They’d all been confident at first.
No matter how rotten, they were still nobles by birth, who’d grown up learning good techniques and reasonable sword arts.
It shouldn't have been a big deal to defeat a boy knight who wasn't even an adult. That must’ve been what they thought.
Even if the boy knight had unexpected skills, a few fights should’ve been enough to tire him out, so they’d determined that they were bound to win in the end.
But things went wrong for them from the start.
"Next."
I watched another noble walk out in front of Allen.
And just like the others before him, he collapsed.
“Next, please.”
The nobles were mutely looking at each other.
Their self-confidence had plummeted as the initial probes failed even to make the boy knight breathe harder.
Then, another one reluctantly drew his sword and walked out to confront Allen.
“Hm. Start.”
Dropping your sword, landing on your butt, or tripping and falling wasn’t enough to stop the fight by my standards. I forced the contestants to get back up and keep fighting.
These messed up idiots were the pillars for Carpe’s future, were they not? Just the thought of having to lead these guys to make war with the empire gave me a headache.
‘It's not that there aren't any good ones.'
Most of them were garbage, but there were some useful ones too.
Right now, they were stuck in a rut due to their environment and their talents were rotting, but some cutting and polishing would produce quite useful gemstones.
‘Even so, Allen fights really well.'
Maybe because he'd survived the battlefield.
Allen, who lost one eye in the war in the North and now used a more cautious swordsmanship, didn’t allow even a single effective hit to touch him.
It was his unique swordsmanship, trained in actual combat – that hid his passion and his intent.
His skills were even higher than before, and there was no room for the nobles’ honest swordsmanship that didn’t have any tricks or special techniques mixed in to score a solid hit.
It seemed that he’d properly assimilated the Seven Stars Formation technique that I’d given him into his swordsmanship. Little Allen had really improved a lot.
Claaang.
“Ugh…!”
Once again a nobleman dropped his sword. He trembled, raised his head and asked politely to Allen.
“How did you figure out my swordsmanship so easily?”
Allen nodded and gave a simple answer.
“Your aimed at my sword. But I aimed at your heart.”
“… Ah."
The swordsman who’d experienced actual combat was different from one who hand’t.
Did he realize something?
He asked again for something else.
“I heard that the North went through a great war with the orcs. May I ask how strong the orcs are?”
“A normal warrior is about my equal. Great warriors are much stronger. The warlords are close to being Masters, and they’re very, very strong. Master Callius went through two life-and-death crises before he managed to win.”
Suddenly, the noble’s eyes turned to me.
From his gaze, he was definitely thinking, that motherfucking maniac is that strong? Isn't that pure bullshit?
These bastards were really rude.
"I see… Thank you for answering."
Then he looked at me and said something.
“I have been taught. If you have any difficulties, please find me at the Prine, Count. I will try my best to help.”
Was this person from Prine?
“Okay”, I replied with a nod, and looked around.
The eyes of the surrounding nobles had already changed.
No one dared stand before Allen. They felt the overwhelming difference in ability and kept their mouths shut.
And as if he couldn’t stand that gloomy silence, a man strode out.
“Please allow me to witness your swordsmanship that defeated the orc warlord.”
Jordan, who’d been blown away with one hit earlier.
One side of his face had swollen up like a bun, making him quite a funny sight, but he still asked me for a match.
Looking at his confident face, I could clearly see what he was thinking. That the campaign against the orcs was solely won because of strong knights like Allen.
Well, if someone climbs back up to his feet after being trampled on, isn’t tramping on him a bit more the correct thing to do?
“Let’s.”
I approached the table he’d crashed into earlier, and lightly grabbed a knife that’d fallen to the floor.
Because it was owned by the royal family, even though it was merely tableware, it looked quite luxurious and had a good blade.
"What… are you doing?”
As if suppressing his anger –
Jordan asked, trembling as if he was a volcano about to erupt.
“I have to match your level.”
“En garde!!”
Claaang-!
I didn't use Other Shore Flower like last time.
Anyway, this was a gathering to discuss swordsmanship.
There are times when you should get things done by brute force, and there are times when you shouldn't.
For now, it was better to show the gap between us in a different way instead of using overwhelming force.
