The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 285: Heavenly Sword (4)
“Why? You don’t want to?”
Crack, crack.
Oscar loosened his shoulders naturally as he spoke.
Cheon Ajin frowned, clearly uncomfortable, and nodded.
“Yes. I don’t understand why I must fight my benefactor.”
“Think of it as therapy. There are many types of treatment, right? Art therapy, music therapy... this one’s combat therapy.”
“......”
He’d heard of post-battle recovery, but combat therapy?
That was definitely a phrase he’d never heard before.
“Just clear your head and lose once, fair and square. You’ll realize—oh, I’m not some great being. I don’t have to carry everyone’s expectations.”
“Forgive me, but I’m the heir of the Heavenly Sword family. Even if you’re my benefactor, losing on purpose is...”
“That’s funny. Who said anything about you losing on purpose?”
Oscar chuckled.
“Even if you give it your all, the result won’t change. There’s no way I’d lose to some kid who doesn’t even know why he wields a sword.”
“......”
Cheon Ajin’s brow twitched.
Socially inept though he might be, even he understood that was provocation.
But to him, the sword was life itself.
“Benefactor, I am not some fool.”
“You are, though.”
“...I said I’m not.”
In other words—he took the bait.
“Draw your sword. I’ll even let you attack first, since you’re the underling.”
“Benefactor, I’m Level 7. You’re Level 6. I’m the superior.”
“Do Heavenly Sword knights fight with their tongues instead of blades?”
“...I’ll ask one last time. Do you truly wish to spar with me?”
Oscar gestured casually with a flick of his hand.
“Yeah. Show me what you’ve got.”
“If that’s your resolve, I understand.”
Shing!
The sword slid free from its sheath.
“Here I come.”
Heavenly Sword Technique, First Form – Severing Sky.
Kaang!
“...A Level 7 knight’s sword shouldn’t be this weak.”
Oscar stared down at the shimmering Wind Shield that had blocked the blow effortlessly.
Out of the seven layers he’d laid down, only two had been pierced.
“You held back.”
He didn’t say anything like don’t hold back or fight seriously.
There was no need.
One real experience would teach better than a hundred words.
The price of holding back, he thought.
Shrrk!
A book materialized in Oscar’s hand, pages fluttering.
One page glowed.
“......!”
At the same time, Cheon Ajin leapt back instinctively.
A knight shouldn’t give a mage distance—he should close it, denying the chance to cast.
But—
Every hair on his body stood on end.
The instincts of a twenty-year-old prodigy who had reached Level 7 screamed at him to run.
“Good instincts.”
Oscar smiled faintly and lowered his hand.
A small sphere of wind flew toward Cheon Ajin.
‘Wind Ball?’
A beginner’s spell, one of the first taught at the White Tower.
Its destructive power was negligible.
He swung his sword lightly to deflect it—
“...!”
BOOOOM!
Compressed air burst outward violently, the recoil jolting through his wrist.
‘Ah. This isn’t good.’
Before he could react—crack!—his wrist twisted unnaturally.
“Ghhk!”
Still, Cheon Ajin refused to drop his sword as he stumbled back.
Oscar wasn’t finished.
“Core of the Storm.”
The spell wasn’t Wind Ball but Core of the Storm—a high-tier White Tower spell that compressed air to the limit inside a sphere no larger than a fingertip.
When it exploded, it leveled everything nearby.
BOOOOM!
Cheon Ajin barely escaped the whirlwind that engulfed the area.
‘Damn it, if I hadn’t let my guard down...’
A pathetic excuse.
Oscar had told him to go all out from the start.
He was the one who’d chosen to underestimate his opponent.
“If you think ‘I would’ve won if I hadn’t been careless,’ that’s not the issue.”
Oscar, reading his thoughts, pulled a potion from his subspace and tossed it.
Cheon Ajin glared.
“What’s this supposed to mean?”
“Heh. Finally showing some spirit. Drink it.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No. I just know you’ll think, what if I hadn’t been careless—so drink it and let’s go again.”
“......”
The confidence was staggering—bordering on arrogance.
Still, Cheon Ajin accepted the potion.
“I accept your offer.”
Because he recognized that Oscar was right.
He wanted to fight properly now.
“How’s your wrist?”
“...They say White Tower potions are cheap but effective. The rumors were wrong.”
“Spread the word. Oh wait, you don’t have friends, do you?”
“......”
His grip on the sword tightened.
“I’m coming again.”
“This time, I’m expecting something.”
“Then prepare yourself—until you beg me to stop!”
In the next instant, Cheon Ajin vanished from Oscar’s sight.
‘Fast.’
A high-ranking Level 7 knight—
a machine built solely to swing a sword.
His movements were excellent, better than most of his peers.
‘But I have experience.’
Even as a Level 6, Oscar’s control of the Wind Archive made him more than capable of handling a Level 7 novice.
He closed his eyes.
Sight was unnecessary now.
‘Magic sense.’
He felt the flow of mana and wind—the world itself became his eyes and ears.
