Chapter 42: The Hunt begins [1]

Ser Hughway stood at the edge of the arena with his head held high, his face illuminated by a broad, unrestrained smile.

He watched in sheer awe as Craig systematically dismantled all seventeen Sword Apprentices present in the training hall, one by one.

For Craig, this brutal marathon was far more than a mere display of force—it was a critical period of familiarization, a trial to grasp the true, terrifying depths of his Special-Grade Talent.

Unlike standard Talents that consumed vast rivers of a user’s mana reserves just to manifest a single magic spell or elemental strike, Monarch of Swords was an absolute anomaly.

It required zero mana to activate passively.

The moment Craig gripped a weapon, the Talent granted him instant, absolute comprehension of its weight, balance, grain, and lethality.

Whether it was a slender arming sword, a curved saber, a heavy battleaxe, a spear, or a longbow—not a single blade or pointed weapon in existence was exempt from his divine mastery.

He could instinctively execute lost, mysterious sword martial arts he had never formally studied in his life.

And when he did channel his dense dragon-tinted mana through a blade? The Talent’s destructive power exploded tenfold.

Seeing a fifteen-year-old newly awakened Sword Apprentice move with such terrifying precision, speed, and martial dominance left the entire garrison paralyzed in shock.

The seventeen Sword Apprentices lay bruised and groaning on the chalk-dusted stone, while the standing Sword Runners and Sword Sages stared at the young Viscount with wide, disbelieving eyes.

To them, Craig was no longer just a royal prince born into privilege—he was a supreme martial monster.

Having thoroughly established his authority, Craig wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead and sheathed his sword with a clean, metallic click.

He allowed the fallen knights to be helped off the floor by the castle medics to recuperate.

Deep down, a thrill of combat burned in Craig’s chest, tempting him to challenge the Sword Runners next.

But he quickly checked his eagerness, suppressing the urge.

Defeating a Sword Runner right now would expose too many of his core trump cards to the spies lurking within the castle.

For today, proving himself as an absolute Sword Expert among the Apprentice class was more than enough.

Craig turned his golden gaze toward the Ranker Sword Sage.

"Ser Gunther."

"My Lord!" Gunther stepped forward immediately, bowing his head.

"Ensure that all seventeen Sword Apprentices are fully healed, rested, and in peak physical condition within two days," Craig ordered, his tone leaving no room for delay.

Gunther blinked, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. "Forgive my boldness, Lord Viscount... but what takes place in two days’ time?"

Craig’s lips curled into a sharp, knowing smile.

"The hunt begins then. Our first target will be the Jeju Forest to the west. I need every single Sword Apprentice fit and ready for the raid."

Ser Gunther’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly pressed his fist against his armor, bowing deeply.

"It shall be done as you command, my Lord."

Satisfied, Craig turned on his heel and walked toward the grand exit of the facility, his black leather boots clicking steadily against the floor as Ser Hughway fell into step right behind him.

As the heavy double doors closed behind them and they navigated the quiet, torch-lit corridors of the keep, Ser Hughway leaned in slightly, his tone dropping into a guarded whisper.

"My Lord... is launching a full-scale raid into the C-level danger zones truly the wisest course of action so early in your reign?" Hughway asked thoughtfully.

"The local barons are already uneasy after Sebas’s execution. If we suffer heavy casualties in the forests, it could spark instability."

Craig grinned, his eyes gleaming with cold, strategic foresight. "That is precisely why the hunt must succeed, Hughway. I am not merely hunting beasts to feed my dragons. Through this raid, I will demonstrate my absolute martial prowess and command ability to the entire Duchy."

He glanced at his Guardian Knight, his voice dropping an octave. "Never forget that the Crimson Duke—My father —is watching every single move all seven successors make.

Right now, compared to Aaron and my older siblings, I have no powerful noble factions backing me in the capital. If I want the high lords to abandon their old loyalties and follow me, I must prove to them that I am the only successor capable of leading them through the storm."

Hughway looked at his young master for a moment before a proud grin broke across his face.

"Understood, Lord Craig."

The following morning marked the official beginning of the grand event.

As the first golden rays of dawn illuminated the capital city of the Myrain Viscounty, the streets erupted into unprecedented joy and celebration.

By decree of the new ruler, the prices of all essential goods, food, fabrics, and spices across the central markets were slashed by ten percent.

The rhythmic booming of festive drums echoed through the stone plazas.

Common folk sang, danced, and shared street feasts, while children laughed and chased each other through the banners decorating the thoroughfares.

The people enthusiastically declared it the "Craig Festival"—a vibrant, week-long celebration honoring the rise of their extraordinary young Viscount.

Yet, while the capital town drank, sang, and celebrated, a far more intense atmosphere filled the medical wing inside Heaven’s Net Castle.

Dozens of high-grade healing potions, rare medicinal salves, and restorative mana elixirs were brought forth to treat the seventeen injured Sword Apprentices.

The financial cost of such high-grade medical supplies was astronomical—and Craig paid every single gold coin directly out of his own personal treasury, refusing to touch the Viscounty’s public funds.

He treated his men with absolute rigor in battle, but spared no expense in ensuring their complete recovery.

By the second day, the investments bore fruit.

All seventeen Sword Apprentices stood fully healed, their bruised muscles knit close, their bones re-aligned, and their mana cores fully restored.

As the sun began its ascent on the morning of the third day, thirty fully armored Superhuman knights stood assembled in the northern courtyard of Heaven’s Net Castle.

Their armor gleamed beneath the sun, their weapons were honed to razor edges, and their eyes burned with a newfound, fierce loyalty toward their young lord.

The time for celebration was over.

The hunt for the Western Forest was about to begin.