Chapter 3

The only sound in the empty clearing was Leon’s wooden sword slicing through the air in a simple trajectory.

There was nothing flashy or ornate about it. Vertical strikes, horizontal cuts, diagonal slashes, thrusts—up to down, down to up, left to right, right to left—they were all basic movements that made up the foundation of swordsmanship.

The Academy’s curriculum merely combined these basic moves or at best, added slight variations. Secret sword techniques containing profound mastery were never permitted to commoners. That was why Leon’s training had always been an endless repetition of the basics.

From the moment he arrived at the clearing, he had swung his sword nearly a thousand times without wavering. The wooden sword cleaved through the air with the same speed, power, and precision as when he started.

His mastery of the fundamentals was already at its peak. Repetitive training like this could seem meaningless to others, but at some point, Leon had begun focusing not on his body or technique, but on tempering his spirit. It was a different kind of strength than Aura, and it had become the source of hope that he might one day defeat Lyon. That strength, though invisible, was definitely real.

He swung the sword yet again, but this time, there was barely any sound, unlike the earlier swings.

He had finally done it.

He had cut through the air without disturbing its natural flow, and with a blunt wooden sword at that. That wasn’t something that could be accomplished with physical sword skill alone.

With that final swing, Leon wiped away the sweat and thought,

So that’s it, then.

It wasn’t until two towels were soaked through that his body began to cool down. The cold mountain breeze dried his damp hair, and now that he had stopped swinging the sword, he could hear birdsong tickling his ears.

Leon dropped to the ground, caught between satisfaction and longing. Curfew had surely passed by now but tonight he couldn’t care less about the penalty. He wanted to stay in this moment a little longer.

He let out a deep sigh as his chest tightened with emotion. Even after a thousand swings, he hadn’t freed himself from all his regrets. Well, how could he? After years of effort, how could a single day be enough to let go of everything he had worked for?

How many layers of calluses had he shed? How many wooden swords had he broken? No one at the academy had trained more than him. No one had broken more practice swords than him.

Struggling to lift his head above the creeping despair, Leon asked himself,

But why do I have to give up?

He knew the answer to his own question. There was no reward waiting at the end of his hard journey. Some people said hard work was beautiful in and of itself but that was either a loser’s excuse or the naive ramblings of someone who had never tasted real failure.

Others would say that aside from a rare few, most people never achieve their dreams. Most settle for something less, and that he was no different. Leon agreed with that sentiment, but he also had something of his own to say.

If everything is decided from the start, then what’s the point of trying?

If there was a possibility of success, failing was fine. It could be seen as part of life, and it might even have its own value. Some may laugh and say it was a foolish challenge, while others may hold regret and say, “If only I had tried a little harder.”

But what if there wasn’t even a chance to begin with? If someone’s success or failure was determined from the very start—could there be any meaning to that life? Wasn’t that the same as playing some meaningless game of chance?

Leon had never prayed before. Not once. But tonight, he quietly called out to the nameless goddess.

“Oh, goddess...”

She was said to have nurtured the world since the beginning, never demanding worship, and quietly watching over the free lives of her creations. For the first time, Leon spoke to that great being.

“Was my effort... was my life meaningless?”

Of course, the goddess did not respond. The night sky, filled with a thousand stars, remained silent as always—or so he thought, too soon. Out of nowhere, a blinding light exploded above Leon’s head as he stared into the sky in a daze.

“

W-whoa!

”

He instinctively flinched back. The sudden brightness blinded him completely—but that was far from his biggest problem. The academy didn’t just teach swordsmanship. Subjects like classical history, etiquette, and even natural sciences were part of the curriculum. Thanks to the astronomy lessons, Leon knew exactly what he was looking at.

It was a meteor—a shard of a star. A celestial disaster that fell from an unreachable sky at unimaginable speed. Accompanied by massive heat and shockwaves, even a small one could level a city wall in a single strike.

Leon hurled himself to the ground, internally pleading for his safety Clenching his eyes shut, he braced for the blast and prayed he would survive.

