The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Family Wants A Divorce - Chapter 68



67. Grandmaster

“Um, Isaac.”

“Hm?”

The battlefield lasted for two more days, or so.

By the time there was no longer any will, nor forces, to resist within Blackthorn.

Sharen sidled closer and, with a furtive glance, inquired.

“Do you happen to smoke pipeweed?”

“Hm?”

The question struck me as rather out of the blue, and then Sharen wrinkled her nose and covered it.

“I was going to rest in Isaac’s tent, but a terribly rank smell of pipeweed wafted out, so I just came out.”

“……”

There were quite a few points I wanted to address in what Sharen had just said.

Firstly, why she was trying to rest in Isaac’s tent instead of her own, but.

That was of lesser importance, so I passed it over for now.

“A pipeweed smell?”

“Yes! Terribly foul. Did you, perhaps, feel the bitterness of separation, and then… *whoosh*…think, ‘Is *this* life?’”

“Where did you learn such things?”

“The knights do it. I saw them often in the north.”

“……”

There were quite a few who smoked pipe tobacco in the North, it was true.

“But the pipe tobacco smells so much stronger than up North. It gave me quite a shock. Helmunt has a good nose, doesn’t he?”

Though she had lost Galenia, Sharen was coping in her own way. At first, he’d worried she wouldn’t return to her old, innocent self.

Seeing her overcoming it and moving forward in her own way filled him with warmth.

“I don’t smoke pipe tobacco.”

“Really? Then who was smoking pipe tobacco inside Isaac’s tent?”

“…”

Strong pipe tobacco? The thought sent Isaac hurrying towards his tent.

*It can’t be.*

His head told him it was impossible, yet a hopeful expectation was blossoming in his heart.

He arrived at the tent flap, and a faint, but distinctive, scent of strong pipe tobacco wafted to his nose.

*[This is life, you see.*]

The Grandmaster’s voice, saying those words with a smile.

Isaac, too, had been a smoker once, and knew firsthand how pungent the Grandmaster’s tobacco could be.

That bright innocence of his, exhaling smoke while spouting maudlin phrases.

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the words themselves, but the reactions of those who heard them; that was the Grandmaster’s true pleasure.

“Ew! That smell!”

“Sharen, stay here.”

Leaving Sharen behind, Isaac stepped inside the tent.

Being Helmunt, he’d been provided with a rather splendid personal tent.

And within, a black-haired woman stood, a pipe clenched between her teeth.

Ears, pointed and wolfish.

A greatsword slung across her shoulder.

A gaze as sharp as a blade, and eyes that held the light of the moon.

A tail, thick and furry, curved behind her.

*Master… !*

He almost called out to her, without realizing.

Such a welcome sight, and yet such a bewildering reunion.

The Grandmaster, who should have been on the rocky mountain, what was she doing here, and in his tent, of all places?

“Hoo.”

The Grandmaster silently scattered tendrils of tobacco smoke, then turned to Isaac.

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“Lucky for us the Red Imp didn’t wander in, thanks to this potent incense.”

The meaning was plain.

Had Sharen entered, he would have had to kill her.

He had no intention of revealing himself to anyone but Isaac.

“And you are?”

“Think of me as a benefactor. One with a keen interest in your blade.”

The Grandmaster, pipe still clenched between his teeth, slammed his greatsword into the floor.

Wielding the same weapon, he seemed to believe, conveyed enough meaning.

“I have questions piled high, but time presses, making it difficult to ask them all.”

“……”

“I witnessed the sparring match. The rumors of you breaking down the Helmunts’ swordsmanship are not false.”

He saw the duel with Loengrin?

Almost unconsciously, Isaac felt a swell of pride.

After all, he had earned the Grandmaster’s acknowledgment.

“Hoo, I originally came with recruitment in mind. To ask if you would walk the same path as us.”

“Recruitment?”

Did the Grandmaster belong to some organization?

Isaac, even he, possessed gaps in his knowledge of the Grandmaster at this time.

He wanted to hear more, but.

“However, before that, there is a question I must pose.”

The Grandmaster’s gaze turned icy as he pressed.

“Who is your teacher?”

Isaac nearly answered before he realized it. As he closed his gaping mouth, the Grandmaster understood he had no intention of replying and nodded.

“I asked because your master is likely an old acquaintance of mine—.”

Twitch.

A wolf ear flicked.

That instant.

KRaaaNG!

At once, the stance of both men was drawn forth. If the Wolf Ears hadn’t moved first, Isaac would have been caught unaware, utterly undone.

“……!”

It was the Grand Master who was, in fact, taken aback.

Never did he imagine his own *Iai* would be met with the same technique.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A bewildered Isaac asked, and the Grand Master replied with mournful eyes.

“There was no intent to harm. It would have stopped short of your neck.”

“…….”

“A glimmer of the comrades I thought lost. If it is you, then tell me. Who is your master?”

Isaac was thrown into disarray, for he had never seen the Grand Master like this.

‘Comrades?’

