The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Family Wants A Divorce - Chapter 67



66. Blackthorn Subjugation

Blackthorn Subjugation.

The royal proclamation rang out – Blackthorn’s treason, and the unveiling of the Transcendents, beings unknown.

Yet, reassurance was offered; the Royal Court had prepared, let the citizenry know no fear.

Finally, the swift subjugation of Blackthorn was declared, with the glorious sword, Helmunt, to lead the vanguard.

And so, under Princess Clarice’s meticulous hand, preparations cascaded down like dominoes, pressing upon Blackthorn.

By the time the news arrived…

The armies of nobles, with Helmunt as their lynchpin, were already amassed at Blackthorn.

The liege subjects in Blackthorn’s neighboring territories were gaunt, bone and skin alone, as if ravaged by famine.

The sky, darkened as if by storm clouds, mirrored the lifelessness in their eyes.

Yet, the conundrum: their lives were affluent.

Children played, granaries overflowed, and meat graced their tables every week or two.

The villages near Blackthorn lived in unexpected prosperity, but therein lay the problem.

Despite such lives, their faces remained hauntingly haggard.

It was not without reason that orders from above forbade accepting their food or drawing water from their wells.

The fact that they appeared impoverished despite their abundance hinted at a deeper truth.

As they ventured deeper into Blackthorn’s domain, figures finally emerged to greet them.

Forming a battle line around the territory were none other than Blackthorn’s private soldiers.

Few enough, one might say, compared to the approaching army.

But scattered amongst them were…things that were not quite human.

The Transcendents were openly present, and what’s more, accompanied by massive, mid-sized demonic beasts under their control.

Blackthorn, for all his preparations, faced a stark disparity in power, to put it mildly.

It seemed the Transcendents had already half abandoned Blackthorn to his fate.

“……”

Isaac silently observed the battlefield from a step behind.

More precisely, the red-haired man rampaging alone like a monster in the heart of it all.

Arundel Helmunt, to be exact.

His flesh transcended even the Transcendents themselves.

His aura reduced ferocious demonic beasts to mere cattle.

And his greatsword stood as a banner commanding the field.

For where his greatsword fell…

Even the most dire of battles could be turned.

The nobles and knights, once grumbling about the Transcendent’s might, found themselves silenced.

Arundel, who’d cleaved through a full three Transcendent in the first battle, scoffed about the satisfying taste of it – an image strikingly etched into Isaac’s mind.

“Itching, are you?”

Silberna, standing beside Isaac, chuckled in agreement.

Silberna, under the pretense of avenging Polu, had forgone the North and joined the Blackthorn subjugation.

“Aye, itching something fierce.”

“Me too. No denying it’s a magnificent blade.”

Watching Arundel unleash hell on the battlefield, they could only marvel.

The desire to rush forth and swing a sword surged within them.

One could see why the knights of the kingdom so revered Arundel’s sword.

[The war wouldn’t have happened.]

From noble mtl dot com

‘The Grand Master was right, then.’

Truth be told, he had his doubts about it reaching this far.

No matter what, the claim that one man could single-handedly avert a war always seemed exaggerated.

But Arundel’s aura now occupied a quarter of the cramped battlefield.

A stark reminder that the title of “Great Sword” wasn’t bestowed lightly.

Swift resolution.

Blackthorn’s lines and manor were reduced to little more than skeletal remains, seemingly on the verge of collapse.

“Ah, it’s over.”

“……”

Yet, Arundel wielded his sword for precisely one hour each day before returning.

Though that single hour achieved monumental progress, conversely, the battlefield would stagnate once it ended.

Two days since the Blackthorn subjugation began.

Ridiculously, the Royalist camp was overflowing with unused strength.

“Isaacaaak!”

“Ugh, here he comes again.”

Lohengrin, who had been swinging his sword beside Arundel just moments ago, strode towards them with long steps.

His eyes bloodshot, puffing as if his body was finally catching fire.

“A duel!”

He shouted the same thing as always.

Rihanna would have stopped it before.

But Rihanna couldn’t join this Blackthorn subjugation.

Isaac, her nominal husband, had come in her stead, so she, the lady of the house, remained at the manor.

“Hah.”

In the end, Isaac stepped forward.

Someone needed to calm down this boar that couldn’t control its own strength.

For the record.

Since the Sword Emperor, the result of Isaac and Loengreen’s duels was 3 wins, 3 losses, 0 defeats.

Loengreen hadn’t managed to bring Isaac down even once since that day.

“You can use Crimson Descent.”

Isaac said indifferently, adjusting the sheathed blade at his waist, and Loengreen roared, swinging his greatsword mightily.

“Silence! Do you think my swordsmanship lags behind yours?!”

“No, it’s just that I could learn something if you used Crimson Desce-.”

“Silence! Didn’t you, of all people, teach me that Helmund’s sword doesn’t originate solely from Crimson Descent, blast you!”

“Agh, my ears.”

“Helmund sure has a good voice.”

Silberna sighed, arms crossed.

Since their duel, Loengreen hadn’t wielded Crimson Descent.

He seemed to have realized that his father’s sword wasn’t just about hammering in Crimson Descent, but.

Frankly, there was nothing else to say but that he was still far off.

“Oh, here we go again?”

“Loengreen-nim! Land a blow today!”

“Good luck.”

“Will I be able to try next time?”

Knights and soldiers gathered from here and there. At some point, Isaac and Loengreen’s duel had become something of an event.

“Let’s begin.”

With a hand resting on the unsheathed blade, Isaac spoke those words, but Loengreen didn’t take it as anger or provocation.

This moment, when it remained in its scabbard.

Was the most dangerous.

He’d learned that much, in his own way, through three defeats.

