The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman - Chapter 43

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com

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Chapter 43

Rimer watched Raon and the Third Prince face off in the Sparring Arena, a smirk playing across his lips. The anticipation of their match drew an involuntary hum from him.

‘And the rewards, of course.’

The prospect of winning a wager from Owen after the match was merely the cherry atop the cake.

He harbored not the slightest doubt that Raon would emerge victorious.

“You seem delighted.”

Duke Tartan approached expressionlessly and took his place beside him.

“Delighted indeed. What’s not to enjoy watching young talents clash with everything they have?”
“The mad sword demon has changed quite a bit.”
“Even a reckless fool like you became a respectable duke. Why should I remain unchanged?”

Rimer chuckled, glancing at Duke Tartan.

“Everything you did yesterday to approach the Prince was for this match, wasn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“What are you thinking? It’s unlike you to go through such tedious machinations.”

Duke Tartan turned his body, emanating an intense pressure. His demeanor suggested he would draw his blade immediately if provoked further.

“It’s an opportunity for those two to grow. Except for Oma, children of the other Six Emperors rarely get chances to fight one another.”

Rimer answered without turning to face Tartan. His tone was light, yet weighted with sincerity beneath.

“…Are you serious?”
“I am.”
“I thought you were joking. You really have changed.”

Tartan smacked his lips and turned his gaze toward the Sparring Arena.

“All the training knights participating in today’s sparring are children pushed forward by Owen. To be on par with them—that’s quite impressive.”
“Of course. Look who trained them.”
“Hmph, so full of yourself. But that child over there….”

He pointed to Raon, who was rotating his wrists and ankles in the Sparring Arena, loosening up his body.

“No, what is that monster? His presence is so faint I almost missed him. The coordination between his swordplay and footwork isn’t at a trainee’s level.”
“So you’re not completely blind after all.”

Rimer chuckled and pointed to the Third Prince, who was relaxing on the opposite side.

“But if you knew, why didn’t you give him a warning? The Third Prince seems to think Raon is just a discarded pawn.”
“His Highness will be the future of the Owen Kingdom, but he has yet to know defeat. I thought it would be good for him to experience it in a safe place.”

This was the reason Tartan had assessed Raon’s strength but given the Third Prince no hint of it.
He wanted the Third Prince to climb higher by learning what defeat truly meant.

“Still, the Third Prince is strong. Even that genius swordsman won’t break him easily.”
“I don’t know about that….”

Rimer shook his head with a confident smile more assured than ever before.

“My thoughts differ quite a bit.”
“Your stubbornness hasn’t changed.”
“Want to make another bet?”
“Again?”

Tartan’s brow furrowed.

“You really love betting, don’t you.”
“Then let’s make it a simple wager—drinks.”
“Fine. But what exactly are you betting on….”

Rimer held up five fingers.

“Raon will end your hope in five exchanges.”
“Nonsense! I’ll admit he’s strong, but five exchanges is impossible!”

Tartan’s eyes blazed as he clenched his fists.

“Then let’s make a wager. Deal?”
“Excellent! I’ll accept any stakes.”
“You certainly are bold.”

Rimer chuckled and rubbed his hands together.

‘It’s been a while since I got free drinks.’

*

*

*

“Hmm.”

Griere de Owen, Third Prince of the Owen Kingdom, licked his lips as he watched Lunan Slion and Martha below the Sparring Arena—not Raon standing directly before him.

‘Now that’s a fight worth having.’

Since arriving here for the first time, his interest had been drawn only to those two and the blue-haired man who had fought evenly against Setun.

As for the Branch Family member standing before him, he felt virtually no interest. His face was strikingly handsome, certainly, but that was all. The aura of power he sensed was far too ordinary.

‘I should finish this as quickly as possible.’

It would be wasteful to even use aura against this Branch Family opponent. He decided to break him easily with pure physical strength alone, then unleash his full power in the next match.

“If you are prepared, we shall commence the match.”

Rimer stepped forward and raised his hand.

“Final match. Begin!”
“Hah!”

The moment Rimer’s hand fell, Griere de Owen drew his sword.

Boom!

He pushed off the ground and charged directly at Raon, intending to end this with a single decisive strike of his blade.

But.

‘What?’

The Raon who had been right before his eyes vanished in an instant.

‘Where… where is he—!’

