Helmut: The Forsaken Child - H.F.C Chapter 417 (Part 1):

No one could defy the Grand Prince’s command.

Yet, it was not loyalty that drove them to follow Helmut’s orders—it was a sense of insult and wounded pride.

To face so many knights at once? The impulse to crush that arrogance ignited a fierce resolve within the Black Wing Knights.

‘This is the Black Wing Knights.’

This was no place for a young, impudent upstart, no matter how noble their lineage, to strut about relying solely on exceptional talent and skill.

Even those who had witnessed Helmut’s prowess at the martial tournament felt insulted by his words.

Excluding the Temple’s Holy Knights, whose strength remained an enigma and whose reputation alone commanded high esteem, the Black Wing Knights of Renosa were considered among the mightiest on the continent, alongside Basor’s Palma Knights and the Deus Empire’s Imperial Knights.

They would soon make him realize. They would show him what this place truly was.

‘And that reckless bravado has no place here!’

But the Black Wing Knights, every single one of them, would soon come to understand that their resolve to teach Helmut a lesson was the true arrogance.

From the outset, Vis surged through the sword he drew without hesitation.

The moment he held his blade, they became his enemies.

The instant they saw that sword, a chill ran through their bodies.

With a smile that bordered on mockery curling at his lips, the heir of Renosa brandished his sword and lunged forward. His speed was dizzyingly fast, almost as if he had vanished.

The thrust of his blade was simple and direct.

Yet it was like a bolt of light.

In an instant, the air split, and his blade flew forth with a sharpness that could sever anything in this world.

Its lack of flourish was not a sign of weakness.

The Vis enveloping the sword’s surface was steady and even.

A blade honed to destroy enemies with minimal waste—no excess, only efficiency.

That sword carried a terrifying power capable of overwhelming any opponent.

*Clang!* The opposing sword shattered upon impact, and the Vis of the one who met it scattered, some of it piercing inward.

“Guh!”

The recoiling Vis penetrated deep, striking even the internal organs. A fearsome backlash.

The fallen could not rise again to grasp their swords.

No human could stand against a tidal wave crashing down like a mountain.

The Black Wing Knights fell like leaves in the wind.

Even among knights, there were disparities in skill. A few managed to parry his strikes and resist for a moment, but their efforts did not last long.

Had they treated this as a real battle against a single enemy from the start and formed a proper encirclement, things might have been different.

In that case, even Helmut might have found it troublesome.

But the Black Wing Knights, confident in their numbers, believed they held the advantage. They saw no need to coordinate their attacks or form a formation.

They were the Black Wing Knights, after all. How could they fail to defeat a single opponent, even fighting haphazardly?

But that single opponent was like an army unto himself.

Helmut tore through their ranks, disrupting their rhythm and turning the battle into chaos. He created a combat environment that favored him.

From the moment the Black Wing Knights were swept up in his pace, the battle became entirely his.

Experience in fighting multiple opponents was irrelevant. Helmut operated on a more fundamental level.

‘All I need to know is how to win.’

Guided by instinct and training, he moved—kicking off the ground, parting the air like a winged beast.

His sword either broke his opponents’ blades or shattered the ones wielding them.

A swordsman’s blade is crafted to optimize the use of Vis.

A sword imbued with Vis becomes the strongest and most durable weapon in the world.

To break such a sword requires an even more powerful Vis-infused blade.

No, power alone is not enough. It demands a blade refined to near perfection, balanced in strength and precision.

Every swordsman strives toward that perfection.

And here stood a swordsman who had come closest to achieving it.

He was the heir of Renosa, destined to be their lord.

When at last all had fallen, Helmut gazed down at them with a regal air.

The soft, delicate fabric of his ceremonial robes remained untouched, not a single hem out of place.

His voice, laden with authority, rang out.

“The Black Wing Knights will henceforth obey my commands. If anyone has objections, speak now.”

But none could answer.

The Black Wing Knights, their swords broken, stared at Helmut with a mix of awe and fear.

To defeat an entire knight order single-handedly—this was the strength to destroy a nation alone.

Helmut had proven it, with little effort and only a modicum of trouble.

What he had demonstrated was also the power of the Sword Saint Darien.

A swordsman who, had he not been betrayed, would have been invincible.

A swordsman’s legacy lives on through their blade. What Helmut had inherited was Darien’s sword—and his swordsmanship.

‘Darien would have been pleased to see the Black Wing Knights defeated.’

After all, renowned knight orders across the continent were rivals.

Leaving the silent knights behind, Helmut turned away.

As expected, the battle had ended in victory. Thus, he felt no particular thrill.

Only the satisfaction of a job well done.

“With such lackluster skill and complacency, the Black Wing Knights are nothing special. They’ll need rigorous training.”

At Helmut’s words, those who remained conscious trembled.

Humiliation. But once again, none could protest. The result was undeniable.

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