Journey to Become the Zenith-Chapter 52: The Sword That Broke

The Sword That Broke

Max folded his hands behind his back.

"Very well. If you do not wish to become a knight..."

His gaze didn’t waver.

"Then how about becoming a teacher instead"

The words settled over the courtyard like a stone dropped into still water.

For a moment, even the wind seemed to pause.

Victor stood unmoved. His black hair stirred lightly against his collar, golden eyes steady and unreadable. Lane, beside him, watched Max carefully, her long dark hair flowing down her back like ink. She could feel it—the shift in the atmosphere. This wasn’t an ordinary offer.

Max studied Victor’s face, then after a brief pause, continued, his voice calm yet deliberate.

"I will even pay you five white gold coins per month. All you need to do is spar with the students every now and then, and just attend one of my classes once a week. That’s all you need to do. So what do you say?"

A sharp inhale rippled through the students.

Five white gold coins.

The number struck like thunder.

One white gold coin equaled ten normal gold coins. A duke’s household might only receive one white gold coin in a month as income.

And this commoner—

Was being offered five.

Some of the noble students’ faces drained of color. Others burned red with disbelief.

"Is the Principal insane?"

"That’s more than some nobles receive!"

"He’s offering that to him?!"

The outrage was barely contained.

Victor did not blink.

"I’m still not interested."

His tone was flat. Not arrogant. Not mocking.

Just certain.

That was what made it worse.

The moment Victor said those words, one student could no longer contain himself.

"How dare a lowly commoner like you speak that way to the Principal! Not only was he being overly generous to scum like you, he even offered you a job beyond your abilities, and you were still ungrateful."

The voice cut through the courtyard sharply.

Albion.

Seventeen years old. The son of a Marquis. Crowned as the most promising genius the academy had ever produced.

He stepped forward, tall and proud, his academy uniform pristine, his sword resting confidently at his waist. His jaw was clenched tight, knuckles pale around the hilt.

He had earned his reputation.

At seventeen, he had already achieved the rank of advanced swordsman.

The ranking system for swordsmen—just like mages and adventurers—was clear and merciless:

Initiate. Beginner. Intermediate. Advanced. Master. Saint. Divine. Demi-God.

Only at advanced rank was one considered a true swordsman.

Albion was one of the youngest to reach it.

Victor, by this world’s standards?

His swordsmanship would barely register at Master.

Because what Victor practiced had no flourish.

No elegance.

No artistic flow.

His techniques were simplified. Efficient. Brutal. Designed only to kill.

No wasted motion. No theatrical arcs.

But at his peak—back in a life no one here could comprehend—his blade had reached Divine. Nearing godhood.

And that difference...

Was not something Albion could see.

Albion stepped beside Max and bowed slightly.

"Sir Max, please allow me to punish this arrogant commoner for disrespecting you."

His words were firm, but beneath them was something else.

Insecurity.

He could not understand why Principal Max—a Saint-ranked swordsman, a legend of Skyfall Kingdom—would offer such respect to this unknown youth.

Was the old man losing his judgment?

Max glanced at Albion thoughtfully.

For a second, he considered stopping this.

Then he paused.

This might be a good opportunity.

Mana capacity alone did not determine strength. Control. Application. Precision. Experience.

Skill could overcome raw power.

Max stepped back slightly.

He said nothing.

Albion interpreted the silence as approval.

His lips curled faintly.

He turned and gestured sharply.

"Bring my spare sword."

A servant hurried forward, bowing nervously, holding out a polished longsword.

Albion took it and then—without warning—tossed it toward Victor.

The blade spun once in the air and landed at Victor’s feet with a metallic ring.

"There. Take this sword. I don’t want you saying that this wasn’t a fair fight."

Victor looked down at the weapon.

Then back at Albion.

His gaze was the same look one might give a child who insisted on wrestling a storm.

Lane exhaled softly. Even Videl, standing nearby with her long blonde hair catching the light, felt a faint twinge of pity.

Victor did not bend to pick up the sword.

"Why aren’t you picking it up? Do you even know how to use one?"

Albion sneered openly now.

Victor raised his hand casually and motioned with two fingers.

Come.

Impatience flickered in his golden eyes.

Albion’s pride ignited.

He drew his own blade.

His stance was textbook perfection. Both hands gripping the hilt, sword raised near his face, tip aligned precisely with Victor’s centerline.

Victor did not move.

He did not take a stance.

He simply stood.

Albion saw openings everywhere.

And he lunged.

His body shot forward like an arrow released from a taut bowstring. The courtyard gasped as his form blurred—most of the students could not even track him.

But to Videl and Lane...

He was slow.

Albion’s blade thrust toward Victor’s left arm.

Clean. Direct.

Precise.

The sword pierced—

Nothing.

An afterimage.

Albion’s eyes widened.

Then something tapped his leg.

Victor’s foot.

Placed perfectly to intercept his stride.

Albion stumbled forward, balance broken.

Victor had moved only slightly.

Just enough.

Victor could have ended it there.

But the words Albion had spoken lingered.

Lowly commoner.

Scum.

Victor decided to teach.

Albion regained his footing with a growl and attacked again.

Downward slash.

Upward slash.

Spinning horizontal arc.

All in one breath.

His form was sharp, mana flowing into the blade in controlled surges.

Victor swayed.

A tilt of the shoulders.

A step half an inch.

A slight lean.

Not a single strike touched him.

He had not even shifted his feet from their original position.

Albion accelerated.

Mana flared brighter.

A thrust toward the chest—

An upward cut—

A sudden low kick—

His movements were faster now, sharp enough to slice the air with a faint whistle.

Victor’s body flowed around them like smoke slipping through grasping fingers.

No wasted energy.

No dramatic dodges.

Just minimal motion.

Max watched with growing intensity.

This wasn’t ordinary evasion.

This was predictive movement.

Victor wasn’t reacting.

He was already where the strike would not land.

Albion’s breathing grew heavier.

His combinations grew more desperate.

Victor, meanwhile, saw dozens of openings.

He could have disarmed him.

Knocked him unconscious.

Broken bones.

Ended it cleanly.

But he waited.

He observed.

He measured.

After several exchanges, Victor’s interest faded.

He had seen everything Albion could offer.

Albion roared and poured mana into his blade, executing a full-force downward slash.

The sword descended with killing intent.

Victor lifted his hand.

And pinched it.

Index finger and thumb.

The blade stopped.

Mana cracked along its surface.

Then—

Snap.

The sword broke.

Silence swallowed the courtyard.

Albion stared at the broken metal in disbelief.

Victor stepped closer.

Close enough that Albion could see the calm in his golden eyes.

"You see that? That is the gap between you and me. I might be arrogant in your eyes, but as you can see I have the skill to back it up. So if you think that what I said to your Principal was too much, then you can come at me anytime."

His voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

It carried.

Victor turned without waiting for response.

Lane followed immediately, her gaze lingering briefly on Albion before she walked beside Victor.

Max did not stop them this time.

He understood now.

There was nothing he could offer that would sway Victor.

So he shifted his focus.

To Videl.

The blonde-haired girl stood quietly, sapphire eyes thoughtful.

She had watched everything.

Everyone else was still frozen.

Albion—the academy’s genius—had been handled like a child.

Effortlessly.

As Victor disappeared down the stone path beyond the gates, whispers slowly returned.

Eyes shifted.

And now—

They all turned toward Videl, the companion who would remain behind.

Videl who noticed that all the stares were directed at her, couldn’t help but smile wryly.