The Villainous Son Loves His Mother - Chapter 37

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The audience was bewildered by Hein and Farna’s match.
One moment they were fighting, and the next, Farna had surrendered.
Many suspected foul play, but no one dared voice their complaints openly.
After all, Hein was the heir to the House of Aster.
Raising objections carelessly could invite unwarranted trouble and ruin.
However, some people were able to see through what Hein had done.

“So that’s the next generation of the Aster family? He’s nothing like his predecessor, Damian.”

“Even with healers on standby, that girl could have died with one wrong move. Wasn’t that excessive?”

Whispered exchanges like these rippled through the crowd.
Meanwhile, Azel watched the match from the sidelines with a grim expression.
As they retreated to the waiting room, Azel confronted Hein and blurted out…

“Wasn’t that going too far? You could have won without resorting to such extremes.”

Hein showed no sign of acknowledging Azel, simply brushing past him.

(Still… Hein is dangerous. But…)

Azel inwardly cautioned himself against Hein’s brutality. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel that he was different from the “old Hein.”
The reason was simple: Farna had survived unharmed.
If this were the Hein Azel had known previously, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Farna outright.

“Perhaps I need to observe him a little longer…”

Azel’s goal was to prevent Hein from becoming the vessel of the Demon King. To become such a vessel, one’s soul needed to be thoroughly tainted, and this taint was exceptionally vulnerable to the power of positive emotions—friendship, love, and all other uplifting feelings.
Azel’s reason for keeping an eye on Hein was to become his friend and prevent any seeds of evil from taking root.
But if that proved impossible, physically eliminating Hein wouldn’t be out of the question.

(Whether that’s possible or not is another matter.)

From Azel’s perspective as the Hero, Hein was far stronger than he used to be.
Azel estimated that Hein hadn’t even shown half of his true strength during their mock battle.

“Oops, looks like it’s my turn.”

While this is going on, Azel appears in the second round.
His opponent was Walken Sera Buick, a third-year student. While Walken’s swordsmanship wasn’t particularly outstanding, he excelled at circulating Magic Power throughout his body to enhance his physical abilities.
He was the type to overwhelm opponents with martial arts rather than pure swordsmanship.
But the moment the signal for the match to begin sounded, Walken found himself completely unable to move.
Azel stood naturally, yet he felt as if countless sword tips were pointed at him.
Walken himself knew it wasn’t magic.

(Just killing intent! But…)

The sheer density of that presence, washing over him like a physical force, made the possibility of something going wrong flicker in his mind.
Even though he knows that it can’t actually harm him, he can’t shake the thought of “what if” and his legs freeze up, becoming unable to move.
The two remained motionless, locked in a silent gaze for several seconds, perhaps a dozen.
Finally, Walken lowered his sword with a frustrated grind of his teeth and declared his surrender.
Unlike the match with Farna, where the audience had been left wondering what had happened, there was nothing in this fight to arouse suspicion.
Azel’s murderous intent reached even the farthest corners of the spectator stands, and Walken’s terror was palpable.

“I’ve never heard of the eldest son of the Count Alphaid House receiving instruction from a Sword Saint. Is that true?”

“No, not exactly. But anyone who studies the sword in this country inevitably emulates the techniques of the House of Orleans. It’s not particularly unusual… Still, that was quite impressive.”

The act of putting ‘ki’ into the sword is part of the work that has been passed down since ancient times by the Duke of Orleans, who is famous for being a Sword Saint.
Whether Azel had mastered all of their techniques was unclear, but he had certainly acquired a skill that allowed him to unleash murderous intent akin to Sword Pressure.
Many spectators recognized this, nodding in understanding. “No wonder Walken couldn’t move,” they murmured.
With that, the Sword Tournament proceeded to the next match.

◆

There was still time before the next match.
I headed to the VIP seats to report my splendid victory.
My heart was pounding strangely.
I suppressed the urge to rush to my mother and deliberately slowed my pace.
Other nobles were present, and I couldn’t afford to make a spectacle of myself.
It would embarrass her.
I spotted my mother in the distance.
She was always beautiful, but today she was particularly radiant.
The luster of her hair and the curve of her neck seemed to glow even brighter, almost dazzling.
I wanted to scream out, “Mama, Mama, praise me,” but there were people watching.
Forcing myself to calm down, I stopped before her, maintaining a respectful distance, and bowed.

“Mother, I’ve secured the first victory. That Farna… Miss Farna was a formidable swordswoman. But I owe this win to your support. I dedicate this victory to you.”

Mother glanced around, then gave me a faint smile.
She was likely avoiding eye contact out of embarrassment, knowing the nobles at the next table were watching our exchange intently. Perhaps they were uncomfortable with how close we seemed.
But Mother quickly regained her smile, her voice overflowing with warmth.

“Hein, you did wonderfully. Keep up that spirit in your next match.”

Those words alone filled me with renewed strength.
Mother’s encouragement was more potent than any magical enchantment.
Though our conversation was brief, my heart burned fiercely.
Just then, an inappropriate voice cut in.
The head of the Sarion family, Duke Fore Sera Sarion, asks me in a rather stern tone.

“That was a rather peculiar victory. What exactly did you do? You didn’t happen to use the influence of the House of Aster to pressure Miss Farna, did you?”

Could this man not see my sword?
Did he not understand what I had done?
Perhaps it would be best to quickly pass the succession to Miss Esmeralda.
In any case, I see now.
I understand why Miss Esmeralda shows such promise at her age.

Having such an inferior within the family would be unbearable.
But how should I respond?
I could simply gouge out those clouded eyes, as if they were worthless, or literally turn him into “stardust.”
To question a victory I secured within the bounds of my own strength—this is grounds for a duel.
But…
If I were to cause a scene here and disgrace Mother, I suppose I’d have no choice but to smooth things over with some clever words.
Just as I was thinking this, Mother cleared her throat demurely and turned to face Salius the Inferior.

“Lord Foret, what do you mean by that? Are you suggesting Hein won unfairly?”

Mmm… Mother’s Magic Power…
A sweet, subtle fragrance rises from the fertile earth—yet it’s a deadly poison.
That’s the dangerous aroma she exudes.
Dangerous Magic Power… a dangerous woman… a dangerous Mother… Ugh!
So cool… I love you, Mama.
I want to hug her and inhale that dangerous fragrance—those particles of Magic Power—deep into my lungs, but…

“N-no, that’s not what I meant… There seems to have been a misunderstanding. I apologize… Oh, speaking of which, my daughter’s match is next. I was just about to call her. I’ll take my leave now.”

The inferior male Sarion, terrified of Mother, chickened out and apologized, and her dangerous Mom mode vanished in an instant.
What a useless coward.
He should just die.
Still, I’m glad Mother got angry for my sake.