Chapter 3: The Exiled Young Lord (2)
"What about my men?"
…Of all people, even this bastard.
Exa asked about the condition of his unit members from the man who, until just yesterday, had been his adjutant and friend.
"…I received a promise that they would not be harmed."
Exa laughed in spite of himself. I didn't think I had lived such a bad life.
Putting those four aside, I never thought I'd be backstabbed by someone I considered a friend.
"Don't include yourself in that. If you have a conscience. Ah. You don't, which is why you're here, right?"
***
Hero.
It was true in the past, but even more so in the world today. The prestige of a family possessing a hero grew ever more brilliant.
Mectera.
Honestly, I don't dislike it that much. The same goes for my adoptive father from my past life.
I didn't hold any particular ill will. I was just grateful to have grown up wealthy until I was 17.
A subtle love-hate relationship. In his past life, Exa used to describe Mectera that way.
'The expulsion was because I had a flaw.'
At the time, it was truly resentful… but now I understand. No, I understood even before I was reincarnated.
It didn't take long to come to terms with it.
'Thanks to that, I also met my master.'
I rather like the swordsmen of Mectera.
I have the sword in common with them. Simurtr still remembers the goodwill they showed during the war.
'I hate that bastard, but I heard he's already dead.'
If there was one thing he disliked about Mectera, Simurtr would, without hesitation, name the previous Sword Master.
Gerehk Mectera.
The former Duke of Mectera, who was once his younger brother and truly hated Exa in his past life.
A suspect who might have engraved the name of Mectera on Exa's tombstone and participated in the betrayal.
'I should have killed that bastard myself.'
That bundle of inferiority, who was highly likely to have betrayed him, had died long ago.
They said his injuries acted up shortly after the war ended.
'What kind of injury was it that he croaked?'
The death of the most likely suspect.
That fact had bewildered the reincarnated Simurtr.
And not by murder, but from an injury?
Once you reach that level of mastery, you don't just die so easily, so quickly.
'If it weren't for you.'
The man used to say that every time they met. Because the reverence of the Mectera swordsmen was directed not at the Sword Master, but at the outsider, Exa.
'That cowardly bastard.'
That was the reason he had constantly experienced assassination attempts during the war.
Gerehk's inferiority complex stemmed from his lack of skill.
'I won against him every time, even when I had my flaw.'
Passing through the castle gate, Simurtr was struck anew by the passage of time. Not that much time had passed, but the territory had changed quite a bit. It must be the result of recovering from the damage sustained in the Doom War.
"Would you like to look around for a bit?"
The sacred ground of the sword and the home of swordsmen.
The shops along the main street all displayed outstanding swords, and the passersby all had swords at their waists.
Even the children playing around were holding wooden swords.
For Simurtr, who had grown up in the estate of exile since he was five, it must be quite a novel sight.
That's what Meram thought, but.
"No need."
Simurtr shook his head.
The buildings may have been rebuilt and the structure changed, but the inside wouldn't have changed much. He had experienced it to the point of being sick of it in his past life.
"Let's go straight in."
Simurtr walked straight down the main road as if he were familiar with it. The castle was visible in the distance, but the main road that cut through the territory was still the same.
The walls of the main estate also looked quite unfamiliar. The same went for the gate, and the soldiers guarding it.
'Never seen those faces before.'
It was only natural. When even the so-called Sword Masters had died one after another.
The Doom Species, the Doom War, was truly a terrible war. There was no way the soldiers he remembered from his past life would still be alive.
"Halt."
As the soldiers blocked their way, Meram, who was following behind, stepped forward.
"Mid-rank magician of the main estate..."
"Simurtr Mectera."
Simurtr cut her off. He reached out to stop Meram and stated his name.
"Pardon?"
Mectera. The soldier unwittingly spoke formally. He looked at Simurtr with a bewildered expression.
"You don't know me?"
The soldier unwittingly nodded his head.
