Academy’s Genius Swordsman - Chapter 273

“What the hell is this?”

Ronan’s eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. The once neat and orderly house was now a chaotic disaster, as if a storm had torn through it. Headless bodies were strewn about, the remains of the imperial guards sent to protect Iril by the Emperor.

The blood that had been carelessly splattered around the house was beginning to congeal, leaving sticky pools on the floor. The furniture that Iril and Schlieffen had carefully selected was reduced to rubble, hacked apart as if in a frenzy.

Most striking were the slashes that covered the walls, floor, and ceiling. The brutal, yet precise, marks were reminiscent of a battleground where two massive beasts had clashed.

“This… What in the world…?”

The room spun as Ronan struggled to take it all in. His chest felt like it was being crushed under a boulder, making it hard to breathe. Desperate to believe it was just a nightmare, he clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood, but the scene before him remained unchanged.

As Ronan attempted to regain his composure with a dry, shaky breath, his gaze fell on something familiar in a corner of the room. It was a piece of fabric, torn and discarded.

“No…”

Ronan muttered to himself in disbelief. The white fabric was unmistakably from the dress his sister loved to wear. It was the one he had bought for her the day before he left for Philion, during that brief visit to the capital.

“No, no…”

The image of Iril’s bright, smiling face, telling him she would wear it forever, flashed before Ronan’s eyes. His mind went blank, his thoughts drowned out by a surge of panic. The bouquet of daffodils slipped from his grasp, landing in a puddle of blood with a wet splat.

“Sister!!”

Ronan gasped for breath, shouting as he began to search the house frantically. He searched every room within a minute, even checking the hidden cellar where they stored emergency supplies. But Iril was nowhere to be found.

“There’s no sign of her…”

What he did find, however, was something else. Something so faint it had taken him some time to notice it. Traces of mana, faintly glowing like sparkling dust, were scattered throughout the house—the telltale sign of Nebula Clazier.

As soon as Ronan saw the glittering traces, something inside him snapped. A dark, murderous intent began to boil over within him.

“Nebula… Clazier.”

In both his lifetimes, Ronan had never felt such overwhelming rage. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. The disappearance of his sister was undoubtedly their doing.

Had she been kidnapped? As much as he didn’t want to consider it, could she already be dead? The anger and despair threatened to cloud his judgment, pushing him towards the brink.

He would sever the limbs of every prisoner he caught. He would gouge out their eyes and rip off their fingernails, sending them to their grieving families. One of them would surely speak, revealing Iril’s whereabouts.

If they wanted to see hell, he would gladly show it to them. That was Ronan’s resolve as he made his way to the front door. Just as he was about to leave, something tugged at the hem of his coat.

“Byaa.”

“…Sita.”

Ronan stopped in his tracks. Sita, peering through the window, had caught hold of his coat with her mouth. Her large, red eyes were fixed on his, as if trying to convey something.

“Byaa…”

Though she couldn’t speak, Ronan understood what Sita was trying to say. His companion, who had been with him for the past three years, was asking him with her eyes what he should do now.

‘Damn it.’

Ronan felt a pang of shame. If he was feeling this much pain, then Sita must have been suffering even more. Since coming to Philion, Sita had spent more time with Iril than he had, almost like a child following its mother everywhere.

“Shit…”

His nose stung as tears welled up. A wave of unbearable shame washed over him. Even a mute animal knew how to restrain its emotions.

The rage that had clouded Ronan’s vision began to fade. He wiped away the tears that had fallen without him realizing it and nodded to Sita.

“You’re right.”

“Byaa!”

Sita let out a small, relieved cry. Ronan acknowledged that he had let his emotions get the better of him. He had almost ruined everything with his foolishness.

“…Stay calm.”

Ronan took a deep breath. As Sita had reminded him, it was too early to despair. All he knew for sure was that there had been a fight with Nebula Clazier, and his sister was missing. Nothing else had been confirmed yet.

‘There’s no body, so there’s a good chance they didn’t kill her. Could they be using her as leverage?’

He needed to piece together the clues and find Iril. And if possible, he needed to find out who was responsible. As he stood there, focusing on his breathing, a tool suddenly came to mind.

“The Blood Tracking Needle.”

Ronan muttered to himself. It was a precious magical artifact that could trace the owner of the blood it touched. He had used it before to track down Barka Turgon in the North.

If he could get his hands on the Blood Tracking Needle that Adeshan had, he might be able to track Iril. Of course, that was assuming he could find Iril’s blood and that she was still alive.

Now that he had a plan, there was no time to waste. Ronan quickly retrieved his communication device. After a moment of focusing his mana into the shell, Adeshan’s voice came through.

“Ronan? What’s wrong?”

“Adeshan, my sister’s gone. I think Nebula Clazier kidnapped her.”

“What?! How… all of a sudden…”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need backup. Don’t tell Schlieffen. That guy will drop everything, even a fight with a dragon, to come here.”

Ronan ended the communication, apologizing to Adeshan in his mind for not having time to explain everything in detail. He placed his hand on Sita’s head.

“Sita, I need your help.”

“Byaa?”

“I need you to sort out the blood of the people in this house. Don’t miss a single one.”

Ronan pointed to the bodies strewn about the house. Sita nodded enthusiastically.

Fwoosh! Her red eyes lit up brightly, and the blood splattered across the scene began to rise into the air, forming droplets. Ronan spoke in a worried tone.

