Lyon looked puzzled and shot back, “The sword of the strong...? What do you mean? Even if that were true in the old days, you’re stronger than me now, Leon.”

“I’m not talking about the power difference between us two. I’m trying to point out the fundamental flaw in your martial way,” Leon answered in a firm voice, then nodded once and continued. “Actually, no. You have a point, too. You are certainly weaker than me at the moment. But the problem is you didn’t face me as someone weaker. You faced me as if you were the stronger one.”

“I faced you... as the stronger one?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you realize it yourself?”

When Leon repeated the criticism, Lyon only wore a more confused expression, and Leon couldn’t help but let out a long sigh. That attitude was proof of being a ‘strong’ person.

El-Cid seemed to find this entertaining.

—Hahahaha! Do you really expect someone blessed like this young master to understand what you’re saying? You’d have to unpack one sentence into ten and ten into a hundred before he might even begin to get it.

I didn’t expect it to be this bad, though.

—Personally, I’m not a fan of this whole ‘hungry spirit’ toughness rhetoric, but it’s almost inevitable that someone raised without lack will develop flaws you wouldn’t see in someone who learned hunger.

Just as a coin had two sides, the world had dualities. Only those who had been hungry could appreciate fullness. Only those who have had to shiver from cold could appreciate warmth. If someone had never lacked for anything from birth, they’d likely feel little in response to any stimulus. Such people often chased ever greater thrills or broke rules simply to overcome their boredom.

—Still, that young master went through some hardship as a child. Maybe that vengeance toward the emperor kept him from going off the rails.

That’s good, at least. I wouldn’t have wanted Lyon as an enemy.

While the two exchanged words inside Leon’s head, the silence pressed on Lyon, and he finally spoke up. “I still don’t get it after thinking it over. Could you explain more?”

“Hmm? Ah, right. Sure—okay.”

Leon broke off his conversation with El-Cid and began to explain. It wasn’t a difficult concept. Martial training had become a method for cultivating superhuman power in the present day, but its original purpose had been simple: to fell an enemy stronger than oneself or to protect one’s own body.

If someone had always stood in the position of the strong, there would have been no reason to devise martial techniques or waste sweat and time on grueling training.

Humans were fragile. They didn’t have the dwarves’ hardy bodies or craftsmanship, the elves’ nimble athleticism or spirit magic, nor the monsters’ razor fangs and claws. So, they invented martial arts and trained without end.

“Recognizing your own weakness and lack, and then yearning for what comes next—that’s the essence of a warrior,” Leon said before adding another criticism. “You fought me only with orthodox strikes. You surely knew that stubbornly insisting on direct techniques against a stronger opponent gave you zero chance of winning.”

If Lyon had admitted he was the weaker man, he wouldn’t have fought that way. He would have endured by any means—even shameful ones—holding on and waiting for a sliver of an opening no bigger than a needle’s eye.

He didn’t try throwing his sword aside and grappling as an irregular tactic. He didn’t kick up dirt or spit to blind me.

Against Leon, who wasn’t even using Aura Blade or Aura Weapon, he insisted on the same conditions and kept seeking a head-on victory against someone who was far too strong for him.

“You weren’t accepting your own position, that’s why,” Leon said.

Lyon still looked unable to accept it.

“I know I’m weak. I know I need more power—!”

“Yeah. ‘Need’,” Leon cut him off matter-of-factly. “You simply never knew what lacking was. You were taught the imperial family’s secret techniques, you took elixirs, and you had masters to guide you. Your talent was exceptional, so it must have been hard to find peers your age who could challenge you.”

Before Leon left the Academy, the duel that day had also been won because countless rules limited Lyon’s abilities.

If they’d fought without any regulations at full power, he’d have fallen in three or four exchanges. Even then, Lyon of that era could have taken on several senior knights of many fiefs. Had he been born into an ordinary noble house without the goal of overthrowing the Great Emperor, he would’ve enjoyed a smooth life without a single hardship.

“Lyon, you lack true longing.”

He might have desire, but not the desperate thirst that drove someone to crave and crave like a dying man digging the earth. He lacked the will to claw through life with that kind of ferocity.

“You’re shallow. Your desire to improve, your drive to grow stronger—it’s too thin.”