Seconds passed, but the impact never came. Only time moved forward.

Then, an unfamiliar and firm voice echoed in Leon’s mind.

—Stand up.

“Who’s there!?” Leon shouted.

—If you’re so curious, then why don’t you get up and see for yourself?

Startled by the blunt response, Leon blinked. His eyes were still hazy from the flash. Rubbing his eyes a few times, he squinted into the dark and cautiously muttered, “I still can’t see...”

—Eh? Oh, hang on a second.

Then, Leon felt a cool sensation wash over his eyes as his blurry vision cleared up completely in an instant. But what he saw next made him question his own sanity.

Is that... a sword...?

His jaw dropped open. Just a few steps ahead of him, stood a sword, upright—shining brilliantly. Its hilt and cross guard stretched out to the sides and above, while the blade beneath them flowed like molten iron. From the center of the blade blazed a golden sun, radiating light that seemed to burn away the mountain’s darkness. Even someone without faith would feel a sense of awe just looking at it.

According to what Leon had learned during his years at the Academy, there was only one sword in the world like that.

“T-the Holy Sword?!” Leon exclaimed.The Holy Sword scattered light in all directions as it answered in a booming voice.

—That’s right. And you’re the one who called me, Leon.

“M-me? I called the Holy Sword?”

—Yes. Your heart summoned me. The world is unfair—those who have, take more; those who don’t, lose even the little they had. But at the very least, opportunity must be given equally.

The Holy Sword alone stood tall on the mountain, its voice full of majesty as it continued. —You, who spoke of life’s unfairness to the goddess, I ask you now. Those who make no effort have no right to blame life’s injustice. Only those who burn their lives to the fullest earn that right. Leon, do you believe you are worthy of it?

The energy radiating from the Holy Sword was overwhelming. Despite the sweat on his brow, Leon lifted his head to look at it. It was like standing before a dragon from legend—Leon’s bones and muscles froze, unable to move. The gaze of a supreme being, one that allowed not even a speck of falsehood, was locked onto him.

And yet, Leon managed to speak. Even though he had unknowingly stopped breathing, his soul gave voice to his answer.

“I-I do!”

The strength he had forged each day in his heart became his voice.

“I

am

worthy!”

Once again, the light scattered in all directions.

—Then I shall grant you the chance to prove it.

When the dazzling brilliance faded, what remained was a single, beautiful sword, embedded in stone, waiting to be drawn.

—Take hold of me!

The Holy Sword urged, still radiating its awe-inspiring pressure. The force was so intense that most would struggle to take a single step forward. Still, it wasn’t just the physical strain—what weighed most heavily was the resolve it demanded. Knowing what it meant to grasp that sword, Leon opened his eyes wide.

Why was this resolve so hard for him to justify? Was the symbol of the Holy Sword so above him that he had to feel guilty about taking it? The moment he took a step forward and grunted in response to the overwhelming presence, the Holy Sword warned him coldly.

—Do not think that obtaining me will grant you instant power. The trials you will face will be far greater than the opportunity I offer.

When he took the second step, its voice softened slightly.

—This burden is not yours alone to bear. Those destined for greatness must endure a harsher path than others, and that might affect the ones you care about. You may lose the woman you love or the friends you trust. Must you really walk a road lined with such thorns to obtain this ‘special’ life?

With the third step, the sword whispered temptingly.

—If you simply want to defeat that noble boy, Lyon, I can lend you a bit of power—just for a little bit—to help you do just that. Pass the duties of a Holy Sword’s master onto someone else while still fulfilling your wish. After all, bearing the responsibility of saving the world simply because you wanted to go against your fate... It hardly seems like a fair deal, does it?

With one final step remaining, Leon stopped and took a deep breath. Every word from the sword shook him to his core—a “trial” so severe that even the Holy Sword itself warned him. A “sacrifice” so big he had never once considered it until now. And finally, “victory”—the very thing he had desperately longed for over the past three years, even in his dreams.

