Shadow Dragon: The Fallen Angel Is My Teacher

Chapter 206: Sword King’s Disciple

"So... you are not a reincarnator?" Yuna asked again, narrowing her eyes at me as if she could peel back my thoughts just by staring long enough. "Just someone reaaaally talented?"

’Yes.’

I nodded without hesitation.

I was bullshitting.

Well, not entirely.

I was talented.

Even without the memories of my previous life, I would still have learned martial arts as easily as breathing.

Some people were born with sharp minds. Some with strong bodies. I was born with both, at least when it came to combat.

My talent in martial arts was only matched by people like Charlotta and the Sword King.

’Tsk. Recalling that Sword King is souring my mood.’

Yuna kept staring at me, clearly dissatisfied with my short answer.

"Okay, then I will trust you. But..."

She leaned closer.

"If you are a reincarnator, tell me. You don’t have to worry about me reporting you to the System."

’Okay.’

I nodded again.

As if I would trust her that easily.

Just because Yuna was sent by the System to be my guide didn’t mean she was loyal to it.

Helping me could very well be her Quest.

She might betray System and side with me.

Still, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that just because she spoke softly and looked sincere, she was safe.

Today she was suspicious of my identity. That meant she might try to do something to gain my trust, if she would take my side instead of System.

I would wait for that.

There was no need to rush.

With that thought, I let my eyes close.

I fell asleep.

The next day at home wasn’t much different.

I tried crawling away from the maids before bath time, but I was caught within seconds.

"Young master, please don’t make this difficult," one of them said while lifting me with practiced ease.

"I can walk," I protested weakly.

"You can, but you will run," another replied calmly.

I had no counterargument.

Soon, I was being bathed by their hands again, scrubbed like some fragile porcelain doll.

’Dammit, I want to grow up quickly.’

’How long will I be bathed by others?’

They treated me like I would shatter if they used slightly more pressure. It was suffocating. I had killed people in my previous life. Now I couldn’t even wash myself.

After that torture ended, I dove straight into Mom’s arms.

I used to despise acting like a child. It felt degrading.

But if I didn’t do this, I would be taken away by the maids again and forced into lessons about posture, etiquette, or table manners.

Mom laughed as I buried my face in her shoulder. "You’re unusually clingy today."

"I missed you," I said, keeping my tone soft and childish.

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

She hugged me tighter.

The maids already had plans for me.

They wanted to groom me into a proper Daelthorn heir. That meant immaculate appearance, eating everything they decided for me, and sitting straight during lessons.

When Mom got busy later in the day, I executed my second escape plan.

Lucas.

He was now living in our house since he was under Dad’s apprenticeship.

He was prideful in some ways, but when it came to Dad, he was surprisingly humble.

And with me, he was soft because I was dad’s son.

In short, he was a total pushover.

I toddled over to the courtyard where he was practicing basic forms.

"Big brother Lucas!" I called out.

He turned, immediately lowering his sword. "Hey, you’re here again."

"I want to watch," I said seriously.

"You watched yesterday too."

"I like watching."

He hesitated, glancing toward the corridor where the maids might appear at any moment. Then he sighed. "Fine. Just don’t wander off."

"Okay."

The excuse was simple. I wanted to watch big brother Lucas’ training.

The maids couldn’t argue much with that, especially when it involved martial practice.

House Daelthorn valued strength.

So I sat there, pretending to be fascinated by his movements.

In truth, I was analyzing.

Lucas had decent foundations. His stance was stable, and his swings weren’t sloppy.

But he lacked refinement. His transitions between movements were slightly stiff.

His breathing wasn’t synchronized properly with his strikes.

He noticed me staring.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"Your foot," I said.

"My foot?"

"It moves before your hand sometimes."

He blinked. "What?"

I pointed clumsily. "When you turn."

He tried the movement again, slower this time. His brow furrowed. "...It does feel awkward."

He looked at me suspiciously. "How did you notice that?"

"I watch dad’s training, and learned from it."

He stared for a few more seconds. I could almost see him thinking, as expected of Sir Adrian, even his son is talented.

In the evening, Dad returned from his instructor job.

We had dinner together. It was peaceful. Mom asked about his day. Lucas listened carefully whenever Dad spoke.

I mostly focused on eating quickly so the maids wouldn’t scold me again.

