Chapter 4: Execution (1)
In his past life, Exa was a half-wit.
He possessed the worst possible flaw for a martial family, the inability to feel or possess mana.
'That's not Mectera's fault, though.'
His adoptive father in his past life had done his best.
He procured life-saving elixirs he had never even heard of before.
He, who detested magic, went to meet the masters of the Mage Towers one by one.
He even requested counsel from the Sage's Castle and the Holy Church.
'He did everything he could.'
That was why he held no ill will toward his adoptive father from his past life.
As the head of the family, it was only natural for him to prioritize the family above all else.
The expulsion was the proper course of action.
Simurtr, unlike his past self, even felt a sense of gratitude towards Medeoban.
'In a way, he gave me the opportunity to meet my master.'
The master he met on the outside had sought out his friend, a dragon, for the sake of his disciple, and succeeded in engraving the secret techniques of his school into his disciple's soul.
He became able to perceive mana and contain it.
The mana that had been dormant in his heart began to rapidly course through his entire body.
Just as blood is sent to every corner of the body, mana moved along its circuits.
It was not the Mectera way of operation.
Simurtr had learned the method from his past life. No, it was the only thing he could learn.
The manuscript he had obtained at the age of five, he had only read it.
The mana completed one circuit through the body's passages in an instant. The time it took to rotate was faster than the blink of an eye. Then a second.
'Two rotations. That means I'm barely at the 2nd Star.'
That dizzying speed was also a symbol of the Star-Breaking Style, bestowed by his master and engraved upon his soul.
Star-Breaking Style.
The secret art of single succession learned from his master. A colossal power that shatters stars, created by the first Star breaker to fight against a star.
'The 2nd Star.'
It was a pathetic level of progress and achievement. Though, considering his 16-year-old self from his past life, it was an excellent achievement....
'Can I escape with this?'
Simurtr raised his head and looked around.
His mana was not suppressed. There was no one here with the skill to do so. This was Mectera, which despised magic.
'No. Even if I could break through, I shouldn't. I can't leave Mectera.'
The Execution Office. And in it, the largest execution chamber.
The execution chamber was located in the center of the Execution Office, with other offices formed around it like a circular colosseum.
'I think I'm fucked.'
Simurtr, bound by both arms in the middle of that execution chamber, scanned his surroundings once.
There weren't that many people.
In front, an old man who appeared to be the Execution Head.
In the seat to the right behind him, the third son, Beden, who had just regained consciousness, and a middle-aged woman clutching him dotingly.
'…And to the left.'
A girl of his age, watching with interest.
A boy, also of his age, frowning.
'The boy must be Jahar, and the girl Ael. The first and second.'
They were the children of the first wife. Their features matched the description Meram had given. Born in January and December. Siblings of the same age.
'Power is king.'
It was obvious that this had been hastily arranged.
The charges were laughable, too. He could understand leaving the place of exile, but insulting and assaulting a direct descendant?
To think a day would come when fighting was a crime in Mectera.
'This isn't right.'
Is this Mectera?
He had thought it was quite different from the Mectera of his past life.
But experiencing it firsthand left him speechless.
Just how much of a mess was the current Sword Master?
'Two adoptive fathers, both Sword Masters. It's certainly strange. No, the strangest thing is reincarnation, isn't it?'
Sword Master Orde.
The current Duke of Mectera was the younger brother of the previous Sword Master, Gerehk.
He had inherited the position of Sword Master after Gerehk's death.
'Still, if he became the Sword Master, his skills shouldn't be so poor as to be ignored like this.'
Mectera was different from other noble families.
To become the Sword Master meant that, according to tradition, one had defeated the current Head of the Swords.
It was impossible that he had lost. If so, Mectera would be the type to insist on bringing in an adopted son to create a stronger swordsman.
The fastidious Head of the Swords would not accept a weak swordsman reigning above them.
'Is it because he's a pushover?'
He had heard rumors among the swordsmen that he was weak-willed, but he had never seen him in person.
He had not participated in the Doom War.
As he looked at Beden, who had just gotten up and was groaning, his eyes met with the middle-aged woman's.
"How dare you! Still haven't come to your senses!"
Her venomous voice pierced his ears. It was so sharp that he unknowingly furrowed his brow.
