🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 15
“Mana does not merely enhance the body and sharpen the sword.”
Milleon spoke with a grave expression.
“That is only the most basic use. Its true purpose lies elsewhere.”
Dante sat silently, listening to his teaching.
Of course, he had already learned this in his past life at Rittergut.
It was elementary knowledge—so simple that even someone like Dante, who had never awakened to mana, could understand it.
“You mean the stigmata, don’t you?”
“Precisely.” Milleon nodded.
“Once one becomes attuned to mana and reaches a certain level, one can awaken the stigmata.”
But what exactly was a stigmata?
Was it simply proof that a person could wield mana?
No.
“Those who awaken the stigmata gain a unique trait.”
Of course, this trait was not some grand miracle that could topple mountains or split seas in two.
“Traits generally manifest in forms most suited to the one who awakened them.”
Schrrrng—
Milleon unsheathed his sword.
“Seeing it firsthand will be easier to understand.”
Mana unfurled from the tip of his blade, weaving into a luminous moonlight that etched itself into the air.
“Moonlight…”
It was the very trait that had made Milleon the First Knight of his house—a trait so absurdly powerful it was almost unfair.
Beautiful enough to mesmerize at a glance, yet within that silvery glow hid a deadly sharpness.
Most knights who faced that subtle, penetrating blade never even thought to block before their heads were struck down.
“This is my trait.”
With a single swing, Milleon demonstrated the connection between stigmata and trait.
Dante clutched at his trembling chest, staring as the moonlight slowly faded.
“Now that you have awakened your stigmata, Sir Dante, your task is to discover your own trait—and manifest it.”
This was known as blossoming.
Dante understood the theory.
But in his past life, never having felt mana at all, it had been nothing but a distant dream.
“How?”
“Seek. Contemplate. Perceive. In doing so, you will naturally come to know.”
That was all Milleon could say—because in truth, that was how it worked.
For a hundred knights, there were a hundred different paths to manifestation.
Each according to their temperament, their nature, their deepest desires.
“Still, if I may give you a tip…”
Milleon hesitated, then spoke.
“Defining your goal is crucial, Sir Dante.”
The ultimate thing one longed for.
Milleon himself had wished to embody the moonlight.
To be a light in a world drowned in darkness, to shine upon the earth.
That was his dream. And with his sword, he had made it reality.
“Once you set your goal, the path will open.”
“Your goal, huh…”
A faint smile touched Dante’s lips.
His goal had always been one and the same—both in his previous life and in this one.
What Dante sought was simply to walk a higher, broader path of the sword.
That goal, above all else, was unwavering.
“That won’t be difficult.”
“Will it truly not?” Milleon’s lips curved into a knowing smile.
“Tonight, swing your sword ten thousand times before you sleep. And not once must you let your goal leave your thoughts.”
Ten thousand swings.
Even if done once per second, it would take nearly three hours.
And to maintain unwavering focus on his goal all throughout—this was no easy task.
But—
“Milleon, you seem mistaken.”
Dante looked at him with a faint chuckle.
“I have never once, in all my life, failed to do exactly that.”
For over seventy years in his past life—without skipping a single day, not even a single second—he had never ceased training, never once let go of his goal.
What Milleon described was as natural to Dante as breathing.
“Let’s begin.”
Wasting no time, Dante rose and drew his blade.
The Sword’s Horizon.
The ideal he most desired, most longed for, most dreamed of.
Vwoooom—!
Dante’s sword cleaved through the air without a flicker of hesitation, a pure and unerring stroke.
“I will reach it. No matter what, I will reach it.”
A flawless trajectory, free of error.
Milleon could only gape, his mouth falling open despite having witnessed it countless times before.
“How… how can a sword be so perfect?”
What’s more, each stroke carried a fierce will within it.
Dante was already embodying everything Milleon had just explained—with absolute completeness.
There was nothing left for Milleon to teach.
Even with all his skill, Milleon couldn’t begin to imitate such swordsmanship.
In terms of talent, he knew beyond doubt—he wasn’t even at Dante’s feet.
But instead of despair, Milleon felt fire in his chest.
Someday, he would offer his sword to this man. And no knight’s blade could afford to be duller than his lord’s.
So, after a time spent simply watching, Milleon too drew his sword and began to swing beside Dante.
It was a night ten days before their arrival in the Imperial Capital, Caroian.
“Is that… Caroian?”
Eina’s eyes went wide at the sight of the towering walls outside the carriage window.
“Yes.”
Dante answered plainly.
“You don’t look impressed, even though it’s your first time here, young master.”
He didn’t say what he was truly thinking—I’ve been here several times before, in my past life.
