# EP41. Never Forgotten
Ivan had seen the previous king's martial prowess before. Even in his twilight years, the old king had never refused to go to war.
As a result, the Royal Guard always had to fight on the frontlines. It was an era when the most elite unit in the country was naturally the king's personal army, and these weren't wars where one could afford to spare the most elite troops.
So Ivan was no stranger to the previous king's martial arts. They were as familiar as yesterday. He had even tried to imitate them.
But the greatsword charging at him now was unfamiliar. The king in his prime was drawing a completely different trajectory than the old man's sword Ivan remembered.
The greatsword sliced through the air. Fierce, like a scholar drawing a stroke with a large brush. Swinging as if painting over space itself, continuing the stroke in one fluid motion.
Clang! Sparks flew. It was a defense that barely succeeded. Using the recoil that normally occurs between clashing blades, the old king carried the rebounding force forward and launched another attack.
Bang! Crash! Claaang!
The sword attacks came in a relentless flurry, leaving no room to breathe. Whether deflected or met head-on, the next strike followed immediately.
Each strike could be fatal. A fierce swordplay that would have been considered a lifetime achievement for an ordinary warrior raged on.
In this frozen moment of time, the old king smiled as he swung his sword.
"Is that all? Is that your best?"
Rather than mockery or ridicule, his voice sounded more like someone coaxing a child. Ivan couldn't help but laugh at the old king's smile.
Ivan drew another axe with his empty left hand. Seeing this, the old king laughed heartily and brought his greatsword down.
Claaang!
Ivan deflected the blade with his axe edge and aimed for the old king's head with his other hand. For this strike, he had been "deflecting" rather than "redirecting" all attacks until now.
The old king's swordsmanship was tyrannical. All offense. An attitude befitting a great war monarch who had never fought defensively.
Or perhaps it reminded one of a tyrant who had entrusted all defense to the Royal Guard while he lashed out at the frontlines.
Ivan decided to use this against him. The previous king's offense utilized the recoil from the moment of blade contact. This delicacy seemed ill-suited to the old king's build, but his lifelong training made it possible.
So Ivan revealed weaknesses while deflecting. To make it easier for the king to press his attack. A calculated move prepared solely for this moment.
It was more like an assassin's tactic than that of an honorable warrior or knight.
"Is this your best, Your Majesty?"
Ivan smiled impudently as he brought his axe down. A playful smile appeared, incongruous with a strike that could crush a skull.
A sound of admiration—"Huh"—was heard. The old king controlled his unbalanced greatsword with just his left hand and struck the axe blade with his right fist.
Bang!
An awkward sound rang out from the punch. As Ivan faltered from the numbing recoil, the old king threw his body forward, pushing Ivan's chest with his shoulder.
Swoosh, a sharp sound made Ivan look down. The greatsword, having regained its balance, was thrusting straight at him.
It was a lance charge executed with the body. A technique sometimes used by superhumans whose leg strength surpassed that of cavalry. From his collapsed posture, Ivan stared at the approaching sword tip.
Looking up, he saw the king smiling. Surrender?
Ivan laughed as he touched the ground and bounced his body from his collapsing posture.
As if.
Bang!
The greatsword struck the empty ground. Ivan had somehow climbed onto the blade and bounced upward.
Even for a greatsword, it's not shaped like a board. Seeing Ivan precisely step on that thin blade and jump, the previous king couldn't help but burst into laughter.
"You've learned a lot of strange techniques. I'm almost embarrassed!"
The king's fist struck Ivan as he hung in the air. Though Ivan blocked with his axe, he was pushed back. Ivan spun his body in midair and landed on the ground.
The old king charged at him. With both arms raised high, firmly gripping the greatsword, he looked like a roaring grizzly bear. Combined with the king's towering height, it was like being charged by a carnivorous predator.
"A true monarch of a nation must walk the righteous path!"
"Your Majesty wasn't exactly a ruler who walked the righteous path."
