Never Die Villain

Ilya took a good look at the sword in his hand, turning the wooden blade over slowly as he examined it with the detached interest he afforded most things.

It had been quite some time since he had last held a sword, which was a strange thought considering that, for most of his life, it had rarely ever left his hand.

And yet, despite spending years devoted to swordsmanship, he had let go of it far more easily than he had ever imagined.

Perhaps that alone said enough about how much he had come to resent it.

"Whew..."

Standing opposite him, Aleksei let out a low whistle as he glanced around the training grounds.

"Looks like we’ve attracted a bigger audience than I expected." He laughed to himself before resting the tip of his wooden sword against the ground. "Are you ready, Cousin Ilya?"

Ilya slowly raised his head.

Whoosh——!

All he could make out was Aleksei’s outline.

The snowstorm obscuring his vision had already swallowed the details, leaving behind nothing more than a vague silhouette standing across from him. Even at this distance, he couldn’t make out Aleksei’s face.

But it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

The frozen world had become so familiar that Ilya could barely remember what ordinary sight was supposed to look like anymore. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped thinking of it as a curse and had simply given it a name.

Whiteout.

"Hoo..."

Ilya closed his eyes and brought the wooden sword close to his chest.

The moment his vision disappeared completely, the world around him became strangely clear. Every movement disturbed the surrounding cold air, sending faint ripples through the frost that spread in every direction, and before long, Aleksei’s outline no longer mattered.

Ilya could already feel exactly where he was standing.

An ability that accompanied his domain. Just like Whiteout, he had given it a simple name.

Cold Sense.

"Here I come, Cousin Ilya!"

The instant Aleksei pushed off the ground, the cold air shifted.

To Ilya, it felt as though someone had dropped a stone into a frozen lake, and the disturbance raced through the surrounding frost until it reached him. He didn’t need his eyes to follow Aleksei’s movements anymore.

Every movement of the wooden sword disturbed the freezing air before the change reached Ilya, painting a clear picture of where his opponent was without requiring him to see any of it.

The cold had already found him.

———!

Ilya opened his eyes.

The instant Aleksei closed the distance between them, the wooden sword came down in a clean overhead strike aimed straight for his shoulder.

Ilya responded immediately, raising his own weapon just enough to catch the blow before twisting his wrists and sliding the strike away from his body.

Clack——!

The sharp crack of wood echoed across the training grounds.

Without allowing Aleksei the chance to recover, Ilya stepped forward and answered with a single horizontal swing aimed at his ribs, beginning the duel in earnest.

However, Aleksei was a natural talent of his own. Ilya knew that inside the madman, there was pure confidence in himself that allowed him to never flinch before Anastasiya.

While others were clearly hesitant or outright afraid of Anastasiya, Aleksei, while coming across as stuttering, never truly appeared afraid.

Clack——!

Aleksei met it head-on.

The two wooden swords collided once more before Aleksei immediately slid backward, using the impact to create distance instead of stubbornly contesting Ilya’s strength.

Ilya had always known Aleksei was talented.

Behind the carefree smile, the constant jokes, and the ridiculous infatuation he had for Anastasiya was someone who had unwavering confidence in his own ability.

Ilya had noticed it from the very beginning. While most people became hesitant the moment they stood before someone stronger than themselves, Aleksei never did.

Even around Anastasiya, the difference was obvious.

He might stutter over his words, lose his composure, or make a fool of himself whenever she looked his way, but fear was never among those emotions.

The wooden swords met again.

Aleksei immediately changed the angle of his blade, rolling the clash into another strike before Ilya had the chance to regain his footing. His movements flowed naturally from one attack into the next, forcing Ilya to match his pace one swing at a time.

Clack—clack—clack——!

Neither of them gave an inch. Aleksei continued pressing forward with the same relentless attacks, while Ilya answered every strike with the smallest movement possible.

"...Hm?"

Only now did Aleksei realize something felt wrong.

Perhaps it was because the duel had already drawn him in completely, but he hadn’t noticed it until now.

Ilya was far better than he had expected.

"The academy really has taught you a lot of new tricks..." Aleksei said, unable to hide the excitement creeping into his voice. "...Cousin Ilya."

"I just found a good mentor."

"...Is that so?"

For the first time since the duel began, Aleksei’s expression grew noticeably more serious.

Only now had he realized what he had overlooked.

This duel left no room for tricks. Without mana or the countless techniques modern swordsmen had come to rely upon, everything came down to the sword itself, and it reminded him of something the younger generation had long since forgotten.

Before mana became the foundation of every duel, before swordsmanship abilities and magical techniques overshadowed the basics, there had once been a child who stood above every other heir of his generation through nothing but pure swordsmanship alone.

That child had been Ilya Valentinovich Belozersky.

The Grand Duke’s bastard.

The boy who, before everything else, had once understood the sword better than anyone else of his generation.

Clack——!

"Ugh...!" Aleksei gritted his teeth as he caught another swing. "How are your strikes so damn heavy?!"

"I wonder."

Ilya brought the wooden sword down once more.

There was no world where he could defeat Aleksei through swordsmanship alone.

The difference between them had grown far too great over the years, so with every exchange, he drew the surrounding blizzard toward his blade, letting the winds add just enough weight that the difference became impossible to notice.

As long as he never crossed the line into actually using magic, no one watching would ever realize what he was doing.

It was cheating.

———!

...Or was it?

To the Belozerskys, a duel had always meant crossing swords.

That was simply how things had always been done, to the point that no one ever thought to question it. Yet now that Ilya thought about it, no one had actually said it had to be that way.

So, in a way, it wasn’t cheating.

Clack——!

Just... a little shameless.

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