The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Family Wants A Divorce - Chapter 60



59 – 59. Sword Overlord(6)

The mountain wind and the crimson surge clashed, a maelstrom taking form.

A spectacle that would require a cabal of mages from the tower to conjure, now erupted around a single greatsword.

“That’s Helmuth-!”

“Madness.”

“Ha.”

Gasps rippled through the audience and the nobles, marveling at Loengrin’s prowess alone.

No words were spared for Isaac, the man facing its fury.

“My lady, what do you think?”

Anna asked Silbern.

Silbern, who had defeated Loengrin years ago, might have an opinion to share.

“…Completely, different.”

Honestly, Silbern thought he had become a different person entirely.

Loengrin’s blade had grown several times stronger than it had been when she had broken him.

It was truly the crimson greatsword befitting the name, Helmuth.

This was a growth driven by Loengrin’s need for approval.

A desire to reverse the eyes of his father which always looked at him with dissatisfaction.

The fear of being displaced by his sister was constantly whipping at Loengrin.

‘How is it, father?’

Loengrin’s eyes sought out Arandel.

Even if he faced a somewhat insufficient opponent.

Helmuth wasn’t just about achieving victory.

It was about violent, overwhelming dominance.

To make everyone watch in awe, that was the great Helmuth.

Therefore, the praise of the crowd reaching Loengrin’s ears drew a smile to his lips,

yet.

Arandel Helmuth, with chin on his fist, looked at Loengrin with indifference.

No, in fact his interest had grown even more dull, making Loengrin’s heart plummet.

*Click!*

He gritted his teeth.

His grip on the greatsword naturally tightened.

Even after years of pondering and struggling to solve the knot before him.

He still couldn’t grasp the answer.

“Kyyyyaaah!”

Loengrin, as was his wont.

Unleashed his greatsword at Isaac like a venting of rage.

The crimson blaze, though of the same lineage as Sharen’s, held a size and density unmatched.

And the color, a deep red, was akin to that of the Helmunt’s head of house, but

“…”

The stance of Isaac, holding weapons in both hands, flashed brightly.

Especially from the Brikala gripped in his left, overflowing mana crackled like lightning.

Pzzzzt!

The moment Isaac swung, crackling bolts of electricity, as if having held it in until now, wildly spread in every direction.

Crimson blaze and lightning clashed.

A howling boom ripped between them, and in an instant, dirt and dust surged outward like a tidal wave.

The audience cried out as their vision was momentarily obscured. Yet, it seemed clear who’d won.

For Loengrin’s crimson blaze had passed through the place where Isaac stood, crushing it with sheer mass.

Had he perhaps died?

Worry naturally arose in the spectators’ minds.

Clang!

But the sound actually came from where Loengrin was.

The dust settled, and there was Isaac, swinging his blade towards Loengrin.

Loengrin grit his teeth at the sight.

“My, Crimson Descent-!”

There was no response.

Isaac, much like when he was writing.

Was wholly concentrated on the fight, reading the next move.

‘I’ve only deflected one.’

The output was incomparable to Sharen’s crimson blaze, but the underlying technique was still the same.

The moment he grasped the blade brimming with mana, breaking it wasn’t difficult for Isaac.

But people don’t collectively call Helmunt the strongest just for firing Crimson Descent from afar.

“Helmut in close quarters?”

“Hah, not me, never.”

A sigh rippled through the crowd.

To engage Helmut’s greatsword up close, that meant you were ready to crack an egg on a boulder.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The ringing clash of steel on steel, lively as it was, they figured it’d soon be over.

“…Huh?”

“Hmm.”

“Heh heh.”

Yet, the blows kept coming.

The two men’s swords clashed without cease.

Not many in the crowd thought Isaac had a chance.

To put it simply:

It looked like a relentless pounding on a turtle’s shell.

No matter how Isaac swung his sword, there was no sign of breaking through Lohengrin’s greatsword’s armor.

The situation, seemingly a game toying around, drew sneers from the crowd.

But, on the other hand.

“You damn–!”

Lohengrin’s movements held a sense of impatience.

Most of the spectators didn’t grasp it, but those who knew swordsmanship were stunned by the situation.

He was facing off against Helmut’s greatsword, head-on.

A tightrope walk where a single hit could spell the end.

That Isaac was swinging his sword non-stop, meant only one thing.

Lohengrin’s sword, couldn’t reach Isaac.

Whoosh!

Again.

Lohengrin’s greatsword sliced through empty air.

He was certain he’d struck this time, but Isaac was already jumping high, whirling his blade.

Clang! Clang!

The Red River was a sharp spear, but it also served as armor, so,

Isaac’s blade, uselessly blocked by the opponent’s guard, moved again the moment he touched down.

