Mimicry. At first, it might seem like a good thing.
Merely following others can progress things rapidly, and those who don’t know any better often look up to them.
I was like that once.
When there was a quest I wanted to complete in “Hero of the Academy” but failed.
When I couldn’t get the hidden piece I wanted.
I looked up strategy cafes and successfully obtained what I wanted by copying their play exactly.
But.
‘It’s not fun.’
Copying someone else’s play exactly.
The moves, choice of dialogue, even the angle and timing of skill usage.
Following in someone else’s footsteps might give a momentary satisfaction but.
The fun and happiness I could feel when I did it on my own.
It couldn’t give me that.
Yes. I must forge my own path and play in ways others haven’t thought of.
Only then is it fun, happy, and then can you be called a…
“Hero.”
“Lérang! What are you doing now!”
“…”
“You’re making a fool of yourself over losing to that brat! Do you think this makes sense!”
Lérang. He was conversing with a demon right now.
Specifically, a demon inside a demon sword.
Grade 9. A low-tier demon among low-tier demons.
“Let’s make an additional contract! If you make a second contract with me, you can take out that guy in one hit!”
The demon’s whisper tickled Lérang’s ear.
Lérang closed his eyes. He didn’t want to hear or see anything.
Then.
Memories of the past that he had forgotten started to resurface.
After being expelled from the Lester family, he wandered around the empire, continuously training in swordsmanship.
Somehow, he ended up meeting him.
The fourteen-year-old boy who had insulted his brother and left.
Of course, he was now a healthy young man of twenty-two.
“Ah, well, back in the day, I was quite the skilled one!”
“Hey, Mr. La, shut up and drink!”
Lérang quietly waited for the drinking session to end.
And the moment the drunk him entered a deserted alley.
“Fight me in a duel.”
He challenged him to a duel.
For some reason, it felt like he had to.
“What? Crazy bastard! Get lost!”
“…The duel has already begun.”
After throwing a sword to him, the duel started.
The match was decided before even three exchanges passed.
“Arghhh!”
The brash young man rolled on the ground, his arm slashed.
It seemed like it barely cut 3cm.
Lérang grabbed his hair and proudly declared.
“Brash young man, how does it feel?”
“Ugh… Who are you! Who the hell are you!”
“I am Lérang of the Fleur family. You have been defeated by the Fleur family.”
Fleur, unrecognized.
And the victory of the unrecognized Fleur family.
Lérang was seething with rage to the tips of his hair.
“Ah, come on! That’s impossible! The Fleur family is known for their solid stance! Not dancing around like trash like you just did!”
Outrage!
Trash? Everything I’ve built up?
“Wait, hold on! I misspoke… Ack!”
Lérang immediately sliced open his abdomen.
Later, he found out that the guy was such a troublemaker that even his family had disowned him.
He had even been expelled from the academy.
There was no need to worry about being charged with murder.
But Lérang couldn’t help but fall into deep contemplation.
“…I’m not of the Fleur family?”
That evening, while training in the Fleur family’s swordsmanship all day, he realized.
His swordsmanship had already diverged significantly from the Fleur family’s.
It could be considered a different swordsmanship altogether.
‘It’s not a bad thing.’
The reason Lérang left the family.
To strengthen the Fleur family’s swordsmanship by incorporating other families’ techniques.
Though it had become a completely different swordsmanship…
‘I’ve come too far. Just have to keep doing what I’m doing.’
Hoping desperately that this was the right path.
From then on, he devoted himself more to mimicry, and his reputation began to rise.
The name Raphael, once known for losing every battle, was forgotten, and the name “Mimic Lérang” came to represent the Fleur family.
On the tenth year since leaving the family, Lérang decided to return to the family.
His brother, Raphael, warmly welcomed him back.
The problem occurred at the dinner table.
“Brother, I have improved our family’s swordsmanship. Let’s make this our family’s swordsmanship from now on.”
Lérang spoke confidently.
The swordsmanship he created was that powerful.
But the response he got was.
“…Lérang, haven’t you realized yet?”
“What?”
“Sigh… I thought you would have realized after coming back after 10 years… My mistake.”
“Brother… I did my best for the family. How could you do this to me!”
Lérang was furious.
He had followed other families’ swordsmanship, been mocked, and endured countless humiliations and persecutions.
“Is this the Mimic Lérang?”
“Hahaha! Funny guy. Imitating other families’ swordsmanship?”
“Shall we teach our family’s swordsmanship too?”
Pride, confidence, self-esteem. He had given them all up.
To raise the family. But to not be accepted!
Not even willing to take a look!
“Our family’s swordsmanship is weak, isn’t it! Weak enough to lose to a fourteen-year-old kid!”
“Brother, I may not have the talent, but you do. You can definitely become stronger than them. It’s still fully possible if you start now.”
“With this trash swordsmanship?”
“…Do you know what steel is?”
Solid and strong, a lump of iron mixed with this and that.
But also iron that can become anything.
If it goes through the process of forging thousands, tens of thousands of times.
“It can become anything. The same goes for people. Only through that process of endurance can one become truly strong.”
“…”
“Our family’s swordsmanship embodies such a will of steel. It can blend well with other families’ swordsmanship because it can become anything. However, if the core is shaken.”
It will collapse. Just like you now.
“…That’s impossible!”
Lérang, feeling as if his ten years had been denied, finally burst out in anger.
He challenged his family head, his brother, to a duel.
Raphael said nothing. He simply brought his sword.
“Alright, if that’s what you think, let’s do it. If it helps you overcome your inferiority complex, feel free to insult me.”
Thus, the duel began.
Lérang easily gained the upper hand. Raphael kept falling and getting up.
