Ember Reborn: The Flame That Defied Fate-Chapter 52: The student of my student -

Yuren Helios.

The descendant of Reynald Helios—the leader of the Five Great Heroes, the one known across the continent as the Sword of the Sun.

A swordsmanship genius who, at the age of ten, had overwhelmed the master assigned to teach him.

People called him many things.

The reincarnation of Reynald.

The return of the Sun’s Sword.

The boy blessed by the Seven Gods with a divine blade.

From a young age, Yuren captivated the continent, and in return he delivered—again and again—skill that made even seasoned swordsmen go quiet.

They hailed him as the miracle that would save the Helios family, a lineage that had slowly declined over five centuries.

But tragedy always loved genius.

When Yuren was twelve, his younger sister, Yurina Helios, died in an accident.

A fall.

That was what the official story said.

A fall on the sacred mountain where the heads of House Helios were buried.

After that day, Yuren vanished.

He abandoned the sword he’d never once released.

He shut the gates. Cut ties. Refused visitors. Refused tournaments. Refused the world.

Three years passed.

The rumor mills feasted.

They said the sun had set.

They said the Helios line was finished.

Then—without warning—Yuren returned.

Not to a banquet.

Not to court.

Not to an academy.

He reappeared at the Empire’s annual swordsmanship tournament.

At fifteen, he took second place.

At eighteen, he entered the Hero Academy at the very top of his year.

And from the moment he stepped onto campus, he never relinquished the number one ranking.

A genius among geniuses.

The heir of the Sun’s Sword.

That same Yuren Helios had just grabbed my hand with both of his and demanded, eyes trembling—

"Who... who taught you that swordsmanship?!"

If anyone else saw this scene, they’d think they were dreaming.

Honestly?

So did I.

I stared at him for a beat.

Then exhaled.

"...You really want to know?"

"Yes," Yuren said immediately. No hesitation. No pride. Just hunger. "Tell me."

He looked like a starving man who’d just smelled food.

The same eyes as my previous life.

No—maybe even worse.

’He’s even more intense now.’

I gently pulled my hand back, mostly because he was gripping like he’d never let go again.

"You want me to teach you swordsmanship?" I asked.

Yuren nodded with frightening sincerity.

"I will give you whatever reward you want."

"It’s not about rewards," I said.

He blinked.

"Then what is it about?"

I tilted my head slightly.

"Are you really okay with this?"

"Okay with what?"

"If people find out the top-ranked cadet is learning from the lowest-ranked cadet," I said flatly, "this academy will turn upside down."

Yuren didn’t even flinch.

"I don’t care."

It wasn’t arrogance.

It wasn’t arrogance at all.

It was the pure, ugly devotion of someone who only cared about the blade.

I stared at him for a moment, then sighed.

"I don’t mind teaching you," I said. "But don’t go around telling people."

Yuren’s expression softened like I’d handed him a lifeline.

"...Thank you, Dale."

He smiled like a man who’d found an oasis in the desert.

"So," he asked immediately, "what should I do first?"

"Hmm."

I looked around his private training ground again.

It really was impressive.

Neat. Clean. Controlled. The kind of space where a person could become strong without distractions.

A perfect environment for a genius.

And a perfect environment to ruin a genius, too—if he grew complacent.

"For now," I said, "swing your sword the way you normally do when you’re practicing alone."

"Like my usual practice?"

"Yeah," I replied. "And use mana."

"Got it."

Yuren stepped into the center, posture straight. He took a slow breath, and the air changed.

Wooooong.

Mana spread through his body like sunlight warming stone.

Then his sword ignited.

A golden aura radiated from the blade—brilliant, clean, and noble, befitting the name Sword of the Sun.

But—

I tilted my head slightly.

’Huh?’

The golden aura looked... pale.

Not weak.

Not thin.

Just... diluted. Like sunlight through fog.

In my previous life, Yuren’s aura had been vivid enough to make your eyes sting. A gold so bright it felt like a declaration.

