To the Promised Land Where Scheming and Betrayal Flow (3)
While plucking the lute in honor of Zhuge Liang’s lofty will, I realized one thing.
The core was certainly my own, but part of this body still bore traces of Sion Clausen. Proof of that was how I played the lute, an instrument I had never once touched, without difficulty.
‘Sion Clausen hadn’t completely avoided learning swordsmanship. Swinging it around roughly should be possible.’
He called himself some knight-to-be who would bear the future of the kingdom, but at the end of the day, he was just a cadet. Above all else, Ludwig was now a fool blinded by the desperate urge to look cool, unable to even see straight.
“Shall we begin?”
Even at a glance, the overconfidence didn’t just seep from him, it reeked. Clearly, he underestimated me. Sion Clausen must have always avoided sparring with Ludwig.
‘What the hell was a guy like this thinking, tangling with Kim Yoo-hyun so much, damn it.’
If only Kim Yoo-hyun had enjoyed killing just a bit more. But he didn’t. If he judged someone weaker or pitiful, his heart softened. And Sion Clausen exploited that, pestering him endlessly.
“I can give you the first move.”
So said Ludwig, striking a pose as though daring me to come at him.
Did he think that looked cool?
No matter how I looked at it, he was nothing but a punk waving a wooden sword around.
‘Then I won’t hold back.’
I decided to test how well this body could swing a sword.
Sion dashed forward and brought his blade down vertically. The wooden sword was heavier than expected, and I worried that if it connected, the opponent could actually die.
If I were countered, I might get seriously hurt. Fear stirred, but the blade swung regardless.
Not bad. It seemed Sion had at least wielded a sword on his own before.
But that was as far as it went.
“You’re slow!”
SMAACK!
Ludwig swung his sword and blocked Sion’s attack with ease.
As expected. Even if this body had swung a sword before, compared to Ludwig it was child’s play.
In the original story, Sion would’ve had an arm cut off by Kim Yoo-hyun, unable to wield a sword at all.
‘Oh, damn. My hand’s buzzing.’
It was only wood clashing against wood, yet my hand rang—Ziiiing!—as if numbed.
The stinging pain made me wonder—if this had been a real sword duel, what would’ve happened?
“Is that all? Sion Clausen?”
“…Yeah. Looks like it.”
“Then it’s my turn.”
How should he cook him? Overwhelm him until he collapsed on his own? Or mercilessly target openings until he was left groaning for days?
Ludwig wanted nothing more than to smash that annoying face, but he restrained himself, knowing the fallout would be immense.
‘Let’s start with his legs.’
Thinking to break Sion’s balance and drag him across the floor, Ludwig raised his sword.
No, he tried to.
“Surrender.”
…Huh?
Charging in full force, Ludwig suddenly stopped mid-step.
Surrender? What did he mean surrender? Surely not because his attack was blocked?
“What are you doing, Sion Clausen?”
“I said surrender.”
Sion raised both hands slightly, showing no will to defend. It was the perfect picture of surrender. Ludwig’s tension drained at once.
He knew Sion was timid, but once he accepted a duel, he thought he’d at least put up some fight. But the instant his attack was blocked, Sion gave up.
“Ha.”
Exasperated, Ludwig trudged toward him.
Never had he seen someone so cowardly and frail.
To knights, fighting with resolve to die was the Marquis Redenen family’s strict mandate, a matter of honor and soldierly duty. And yet this man, eldest son of the Clausen Border Count, heir apparent to the so-called Shield of the Kingdom, this damn pretty-faced bastard!
“You’re pathetic! Sion Clausen, you disappoint me!”
“Yep. You got caught.”
…Huh?
Something tapped against Ludwig’s throat.
Glancing down, he realized what it was.
At some point, Sion had lowered one arm, the wooden sword in his hand pressed right to Ludwig’s neck.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“You said the duel ends when the neck is targeted. I’m the one aiming, you’re the one aimed at. So I win, you lose. Got it, oh honorable knight cadet?”
“You… what the hell are you—”
Ludwig couldn’t comprehend it.
Using such a cheap trick in a duel?
Deceiving your opponent in a sacred match of swordsmanship?
“You asked to see swordsmanship from the battlefield. So I showed you.”
“Nonsense! This is nothing but a prank! You dare insult me?”
“If you don’t like it, we can go again. Deal?”
Sion’s casual suggestion made Ludwig grit his teeth and accept. He had already yielded the first strike. Now, after being tricked like this, he planned to launch a swift attack and end it immediately.
‘Damn bastard! Pretty face, rotten core!’
At least Ludwig could judge character somewhat. Problem was, the man before him wasn’t Sion Clausen anymore.
“Let’s begin, Ludwig.”
TAT!
The instant Sion spoke, Ludwig kicked off the ground, charging him. He wanted to smash his head, but that would be too much trouble. He’d settle for inflicting a mild injury.
Sion assumed a defensive stance, but Ludwig knew it could be broken.
One glance told him Sion had swung a sword a few times, but never with proper training.
‘This is the end, bastard!’
Nope. Wrong, idiot.
Sion grinned and, without hesitation, kicked upward.
FWOOSH!
“Ugh!”
From the start, he had been scuffing the ground to gather sand and dust atop his shoes. It was fine, soft dust, harmless if someone fell, but enough to stir up a cloud with a single kick.
