The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Family Wants A Divorce

“Ha, haha … ”

A dry laugh slipped out.

Without a trace of emotion, the act of laughing simply repeated—until,

“I’m growing tired.”

After that curt snip of words, every hint of color drained from the man’s face, leaving only a blank mask.

“An imitator?”

He mouthed the word again, then let out a hollow chuckle.

“I’ve lived a very long time, yet I never imagined I’d hear that.”

Turning toward the Grandmaster’s fellow disciple, the man asked,

****

ClAAAANG!

Isaac’s body was hurled into the air.

The greatsword crashed against the twin sabers in his hands.

Even though he was ready and managed to react, sheer force overpowered him.

“…!”

The woman known as No. 2 slid her sword back into its sheath with lazy indifference.

The blow left Isaac’s arms numb, yet to her it seemed no more than a token warning.

“Tch!”

“Isn’t it laughable?”

The man strolled toward the staggering Isaac.

“You can’t even ward off a single strike, yet you stand before me yammering about imitations.”

“Gagging me won’t change the truth.”

“…Your tongue, at least, is first‑rate.”

No. 2 brushed past the man and lunged at Isaac again; the greatsword that had just been sheathed roared back to life.

A flash‑draw, swift as a bullet.

Isaac summoned every ounce of energy, determined to parry this time.

The whole world washed blue.

Somewhere, people screamed—

The sound came from the sabers in his own hands.

Amid those screams of the dead, Isaac’s blades caught the flash‑draw.

— Claaaang!

— Bang!

Steel struck steel, yet human wails filled the air—a grotesque phenomenon.

No. 2 couldn’t hide her confusion; beneath the brim of her bamboo hat, her eyes trembled.

Still locked at the cross‑guard, Isaac raised one saber high and jammed it toward the spine of the greatsword.

With No. 2’s weapon caught in the middle, his two sabers clamped down like jaws.

Using the white snow’s hardness of the blade, he tried to snap the greatsword as one would break bone—

“…!”

Startled, No. 2 poured fresh strength into her swing.

-Vwoooong!

This slash was not to cut but to shove—dull‑edged yet brutally heavy.

“Cheap tricks …”

She muttered, wearing an ambiguous expression; her gaze on Isaac swirled with tangled emotions, as though she wanted to ask something but kept chewing on the words.

Yet, wilting under the man’s stare, she stifled the question and charged Isaac once more.

‘Just like the Grandmaster.’

The resemblance was uncanny—

And precisely because of that, Isaac could endure.

His body felt ready to break, his hands were numb, but he could survive.

‘So this is what fighting the Grandmaster would feel like.’

Without a doubt.

The woman’s blade kept slicing, always a hair’s breadth away, her face unreadable—

“Ah.”

Space twisted.

Again.

Again.

No. 2 stared at the man in bewilderment.

He only frowned, sighed, and silently indicated there was no helping it.

And with that, No. 2 vanished.

Left alone, Isaac steadied his breathing and moved forward without another word.

“Lucky, aren’t you?”

Smiling, the man slung the greatsword‑shaped crimson steel across his shoulder.

He disliked that the moment had come for him to act, yet he hesitated not at all.

Isaac kept staring at the space where No. 2 had vanished.

Something …

At last, the outline of the truth was forming in his mind—when,

“Face the blade you dared call an imitation.”

He heaved the crimson aura greatsword high.

There was more aura packed into it than even Arandel had ever mustered; the excess scattered in scarlet sparks.

A red wind swallowed the arena, howling to devour all within.

Isaac saw an opening.

‘I’ve done this once before.’

He lowered his stance; his twin blades drifted through the gale as though they rode its current.

His killing aura snatched at the red aura like a magnet, as if the hands of the dead hungered to seize such power.

Crimson motes gathered and clung to his swords.

“Ha! Never met a fool who fights with another man’s scraps!”

Ridicule bubbled from the man.

“So that’s your answer? Scrounging the leavings of the one you branded an imitator? A rat, nothing more—!”

“You really are an imitation.”

The man’s grin froze; now curiosity pricked him.

“What makes you say that?”

The swirling aura formed a barrier, sealing the two alone inside.

Perhaps because of that, his next words were almost candid.

“What do you know that lets you label me a copy?”

He had believed his lie perfect.

But when someone pierces a falsehood, the liar’s instinct is to find the flaw.

“I couldn’t help but know.”

Isaac hadn’t tried to see through the lie; he simply had to—because he had walked the same path.

“I, too, once admired him—”

The difference—

“—and tried to imitate him.”

The man had wielded a sword; Isaac had traced the strokes with pen and paper.

Both had wanted the same thing, and so—ridiculously—had walked the same road.

Only the man had been satisfied and stopped, while Isaac realized that was no true answer and cast it aside.

“You—”

The man’s gaze shifted.

He had thought Isaac a mouthy nobody; now he saw something else.

After all, Isaac alone had pierced the secret.

“Tsk. You’re right.”

Maybe it was because they were truly alone, or because he needed somewhere to vent his own displeasure, but the man conceded, plain and simple.

“His swordsmanship is magnificent—so great I still wonder how it exists.”

“..."

“A little one devouring something immense. That is exactly what it looked like.”

Swish—!

The red greatsword that roofed the sky surged even higher.

“That was a first for me.”

His voice was self‑mocking, hollow.

Isaac was the only one ever to glimpse this truth, so the confession came easier—he meant to claim Isaac’s life at once anyway.

“Never thought I’d come to admire a human.”

The blade that blanketed the heavens came crashing down.

The instant Isaac saw it, he knew the source: the grand strike Arandel had once shown.

Extinction attack.

Lohengrin Helmut had copied it too, and Isaac had broken it back then.