* * *

Information gleaned from the legs that run, the skin that feels, the ears that listen, possesses a quality and universality all its own.

Princess Claris, having come to this realization, had joined this Blackthorn subjugation force.

However, merely as an observer, in the truest sense of the word.

She offered no words on the battlefield or tactics; she was objectively aware that she hadn’t yet matured enough to meddle.

She did, however, harbor some questions about Arundel’s behavior, fighting for precisely one hour each day.

‘Could there be some reason?’

Though somewhat frustrating, they achieved an astonishing advance in that one hour.

Instead, they minimized casualties and conserved strength, securing an overwhelming victory.

They weren’t merely praising him as a great sword for nothing. It felt as though victory was guaranteed simply by Arundel’s presence on the battlefield.

“Ah.”

Claris, hearing the murmuring outside the tent, stepped out with her escort.

“He’s at it again.”

A crowd had gathered.

On the hard-packed earth, devoid of a single blade of grass, Isaac and Loengrin were dueling.

*Clang!*

Loengrin raised his greatsword diagonally, blocking Isaac’s blade.

However, another katana was then added on top, rising as if hammering, contorting the eldest son’s face into a strange grimace.

“KkyaaaH!”

A resounding shout.

The instant Loengrin wildly swung his greatsword, pushing back Isaac’s sword…

Conversely, Isaac released both of his swords, plunging inward.

“He uses a different method each time, doesn’t he.”

“Indeed.”

Claris agreed with the murmur of her escort, Hearid.

Who in all Helmund would abandon their weapon and charge in against an opponent?

But Isaac did just that.

*Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!*

Loengrin’s eyes widened at the succession of impacts.

Temples, philtrum, solar plexus.

A vital point of the human anatomy, something every person would naturally possess.

Even if he was a Hellmundt, he was still human, after all.

Loengrin spat out phlegm like a retch, eyes wide as he glared at Isaac.

He wanted to speak, but pain seemed to have stiffened his tongue. Isaac chuckled and nodded.

“Truly the great Hellmundt. Usually, this would cause cardiac arrest, not just breathing difficulty.”

“You- Kurogh! Kuek!”

“I envy your strong body! Hup! I do!”

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Watching Loengrin fall backward, Klaris sniffled and muttered.

“Seems like he had a lot bottled up against the Hellmundt.”

“But, Princess. Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

Heirad asked, wearing a serious expression as he watched the sparring match.

“Isn’t it dangerous to show others the eldest son of the Hellmundt brought down like this?”

“Well, can I really control it?”

The Princess seemed to have given up, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t prepared a backup plan.

Rather.

“This incident made me realize. Too much power is concentrated within the Hellmundt.”

“……”

“I know they’re capable. I know the Hellmundt are impressive. But a kingdom that relies solely on the Hellmundt isn’t ideal either.”

This time alone.

If Arundel had fallen to Galenia and sided with the Transcendents, wouldn’t it have been chilling?

“It’s the timing for a generational shift. I think it’s the perfect situation.”

Klaris said with a smile.

“Heirad, have you ever heard the saying that the number three symbolizes balance?”

Without waiting for an answer, she continued her explanation.

“Rianna of the Hellmundt, Sylverna of the Kaldiases, and-.”

Isaac.

The new generation’s central axis, crafted by Klaris, to succeed Arundel.

“I believe they will become the vanguard of the next generation, supporting the kingdom.”

In that sense, this sparring match held a certain significance.

Slowly, it would bring down the idolized weight of Hellmundt.

And in time, it would prove quite beneficial in laying Isaac’s foundation.

“You’ll have to suffer a bit more, Loengreen Hellmundt.”

Clarisse wished to see him thoroughly trounced, every day if possible.

* * *

“Is it truly alright to leave things as they are?”

“Even so, young Master Loengreen is a pillar of Hellmundt.”

“Is it proper to strike someone who was just active on the battlefield like that?”

The knights of Hellmundt protested to Arundel.

No matter the reason, the sight of Loengreen being subjected to such a beating was hard for his affiliated knights to bear.

However, Arundel remained silent.

From a distance, he simply observed the sparring match, lost in thought.

‘He’s learned again.’

The stance and breathing Isaac adopted when dropping his sword to bore inside, his instantaneous judgment, and so on.

They were exceedingly similar to the posture Arundel displayed when he pulverized the rabbit-eared Transcendental on the battlefield today.

However, determining that he couldn’t replicate Arundel’s power and posture,

Isaac opted to drop his sword, rapidly striking vital points with both hands—a change tailored to himself.

This was akin to the feeling when Isaac’s two swords were wielded together, resembling the form of a greatsword.

As if revealing a fragment of the Hellmundt greatsword with two slender blades, he pilfered Arundel’s technique in his own fashion.

‘He read my movements in such a short time, learned them, absorbed them, and reproduced them in his own style.’

How could such a thing be possible?

Though his expression did not betray it, Arundel was genuinely impressed.

At first, he wondered how such talent could have been hidden at all.

But talent, after all, must blossom.

Arundel finally conceded that Hellmundt had failed to cultivate Isaac’s talent over the past four years.

And he realized that Isaac’s unfathomable knowledge of the sword served as nourishment.

‘Learning, not imitation. He may admire, but his center remains unshaken. He is, quite simply, self-existent.’

Loengreen is also growing.

He had realized his own deficiencies through his previous defeat, it seemed.

It’s not that I can’t.

Not that I can’t at all.

‘A pity.’

One advances so far ahead as to be excessive.

The measure of his stride appeared different.

The same single step, yet.

Clearly, the distance covered was disparate.

It couldn’t be helped.

Alas, Arundel was not a charitable instructor.

‘What will he show me tomorrow?’

Arundel chuckled softly, anticipating what growth Isaac would display through him on the morrow.