If Frey was a mountain, then Sadin was no more than a pebble.
Just looking at her was overwhelming. Frey wasn’t a "genius" or anything like that — rely an ordinary person who had worked endlessly to reach where she stood. Yet, in Sadin’s eyes, that made her all the more suffocating.
He finally understood why his father had always avoided confrontation until now. Perhaps his father had felt the sa way when he looked upon Frey Caligo’s father — powerless, inferior, and small.
Didn’t his father want to spare his son from ending up like that?
How could soone with such limited talent dare to dream of being the best on the continent?
A wave of inferiority washed over Sadin. Everything he had believed in — the very foundation of his pride — was being denied.
But his father had said,
"We haven’t given up yet. Rundel will survive until the end. That’s our strength."
Magic words. Sweet whispers.
"You just have to trust . Trust your father, not yourself."
――And then, a miracle happened.
Perhaps it was because of the elixir his father had given him. Once a month, Sadin drank an unknown potion — a sticky, bright red liquid that tasted so disgusting it made him gag. But he trusted his father, so he never doubted it.
He simply assud it was sothing precious — an expensive concoction created through great effort, made solely for him.
Then, the wall of growth that had blocked him for so long suddenly collapsed like a mirage.
Every ti he lost himself in thought, enlightennt would strike. Every ti he swung his sword, his strength would grow explosively.
It felt as if the dormant seeds of talent within him had sprouted and blood.
He beca the youngest 4th Circle Inspector in the history of the Empire.
His father, too, achieved greatness. In a fateful duel, the Duke of Rundel defeated Halton Caligo — and because of that victory, he was honored as the Empire’s strongest swordmaster, earning the title of Sword Saint.
Halton Caligo, on the other hand, was left gravely injured — so much so that he would never be able to hold a sword again.
That mont marked the beginning of the Caligo family’s downfall.
Dirty rumors soon spread like wildfire.
"The reputation of Halton Caligo, the youngest swordmaster in the Empire’s history, is all exaggerated. He got to where he is through underhanded ans. His children are illegitimate. There are hundreds of corpses buried beneath his mansion. He’s a demon worshipper."
And so on. Shaless lies, whispered and repeated until they beca truth.
Eventually, Halton was stripped of his title as Swordmaster — a punishnt for daring to bare his teeth at the Rundel Dukes.
But it didn’t end there.
"They say he’s a toothless beast now," people sneered, "but his children are beasts as well."
Sadin once again challenged Frey to a duel.
This ti, in front of countless witnesses. For the sake of her father’s honor, Frey had no choice but to accept.
The result was simple — Sadin’s overwhelming victory.
He trampled her completely. In front of everyone.
He admitted it honestly — even now, when his own abilities were fully awakened, Frey remained difficult to handle. Yet, the reason he had been able to defeat her so decisively was because of one thing.
The Book of Dantalion.
Sadin had written his na in blood on the first page of that mysterious to, a relic given to him by his father.
The very next day, he awakened to a divine power — the ability to see the future.
Though brief — lasting no longer than five seconds — his visions granted him revelations that transcended human understanding.
A true miracle. A power worthy of the gods.
It no longer mattered who had granted him such strength. What mattered was simple — he had been chosen.
Even now, whenever Sadin recalled the sight of Frey Caligo lying miserably at his feet, a deep, indescribable pleasure stirred within him.
He realized, in that mont, the purpose of his existence.
To trample others — that was what it ant to rise above as a man.
Ti passed. Sadin took the entrance exam for the Salomon Academy, the most prestigious educational institution in the Empire.
Now that his talent had fully blossod, no one could stand in his way.
He walked into the examination room with unshakable confidence — certain that the top position was his.
But inside, the atmosphere was strangely noisy.
It was because of another examinee — a na he hadn’t expected to hear.
Zyle Sieghart.
The successor of a fallen count’s family.
He rembered that na faintly — a family that appeared in a fairy tale his nanny used to read to him when he was a child. A commoner who had once fought a dragon alone.
In recognition of his feat, that man had been awarded a title and a fief.
The lowly people revered the Siegharts as a lineage of heroes — but to Sadin, Zyle was nothing more than a worm, drunk on the fading glory of the past and unaware of his own insignificance.
A piece of trash not even worth noticing. Soone who would naturally be weeded out.
As he expected, Zyle was branded a heretic during the aptitude test and surrounded by instructors.
It was, in Sadin’s eyes, the perfect ending for a bug.
However, sothing unexpected happened.
The great magician Ashtar — the chairman of the Academy, a transcendent being in his own right — appeared and personally protected the boy.
Annoying.
If he was going to be humiliated, he should’ve accepted it quietly. Instead, the sight of him resisting was irritating beyond asure.
That was why Sadin decided to approach him intentionally — to crush even the tiniest glimr of hope that might remain.
To trample upon that fragile spark until it turned to dust.
It wasn’t so bad, he thought, to start with soone who had once already been crushed — like Frey Caligo.
He felt satisfied when he saw Frey trembling and anxious. Yes, that was the right way to react — fear engraved deep into the soul.
That was the kind of being Sadin had beco.
However, the boy standing beside Frey — that Sieghart — didn’t flinch.
He simply stared at Sadin with calm, composed eyes.
That was why Sadin provoked him — to cut off his growth before it could take root, to destroy even the buds of potential before they blood.
Great.
He smiled smugly as his taunts worked. He savored the anticipation, knowing that soon, the boy’s expression would twist into despair, fear, and helplessness.
And yet, the Sieghart boy’s confidence wasn’t empty.
He won three consecutive matches with ease, proving his strength before everyone’s eyes.
Sadin had to admit — the boy truly possessed the body of a Sieghart: strong, enduring, and fierce.
But that was all.
There were no refined techniques in his movents.
They were monotonous, instinctive, and erratic — the raw motions of a beast relying only on brute strength.
"Is this all you can do with your skills?" Sadin sneered.
The boy, overwheld by Sadin’s unrelenting flurry of attacks, could only dodge desperately.
His reaction speed was better than expected — but it didn’t matter.
Because five seconds later, Sadin could already see it.
The future was clear in his mind.
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