Ember Reborn: The Flame That Defied Fate-Chapter 51: The Sun’s Sword -

The day after I introduced Iris to the "spicy hospitality" of the Republic...

A message floated above my Hero Watch.

[Don’t contact me for a while.]

I stared at it for a full three seconds.

Then I clicked my tongue.

"...Was the ginger tea too much after all?"

A little regret crept in belatedly.

Just a little.

At the time, I’d had no choice.

How could I resist?

I didn’t think of myself as someone who enjoyed other people’s suffering... but watching Iris—who’d puffed out her chest and declared she could handle any spice—tear up and panic like the world was ending...

It awakened something strange in me.

Not cruelty.

Just... pettiness.

A healthy amount of petty satisfaction.

’Well. What’s done is done.’

The best strategy now was simple:

Disappear.

Wait.

Let the Saint cool down naturally before she declared a holy crusade against ramen.

"Now then..."

I flicked through my schedule.

Originally, I had sparring today—warrior candidates only—but a notice had come late last night.

[Practical Combat Training – Cancelled]

[Reason: Professor Lucas’s health condition]

I frowned.

"He was perfectly fine yesterday."

I sent him a quick message out of curiosity.

No reply.

’Probably nothing serious.’

It was Professor Lucas.

Even if he caught something, he’d likely recover by dinner and show up tomorrow with that stupid grin like nothing happened.

Still...

The cancellation meant I had a rare luxury.

Time.

I had a meeting with Berald later in the evening.

Until then, the day was empty.

’Training grounds,’ I decided.

Better to move than rot in my dorm.

Of course, the public training grounds weren’t as comfortable as they were during my leave of absence. Back then, I could practically treat the place like my private property.

Now?

I couldn’t exactly swing my sword freely without drawing attention.

And after yesterday’s duel with Vincent...

People were definitely watching.

I sighed, grabbed my sword, and headed out.

The public training grounds were quieter than usual.

The break had only recently ended, and many cadets were still catching up on routine classes.

But "quieter" didn’t mean "peaceful."

The moment I stepped in, whispers started.

"Oh?"

"Isn’t that the guy from Class C?"

"The one who beat an instructor?"

"I heard he’s been faking being weak this whole time." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"But why? Being last has zero benefits."

"No clue."

"I also heard Class C is comparing him to Yuren Helios."

"Come on. That’s insane."

"They’ve never even taken Yuren’s class. They’re just hyping themselves up."

I ignored them and walked toward a far corner, away from the main crowd.

’A circus,’ I thought dryly.

I set down a towel and a water bottle, then started warming up.

Light footwork.

Shoulder rolls.

Hip rotations.

Then martial arts.

Whoosh.

Swish.

Crack.

My fists and feet sliced the air hard enough that people turned to look.

And I wasn’t even using mana.

’Good.’

When I first returned, my body had been... pathetic.

Not weak in the sense that it couldn’t move—weak in the sense that it didn’t know how to move properly.

The kind of body that worked hard without direction.

Now?

Two months of training—real training—had rewritten it.

My core felt stable.

My balance felt natural.

My limbs moved like they belonged to me.

And the changes were obvious even visually.

Lean muscle.

No unnecessary weight.

Lower-body strength that made every step feel grounded.

Some would argue it was pointless, because mana reinforcement existed.

Those people were naive.

Enhancing a weak body with mana is like pouring water into a cracked bucket.

It helps—sure.

But it leaks.

Enhancing a trained body?

That’s like pouring mana into a forged blade.

Same mana.

Different result.

’Still not enough.’

Berald’s knowledge had accelerated my growth, but if I wanted a "complete" body—like the one I had in my previous life—I couldn’t relax.

Not for a second.

Once my blood warmed and my joints felt smooth, I drew my sword.

Time for the real work.

"Sss..."

I breathed in slowly and began the Sun Sword’s fundamental sequence.

First stance: upward slash.

Second: downward slash.

Third: horizontal cut.

Fourth: thrust.

The foundation.

Simple.

Brutal.

Everything else grew from these.

Whoosh.

Swish.

Slash.

I repeated them, again and again, each time refining a fraction.

Less tension in the shoulders.

More rotation in the hips.

A cleaner line.

A straighter edge.

Even the air sounded different as the blade moved.

The gray aura faintly burned along my sword’s edge—not large, not flashy, but sharp.

Controlled.

’It’s changed again,’ I thought.

After my recent growth, my swordsmanship had shifted further from what it once was.

At this point, even if the Yuren from my previous life appeared in front of me, he wouldn’t immediately recognize the techniques he taught.

But that was fine.

My foundation came from him.

Even if my blade had evolved into something new...

The root was still his.

A bead of sweat rolled down my temple.

My sword cut through the air once more.

’Don’t worry, Yuren.’

Even if you forget...

I will remember.

The things you told me.

The things you made me realize, even when I didn’t understand.

—Don’t be anxious when you swing.

—Empty your mind.

—Think about where the sword wants to go, not where you want it to go.

I’d heard those words hundreds of times.

Across decades.

Across lifetimes.

Even after hundreds... even after thousands of years...

They were still carved into me.

"Hoo."

