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Chapter – 01
“The Youngest Young Master Has Changed (1)”
Unlike usual, on a warm day around noon with gentle sunlight pouring down—
“So I’ve returned to this time. Then… am I eighteen? Right. The weakest period of my life.”
A man named Sharkron opened his eyes.
He had regressed.
The far northern edge of the Western Continent.
The great territory of Sobiern, infamous for weather so cold that water froze the instant it was splashed into the air.
For the people living there, the expected harvest was practically zero.
Naturally, farming had never flourished there, and for generations they had instead focused on raising powerful armies.
The House of Count Midios possessed a county bordering the Sobiern territory.
Although they were not considered part of the central aristocratic elite, they were still a fairly renowned family in the North.
Most importantly, the head of the house, Count Crassus von Midios, was respected as a soldier.
Whenever people spoke of major monster-subjugation campaigns in the northernmost regions of the Western Continent, his name was always mentioned.
In fact, it was impossible to discuss northern warfare without bringing up Crassus.
Because of that, the expectations placed upon him were enormous—and naturally, the same applied to his sons.
Crassus felt a deep sense of responsibility.
Having lived his entire life as a soldier, he drilled the principle of survival of the fittest into his children.
Those who were weeded out on the battlefield could only die.
A man consumed by weakness, fear, or terror was nothing more than a sacrifice that added to the enemy’s achievements.
That was Crassus’s unchanging belief, and naturally he forced the same belief onto his children.
He had four sons.
From the eldest, Villan, who was now twenty-two, to the third son, Sein, who was nineteen.
As for the three grown sons, he had more expectations than worries. In reality, they were all growing steadily and well.
However, there was one and only “stain” upon the House of Midios.
The youngest son—Sharkron.
Sharkron possessed beautiful features inherited almost entirely from his mother, who had passed away when he was young.
Because he resembled her so much, even his interests were the same.
Rather than swords, he preferred books and paintings.
He had gone in the exact opposite direction from what Crassus had hoped for.
The paintings filling his room and the books on philosophy and aesthetics were proof of that.
Even then, he had never been able to study deeply enough to truly excel in those fields.
On top of that, he had been physically frail since birth. Whenever he was forced into swordsmanship training, he could never endure it for long.
Of course, he hated it as well.
To Crassus, who had spent his entire life as a warrior, Sharkron was an incomprehensible mutant.
A defect had appeared in his military family.
A mutant destined to be discarded.
Perhaps because of that, Sharkron gradually fell out of Crassus’s favor, and his standing within the family steadily shrank.
At fifteen, Sharkron began living isolated from the family in a detached residence rather than the main estate.
At sixteen, his place disappeared completely from the daily family meals they used to share.
At seventeen, while countless famous figures visited the count’s household to build connections with the eldest Villan, second son Khan, and third son Sein—
Sharkron was ordered by Crassus to dismiss every servant and maid who had remained by his side.
His existence within the Midios family was meticulously and thoroughly erased.
And yet—
The weak Sharkron did not resent his cruel fate.
Like a fool, he simply accepted it.
He had never desired anything in the first place.
His only joy was painting on canvases alongside Serina, the maid who acted as his only companion.
The family’s ghost.
The family’s shadow.
The family’s disgrace—the one destined to be discarded.
That was the reality of Sharkron, who had just turned eighteen and become an adult.
“You’ve finally reached the level where you can boldly exploit my openings. Your growth is remarkable, Young Master Villan.”
“Is it not thanks to meeting such a fine teacher? My progress truly has been swift. To think I’ve already reached the Third Star.”
“A dazzling achievement indeed! At this level, you could enter the Imperial Royal Knights immediately without even requiring a probationary period.”
“Am I truly that impressive?”
“To reach the Third Star at the age of twenty-two means your talent is at least within the top one percent among swordsmen.”
Villan, the eldest son of the Midios family, was receiving lavish praise from his master, Alex.
And it was an honest evaluation.
Among swordsmen, whose levels were divided into a total of nine stars, reaching the Third Star at only twenty-two years old—
Was essentially a guarantee that he was a promising prodigy with a brilliant future.
Even the prestigious Imperial Royal Knights would accept someone of his caliber without hesitation.
“It seems I was destined to become a true soldier like Father. I feel a deep sense of responsibility.”
“I’m certain the Count will also be pleased. I heard even he struggled greatly before reaching the Third Star.”
“I only hope my achievement can soothe Father’s wounded heart caused by that useless Sharkron.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Hahaha.”
Sharkron’s existence was often used by Villan as material to make himself shine brighter.
It was also an expression of deep inferiority.
There was a reason for that.
Villan had inherited his father’s appearance almost perfectly.
Unlike Sharkron, who resembled their beautiful mother, Villan was an extremely ugly man.
To hide that complex, he had devoted himself obsessively to swordsmanship.
And his achievements were undeniably impressive.
Just considering Villan’s accomplishments, even Master Alex’s future was practically secured.
After all, producing a Third-Star swordsman in only five years was extraordinarily rare.
Once Villan began making a name for himself in earnest, Alex’s own reputation would skyrocket as well.
He had already finished all his calculations.
Villan was a sturdy golden rope leading to success.
However, there was one thing that caused Villan’s brow to twitch despite his satisfaction.
A letter that had just arrived from his youngest brother.
At first, he assumed it was merely the usual birthday greeting Sharkron sent every year.
His timid and weak younger brother always wrote emotional letters begging them not to live like strangers and to preserve brotherly affection.
Villan never cared in the slightest.
You are the stain of our family. You should never have been born.
If anything, he despised Sharkron even more than their father did.
A pathetic being destined for elimination.