Like mother, like son.
The middle-aged woman was the second wife. Beden's mother.
'Her name was Janya, right?'
The very person who had sent the swordsman Keito of the 3rd Sword Order to the estate of exile.
Her maternal family was said to be the County of Jabad. A family he remembered. He remembered them as a quite excellent martial family that wielded the sword.
He didn't know how they were doing now, but judging from Janya's words and actions, it didn't seem to be going so well.
'No. If they're connected to Mectera, isn't that a good thing?'
Janya was still glaring at him with wide eyes.
At the same time, she stroked the back of the head of Beden, who was in her arms.
The back of his head was particularly swollen.
'Was I too harsh?'
His opponent was a sixteen-year-old kid.
On the other hand, if he included his age from his past life, he was well over forty.
If a kid directed a parental insult at a middle-aged man, how should that man have reacted?
"This lowly thing still hasn't come to his senses!"
'A beating is the only cure for that.'
Seeing that, it seemed his actions weren't entirely wrong.
The reason he thought he was half-wrong was that he had chosen the wrong target.
He shouldn't have hit Beden; he should have hit Janya.
'We seem to be around the same age, too.'
Janya's gaze shifted.
She began to look at the Execution Head.
"Simurtr Mectera. Is that correct?"
The Execution Head opened his mouth.
Simurtr let out a blatant sigh.
"You seem to have a complaint. Is that correct?"
"You're right."
The corner of the Execution Head's eye twitched.
Insisting on formal address in this situation. Simurtr let out a smirk. Mectera wasn't this kind of family.
"You inflicted a serious injury upon Sir Beden Mectera. And yet you have a complaint?"
"Since when did Mectera treat injuries from a fight as a crime?"
There was a reason Mectera was called the sacred ground of the sword.
It didn't care about background or past crimes. It encouraged fights and was crazy about duels. If unavoidable, even killing was acknowledged.
As long as one held a sword.
"Shouldn't the execution be for the loser? A direct descendant, not just a simple swordsman, was defeated, wasn't he? And without even drawing his sword."
The master of Mectera is called the Sword Master.
The Master of the Sword. The immense weight of that title. It is naturally passed down to the successor.
The bloodline of Mectera has a responsibility to uphold that weight.
"Simurtr. You are an adopted son. Not a direct descendant. For lowly blood to carelessly lay a hand on a direct descendant is a grave crime."
"Lowly blood? Is that right? You're saying that in Mectera?"
Of course, that weight and responsibility lie not in blood, but in the sword.
If you want to be respected, if you want to be treated as a direct descendant, you must prove it with your sword.
"If that's the case, you should come back after dropping the name of a Hero Family. That great Exa Mectera was also from a lowly orphanage."
The atmosphere in the execution chamber turned cold.
"Wow."
That's the adopted son who was in exile?
The second child, Ael, was impressed.
His words were ones that would automatically bring to mind the elders of the main estate.
"The Head of the Swords would really like him, wouldn't they?"
It was like listening to a textbook. Simurtr was spitting out only the words that the Head of the Swords would love to hear.
"That is, if he can prove his ability. The 6th Head of the Sword would draw his sword if he found out, though."
"Right. Since he's an ardent follower. If he finds out the hero was insulted, the Execution Office will collapse."
The siblings nodded their heads.
Anyone would have thought Simurtr was the direct descendant.
The exiled adopted son possessed a stronger Mectera ideology than anyone else.
Even more so than the direct descendant, Beden.
"Enough! Do not cloud the issue. The perpetrator's statement is meaningless."
Brother. Are you just going to watch?
Ael whispered at the Execution Head's shout.
She didn't quite like the fact that her interesting younger brother might be disposed of so soon.
"Let's watch for now. It won't be too late to judge after hearing everything."
Jahar was looking at Simurtr.
He was utterly confident. Though his face was severely contorted, it wasn't with regret.
"It doesn't seem like the youngest entered the castle without a plan."
He was annoyed with the current situation.
It was an emotion that couldn't be shown unless one was confident in their own abilities.
"We will now hear the testimony of the victim, Sir Beden Mectera."
"Well, now."