I exhaled, slightly winded, and lowered my sword.

Then I laughed quietly.

’Of course... remembering doesn’t mean understanding.’

That line about "where the sword wants to go" still sounded like nonsense half the time.

’Seriously, why did he always talk like an old mystic?’

I was just about to resume—

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The sound was clear.

Unhurried.

A deliberate applause.

I turned.

A young man stood at the edge of my training space.

Golden hair, radiant like sunlight.

Bright eyes.

A posture so calm it felt unnatural in a place filled with competitive cadets.

My breath caught.

"You..."

The boy bowed politely.

"Oh—sorry. I didn’t mean to watch without permission."

He straightened with an embarrassed smile.

"Nice to meet you. I’m Yuren Helios."

The name hit me like a hammer.

"...Third-year candidate. Warrior Division."

I didn’t respond immediately.

My throat felt tight.

My hands felt strangely heavy.

I’d expected to see him again eventually.

I’d even been planning how to approach him.

But actually hearing his voice in this time...

Actually seeing him alive and breathing...

It was different.

Yuren scratched the back of his head awkwardly, mistaking my silence.

"I apologize for showing up so suddenly."

I forced myself to breathe.

"No," I said quickly. "It’s fine."

Then, carefully:

"...Why are you here?"

Yuren’s eyes brightened.

"Yesterday," he said, "I saw your sparring."

So he watched the duel with Vincent.

And instead of ignoring it like most elites...

He came looking.

Yuren grinned, almost excited.

"After watching you, I couldn’t resist."

He lifted a hand slightly, like a kid asking permission.

"I want to spar with you."

There it was.

The real Yuren.

In my previous life, whenever he heard a rumor about a skilled swordsman, he’d chase it like a hunting dog.

It wasn’t arrogance.

It wasn’t pride.

It was hunger.

A pure obsession with the blade.

A small laugh slipped out of me.

"...Alright."

Yuren blinked, then smiled.

"Thank you."

"Speak casually," I added. "We’re the same year."

"Oh." He looked relieved. "Okay. I will."

He glanced around.

The whispers had multiplied.

The crowd had grown.

Not because of me—

Because of him.

The moment Yuren Helios appeared, the training ground had begun to fill like a festival.

Cadets leaned in.

Some pretended to stretch.

Others "coincidentally" drifted closer.

All eyes were on the Sun’s Sword heir.

Yuren frowned slightly.

"Let’s not do it here."

"You have a private ground," I guessed.

He nodded.

"This place is too crowded. Too many eyes."

"...Agreed."

Yuren started walking.

The crowd parted instinctively—like the sea splitting.

It was almost absurd.

I’d been getting attention recently, sure...

But next to him, it was nothing.

Because he wasn’t just another cadet.

He was Reynald Helios’s heir.

A name that carried weight across the continent.

"This is my training ground," Yuren said after we passed through a secured corridor.

The door opened.

And I stopped.

"...Wow."

It wasn’t huge compared to the public grounds, but it was perfect.

Clean equipment racks.

Multiple practice dummies.

Weapon storage.

Even a corner with what looked like recovery tools.

Private showers.

A small sauna.

It was... ridiculous.

’So this is what money looks like.’

I swallowed like a country bumpkin seeing a palace.

Yuren laughed at my expression.

"So," he asked, "how do you want to spar?"

"However you like."

He hesitated.

Then spoke carefully.

"...Let’s start without using mana."

Ah.

He noticed.

He’d figured out I had less mana.

Yuren, on the other hand, had more mana than most instructors.

Using mana from the start would turn it into a one-sided beating unless I used an amplifier—which I obviously wasn’t going to do here.

"...Alright," I agreed. "No mana first."

Yuren’s shoulders relaxed.

"Thank you."

We each took wooden practice swords.

The moment I gripped mine, familiarity settled into my hands.

Yuren tapped his Hero Watch.

A hologram appeared in the air.

[Training mode confirmed.]

[Spar begins in 5 seconds.]

[4... 3... 2... 1...]

The numbers vanished.

Yuren and I moved at the same time.

Whoosh!

We collided.

Wood met wood with a heavy crack.

The first exchange was clean.

The second was faster.

The third—

Sharper.

Yuren’s eyes lit up.

My own breath steadied.

No mana.

No tricks.

Just sword and body.

Just intent.

He attacked like sunlight.

Bright. Direct. Relentless.

I responded like ash.

Quiet. Controlled. Cutting.

Minutes passed.

The sound of wooden blades filled the room.

Then—

A final clash.

A pivot.

A step.

A strike.

Thud.

Yuren’s practice sword hit the floor.

Silence.

"Hah... hah..."

Yuren collapsed backward, gasping.

"This..." he wheezed. "This doesn’t make any sense..."

His hands trembled as he stared at the fallen sword like it had betrayed him.

I took a drink of water and waited.

Then Yuren suddenly shot up.

"Dale!"

He strode toward me and grabbed my hand with both of his like I was a miracle.

His eyes were shaking.

"Who... who taught you that swordsmanship?!"

I stared at him.

Then, despite myself—

I smiled.

’Who do you think, idiot?’

...I learned it from you.