Helmut: The Forsaken Child - H.F.C Chapter 230 (Part 1):
“Look over there! The Grand Duchess is coming out.”
The audience stands instantly buzzed with excitement. A dignified blonde noblewoman walked out from under the canopy.
It was Margret, the Grand Duchess of Renosa. Her rare public appearances made her presence even more noteworthy on such an official occasion.
With a gentle smile, she elegantly waved at the crowd. The audience responded with loud applause and cheers.
The knights guarding the Grand Duchess were tense, ready for any unexpected incidents.
Her gaze naturally shifted downward to the arena below.
Two young boys were standing there, about to begin their match.
Their eyes met simultaneously. The two participants of the swordsmanship contest looked up at the Grand Duchess.
One quickly realized his rudeness, lowered his head, and bowed like a knight, but the other did not.
The boy with black hair stared boldly up at her without concern for manners.
His eyes were as dark as raven feathers, intense and seemingly swallowed by darkness.
Their gazes met again, closer than before.
To the Grand Duchess standing at the railing, the presence of that boy filled the empty stage entirely.
Her eyes trembled slightly as she scanned his face.
He bore a striking resemblance. To the Grand Duke, to Charlotte, and to that baby.
Margret had once imagined what that child would look like when he grew up.
The boy named Helmut looked exactly like that image. It was astonishing, so perfect that it seemed impossible he wasn’t the same person.
‘If that child had grown up, he would look like this.’
Her eyes stung and her chest ached. She couldn’t understand anymore.
Her child was dead. A dead child could not come back to life, yet Margret felt as if her dead child had returned.
She felt strange about herself. However, Margret’s turmoil did not show any further.
With a smile befitting the Grand Duchess of Renosa, she looked down and then turned away.
As she disappeared into the canopy, the conversation about her subsided quickly.
The arena soon regained its previous atmosphere.
Helmut slowly closed and opened his eyes.
It was her. No doubt. He had found her. His heart trembled.
He felt as if he had finally come home. Every cell in his body felt alive.
A shout came from the side.
“We’re starting soon. Get ready!”
His opponent looked like just another obstacle to be crushed.
But he knew he couldn’t kill him. He clung to that single thread of awareness.
This was Renosa, and his mother was watching.
Helmut, who had been contemplating how to lose naturally, had gone.
Defeat was not a word he could accept.
It was an absolute pull and will that couldn’t be reasoned with.
Whether it was the temple or anything else, it didn’t matter. There were moments when it was inevitable.
The Grand Duchess of Renosa had come to this swordsmanship tournament.
His mother was watching.
He couldn’t show her defeat. Never.
A flash of determination crossed Helmut’s eyes.
The next moment, his will was expressed through his sword.
Clang! The sword slipped out of his opponent’s grasp and clattered pathetically to the ground.
His opponent’s widened pupils reflected confusion and incomprehension.
Then, seeing his fallen sword, his eyes filled with despair.
What followed was fear.
This was a real fight. If this had been a battlefield, he would not have survived.
Not only had his opponent disarmed him, but he would have also slit his throat.
The black-haired boy’s cold gaze and unhesitating sword were enough to evoke primal fear.
It was like standing before the Grim Reaper.
‘W-What kind of guy is this?’
Could an academy student possibly display such prowess?
His opponent wondered. He, too, had won far more battles than he had lost and was regarded as one of the best of his age.
But evaluations and talent aside, the boy in front of him was different.
He was no longer just an unpolished gem in the making.
Academy students were incomplete, constantly being hammered and refined into swords.
But Helmut was already a sword.
There were very few who could be described as swords themselves. No, extremely few.
But one of those extremely few was here. In the form of a mere fifteen-year-old boy.
That vast and absolute presence. It made his opponent tremble with awe.
‘How… can such a young boy…’
But he acknowledged his defeat. He couldn’t deny it. His opponent quickly accepted it.
While pondering the mystery of the boy named Helmut. The mystery was not his alone.
But in any case, Helmut had won. Again, as if it were familiar. Just as he had intended.
A different outcome would have been nearly miraculous from the start.