The Blade Sovereign's Broom
During the times when Max, subsequently venerated as the Blade Sovereign, was yet known as the Gale Blade—a swordsman whose reputation bore murmurs across all the valleys of the Martial World—an incident transpired that would etch his legend for eternity.
The Lord of the Venomblood Clan had then left for Velmora City to deal with a rift called the Hell Gate, into which waves of nightmarish beasts had clawed their way into the world of men. With the clan leader absent, opportunity fermented in blacker hearts.
It was then that the Evil Drake, a martial artist who had far exceeded the peak level, fell on the Venomblood Clan with his dread horde. The Black Dragon Army, hundreds of top-class martial artists attired in blackened armor, rolled like a tempest. Their purpose was evident: to consume the Venomblood Clan entirety and take possession of Velmora before word could ever get out to its missing master.
Had fate shifted its gaze that day, the Venomblood Clan would have been nothing but smoldering embers. But fate is a capricious entity, and the Evil Drake had underestimated one hard fact—he had not taken into consideration the fact that there was the Gale Blade present.
It was no battle, but a massacre that followed.
Scores of the Black Dragon Army died, their screams lost in the song of the wind. And at its center, the Gale Blade danced, his sword flashing like silver moonlight on a dark sky. For those watching from the distance, it seemed less like war and more like dance, lovely as the crescent moon—though each curve of that blade left nothing but devastation and silence in its wake.
When the blood-soaked tempest finally abated, there lay corpses strewn about the Venomblood courtyard. The Evil Drake himself was broken, and in that pile of death stood but a single figure—the Gale Blade.
The Venomblood Clan, filled with thanks and reverence, crafted a gift for their rescuer: the Silver Blade, a work of art crafted out of the greatest blacksmiths of the entire Martial World. A weapon to be remembered.
And yet, years went by…
It's just a broom," Max grumbled, the once-hallowed Silver Blade now wrapped in rags and tied up with straw, brushing dust from the Fireheart courtyard.
Was this really okay?
-------------------------
The sun afternoons streamed heat over the courtyard, its golden light resting softly on the stone tiles. I sat cross-legged on the floor, the light tickling my skin, and to anyone walking by I could have appeared to be meditating. But in reality, my gaze was trained on the stooping figure of a gray-haired man sweeping the ground with precise strokes.
Max—the very Blade Sovereign himself—was sweeping my family's compound with nothing but a broom. Every swing was slow, energetic, and oddly imposing, as if dusting were some kind of martial art unto itself.
"…I still can't believe I'm seeing the Blade Sovereign sweep my courtyard," I muttered under my breath.
Was this actually acceptable?
Two days had gone by since Max and his granddaughter, Isabella, had joined our home as servants. Two days in which my sanity had been put into a maelstrom more times than I could remember.
I'd even gone so far as to demand of the Steward why on earth the Blade Sovereign was mopping floors and why his granddaughter was washing laundry, and the Steward's response had been as brief as it was maddening:
"It was the Lord's command."
Of course it was. I had already half-expected it, deep down. And even if I had been minded to dispute it, what could I do? Burst into Father's study and demand answers? No—although part of me almost wished that I might have protested, maybe even driven them out.
But standing up against the Blade Sovereign—did I possess enough spare lives to play that game? No. I dropped the idea as fast as it had occurred to me.
-------------------------
I turned my attention from Max to Isabella, fighting not far from him.
"Isabella, it's not safe to lug all that alone! Let me assist you."
She puffed out her cheeks, carrying a twice-her-size bundle of laundry. "No! Isabella can do it alone!"
"Wait, in front of you—!"
"Huh? Kyaa!"
Crash.
"…," I growled, turning away as the newly separated clothes poured onto the ground like a flood.
It wasn't her first misstep. Isabella was afforded a gentle treatment by the other servants, near that of a little sister whom they were forced to pamper. But in all honesty? She was absolutely abysmal at tasks. Laundry, cleaning, even water-carrying—something she should have been able to do with ease considering she had martial skill—always resulted in something spilling, dropping, or shattering.
This time the other servants ran to comfort her as tears welled in her eyes. At least the laundry had been dropped when it was still unwashed. Small mercies.
I let out a sigh and stood up. Before I could speak, Isabella came running toward me.
"Why don't you finish your task first?" I asked.
"I was told to always obey the young master!" she said proudly.
"…Who told you that?"
"My grandpa!"
"…I see."
Of course he did. Max wanted me to have a personal servant. But to me, it felt more like an excuse than a requirement.
The reality was, the other servants humored Isabella because she did the worst tasks—the ones no one wanted. And yes, she lightened the atmosphere with her bubbly energy. But still… I was the son of the Fireheart Clan. Shouldn't my personal servant be selected with a bit more thought than this?
'Did Father and the Steward actually know who Max is? Or are they just throwing servants at me because so many others quit already?'
The more I thought, the more probable the latter was.
Isabella attempted to dawdle over my clothes, trying to smooth out the wrinkles of my robe, but her clumsy fingers made it worse. When I instructed her to leave me alone, her face dropped and her eyes sparkled with tears.
'No… is it even right to have her do this?'
I couldn't count on her. Not yet. And perhaps not ever. Nevertheless, the look of her disappointment bothered me.
Time was something I couldn't afford to waste, though. One of the reasons I went out of the house that day was just that—I didn't have time to waste.
I guilt-tripped Isabella into staying home, dispatching her to assist with other tasks under the guise of her clumsiness. She appeared devastated, lips sealed tight as if to stop a protest, but she complied.
Her disappointment remained in my chest as I headed for the gate.
-------------
That was the moment when my eyes crossed Max's.
He was standing with the broom in his hand, and while his back was bent and his hair gray, the force of his presence was impossible to deny. The moment our eyes met, the Blade Sovereign bowed his head in respect—deferential, respectful.
The movement sent a chill down my spine. For him to bow to me? I couldn't bear it. I looked away hurriedly and marched outside, near running away from the stifling atmosphere of the courtyard.
At the gate, my escort was already waiting.
Kevin stood beside him, sword at his side, stance taut and eyes fixed, as if he had been chiseled from granite.