How to Live as a Swordmaster of the Enemy Nation

Gregory

Until now, he had lived a life without regrets, confident that he had devoted everything to the kingdom.

The undefeated knight who seized victory in every battle.
Gregory, Commander of the 1st Knight Order.

That was exactly who he was.
A figure with a status no one could dare to challenge, a hero even in the kingdom.

That was why, no matter how much he mulled it over, he couldn't understand it.

Those bastards. The subordinates he considered his own and protected!

Why did they betray me?
Why did they try to kill me?

"Meren!!"

He mustered what little strength he had left in his weakening muscles. With his own two legs, and if he couldn't manage even that, then at least supporting himself with his sword.

Gregory raised himself up.
His spirit was so fierce that the soldiers surrounding him involuntarily flinched.

But that was all.
Thud—
His knees buckled immediately. His body, poisoned, would not obey his will.

"Commander, my eardrums are about to burst."

And among them was someone watching, mocking such desperate struggle.
The main culprit behind this betrayal.
The commander of the 2nd Knight Order, Meren.
He spoke on with a relaxed tone.

"Could you not just quietly lay down and die? Look. Aren't your precious subordinates frightened?"

"You miserable worm, how dare you!"

"Please mind your words. I'm not a worm. I am now Meren, Commander of the 1st Knight Order—the kingdom's first among knights."

Gregory ground his teeth, shouting with bitterness.

"You damned bastard. Do you think by killing me you can inherit everything I have? Do you really think the king will let you be after you've killed me?!"

At those words, Meren paused for a moment—then burst into laughter.

"Puahahaha! You're really oblivious... not a clue at all...."

Just as Gregory began to sense something strange in the way Meren's words trailed off, the grin disappeared from Meren's face.

"Have you still not realized? Who do you think I—and these men—are acting on orders from?"

It was only then that Gregory recognized the source of his unease. It was anxiety. The fear that the master to whom he had pledged his loyalty was now discarding him. And that dread finally became undeniable reality.

"A secret order came down. To execute Gregory, the traitor who has lost his place, rampaging and seeking to overthrow the royal family..."

"What... does that mean?"

"You should've known when to keep your head down."

Gregory's subordinates' expressions caught his eye. What he thought had been respect and loyalty were, in truth, masks for their fear of him.

"Ha...."

A hollow laugh escaped Gregory's lips.

'An order... I see. I should've seen it coming.'

Come to think of it, there was no way it was just Meren's decision to poison his drink. He never had the guts for something like that. Had it failed, he would have killed Meren himself.

It all began to make sense.
Everything had been the king's command, and Gregory himself had been abandoned by the king. Only he who had stayed loyal to such a king became a pathetic figure.

'So that's how it is...'

Having grasped the whole truth, Gregory no longer had any will to live. Now that all the subordinates he had trusted had turned their backs on him, his sense of loss was greater than any yearning for revenge.

But he had no intention of dying like this.

Creak— When Gregory, who seemed unable to move anymore, suddenly began to act, all of his subordinates, Meren included, flinched.

'Even if I die...'

Gregory wasn't standing to fight. He was standing to walk. To walk toward the steep cliff behind him, so he could end his life himself.

'I will die with honor.'

Even though he had been poisoned, his spirit still overwhelmed all present.
Realizing what Gregory intended, Meren hesitated for a moment and finally knelt before his former commander.

"For the infinite glory of the Blandi Kingdom."

At this, the soldiers all kneeled in unison.

"Loyalty!"

Gregory did not answer that tearful loyalty, which was enough to make him bitter with annoyance. He simply raised his middle finger stiffly and crossed a threshold that should never have been crossed.

This was the miserable end of Gregory's life.
Or at least, so he thought.

***

The pain of falling from the cliff was beyond imagination. Because his last memory was of pain, Gregory convulsed awake.

But something was wrong.

If memory served, he should have died on the rock bottom below the cliff. Even if by some miracle he had survived, he should have felt something cold and hard.

Instead, his body lay on a soft bed.
Gregory muttered in a small voice.

"Was it all a dream...?"

But before he could even process how strange his changed voice was—or how everything was out of place—
The door swung open, and someone entered.

"Young master, are you awake?"

It was a man in a butler's uniform.

Gregory did not reply, staring intently at the butler.

Seeing Gregory's narrowed gaze, the butler, Magnus, began to sweat nervously.

