It wasn't just my brother or my father. There were so many people I was indebted to.
“…Did you eat something strange, my lord?”
Yes, Simon certainly had a talent for deserving a beating.
“I won’t make you do anything unreasonable anymore. And I’ll take better care of you.”
“…I’m not sure what you mean, but as long as it’s good for me, I’m all for it.”
It was impossible to be serious with him.
“Still, it’s a relief that you seem to have changed.”
Despite his words, the smirking Simon before me was one of the few people I could truly rely on.
“Just get back to packing!”
“I’ve been doing it this whole time—”
Watching Simon grumble as he moved about, Ethan chuckled, wiped the sweat from his brow, and glanced outside.
The sun shone brightly, but the future of this land was still dark.
For now, it didn't matter what rumors spread or who was plotting in the shadows. All of it was meaningless.
‘Just show them my skills again, and the rumors will change. And in a year, I must focus everything on the Regional Judgment.’
Only by surviving that disaster could we afford to contemplate a real future.
‘Three months… I can do it. No, I must do it.’
Ethan’s red eyes blazed as he gazed toward the family’s sacred mountain sanctuary.
“Why exactly do you insist on training in the ancestral mountains?”
“I need a vast space where no one will find me.”
Before leaving, Ethan had answered Simon’s question. The ancestral mountains met all his requirements.
‘If this goes as planned, it’s a skill I can’t show anyone yet.’
After paying his respects at the ancestral tablets and unpacking his belongings, Ethan began his ascent. Anxiety and anticipation warred within him, and he gripped his chest to still his pounding heart.
‘I can do it. I have to.’
Ethan steeled himself, recalling the contents of the secret manual he had reviewed just before his climb.
The manual of the Celestial Edge.
It was more than a mere swordsmanship manual. It began with instructions on how to create a core of force in the heart, one with specific directional properties.
This core would then seep into the blood and flesh, transforming the body itself—a concept that talent alone could never grasp.
In his past life, Ethan would have despaired at this first hurdle.
‘But now, it’s entirely possible.’
The energy coursing through him now was denser, more potent—almost viscous compared to the brittle force he remembered from his past life.
‘With this, I can do it.’
The superior quality of his force filled Ethan with confidence.
True to his belief, the evolved energy quickly fell into the pattern described in the manual, gathering toward his heart. The force coalesced into a core far more easily and rapidly than he had imagined, as if it were simply following its destiny.
As the core formed, an even denser energy emanated from it, seeming to spark a transformation throughout his entire body.
It was a moment of pure ecstasy. Saturated with this transformative energy, Ethan was completely unaware that his body had begun to glow with a golden hue, radiating light in all directions.
When Ethan came to, evening had fallen. He had begun his training under the morning sun. The sudden awareness of the lost hours shattered his euphoria, and a draining sensation washed over him, causing him to collapse to his knees.
But the feeling was fleeting.
He could feel a tremendous strength in his clenched fist. A vibrant, humming vitality coursed through him, signaling a profound change.
‘This is much more than I expected…’
It was a welcome change, however. There was no reason to dislike becoming stronger.
Especially if the rest of the manual was true.
With a forceful swing of his sword, a smile spread across Ethan’s face.
The sensation of the seemingly light stroke—the power behind it—was entirely different from before.
His fist clenched involuntarily.
It wasn't just a matter of strength; his physique and his senses had been fundamentally altered, remade to better suit the art of the sword.
“The training that changes a man, Art of Renewal… it was all true.”
The self-loathing and feelings of inferiority that had haunted the untalented youth fell away.
Ethan’s laughter echoed through the mountain air, carrying with it all the roots of his past life’s misery.
From that day on, Ethan devoted himself to his swordsmanship, nearly forgetting to eat or sleep.
‘This time, without fail…’
As the manual instructed, Ethan squeezed the core in his heart, amplifying his energy.
Creating the core and changing his constitution was already a remarkable feat, but that was merely the foundation of the Celestial Edge’s manual.
The crux of the art lay in ten forms of the ‘Sword that Cuts through Time and Space,’ a technique grandiosely dubbed the Void Rend.
And now, Ethan was attempting the only technique that could be executed with a 1-star core: the first form, a slicing wave known as Tidal Cleave.
‘…It will succeed!’
He could feel it—the culmination of months of failed attempts, all the near-misses and hard-won lessons, finally coalescing into a single point of success.
In an instant, amplified power surged through his body and a golden light burst from his crimson eyes.
A wave of light erupted from Ethan’s sword. As it struck, a thick tree in its path shattered into a thousand splinters with a deafening crash.
“Hah… Hah… Heh, heh heh…”
Pale and utterly spent, Ethan sank to the ground, unable to hide his astonishment.
The power was beyond anything he had imagined.
It was purely a strike, extending only a meter from the blade and consisting of just two waves of force.
This was no technique for a novice force user. It was something that even the most senior knights, those on the verge of becoming aura users, could barely hope to achieve.
Even if a single use left him completely drained, it was more than a trump card. It was overkill.
Ethan had far exceeded his goals for the three-month training.