Youngest Son of the Renowned Magic Clan chapter 40

**Episode 40: The Youngest Son of the Magical Family**

Rosalyn assumed her stance, the unique pose characteristic of her family’s martial arts heritage. It was reminiscent of the heroes from the Hong Kong action movies that every young boy idolized during Cha Seong-min’s childhood, similar to a kung fu ready position.

Her posture sharp as a razor, the thought crossed my mind that she appeared like a panther ready to strike. Rosalyn lowered her center of gravity just a touch, grounding herself more firmly.

“Here I go.”

With the coiled energy of a spring, Rosalyn launched forward. Yet, she did not come too close.

‘Distance fighting. She’s good at this.’

For swordsmen, as well as martial artists, distance is crucial. You need to be within range to attack and to avoid your opponent’s strikes. It’s all about maneuvering within that critical range, just an arm’s length away.

‘I see no opening.’

But no weakness presented itself.

‘If I were to punch now…’

The scenario played out in my mind. Rosalyn would dodge my fist and counterattack.

‘So what’s my move?’

I shifted half a step back.

‘I have the longer reach.’

Physically, I have the advantage in a battle of distance. Skilled martial artists can usually ignore such physical discrepancies with ‘fighting spirit,’ akin to a mage’s mana. Martial artists use ‘fighting spirit,’ manipulating it to extend their reach in combat freely.

It was commonly known.

‘But Rosalyn hasn’t reached that level yet.’

She has yet to master the art of channeling ‘fighting spirit.’ Then, in a swift motion, Rosalyn dived close into Rasen’s stance, who remained unflustered.

[Attribute. “Flow Slowly” activates automatically.]

I could read Rosalyn’s movements precisely.

‘She will try to quickly slip behind me.’

That’s right, aiming for my right armpit.

‘She will attempt to take my back.’

If I pushed back…

She would abort her plan to take my back and, using the recoil, likely aim a side kick with her left leg. The judgment was made in an instant.

As expected, I lightly pushed her back, not to give up my back to her. And as if on cue:

“Haah!”

With a ki shout, Rosalyn’s left leg snapped like a whip toward Rasen’s flank. However, Rasen had already anticipated that move, guarding his side with his arm firmly in place.

[Activated novice-level martial magic skill: ‘Self-Defense’.]

Rosalyn sensed that something was off.

‘It should have connected.’

A strange sensation.

‘Felt like hitting water.’

The attack did not deal the intended damage. Instead of breaking the arm bone and ribs, it felt ineffective.

‘Who is this kid?’

This fight felt different from the brawls with other martial artists. Martial magic. Something decidedly unusual was at play.

Rasen watched Magnar’s surprised expression intently.

‘That’s telling. It’s intriguing.’

It felt as if I, a writer, could see their thoughts and anticipations. I wished to dance upon the stage with my characters, orchestrating their movements. Feeling like a ‘real writer’ was exhilarating.

‘They will misunderstand on their own. They will come to me on their own.’

Tuwang Magnar observed the sparring match between Rosalyn and Rasen, inferring with practical reasoning.

‘Definitely. A thoroughly trained individual.’

A tiger does not birth a puppy. The rumors about Rasen were distorted—deliberately manipulated. Rasen was at least two steps ahead of Rosalyn.

‘He’s reading her attacks, one or two steps ahead.’

Rasen preemptively counters Rosalyn’s attacks, always staying out of reach before the strikes landed. His accurate senses and intuition were impressive.

Yet there was something odd about Rasen’s movements.

‘Why isn’t he attacking?’

Rasen maintained a defensive stance. To any observer, it seemed like Rosalyn was dominating since she was attacking relentlessly, while Rasen was purely on the defensive.

‘Rasen saw Rosalyn’s opening.’

As the match progressed, and Rosalyn grew more aggressive, her movements became larger, inadvertently revealing more openings.

‘Rasen’s positioning himself to capitalize on Rosalyn’s gaps.’

The gap in skill was evident. Honestly, Magnar was astonished. Even considering the variables prepared by the Meiton family, he hadn’t expected a 10-year-old, albeit one schooled in martial magic, to demonstrate such proficiency.

‘But he refrains from attacking.’

That observation offered another insight. This was not merely a ‘sparring match’ on Rasen’s part. He seemed content to receive Rosalyn’s blows until her anger subsided. Such was the behavior of the young Meiton.

‘He’s taking the hits in non-critical areas.’

Impossible without a substantial skill gap.

Magnar and the head of the swordsmaster’s family, Karsia, both watched, aware of the discrepancy in abilities.

‘Showcasing overwhelming skill through defense alone. Especially here.’

Magnar understood why this event was orchestrated—Meiton’s design.

‘Martial magic is the lowest tier among the many categories of magic.’

Yet it’s showcasing the capability to overcome the physical martial arts of the Marital House. A showcase with profound symbolism, given each are potential heirs of their respective families.

‘There are two reasons for showing this here.’

To prove that even the lowest discipline of magic, ‘martial magic,’ can compete with ‘physical martial arts’—and to display this at an assembly of the world’s three great families.

