The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Household Wants A Divorce-Chapter 117: Helmut of the Primitive

Whether she meant to or not, the Grandmaster stepped forward and drew every Transcendent’s gaze.

The sword wielded by the woman called Number Two was so similar to the Grandmaster’s that their duel fluttered like a butterfly’s wings.

Claang! Claaang!

“Truly! Is kneeling beneath them—is that what you wanted all along?”

The Grandmaster’s shout earned only the woman’s light, mocking smile, as if the answer itself were pointless.

“That dream we whispered under the moon—was it mine alone?”

Of the two, it was the Grandmaster whose sword dance trembled.

Isaac felt his mind turn to stone.

Still stunned by the loss of Silverna, he now watched even the Grandmaster teeter on the brink of departure.

‘I can’t just stand here.’

This time had to be different.

He found himself on his knees, strength drained away—

—then lurched to his feet, fist clenching, taking a single, desperate step forward.

When he swung his saber he did the very opposite of the Grandmaster’s constant advice not to over‑strain.

White‑knuckled, blade ready to snap, Isaac charged straight for the Grandmaster—

“What are you doing!”

“Baron Logan!”

Hands seized him from both sides. Isaac whipped around.

There stood the Leivice siblings. Meeting his eyes, they flinched; a frigid killing intent burned in Isaac’s gaze.

Yet he could not retreat.

“If we run, we all die! We have to buy time till the right flank arrives!”

“We can’t hold them alone. To keep losses down, we need you.”

Behind them came the clatter of riderless horses and the screams of knights and nobles clinging to saddles.

Bitter fighting had taught them the Transcendents’ ways—and taught them, too, how hopeless these odds were.

Those who chose to stand and fight dismounted, long spears tucked beneath their arms, trying to form what ranks they could.

“We need you.”

Marlin Leivice clasped her hand as though pleading.

It was always like this—Isaac’s heart moved first, logic later.

He only wanted to charge ahead.

But reality raised its wall, and reason’s chill cooled his blood—

When his leg had failed him, and even now.

‘In the end, I can never quite reach you, can I…?’

Staying with the Grandmaster would be rash; buying time with the troops was wiser.

Most of the remaining knights, nobles, and soldiers were young.

Perhaps that was why they stayed—thirsting for glory, or craving a single heroic line in history.

The Pure Flow Association had always been full of such men: arrogant, hot‑blooded, spitting boasts as if they longed for the day they would fight and die.

To them, heroic sacrifice was reward enough.

“So you’re not all empty talk after all.”

Isaac’s voice was as cold as the northern wind.

They gave no answer, but their faces told the tale.

“If we live through this, we’ll rule the next age.”

“History will carve our names into the war against the Transcendents.”

“Young men, chase honor—glory will follow!”

Their cries were not childish bravado; terror lurked beneath every shout, words wrapped around trembling legs to keep them from fleeing.

“On paper, we outnumber them.”

Isaac turned again toward the Transcendents and the Grandmaster.

Their dazzling sword dance blazed on, unreachable even by the northern chill.

Fixing that sight in his eyes, Isaac continued:

“But once the Transcendents hit a certain number, the count of humans no longer matters.”

When they fought together, their strength multiplied, not added.

Overwhelming bodies covered one another so perfectly that no gap could form.

“Many will die.”

His truth was laid out, flat and calm.

“Even if we block them, brute strength wins out. Properly, you don’t block their blows—you dodge, or redirect.”

“W‑wait, Baron Logan—are you saying we should scatter?”

“That’s suicide! They’ll cut us down one by one!”

“No—we pack tight.”

Bewilderment flickered in their eyes.

If they bunched up, they couldn’t dodge and would take every strike head‑on—didn’t that contradict what he’d just said?

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In his past life, Isaac had fought Transcendents in every way imaginable.

When numbers on each side were roughly equal—as they were now—the rules changed.

Roughly thirty foes.

“No matter how many they kill, don’t let them take more than ten of us.”

“B‑Baron Logan!?”

Put bluntly, it meant spending the lives of the comrades beside you to kill a single Transcendent.

“Stay sharp—this is what war with those monsters looks like.”

To think they could fight the Transcendents without accepting losses in the first place—that’s arrogance.