"Is something wrong, young master?"

Gregory was wary of Magnus. It seemed this 'young master' address was directed at him.

'Young master? Am I the one he's talking about? Why would he....'

Gregory could not make sense of what was happening before his eyes. So he began to look around.

The high ceiling was nothing like what he was used to. Had it been the Blandi Kingdom, the buildings would never have been built like this.

After glancing around for a while, Gregory caught sight of a mirror and approached it.

The moment he saw his reflection, he realized—

An innocent face, small stature, unusually handsome features, and an abundance of black hair.

'Just whose face is this supposed to be?'

He touched his body all over, even slapped his cheeks hard, and could feel the pain. It wasn't a dream.

His arms and legs were extremely short; even when he forced his voice, it was unmistakably the body of a child not yet through puberty.

To make matters worse, not even a trace of mana was flowing in his body.

At that, Gregory suddenly felt as if a choking, acrid smell filled his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

He thought to himself—

'Have I come back to life? And in the body of a kid I don't even know? Then what about my original body?'

What kind of nonsense was this?

The butler asked cautiously,

"Young master Gregory, are you feeling unwell?"

"What? Young master Gregory? Who are you! How do you know my name? Speak up at once!"

"Hiiik! Young master, what are you doing!"

The butler screamed, stumbling backward, while Gregory's body suddenly stiffened.
Because he felt it.
The presence that was now coming this way.
Its immense power.

'Strong.'

As his wariness grew, the butler stood upright and bowed deeply.

"S-sir, have you arrived? You came all this way yourself... I should have sent young master to you earlier."

Sir?
Gregory, hesitating, followed the butler's lead and bowed politely.
At the same time, he stole a glance at the face of the man called Sir.
Somehow, that face looked familiar. Searching his memory, Gregory recalled the personal details he'd read about a key figure from a former enemy nation.

'Is that the Ashborn family head?'

Famed in the Arme Kingdom as the most skilled swordsmanship family, Ashborn.
Thinking back carefully, it fit.
He looked much younger than in the photos, but the similarities were numerous.

'So I'm Ashborn's son? And my name just happens to be Gregory, too?'

Just as he was piecing together his thoughts, Hemingway spoke in a heavy tone.

"Trying to run away again?"

His body trembled. It was not a tremble of his own choosing. It was a fear so deeply imprinted into the body that even the soul could not control it.

"Pathetic."

Though those words weren't meant for him, Gregory could not help but clench his jaw. Grit. He bit down hard.

'Pathetic?'

Suddenly, a memory from long ago surfaced.
A time just like this—or perhaps even worse.
And so, Gregory's current physical condition came into sharp relief once again.

'Yes, you...'

He was beginning to make sense of the situation.
He had woken up as a kid with the blood of the famed enemy swordsmanship family, Ashborn. Coincidentally, in a boy with the same name and physical constitution as himself.

'Did the previous Gregory in this body run away?'

He had no memories of the boy who had possessed this body before. He didn't know why, but perhaps the boy simply couldn't withstand this oppressive pressure and ran off.

Of course, Gregory had no way of knowing the detailed story of this father-son relationship.
He just knew that he disliked everything about this situation.

The arrogant gaze of the man above, a Swordmaster like his past self, who now loomed over him as his so-called father—and this frail body that trembled against his wishes. All of it.

Perhaps that was why.
Although Gregory's body resisted, trying to stifle his will, he had already blurted out words filled with defiance.

"I did not...."

"Hm?"

"I did not run away."

The defiance grew, fed by the sense of loss and thirst for revenge from his previous life, swelled uncontrollably.

"Time, please give me time."

He didn't understand what was going on, but this was the only answer Gregory could give. With time, he could learn more about this strange reincarnation and this frustrating father-son relationship.

At Gregory's request, Hemingway was silent for a moment. But before long, he responded in a tone filled with scorn.

"Fine. I'll give you one last chance. A week. Complete your task within a week."

With that, the family head left the room.
All that remained were a bewildered butler, who dared not move, and Gregory, who remained silent.

The butler tried to slip out quietly.
But his attempt was immediately thwarted by Gregory grabbing him by the collar.

"Aigo... Young master, what's wrong? I'm sorry, I was wrong, please let go."

"You. From now on, answer my questions."

No matter what kind of misunderstanding the butler had, Gregory had no intention of correcting him. He simply questioned him coldly.

"What is the task I've been given?"