‘Meiton is flaunting their power.’

Inter-family politics and flexing influence were ancient traditions. It felt like a surprise punch.

‘I will get an earful from my elder when I return.’

Already behind in this game of influence against Meiton, small matters could ripple into warlike consequences. Magnar knew this all too well.

Fists clenched.

‘Those Meiton pests.’

This was a provocation. Was it all Rasen’s scheming? No, it was a meticulous plan orchestrated by Meiton.

‘And there’s one more thing.’

No doubt, the magical family Meiton was also deep in research on ‘magical synthesis’ with the physical martial family, Grandel.

At that moment, the head of the swordsmaster family, Karsia, remarked with a light smile.

“It seems the Tuwang shares a similar perspective to mine.”

“Yes. It indeed appears so.”

“Rasen’s reputation seems intentionally distorted.”

Magnar concurred with that assessment.

“He can be theorized to be a secretly groomed mage specialized in martial magic by Meiton.”

“I agree.”

Behind closed doors, he must have been managed systematically, methodically. Perhaps not suitable to be a head but a valuable instrument in advancing Meiton’s ‘new discourse.’

Karsia posed a question.

“Why reveal it here then?”

Karsia knew the answer, and both he and Magnar shared the same thought.

“Martial magic was researched and refined in secrecy, and now, they’re validating its effectiveness in live combat to ensure tangible progress.”

The theory was likely complete. Rasen Meiton is the inaugural tool designed for that theory. Magnar’s mindset became crystal clear. Everything was visibly laid out.

And Karsia nodded.

“Meiton realised that we would catch on to their game.”

Magnar nodded back.

“A provocation.”

“Yes. Provoke they did.”

It wasn’t an unwelcome challenge. For Magnar, it was a thrill, an exciting game. He would have devised the same plan had he been Meiton’s tactician. To advance martial magic against the physical martial arts, it’s efficient to do so with a vice-champion of the Grandel House.

“Let them research the magic of the Meiton family’s martial arts. In exchange, bring forth the principles of physical martial arts and their collected data. This must be their intent.”

“I made the same judgment. Hahaha!”

Both Karsia and Magnar shared this insight, and listening nearby, Iveria just smiled, thinking.

‘This is the picture you’ve painted.’

Magnar then said,

“Very well.”

He’d delve into Rasen’s knowledge about martial magic. Ambitiously groomed and newly evolved by Meiton. It’s worth seeing its potential.

‘I’ll unravel martial magic through him, and he’ll unravel physical martial arts and fighting spirit through me.’

A mutually exploitative relationship. It now came down to individual capability—who could acquire better and more resources. However, Magnar already felt outplayed in the game of family pride.

‘A fascinating game you’ve orchestrated, Decatra.’

Magnar didn’t shy away. He decided to meet Rasen personally after the sparring match concluded.

But then, Rasen sensed something peculiar.

‘Huh?’

Based on a rough hunch, it seemed he’d achieved his initial purpose. The faint smile on his sister’s face confirmed it.

‘What is this feeling?’

During the match with Rosalyn, he felt the promise of something new. The sparring needed to continue. Rasen threw a punch, creating a distance between them.

Rosalyn gasped for breath.

“Pant! How long… Pant! Will you keep defending?”

“Until you’re done venting.”

“If that’s really what you’re up for, at least pretend to struggle!”

Rosalyn closed the gap in an instant, thrusting out her fist. No thought to the aftermath or guarding herself—pure impulsive action made the movement incredibly broad.

Thud!

A loud sound resonated.

“Kuh!”

A groan escaped Rasen’s lips.

Cough.

Rasen coughed up blood.

‘I thought my chest exploded.’

It was excruciating. It felt as though his heart might burst.

“Why didn’t you dodge?”

“I thought you wanted me to take it properly.”

“What kind of sparring is this!”

In frustration, Rosalyn produced something from her clothing—a potion renowned for healing external wounds.

She hurled it towards Rasen.

“Drink it!”

Rasen caught the potion.

Gulp. Gulp.

He downed the potion, and could feel the fractured bones mending. The pain in his chest vanished. Rosalyn then declared,

“I’ve lost.”

Her foot kicked the ground out of spite.

“You’re aggravating. I even used my fighting spirit this time.”

Rosalyn’s fighting spirit was unrefined, unpolished. She hadn’t yet acquired precise control over her spirit. Had Rasen opted for a counterattack, he certainly could have.

‘The power of spirit made it clear.’

Internally, Rasen smirked. The fighting spirit just now consolidated his awareness of his own mana. Despite being energies supposedly non-reactive to each other, there was a definite response.

Rosalyn spun on her heel.

“Always playing nice makes it hard to stay mad.”

With that, she walked off irritably, her back to him.

“Anyway, I forgive you. Since your ribs were hurt. I won’t hold a grudge over past affairs.”

“Thanks.”

And then, Kashin leaped up to the sparring arena, his facial expressions extraordinarily animated.



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