Was there such a person in Mectera?
"Ah. Is 'the exiled young lord' more familiar in the main estate?"
After 11 years.
The exiled young lord had returned.
That news spread throughout the main estate in less than a few minutes.
***
"Will it be all right?"
Meram bit her nails.
The bewildered faces of the soldiers, the way they had dazedly opened the gate, was still vivid in her eyes.
He had passed through the gate without any notice.
He had broken his exile without seeking permission from the main estate. That fact made Meram tremble with anxiety.
"What's the point of hiding it? It'll be found out anyway. Mother's annex was in the west, right?"
"…Yes."
Meram glanced at Simurtr. His steps were as light as could be. With what confidence? Was it
because he was still young and ignorant of the world?
'No way.'
In Meram's mind, Simurtr was no longer the pitiful young master who closely resembled the unfortunate days of the hero Exa.
A detestably cunning young master. Meram had revised her assessment of Simurtr as such.
He acted friendly with the servants, knowing they were watchmen but pretending not to. He acted naive while doing everything he needed to. And all the while, he meticulously hid his achievements.
He put on a show of sadness for their deaths with his expression, but his words and actions were utterly calm.
'It must have been his first time killing.'
He was only 16. And he had grown up in a mansion cut off from the world. But Simurtr showed no signs of any aftereffects.
Meram could not understand it. This wasn't some lawless land. Simurtr, who had been raised quite gently, seemed accustomed to killing.
'What kind of 16-year-old kicks a head around like a toy?'
His detestable act aimed at the servants. The way he handled the corpses. None of it was something a mere 16-year-old could display.
That confidence could be linked to his light steps as he headed towards the west annex.
The second wife, the 3rd Sword Order, the punishment for breaking his exile… There was no way that cunning young master was unaware of the repercussions his entry would cause.
'Swordsman Keito might have died because he was careless.'
Though she had devoted herself to Mectera, she was still ignorant of, and uninterested in, the sword.
To her, Simurtr just looked like a frog in a well.
Assume the worst.
It was the maxim of the hero Exa, who, concerned for his soldiers, always faced the enemy at the forefront of the battlefield. Meram always repeated those words to herself.
'The Young Master needs a background, a reliable backer.'
Meram steeled her heart.
***
Thump.
"That guy is here!"
The second wife's son, Beden Mectera, said as he violently threw the door open.
His body was slender overall. Long limbs and uniquely flexible, elastic muscles.
He had inherited the Mectera bloodline, optimized for the sword, in its entirety.
"Who is 'that guy'?"
There were siblings in the spacious room. The eldest son, Jahar, was quietly reading a book, and only his younger sister, Ael, responded to Beden's words.
"You know, him. The adopted son."
"The exiled young lord?"
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Really. They said he just entered the castle."
"How? Was a return order issued?"
"No. They said he just seemed to have come on his own."
"He's crazy. So? Did you see him? What's he like?"
"Haven't seen him yet. I'm about to go see him now. They said he went to the west annex."
From the start, Beden hadn't expected a reaction from Jahar.
Jahar, who had been fortunate enough to be born the eldest son and had everything, paid no attention to him.
He was only interested in his own achievements.
"Do you have to?"
Ael said so, but her face was thick with mischief.
"Wanna go together?"
"Should I?"
Beden knew Ael's disposition.
Though born a direct descendant of Mectera, she lacked the characteristic obsession with the sword.
She prioritized her own interests and craved fun that deviated from the everyday.
"Oh, come on."
Though she said that, her body was fidgeting. She was glancing at Jahar.
"It's a bother."
Ael looked back and forth between Jahar and Beden.
She didn't like parts of Beden's personality, but he sometimes stimulated Ael's interest as well.
"Ael, do not act rashly. The exam is near."
It was just as Ael expected. Jahar closed the book he was reading and looked up.
