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Chapter 2

There were many titles attached to the great vermouth, but his most famous title was this.

Hero.

[The Great Vermouth, the hero set out on a journey with his allies 300 years ago.]

An old story he had heard since he was crawling on all fours.

The Great Vermouth. The Wise Senia. The Devout Anise. The Brave Moron. The Stupid Hamel.

‘The other guys are called great, wise, devout, and brave, but why am I called stupid?’

Every time his nurse read the story to him, it set a fire ablaze in Eugene Lionhart. If only he could say something else besides crying like a baby! Or if his body would just move the way he wanted it to!

‘Moron, that fucking retard got sugar coated as brave, so why am I called stupid? Did they accidentally switch the two?’

No matter how much he thought about it, brave and moron did not go together.

‘Brave? You mean The Retarded Moron.’

[Stupid Hamel was always jealous of Vermouth. Hamel always said Vermouth was his rival. Even if nobody besides him thought of it that way.]

“The fucker who wrote this. I must’ve beat him up or something 300 years ago.”

Eugene spat out as he ground his teeth. It wasn’t something he could not understand. Stories like these were targeted at kids, so they needed to be easy to read and have a simple moral to them.

[Hamel always walked in front of Vermouth. Even on the crossroads to the demon lord’s fortress. Vermouth wanted to go to the right, but Hamel strongly urged to go to the left.]

“Bullshit.”

[So Vermouth ended up listening to Hamel. But a trap set by the Demon Lord was waiting in that path… Stupid Hamel! He screamed that the Demon Lord made a trap because he was scared of Hamel. Idiotic Hamel!]

Eugene, who was now ten years old, gripped his fists. It was a story he had read over several hundred times, but this part always filled him with rage.

[Hamel was a troublemaker. His fire-like personality always made him fight with his friends.]

“…This is true”

[ After many journeys, Vermouth and his friends finally made it into the Demon Lord’s Fortress. Stupid Hamel didn’t listen to Vermouth in the fortress either. Hamel, who always stood in the front, could not avoid the traps, so Vermouth and his friends faced lots of dangers because of him.]

“This guy doesn’t even know what he’s talking about.”

Eugene spat out as he ground his teeth. The hellish fortress. The traps there were not something you could avoid even if you wanted to. You needed to push forward even if you knew there were traps ahead.

[…Hamel, who always fought with his friends. Stupid Hamel. Violent Hamel. But Hamel loved his friends. When Hamel was wounded, he sacrificed himself for his friends instead of running away]

“…”

[In his last moments, Hamel began to regret not being honest to his friends. Senia, I loved you.]

“I didn’t like her.”

[Anise, pray for me.]

“I didn’t say that.”

[Moron, you are a warrior braver than anyone else.]

“That guy is fucking retarded.”

[Vermouth. Please defeat the Demon Lord. Vermouth swore on Hamel’s tears. I promise to defeat the demon lord. And with that, Hamel peacefully closed his eyes…]

Nothing after was important enough to Eugene for him to read. Eugene closed the book with a scrunched up face.

‘I was sacrificed for a children’s book.’

Children, even the stupid Hamel had a sense of justice deep down in his heart. He sacrificed himself for his allies. He repented for his dishonest past…..

“Motherfucker! You sold my name for this shitty lesson?”

No matter how many times he read it, it made him furious. Eugene threw the book and spat out his frustration. He wanted to beat whoever wrote this story into a bloody pulp, but the writer of the story from 300 years ago was anonymous.

“Vermouth, Senia, Anise, Moron. Those four are motherfuckers too. Why would you leave a story like this alone? Fucking Senia… You cried so much as I died….! Did you not think of protecting your friend’s dignity?”

Okay, I get it. After finishing his rant, Eugene caught his breath and thought about it. They probably didn’t expect the dead Hamel to reincarnate with the memory of his past life.

Reincarnation!

Eugene recalled the days when all he could do was cry on the crib. To him, those days were as bad as the time he spent in the Demon Lord’s fortress. His mind was awake, but his body did not move properly, and he couldn’t speak well. He spent most of the day gnawing on his pacifier and staring at the toys dangling from the top of his crib.

There was a reason the ten year old kid always looked mad. He spent his early days doing nothing but glaring… Eugene sighed as he massaged between his eyebrows.

‘…Reincarnation is fine, but why was I reborn as the descendant of Vermouth?’

Lionhart is the last name of Vermouth.

‘I mean, there are plenty of places to reincarnate in. Why here?’

It was a background many would cheer to be born into, but Eugene was unable to feel the same way.

He spent his whole life trying to outdo Vermouth. He didn’t go around telling people he was his rival, but it was true that he was always conscious of Vermouth during their journeys.

He could never surpass Vermouth. No matter how hard he tried and trained, the gap between Vermouth and him did not get any closer.

‘The great Vermouth.’

Eugene raised his head and looked up. There was a large portrait on the wall. The person painted in it matched the Vermouth from his memories perfectly.

‘Stupid Hamel.’

He brought out a pocket mirror and stared into his reflection. The face of a ten year old. It did not look like Vermouths. But his last name was Lionhart, and he was the descendant of the hero Vermouth.

At first… he thought it was a dream long after death. But he came to terms with reality a long time ago.

The stupid Hamel had reincarnated as the descendant of the great Vermouth.

*

Vermouth had many concubines besides his wives.

‘I don’t remember him going after women. Did he change with age?’

The Vermouth Eugene remembered lacked any sense of warmth. To think that he had a total of 10 women to produce his descendants.

‘I understand. He’s human too.’

The main wife and her children are the primary family. Even if they all had the last name Lionhart, Eugene’s family was a collateral family.