This one was softer.

Was it because he was still young?

No, he was the same age.

Was it because his technique hadn’t matured?

That didn’t make sense either.

Yuren was already monstrously advanced.

’Maybe it changes later.’

Aura color could shift as a swordsman progressed. Some evolved. Some deepened. Some sharpened.

The color itself wasn’t what mattered.

The blade did.

The intent did.

The control did.

I pushed the thought aside and focused on him.

"I’m starting," Yuren said quietly.

His sword moved.

And the room became silent.

Even if you hated him, even if you envied him, even if you wanted to punch his perfect face—

You couldn’t deny it.

His sword was beautiful.

Each stroke drew a clean line through the air, golden aura painting arcs like sunrise.

His posture was flawless.

His transitions were smooth.

His weight distribution, breathing, footwork—everything was the result of harsh, relentless repetition.

I clenched my fist without realizing.

’That’s Yuren’s sword.’

A sword that made people fall in love with the idea of heroism.

Graceful enough to make your heart race.

Noble enough to make you ache.

The sword of my one and only friend.

Of course... compared to the swordsmanship I’d seen in my previous life, he still had a long way to go.

But even now—

I knew.

Only I could know.

This boy would become a sun brighter than Reynald Helios himself.

"Haaah!"

Yuren released a short shout.

A burst of aura exploded from his sword.

Rumble!

The training ground shook lightly, as if thunder had struck somewhere underground.

I stared at the swirling gold with a wry expression.

’Absurd.’

No matter how many times I saw it, Yuren’s mana was ridiculous.

I’d heard that even as a child, his mana reservoir was abnormal.

And with a family like House Helios?

He’d been fed every elixir, every tonic, every rare supplement money could buy.

Innate mana.

Total support.

Breathing techniques drilled into him since childhood.

Talent plus effort plus resources.

An unfair combination.

Whoosh. Swish. Slash.

After several more minutes, Yuren ended his form with a controlled exhale, and the golden aura faded.

He turned to me, eyes bright.

"How was it?"

"You were amazing," I said honestly.

Because he was.

Even now, his swordsmanship deserved the word genius.

Yuren shook his head immediately.

"No," he said, almost frustrated. "I couldn’t even counterattack properly before losing to you."

"That’s..."

I stopped myself.

How do you explain it?

How do you tell a genius that you aren’t a genius—you’re a cheat?

A man who has carried a sword through centuries of blood and ashes?

Comparing Yuren to me wasn’t fair.

It was like comparing a child learning to walk to a grown man who had crossed continents.

From his perspective, I probably looked like a sword god.

And honestly...

That misunderstanding would make teaching him easier.

The more he believed my words carried weight, the faster he’d absorb them.

So I let the illusion stand.

I smiled slightly.

"Alright," I said. "Another round."

Yuren’s face lit up immediately.

"Okay."

"This time," I added, "we’ll use mana."

Yuren hesitated.

His expression stiffened.

"...Mana?"

He watched me carefully before speaking again, polite but cautious.

"I don’t mean to be rude, but..."

"You’re worried the gap in our mana is too extreme," I finished.

Yuren looked embarrassed.

"...Yes. Sorry."

"There’s nothing to apologize for," I said.

Then I added, because it mattered—

"Mana affects swordsmanship."

It wasn’t just fuel.

It wasn’t just power.

It was part of the blade.

Even Yuren knew that.

Hadn’t he experienced it during his Incarnation state in my previous life?

Mana and swordsmanship were inseparable.

Yuren had once said that at the pinnacle, you could perform miracles with pure technique alone.

But—

He was wrong.

Without mana, you couldn’t even reach that pinnacle.

Telling someone to master the sword without mana was like telling them to fly without wings.

Of course, having mana didn’t guarantee reaching the top either.

But without it?

You didn’t even get on the mountain.

"...Alright," Yuren said finally. "If you insist."

He raised his sword.

