The Villainous Son Loves His Mother - Chapter 36

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“Mother, why didn’t you tell me?”

I asked at dinner. I understood her intentions. Still, I thought it would be okay for her to tell me, since I’m her son. I knew it sounded childish, but a hint of dissatisfaction might have crept into my voice.

Mother chuckled.

“Hehe, I’m sorry, Hein. I wanted to surprise you.”

Well, that was certainly like her.

“It’s fine, I suppose… Still, a teacher? That was completely unexpected.”

“I have my own thoughts on the matter as well. My magical skills have grown quite rusty.”

“I see, so you want to start with the basics?”

Mother nodded.
If Mother were to become the Empress of the Aster Empire—or rather, the Gaines Empire. In any case, if she becomes the empress of the Aster Empire, it may indeed be a problem if her magical skills have become rusty.
The Gaines Empire revered individual strength.
This meant it was also the consensus of the lower classes.
Even if the country’s name changed, its fundamental nature would likely remain the same.
If that happens, there is a risk that people will look down on her simply because her magical skills are immature.
Mother must be worried about that too—certainly, probably, perhaps.

“More importantly, Hein, the Sword Tournament is coming up soon. I’ll be there to cheer you on, so do your best.”

Do your best likely meant show overwhelming power and crush everyone—in other words, encouragement.
But it also implied there were formidable opponents I should be wary of—in other words, a warning.
Mother undoubtedly knew I could wield a sword decently, even without trying too hard.
Therefore, the strong enemy waiting for me must be someone I couldn’t defeat without giving it my all.
Instinct told me it was Alphaidos—no, Azel.
But I never imagined Mother would personally warn me about such a dangerous opponent.

“Oh, Hein, are you perhaps lacking confidence?”

“No, that’s not the case,”

I replied. Mother looked at me with an expression as if she’d seen something rare. And said.

“It’s just an event, you don’t need to take it seriously.”

Did I appear so lacking in composure? Perhaps Mother had grown concerned about me. If so, it was an inexcusable blunder on my part.

“Mother, please rest assured, even with swords, this Hein… I won’t lag behind any of those inferiors. On the honor of the House of Aster, I swear to devote my entire being to turning every opponent into sword rust.”

“N-no… you don’t need to turn them into sword rust. Just enjoy it as part of the event.”

The Sword Tournament might seem like child’s play, but for some, it held profound significance—namely, those who weren’t the heir or were second sons or younger. After graduation, their future paths would be determined by their demonstrated abilities.
Academic performance and achievements in various competitions significantly influence the initial strides one takes in life.
In other words, my overwhelming victories in tournaments would shatter the dreams of those striving for advancement.
As someone destined for leadership, I can’t afford to feel guilty about such actions.
In short, mother is telling me to become a demon.
She wants me to develop the mental fortitude to “relish” trampling on others’ aspirations.

“Mother, rest assured. I understand.”

Whether it’s their inferior bodies, minds, or dreams, no matter how many I crush, my heart won’t flinch.
I must demonstrate just how cold and ruthless I am to reassure her.
That impudent redhead—Azel—I might as well drink fruit juice from his skull!
As I thought this, Mother tilted her head slightly and looked at me.
The exquisite curve of her neck…
It seemed to glow.
It was like moonlight clinging to the ridgelines of mountains.
I stared intently at Mother, knowing that if I relaxed my gaze, my eyes would immediately soften.
Seeing my struggle, Mother said,

“Hmm… this is… yes, that’s right. Hein, why don’t we sleep together tonight? It’s been a while…”

It felt as if my heart had been pierced through.
A rock!
Inside the rock, “water” was stored to the brim—not ordinary water, but a hot, viscous liquid.
I desperately suppressed the urge to shout, “I love you, Mama!” and managed only a silent nod.
And then night came.

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I was standing in front of my mother’s bedroom.
The shadows cast by the Magic Stone Lamp flickered in the hallway, as if embodying the hesitation within me.
I hadn’t shared a bed with Mother in quite some time.
At first, I’d been resentful, but now I understood why she’d encouraged me to become more independent.
If Mother is walking the path of conquest, I, her foremost vassal, cannot afford to be overly dependent on her.
With my soft, weak feet, unable to bear even the separation from Mother’s bed, I would never be able to tread the arduous path to world conquest, no, to world peace.
But wait a moment—if that’s the case, then why is Mother spending the night with me…?

Shaking off my doubts, I gently knocked.
The door slowly creaked open.
The soft scent of Mother’s magic wafted through the air.
For a moment, I hallucinated a forest stretching as far as the eye could see.
The scent of fresh buds mingled with the musty odor of decaying leaves—unmistakably Mother’s Magic Power.
Mother said nothing.
Yet I understood perfectly how deeply she cherished me.
They say eyes speak louder than words, but Magic Power speaks louder still.

