Chapter 4 …
The sword-bestowal ceremony ended like that.
Normally, it should have been far more formal, grand, and long.
After all, it was the moment when the heir of the family first took up a sword.
It was an essential rite for any noble.
Of course, the other family members and everyone in the house would have come to offer their congratulations.
That was what Dante had experienced in his previous life’s sword-bestowal ceremony.
But this time, it was different.
After only half a demonstration slash, all procedures were omitted.
Not only that, but he was promised limitless support and even received a rare treasured sword of the family.
All of this was thanks to the glimpse of the sword Dante had revealed.
‘Don’t get carried away.’
It was certainly a good thing.
But Dante was careful not to get swept up in excitement.
Instead, he deliberately calmed his heart and paid close attention to his words and actions.
Even in his previous life, some time later he had received treatment like this.
He had been called the “genius of the sword” throughout the Empire, enjoying considerable fame.
And wasn’t that why the fall had been so much more painful?
‘The reputation of others isn’t worth a copper coin.’
There was only one thing Dante could trust and follow:
his own ability.
If he let himself be swayed by others’ praise or scorn, then nothing would be different from his previous life.
‘As I’ve always done.’
If he lived that way, better results would surely await.
“Sir Dante.”
At that moment, someone approached, breaking his thoughts.
“Sir Milleon.”
It was the young knight who had been his instructor, standing beside him with a face full of shock and confusion.
“Just now…”
He seemed to have countless questions.
Apparently, he hadn’t understood what had just happened.
But even the lord he served had added no words.
So how could a newly appointed knight dare question Dante?
“Well, I don’t know myself.”
Dante shook his head, deflecting Milleon’s inquiry.
It wasn’t the tone of a ten-year-old child.
No matter how hard he tried to act naturally, the traces of decades lived could not be hidden so easily.
Fortunately, Milleon was too stunned to notice Dante’s odd tone.
“Amazing…”
Although the demonstration had been cut short midway, the sword Dante had shown left an immense impact.
Not even knights with twenty years—no, more—of training could easily display such sword form.
Ten years old.
And only yesterday he had been swinging around a wooden practice sword.
It was a realm he should not even have been able to imitate.
So it was natural that small oddities, like his speech, were overlooked.
Dante chuckled softly at Milleon’s reaction.
‘As expected, he’s different.’
Other knights had been surprised by his sword, but not shocked.
They hadn’t seen everything.
But Milleon had.
Even though Dante had stopped halfway, Milleon had glimpsed the lofty realm hidden within.
‘With talent like his, no wonder he grew so skilled at such a young age.’
Within ten years, Milleon would become the family’s first knight.
In his past life, Dante had only thought of him as impressive.
But seeing him now, his talent was truly worthy of admiration.
“I’ll need to change the training plan completely.”
Just like in his previous life, Milleon would remain his instructor this time as well.
‘I was a little worried…’
Dante had wondered if his father, after witnessing his skill, might assign him a higher-level teacher.
But fortunately, that was just needless concern.
‘Father would surely recognize Sir Milleon’s talent and strength.’
His abilities had not yet fully bloomed, but his potential was on par with even Zenon, the empire’s famed prodigy of the sword.
“How exactly will it change?” Dante asked.
“I’ll have to think on that gradually. First, I must determine how far you can truly endure.”
It was a fair point.
Assessing a pupil’s overall limits was essential.
“So, run.”
“…What?”
“Run around the training field without stopping until you collapse from exhaustion—or until I tell you to stop. At full speed.”
He emphasized “full speed,” his expression resolute.
***
“How many laps is that now?”
“I counted up to twenty, then lost track.”
“It must be over thirty by now.”
“That can’t be right. He’s only ten years old. How could he possibly…?”
The knights training nearby stared in disbelief at Dante, who was sprinting along the edge of the massive practice ground.
As befitted a great noble family, the training yard was enormous.
A single lap was at least five hundred meters.
But thirty laps already?
That meant he had sprinted more than fifteen kilometers nonstop.
“The limits of the human body are clear. It should be impossible for him.”
“Could he have awakened a Holy Stigma already?” someone suggested.
“Nonsense.”
The idea was immediately dismissed.
“Even if Sir Dante inherited our lord’s talent, he’s only just received his sword. He’s far too young and inexperienced to awaken a Stigma.”
A Stigma was the manifestation of innate talent combined with steady training, appearing suddenly at some point.
Even the earliest awakenings occurred in the mid-teens.
For most, it was around twenty.
Never at ten.
“Then how do you explain that?”
The way Dante was running seemed unreal even to seasoned knights.
It was incomprehensible—beyond common sense.
‘Hmm…’
Watching calmly, Milleon felt the same as the others.
He had expected perhaps five laps.
That was the absolute maximum he thought possible, and only after spending the entire day.
A normal ten-year-old would have given up before completing even two laps.
‘What’s going on?’
He studied Dante, lips tightly pressed as he ran.
His stamina was clearly being consumed.
Compared to the start, his pace had slowed considerably.
But not a single bead of sweat dotted his face.
Which meant—
‘He still has energy left.’
There was no point in testing further.
What Dante had already shown was proof enough that he could match the training of most knights.
“Enough. Stop now.”
Milleon raised a hand, halting Dante as he approached.
“Haaah—.”
