Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Once it became clear that I had indeed returned to the past, I could tell exactly what time this was.

From around the age of eight, I had been sent to the prestigious Equira Sword Family to learn the sword.

The Equira Sword Family was a house with a full ten thousand years of history, founded by the bodyguards of the First Emperor.

Since no one could have harmed the First Emperor who had become a god, the Emperor’s bodyguards were essentially those tasked with standing idly behind him.

One day, the Emperor must have been bored, for after repeatedly selecting them in his own way, he taught swordsmanship to the guards standing in that position, saying ‘That’s not how you use a sword...’

A family of magic practitioners who polished and developed the swordsmanship learned that way, while at the same time following in the footsteps of the First Emperor, the founder’s teacher, toward godhood. That was the Equira Sword Family.

As was usual for places where magic practitioners gathered, Equira was also extremely closed-off and secretive.

However, for some reason, from about eight hundred years ago they opened the family and established a sword institute within the territory, teaching swordsmanship even to those without the talent of a magic practitioner.

The students of the Equira Sword Institute could not freely go outside.

But there were exceptions.

I received news of my father’s death during training and returned to the Count’s territory to hold his funeral.

My father, who had been a viscount of the Count’s territory and a knight commander, was said to be a man who never received a single wound even in times when poison needles flew endlessly from the bushes and arrows rained down.

Yet he met a futile death at the hands of a group of bandits who broke into the house in the middle of the night.

Thinking it made no sense at all, I asked the butler, and it seemed that ever since Mother passed away a few years ago, he could not fall asleep unless he was dead drunk.

At Father’s funeral, Count Valdemar, the hegemon of this region, attended in person.

The Count was greatly enraged and had ordered a sweep of all organizations and bandit groups in the area, and the knights who had just come from work reeked of blood.

The Count stepped forward on the spot, recited a eulogy honoring Father, and then said he would defer all matters of the Viscount family until after I finished training at the sword family.

He made it so that I didn’t need to worry right away about unfinished businesses, or the shares and debts intricately entangled with other families.

Thus, as soon as the succession to Viscount was completed, I was able to board the carriage returning to the sword family to fill the remaining one year of training.

“So this is that time...”

The Count was quite an interesting person.

Looking only up to here, he was a truly thankful and excellent superior, but there were a few facts to point out.

First, he failed to properly investigate Father’s death.

His order mixed with anger improved the public order of the Count’s territory, but the real culprit had at that point already returned to his own home and was organizing the items taken from the Gradias family.

Second, although he spoke as if deferring all matters, that was only up to the present point.

It did not mean he would postpone even the incidents that erupted while I was gone.

If I left like this, when I returned a year later, nothing of the family would remain.

Only the quiet family house in the Count’s name, temporarily provided by the Count as a favor, would be waiting.

The carriage heading to the sword family.

I absolutely had to board it, but there was no need to rush.

At this time, the Count had never set a deadline for me.

“There’s still work left to do.”

I did not board the carriage.

***

I wrote a letter to the sword institute saying there was a serious family matter and I could not go right away.

It was not a place that waited long for a trainee who did not return without reason, but I was the heir who had to hold the family head’s funeral and settle the family.

Even without writing at length, they would show about a year or two of patience.

Next, I sold the family’s belongings.

“Isn’t this the inaugural armor bestowed during the Valdemar royal dynasty era? Are you really going to sell this?”

“Yes.”

Butler Morris was flustered.

“The treasure that guarded the study in front of successive family heads for hundreds of years...”

It was said that when the Valdemar Count’s family was a royal house, the first Gradias was a duke and a general.

Since it was a relic from that time, it had been displayed for hundreds of years, but it must have been made close to a thousand years ago.

However, how many families with deep history were there in the Empire’s lands?

It was precious only within the Count’s territory; if you went as far as the capital, it was nothing more than a relic of a frontier noble.

“I’ll dispose of everything—paintings, jewels, various ornaments and furniture, even the books—leaving only enough to fit into one room.”

The relics fetched quite a bit of money.

There were those who had settled for hundreds of years in the vast Count’s territory, remembered the history of this land, and cherished the Count’s territory as if it were the entire world.

They willingly acknowledged the value of the relics that came from the Gradias family and opened their purses.

“Are you planning to bring in new items now?”

“No, move the remaining items and the furniture in this room to the Ascar Lumberyard.”

“Yes? What do you mean?”

“I’ll remodel one of the annex buildings there into a villa to use.”

“No, Viscount, are you saying you’ll move your residence to a hut?”

“Yes.”

Going into the city, everything coming and going was visible, so movement was inconvenient.

Since I intended to go in and out of the territory secretly, I planned to make a base in a sparsely populated forest.

Once the luggage was moved and the new lodging was completed, I sent out the mansion’s servants.