The moment Greer turned his head to search for Raon, a sinister whistling sound cut through the air from his right.

‘A blade!’

Greer felt the wind rising from the sword and hastily ducked his head.

Whoosh!

Raon’s training sword grazed his hair, sending a chill down his spine.

“Tch!”

Greer spun his body and swung his blade toward the right.

Whoosh!

A precise strike calculated to Raon’s position. Yet again, Raon was not there.

Slither.

He moved to the left with a sound like a serpent crawling across earth—in the blink of an eye.

‘Impossible!’

Greer gritted his teeth. He swiftly adopted the Owen Kingdom’s footwork technique and pursued Raon.

“Haaah!”

He brought his blade down upon the retreating Raon, unleashing a torrent of formidable energy toward the earth.

‘It’s over!’

I had sealed off his escape and brought down my attack. There was nowhere left to run.

“Huh?”

Just as I thought it was finished, my eyes met Raon’s. The moment I saw those still, unwavering eyes, a chill ran down my spine.

Thud!

Raon’s body bent like reeds in the wind as he surged forward, his blade carving a crescent arc through the air.

The world spun with his sword.

While I stood there with my mouth agape, unable to comprehend what was happening, a violent impact crashed into my back.

“Ugh!”

A groan escaped my lips involuntarily.

“Wh-what is this….”

I lifted my throbbing head. Raon stood far above me.

Only then did Greer realize he had been knocked outside the Sparring Arena.

“Nngh…ah!”

The Third Prince gritted his teeth against the pain radiating from his back as he raised his head, then froze.

Those crimson eyes of Raon’s, looking down from above. In that instant, Glen Zigheart—the absolute sovereign of this land—flashed through his mind.

‘It’s him. It’s him.’

The Third Prince swallowed hard, his hands trembling.

‘He was the real one all along!’

*

*

*

“Well, well.”

Rimer covered his mouth as if stifling laughter, his gaze fixed on Tartan.

“What now? Not even five exchanges—the match ended in just two.”
“….”

Tartan said nothing. Rather than looking at the fallen Third Prince, his jaw dropped as he stared at Raon.

He was not alone. Everyone in the Training Ground gazed at Raon with eyes wide in astonishment.

“Hah….”

It took Tartan a long moment before he exhaled sharply and straightened his posture.

“What was that? How did he move his footwork so fluidly? His swordplay struck at the perfect moment too. I didn’t see everything after all.”

Tartan’s gaze remained fixed on Raon. The footwork and swordplay he had displayed far transcended that of a mere trainee.

What astonished him most was not overwhelming power, but rather how Raon had defeated the Third Prince through precise, contextual movements perfectly suited to each moment.

The boy named Raon seemed to possess a special talent—the ability to demonstrate capabilities beyond his current skill level.

“That’s why I told you. Raon would win.”
“I knew that too. I just didn’t expect the Third Prince to lose so easily without even displaying his full abilities….”
“I’ll make a reservation at a tavern. See you this evening—you know I only drink expensive liquor, right?”
“Tsk!”
“Wait, hold on!”

Just as Tartan clicked his tongue and turned to leave, the Third Prince struggled to his feet.

“No, wait. It’s not over yet. It’s not finished.”

Unable to accept defeat, he climbed back into the Sparring Arena.

“Wow, Your Highness!”
“Hmm.”

Tartan approached the Third Prince with a bewildered expression, while Rimer scratched his chin with an intrigued smile.

“You shouldn’t….”
“Duke. I haven’t even demonstrated my true abilities yet!”

The Third Prince pushed past Tartan, who had been about to stop him, and stepped forward.

“If I had used my full power from the beginning….”
“Damn it! How pathetic!”

Martha stepped into the Sparring Arena, twisting her lips into a sneer.

“A prince who won’t even acknowledge defeat and keeps making excuses. It’s like watching someone else entirely.”

She turned her head and looked down at Burren, who had remained silent.

“Tch….”

Burren bit his lip and furrowed his brow, knowing full well what he had done.

“You….”
“Listen here, Your Highness. I’m being as civil as I can manage right now. Pack your things and get out before I really let loose.”

Martha mocked the Third Prince without regard for Burren’s glare from behind her.

“Don’t speak so carelessly. Do you know who this person is….”
“If you’re the heir to Owen’s throne, then I’m a direct descendant of Zigheart. I have nothing to bow down for.”

Martha did not back down even before Duke Tartan.

