Chapter 7: Survival strategy (2)

There is a saying that when technique reaches its peak, it becomes art.

In any field, movements optimized to the extreme radiate beauty in themselves.

Every gesture of the hand, every step of the foot, harmonizes to express the compressed years of effort that have led to perfection.

Such accumulated greatness can captivate even a layperson who knows nothing.

And what if the observer is not a layperson but someone with their own understanding?

“…”

Gasantius was a warrior.

Though he showed a decent sense as a politician, his essence lay in the single sword at his waist. It had been that way since he was a child.

Even at thirty-six, he never neglected his daily training and frequently sparred with the royal guards whenever he could. That was the kind of man Gasantius was.

So, to his eyes, the scene unfolding before him was beyond belief.

-Swish, swash.

A petite girl, barely reaching his waist, wielded a greatsword larger than her own body.

The golden blade, shining like the sun, danced in the courtyard like a butterfly.

One strike checked the opponent, and the next step instantly closed the distance.

She delivered a decisive blow and immediately assumed a defensive stance before any counterattack could land.

Attack and defense. Movement and evasion. Advance and retreat.

Everything flowed seamlessly, like perfectly interlocking gears.

It was as if the god of swordsmanship had descended upon the earth.

“…Ha.”

He knew. It was merely a form, nothing more.

There was no spirit in the girl’s sword dance. No substance.

When swinging a greatsword of that size, there should be a gust of wind accompanying it, yet there was none.

Her swordsmanship was purely ornamental, lacking any destructive power or practicality.

Perhaps she lacked the strength to turn those movements into results; her physique clearly lacked muscle.

And yet, despite these trivial flaws, the forms the girl created were overwhelmingly beautiful, enough to make one forget all those shortcomings.

“…Indeed, this what it means to be a hero.”

If anything, it would be more surprising if she weren’t a hero. How else could an eight-year-old girl execute such a flawless sword dance as if it were a flowing river?

Even without anyone telling him, Gasantius instinctively recognized the child before him as a hero.

“…Ah.”

At that moment, the girl noticed Gasantius’s presence.

The sword was lowered, and her steps halted. The butterfly’s fluttering wings, which had been blooming beautifully in the courtyard, stilled in an instant.

Feeling a pang of regret at the sight, Gasantius spoke.

“It seems I interrupted. My apologies.”

“No, it is I who am embarrassed to have shown you such a poor dance.”

Nonsense. If what he had just seen was poor, then all swordsmanship in the world would deserve to be called trash.

Suppressing the words that surged up to his throat, Gasantius asked,

“Do you know who I am?”

“…”

The girl bowed her head politely.

“If I may be so bold as to guess… could you be His Majesty, the King?”

“Correct. How did you know?”

“I just had a feeling.”

The girl’s voice rang like a silver bell—calm, elegant, and pleasant to hear.

“…What is your name?”

“Sion.”

Though he already knew, Gasantius asked once more.

Not because he was unaware of her identity, but because he wanted to etch that name into his mind again.

Sion, was it?

“When were you able to perform those movements?”

“Since yesterday.”

To be precise, from the moment I drew the sword, Sion added.

“The moment I lifted the sword, a brief vision flashed in my mind.

A young swordsman with black hair, wielding the same weapon as me, slashing down monsters…”

“Hero Lier, is it?”

Indeed, those movements belonged to Lier. Gasantius immediately understood.

“Yes. I merely tried to replicate that scene as best as I could… I apologize for tainting your eyes.”

“No, not tainting at all. If anything, I am grateful to have witnessed something so rare.”

“…”

Sion lowered her head deeply. Was she trying to hide her embarrassment? It was an endearingly childlike reaction, fitting for her age.

Looking down at her, Gasantius cleared his throat and spoke.

“But why are you practicing swordsmanship so diligently from the morning? A child should rest in her room, as a child would.”

In truth, that was what puzzled Gasantius the most.

She had gone from a slum beggar to the next hero overnight. It wouldn’t have been surprising if she had cried or thrown a fit over the sudden change in her life.

Or perhaps she would simply be happy about having a spacious room, not fully grasping her situation.

Yet here she was, devoting herself to training with such maturity.

“…”

At Gasantius’s question, Sion kept her head down and spoke.

“I had a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Yes.”

Sion nodded.

“In the dream, a beautiful woman appeared and spoke to me.

‘Within this century, a great crisis will befall Elpidion. And only you can save the world from that crisis.’

She told me, ‘Go to the temple. Draw the sacred sword to prove your worth, and hone your skills to prepare for the disaster.’”

“…”

Was it a divine revelation? But a disaster, she said?

Gasantius frowned. Was it another situation like the demon invasion 500 years ago?