If he stopped here, he would lose nothing while only gaining everything he ever wanted—enjoying the thrill of triumph by crushing Lyon’s unfair power with one decisive blow.

“But...” Leon said as he took one more step, “That would be cowardly...!”

He had trained every single day to shatter that cage created by injustice because he refused to accept a world where outcomes and rankings were decided regardless of effort.

If he compromised here—if he made a deal with the sword—then all the resolve and training of the past would be meaningless, worthless as trash. His life may have been steeped in defeat and inferiority, but it wasn’t without value. Leon had stepped before the Holy Sword to prove that very meaning!

After he completed the fourth and final step, the Holy Sword raised its voice in praise.

—You are right. You have proven the nobility of your soul, O Warrior!

The light that had faded from the Holy Sword returned, flaring with radiant fire. The sun engraved on its blade burned brightly as if rejoicing at the arrival of its rightful master.

That was the will of the sword itself. A warrior was not chosen by prophecy nor were they chosen by noble blood or lineage. A warrior was chosen for their heart that did not falter before unfair fate and their will that sought not gold or glory but to prove their own convictions. Only someone with all of that deserved to be a true hero!

—Now, draw me!

Guided by the Holy Sword’s fervor, Leon reached into the heart of the blazing light and gripped the hilt. Immediately, a surge of vitality flooded in and flowed through his exhausted body, and courage filled his chest. He felt like he could overcome any trial that lay ahead.

Already fired up, the Holy Sword shouted in triumph.

—I am El-Cid! The incarnation of Holy King Rodrigo Caldias el Vivar, and the blade that shall lead this era into light! Leon, my Master, let us strike down evil together!

It was a beginning humble enough that some might call it pathetic. A Holy Sword and a commoner hero meeting in a backwoods clearing behind the Academy wasn’t exactly a tale that would sell well.

However, that very framework was the enemy Leon was destined to break. The moment he grasped El-Cid, a storm began to brew in his life, and that storm was powerful enough to make something like birthright seem irrelevant.

***

A brash voice echoed through an unknown space.

—What did you call me for?

Gone was the grand tone that had just finished praising Leon. El-Cid had returned to its usual cocky voice, but there was no problem with that. After all, El-Cid was the spiritual avatar of Holy King Rodrick himself. Naturally, its personality didn’t differ much from the man it came from.

In other words, this loud, irreverent tone

was

the real Holy King Rodrick—an inconvenient truth buried beneath generations of glorified history. His greatness had overshadowed his... less-than-ideal personality.

—What do you mean, I broke the prophecy? What are you talking about? Leon’s name does mean “lion,” doesn’t it? Just because it’s a Clyde prophecy doesn’t mean it’s

only

about royalty, right? Come on.

Whoever El-Cid was arguing with, he handled their criticism with practiced deflection and shameless ease. The truth was simple: Leon was never supposed to be the chosen hero.

—That Lyon kid? He didn’t make the cut. Had the talent, had the right fate... but couldn’t awaken the will. He’s a bust.

El-Cid spoke like he was evaluating a spoiled potato.

—Still, I gotta say, I expected a lot more nagging from you. Guess you like Leon too, huh? Can’t blame you—he’s a rare kind of guy these days. In a world where the upper crust has everything locked down tight, kids like him are almost extinct. In my time? Maybe three like him, tops.

On and on El-Cid rambled. He muttered, complained, rebutted, and laughed—having a full-on conversation with someone, even if their voice was never heard.

There was only one being in all of existence capable of speaking with the Holy Sword and transcending time and space. Toward the end, the conversation grew more serious. El-Cid’s tone lost all trace of its usual mirth.

—Hey, stop worrying so much, alright? If he uses my legacy properly, he’ll outshine every past hero. It’s about time those bastards repaid their debt anyway.

In that unknowable place, El-Cid’s light began to fade as the conversation came to an end.

—Then watch him closely from up there. That’s your job, isn’t it?

With those final words, the Holy Sword’s light returned to the earth, to the side of a humble commoner who happened to be the first to be acknowledged as a warrior in three hundred years.