A duel where the winner and loser were already decided.
During the tedious fight, Lérang realized something.
‘Brother knew he would lose. But he accepted the duel anyway.’
Why?
“…You wouldn’t understand.”
Raphael staggered to his feet.
He leaned on his sword, his legs trembling as if they would give way at any moment.
But he managed to stand up again.
“…Standing up, enduring.”
Like steel.
“By the will of the Fleur.”
Was it intuition, or instinct?
Lérang felt a moment of fear and immediately used a secret technique.
The third secret of the Lafrell family style.
Illusion Sword.
The fifth secret of the Fleur family style.
Steel Storm’s Sky.
Lérang couldn’t help but widen his eyes. His own secret technique had been shattered.
Drip— Drip-.
Even blood was dripping from his left forearm.
Of course, Raphael was lying on the ground, seemingly unconscious.
‘Steel Storm’s Sky, huh? A secret technique that’s terrifyingly silent and still.’
If I had unleashed it myself?
…No. Let’s not entertain such hypotheses.
I won, and my stance was correct. The family’s swordsmanship is weak.
Thus, Lérang once again embarked on a journey, a journey taken as if fleeing.
Now, he couldn’t even tell how much time had passed.
‘I can never become a hero.’
During such moments of lament, a black wild dog appeared and spoke to him.
“Do you need help?”
This was the first encounter between the demon and Lérang.
Time passed.
The Fleur family disintegrated along with the death of Lérang’s brother.
Conversely, Lérang’s reputation only grew.
‘Is it luck?’
He made a deal with a demon and acquired a demon sword.
A demon sword that made it easy to use the secret techniques of other families.
Although it required sacrificing a part of his body the more he used it.
Since a piece of flesh was sufficient, Lérang thought it was not a bad deal.
Lately, Lérang was fervently attending grand parties to witness the secret techniques of other families.
While receiving invitations from various places and continuing his activities, he accidentally overheard a group’s conversation.
“Lérang is here, isn’t he? The rising star of late.”
“Ah, but he’s just a clown.”
“Right. A jester who imitates techniques.”
Laughable people.
Third-rate nobles whose families’ names were even unknown to him.
However, Lérang couldn’t laugh. He had entered a period of stagnation.
It was good to be able to use the swordsmanship of other families.
But he couldn’t surpass the originals.
This caused great frustration for Lérang.
Then, a letter arrived from Annwood Academy.
The content was lengthy, but the summary was simple.
They offered him a teaching position at the academy.
Lérang was overjoyed. Coming from an obscure family, he thought,
‘I’m going to become an academy teacher.’
Not only could he build a good resume, but he could also guide wandering kids onto the right path.
It was the perfect job for him.
‘Well, it’s a shame I can’t learn other families’ swordsmanship anymore.’
While preparing,
A butler from the Vyuern family came with a letter.
The content was predictable.
A simple request to take good care of Teron.
‘Truly, noble families are different.’
Even with superior techniques, they never let their guard down.
They gather more of what they have and suppress those who have less.
Just as Lérang was about to tear the letter in front of the butler to show his refusal,
“The Count has said if you accept the offer, he will provide any support you desire.”
Gold, women, honor, or something else.
But Lérang wanted none of it.
As he was about to forcefully decline with a sneer,
“You’ll be given the chance to spar with a family member of your choice once a month.”
Hesitation.
Autonomous sparring rights. This could scratch an itch Lérang didn’t even realize he had.
“…Including the Vyuern family?”
“Of course. Though he added you probably wouldn’t want that.”
The Vyuern family wasn’t known for swordsmanship but for martial arts.
A family that had reached the pinnacle of unarmed combat.
But Lérang, craving swordsmanship, wouldn’t likely ask them for a duel. That was the implication.
No matter how he thought about it, it was an overly favorable offer for him.
Therefore, Lérang,
“I respectfully decline. Please find another teacher.”
Expressed his refusal.
“Understood. Here’s my contact number. If you change your mind, feel free to reach out anytime.”
The Vyuern butler left. A contact number was left on the table.
‘I’ll never contact them first…’
But in this world, there’s no such thing as never.
And sure enough, right after the new semester began,
Lérang found himself in despair. The students’ swordsmanship was far too superior.
How many times had he bowed his head just to learn a single technique?
Yet here, such techniques were as common as dirt.
Eventually, Lérang reached for the sealed demon sword again.
And the result of that action?
As you can see.
He was facing death.
“Zero…”
“Keke, are you finally coming to your senses?”
Was it because he lost too much blood, or because the demon sword was beginning to take over his body?
Lérang’s focus was blurry.
Either way, it wasn’t a good situation.
“Sorry. I’m only now… beginning to see a little clearly.”
“…”
“I’ve been avoiding it, but now I finally realize why I could become ‘Mimic Lérang.'”
The reason Lérang was able to build his reputation as ‘Mimic Lérang’ was precisely because.
“The Fleur family’s swordsmanship emphasized the basics.”
The balance of the swordsmanship was well-maintained.
It was a swordsmanship that trained the core muscles used everywhere.
That’s why Lérang could easily absorb other families’ swordsmanship.
“Right. I thought I was a genius or something. But to forget those basics. Haha, I’m ashamed to face our ancestors.”
“…”
“Zero, may I ask you one favor?”
“Yes, please speak.”
“Cut off my right arm.”
“But…”
“Please. It’s too noisy to have a conversation. My…”
Lérang continued with a smile.
“Last conversation with my student.”
–TL Notes–
Hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you want to support me or give me feedback, you can do it at patreon.com/MattReading
Join my Discord! https://discord.gg/BWaP3AHHpt