Given that a hero had appeared, it wouldn’t be strange for a corresponding calamity to follow, but still…

“Did she only appear in your dream and say those things?”

“It seems so. At first, I thought it was just my imagination, but when I actually drew the sword, I couldn’t help but believe it.

So, I wanted to train, even a little, to prepare for what might come…”

“Hmm.”

Gasantius stroked his beard. He recalled that 500 years ago, the central temple received the oracle. So why did it appear only in the hero’s dream this time?

Could it be that the current corruption of the Goddess Church was so severe that the oracle was delivered exclusively to the hero?

It was a plausible guess. Even he had lost respect for the church whenever he witnessed the despicable acts of Archbishop Belyar, that pig.

The Goddess must have felt the same.

“You don’t know exactly when this disaster will occur?”

“No… I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

If that was the Goddess’s message, there was nothing she could do. Knowing it would happen within this century was meaningful enough.

“It’s the year 1434 now, so it could happen within the next 66 years…”

Perhaps it won’t even occur in my generation…

As that thought crossed his mind, Gasantius suddenly realized something crucial.

‘Wait, if that’s the case, she can’t be married off!’

To be precise, marriage itself was possible. But she wouldn’t be able to bear children.

If the hero were to be pregnant when the disaster struck and unable to fight, it would be a tragicomedy of the highest order.

Without the ability to have children, she couldn’t produce an heir.

And without an heir, she would have no value as a queen consort.

‘It might be acceptable as a concubine… but a hero as a concubine? The Goddess Church would go into an uproar.’

After all, in terms of status, the hero was far superior to a prince.

Princes are born by the dozens every generation worldwide, but there have only been two heroes in all of history. It was clear who should bow to whom.

In other words, whether as a main or a secondary wife, marriage was out of the question.

“Ng…”

“? What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

With this, the plan needed a fundamental revision. The losses outweighed the gains. If the goal was simply to bring the hero under Salem’s influence, there were many other ways to achieve that.

Yes, for example…

“Sion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Would you consider becoming my adopted daughter?”

“…!”

The girl’s eyes widened as she looked up at Gasantius.

“If you do, you will become a princess of this nation. No one will ever look down on you; instead, they will revere you as a supreme figure.

You will have access to the vast rooms of this castle, luxurious food, and countless servants at your disposal for the rest of your life.

Until the day you die, all of this will be yours.

What do you think? Become my child and help sustain Salem together with me. You are more than qualified for it…”

“….”

Sion lowered her gaze to the ground.

After a moment of silence, she spoke.

“…I apologize, but I already have a father and mother who brought me into this world.

As long as I remember their faces and smiles, I cannot sever those ties of kinship on my end. Please forgive my rudeness.”

Sion bowed her head gracefully as she said this.

“…I see, understood.”

Seeing this, Gasantius could only nod reluctantly.

She’s eight years old, so he thought she might be swayed by wealth and luxury… but it seemed his assumptions were far too naive.

This child’s mental age was already far beyond that of most adults.

He thought to himself, she truly is worthy of being the hero.

‘Still, with a child this dedicated to her mission, at least there’s no risk of her suddenly defecting to a foreign land.’

Just discovering that was a valuable outcome of this conversation. Convincing her to side with Salem would have to be pursued through other means in the future.

Having reached this conclusion, Gasantius turned away.

“Sorry for interrupting your training. I’ll be going now.”

“Yes, please take care.”

Sion bowed her head, seeing Gasantius off as he departed…

Click, clack, click, clack.

Hearing the sound of the king’s footsteps fading away, Exia quietly sent a telepathic message.

-“Hey, Sion.”

“What?”

-“What’s going on here? Can you explain this to me?”

From Exia’s perspective, nothing made sense.

Last night, Sion had flashed a sly smile, saying she had a good idea, and then this morning, she took her out, saying, “I’m just going to swing the sword for a bit.”

Then, an hour later, the king suddenly appeared, they had a conversation, and Sion spoke of some prophecy from a goddess she’d never heard of.

And before she knew it, the situation had concluded.

-“I have a lot of questions, but let’s start with this: Is the disaster story true?”

“Nope.”

-“!?”

Sion responded nonchalantly.

“As I told you before, I never intended to pull the sword in the first place. I just wanted to chat since it’s been so long since we’ve met.

But a prophecy? That’s a load of nonsense.”

-“Uh… Uh… Is that really okay?!” 

“What is?” 

-“I mean, that’s blatantly forging a prophecy!! Is it really okay to do that?” 

Hearing Exia’s shocked voice, Sion snorted dismissively. 

“Oh, please. Then is it okay to pretend to be a fake hero?” 