The nobles’ eyes turned to Rayahn Leivice. They listened because Isaac knew the Transcendents better than anyone, but what he proposed was unacceptable: sacrificing comrades—or oneself—to kill the enemy.

As commander of the left wing, Rayahn felt every gaze urging him to choose another path. He asked, voice steady:

“Baron Logan, is that truly the best we can do?”

“It is. With these numbers against that many Transcendents, it’s the only way.”

Their left wing was never large, and plenty had already fled.

“You’ll have to kill knowing you might die.”

They thought they understood the Transcendents’ might—thought their skirmishes had taught them—but once the enemy moved in earnest, the battle demanded a brutality they had never imagined.

“…Baron Logan, since it’s your plan—”

Isaac said nothing more. He simply took position—front and center, the place most likely to die.

“We don’t have long.”

Even the Grandmaster couldn’t spare them time to steel their nerves. Her whirlwind duel was losing Transcendent attention; hungry eyes now fixed on the soldiers instead.

At first, the Transcendents had looked ready to help their comrade—Number Two—against the Grandmaster, but slowly they slipped away. Against such foes, a few overwhelming warriors were worth more than a mob.

As the Transcendents advanced, someone stepped to Isaac’s side.

“I dreamed of a heroic death, but I didn’t expect it to come so soon.”

Rayahn Leivice—and behind him, Marlin Leivice. Their twin‑blade style was lethal: one dazzled the eye, the other struck unseen. Light and shadow moving as though the siblings shared a single sword.

“Reinforcements will come, yes?”

“Some ran. They’ll play messengers whether they mean to or not.”

At Isaac’s calm words, Rayahn asked with a rueful smile:

“You really seem untroubled.”

“…I don’t know.”

Isaac had fought Transcendents before, but never this many in a fight to the death.

Truthfully, it wasn’t calm—it was a quickening thrill.

“I think…I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

All those days watching the war from afar, friends dying while his useless leg left him idle—

Now he stood in the vanguard. He still hadn’t reached the Grandmaster, yet standing here felt like triumph, raw and electric.

“Tch. I can almost see why Blood Rose fell for you.”

“…Probably for a different reason.”

“They’re coming.”

Marlin’s warning barely left her lips before the Transcendents were upon them.

Isaac angled the first spear aside; Rayahn rolled straight back, hurled clear.

Marlin had already guessed her brother would be flung away and slipped in behind Isaac.

“Ha-ha! Is that all?”

Emerging from Isaac’s shadow, Marlin’s blade flashed up to skewer a Transcendent’s jaw—

—but another ripped the target back at the last instant.

“Tch.”

“…So close.”

Isaac clicked his tongue; Marlin cursed herself.

That was the problem: together the Transcendents multiplied their power. Numbers had an upper limit, but this—

This was perfect for them.

Isaac had said don’t let one of them kill more than ten of us…

But that’s going to be hard.

Pummeling a lone Transcendent that had dropped from the sky taught them about the enemy—but it hadn’t been a real battle.

Blue killing intent coiled around Isaac. Against Transcendents, one exceptional fighter was worth more than a crowd. Determined to hold the front, he swung—

—and saw, far off, a surge of crimson energy. It tore across the ground and smashed into the Grandmaster.

Her body lifted, blood at her lips, clothes stained. She twisted her tail for balance and landed on one knee, glaring at the Transcendent’s Helmut, who had barged into her duel.

A single, savage strike—ferocious and raw.

“…!”

Isaac’s mouth fell open. It resembled the red aura Arandel had shown him, yet rougher—pure, Primitive Helmut.

“That kind of—?”

The words slipped out—

“Baron Logan!”

Marlin’s rarely seen scream rang out. By the time Isaac’s head snapped back, it was too late.

Mesmerized by the impossible sight, he’d left an opening. A Transcendent’s spear was already at his chest—

Kudududuk!

A vortex burst open before him, ignoring space and matter alike. Its overwhelming pull sucked the Transcendent in an instant.

“Of all times—!”

Even the foe’s dying curse vanished. The same phenomenon that had devoured the Heukgyeon last time unfolded right before Isaac’s eyes.

– – The End of The Chapter ––

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