At the Execution Head's words, Simurtr scoffed. Sir? After speaking informally to me?
"Beden. Can you speak? Should Mommy do it for you?"
"Give me a break."
The sight of the mother and son playing the victim was comical. The Execution Head put on a sad expression while looking at their charade.
He was probably genuinely sad. It seemed the Execution Head, like the dead Keito, had thrown his lot in with their faction.
"N-no.... I, I will do it..."
Beden opened his mouth with difficulty.
He stuttered, his pronunciation still difficult due to the shock.
'When will my backup arrive?'
The more he watched, the more he felt alone.
It would be nice if Meram were here.
"I, I went to the west an, annex. I heard the news that the young, youngest had ar…rived.
So, to say hello..."
'He's a good actor.'
Simurtr listened with a smile.
At some point, the corners of Beden's mouth stopped trembling and were held firm.
It meant he was stuttering on purpose.
"As I was greeting him, Simurtr suddenly laid a hand on me."
At some point, Beden stopped stuttering.
His speed also gradually increased.
"He grabbed my face and threw me to the ground. For no reason at all."
As he said that, he showed the back of his head.
There was a large bump there.
He had intentionally not treated it.
"What's there to be proud of?"
Simurtr blurted out unintentionally.
Because as he kept listening, it was just too embarrassing.
All eyes focused on him, but he didn't care.
This wasn't an orphanage. A direct descendant of Mectera, no less.
If it were me, I'd have dunked my head in a puddle and died.
"There seems to be no need to hear the perpetrator's statement. The circumstances and evidence are clear."
The head of the office spoke of clarity without even hearing both sides of the story. It was the expected course of action. The result would have been the same even if that head had been fine.
'How can I live with this injustice?'
Simurtr turned his head. His eyes met with Jahar's and Ael's. The first wife was not present.
She was said to be away from the main estate. The father's illness was said to be unusual.
'They won't help, right? They wouldn't want to needlessly fight with the second wife's faction.'
They wouldn't have helped even if she were here.
A bad relationship was a more fitting expression than a connection.
The two wives were involved in Simurtr's exile.
'This is a real mess. The old man is putting up with this?'
The old man.
It was the title the exiled Exa had used to call his former adoptive father.
Unlike the previous Sword Master, Gerehk, the old man was not yet dead.
The fact that Jahar and Ael were here meant that this matter would soon be known to the Sword Master.
Before long, it would also reach the old man.
And yet, Janya was pushing forward with the execution.
And with such a ridiculous charge.
'With what confidence?'
Simurtr remembered the old man's disposition.
Quite some time had passed, but it couldn't have changed that much.
He valued the family more than his own life. If he could gain tradition and progress at the cost of his life, he would gladly offer it.
'This sucks.'
Anger was slowly starting to well up.
He had already died an unjust death.
He had just come to the main estate to start something, and now he was being treated unjustly again.
In the first place, he wasn't the type to tolerate such things well. He had lived with Meram, but they hadn't spent enough time together for her calm nature to rub off on him.
The only reason he hadn't charged in from the beginning was purely out of concern for Meram.
If he caused more trouble here, only Meram would get caught up in it.
"Taking into consideration all the factors listed, the exile of Simurtr Mectera is hereby re-declared."
'He says it like he's doing me a favor.'
If he returned to the estate of exile, Janya's attacks would begin shortly after.
As proof, a smile was now in full bloom on Janya's face.
'No. Does she not know about the failure yet?'
She didn't seem to have a single worry.
Perhaps Janya did not yet know that Keito was already dead.
'I need Meram.'
He assumed the news of the execution had gotten out.
That was why he had intended to wait for Meram to arrive… but he couldn't hold it in any longer.
"What bullshit..."
Just as he was about to spit out the words he had been holding back.
"Wait..."
Jahar stood up from his seat, and.
Bang!
"Execution Head."
Someone kicked the door open and entered.
Amidst the showering fragments of the door, sharp eyes swept over the surroundings.
"How was this session opened? I, the 6th Head of the Sword, did not approve of it."
Height 210cm. Weight 110kg.
The owner of a massive body with no fat to be found.
…And the escort of Exa from his past life.
"Aran Lubeil?"
At the familiar sight.
Simurtr said it without realizing.