The gossips of the Tower called this ability Heart’s Eye.
‘Found him.’
To the left.
The pages fluttered again, and dozens of wind spheres surrounded Oscar.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
“......!”
Cheon Ajin grimaced.
There was no way to approach without triggering them.
The mage had built an impregnable fortress.
‘But if I can’t get close—’
That means he can’t move easily either.
Shraaak!
He planted his feet and rested his left hand on his second sheath.
“......”
The sword mirrors the sky.
A clouded heart cannot see the heavens; a clouded sky cannot wield the sword.
Heavenly Sword Technique, Seventh Form.
Ting!
He flicked the hilt.
The blade shot upward, soaring sky-high—
then plunged back down, twice as fast.
A single straight line from heaven to earth.
Heaven’s Extreme Line.
His opponent’s mistake was hiding behind his own fortress.
With the attack descending from above, there was no room to dodge.
‘If he tries to retreat now...’
He’d finish it with his other sword.
‘Checkmate.’
He was certain—there was nowhere left for Oscar to go.
“...Your judgment’s not bad,”
Oscar murmured, sensing the sword above.
“But you fight too kindly.”
“?”
Too kindly?
Before Cheon Ajin could comprehend, Oscar casually brushed aside one of his own storm cores and stepped out.
‘What?’
A storm core—so volatile that the slightest touch could detonate it—
yet he’d just pushed it aside?
‘How is that possible?!’
Realization hit, and Cheon Ajin screamed,
“Wait—no way...!”
“Finally noticed? You’re right.”
Oscar smirked.
The so-called storm cores were decoys.
What filled the area were countless Wind Balls.
“Even I couldn’t make that many real storm cores.”
“Such cowardice!”
Grinding his teeth, Cheon Ajin slashed wildly.
He’d been outplayed—the traps had been laid since their first bout.
Pop! Pop!
The basic spells burst harmlessly.
Frustration burned in his chest.
‘I spent too much mana on the Seventh Form...’
He had to end it before Oscar recovered.
He dashed forward, slicing aside the orbs—
“...!”
The same sensation from earlier jolted through his blade.
Oscar chuckled.
“I never said all of them were Wind Balls.”
“You—coward—!”
BOOOOOM!
Compressed air exploded; his wrist snapped again, and his body crashed to the floor.
“Kh—! Cough! Cough!”
Blood spilled from his mouth.
His insides were torn apart.
“Not... yet.”
Even so, he refused to yield.
Though his right wrist hung broken, he still clung to his sword.
Huff... huff...
He could still breathe.
That was enough.
He shifted the sword to his left hand and used it as a crutch to stand.
“It’s not over. I can still fight.”
The fire in his eyes was real—
the pure, burning will of a young prodigy.
Oscar shrugged.
“I’d like to, but unfortunately...”
“What do you mean—?”
“The spar ends here.”
At some point, the overwhelming aura of the Heavenly Sword himself filled the courtyard, snuffing out both their powers.
Cheon Ajin shouted,
“It’s not settled yet! Please, let me—!”
“Silence! You couldn’t win with both hands intact; how will you win now with one broken? That’s not courage, it’s stubbornness.”
“......”
Cheon Ajin bit his lip and lowered his head.
The Heavenly Sword ordered sternly,
“A loser has no words. Return to your room, heal, and reflect.”
“...Yes, sir.”
As the young heir trudged away, Oscar felt a twinge of pity.
But at least now, the kid had learned.
For a while, he wouldn’t be burdened by others’ expectations.
“Tsk, tsk. Did you really have to do that to a child?”
“Well, technically, the young master’s a higher level than me.”
“...Hmm.”
The old swordsman couldn’t refute that.
By all logic, his grandson should have won.
Oscar glanced at him and said lightly,
“You could just say thank you.”
“...What?”
The Heavenly Sword blinked.
“Thank you? To the man who beat my grandson half to death?”
“Or not. But it looked like you wanted to.”
“......”
The old man stared after his grandson, then muttered,
“Expectations from others can drive growth... but they become shackles if left unbroken. You freed him at the right time. Nothing will stop that boy now.”
He’d been wondering how to solve that very problem before the curse struck.
And Oscar had just resolved two issues at once—without lifting a finger.
“Well... for a brat from the White Tower, you did a... tolerable job.”
“Pardon the interruption, but maybe we should move elsewhere. The wind’s still raging.”
Thanks to his magic, the area was still howling with gales.
The Heavenly Sword snorted.
“Hmph! Don’t flatter yourself. You think I’d catch a cold from a mere breeze?”
“No, it’s just...”
Oscar looked awkwardly upward.
“You might get blown away.”
“Blown away? Me? By this pathetic wind—”
Then he realized where Oscar’s gaze was aimed.
The old man froze, then exploded.
“You insolent whelp of the White Tower!”
“I—it’s concern! Honest concern!”
And truthfully—
running from the Heavenly Sword was far more nerve-wracking than fighting his grandson.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

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