“Good. Be careful not to mix them.”

“Byaat.”

Sita let out a comforting noise as if to say not to worry. Her eyes glowed again, and the mingled blood separated into dozens of distinct streams.

“…You’re doing well.”

Ronan murmured in amazement. He couldn’t believe how much Sita had improved. Even with dozens of different samples, she skillfully separated them. Soon, all the blood in the room had been divided into twenty-four floating globes.

The globes of blood varied in size. Taking a deep breath, Ronan began to examine each one, hoping to find Iril’s blood—but praying that there wouldn’t be too much of it. After about five minutes, he cursed under his breath.

“Damn it.”

Iril’s blood was nowhere to be found. He should have been able to recognize the signature of her mana, but no matter how many times he checked, it wasn’t there. He asked Sita.

“…It’s not there, is it?”

“Byaa…”

Sita shook her head, letting out a mournful cry. As Iril’s companion, Sita would have noticed if her blood had been present. The first plan had failed. As Ronan muttered to himself, he spat out a curse.

“No, damn it. It’s still too early to give up.”

“Byaat!”

Sita agreed, flapping her wings energetically. The cries of the townsfolk, startled by the sudden gusts of wind, echoed, but Ronan paid no attention to them. He refocused on the globes of blood.

‘One of these must belong to the culprit.’

The idea that someone could cause such a mess without spilling a single drop of blood was absurd. The invader might have overwhelmed the guards, but that didn’t mean they would have emerged unscathed. After a few more minutes, something caught Ronan’s eye.

“Huh?”

He raised an eyebrow. There was one small globule that he had almost overlooked. Sita noticed his interest and brought it closer to his eye level.

“This… this is…”

Ronan instinctively recognized that this was the blood from the kitchen knife. The tiny droplet, no larger than a thumbnail, had a slightly different hue from the others.

‘Where have I seen this before?’

Ronan narrowed his eyes. He had been too agitated earlier to notice, but the blood seemed oddly familiar. As he leaned in closer to inspect it, a sudden realization struck him.

“No way…”

A chill ran down his spine, raising the hairs on his neck. Memories from his past life surfaced. The glimmering quality of the blood was something he had seen before, in the memories of the Savior.

The blood, tinged not just with red but with a hint of violet, was infused with a distinctive, sparkling mana. Steadying his breath, Ronan whispered a name.

“Abel.”

This was the blood of Abel, the leader of Nebula Clazier, the one he had been hunting for. Ronan’s hand reflexively moved to his throat

, recalling the sensation of having it slashed by Abel’s sword in the dream world.

‘That madman came here himself? To kidnap my sister?’

The more he thought about it, the more familiar the slashes on the walls seemed. They were undoubtedly Abel’s, brimming with malice. But then another question surfaced.

“Then who made these other marks?”

Ronan’s gaze shifted to the sword marks that had clashed with Abel’s. Even by his discerning standards, they were impressive.

Abel’s swordsmanship was precise, like the Savior’s, though not as perfectly designed. But the other marks were sharp and unpredictable, capable of matching Abel’s strikes.

There was no way any of the Emperor’s guards could wield a sword like this. Could there have been a third party involved? If so, who could it be? And how had they fought Abel without shedding a single drop of their own blood?

“Byaa!”

“Huh?”

Ronan was deep in thought when Sita suddenly let out a cry, as if urging him to look somewhere. She had her head extended, staring at Iril’s open bedroom door.

“What’s wrong? I already checked in there.”

“Byaat!”

Ronan shrugged. But Sita persisted, tugging on his sleeve and urging him to go to Iril’s room. Though puzzled, Ronan complied.

“…Damn it.”

Ronan cursed under his breath as he entered the room. The scent of Iril lingered in the neatly arranged space. His nose tingled again, but he forced himself to stay focused. As he scanned the room, something caught his eye.

“Huh?”

He noticed an odd detail. There were breadcrumbs on the floor in front of the bed, slightly shiny as if something or someone had been lying there.

‘Could it be…?’

With a sinking feeling, Ronan pushed the bed aside. There, hidden beneath it, was a small box. The stone box was intricately carved with symbols that Ronan couldn’t decipher.

“This is…”

The box had a strange, almost ominous aura, something that didn’t seem to match Iril at all. When Ronan applied a little pressure to the lid, it opened easily. His eyes widened as he saw what was inside.

“…A Blood Tracking Needle?”

Inside the box was a device that looked like a compass, designed to trace the owner of the blood it was tuned to. Though more sophisticated than the one Ronan had used to track Barka, its function was the same.

But what truly shocked Ronan wasn’t the device itself. It was the inscription inside the lid, written in common language. Ronan slowly read the words out loud.

[To my son, in celebration of Ronan’s coming of age.]

– Cain.

Though slightly smudged, the inscription was still legible. Ronan felt as if he’d been struck by a hammer. Was this really something his father had left for him?

The needle of the Blood Tracking Needle pointed north, towards the Wailing Sea. Coming of age. The special gift his sister had promised. The puzzle pieces in Ronan’s mind began to fit together.

Just as he was about to say something to Sita, there was a sudden crash as the front door was nearly torn off its hinges, and a man burst into the room. Dressed in a dark blue uniform, his face was as pale as a sheet, as if he were about to faint. Ronan met his gaze and spoke.

“You’re here. Schlieffen.”