“That... No, that can’t be! I need strength! Strength to bring peace to this Clyde, strength to drag that crazy emperor to the executioner’s foot...!”

“I’m not saying your heart is false,” Leon snapped at Lyon, who still looked unconvinced. “Lyon, have you ever fought someone stronger than yourself?”

“I... have,” Lyon answered quietly.

“With whom?”

“Sir Cedric. We’ve been sparring lately, so intensely it felt like I was putting my life on the line...”

But Leon didn’t accept it. “That’s still just a spar. It’s nothing like a fight to the death.”

No matter how long one trained or meditated peacefully in the mountains, it was impossible to reach the true pinnacle of martial mastery that way.

Anyone walking the path of martial arts inevitably became a warrior of blood and death. There were things one could only see after crossing mountains of corpses and seas of blood, lessons one could only learn in air thick with the metallic stench of slaughter.

A person who had never faced life and death could not call themselves a true warrior.

“You fight when you think you can win, and you don’t when you think you can’t. I get it, though. You’re not some commoner like me—you’re an imperial prince. You can’t afford a single misstep that could cost you everything.” 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

“T-that’s...”

Lyon couldn’t deny it. He hadn’t gathered the Revolutionary Army merely as a swordsman but as a leader, all to become emperor one day.

If he died, the army would lose both its legitimacy and its center. His death wouldn’t just be the end of one man, but it would drag down everything built upon his shoulders. That heavy sense of responsibility made him avoid battlefields where the risk was too high.

Leon continued, “It’s natural for a commander to protect his own life. A headless army is nothing but a herd of sheep. But with that mindset, it’s hard to fill what you’re lacking.”

It was the contradiction between his role as the future emperor—obliged to ensure his safety—and his ideal as a warrior—one who must not shy away from danger.

Perhaps realizing Leon was right, Lyon looked down at the ground with a conflicted face. Indeed, Leon had a point. His skills had only begun to grow again after he’d started sparring with Cedric in matches so fierce they nearly resembled real combat.

“Leon...”

“Hm?”

“Have you... always lived like that? Always facing enemies stronger than you, and forcing your way past every trial?”

Leon scratched his cheek, a bit embarrassed. “It’s a bit awkward to say it myself, but... yeah.”

“I see...”

Part of Lyon wanted to call it a lie, but he wasn’t foolish enough to give in to that ugly impulse. Deep down, he thought Leon’s strength came from the Holy Sword. That the reason Leon had grown stronger, faster, and reached the level of a Master was because he’d been chosen. Without that, their positions would have been reversed.

But then, the realization hit. Lyon finally understood.

Ah, so that’s what it was.

While he had always taken a step back from hardship, rationalizing it as wisdom and responsibility as a prince, Leon had faced every trial head-on, breaking through them as if it were only natural.

That was why Lyon could never become a hero. That was why he could never surpass Leon. Only now, years after that fateful defeat, did Lyon finally realize the truth.

“Leon,” Lyon called once more.

“Yeah?”

“Would you... help me out a little longer?”

Without looking away or backing down, Lyon raised his sword and faced him. His instincts screamed that this opponent could not be defeated. Even so, he answered inwardly that it didn’t matter.

Leon answered, “Fine. I’ve got three years’ worth of beatings to pay you back for, anyway.”

As Leon raised his sword to the middle guard, an overwhelming pressure filled the air like the sky was about to collapse. Lyon could feel the sheer gap in strength pressing down on him.

A body unaccustomed to true death, a primal instinct awakened by fear—it all made cold sweat drip down his back as his mind sharpened. The feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff like this was what pushed a warrior beyond his limits.

“Guess I won’t feel satisfied until I’ve knocked you down at least three hundred times!”

With that, a lightning strike in the shape of a blade came crashing down from Leon’s hands.

Lyon caught it with the flat of his sword and parried, focusing entirely on the fight, putting aside all of his worries for the first time in years.

Sparks flashed as Leon and Lyon exchanged blows so fast their movements left afterimages. The clang of steel rang out again and again. The difference in skill was obvious—Lyon couldn’t so much as graze Leon’s clothes, while Leon’s sword struck with pinpoint precision, landing hits that avoided vital spots yet punished every opening.