And yet, the letter sent to celebrate this year’s birthday contained something completely unexpected.
[To my pathetic big brother with a steamed-bun face and button-hole eyes. Let’s have a match.]
It was a challenge letter.
And one so disrespectful it might as well have been thrown in the trash.
Yes, perhaps he had gone mad.
After all, he had spent years half-imprisoned in the detached residence.
Still—
Even so—
How dare someone who had barely held a sword properly issue him a challenge?
No matter how he looked at it, it was complete nonsense.
Should he seriously respond to this lunacy, or simply ignore it?
After staring at the letter for a long while, Villan turned to Alex.
“Master.”
“Yes?”
“Should I accept this challenge? Isn’t he beneath even the worth of drawing a sword against?”
“Disorder must never be tolerated. You are the one who will inherit the Count’s position.”
“Hm…”
“If you leave a mosquito alive, it will continue to annoy you forever. Crush it, and the problem disappears permanently.”
Alex’s meaning was simple.
The weak youngest son, Sharkron, was nothing more than a bothersome blood relative who served no purpose.
“It may not be a bad idea to thoroughly teach him his place once again.”
“Establish the order within the family.”
Villan nodded.
“Even if I yielded three moves—no, three hundred—there is no possibility of losing to him. Isn’t he unbelievably stupid?”
A younger brother who had never properly wielded a sword challenging him, a Third-Star swordsman—
He had definitely lost his mind.
It was even more reckless than throwing an egg against a rock.
For the first time in a year, the two brothers—who had lived nearby while completely avoiding one another—met face to face.
A small training ground behind the detached residence.
It was the pitiful training yard assigned to Sharkron, so neglected that it had clearly never been used.
Villan and Sharkron stood opposite each other.
Though they shared the same blood—
Their gazes were colder than strangers’.
I’m wasting my precious time on this idiot who can’t do anything except breathe… hm?
Just as Villan was about to sneer inwardly, he noticed something strange.
Sharkron, who had once been so skinny he looked fit to befriend skeletons, now possessed a muscular body.
This was no illusion caused by a little exercise.
His body had become incredibly solid.
The veins bulging from his forearms, the curves of his muscles, and the sheer definition were unmistakable.
Hmph. So you’ve been hiding in that detached house doing some pathetic workouts.
Villan scoffed.
Swordsmanship was not controlled by the body alone.
It required experience, insight, and education.
And Sharkron possessed none of those things.
With eyes full of contempt, Villan pointed the tip of his wooden sword toward Sharkron.
Though intended to prevent lethal injuries, the wooden sword was still more than capable of becoming a weapon.
Screeeech—
The blade emitted an eerie sound.
It was sword aura—the precious power only those who reached the Third Star could wield.
The Third Star was not easily attained.
For someone not even twenty years old like Sharkron, it was a realm utterly impossible to reach.
Sharkron replied lazily,
“Come at me already.”
“…What?”
“I said come. Can’t hear me? You spent all that time practicing swordsmanship but never cleaned your ears?”
“You crazy bastard…”
This was a tone and attitude Villan had never heard before.
They sounded less like brothers and more like mortal enemies.
Villan was so dumbfounded he could not even laugh.
Sharkron had definitely gone insane from living shut away in the detached residence.
“There will be no jokes. Do you understand that issuing a challenge means accepting responsibility for it?”
“That’s why I’m here. So let’s fight already. Why do you keep flapping your gums? Planning to battle with your mouth?”
Hearing such provocation from his youngest brother for the first time, Villan quickly felt his patience evaporating.
Then again, he had never liked him to begin with.
Now he even had a proper excuse to beat him senseless.
Among warrior families, challenging one another to a duel was not child’s play.
It was a challenge staked upon fate itself—used to determine hierarchy within the family.
Villan looked at Sharkron with pity and assumed a defensive stance.
“Out of consideration for our brotherhood, until your third attack—”
Before he could even finish saying he would allow three free moves—
Flash!
Sharkron vanished from Villan’s sight.
Not merely too fast to follow.
He had disappeared completely.
Thirty seconds later.
Alex, having tidied his clothes, leisurely approached to witness what he assumed would be Villan teaching Sharkron a lesson.
“Oh my goodness! What in the world happened here?!”
“The eldest young master…”
“He went down in one hit.”
“Watch your tongue! If this gets outside the family…”
The servants standing nearby whispered among themselves in shock.
Their words sounded utterly ridiculous.
What did they mean, one hit?
Villan was a prodigy Alex himself had painstakingly trained for five years.
A genius worthy of entering the Imperial Knights at the top of his class.
Obviously the one destroyed in a single blow should have been Sharkron.
The outcome was so obvious it should not have been surprising at all.
And yet—
“Move aside!”
After shoving the servants away and seeing the scene for himself, Alex froze.
“Kuugh…”
Before him—
Was the pathetic figure of a man drooling helplessly, unable even to maintain consciousness.
And unbelievably, that victim was not Sharkron.
It was the eldest son, Villan.
Alex could not believe his eyes.
Villan’s defensive ability had impressed even him.
Even against a Fifth-Star swordsman two levels above him, Villan could endure for a considerable amount of time.
Meanwhile—
Sharkron sat crookedly atop a boulder outside the training ground, staring at Alex.
Then he looked toward the collapsed Villan with disdain.
And he did not forget to deliver one final humiliating remark.
“Seriously, who taught this idiot swordsmanship? Talks big about giving advantages when all he’s got is his mouth. Tsk. Well, I guess trash attracts trash.”
Those words that followed—
Crushed all forty-one years of Alex’s life devoted solely to swordsmanship.
And the humiliation was merely a bonus.