After dinner, Dad stood up and stretched slightly. "Lucas, training."

Lucas immediately straightened. "Yes, Master."

Today, however, Dad picked me up too.

"Where are we going?" I asked, though I already knew.

"We are going for big brother Lucas’ training. The maids said you were watching him. So I thought you would want to watch our training too," he said with a smile.

I blinked at him.

He chuckled. "You will join Daelthorn training when you turn five. So it’s good if you learn as much as you can before that."

Five.

That felt painfully far away.

We entered the courtyard. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of grass and wood.

Dad placed me on the porch near the courtyard, making sure I was seated safely. Then he grabbed a wooden sword and walked to the center.

Lucas stood opposite him, holding his own wooden sword, eyes bright with anticipation.

Dad wasn’t worried about me interrupting or getting injured. He knew I wasn’t reckless like children of my age.

They began.

Dad corrected Lucas’s stance first.

"Lower your center of gravity. If your hips are too high, you’ll lose balance the moment someone pushes you," he said calmly.

Lucas adjusted.

"Not that much. You’re forcing it. Relax your knees."

Lucas tried again.

"Better."

They exchanged a few slow strikes, wood clacking softly in the courtyard.

Dad focused mostly on stance and fundamental moves.

He repeated the same motion multiple times, correcting small details each round.

Occasionally, he would pause and explain the reasoning behind something.

Theoretical knowledge wasn’t always important for those with overwhelming talent. Some geniuses could skip explanations and still grasp everything instinctively.

But for most people, theory built structure.

As I listened to Dad speak, several thoughts surfaced.

’I had this feeling before... but Dad is quite talented.’

’This level of talent is only one or two levels inferior to mine.’

It might sound condescending, but it was high praise.

I had never seen anyone more talented than me in martial arts.

In my first life, I hadn’t even focused on martial arts.

As an assassin, if I was forced to fight openly, it meant I had failed.

Still, even without dedicating myself fully, I stood toe-to-toe with some of the strongest martial artists of Wageah.

That was precisely why I wanted to focus on martial arts in this life.

I wanted to see how far I could go if I truly put everything into it.

Dad demonstrated a defensive motion.

The angle.

The timing.

The footwork.

My eyes narrowed slightly.

’Was Dad a disciple of the Sword King?’

The thought had come to me before.

’No. That doesn’t make sense.’

If he were truly the Sword King’s disciple, House Daelthorn wouldn’t dare disrespect him by exiling him, no matter what crime he committed.

The Sword King was a massive figure in Wageah.

His name alone carried weight across regions.

’But if he wasn’t the Sword King’s disciple, how does he know the Sword King’s martial arts?’

He had taught me Varren’s Dominion Wall before.

It was a defensive sword art belonging to the Sword King’s lineage.

Even if it was only one technique, it was not something ordinary people could casually learn.

While I was thinking about that, Dad and Lucas took a short break.

Lucas was panting lightly, sweat clinging to his forehead.

Dad leaned on his wooden sword and looked at him thoughtfully.

"I have been thinking about this. Why did you come to me to be trained?" Dad asked.

"Because you were Rank 5." Lucas answered instantly, though still catching his breath.

Dad raised an eyebrow. "There are some elders who are Rank 5. I didn’t hear you going to them and asking to be their disciple."

That wasn’t wrong.

In the history of House Daelthorn, the number of people who reached Rank 5 could be counted on one hand.

Even including Dad, there were only five.

That was one of the main reasons why House Daelthorn was considered one of the strongest Houses on Earth. Strength spoke louder than heritage, and Rank 5 Exorcists were living proof of power.

Disregarding Dad, we had four Rank 5 Exorcists.

’Well, some of them are really old, so their combat power would be quite low for a Rank 5.’

Age dulled more than just reflexes. It dulled killing intent too.

’Then again, the current house head is considered the strongest Rank 5 on Earth, so his strength evens out the weaker ones.’

Even Rank 4 Exorcists were precious combat assets for any House or family. They were pillars. Strategic resources.

Rank 5 Exorcists, however, were something else entirely.

They were miniature nukes.

Wherever they went, they were treated as treasures... or threats.

Lucas wiped the sweat from his chin and looked at Dad seriously. "The elders are strong, yes. But you were stronger."

"Oh?" Dad’s lips curved upward. "Keep the praise coming."