IYAMD 123

IYAMD 123

Yoncen Pablo, the Commander of the Black Knights, stood before an opponent nearly forty years his junior and felt an insurmountable wall between them.

Regardless of the difference in swordsmanship styles, the fact that he hadn’t landed a single successful strike weighed heavily on him. Though he did not show it on his face, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of inferiority.

Catching his ragged breath, Yoncen pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. Meanwhile, the slender man he had been sparring with stood unfazed, his breathing steady and unlabored.

Perhaps it was simply a matter of age. He wanted to believe that. But when the gap was this overwhelming, it was hard not to feel disheartened. Maybe reaching the level of Sword Master was reserved only for geniuses.

The feeling of standing before an impenetrable wall, one that he—a mere average swordsman—could never surpass, was dizzying.

Even so, he felt a deep sense of responsibility. Now that the goddess had delivered an oracle declaring her departure from this land, he believed that he had to become a Sword Master. As a knight who had sworn to stand by the Emperor, who sought to uphold humanity’s independence, this was his duty.

After days of sparring without much conversation, Jaha finally approached him. Seeing the troubled look on Jaha’s face, Yoncen was slightly surprised. With his eyebrows drooping slightly, Jaha spoke in an uncertain tone.

“I don’t know much about aura, so I wanted to ask… Before reaching Sword Mastery, does that thing called Spiritual Core not accumulate any aura at all?”

“It continues to accumulate. The amount of aura gathered is important, but so is how it is utilized.”

“So you’re saying there’s unauthorized copy a specific amount of aura one needs to reach the level of a Sword Master?”

“There’s no way to measure it precisely, but I’ve heard that there is some threshold.”

“I see.”

Jaha tilted his head, lost in thought for a moment.

“From what I can tell, you’re quite strong. You’ve trained for a long time, so you should have accumulated plenty of aura. If you still haven’t reached Sword Mastery, doesn’t that mean you’re lacking in how you use your aura?”

Yoncen gave a bitter smile and raised his sword.

“I’ve often been told that I’m rigid and lack imagination. My master and even His Majesty have said the same. That I have too little creativity. To be honest, I still don’t fully understand what they mean by that.”

Jaha tilted his head again, then lifted his arm. As if signaling Yoncen to watch closely, his body began to glow. A golden energy rippled around him, gathering and flowing toward a single point.

The energy that started in his lower abdomen surged through his arm, reaching his sword, and soon, a radiant golden light formed a shimmering aura blade over the silver blade.

“This is how I form my energy blade. I gather energy in my dantian and circulate it along my meridians before releasing it through my sword. I don’t know much about aura, but from what I’ve seen of Mar, he seems more inclined toward releasing it rather than accumulating it. If your problem is a lack of imagination, maybe watching how I control my energy will help.”

Jaha even offered to let him feel the flow of energy if merely observing wasn’t enough.

Yoncen watched the shifting waves of energy around Jaha’s body, then took a deep breath.

“I’ll try working on it myself for a while. If I still can’t manage, I’ll ask for help.”

“Sounds good.”

From that day forward, Yoncen dedicated himself to meditation, both morning and night. He skipped meals and sleep, focusing solely on recalling and analyzing the way Jaha had moved his energy.

Yet, the aura he had spent decades accumulating refused to obey him. It was as if his own stubborn nature had taken root in his aura as well.

Even so, the marquis persevered. Just as he had for the past several decades.

And little by little, the towering wall before him seemed to grow lower.

For the first time, he felt as though he might truly cross it.

And not in the distant future.

…

Jaha made his way to the palace garden, where Gerald had arranged a tea gathering.

A table had been set in a corner of the imperial garden, adorned with tea sets imported from the Eastern Continent and an array of sweet delicacies. Surrounding it were people whose faces he barely recognized.

As soon as Jaha appeared, they rose from their seats to greet him. The men placed a hand over their chests and bowed, while the women gracefully spread their skirts and curtsied.

Still unaccustomed to such formalities, Jaha hesitated slightly before responding. He sighed.

“Thank you all for gathering here today. My knowledge of Western etiquette and language is still lacking, so I ask for your understanding.”

Most of the greetings Gerald had diligently prepared for him had completely slipped from his memory. Jaha simply said what he could remember and then fell silent.

Once he took his seat, Gerald stepped forward and demonstrated how to brew the tea.

Every table, except for Jaha’s, had servants preparing the tea. Despite their training being rushed, their movements were surprisingly polished.

Jaha, however, found his ceremonial uniform unbearably constricting. He silently wished for this event to end as quickly as possible.

As he absentmindedly fiddled with the stiff collar encircling his neck, Countess Darcy, seated at the same table, smiled at him over the edge of her fan.