-“…….” 

Well, that’s true. 

Since Exia was an accomplice in all of this, she couldn’t argue back. 

-“…Hmm, well, fine. I’ll let that slide…

But still, why did that man back off? Sion, didn’t you expect the engagement to happen right away?” 

Sion, with a triumphant smile, began to explain her intent. 

She intentionally made the timing of the disaster vague, making it impossible for any intimate relationship to occur.

By subtly hinting at this, she drastically lowered her value as a spouse, causing the king to abandon the idea of marriage altogether. 

“This way, even if the worst-case scenario happens and the marriage does go through, I can still protect my… personal boundaries. I’ll have a solid reason to reject any advances, right?” 

-“…….” 

After hearing the explanation, Exia spoke in a weary tone. 

-“Do people usually go so far as to fake a prophecy just to avoid something like that? Incredible, truly…” 

“If you were in my position, knowing you might end up on the receiving end of that, you’d use every trick in the book to avoid it.” 

-“Well, I wouldn’t know. Strictly speaking, I don’t have a gender, so I’m not familiar with such things.” 

-“Anyway.”

 Exia continued.

-“I roughly get the logic, but there’s still one thing I don’t understand.”

“What is it?” 

-“Then why did you bother with sword training?” 

To Exia, this was the biggest mystery. 

There was no real need for swordplay; the fabricated prophecy alone was enough to persuade the king. The logic of the deception was already solid without any additional performance. 

So why go through the trouble of getting up early to train in swordsmanship? 

As Exia posed her question, Sion clicked her tongue and shook her head. 

“That’s exactly why you’ll never be a first-rate liar.” 

-“I have no ambition of becoming a top-notch liar, thank you very much…” 

“Doesn’t matter; just listen.” 

Sion raised her fingers, a gesture she often made when explaining things in her previous life. 

“Lies aren’t just about saying something believable. It’s about creating the right context, setting, and atmosphere that makes it impossible not to believe.” 

-“Heh….”

Exia held back her urge to mock, knowing that Sion had deceived everyone for three years as a traitor, making her words hold some weight.

Sion continued with her explanation, raising another finger. 

“King Gasantius is well-known for his militaristic nature. So, merely mimicking Lier’s perfected sword technique immediately sets me apart as extraordinary. That’s one point. 

Next, by showing dedication to training early in the morning, I present myself as diligent. That’s point two. 

Lastly, by lowering my voice and speaking calmly, I leave the impression of a refined and mysterious child. That’s point three. 

Now, what effect do you think these three points create?” 

-“I don’t know. What effect do they have?” 

“It gives the impression that ‘this child would never lie.’” 

Sion smirked smugly, satisfied with her work. 

“Heaven has chosen a perfect warrior. 

A girl with no flaws, extraordinary in every aspect. 

Who could doubt the words that come from her lips? If you were in the king’s position, could you disbelieve her?” 

-“…Certainly not.” 

“Right?” 

Exia couldn’t help but agree. The way Sion had just mimicked a warrior was so convincing. 

Seeing her acknowledgment, Sion, feeling elated, shouted, 

“That’s it! Here, lie and truth become one! A lie with soul!” 

“This… is… how… you… lie, Exia! Ha ha ha ha!!” 

-“Ah, yes… well…” 

Exia replied in a reluctant voice.

She got the point, but… was this really something to be so proud of? 

Seeing that peculiar, satisfied grin, she seemed to be in a good mood… 

…Well, if she’s happy, then so be it. After all, it worked.

Exia shrugged it off internally. 

-“But still, there’s something admirable about this. 

Even if her intentions were impure, she worked hard from the morning, sweating and struggling for the plan’s success… I’ve gained a bit of respect for her.” 

“Hm? Struggling? What do you mean?” 

-“Huh?” 

Confused, Exia tilted her head. 

-“Didn’t you practice mimicking the master’s swordsmanship earlier? 

Wielding the sword was no easy task, but you managed to keep it up for an hour before the king arrived…” 

“Uh? You seriously thought I was actually practicing?”

-“…???” 

Sion chuckled.

“As if! With this frail body, how could I perform a sword dance? 

If I had actually swung it, my arm would’ve dislocated after a few tries.”

-“Uh…? No, if you weren’t really swinging it, then what on earth…?” 

Exia asked in a dazed voice.

Seeing this, Sion shrugged and confessed the truth. 

“Of course, I was faking it. I just mimicked the sword movements and footwork using telekinesis. 

Actually moving would’ve been exhausting. I mean, why bother sweating and putting in all that effort? Right?”

-“You scoundrel!!!!” 

In the end, Exia couldn’t hold back and exploded in anger.