“It’s just a little large and beautiful. Nothing to be surprised about.”
At his nonchalant tone, Eina pouted.
She felt as though she’d embarrassed herself by reacting like a country bumpkin.
“The Imperial Capital’s wonders aren’t its walls.”
Dante chuckled, turning his gaze higher.
Upon the white walls, shaped like the wings of a dragon, faint silhouettes of figures could be seen.
“The Imperial Guard.”
A mere thirty knights in total—small in number, but said to be the most powerful force in the Empire.
Stronger even than the Aquites family’s famed Silver Cross Knights.
“Their captain is said to be able to duel Father as an equal…”
Zenon Aquites—the Sword of the Empire.
To think someone stood on equal footing with him… Dante felt a strong urge to meet such a man.
And given the timing, he might very well have the chance.
The Sword Empress was visiting. Surely the Imperial Guard would not fail to appear.
“Then what is so impressive about it?”
Eina tilted her head when Dante gave no further explanation.
“People.”
“People?” She blinked.
“Yes. It is people who truly protect the capital and the throne.”
“You mean the guards?”
“That’s right. They, too, play their part.”
The Imperial Guard was formidable, but the ordinary guards also defended the city in their own way.
So Eina’s interpretation wasn’t wrong.
“From here, we’ll need to slow down.”
Patrick approached with the reminder.
“Do we have to dismount?”
“No.”
By custom, every noble in the Empire—save for dukes—was required to step down from their carriage before entering the capital, as a sign of respect to the throne.
But the Marquisate of Aquites alone was exempt.
A mark of respect to Zenon Aquites—and an acknowledgement of the Aquites family’s independent power.
“Reducing speed will be enough.” Patrick’s voice carried knightly pride.
“I see.”
Dante leaned back against his seat.
“…Then shouldn’t I step down?”
Eina’s voice trembled.
The Empire’s respect was for Dante, heir to the Aquites house—not for a mere maid like her.
“Stay.”
But Dante waved a hand dismissively.
Eina was family to him. He would not cast her out alone, carriage or not.
Even Patrick, after a moment of hesitation, chose not to protest further.
One maid could be overlooked.
And so the carriage rolled quietly toward the gate of the Imperial Capital.
Bearing the Aquites banner, none dared bar its way.
Even those waiting in long lines to enter moved aside, bowing their heads.
“It’s the Aquites marquisate.”
“Is Marquis Zenon himself inside?”
“The procession is far too modest for that…”
Whispers spread among the people.
The Aquites name carried weight nearly equal to the Imperial family itself.
All eyes followed the carriage until it halted before the gate.
“We welcome the visit of House Aquites.”
The guards and knights of the gate lined up, bowing deeply in respect.
“May we confirm the honored guest’s identity?”
A formality, nothing more.
“This is Sir Dante Aquites, heir and firstborn of Marquis Zenon Aquites.”
Milleon stepped forward, smiling as he declared it.
The guards’ faces paled in shock.
The future head of Aquites—the name alone made them falter.
“You may enter.”
The lead knight quickly stepped aside, bowing once more.
“Thank you.”
Milleon and the other knights inclined their heads in return, and the carriage rolled forward once more.
“Fwaaah—!”
Eina let out a long breath as soon as they crossed through.
She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding her breath.
“Young master, your nerves are incredible.”
She gawked at Dante’s unchanging calm.
“You’re just faint-hearted.”
“Again with that old-man tone!”
She huffed, turning her attention back to the window.
“Wow!”
Her eyes sparkled as she took in the scenery.
The Aquites domain had grown prosperous, but this—this was another world altogether.
“Young master, look! That building—it’s enormous!”
She pointed excitedly at a towering structure nearly ten stories high.
And everywhere stood buildings unlike anything in their territory—grand, ornate, vast.
It was only natural her eyes widened in wonder.
But Dante barely spared them a glance.
“Has she arrived yet?”
From his father, he’d heard the Sword Empress was due to arrive today.
But from the duchy to the capital was a long journey.
She could have arrived early—or been delayed.
“I hope she’s already here.”
Even a moment sooner, he longed to see her.
“Sir Dante, first we must visit the palace to pay respects to His Majesty.”
This was his first official journey.
Naturally, an audience with the Emperor was required.
“Of course.”
Though truthfully, Dante was more curious about the Crown Prince than the aging Emperor.
The Mad Emperor.
The boy who, in years to come, would plunge the entire continent into ruin.
Dante wondered—what was he like now, in his youth?
‘Interesting.’
Before meeting the Sword Empress, that curiosity alone was enough to entertain him.
