Swordmaster's Youngest Son Chapter 1: Runcandel’s Superstition

Waaah, uwaaah.

‘Is it common to hear the wailing of an infant as one’s life fades away…?’

Jin pondered the thought.

Was this a hallucination triggered by severe blood loss? Or was it perhaps the neighbor’s child, crying out amidst the onslaught of the 9-star knights?

If it were the latter, the situation was truly bleak. With the Akin Kingdom destined to fall this very day, there was no chance for a newborn to survive the carnage.

‘I wish I could save the child, but I am in no state to assist anyone. My torso has been severed. I can only hope to be reborn into a world of peace rather than this misery.’

Waaaaaaah!

The screaming grew increasingly piercing. It seemed entirely possible the infant might suffocate from the sheer intensity of its own cries.

‘What a miserable end. To die unable to even protect a baby right in front of me.’

His sight was consumed by total darkness.

The baby showed no signs of quieting down. As he endured the humiliation while listening helplessly, Jin began to wonder why death had not yet claimed him.

He had sustained numerous lethal injuries, and his body was literally cut in two at the waist. Survival beyond ten seconds should have been impossible. Yet, the loud wailing persisted without end…

‘Wait, this sound is vibrating from my own body!’

The reality of the situation was incomprehensible.

It was Jin himself who was emitting those loud cries.

The date was September 9th, 1780.

On this day, Jin Runcandel, the youngest son of the prestigious clan of swordmasters, was born.

***

One hundred days had passed since his reincarnation.

Jin was now capable of crawling with some skill, and he was forced to accept the unbelievable reality of his existence.

He had been reborn following his demise; no other conclusion made sense. However, explaining this to anyone was impossible, as he could currently only manage incoherent babbling.

‘Even if I speak up after I turn five, who would believe a child claiming to possess twenty-eight years of memories?’

The adults would likely laugh it off as a toddler’s overactive imagination.

If he revealed the intricate history or the hidden skeletons of the family, some might take him seriously. However, the risk of being branded a cursed or demonic child was far too high.

Consequently, Jin was fated once more to live as the youngest scion of the terrifying Runcandel Clan.

The youngest of the Runcandels!

It was a position of immense power.

To most people in the world, being born into such a lineage would be viewed as the ultimate stroke of luck.

But Jin felt only a sense of dread.

‘I would have much preferred a life in a normal, quiet family.’

Had that been the case, it wouldn't have taken him three months to come to terms with his situation.

He had returned to the same household, as the same person, on the exact same day as his previous life. This suggested he likely possessed the same innate talents—or lack thereof—as before.

Swordsmanship and magic.

The problem was that the Runcandels despised magic. Their sworn enemies were the Zipfel Clan, the masters of the magical arts.

‘Back as the youngest Runcandel again. I wonder if the curse Solderet broke still clings to me. How am I supposed to escape this house and study magic this time?’

Leaving the Runcandel estate was the only way he could ever hope to practice magic.

Furthermore, if the curse Solderet had once lifted still plagued him, even the path of the sword would be closed to him.

Lost in these heavy thoughts, Jin’s eyelids grew heavy.

His infant body could not keep up with his adult mind's will, surrendering to its biological needs. Soon, he drifted into a deep slumber.

***

A full year had passed since his rebirth.

Time moved at a crawl, one grueling day at a time.

Jin was exhausted from constantly plotting for a future he couldn't yet reach. His body constantly betrayed him by falling asleep, and the boredom of being a mute infant was nearly unbearable.

‘I need to grow up! This is infuriating! I am completely powerless in this state!’

His existence was limited to nursing from a bottle and sleeping on command. Whenever he soiled himself, his nanny, Gilly, would arrive to change him. For a man with the soul of an adult, it was a profoundly degrading experience.

This had been his entire world for the past twelve months.

Step, step.

A woman stepped into Jin’s chambers. It was the matriarch of the family, Rosa Runcandel.

She possessed hair as black as night and a piercing gaze that complemented her sharp features. Though beautiful, she radiated an aura of cold authority that had earned her the title 'Black Panther.'

“Are the arrangements complete, Gilly?”