Even in his past life, the Grand Master never spoke a word of his own history.

No one asked, nor did he ever feel compelled to answer.

“I thought I had lost them all. But, seeing your sword, there’s no doubt you are of my brotherhood.”

Perhaps, this was the reason the Grand Master had nurtured so many pupils, the reason he kept his past locked away.

“I wish to see my comrades.”

The Grand Master’s request, so close to pleading, only darkened Isaac’s expression further, made it more clouded.

‘Damn it…’

His chest ached, ached like it would shatter. He couldn’t say the sword was taught to him, couldn’t build up such empty hope.

‘Should I tell him?’

Surely, the Grand Master would accept it.

As Isaac pondered this, a moment hung in the air.

“A beast has come calling.”

The Grand Master’s eyes flashed, and he leapt back.

At the same moment, the tent was cleanly bisected, revealing a murky sky and a raging wind.

That which stood between Isaac and the Grand Master was a massive greatsword.

It belonged to Arandel Hellmundt.

“You resort to such pathetic tricks.”

The greatsword rested upon his shoulder.

Arandel stood before Isaac, blocking his path, glaring at the Grand Master.

The Grandmaster, with a hollow chuckle, sheathed his blade.

“You misunderstand, I perceive, but I have no connection to the Transcendents of Blackthorn.”

The sudden commotion drew knights from all around.

Moreover, Sharen, who had been just outside, startled, rushed to Isaac’s side.

“A-Are you alright?!”

“This is…”

Dangerous.

The Grandmaster was undeniably a Transcendent.

A half-breed, strictly speaking, but unlike Jonathan, the Transcendent blood ran thicker, manifesting in pointed ears and a tail.

And they were currently at war with the Transcendents.

To shield the Grandmaster here could brand him a traitor to humanity.

“Father! He’s not an enemy!”

Isaac cared not.

He urgently stepped forward, shouting. Arundel’s eyes twitched.

“Ho?”

The Grandmaster, instead, regarded Isaac with curious amusement.

He hoped the Grandmaster would seize this chance to flee, but alas, he stood firm and declared.

“I will be taking him.”

“Wait a-“

The Grandmaster had become convinced Isaac possessed information regarding his fellow disciples.

His refusal to yield, even with Arundel before him, spoke of a desperate need.

But conversely, it meant he had to be prepared.

“Not yet-“

Arundel stepped past Isaac, extending his greatsword, its tip slicing the air between them. The crimson of Arundel’s eyes held a faint, otherworldly gleam.

“He belongs to Helmant.”

At these words, a refusal to relinquish Isaac, the corners of the Grandmaster’s lips twisted into a grim smile.

KAA-AA-AANG!

A strike, drawing his blade at a speed several times faster than the iaido he had unleashed upon Isaac moments before.

Even Isaac, for a fleeting moment, lost track of the blade’s trajectory.

“Hh…”

A blade’s mark etched itself upon Arundel’s shoulder.

Yet, it was the Grandmaster whose expression darkened.

“Simpleton.”

He likely intended to cleave off the arm itself. But the Grandmaster clicked his tongue, finding fault only in the fact that it was merely a shallow wound.

Whatever the case, the Rubicon had been crossed. This was no longer an incident Isaac could resolve by interceding.

“At least a worthwhile opponent has arrived.”

Crimson energy, verging on blood-red, erupted from Arundel’s entire being.

The overwhelming power and mass instantly seized the surrounding area. His genuine intent, once directed towards a great army, now focused solely on a single woman.

“Tch.”

The Grandmaster clicked his tongue, observing the aura.

“Fighting so brutishly.”

He spoke the words, yet did not relax his vigilance even slightly. He gripped his great-sword with both hands, seeking an opening.

But he would have to admit it wouldn’t be easy.

Especially considering that, in his past life, the Grandmaster had described Arundel as a force of suppression, even overwhelming the Transcendent.

Despite the words, it was clear he acknowledged Arundel’s strength.

A fierce battle was expected, but frankly, the image of Arundel being defeated in a one-on-one duel with a blade was difficult to conjure.

Arundel’s great-sword surged forth.

The word ‘swung’ felt inadequate.

The crimson energy contained within his great-sword spiraled like a tempest, reaching out towards the Grandmaster.

It was grander and more immense than any single strike he had displayed on the Blackthorn battlefield.

“……!”

Yet, as if defying the laws of physics, a long line was drawn through the red storm.

The crimson energy cleaved cleanly in two, top to bottom.

And the Grandmaster squeezed through the gap.

[Aura? Are you jesting? When you reach the extreme, such things become unnecessary.]

It was just as he said.

Unlike Isaac, borrowing mana from Brikala to penetrate an aura,

The sight of him simply cutting through Arundel’s crimson energy with his sword was quite shocking, even to the knights of Helmund, who fanatically revered aura.

But Arundel did not waver.

Rather, as if expecting it, he clashed blades with the Grandmaster who had flown before him.

creak!

Like an explosion, the resonant crack of rending air announced the continuation of their combat, those who’d reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship.