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Chapter 23
The Swordsmanship Clan’s Unprecedented Genius Has Reincarnated
“Huh?”
Palton, who had been sitting blankly with a dazed look, turned his head at the sound of a child’s voice by his ear.
“Brother, a drawing is sticking out of your pocket. It looks like it’s about to fall… huh?”
Whoosh!
“Ah, got it!”
At some point, a small drawing had landed in Ruin’s hand. Seeing that, Palton frantically reached out and shouted.
“W–wait! Give that back, now!”
But Ruin, already holding the drawing, tilted his head as he studied the figure sketched on it.
“It’s a snake with wings.”
“Hand that over right—what? What did you just say?”
“Mm, not you, it’s Ruin. Call me Ruin, Brother Palton.”
Ruin wagged his finger, demanding his name be spoken correctly. Palton hurriedly corrected himself.
“Hold on. You… no, Ruin. You think this looks like a snake?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Nodding brightly, Ruin continued.
“Look here. It’s shaped like a snake, and it has wings on its back. That’s definitely a winged snake. Hmm, but it looks familiar somehow… strange.”
“You’ve seen this before? Where? When?!”
Palton’s desperate voice sounded as if he would lunge at Ruin at any second. Ruin pretended to think for a moment.
Then—
“Oh, I remember! Paterion. The Paterion family crest looks like this!”
“What?”
At that answer, Palton’s expression twisted into something he had never shown before—raw and intense emotion.
“R–really, this is the Paterion family crest?”
“Yup, that’s right. The crest of Marquis Paterion!”
The moment Ruin said that, Palton’s eyes turned chillingly cold.
Glancing around, Palton discreetly snapped his fingers.
Ziiing!
A faint barrier formed around them.
“Ruin, explain clearly. You said this looks like the Paterion crest?”
He had succeeded in casting a sound-blocking spell so no voices leaked outside. His tone was urgent. Ruin looked at him with an odd gaze.
‘Hooh, interesting…’
Currently, the house was filled with the Master of the Myunghwan Hall of Kaphtalen and his elites—all high-ranking battle mages of considerable skill.
Yet Palton Everon had cast a perfect silence spell right under their noses without them noticing.
‘His skill might be much higher than I thought.’
[His mana is impressive. He’s been hiding his strength.]
Even the Sword Spirit muttered in awe.
Then—
“Hmm?”
Palton tilted his head, intrigued.
“Wait, can you actually see this barrier?”
“Huh?”
“The barrier around us right now—can you see it?”
“Whoa, is that what a barrier looks like?”
Ruin feigned surprise. Palton chuckled in disbelief.
“Hah, yeah. It’s a magical barrier. It stops sound from leaking out.”
Relieved, he explained, then smiled faintly.
“Ruin, you must’ve inherited Kaphtalen talent. Forget the sword—learn magic.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t mean you’re bad with a sword, but…”
Memories of his bitter defeat resurfaced, and Palton grimaced, shaking his head.
“Anyway, unless you have special talent, you can’t see the magic I cast. Look—none of those people even realize a barrier exists.”
Palton spoke with pride. Ruin nodded inwardly.
‘So he can fool even Kaphtalen elites… He’s not just a beginner in 5th-circle magic. At least at the peak, maybe even 6th-circle.’
Normally, a 6th-circle mage was called an Archmage.
‘Don’t tell me he’s stronger than Pigon?’
Having lived as Subject 1872, Ruin knew how absurd geniuses could be.
But then—
[One of them noticed.]
“…?”
Following the Sword Spirit’s voice, Ruin saw Pigon, Master of the Myunghwan Hall, chatting and laughing casually—yet stealing a glance their way.
Others might have missed it, but not Ruin.
‘As expected, Pigon noticed.’
Ruin quickly downgraded his earlier assessment of Palton.
Still, Palton, seemingly relaxed, spoke again.
“So, I want to hear more, brother.”
“Not brother—Ruin.”
“Fine, Ruin.”
Smiling faintly, he gestured at the picture.
“The drawing is crude, so I can’t be certain, but it looks similar to the animal on the Paterion crest.”
“Go on.”
“See? Four wings, a pointed head, a body twisted three times. That’s just like the Paterion crest’s beast—Cortellus.”
“This is Cortellus?”
“Yup, looks like it to me.”