If they needed a letter of recommendation, I wrote one; if they needed travel expenses, I handed them over.

To those with years of service, I also gave severance pay, and I delivered consolation money to the families of servants who suffered damage during the raid incident, cleanly finishing the farewells.

“Now, let’s sell this house too.”

“The historic mansion of the great Gradias family...”

“What great. We’re not great.”

I sold the mansion and the real estate in the city of the Count’s territory.

Unfortunately, most of it was mortgaged, so they were essentially not my belongings, and it didn’t amount to much money.

“Why are you holding onto things like this.”

“To think there isn’t a single piece of Gradias family land left on Gradias Street...”

I also transferred the remaining rights and the family’s businesses.

By this point, there was no one within the territory who didn’t know that the young family head of Gradias was selling off the family assets to make cash.

“Yes, Viscount Brandel. What is the matter?”

“...Ahem.”

Because of the Count’s order, they couldn’t carelessly ask for money.

But they must have been worried that if they just stayed still like this, the young Viscount might disappear without paying the debts, or waste the money that needed to be repaid somewhere useless.

“You’ve come at a good time. There were debts that needed to be repaid, right?”

“...Ahem?”

“The Count kindly deferred them, but since I’m leaving work behind, my heart is uneasy.”

“Th-thank you.”

Hearing thanks while repaying borrowed money, it was certainly something to live long and see.

I asked him to pass the word to the others as well, and began settling the debts.

“Viscount, I humbly pray for the repose of the deceased.”

“Thank you, Baron Martin.”

I got to know the faces of the businessmen of the Count’s territory and various nobles.

Some stepped forward as if it were their own matter and got angry for me.

“If the late father hadn’t been bedridden for years due to a sudden curse, the situation would have been completely different. Those wicked Moar tribe shamans...”

In fact, the ruining of the family was a matter spanning three generations.

My great-grandfather spent half the family fortune treating a body that became lame during the war, and my grandfather lived a life respected as an angel-like patron in the art world, spending another half of the remaining fortune.

Father started various businesses saying he would revive the family, but when he was bedridden from a curse received during his duties as knight commander, most of the businesses ran aground.

“That’s already a past matter.”

When I answered that unconsciously, Baron Martin’s expression turned strange, so I quickly added more words.

“About the Moar tribe matter. Since he shook it off and got up, I don’t want to blame them. The bandits were the problem.”

“That’s right... If only it hadn’t been for the bandits, he would have cleanly resolved all the problems.”

With some of the money left after settling the debts, I prepared items to use for work.

A magnifying glass, a portable lantern, a tape measure, makeup tools, handcuffs and a few herbs, a dagger and a longsword...

“Done.”

I carefully examined the identification card with a photo of someone other than my face attached.

After confirming it was well made, I stood up from my seat.

Now it was time to go do what needed to be done.

Well, since it was the first time, it would take about half a year.

I also needed to see the atmosphere over there.

***

A man walked down the hallway holding a bloodstained sword.

Under the pressed-down hood, disheveled hair covering the eyes and a stylishly curved mustache were visible.

As the man entered the widely open bedroom of the Baron, several mercenaries lay face down motionless on the blood-soaked carpet.

“Baron, you fight pretty well? I thought the brothers might have already died after rushing up in a bunch.”

A youth in a luxurious suit leaned against the wall with his left arm lost, his chest heaving.

“I don’t know who sent you, but I’ll give you twice or thrice that. I won’t ask anything. Just leave...”

The man quietly raised his left hand as if telling him to be quiet.

When the Baron quieted, the man calmly opened his coat.

The Baron stared fixedly at the three red ampoules inserted in the man’s belt.

“If you just leave, you’ll die from bleeding, but I can give you a potion too.”

“...?”

“I heard you gathered a lot of Trial Books? If you tell me where you stored them, I’ll give it to you.”

“So you were after the Trial Books...”

The man nodded.

The Baron opened his mouth with an expression of understanding.

“I don’t know how much you heard, but even if you search everything, there are only four at most, and the ones I gathered are all fakes. I searched for a long time but never obtained a single real trial.”

The Baron continued.

“I spent ten years searching after emptying my fortune, but I still have no Blessing.”

“So you threw them away?”

“...”

“You must still have them. You wouldn’t have thrown away things you obtained with difficulty.”

The man shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the bookshelf in the corner.

“I can just find them myself.”

“No. I’ll tell you. Check the third shelf from the top of the locked bookshelf, the second from the end over there.”

The man smashed the glass door of the locked bookshelf with the sword hilt.

After sheathing the sword, he roughly swept away the remaining glass with a gloved hand, then inserted his arm and opened the bookshelf.

Among books of different sizes and thicknesses, he took out one small booklet small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

The man, who had been gently stroking the soft-textured leather cover, turned the first page.