Ludwig, caught in the sudden burst, stumbled as his vision blurred. Worse, the grit stung his eyes so sharply he couldn’t act at all.
“Caught again, huh?”
THUNK!
Sion gleefully pressed his sword to Ludwig’s throat once more.
It was clean, perfect, decisive.
The so-called future great knight froze in disbelief.
“Wh-what are you doing…? Not once, but twice in this sacred duel, you used trickery—”
“You wanted to see swordsmanship used on the battlefield. That’s what you asked for, right? So why complain when I gave you exactly that? Ludwig Redenen.”
“Of course! How could a knight ever stoop to deceit? This is cowardice! Despicable! Filthy!”
“Then you’re the knight entrusted with the kingdom’s future who fell to cowardly, despicable, filthy tricks twice in a row?”
POKE, POKE!
Sion tapped Ludwig’s throat with the tip of his wooden blade, his expression cold.
“I don’t know what delusion you’re living in, but let me tell you this: on the battlefield, there’s only one true cowardice.
Running without fighting.
Everything else goes. That’s war. You’ve been holed up at home swinging a sword, so I’m just educating you a little. Take it to heart, ‘brother,’ and spare yourself some blood later.”
For reference, they were the same age. Not brothers.
Not really.
“I was going to go easy, but you kept belittling war, demanding to see the swordsmanship I supposedly used there. So I changed my mind. This way, little Ruby won’t get his head chopped off later. Think of it as a special lesson from this big brother.”
“Nonsense! I won’t fall for such—”
“You will. You think a knight’s throat won’t be pierced? The process may differ, but the end is the same. If this were a real war, I’d be alive, you’d be dead. Not once, but twice.”
Withdrawing his blade, Sion dusted his shoulder and chuckled.
Moments ago, Ludwig had looked eager to destroy him. Now, with a face like he’d swallowed dung, he glared in frustration.
It was delightful, Sion felt like dancing.
“Again! Let’s fight again, Sion Clausen! One more time!”
“Oh dear, how pathetic. Losing twice and asking for another? Don’t you feel ashamed?”
“Grr!”
“Even if you win once, the score will still be 2:1 in my favor. Wouldn’t it look cleaner to leave it at 2:0, Ludwig?”
“You won with trickery!”
“There isn’t a single war in history where trickery nullified victory. And a duel is, broadly speaking, training for war. Get used to it.”
“I won’t accept this! Once more! One more fight!”
Sion stepped closer, and Ludwig tensed, wary of another trick. But Sion only dropped his sword to the ground with—Clack!—then whispered at his ear:
“You see, Ludwig…”
“…?”
“I don’t listen to those weaker than me.”
With that line, enough to make even a Digimon fan’s chest swell, Sion crushed Ludwig completely.
In all his life, brief though twenty years were, Ludwig had never once been called weak. Now he was stunned, furious, humiliated, yet voiceless, having lost twice. All he could do was gape at Sion.
‘Damn, that feels so good.’
To screw over the guy who had always looked down on him like an insect (even if technically it wasn’t him), and to savor victory, twice.
The swordsmanship itself was unimpressive, but enough to exploit openings. Ludwig was nothing but a boy who knew swordplay, ignorant of the world’s truths.
Justice was found in courts, not in kill-or-be-killed battlefields.
On the field, it was just an insurance policy for the losers, an excuse that the enemy fought “unjustly.” Winning was what mattered. Defeating the enemy was all that counted.
Do whatever it takes, if you win, you’re a hero. If you lose, you’re trash.
‘…Wait.’
As Sion walked, his eyes locked with someone’s. He hadn’t noticed when the man had arrived, but there stood a broad-shouldered, middle-aged figure, watching both him and Ludwig.
Sion halted and bowed respectfully.
“My Lord Marquis.”
Volco Redenen, current Marquis Redenen. A man of great military merit. Father of that idiot Ludwig, and one with a delicate relationship with the Clausen Border Count.
“It’s been a while, Sion Clausen.”
“Has it, sir.”
“So, how was it?”
“Pardon?”
The sudden question caught Sion off guard.
Was he asking how it felt to beat his son with trickery?
If so, he had to tread carefully. Parents rarely took kindly to someone humiliating their child.
“You showed my son the swordsmanship of war, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then I ask: how was that war you experienced?”
At that, Sion lifted his gaze to meet the Marquis’.
Cold eyes, but not reproachful. He didn’t seem troubled that his son had lost to deceit.
If anything, there was curiosity, interest in the transformed Sion Clausen.
‘Unlike Ludwig, the man before me is a true noble.’
Sion’s mind raced.
What words would win the Marquis’ favor? How could he humiliate Ludwig once more and secure a 3:0 victory?
“…War is—”
The hesitation was brief.
Sion lowered his voice, drawing on a heavy, sorrowful tone.
As if recalling a nightmare that made his skin crawl and his eyes brim with tears.
“War is sweet and glorious… only to those who’ve never lived it.”
“….”
The Marquis gave no reply, but his reaction was plain.
His brows arched in surprise as if to say, ‘this one, hm?’
That was enough.
Ludwig had lost to Sion again.
The score: 3:0!
‘Father, I sincerely thank you! Kieeek!’
He could’ve wept with gratitude for the day his drunk father bought that random “Book of Badass Quotes.”