“Enough!”

Rimer climbed onto the Sparring Arena and spread his hand to block both their faces.

“The match is over, but we haven’t heard from the participants themselves about how they’re feeling. Let’s ask them. Raon.”
“Yes.”

Raon, who had remained silent until now, nodded slowly.

“What will you do? You’re the one involved, so decide for yourself.”

I turned my body gradually, my jaw clenching.

“You mentioned there was a wager on this match, Instructor. The outcome is decided, and I see no reason to continue fighting.”
“Ugh….”

The Third Prince’s clenched fists trembled violently.

“Your Highness. Please stop and let us depart….”
“I acknowledge my defeat!”

The Third Prince brushed aside Duke Tartan’s restraining hand and stepped forward.

“I failed to properly assess your abilities and looked down upon you before we even fought. I’m so ashamed and embarrassed I cannot raise my head. But if I leave like this, I fear I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Please, fight me once more!”

The Third Prince lowered his sword and bowed at a perfect right angle.

“Goodness, Your Highness!”

Duke Tartan approached to help him up, but the prince remained motionless.

“Hmm….”

Through the Third Prince’s azure eyes, I sensed the sincerity of his words.

‘He’s bowing his head.’

The Third Prince of the Owen Kingdom—and one under the protection of Duke Tartan no less. That meant he had solid backing and support. I never expected him to bow so openly and apologize like this.

“Hey. Third Prince or whatever. Stop this shameful display and get out of….”
“Martha.”
“Tch.”

At my call, Martha clicked her tongue and stepped back.

“Hmm….”

Duke Tartan swallowed hard at the sight before him.

‘Not merely brute strength….’

With a single word, he had made that direct descendant girl—who had even dared challenge him—retreat. It wasn’t only the Third Prince who had misjudged this boy called Raon.

“Very well.”

I nodded and withdrew behind the Sparring Arena.

“But this will be the last time.”
“Y-yes, of course!”

The Third Prince said nothing more. It seemed he was showing respect as a warrior.

“Whenever you are ready, please let me know.”

Rimer smiled as if he had expected this and stepped onto the Sparring Arena.

“Hmm….”

The Third Prince withdrew a lion-shaped pendant from beneath his armor and gazed at it intently. As if having made a decision, he gritted his teeth and tore the pendant away entirely.

Whoooosh!

A tremendous gust of wind erupted from his center, and his momentum swelled to nearly double its previous magnitude. It was not merely aura—the very essence of his trained body radiated forth.

“He was concealing such power?”
“Tch!”

Burren Zigheart and Martha both furrowed their brows at the formidable aura emanating from the Third Prince.

“Y-Your Highness! That is….”
“There is no time for restraint. I wish to face this man with all my strength.”

The Third Prince drew his sword, letting the wind flow through the space between us. His expression made clear his resolve to fight with full power from the very beginning, without a shred of hesitation.

What a fool—not even realizing his opponent was concealing his true strength.
‘I can still win.’
Your aura reserves far exceed mine, and your body’s refinement is superior, yet you believe you can win?
‘Then shall we wager on it?’

I tilted my chin slightly.

Ha! Of course! I’ll accept any stakes you propose.

As Wrath scoffed, a wager notification materialized before me.

[Wrath proposes a wager.]
Condition: Achieve victory against Griere de Owen, Third Prince of the Owen Kingdom.
Success: All attributes +4
Failure: Generate 10 Wrath emotion points.

‘I accept.’

The moment the message appeared, I accepted the wager.

‘Here comes another fool.’

If Rimer was the sucker at the Zigheart Gambling House, then Wrath was Raon’s sucker.

I suppressed the smile threatening to emerge and drew my blade. I’d known from the start that the Third Prince was concealing his power.

I’d accepted this second challenge because fighting him with his hidden strength unleashed and his will to victory ignited seemed like it would aid my training—but contrary to expectations, a fool had attached himself to the situation.

“Then I shall begin.”

The Third Prince concentrated the power he’d drawn forth into his legs and executed a true step, charging forward like a beast and collapsing one side of the Sparring Arena.

“Now this will be a worthwhile fight.”

Because there’s something to gain.

I advanced and brought my whirling blade crashing down.

CRASH!

The Third Prince’s sword, enveloped in an aura as blue as the sky, collided with Raon’s blade, wreathed in crimson flames.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com

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