The bastard's sword was honest and without deceit.
Although his face looked unlucky, and his hair was oily and puffed as if it’d been treated with butter, his swordsmanship was textbook.
It was quite surprising, but the fact that it could be called textbook meant there was no other technique mixed in, which meant it was easy to stop.
It was a swordsmanship that could be easily parried and defended against, even with only a dining knife.
I occasionally parried, and counterattacked time to time, making small scratches on his shoulder, waist, and neck with the tip of my ‘blade’.
But unlike his compatriots, Jordan never dropped his sword, although his face turned paler and paler.
“Haaaaaaaa!!”
His strikes were much too obviously aimed.
On the other side, I was attempting to wrap my knife with Golden Cloak Qi like the Golden Lion had showed me, but it wasn’t as easy as I’d thought.
Golden Cloak Qi mixed together the internal divine power flowing through the body and the external technique of covering the sword with energy, only seeking to achieve an extreme firmness.
Although, of course, it was easier than Other Shore Flower that required you to suppress its inherent repulsive force.
Even if I managed to make it work just a little, although I wouldn’t dream of wrapping my whole body up in it, covering my sword with it would be doable.
“Damn!!”
Screeeeech!
My knife danced along my opponent’s sword edge.
From the tip of the sword, it swam towards the pommel, striking a spark, and from there it pivoted in an instant, coming to rest caressing Jordan’s neck.
“It’s over. Stop.”
Jordan stiffened, but kept silent.
His swordsmanship, martial arts, and technique had all proved insufficient.
He’d been defeated with just a single knife.
The knife didn’t break, but instead now pointed at his own neck.
He couldn't come to his senses, so absurd the situation felt.
While Jordan had been destroyed –
Among the nobles who hadn’t dared fight against Allen, someone walked out.
“Count Jervain.”
I wondered if he was another one trying to start a quarrel, but he asked very politely –
“May I ask… for a spar with Sir Allen?”
It wasn't about making a bet.
He was purely interested in discussing the sword.
“Allen.”
“Yes. Please take out your sword.”
The noble raised his sword with a happy face and rushed towards Allen.
After that, some young nobles, like Prine, started to ask Allen for duels.
Most of them were quickly knocked out, had to stop because they’d been exhausted, or even received wounds on their hands.
But although they fought and lost, their faces didn’t look bad.
After every match, Callius gave generous advice.
What part of the defence was lacking, or what was the flaw in the swordsmanship – in the face of his stream of advice, the ones who’d been dubious now began to exclaim in surprise.
"Ah… You mean a short dagger, not a longsword, would suit me better?"
“Your swordsmanship is quite unique. Perhaps it originates from your family. But I think you’ve changed it up a bit. Am I right?"
“Well, that’s right. Originally, my family head was a merchant, and he was a dagger expert, but I heard that he changed to using swords because nobles shouldn’t use daggers.”
“You’ll have to either use a dagger or change your swordsmanship further. I think it’d be faster to just use a dagger.”
His insights were extraordinary.
At his words, the stiff-headed nobles bowed their heads and their eyes shone.
“Anybody could tell that…”
“Look at him bluff. Like he’s some expert.”
Of course, not everebody liked him, but the audience was starting to be swayed by his demeanour.
“He smell really good… don’t you think?”
“What perfume does he use?”
“Should I go and ask?”
Some young girls set their eyes on things other than swordsmanship, too.
However, the Sword Dance Society was beginning to revolve around Callius.
Besides him, the knight called Allen attracted admiration too.
Even though he’d already fought more than ten battles with the nobles, he didn’t show any signs of exhaustion.
When someone asked him, why?
“There’s no resting on the battlefield. I had to fight for days without a break. Anyone who tried to rest even a little died early on.”
Whenever they asked him about something, war inevitably came up in his answer.
But no one could tell him that to his face.
The one-eyed knight was the most serious whenever he talked about war, and he seemed full of pride.
As time passed, the majority of the people involved fought, were exhausted and collapsed.
“Baron Esther Sol Ciliad, entering!”
Someone entered the venue at that time.
Walking with a dignified gait.
Water-coloured hair fluttering, and corners of the mouth a little raised as if in interest.