Dante stopped as if on cue, finally exhaling the breath he had been holding.
Even that seemed unnatural.
“Were you… controlling your breathing?”
“It was the only way to last longer.”
Exactly so.
Had he been panting with his mouth open, his stamina would have burned away far faster.
The fact that he knew to regulate his breath was astonishing.
“You’ve exceeded my expectations. Now I can design a much better training schedule.”
Stamina was the foundation of everything.
And Dante had it in abundance.
Training him would only be easier from here.
“That’s a relief.”
Dante’s eyes gleamed as he nodded, looking like he could hardly wait to begin proper training.
Milleon chuckled helplessly.
‘Normally, anyone would want to collapse and rest.’
Dante had run thirty-six laps.
Milleon, who had counted every one, knew exactly.
That was over eighteen kilometers sprinted nonstop.
Even most grown men could never do such a thing.
And yet Dante, instead of collapsing, burned with eagerness.
Still—
“Rest for today. We’ll begin real training tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
Dante’s face fell in disappointment.
But there was no choice.
Milleon had no suitable regimen prepared just yet.
“Rest is an important task as well. You pushed yourself hard today, so you must let your muscles recover to prevent injury.”
“…I understand.”
At Milleon’s stern words, Dante nodded reluctantly.
“I also heard you skipped breakfast. Go wash and have your overdue meal first.”
Only then did Dante remember he had eaten nothing.
Growl—.
A wave of hunger hit him.
“Then I’ll go inside first.”
After bowing politely to Milleon, Dante quickly left the training field.
Once his hunger surfaced, it grew uncontrollably.
‘I must have used more energy than I thought.’
He hadn’t pushed himself too dangerously.
He hadn’t even drawn on his mana.
But the sheer fact he could run so long meant his body had undergone astonishing changes.
Reforged by overflowing mana, his body had become something wondrous.
Not mere change, but evolution.
That was no exaggeration.
‘Incredible.’
He hadn’t even entered puberty.
If he kept growing like this, who knew how high he could reach?
Beyond his father.
Beyond the future Sir Milleon.
Beyond even the four Martial Saints, the transcendent masters of the continent.
And then?
‘Perhaps even reach a realm no one has ever touched.’
His heart pounded with excitement.
The thought of blazing a new path, seeing a world unseen by all before him.
And the chance to wield the sword once again.
That in itself was Dante’s challenge, his destiny, his reason for existence.
Not to feel his heart race would have been stranger.
‘I’ll do it. I’ll climb as high as I can.’
It would never be an easy path—but wasn’t that what made it worth it?
As Dante made that vow,
“Young master!”
Eina came rushing toward him, having already tidied his room.
She ran so fast she almost seemed quicker than he had been earlier.
‘Careful, you’ll trip at that pace.’
Dante chuckled inwardly, feeling like a grandfather worried for his clumsy granddaughter.
“Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you? Your legs—your legs!”
She must have been watching him run from the start.
Her pale face as she fussed over him was oddly heartwarming.
“I’m fine. But I’d really like to eat something. I’m starving.”
“Oh, right! Food! Let’s go now!”
Eina grabbed his hand, hurrying him toward the dining room.
“Unfortunately, the others have already finished their meal.”
She meant lunch, not breakfast.
While Dante was receiving his sword and running, time had slipped past noon into evening.
“It can’t be helped.”
He realized he still hadn’t seen his family, apart from his father.
Not that he regretted it.
They weren’t people tied to good memories.
Especially—
‘My stepmother.’
Dante’s face hardened.
He dreaded meeting her more than his half-siblings, who were barely a year younger.
Now that he had returned to the past, it was inevitable they would meet eventually.
But he wished it would be delayed as long as possible.
If he saw her face now, he feared he might do something irreversible.
“We’re here, young master.”
Eina opened the dining room doors, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll wait outside. Please enjoy your meal.”
Smiling, she gently pushed him inside and closed the door.
The table was laden with dishes.
Different from the morning’s spread—clearly prepared anew just for him.
‘Such waste…’
After his family’s downfall, Dante had lived frugally all his life.
Such extravagance made him inwardly recoil.
But outwardly calm, he sat and began eating.
‘It’s been so long since I had food like this.’
Almost sixty years, in fact.
The steak melted in his mouth, the fresh salad vanished bite after bite.
The maids, eyes wide, hurried to bring more each time his plate emptied.
Dante noticed, but ignored it.
He was simply too hungry.
‘I must replenish the stamina I burned.’
Running like that had drained a staggering amount of energy.
And his body, in its prime growth years, craved even more.
He devoured enough food for three grown men before finally stopping.
“Haaah.”
At last, he was full.
His evolved body digested the mountain of food swiftly, leaving him comfortable.
He ignored the maids’ horrified stares and rose from his seat.
‘Time to go back.’
He had eaten so much, it was nearly dinnertime.
If he lingered, he might encounter the very people he wanted to avoid.
Rubbing his slightly rounded belly, he hurried to leave.
“Eina, let’s return to my room—”
But as he stepped outside, his lips pressed tightly shut.
“You’ve already finished eating?”
A gentle voice.
A warm smile.
Eyes brimming with tender affection.
“I hurried so we could spend time together, but it seems I was a little late.”
Yet to Dante, this was a person he could only regard with hatred.
“Mother.”
At last, he had come face-to-face with her.