“Yes, Madam. Since today is the day of the Young Master’s ‘Selection,’ I have overseen every detail personally.”

“Excellent. Let us proceed at once.”

From their words, Jin understood that today was his first birthday.

Every child of the Runcandel bloodline undergoes a ritual known as the ‘Selection’ upon reaching one year of age.

In this ceremony, various items are spread across the floor, and the infant is encouraged to crawl toward one and claim it.

The Runcandels held a superstitious belief that the chosen object would dictate the child’s destiny. For some reason, this powerful family was obsessed with the tradition.

Rosa lifted Jin and carried him toward the great central hall of the castle.

Standing in the middle of the hall was a man with his arms crossed over his chest.

It was Cyron Runcandel, Jin’s father and the most formidable knight of the current age.

‘Father.’

This was Jin’s first encounter with his father since his rebirth. As a warrior who had stepped into the realm of demigods, Cyron was rarely found within the castle walls.

He spent his time either leading campaigns or honing his skills in isolation.

‘And my brothers and sisters…’

All twelve of his siblings were gathered there.

In his previous life, they had treated him like a pathetic nuisance, but for now, they had not yet begun their torment. They all watched him with wide, expectant smiles.

Remembering the pain they would eventually cause him made his chest tighten with anxiety.

“Rosa, set Jin down.”

His mother obeyed. As his small limbs touched the freezing marble, a shiver ran through his frame.

Two meters ahead lay the array of items for the ritual.

He spotted a book, two gold coins, and a single grain of rice, all surrounded by more than twenty different swords driven into the floor.

Jin simply had to pick one.

‘This is madness. I didn't remember this clearly because I was just a baby, but seeing it now, it’s terrifying. They really expect an infant to crawl through a thicket of sharp blades to pick one?’

In his past life, Jin had grasped a sword. With the non-combat items hidden behind a wall of steel, it wasn't surprising that every Runcandel child chose a weapon.

“Go on, my son. Make your choice.”

The entire Runcandel family watched with bated breath as Jin began to move.

The rest of the world likely had no idea that the famous Runcandels subjected their children to such a bizarre ritual.

Ugh.

Jin felt frustrated by his slow pace. Crawling required an immense amount of effort for his tiny body.

‘The sword I picked by instinct last time caused me nothing but trouble, yet I will intentionally choose that same blade today.’

Thump. Thump.

He could feel his small heart racing with adrenaline.

The weapons were arranged in a wide circle with the primary prize at the center.

As he wiggled forward, Jin bypassed the sword closest to him. The spectators in the hall widened their eyes in surprise.

Even in a family of warriors, most babies simply grab the nearest object.

Instead, Jin began to weave through the forest of steel. The onlookers swallowed hard as they tracked his every move.

A single thought occupied their minds.

‘Is he actually… aiming for that one?’

Jin continued to navigate the blades. The expressions on Cyron and Rosa’s faces twitched every time he narrowly avoided a sharp edge.

“Gah gah!”

Finally, Jin reached his target. A small bead of blood appeared where his finger brushed the steel.

The collective gaze of the room shifted from the baby to the weapon he held, and his siblings’ mouths fell open in shock.

They assumed it was a lucky accident, but Jin knew better. He had exhausted himself crawling specifically for this weapon. Managing a one-year-old’s motor skills with an adult’s intent was no easy feat.

‘Getting here on purpose was draining. How on earth did I manage to pick this by mistake in my first life…?’

His hand rested upon Barisada.

That was the sword’s name, and it served as the very symbol of the clan.

Throughout the ages, only the Runcandel patriarchs were permitted to wield it—specifically, those leaders who had earned the absolute respect of the entire family.

In all of Runcandel history, the number of times Barisada had been picked during a Selection could be counted on one hand.

Every child who had ever chosen Barisada had grown up to lead the Runcandel House. Every single one, except for the Jin Runcandel of the past.

“Jin has selected the sword of the Founder.”

Cyron’s voice resonated with gravity.

While some in the room broke out in cheers of joy, others struggled to mask their bitterness.

Such was the power of the Runcandel superstition.

“The ceremony is concluded. Take Jin to the Storm Castle.”