Having met her at a banquet before, she was one of the few nobles whose name and face he could recall. Naturally, her seat was the closest to his.

“Thank you for the invitation, Sir Dandelion.”

Jaha still held no official title. For now, his only status was that of Marsilia’s soulmate.

Yet, out of courtesy, they all addressed him with the honorific “Sir.”

And to be honest, Jaha found it rather embarrassing.

The way Westerners pronounced “Sir” felt oddly ticklish to his ears.(In Korean culture, the word “sir” (or its Korean equivalent “seonbi” or “jeo” depending on the context) can be somewhat ticklish or awkward because of the high level of formality and the weight that honorifics carry in the language.)

It was different from how Marsilia addressed Serez. Perhaps that was why it felt even stranger.

But he would have to get used to it.

Swallowing a sigh, Jaha returned the countess’s smile.

“The pleasure is mine, Countess. Your family was the first one I memorized.”

When returning to the capital, they had passed through the Darcy territory, and it was also the first noble house to come to their aid when reclaiming the Imperial Palace. That was why its name remained the most memorable.

“Oh my, what an honor.”

The Countess Darcy chuckled behind her fan. Across from her sat the Marchioness Pablo, whose hair was streaked with white. Noticing her, Jaha lowered his voice slightly, his tone unusually warm.

“I’m grateful you could come as well, Marchioness. It would have been nice if the Marquis had accompanied you.”

“He’s been utterly absorbed in his training these days. I heard you’ve been helping him, Sir Dandelion? He’s been quite excited lately, saying he feels close to reaching the level of a Sword Master.”

“I hope we hear good news soon.”

Jaha was also eagerly awaiting the day when Marquis Pablo would attain the rank of Sword Master. So, hearing the Marchioness’s words, he brightened and smiled.

The tea party was larger than expected. He had assumed only a handful of guests would attend, but there were fifteen people in total, seated at three tables with five guests each.

Marsilia had selected the attendees, and Gerald had sent out the invitations in Jaha’s name.

He had heard that events hosted by empresses or consorts typically catered [Read on]to noblewomen. That was because, more often than not, consorts were women.

As a result, most of the attendees at this tea party were also women. However, a few men had been included as an exception—an arrangement made by Marsilia, who thought it might be awkward if only women were present.

As the tea party progressed, small conversations naturally formed around the tables. Following tradition, the host was expected to move around and greet the guests, and as Jaha rose to do so, he could feel their gazes trailing after him.

Following Gerald’s cues, he approached those seated nearby and exchanged pleasantries. Since he was trying to match people to their names and family backgrounds based on what he had memorized, he occasionally made mistakes.

Fortunately, the atmosphere remained lighthearted. Since he was from the Eastern Continent, the guests seemed to allow him some leeway.

Jaha began to feel relieved—perhaps this was turning out to be a decent tea party after all. Gerald seemed satisfied, and the other guests’ reactions weren’t bad either.

However, as time passed, hushed whispers began to circulate—subtle yet unmistakably scandalous gossip. The noblewomen, laughing lightly, passed around rumors they had heard, while the men caught in between them could do nothing but clear their throats awkwardly.

At that moment, someone murmured as if speaking to themselves.

“I heard that every night, divine energy leaks from His Majesty’s bedchamber…”

“I heard that too. They say the lights don’t go out until dawn.”

“Could it be that His Majesty enjoys… dangerous amusements?”

Though they were whispering among themselves, there was no way Jaha, with his keen hearing, could miss it. His expression hardened with displeasure.

The guests seated closest to him noticed the sudden change in his demeanor and exchanged glances. Being individuals well-versed in courtly affairs, they quickly picked up on the shift in mood.

Countess Darcy, wearing a bright smile, smoothly changed the subject, turning to Jaha.

“Sir Dandelion, do you enjoy horse racing? While there are no races held in winter, come spring, several tournaments take place.”

Marchioness Pablo and the other guests eagerly chimed in, discussing how much money they had lost betting on races and even sharing scandalous tales of an affair between a famous jockey and a noblewoman.

Jaha let their words wash over him as he quietly lifted his teacup.

Was this all the nobility of this country did?

A quiet, simmering anger rose from deep within his chest.

While the Emperor was struggling desperately to protect the empire, these people were wasting their time placing bets, exchanging gossip over tea, and indulging in trivial amusements.

Lowering his gaze, Jaha’s eyes darkened with cold resolve.

He pictured the face of a man who often skipped proper meals, hastily eating a sandwich or a scrap of bread in his office, unwilling to spare even a moment.

What exactly was that man protecting this empire for?