"Ho! For a king of my caliber, every step I take becomes the righteous path."
The king laughed heartily as he pressed his attack when Ivan deflected his offense. Now he was converting even deflected energy immediately back into attacks.
It resembled Einar's fighting style. Both overwhelmingly powerful, yet with remarkably precise distribution of offensive power.
Ivan swayed like a lantern in a storm as he blocked the attacks, slowly retreating.
"Give your all to everything you set your mind to."
Every attack was full force. He unleashed powerful strikes without holding back.
"Stand firm and clash with all your might, never retreat."
When Ivan blocked his attack, the king immediately followed with another. A perfect combo with no wasted energy. Despite his straightforward appearance, it was a cunning and delicate use of force.
"Even after a misstep, you must be prepared for what comes next."
Whether attacks were deflected or not, the next offensive was always waiting. The moment the greatsword Ivan deflected hit the ground, the old king stepped forward and mixed up the direction of his sword strike.
There were no complex sword techniques. Just striking, swinging, and charging. Like a tidal wave... no, like Krasilov's long winter. Like swirling snow and flesh-biting storms.
Endlessly. Until strength gives out.
That was the old king's governing philosophy. The political ideology of a tyrant whose life was constant struggle. The trajectory of a war monarch who had devoted every moment to territorial expansion until the Demon King emerged.
Ivan "sees" all of this.
His axes slowly build momentum.
The agent's tactics of planning and executing the next measure, and the measure after that, and the measure after that if it failed, were fading away.
He didn't discriminate between weapons. He had to be proficient with all of them. He didn't care about the quality of weapons either. If one broke, he would simply capture and use another.
This was the fighting style of an infiltration agent without consistent supplies or a safe rear base.
He would abandon weapons without regret and fight rolling on the ground without shame. Raids and ambushes were basic skills, while deception and misdirection were fundamental strategies.
Life itself is war. The way of life is like war. War is not merely a clash of strength against strength, but a fierce interplay of strategies and tactics, schemes and plots.
He puts down that approach. Not to deny life, not merely to imitate others—
Out of a desire to emulate.
This is like a child blindly admiring his father. To an infant, parents are like gods, so they instinctively mimic their actions and attitudes.
Crash!
Ivan's axe charged ferociously, entangling the old king's greatsword. The sound that erupted was too thunderous to believe it came from clashing weapons.
Amidst the sparks created by metal grinding against metal, flickering eyes smiled.
"That's right."
He bounced back at the moment of impact. Using the recoil of the strike, he immediately delivered the next blow. Bang, crash, crash. Like hammering on an anvil with the same rhythm. Mechanically.
It continued endlessly. Each strike with all his might, at full power. An unrelenting offense that never looked back.
"These are chaotic times. What is the righteous path for a king in such times? It is the path of hegemony. Only the stronger can protect their people and subjects."
The old king's voice remained calm even amidst his continuing attacks.
"Krasilov is cold and barren. Its produce is unremarkable and the sea freezes every season. So we must expand our territory. I am the parent of all people, so all responsibility for those who hunger falls solely on me."
As Ivan deflected the king's sword, the king's voice grew louder.
"Therefore, I always had to fight at the forefront and strive forward. The moment I stop, the country withers. I needed warmer seas and more fertile farmland. If I couldn't have that, then I had to make the whole world fear me and my country. So they would think that whenever my people starve and my worries increase, war could break out again at any time."
That is the righteous path of this country's king.
The philosophy of a conqueror who tripled the territory of what was once just a small northern country.
"So learn well. The king of this country must always be a warrior. So that when the monarchs of the world speak of this country's king, they always whisper cautiously: 'The Fearsome One.' The deeper the king's notoriety, the more prosperous the people's lives become."
"...Yes, Your Majesty."
Now the two men's blade strikes clashed in the same rhythm, as if reflected in a mirror.
Like skilled musicians in harmony, the two matched each other's openings as sword and axe collided.
