The Swordsmanship Prodigy Who Devoured Immortality After Regression - Chapter 4

Arthur Vanpelion.

The current head of the fallen Vanpelion family.

His father, the previous head, had died early from illness, forcing Arthur to take up the mantle at a young age. Though, calling it “taking up the mantle” felt like a stretch—after all, the family now consisted of just a single loyal butler and one knight as a bodyguard.

Yet despite everything, Arthur took pride in the name of Vanpelion. He carried the family name with dignity, undeterred by its tarnished state. This unyielding confidence stemmed from the tales his father had often recounted to him.

“In the days when the Unified Empire flourished, one man elevated the Vanpelion name to stand among the three great families.”

A prodigy born to Vanpelion.
The Sword Saint, Havel Vanpelion.

Though the world outside the family had long forgotten that name, the tales of the Sword Saint captivated young Arthur’s heart. But the stories always ended the same way—with Havel disappearing into the Demonic Palace and never returning.

The Demonic Palace, among the three Primordial Evils, was known as the most malevolent and inescapable. Even the Sword Saint had been consumed by it.

After losing not only its head and Sword Saint but also the Dawn Knights—its pride and protectorate—Vanpelion had faltered. A cascade of misfortunes followed, and the once-great family was reduced to its current state of ruin.

Arthur resolved to protect what little remained of Vanpelion. But that goal was proving to be far from easy.

“I might very well be the last head of this family.”

The family had crumbled, leaving Arthur to make one final gamble.

Among the three Primordial Evils lay the Tower, where countless families had risen to glory.

Arthur vowed to scale its heights and restore Vanpelion’s name to its former brilliance.

But his situation was dire. All he had were the butler and his bodyguard. Fortunately, the bodyguard was skilled enough to receive offers from other houses. Yet even his talents weren’t enough to climb the Tower alone.

“I tried recruiting mercenaries, but…”

No one was willing to answer the call of a fallen house like Vanphelion. With no other options, Arthur steeled himself to ascend the Tower alone.

It was at that moment that someone appeared.

“I saw the notice about recruiting mercenaries.”

After being escorted to a guest room, Havel sipped a cup of tea as he waited.

“The tea is… less than ideal.”

It seemed the estate’s internal state was as dire as its exterior.

“I don’t recall leaving behind such a meager inheritance. Where could it all have gone?”

What had happened in the hundred years since his absence to bring the family to this sorry state? Havel could only feel a mixture of frustration and regret.

Knock, knock—

A knock broke the silence, and the door opened to reveal the bodyguard.

“A pleasure to meet you. My apologies for the delayed introduction—I am Dante, a knight sworn to Vanpelion.”

Dante’s appearance exuded discipline: neatly trimmed black hair, a straight posture, and well-trained muscles. His sword, strapped to his waist, showed signs of frequent use but was well-maintained.

“Not bad. He’ll do.”

Though Havel had yet to see his skills firsthand, Dante appeared to be a competent knight.

“Before we officially accept you as a mercenary, I must test your abilities. Would that be acceptable?” Dante asked cautiously, as though still wary of Havel.

“He’s calmed down, at least,” Havel thought.

When Havel first introduced himself without a surname, Arthur had been overcome with emotion at the mere mention of his first name.

“H-Havel?! The Sword Saint Havel?!”

Arthur’s excitement had been so intense it still echoed in Havel’s mind.

“The Sword Saint Havel? That’s a curious coincidence. I share his name but don’t know him personally,” Havel had responded with a faint smile.

Arthur, upon closer inspection, noted Havel’s hair was white, not silver like that of Vanpelion lineage.

Havel’s silver hair had, in fact, turned white after expending immense power within the Demonic Palace. Without direct light, his hair now appeared starkly pale.

“Of course. It’s been over a hundred years. No one remembers him anymore,” Arthur had concluded, calming himself.

Havel was relieved. It would have been difficult to explain otherwise. A century was far too long for anyone to believe the Sword Saint still lived.

And so, Havel stood ready to undergo the test.

“Shall we?”

The test would take place in the estate’s meager backyard, a simple patch of grass trimmed enough to serve as a training ground.

“No proper training grounds, huh?”

Havel sighed inwardly. The state of Vanphelion was worse than he had imagined.

“This will be a simple sparring exercise. Just show us what you can do,” Dante explained politely.

“Understood,” Havel replied, unsheathing his sword with practiced ease.

“Perfect timing. I was curious about the current state of Vanpelion’s swordsmanship.”

“Begin.”

At Dante’s signal, he lunged forward with practiced precision, his sword cutting through the air in a swift arc. His movements were clean and efficient, enough to impress most onlookers.

But Havel wasn’t most onlookers.

Clang!

“Is it because I’ve spent too much time in the Demonic Palace?”

To Havel, Dante’s strikes felt unbearably slow.

On the other hand, Dante was visibly surprised.

“He barely moved his sword, yet…”

Havel’s blade had intercepted his attack effortlessly.

“This man might be more skilled than I expected.”

Determined, Dante increased his speed and power.

Clang, clang, clang!

The sound of clashing steel echoed across the yard as Dante’s strikes grew faster and more forceful. Vanphelion swordsmanship resembled a rising tide, gaining momentum with each successive blow.