The signature of ‘Arthur Gradias’ was visible.

“It’s real?”

The man took one potion from his belt and threw it to the Baron.

The Baron tried to catch the ampoule with his remaining arm but dropped it, then crawled on the floor and grabbed the rolling ampoule.

“Is this a real potion?”

“If you don’t want to believe it, don’t drink it. I didn’t want to give it either. I showed favor because your arm was cut off.”

The Baron stared fixedly at the man who answered with a grin.

The man added one more word.

“Are you going to die like that? You need to stop the bleeding, right?”

“...”

The Baron turned his gaze away.

He put strength into his closing eyes and carefully examined the sloshing potion while shaking it.

Then he bit the lid with his molars, tore it off, and spat it out with a ptui.

The one who gulped down the red liquid leaned limply against the nearby wall, and the blood flowing from the cross-section of the Baron’s left shoulder stopped.

The Baron let out a deep sigh with a pale face.

And he quietly watched the man standing in front of the bookshelf flipping through the book.

“I didn’t think you’d really spare me.”

“I also didn’t think you’d tell me obediently. Then I need to hear the story a bit. There are things I want to hear too.”

The man turned one more page of the Trial Book.

“It’s my first time reading a Trial Book. I’m a bit looking forward to this?”

A few blank pages continued, and then a sentence carefully written in gold ink in the center of one page was visible.

[Imagine another world, write about it, and act as if you have become a character of that world.]

He turned more pages, but the remaining pages were all blank. That short sentence was everything.

“This is all?”

“Yes. That’s a Trial Book without secrets.”

“Secrets?”

“Some Trial Books are the size of an encyclopedia and filled with meaningless nonsense. If you don’t know where the trial is written, it’s meaningless.”

The man lowered his gaze back to the book and looked at the sentence written in gold while turning the page.

“It’s amazing that just because of this one line, families burn and countless people die.”

“They are sentences from which you can obtain the power to shake the world overnight. Of course people die.”

The man lightly shook the small booklet in his hand.

“Did you try doing as written here?”

“Nothing happened.”

“I see.”

“Looking at the records of the Gradias family members, it seems they performed for dozens of years but never received it. It must be a fake.”

“Records?”

When he looked at the Baron, he raised his remaining arm and pointed to the opposite bookshelf.

“That entire bookshelf is the records of the family heads of the Gradias Viscount family performing the trial. It seemed they wrote and acted for a long time.”

The man closed the Trial Book and inserted it back into the place he had pulled it from.

Then he walked toward the bookshelf the Baron pointed to.

As he scanned through the books, his hand paused on the smallest booklet placed on top of the inserted books.

Unlike the Trial Book, it seemed no special treatment had been done, a book the size of a palm that felt the passage of time.

Opening it, a signature was visible below the writing ‘Trial Journal’.

Kyle Gradias.

As the man was about to turn the journal to check the contents, a crashing sound came from behind.

He put the Trial Journal in his bosom and leisurely turned around.

The Baron was sprawled out.

The Baron’s hand, stretched toward the dropped sword, trembled.

“Since you drank the potion, you should be able to get up and fight by now. Right?”

“...You tampered with the potion.”

It seemed he tried to ambush, but there was no way it was possible.

What the Baron drank was not a potion, but a drug mixed with a muscle-relaxing anesthetic and a powerful hemostatic, with sweet strawberry liquor added.

“You shouldn’t carelessly drink drinks given by strangers.”

“The color and concentration were the same as a potion. It was a bit tasty though... There was no reason to spit it out.”

“It’s an interrogation cocktail mainly used during torture.”

The Baron, who gave up holding the sword and lay down, gasped for breath.

Strength wouldn’t enter his whole body.

“Torture... You don’t seem like a veteran in that area.”

“You saw well. I’m a bit clumsy, so I might make a mistake.”

The man who returned while drawing the sword squatted in front of the Baron.

Then he extended his left hand, not holding the sword, and offered a handshake.

“We haven’t even introduced ourselves.”

The Baron looked troubled.

He had no left hand to grasp with.

The man shook his left hand once more as if telling him to hurry and grab the offered hand.

The Baron tremblingly extended his right hand.

“...Solders Orsel.”

The man firmly grasped the right hand the Baron extended.

“I’m Ronan Gradias.”

Fear settled in the eyes of the Baron who had paused.

It was only natural.

Hadn’t they just been talking about the Trial Book passed down from the Gradias Viscount family?

That Trial Book was an item the Baron had brought after leading a mercenary group to raid the Viscount family’s mansion in the middle of the night about a year ago.

In the process, he beheaded the Viscount who was asleep drunk.

“...Should I have died at the hands of the ones who came first. I won’t be able to die cleanly.”

Ronan pulled the Baron’s arm.

And brought the sword down toward the shoulder.

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