Golden aura flickered along the blade.

I drew mine and stepped forward.

Gray aura answered quietly.

Then—

Clash.

Kaang!

Ka-kang! Kang!

Wooden swords wouldn’t have survived this exchange; we’d switched to blunted steel training blades meant for mana reinforcement.

Even so, the impact rattled my bones.

Our auras tangled—gold and gray grinding against each other like opposing storms.

"Urgh...!"

Pain shot through my palms.

My skin tore from the shock of repeated clashes.

Every time our blades collided, it felt like my hands were being scraped raw.

Yuren’s mana was a tidal wave.

Mine was... a cup thrown into the ocean.

He pressed forward aggressively, confidence rising with every exchange.

Then his expression shifted.

Because the more he pushed—

The more he started to lose ground.

"What...?"

Yuren’s eyes widened.

His golden aura still outshone mine in quantity, but his blade line was being forced off its ideal angle.

His footwork was being disrupted.

His timing was being stolen.

Just by looking at the aura density, he should have been dominating.

So why was he the one being pushed back?

"That’s enough for today," I said.

"But I can still go!" Yuren protested instantly, breathing hard.

"I said that’s enough," I repeated, sharper.

Yuren froze.

Then his shoulders lowered slightly.

"...Ugh."

"Don’t rush," I said, sheathing my sword and hiding the tremor in my hands. "You can’t master swordsmanship in a day."

Yuren exhaled, forced to accept it.

"...Yeah. You’re right."

I took a slow breath once he wasn’t looking.

’This guy is insane.’

I’d tried to look impressive.

But if that spar had lasted another minute...

No.

Even thirty seconds...

It wouldn’t have been Yuren collapsing.

It would have been me.

I’d been walking a tightrope.

One slip, and the illusion shatters.

Yuren stepped closer again, eyes burning with desperation.

"Tell me," he said. "How can I handle a sword the way you do?"

I stared at him.

For a moment, the weight of time pressed against my chest.

How do I answer that?

Train for thousands of years?

Die and revive until your nerves stop fearing pain?

Fight demons until your blade becomes part of your breath?

Obviously not.

So I searched for something—anything—that could guide him without exposing me.

Then—

Ah.

That.

I leaned in slightly and lowered my voice, as if passing down a secret technique.

"Don’t think about where you want to aim the sword," I said. "Think about where the sword wants to go."

Yuren blinked.

"Don’t think about where I want to aim... but where the sword wants to go?"

"Yeah."

He stared at me like I’d spoken a foreign language.

"What does that even mean?" he demanded, genuinely confused. "A sword isn’t alive. How can it ’want’ to go anywhere?"

I stared back.

Then thought:

I have no idea either, you idiot.

It was the same nonsense he used to say to me.

Now I’d thrown it back.

And watching his perfect face twist in confusion—

I couldn’t help it.

I burst out laughing.

It was oddly satisfying.

Like tiny revenge across lifetimes.

"You don’t have to understand right away," I said, still chuckling. "Just keep it in your head—"

"...Ah!"

Yuren suddenly stiffened.

His eyes widened.

His whole body trembled like he’d just been struck by lightning.

"Oh... ohhh."

He clenched his fist.

"Right. I get it now! That’s what it means!"

I froze.

"...What?"

You get it?

How?

Even I don’t get it.

Yuren’s face was glowing like he’d discovered a new continent.

He grabbed his sword again, staring at it with fierce devotion.

"...So that’s what you’ve been doing."

I stared at him silently, completely lost.

Then, quietly—

I felt something unsettling.

Because if Yuren Helios, the genius who could understand nonsense and turn it into power...

Had just "understood" the thing I never understood...

Then the swordsmanship he was going to become...

Might be even more terrifying than the one I remembered.

And for the first time since returning—

I felt a flicker of nervousness.

Not fear of demons.

Not fear of death.

Fear of a friend becoming a sun so bright...

That even I couldn’t look directly at it.