With her left hand resting on the sword at her waist, she walked in, looking at only one person.
“Honestly, this is a bit too much. To fight another swordsman with a knife.”
She looked so radiant, shining with beauty and confidence, that Jordan blankly stared at her, perhaps even forgetting about his defeat.
And looking at her with an expressionless face, Callius put down the knife he’d been quietly playing with.
‘A maniac and a saint candidate.'
The two didn’t seem to match, but rather than that, some among the audience couldn't erase the thought that suddenly rose in their minds.
If these two fought, who’d win?
What kind of swordsmanship would they show?
The others also nodded as if they’d been all thinking the same thoughts.
“Pilgrim Esther. Why are you here?”
“I’ve come here as a baron. Although I said I didn’t need the title, but there are times when it’s useful.”
What she’d received should’ve been an honorary title.
With that in mind, Callius put down his knife.
“Aren’t you going to use that knife on me?”
“This isn’t enough to face you.”
Callius slowly drew his sword.
And Esther disappeared.
Claaaang-!!
Whooooosh-
A strong wind blew on the faces of the tired nobles.
As their hair rustled, their eyes widened as if to match a saucer, as they gazed upon the battle between Callius and Esther, whose swords were entwined in a breakneck clash.
In the span of an eyeblink, Esther’s sword had struck close to ten times.
It was an unbelievable speed.
Despite being so fast that they were hard to follow with the naked eye, but the strikes were so powerful that each collision produced a deep gong that felt like their ears would fall off.
They wondered how a woman’s physique could produce such destructive blows.
She wasn’t a saint candidate for no reason.
Although Callius, who calmly parried and blocked her blows, was great too.
But Esther, who was on the offensive, seemed a little stronger.
But then the flow of the duel suddenly reversed.
Esther had taken the lead by soaring into the sky and delivering ten consecutive stabs, but as soon as she landed, she could feel the change.
Screeeeeeeech!
Whiiish!
Esther's eyes narrowed.
Callius' swordsmanship had suddenly become softer.
If the start of the contest had been about naked speed and power, now they were beginning to compete with skill.
"This… Is this actually a swordfight?”
“Then what else would you call it?”
“But listen, you can’t hear the sound anymore, can you?”
"Sound? Wait, why’s the sound…”
“!!”
They were clearly clashing with their swords, but there was almost no sound.
Only faint noises of two iron edges scraping against each other.
The two of them seemed to be dancing in a duet, with the faint ringing of their swords as their accompaniment.
A sword dance.
Could this be a true discussion of swords?
Carpe’s ancient tradition –
Maybe this was how it had started.
The one who first came up with this thought couldn’t shake it off. Looking around, he saw the other nobles seemed to be of the same mind.
The same went for Esther, too.
‘It’s interesting.'
Originally, she’d intended to compete with skill against skill.
But from a certain point onwards, she felt drawn to his intent, as if they both had gathered here, discussed and reached a consensus.
Like they were holding hands and dancing.
When Esther's foot advanced, he retreated, and when he stuck his feet out, she retreated – and so the fight went on.
Callius seemed to want it, so she tried to match him as best as she could.
She felt like she knew why he was trying to scatter the strength of her blows while parrying.
It wasn’t about fixing his form.
He was pretending to receive each blow.
Pretending to disperse its strength.
But in the last instant, he was trying to use the power of the opponent's blow against them and hit back with a stronger strength.
Esther's lips curved up.
The technique wasn’t perfect yet.
But she could see why he was so obsessed with it.
‘Something from Saint Stella, is it?'
It had to be a secret swordsmanship she’d created.
As soon as Esther came upon that thought, pieces of swords energy shaped like flower petals began flying around her.
The moment she saw them, the flow of the sword changed again.
‘Have to block.'
Could she stop it?
That wave of petals?
She hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment.
She was the greatest genius of the kingdom.
Esther Sol Ciliad.
Through that wave of falling petals –
She pierced though with a single lunge, avoiding all the white flowers that were blooming on the ground along the way.
Claaang-!!
Whiiiiiiiiish.
Clang.
The strong wind lifted away the dust cloud, and two snapped-off parts of iron blades immediately became visible on the ground. Callius and Esther were holding their broken swords at each other's neck.
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