Yet, no matter how much power he put behind his attacks, Havel remained unmoved.

“How is he deflecting everything so effortlessly?”

Dante began to feel a growing sense of unease.

“Could he even withstand my full strength?”

That thought crossed his mind, and his sword faltered.

“Is that it?” Havel asked calmly, his breath as steady as when they had begun.

Dante could only remain silent, bewildered by the gulf between them.

The test of skill was more than sufficient.

“…Yes, you’ve passed.”

“I see.”

Havel glanced at Dante.

Why isn’t he using the Vanpelion swordsmanship?

Was it because this was just a sparring session? A brief question crossed his mind. At the same time, another thought surfaced.

There’s a chance Vanpelion’s swordsmanship might have been lost.

After all, both he and the Dawn Knights had vanished.

…I’ll have time to figure it out gradually if we stay together.

Havel looked at Dante with a conflicted expression before turning to leave.

Why was he looking at me like that?

As Dante pondered the peculiar gaze, his eyes caught sight of Havel’s footprints.

“What?”

Unlike his own, which darted back and forth during their spar, the prints left behind by Havel hadn’t shifted even a fraction. In that moment, it felt like his mind was struck by a sudden blow.

Dante felt as if he’d glimpsed an unfathomable abyss.

What… is this man?

More questions piled up in Dante’s mind.

That same night, after Havel was officially employed as a mercenary, Dante found himself at a tavern for the first time in a while. He needed to clear his head after the trial earlier.
Who exactly is that man?

Someone with his level of skill should have made a name for himself. The name Havel had been deliberately erased by the families who betrayed Vanpeliona century ago, when the Sword Saint disappeared into the Demon Palace. Amid the chaos of that era, past heroes had been completely forgotten within a generation.

Now, only Vanpelion remembers the name Havel…

And yet, someone using that name had appeared—someone possessing remarkable skills.

If a man with that name and talent was associated with Vanpelion, I would have heard of him.

As someone who had been with the family for years, Dante was certain he had never met Havel before.

“I don’t understand.”

What troubled him most was the way Havel occasionally looked at Master Arthur. There was something indescribable in his gaze—remorse, perhaps, or guilt.

At least he doesn’t seem to harbor ill intent toward Vanpelion.

In their current state, the family was desperate enough to accept even questionable allies. Yet, Dante couldn’t help but feel uneasy. As Vanpelion’s knight, it was his duty to act if Havel had ulterior motives.

Can I really trust him enough to enter the Tower together?

Caught in his tangled thoughts, Dante reached for his mug of beer again.

Clang!

“Haha! Drinks are on me tonight to celebrate breaking into the third tier!”

“We’ll catch up to the seniors at this rate, won’t we?”

“Of course, man!”

The tavern door swung open, and raucous voices filled the room. Turning his head, Dante saw a group of people with matching emblems on their chests—an ice-carved sword and flower. They were knights from the Glicis family. Among them, the leader was a familiar face to Dante.

“Huh? Well, if it isn’t Dante.”

The man recognized Dante almost immediately.

“Do you know him, sir?”

“Oh, yeah. We were classmates at the knights’ academy.”

Volantz, Dante’s former peer, smirked at him. It was far from a friendly gesture. Back in their academy days, Volantz had always been second-best, while Dante had been the top student. He had never managed to defeat Dante, not even once. But the circumstances had changed.

With a sneer on his face, Volantz greeted Dante.

“Well, well, Dante. Long time no see. How’s it feel to play knight for a dead family all by yourself?”

Volantz was now a knight of the Glicis family, one of the Five Great Houses, and even a vice-captain of a suborder. Meanwhile, Dante was nothing more than a knight of the fallen Vanpelion—a title in name only.

“I warned you, didn’t I? That going to a place like Vanpelion would ruin your life.”

Volantz’s condescending smirk only deepened as he jabbed at Dante. His inferiority complex had never left him, and he relished this chance to belittle the man who had overshadowed him for so long.

“Leave.”

Dante’s calm but firm voice served as a warning. His mind was already burdened from the day’s events, and he had no patience for Volantz. But his warning only seemed to provoke the other man further.

“Leave? Do you think you’re still at the academy, barking orders at me?”

Volantz’s expression darkened.

“You’re nothing but a knight of a ruined house. I think your so-called master should come here and grovel before me if you want me to let this slide.”

The moment Volantz finished his taunt, Dante’s blade was at his throat.

“That was three,” Dante said coldly.

“I let the insults about me slide. But I will not tolerate even a single slight against Master Arthur.”

The sword in Dante’s hand was as swift and precise as ever. Volantz’s eyes could barely track it. Yet, instead of backing down, Volantz let out a sharp laugh.

“Pulling a blade on me, huh?”

At his signal, the knights behind him drew their swords, aiming them at Dante.

“Step outside.”

The tense atmosphere inside the tavern was suffocating. Volantz tilted his chin toward the door, and Dante stood, following him out without a word.

As the group exited, the air inside the tavern finally eased.

“Man, that was intense.”

“I thought a fight would break out right here.”

“Wasn’t that Glicis? Who was the other guy?”

As the chatter resumed, a white-haired man rose from his seat in the corner. He quietly left the tavern, unnoticed by anyone.