I could clearly see that Mother’s magic enveloped the entire room, beckoning me like the wings of a mother bird welcoming her child.
I let my own Magic Power bloom faintly.
The affection I imbued it with was “love.”
This deep, vast, scorching, and viscous feeling could never be fully captured by the word “love.”
For convenience, I’ll call it love.
I staggered toward the bed, drawn like the tide to the moon.
As I sat down beside the bed, the soft fabric cushioned my weight.
When I lay down next to Mother, she gently stroked my hair.
The moment her hand touched my head, I transformed from “I” into “me.”

“Mama…”

The word spilled out like a dam bursting.

“My little boy,”

Mother’s voice rang out gently.

“You can relax a bit more.”

I closed my eyes and pressed my face against her chest.
I couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t matter.
Even if I couldn’t breathe for several minutes, I wouldn’t die.
Right now, I want to use every breath to feel Mother.

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The next day was the Sword Tournament.

“Hein, do your best today, but don’t overdo it.”

I nodded at her words.
As Mother said, I intend to hold back.
Last night, I fully realized that even I have my weaknesses.
If one is truly inferior, then their mind, body, spirit—no, their very existence must be utterly pathetic.
In that case, even when demonstrating power, there’s a proper way to do it.
After all, a nation is built upon its people, and most people are inferior.
And the inferior are weak and fragile. Therefore, their numbers are easily reduced.
Therefore, I’ll simply stroke them with just the right amount of force.

◆◆◆

Farna Ira Abbott wielded her sword with skill that rivaled any man’s.
The Count Abbott Family had never been blessed with Magic Power, but they had instead honed their swordsmanship through generations.
Their sword philosophy was simple: strike swiftly, strike powerfully, and the opponent dies.

First round.
When her opponent’s dominant arm, still clutching his sword, was severed and sent flying through the air, screams erupted from the stands.

In the second round, she showcased her speed.
At the starting signal, she gave her opponent no time to assume a stance, instantly pressing the tip of her blade against his throat.
Incidentally, the loss of a limb or two poses no real problem, as such injuries can be easily healed by the healers of House Asclepius—one of the Twelve Noble Houses renowned for their mastery of the healing arts.

But the third round…
Farna couldn’t help but click her tongue.
Before her stood Hein Sera Aster.
If the House of Sarion was known as the shield of the Imperial Capital, the House of Aster was its spear.
That’s something she doesn’t like.
The Count Abbott Family was a cadet branch of the House of Orleans, one of the Twelve Noble Houses famed for their “Sword Saint.”
In Farna’s view, the House of Orleans, not the House of Aster, should rightfully hold the title of the Imperial Capital’s sword.

(He’s looking down on me.)

When Farna met Hein’s gaze, her heart twisted.
It wasn’t just disdain.
His eyes didn’t even see her as human.
They were the kind of eyes that made her wonder if one person could truly look down on another so completely.
Farna gripped her sword hilt tightly, her feet pounding the ground with enough force to shatter it as she charged forward.
Her objective: a clean, decisive strike.
Even for one of the empire’s foremost healers, there’s nothing that can be done once someone is dead—so killing one’s opponent is strictly forbidden in this swordsmanship tournament.
Yet this slash…
No one could launch such a strike without being prepared to kill their opponent.
Her youth, and above all, her anger, had stripped her sword of any restraint.
But…

・
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・

Ah, Farna stopped dead in her tracks.
Her sword had already completed its arc.
But Hein, who should have been split in two, was nowhere to be seen.
For some reason, Hein was now behind Farna, his sword also fully extended in a completed swing.

“Well, well, looks like we both missed,”

Hein said in an unnaturally loud voice.
But Farna knew better—it wasn’t a miss.
Her own sword had indeed swung through empty air.
But Hein’s sword hadn’t.

(I’ve been cut.)

Only a swordsman as skilled as Farna could perceive such a subtle, almost imperceptible sensation.

(If I take even one step, I’ll die.)

She instinctively understood that a cold blade had sliced her body in two, from the crown of her head to her groin.
Yet she was still alive, because her body hadn’t realized it had been cut.
She mustn’t let it show—unless she wanted to die.
Farnacouldn’t move. No, she didn’t move.
Hein spoke gently to her.

“Count to ten. Slowly. Carefully. If you do, you’ll walk away alive. You’ll be able to move again. Then you can surrender. If you don’t want to surrender, we’ll continue. But next time, I won’t wait.”

Ten seconds later, Farna declared her surrender.