"Honestly, you're curious too, aren't you, brother? A kid who's been quiet all this time suddenly returns? The timing is also suspicious. The selection ceremony is soon. No matter how much of an adopted son he is, and how he was exiled..."
"Enough. Do not mention it. That is like a disgrace to our family."
Jahar furrowed his brow and cut Ael off.
"It is not something to be mentioned so lightly. We should be ashamed for keeping the youngest, who has no connections, in check. Not make fun of him."
'Ugh. So preachy.'
Ael avoided Jahar's gaze and sent a look to Beden.
'I can't go. You go alone.'
Just as Beden was about to nod at her look, Jahar spoke again.
"Beden, the same goes for you. It is right to turn your interest in the youngest towards yourself. If the youngest really came to participate in the selection ceremony, you should learn from that child."
Beden's face crumpled.
He had not yet earned the right to participate in the selection ceremony. There was still a year left until the selection ceremony aimed at the third son, Beden.
Right now, that lucky eldest son was putting him down.
Saying, why are you like this when you have a good environment and receive so much support.
"Why is he the youngest? He's an orphan bastard."
"Enough. Father accepted him. Our blood may not be mixed, but he is our youngest."
"That's right. He is our younger brother. Adopted sons are so common in the main estate's history. Father had one, and so did Grandfather."
Ael interjected.
If one was a direct descendant of Mectera, one should be accustomed to the existence of adopted sons.
"I can't accept him."
It was not an ordinary ideology. When Beden denied it, Ael thought. Ordinary nobles do not understand Mectera's ideology.
Beden, who grew up under the second wife from an imperial noble family, was no different.
Though a direct descendant of the main estate, his ideology was strongly inherited from his second mother.
"That is not for you to judge."
"And participating in the selection ceremony? A bastard who's been exiled all this time?
That's bullshit. Can't you tell just by looking? That bastard just came here to whine because he hates being exiled. To get attention."
"That is for the elders of the family to judge."
I can't even do it, so how can he? Beden bit his lip hard. He glared at Jahar, who had already turned his gaze away and opened his book.
'What are you doing? Hurry up and go.'
Beside him, Ael kept sending looks. She pointed to the door with her chin. Though they were somewhat close, in the end, Ael was on Jahar's side.
'That unlucky bastard...'
What's so great about being born first and getting strong first?
If we were the same age, I would have been stronger.
'If only I had been born three years, no, two years earlier...'
If only their ages, their starting points, had been the same, he wouldn't have had to act so subserviently. Because then, he would have been stronger.
His mother would have never felt threatened by the first wife either. Rather, the first wife would have tried to get on our mother's good side.
Bang!
Beden left the room. From inside, Ael shouted that he was being loud, but he pretended not to hear. His pride was too hurt to close the door gently.
"Fuck..."
He couldn't beat Jahar. Not in skill, not in position. His maternal family's support was superior, but that support had its limits.
In the end, what was most important in the succession structure was personal skill. The sword. That was the reason Jahar, who had no support that would make his maternal family's name pale in comparison, was so confident.
"I shouldn't have come."
His anger naturally turned to the cause.
If that lowly bastard hadn't arrived today, he wouldn't have gone to see Jahar and Ael.
He would have just met up with Ael later.
"It's because of that bastard."
Because of that orphan bastard who was lucky enough to get the Mectera name.
Beden headed north.
***
The young Simurtr had lived in the west annex.
It was where his mother, who was of commoner origin, had resided.
When she passed away upon giving birth, Simurtr inherited that annex.
Though he had only stayed there for a little over four years. In any case. The property wasn't what was important.
'Tsk.'
It was an uncomfortable fact. He hadn't even been able to pay his respects.
If she had known that the child she gave birth to remembered his past life, how would she have reacted?
Even if he idly entertained such negative thoughts, all that remained was bitterness. She had passed away from the aftereffects of childbirth. Meaning, it was his fault.