Lohengrin’s greatsword, pulled back a beat too soon, lashed at Isaac once more, only cleaving through the dust.

“Ha ha! Look at that!”

“Pitiful, the way he dodges.”

“Slower than a greatsword? Says it all, doesn’t it? He doesn’t belong there.”

“Hmph, Lohengrin’s trying to save face, seeing as they’re from the same house.”

Anyone could tell Isaac was slower than Lohengrin’s greatsword.

Helmunt’s physical prowess, even wielding a greatsword, was quicker than Isaac.

So unreasonable, one might say.

But still.

Lohengrin’s greatsword couldn’t reach Isaac.

“Heirad.”

At the very center of the VIP seating.

Claris, with Heirad by her side, the man who’d fight Helmunt’s second son in round two, spoke, idly playing with her lip.

“Heirad.”

“……”

“Heirad?”

“Ah, yes! Princess!”

It took three calls for her guard to reply.

“Apologies, I was… engrossed, I suppose.”

Normally she might scold, but seeing his tightly clenched fist, Claris nodded, turning her gaze back to the two swordsmen.

“The atmosphere feels off.”

“……”

“It’s very faint, you see? But those who wield some power, especially Helmunt’s knights, they’re all on edge.”

A prickling tension, like skin on fire.

Realizing it emanated from beyond the training grounds, Claris gave swift orders.

“Galenia might be plotting something. If Helmunt’s knights side with her and move, our plan’ll hit a snag, so prepare ahead of time.”

Heirad smiled wryly at the princess’s words.

The princess clearly displayed extraordinary ability.

Especially now, sensing the subtle change in the air. That in itself was an indication of outstanding perceptive skills.

Whether it was my lack of years, or the sparseness of my experience.

I gathered information, but the process of deriving results from it often faltered.

“Princess, this… it isn’t that kind of thing.”

“Hmm?”

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“Because you took me in and raised me since I was young, I was able to see and learn more than others.”

“What’s with you, all of a sudden?”

“I’ve heard about, learned, and experienced various sword techniques, but Helmunt is the only one I haven’t.”

The Princess’s eyes narrowed slightly.

From her perspective, not studying the kingdom’s strongest swordsmanship was incomprehensible.

In truth.

Many knights say there’s nothing to learn from Helmunt’s swordsmanship.

Specifically, from the Helmunt direct line’s swordsmanship.

Because it’s useless.

“Their swordsmanship isn’t the kind you can imitate, it isn’t something you can master by learning.”

Even the closest Helmunt knights are clearly different from those of the direct line.

An innate, inherent power.

That’s why Helmunt is called great.

Especially since in Loengrin now, even a sliver of Arundel could be seen.

To be cold about it, there are very few in the kingdom who could withstand Loengrin’s sword right now.

The great Helmunt.

Born to wield swords, those who take strength as their purpose.

They were an object of admiration for the kingdom’s knights, and like an insurmountable mountain.

“You’re making a big fuss. Even the Helmunt direct line loses sometimes.”

“That is true. But….”

Those who have never wielded, who have never learned, do not know.

That even if you defeat someone from the direct line, it doesn’t mean you’ve broken Helmunt’s sword.

Heirad paused for a moment.

Perhaps even if he asked the other martial artists present, they’d remain silent, unable to explain.

“To be exact… this scene is-.”

However, Heirad couldn’t ignore the princess’s words due to his position, so he wracked his brain and answered.

“You might say a star is falling.”

Claris didn’t understand, but if the other knights had heard, they would have nodded.

What was being witnessed right now?

This sight, sending shivers down the spine, and a cold sweat crawling over the skin – what was it?

This duel was a lesson book.

A book that didn’t exist in the world, a book on how to dismantle Helmunt.

As if there was a set path, it was teaching the countless people gathered here.

A Sword Offering to proclaim the greatness of Helmunt.

And now, at its very heart.

‘Our idol is falling.’

The steadfast and solid greatsword of Lohengrin wavered under the relentless barrage of attacks, and gasps and admiration rippled through the crowd.

And inevitably, the question arose.

Who was this person, pulling down a deified blade?

He was at the very center of the grand gathering.

Going deeper, he was Helmunt’s son-in-law.

And before that, a leisurely boatman.

But if one were to step into a hidden, secret time.

Known as the Silent Blade.

A teacher who bestowed lessons upon many powerful figures.

Today, in front of everyone, the Silent Blade was writing yet another volume.

A deity and an immortal.

The great, and yet so much greater, Helmunt.

But the truth was that Helmunt was neither a deity.

Nor immortal.

That he could be surpassed.