Chapter 7

Mere words like genius were far too shallow to describe him.

That was what Milleon thought.

Perhaps… he isn’t even human…

No human could possibly be like this.

The absurd thought flashed through his mind, but he quickly shook his head to scatter it.

I saw it with my own eyes.

He had been there the day Dante was born—
a day of both immense joy and tragedy.
It was not a memory that could ever be forgotten.

Yes, Dante was human.
Only… one so far, far removed from the ordinary.

“Your words are… troubling.”

Dante frowned, his expression sour as he looked at Milleon.

Ah!

He had spoken carelessly, shaken by what he had just witnessed.
How could he dare call him “something other than human”?
Especially when this was the one to whom he was sworn to dedicate his sword in the future.

“I beg your forgiveness. It was a slip of the tongue.”
Milleon bowed deeply.

“No need.”

Truth be told, Dante wasn’t offended.
Quite the opposite—seeing Milleon so flustered was amusing.

“From now on, you’ll be able to train me properly, won’t you?”

The blunt question nearly made Milleon laugh aloud.

Train him properly?

Even if he threw Dante to any random knight in the Empire, the boy would grow endlessly on his own. That was the scope of the talent Milleon had seen.

A talent so brilliant, it weighed on the chest with crushing pressure.

“Of course.”

Still, if he was to teach him, he would teach him the royal road of the sword. No shortcuts. No compromises. And that was the path Milleon excelled in.

“I’ll give it everything I have.”

“That will suffice.”

Dante nodded.

“Then allow me to deliver this joyous news to your lord father.”

A ten-year-old who had awakened a sacred mark—how overjoyed Lord Zenon would be! Milleon’s heart raced at the thought.

“No. Leave it.”

“…What?”

“Father already knows.”

Milleon blinked in confusion. Dante continued,

“Yesterday’s sword ceremony was merely a formality to confirm it once more.”

“Ah…”

Now that he thought of it, it had indeed been odd.
Zenon had ended the ceremony the moment he saw Dante hold the sword.

“Tell no one else. For now, it must remain secret.”

There was only one reason.

It must be hidden from my stepmother.

Lucia—she was a serpent in human skin.

In his previous life, she had crippled Dante’s entire mana circuit the moment she learned he had sword talent.

If she discovered he had awakened the sacred mark at age ten?

It would be a miracle if she didn’t try to kill me on the spot.

And tragically, she had both the power and the means to do so.

Thus, for now, he had no choice but to hide his strength—
until the day he could cut down anything Lucia dared attempt.

“…Understood.”

Milleon accepted the order, unsettled though he was. Dante’s face was too grave, too heavy, to belong to a child.

But another problem remained.

“Even so, young master, your skill cannot be hidden for long. A knife in the pocket will pierce through, no matter how tightly you wrap it. And your talent…” Milleon sighed.
“It shines brighter than any divine blade.”

“…What did you just say?”

Zenon set aside his spectacles, his brow furrowed.
The air in his study grew several times heavier.

“I said, I wish to meet the Sword Empress.”

For a moment, silence reigned.
Once, Dante might have quailed and sweated beneath that pressure.
But not now.

His reborn body did not falter before such weight.

“And where did you hear that name?”

The Sword Empress, Isabella Everhart—
Duke of Everhart and acknowledged as the world’s greatest female knight.

Her upcoming visit to the Empire was the most closely guarded secret, known only to the highest of nobles.

In my last life…

Of course, he couldn’t say that.

“Isn’t why I wish to see her more important than how I heard?”

Such bold words might have seemed insolent, even reckless, from a child.

But Zenon only leaned forward, intrigued.

“Explain, then.”

“I wish to witness her sword.”

Zenon chuckled. Not in pride, but in disbelief.

“You are talented, yes. To awaken your mark at such an age is remarkable. But do you truly think yourself worthy of beholding the Sword Empress’ blade?”

She was his equal, perhaps even his rival.
A living legend, unmatched across continents.

And here was a boy, barely past ten, daring to speak of witnessing her sword.

“Your ambition and curiosity I’ll commend. But you must also learn humility.”

Zenon reached again for his spectacles, done entertaining childish whims.

“Do you truly think I lack the right?” Dante asked calmly.

“Oho? Such arrogance. Do you grow so drunk on your own talent?”

“No. I ask sincerely. Do you believe I am unworthy?”

Zenon’s eyes narrowed. His son did not falter.

Not in talent, nor in spirit. His resolve was unshaken.

“…You have changed much.”

It felt like speaking not to a boy, but to a knight weathered by decades.

And so Zenon stood.

“Come with me. If you truly wish to know your worth, my sword will decide.”

The two walked to the family’s private training grounds—
a place forbidden to all but the head of house.

There, Zenon spoke gravely:

“Confidence is a foundation for growth.
But arrogance… is a poison that will consume you.”

Dante met his words with quiet steadiness.

“I know.”

Zenon frowned. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

Not a boast, but conviction.

“…Draw your blade.”

Shhhk.

Dante unsheathed the sword he had received two days ago.
Every motion was clean, precise.

“Three strikes,” Zenon declared. “Withstand them all, and I will grant your request.”

The first strike fell.

“The First Sword.”

Claang!

Zenon’s eyes widened. Dante had met the blow head-on, redirecting the path of his mighty arc without budging an inch.

He… blocked it?

The second strike followed.

“The Second Sword.”

Blades split into dozens, thrusting for every vital point at once.
A technique no common knight could endure.

Cl-cl-cl-clang!

Dante’s sword intercepted each one, movement for movement.
The price—one step backward, nothing more.

Even Zenon was left speechless.

And finally, the third.

This time, Zenon put true weight behind it.

“The Final Sword.”

The heavens themselves seemed to fall as his blade descended, enough to split earth and sky.

Dante’s body moved.
Not with power, but with perfection.

His blade rose to meet it—
and Zenon’s sword slid harmlessly past, deflected as if gliding over glass.

BOOOOOM!

The ground exploded. Dust billowed.
And through it, Dante stood unshaken, eyes calm as before.

Zenon lowered his blade.

“Very well.
You have my leave to meet the Sword Empress.”