Even so, someone was able to pick up on Lyon’s expression.

“It’s been a while...” Chloe muttered.

“Huh?” Elahan murmured and turned to Chloe.

“Since I’ve seen Lyon smile like that. It’s been quite a while.”

It was true. As the leader of the revolution, as the next emperor, Lyon had been crushed by the weight of expectation. He hadn’t smiled like this in ages.

Not even Chloe could truly ease his solitude. Only Leon—who had treated him as an equal since their Academy days, regardless of status or birth—could draw out his true self.

Elahan, unfamiliar with the bond between the three, commented dryly, “So this gentleman named Lyon enjoys getting beaten with a sword, then?”

“Wha...? N-no, that’s not...?!”

“I’m only joking,” Elahan said with a quiet laugh, smiling in a way most unbefitting of a saintess.

She had kept a poor impression of him since their first meeting, but seeing him like this, perhaps there was nothing to worry about after all. The sound of clashing swords echoed through the field—sharp, unbroken, and lasting for quite some time.

***

After hours of being pummeled, Lyon finally collapsed to the ground, unable to stand even with the aid of healing Holy Law. His body could be restored, but his mind was a different matter.

He hadn’t used Aura Weapon, but even strengthening his body had drained an immense amount of power. Still, Lyon tried to get up somehow, but when his legs refused to move, he struck his own thigh in frustration, again and again with clenched fists.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit...! Move! I said move!”

The calm composure that had always defined Lyon was nowhere to be seen. His fists dropped weakly as tears welled in his eyes.

It was too upsetting. He couldn’t stand the reality that he couldn’t win. He was upset at himself for being unable to win. He swung his fists out of rage, venting a torrent of emotions he had never experienced before, emotions that shattered his hard-earned composure.

“Lyon...?!”

Seeing her lover’s face twisted with emotions she had never witnessed, Chloe froze in shock. Leon, watching, spoke with an expression that said he understood everything.

“Sucks, huh?”

Lyon’s fist stopped midair. Leon went on, indifferent to how Lyon reacted.

“You charge in thinking, ‘This time for sure,’ but all that happens is you get beaten again. You come up with what feels like a good plan, try it, and it doesn’t work at all. You fight until your vision goes blurry and you’re gasping for air, while your opponent hasn’t even lost his breath. Every time your swords clash, all you’re reminded of is how much weaker you are, how you just can’t close that impossible gap, and the frustration eats at you.”

Lyon wondered if Leon could somehow read his thoughts, but that wasn’t the case. The Stigma of the Observer didn’t grant mind-reading.

Everything Leon said came from experience. They were the same feelings he had lived through every single day during the three years he’d challenged Lyon.

“That feeling,” Leon said quietly, “is defeat. The same one I faced every day for the three years you let me fight you.”

Lyon’s eyes widened. He couldn’t help it.

This pain was the kind that made even his heartbeat feel hateful. This humiliation felt like his very worth had been trampled into the dirt. This misery was as if the entire world were laughing at him.

He felt this... every single day... for three years?

Leon hadn’t looked away from it. He hadn’t tried to forget. He had confronted that pain every day and forged himself through it.

Unyielding and unbroken. That indomitable spirit was what had even impressed El-Cid.

Just imagining it made Lyon’s chest tighten and his head spin. If their positions had been reversed, could he have endured it? Probably not. He might have thrown away his sword, drowned himself in indulgence, or even turned cruel and struck Leon down cheaply out of spite.

“Just... How...?”

The question escaped Lyon’s lips in a voice almost childlike in its sincerity. How could he have done it? How could he have endured it?

Leon answered with a bitter smile.

“There were days when I was in pain, when I struggled, when I fell to my knees and cried. Days when I hated how pathetic I was, when I cursed myself for being so small.”

Then, firmly, he added, “But even then, you get back up. You tell yourself, next time. Yeah... next time...”

The words carried the weight of a man who had hungered for strength more desperately than anyone, who had fought harder than anyone. It was heavy enough to silence everyone who heard it.

“Because you believe you’ll do better.”

That was the answer Leon had proven with his life.

woo: That’s my hero, everyone.