Palton studied the drawing carefully, frowning.
But to him, it looked nothing like Cortellus, the winged serpent. Just a crude green dragon.
[What? How is that Cortellus?! It’s obviously a lizard! Ruin, is your vision broken?]
The Sword Spirit raged. Ruin smiled inwardly.
‘You’re right. It doesn’t look like a snake at all. But…’
[Then why lie about it being the Paterion crest?!]
‘Because it serves a purpose. Quiet—or no more meat for you.’
The Sword Spirit whimpered into silence.
Meanwhile, Palton kept scrutinizing the drawing.
‘Stare all you want—it’ll never look like Cortellus.’
The picture came from Palton’s vague memory of the crest. Memories faded and warped with time.
But—
‘The truth is, Palton… you’re right to hate them.’
Ruin recalled what Subject 1872 had once learned.
Palton Everon, given his surname only as an illegitimate adoptee, had been a child Pigon found in a ruined village. His talent had been extraordinary, but Ruin remembered him not for that.
He remembered him because—
‘His family was massacred by the Paterion clan.’
Very few knew the truth. Pigon, the Kaphtalen head, maybe Paterion’s Shadow leader.
But Kaphtalen, allied with Paterion, had no reason to avenge him. Pigon, too, wasn’t attached enough to defy his clan.
Palton himself didn’t know. All he remembered was a bloody crest—a winged serpent.
Thus, he had mistaken it for a dragon and chased that phantom alone.
‘Pathetic… but useful.’
No matter his genius, he couldn’t face an ancient family alone.
But for Ruin—
‘He might be the dagger I need to plunge into Loben Paterion’s heart.’
He had to make Palton his.
“I see… So that was Cortellus…”
Palton muttered, eyes sharp as he studied the drawing again. For him, realizing it might have been a serpent gave him hope.
“By the way, why do you keep that drawing with you?”
Feigning innocence, Ruin tilted his head. Palton shook his head.
“I’m… searching for someone.”
“Someone?”
“Yeah.”
His voice softened, warmer than before, as if Ruin had earned his trust.
“Then should I help?”
“No.”
“Why not? I’m good at finding people. Before, with my father—”
“This isn’t your burden, Ruin. It’s mine alone.”
Palton’s voice cut firm and resolute.
Then—
“Well, well. What have we here, these handsome brats?”
A teasing voice came, and arms draped over their shoulders.
“…Lord.”
“Uncle!”
Pigon Kaphtalen grinned widely.
“When did you two get so close? Ah, did fighting bring you together?”
“Hehe, I just wanted to eat with Brother.”
“Oh, really? That’s excellent, Ruin.”
“Excellent? I just wanted to eat together…”
“Yes, and that is exactly why it’s excellent.”
Pigon ruffled Ruin’s hair, then glanced at Palton. His eyes landed on the drawing.
Tap.
Palton smoothly stuffed it back into his pocket.
“Did you finish your meal?”
“Mm, more or less.”
“Then are we leaving?”
“No, the drinks aren’t done. And it’s been a while since I saw my sister—I’ll enjoy myself longer.”
The conversation felt oddly clipped, as if they were both holding back. Pigon’s gaze drifted toward Palton’s pocket.
Ruin quickly spoke.
“Uncle.”
“Yes?”
“Palton said I might have magical talent. Is it true?”
“Magical talent?”
Pigon’s eyes lit up, bouncing between them.
“Palton, explain. Magic talent?”
“Well, uh…”
Palton hesitated, unable to admit he’d cast a barrier.
Then—
“Of course he has talent!”
“Daisy?”
Daisy appeared suddenly, shouting sharply.
“My Ruin is my son. How could he not have magic talent?”
“Hehehe. True. If he inherited from you…”
“What’s with that tone? That’s insulting.”
“Oooh, I only meant his talent must be extraordinary. Don’t twist my words.”
Backing off, Pigon chuckled. Daisy frowned but turned to Ruin with a soft smile.
“Sorry, Ruin. So much happened just as you arrived. I’ll talk with you properly later. For now, play with your brother.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Ruin nodded. Daisy left for the kitchen.
Palton, left behind, stared in disbelief. Ruin whispered.
“Palton, if you ever need help, just tell me. I’ll be there.”
“….”
But Palton, still in shock, couldn’t reply.