Simurtr felt a sense of debt towards his mother. Even though he had memories of his past life and they had never properly bonded… they were mother and son. It wasn't easy to dismiss.
"I have been periodically sending word for it to be cleaned."
"Thank you."
"The grave is behind the annex. Would you like to visit?"
Even to Meram's eyes, it was a rather pitiful environment.
Simurtr had not visited his mother's grave for 10 years. The requests for permission to enter the castle, which he had made on every anniversary of her death, had never not been rejected.
'It must have been the second wife.'
She must have been worried that he might catch someone's eye in the main estate.
Especially since she was already losing in the succession competition. There was no way she would welcome the birth of a new competitor.
"I'll go."
"Take your time. I also have somewhere to be for a moment."
Recalling the attack by the 3rd Sword Order, Meram once again felt the need for a backer.
"Where are you going?"
"I have a benefactor in the main estate. I intend to pay my respects since I have returned."
"A benefactor? There's another magician in the main estate?"
Mectera did not officially employ magicians. Hadn't even Meram been working as a mere history teacher?
"He is a swordsman."
"Then why is he your benefactor?"
"There are circumstances."
"I see."
"It may take a long time."
"It's fine."
"You must not cause any trouble until I get back."
"What kind of trouble is there to cause here?"
"I will trust you."
After saying that, Meram left the west annex. Her rare, white hair, which reached her waist, fluttered in the wind.
"Her taste is certainly unique."
That white hair, which resembled the color of his own, of his school's mana… was not natural.
Simurtr knew that Meram periodically applied white dye.
"You'll see it until you're sick of it when you get old. Why bother."
Simurtr only started walking after Meram had disappeared from sight. It seemed the cleaning had been done up to the yard, as the path leading to the back of the annex was clear.
"It's right behind."
There was no burial mound, but the location was easy to find.
At the edge of the back garden stood a tombstone as large as a person's torso.
"Anna."
Simurtr read the name engraved on the tombstone.
"…She is my mother..."
Simurtr swallowed bitterly.
He had no memories… of his childhood in his past life. He didn't even know his mother's name from his past life.
Come to think of it, his memory wasn't that great. Exa's first memory began at the orphanage.
This life was not much different. Of course, this time he remembered from the moment he was born.
He was born with memories of his past life, and his mind was already fully matured.
'What good is that.'
The body of a newborn is utterly insignificant.
Those eyes, just beginning to see the world, could barely see a hand's breadth in front of them, and the eardrums were ridiculously fragile.
His mother in this life had died not long after giving birth to Simurtr. She had fallen into her final rest before his eyes and ears had properly opened.
'It's more comfortable to be alone, but...'
It felt very unsettling. The fact that he was not connected to Mectera was welcome.
But the fact that his mother had died due to childbirth created a sense of debt.
"This is difficult."
He had been born twice, but he was still clumsy with family relationships. He had never felt familial affection in his past life either.
The younger brother who appeared late in his life had disliked him throughout, and hadn't he sent assassins several times during the Doom War?
"Well. Thinking back to then, now is at least a bit better..."
This life is at least a bit better. At least he knows his mother's name.
He doesn't need to worry too much about his siblings either. He has no intention of treating them as such. Strictly speaking, they were complete strangers.
"I wish she had a last will."
He would kill all the traitors and live a long, long life. He could surely follow at least one last wish.
The moment he kills the heroes of the continent, peace will be out of the question, but anyway.
"I'll just live with my master."
Perhaps his comrades from his past life might take his side. He had no intention of seeking them out and being a nuisance, but. In any case.
"Since he said their safety was guaranteed by arbitrarily using my life as collateral."
They were probably living in luxury. So he could take his time finding his unit members.
"After I take care of myself."
He was still a long way from catching up to the traitors. As he was thinking that and about to get up.
"Are you Simurtr?"
A voice came from behind.
"I am."
Simurtr replied as he turned around.
"You're speaking informally. I am your superior."