But that didn’t mean he was poor. While it couldn’t be compared to the mansion of the primary family in the capital, the mansion that Eugene lived in was large enough for Eugene to brag about in the countryside he lived in. Even if he was part of the collateral family, he still received some benefits.

In this large mansion, the most eye-catching place was the large training grounds. Hero, Martial God, All Master, The Great Vermouth. As descendants who received his blood, one should try their hardest to train. It was something he’d heard repeatedly as a kid.

“Again…”

Zehad Lionhart looked at his 10 year old son with saddened eyes. He had trained hard from a young age as well, but his past was filled with the guilt from the blood he was born with.

His ancestor was the great Vermouth. But Zehad had no talent for fighting.

“…You’ve broken it.”

Zehad had a cluster of complex feelings whenever he looked at his son. He used words that were past his age. His eyes that lacked any sense of innocence. His son had lost his mother when he was young, but Zehad had never seen him crying for his dead mother.

Not only that. The talent of his son was…. So great that he could not believe they were connected by blood.

‘A monster.’

It was a strange thought to have about his only son, but Zehad sometimes felt fearful of his son. He was ten years old. He was a kid who had not been introduced to mana. How strong could a kid like that be?

“It just kinda broke.”

Eugene shrugged as he put down the wooden sword. Wooden swords with steel rods in them are so heavy that they can’t be handled with the strength of a child. Even then, Eugene refused to use anything but steel rodded wooden swords from when he was seven years old.

At first, he thought it was just the confidence of a child. It was cute watching him struggle to swing the sword.

That was already three years ago. Now, Eugene freely handles the heavy sword. He even straps on bags of sand to lift more weight.

Zehad gulped as he looked at the floor. The broken wood sword. The dummy in shambles. How long has it been since he changed them? Four days? It wasn’t that big of a surprise. Eugene had already broken and replaced every dummy in the training grounds.

“The village blacksmith is trash.”

Eugene spat out. It was harsh for a child’s words, but Zehad didn’t make any move to correct it. It was part of his son’s nature. He had tried to correct it from when he was young, but his son’s nature did not change.

“If he sells those flimsy things for money, we should call him over and flog him. You are too nice, father.”

“Oh, um…. I’ll give him a warning. Next time I’ll get a more sturdy…”

“Not a dummy. Just get me a whole boulder of iron. There’s no need to worry about the shape if I’m just swinging a wooden sword.”

Zehad didn’t know what to say as he looked at his son. A body so ripped and trained that he couldn’t believe it was the body of a ten year old. Zehad was sure he would lose if they fought bare handed…

‘He was born to fight…’

Zehad could not feel pure joy for his son’s talent. Was it because his son felt like a monster? That was not the case. One of the complex feelings Zehad had was pride in his son. After all, he had been born with gracious talent, unlike him.

However, alongside pride, he felt guilt. It was an unavoidable truth as his father. Not all Lionharts are born equal. Zehad’s family had already been pushed out to the side several hundred years ago and was looked down upon even among other collateral families.

Did his son know that reality? Probably not. It was too complicated for a child to understand.

“Can’t I use a real sword?”

Now was a prime example. Zehad shook his head, making a sad face.

“Not yet.”

“Because of the Blood Descent Ritual?”

“yes. In three years, after you go through the Blood Descent Ritual, you’ll be able to hold a real sword.”

“We can just keep it a secret between you and me.”

“We can’t… do that. As a Lionhart, I cannot ignore the clan’s traditions.

The Blood Descent Ritual. It was a tradition of the Lionhart Clan that occurred every 10 years. In the Blood Descent Ritual, all children with the last name Lionhart from ages 10 to 15 gather in the main hall.

The ritual was simple. Who is most fit to carry the name of Lionhart? Who would not be ashamed of carrying the last name of the hero? Weapons that have blades could only be used until after the Blood Descent Ritual.

‘It’s a retarded tradition.’

Eugene did not let his thoughts leave his mouth. However, each time he heard about the tradition of the Blood Descent Ritual and whatnot, it pissed him off.

The Blood Descent Ritual only oppresses the collateral families.

Children of the collateral families cannot hold a real weapon until the Blood Descent Ritual. They may not train mana before the Blood Descent Ritual. However, children of the main family were allowed to use weapons regardless of age, and they began training mana as soon as they could walk.

‘This is all just bullshit. Making sure the collateral families can never surpass the main family.’

A limit so obvious even children could understand. And it was only Eugene’s body that was young.

Zehad could not read the mind of his son. However, He sensed many emotions from his son’s silent face.

In some ways, he thought his moody son was cute, but his sense of guilt far exceeded that feeling.

‘If he had been born in the main family…’

The talent of his son was amazing. But the collateral families of Lionhart had a clear limit. The Blood Descent Ritual in three years… even if his son was amazing for his age, there was no way he could compete with the children of the main family.

That reality was what pained Zehad the most. If his son had lacked talent like himself…. He would not have needed to face the despair of reality.

“Father, why is your face so grim?”

“I-it’s nothing.”

‘Nothing… I can see him self-deprecating about how he’s a bad father.’

Eugene clicked his tongue as he stared at Zehad. Because of how clear the memory of his previous life was, it was hard to think of Zehad as his true father. However, it was a fact that he had been born from Zehad.

“Father. Let’s sword fight. We haven’t done it in a while”

“H-hm?”

“Swordfight playing.”

Eugene did not call it sparring. It was his way of trying to make things nicer for his father, who was being asked to spar by his ten year old son. That was why he specifically brought up the word ‘playing’, but Zehad’s face was anxious regardless.

Zehad felt the weight of the flabs on his stomach.

Then he looked at his son’s arm that swung the steel-rod wooden sword like a toy.

“N…next time.”

If he lost in strength to his ten year old son…

Zehad wiped away his cold sweat as he slowly backed away.

Eugene grinned as he saw his father going further away.