Regressing as the Reincarnated Bastard of the Sword Clan

Chapter 191

Granada’s death.

In many ways, it was a foregone conclusion.

Kyle had already defeated the Dragon Emperor in his youth.

Since then, he had continued to evolve, reaching the realm of a demigod.

Granada, who was merely a disciple of the Dragon Emperor and had not even attained the rank of an apostle in the Sacred Demon Cult, stood no chance against Kyle.

‘On top of that, the Dragon Fang Blade didn’t even fully unleash its potential...!’

At this point, even Ed began to feel frustrated.

The disparity.

Between the main lineage and the offshoots.

The gap between the real and the fake was this vast.

Despite thinking that he had absorbed all the strengths and systems of the Ragnar clan and transplanted them into Troiban, it seemed that he had been sorely mistaken.

No, he had even combined the advantages of the Sacred Demon Cult to create what he believed to be a superior family, but it was all an illusion.

‘Oh, Dragon Emperor.’

What would the Dragon Emperor think when he heard the news of their failure?

Would he feel regret?

Or would he simply sneer?

‘The path to reaching you is still so far away.’

“This marks the end of Troiban, doesn’t it?”

Julius, seemingly reading Ed’s thoughts, laughed savagely.

Ed, gripping his sword tighter, curled one side of his lips into a sneer.

“Maybe. It might be over. But not for me.”

And then—

Fwoosh!

A flash of light tore through the air, accompanied by a spray of blood.

***

The news of the battle between Ragnar and Troiban spread like wildfire, crossing the northern regions and quickly reaching the entire empire.

Every newspaper, magazine, and bulletin that had been monitoring the war scrambled to disseminate the story.

<[Feature Article] How Did Ragnar Overcome Strategic Disadvantage to Triumph in the Northern War?>

The Northern War had been one of the most anticipated clashes in the empire—a struggle for dominance between two of the most renowned sword clans.

At the start of the war, Troiban had flaunted its superior military might. Many believed this could mark the end of Ragnar’s thousand-year reign as the ruler of the North.

But Ragnar proved once again that its strength could envelop the entire empire.

The reactions were explosive.

The massive city of Veros, where the main house of Troiban was based, had fallen into Ragnar’s hands.

Even those who had regarded the war as a distant event now began to feel its impact.

The entire economic network originating from the East came to a halt.

And then—

The additional announcement from Ragnar sent shockwaves across the empire once again.

<[Editorial] Was Troiban Truly Connected to the Sacred Demon Cult?>

By presenting evidence of Troiban’s collusion with the Sacred Demon Cult, Ragnar shattered the positive public opinion that had once surrounded Troiban.

The Sacred Demon Cult was a notorious heretical organization that had shaken the empire multiple times in the past. Worshipers of chaos, they were denounced by every temple devoted to the gods of the Pantheon.

It wasn’t just religious institutions—major organizations across the empire rushed to distance themselves:

<18 Elector Lords Issue Joint Statement: “None of us have any ties to the Sacred Demon Cult.”>

The empire’s eighteen major factions, collectively known as the Electors, moved swiftly to avoid being associated with Troiban.

“By the way, has anyone heard anything about their assignments?”

“Not me.”

“Me neither.”

“Could it be a secret mission?”

The absence of Evelyn and Wellington left Theo’s followers with a sense of regret.

The rumors that Theo might be officially recognized as the Heir Apparent had already reached their ears. For such a historic occasion, they all wanted to be there to celebrate with him.

“Well, we’ll just have to cheer twice as hard to make up for their absence!”

“Agreed! Let’s do it!”

“Attention, everyone!”

Clap, clap!

With the sound of applause, all eyes turned to one side of the training hall.

“Listen up, you idiots! If you embarrass yourselves today and tarnish Sir Theo’s honor in any way, every one of you is getting your head dunked into ice water! Got it?!”

The "embarrassment" in question included cheering less loudly than rival groups or failing to secure a spot in the front row.

“Understood!”

“We’ll keep it in mind!”

“Then let’s goooo!”

“Let’s gooooooo!”

The followers, brimming with excitement, began marching out together, their spirits soaring.

***

Victory Dragon Hall, the grand venue capable of accommodating all events in Winterer, was bustling with people.

The order to attend had been issued to all Ragnar family members, except those on critical missions. Additionally, vassal clans, including the Six Swords Families and banner houses, were all in attendance.

At the entrance to the hall, just before stepping inside, Cecilia paused, taking deep breaths in an uncharacteristically nervous manner.

“Phew... Phew...”

Kirsion, puffing steadily on his long pipe, looked at her with confusion.

“You’re usually hysterical about everything. Why the sudden nerves now?”

“Because this is where our son will be in the spotlight! At the very least, I mustn’t disgrace him!”

“Hah, as if anyone would dare look down on the son of Theodor and grandson of the Bask Workshop’s founder. Is there even a chance of starving in the North?”

Kirsion snorted dismissively.

Once, Theo had been just another overlooked bastard in a harem full of children.

Now, speaking ill of his lineage could easily get someone’s head removed.

Cecilia’s business ventures were thriving, and the Bask Workshop, which had boldly used Theo as their advertising model, was experiencing unprecedented growth.

On top of that, Plum Blossom Palace and the White Armor Vanguard had openly backed Theo, making him one of the most promising candidates for the throne.

Rumors even swirled that Theo had amassed a considerable following of loyalists.

Since Torkel’s annihilation alongside the Black Iron Brigade during the Northern War, this support had only grown stronger.

The name Theo Ragnar had become a sensation in and of itself.

“I’ve heard whispers that the succession announcement might be made during this victory ceremony.”

Initially, Kirsion had intended to send a representative in his place.

However, if those rumors held even a grain of truth, the political storm that would follow in the North would be unparalleled.

As a businessman, he couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity.

“Advertising! I’ve poured so much money into those campaigns—there’s no way I’m sitting this out!”

His eyes burned with determination, the kind unique to those who smelled profit.

“If we delay any further, we won’t even see our grandson’s face. Let’s go.”

Pushing Cecilia forward, Kirsion hurried into the hall.

After what felt like an eternity of formal and tedious ceremonial protocols, the crowd finally quieted.

Kyle stepped forward and spoke a single sentence:

“Now, we will commence the distribution of honors.”

All eyes were drawn to him in an instant.