‘I can do this.’

He was sure of it—

After all, he’d grown stronger since that day.

He had already shattered the near‑secret ultimate of the Helmut, the Extinction attack.

Its overwhelming power demanded matching finesse from its wielder.

The crimson sword that filled his sight swelled until it no longer even resembled a greatsword; no single glance could contain it.

‘I can do this.’

Once more—

Break it.

Isaac’s blades swept out. Even if this was leftover crimson steel, the way he wielded it was anything but ordinary—

Enough that the surname Helmut had once seemed to fit him.

The energy surrounding those blades, mixed with crimson aura, warped the flow of the Extinction attack.

Cold truth: In terms of completion, Lohengrin had done it better; the version hurled by this man was downright crude.

Whenever Isaac swung, the red aura before him scattered like churned‑up water, veering aside.

Like a rock in a waterfall: the torrents of auta split around him, unable to smash him, breaking apart and falling away.

Once.

Twice.

Over and over—

‘How long is this going to last …?’

He couldn’t tell. Soon his vision was nothing but crimson haze, as if he walked inside a sandstorm. Everything around him glowered, a murderous red hunger ready to devour.

“Ha— gkh!”

He could scarcely breathe—not from exertion, but because the thick crimson aura itself crushed the very air.

Breaths failed; he felt himself sinking.

Master, Silverna …

Had he failed to protect them after all? He was about to drop to his knees when—

-Vwoooooom!

Wind cleaved through wind. It was still a crimson aura, yet darker, denser, harder.

He raised the head he had bowed—

The sky had cleared.

Before him stood the back of his former wife,

Rihanna Helmut.

“...”

She said nothing, simply leveled her greatsword at the man.

“Rihanna Helmut? The current head of Helmut. At last we meet,” the man greeted her—though he clicked his tongue, displeased that Isaac yet lived.

“What is that bastard?!”

“Isaac! Are you all right?”

Lohengrin and Sharen rushed in behind her—Lohengrin gaping at the man, Sharen nearly in tears as she steadied Isaac.

“Hah … hah …!”

Gulping the air he’d been denied, Isaac forced himself upright. His fingers trembled so badly the blades might slip, but he would not let go.

“The Grandmaster —!”

He had to save her. He tried to order the others to tend the Grandmaster first, yet the place where she had fallen was empty.

The Grandmaster could not have moved herself, and the enemy’s interest was long spent—so who?

As Isaac searched in alarm, Sharen spoke, trying to calm him.

“Someone named Damien carried her off! Please, Isaac, fall back—you’re in no shape!”

“Damien …?”

The Grandmaster’s sole remaining disciple—a former thief who, in a past life, had betrayed them?

The thought hit like a hammer, yet relief was greater. He’d heard Damien was with the northern retaking force, operating alone; apparently he’d shadowed the Grandmaster, ready to act.

Impossible, had Isaac not drawn every eye. Intentional or not, his flashy provocation had stolen all attention—

And in the end, saved the Grandmaster’s life.

“Thank goodness …”

Tears of relief brimmed, but he blinked them away; nothing was over yet.

“Ah, Helmut—my former name. To see it flourish so splendidly stirs old memories.”

“...”

“I am Hellic. The ‘Helmut’ you bear was taken from me.”

Shocking, no doubt: Lohengrin and Sharen stared at Hellic in open dismay—

After all, they had just learned they were half‑Transcendent.

Anyone would be rattled.

“—So what?”

Everyone except Rihanna Helmut.

Greatsword in hand, Rihanna looked up at Hellic.

“Pointless talk won’t change a thing.”

The blade she gripped with both hands exhaled the crimson aura far denser than what she had released with her fists earlier.

“Heh—how paltry.”

Hellic only sneered. As though his supply were limitless, he gathered more crimson steel, and the Extinction attack began charging again.

****

“Endure … and we win.”

Isaac steadied his breath as he spoke.

Still watching Hellic, Rihanna asked,

“What do you mean?”

“He can’t stay here forever.”

Hellic’s eyes widened a fraction; then his gaze swung back to Isaac.

“You moved the Malidan Barrier with ritual. I’ve figured out what that price is.”

Fighting down the urge to retch, Isaac continued. Ever since he’d seen No. 2—the Grandmaster’s fellow disciple—blink out, he was certain.

Irregular, simultaneous warps were hitting every Transcendent troop.

“That distortion itself is the price.”

Think about it: from the very start, Transcendents kept tearing space to appear here, only to be wiped out piecemeal.

Thirty together could wreck an entire flank; why did they keep popping up alone?

One reason:

They couldn’t control it either.

The first Heukgyeon incident, the startled ones who plummeted into the center of the force—each had been yanked through space because of the price.

“Ha.”

Hellic’s eyes curved to crescents.

“Hahaha! You really do pierce everything, don’t you? Know us that well?”

He let go of his staff and clapped; the staff hovered, locked in place beside him.

“We twist space, so we bear the responsibility—that is our cost.”

“So that thing will vanish soon, too?” Lohengrin asked.

Isaac merely dipped his chin. Every invader so far had blinked back after a while; Hellic’s own time had to be running short.

“But you’ve missed one point—I have some skill in those ritual arts.”

Indeed, what he wielded looked more staff than sword.

“As one who uses rituals, I can resist. Say, long enough to kill all of you?”

Even when he first arrived, Transcendents around him had warped in en masse. That, too, was likely not teleportation but a delay—he’d deferred the cost.

“In simple terms—”

-Srng.

Rihanna nodded, perfectly calm.

“—smack him once, and he pops home on his own.”

Isaac drew a breath and stepped forward beside her.

“Exactly.”

Hellic studied the pair before him and smiled, intrigued.

– – The End of The Chapter ––

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