This is the old king's ideology. Like Ivan's "homeland" and the Hero's "hope," the old king's swordsmanship continued its canvas with the ideology of "duty."
The greatsword aimed for Ivan's nape. As Ivan turned his axe to counter, the greatsword's trajectory slightly dipped.
This was not an expected attack. No, it wasn't an attack that could be expected. Because from the fundamentals of swordsmanship, it was an extremely irrational action.
It was an action that abandoned his own defense. Ivan tried to withdraw his axe in confusion. At this rate, the king's sword would fall to the ground, and his axe would strike the king's neck.
Then, with a grab, the king's large hand seized Ivan's wrist. The retreating right hand was caught and brought to the king's nape.
"Mercy is shown by the strong. Are you stronger than me?"
"Your Majesty...."
"I have lost. Except for once in my lifetime, I have never known defeat. Be proud. You are the second to defeat me."
The first was the Seven Dragon General. In other words, the old king was smiling, saying he had never been defeated until the moment of his death.
"Show no mercy to your enemies. Mercy is already scarce enough when shown to your people. Always make your enemies speak of you with fear and trepidation. Act in ways that seem impulsive and dull-witted at first glance."
"Your Majesty, didn't you say you didn't remember me?"
"I have never forgotten a single military officer I selected."
The king smiled and put down his sword.
"Fighting as if you'll never die, and standing proud as if you'll never be defeated. That is my arrogance. Be shameless, 'Little' Ivan. Always be arrogant. If you retreat to save face or avoid sweating, your people's blood will flow behind you."
"...I don't want to be king, Your Majesty."
"Huh, hasn't Elize done anything yet?"
"Pardon?"
A look of confusion appeared on the king's face.
"Kirill had no talent except for making children, so you wouldn't have maintained the throne until you grew this old. If Alexandr had seized power, you wouldn't be alive. Isn't Elize the current monarch?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And yet Elize hasn't taken you in? How strange..."
I wonder what image of his granddaughter he has in his mind.
Ivan couldn't help but hesitate even in this situation. He soon collected himself and answered.
"We are... in that kind of... relationship."
"Then what's the problem? If you continue the royal bloodline and have children, just teach them my will."
"Yes, Your Majesty..."
"A man shouldn't be so timid."
Is this really related to timidity?
As Ivan swallowed his words, the previous king reached out and placed his hand on Ivan's head.
"You've had a rough upbringing."
"..."
"Now end this. I've seen all I wanted to see, and the dead shouldn't remain in the land of the living."
"Your Majesty."
The hand on his head felt heavy. The king burst into hearty laughter and stroked Ivan's head.
"Carry on my hypocrisy and arrogance, and fulfill my duty in my stead. Protect your people. Will you promise?"
"...Yes, Your Majesty. I promise. I will certainly do so."
"At last, I can close my eyes in peace. Thank you."
He lowered his hand and withdrew the hand that had been holding Ivan's right hand.
He raised his head, exposing his neck, quietly closed his eyes, and smiled.
"When you've fulfilled your responsibilities and finally achieved your goal, find your happiness. This is not a king's command, but a father's request."
"...Yes, I promise..."
"You've grown well, my son. You are no longer little."
-When I was your age, the name I earned fighting like you was Ivan the Great. How could I call you by the same name as mine?
-'Little' Ivan. Therefore,
-Grow big. Follow and walk with me, and one day walk ahead. Carry on my will.
-Do you promise?
"...Yes, father."
Without fail.
Ivan closed his eyes. Eternal rest—he had fallen into a deep sleep. No one would ever disturb his sweet dream again.
Ivan opened his eyes. He took a moment to catch his breath, bowed deeply.
Raised his axe.
And rose to fulfill his duty.
He still wasn't sure what happiness he would finally reach. Perhaps he would never know in his lifetime.
But it was the previous king's final wish.
Now another line had been added to his duties.
Even if his soul is scraped away and crumbles until he finally becomes a departed spirit.
He will never forget this day.