He looked young, and he really was young.
Simurtr recalled what Meram had said before they arrived. There were three direct descendants of Mectera.
"We're the same age."
Among them… he was the third. 16 years old. Beden, the same age.
"I am the third. You are the fourth."
"But we're the same age."
"No. Still… what. Do you know me?"
Beden was about to get annoyed, but then his eyes widened. Come to think of it, the guy knew they were the same age. And he had lived only in the mountains until now.
"Yeah."
"Ah. They said you lived with a spellcaster, right?"
"So what's your business?"
Simurtr replied dismissively.
He was only 16. It would be pathetic to pluck out his eyes just because I don't like them. This kind of argument is cringeworthy enough as it is.
'How old do you think I am?'
Just because his physical age was the same didn't mean his mental age had become younger. Just adding up the years he had lived, he was well over forty.
"Why did you come to the main estate?"
"Why do you ask, when I'm coming to my own home?"
"Don't tell me you're here to participate in the selection ceremony?"
The selection ceremony.
A trial of the sword held when a direct descendant of Mectera turns 17.
"I guess so."
Hearing the word after a long time, Simurtr was reminded anew that this was Mectera.
This must be the reason the second wife had attacked the estate of exile. She was already competing with the first wife, so the variable of a fourth, adopted son was bothersome.
'I have to participate too.'
In order to stay in Mectera, he needed to participate in the selection ceremony. The sooner, the better.
Simurtr recalled the timing of the selection ceremony. This year was for the first and second.
Next year, the schedule would be set for Beden.
Considering his age, he would have to wait until next year with Beden, who was right in front of him, but.
'That's just an unspoken rule.'
If he could prove his skill, it didn't matter if he was younger.
"Speak clearly."
"What will you do if you know?"
"So it's true. Do you think you're qualified?"
"I must be, since I'm participating."
Beden's face crumpled.
The selection ceremony for direct descendants is held at age 17.
There was only one way to participate at an earlier age.
"You're saying you can create sword ki? Even I can't yet."
"I guess so."
Simurtr replied dismissively and looked at the tombstone. A spiderweb blowing in the wind.
An anthill right next to it. A thin layer of dust that the wind couldn't blow away.
Meram had said she periodically sent word, but it seemed she hadn't paid much attention to the back of the annex.
'I'll have to tell her to manage it every day from now on.'
First, he removed the spiderweb. After a quick swipe, he had a handful. He casually brushed his hands to send it flying.
"Show me proof."
"You'll see at the selection ceremony."
Beden's face flushed red.
He hadn't even proven his qualification to participate in the selection ceremony yet.
"Do it."
The way he blatantly ignored him and went about his business was like watching Jahar. The most incompetent of the direct descendants. No, not even a direct descendant.
"..."
Now he wasn't even answering. What was he relying on? Unlike Jahar, this guy wasn't the eldest son.
He didn't even have Mectera blood. He was a guy whose mother, already pregnant, was lucky enough to become a concubine, and he became an adopted son.
He had no allies in the main estate, no maternal family to rely on. The proof was that he had been in a place of exile until now.
"Hey. Can't you hear me?"
And yet a guy like this dares to ignore me?
"If you don't want to be exiled again, you should be trying to get on our good side. Do you think wiping that gravestone will clean your mother's blood? You lowly bastard..."
Simurtr stopped when he mentioned his mother. At the unfamiliar reaction, the corners of Beden's mouth lifted.
Thinking this was the right answer, he was about to continue speaking with a smile, when.
Simurtr, who had been squatting in front of the tombstone, suddenly appeared in front of Beden.
He grabbed Beden's face and slammed it straight into the ground. Bam! The back of his head struck the road.
Without a single twitch, his trailing limbs went limp on the ground.
"Ah."
Watching Beden, who was twitching and had lost consciousness, Simurtr opened his mouth in realization.
Meram told me not to cause trouble.