From the man’s matter-of-fact tone, it was hard to believe he was announcing the disownment of his own flesh and blood. No trace of conflict or regret could be seen on the face of Shikibu Mitsurugi—the seventeenth Sword Saint—as he stared at me. He might as well have been looking at a pebble on the side of the road. As one who had devoted his entire life to the sword, those without talent were nothing more than garbage in his eyes. Even his own child was no exception.

I’d already known that for some time, of course. After all, for as long as I could remember, that was exactly how my father had seen me. He’d kept me in the family hoping that even a moronic, thickheaded son like me would eventually show some sort of promise, and I’d worked as hard as I possibly could to get him to acknowledge me at least a little, but in the end it had all been for naught. Crying, screaming, throwing a tantrum, begging for a second chance—I already knew all of that would be pointless. Nothing would change his mind now.

Moreover, my father wasn’t the only one. The Sword Saint’s other disciples, including his favored pupils sitting in a row on either side of him, were also staring down at me coldly, some with indifference, some with pity, and some with a hint of scorn.

Just as my father had said, the first Sword Saint had sealed the evil Demon God away long ago. But the Demon God’s curse continued to leak through the Demonic Gate, encroaching upon the world even today. This island in particular was infested with more apparitions and magical beasts than the entire continent due to the gate’s influence.

The island was called Onigashima. To its residents, weakness itself was a sin. Public opinion was that someone so incompetent as to drag others down didn’t belong there.

After fleeing the dojo in tears, I made it back to my room and gathered my things. By the time the sun showed itself in the east the next morning, I was out of my home—or more accurately, I was being thro