Chapter 14
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Chapter 14
With her short blonde hair and tall frame, Alice appeared less like a woman and more like an elegant youth. Combined with her unadorned navy cadet uniform, she was the very picture of an exemplary Military Academy student.
In a formal duel, one must return a salute after receiving one. I drew my sword and carelessly dropped the scabbard to the ground.
It was an attitude that showed little respect for the blade. Several cadets watching openly frowned. The sword in my hand was no better—an unpolished, cheap longsword. Compared to the weapon, my attire seemed excessively ornate to the cadets' eyes. The sword and the woman were like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong slot, utterly mismatched.
I held the sword in one hand and grasped the hem of my dress with the other. My right hand held both the sword and the fabric simultaneously. I moved my right foot back, lowered my body, and bent my knees slightly before straightening them. I returned my foot to its original position, straightened my posture, aligned my spine, and released the dress.
Aside from the sword in my hand, it was a perfect lady's curtsy. It was a salute the cadets of the Military Academy had never witnessed before.
Whether it was Military Academy custom or knight's etiquette, everything was designed with men as the standard. Ladies were beings to be protected, not knights, so female cadets could not remain ladies from the moment they became cadets.
Yet here was a lady holding a sword, a cadet performing a lady's salute. It was a sight no one had ever imagined. Her greeting was utterly unfamiliar, and it provoked discomfort. An awkward murmur rippled through the cadets.
I paid no attention to their reactions. In truth, I was half out of my mind. Had I known I'd be named Yurien de Harden Kirie's squire, I wouldn't have deliberately antagonized Alice. My head was a complete mess, making it difficult to maintain my act.
Holding a sword and preparing for combat in such a state made it hard to suppress my aura. I should have controlled it properly, but with my mind so cluttered, I wanted nothing more than to swing the blade freely. I was barely restraining that urge. At least my opponent was just a greenhorn by my standards, so I felt no competitive fire.
And Alice, facing me, sensed that atmosphere. Her gray eyes narrowed.
'Something... is different.'
She was different from when we first met this afternoon. She was certainly the woman who smiled brightly and spouted sophistry, looking like a sheltered noblewoman who knew nothing of hardship. Yet from me now emanated something like suppressed brutality. My outward appearance was delicate and fragile like a hothouse flower, but the feeling was like a man-eating monster wearing a human disguise.
Alice adjusted her grip on the hilt. Tension filled her hands.
Ian Peletro confirmed both duelists were ready and drew his sword. His blade lay horizontally between us. He checked both sides once more, then in one swift motion, lifted and swept his sword away. The signal to begin.
As arranged, Alice attacked first. Out of courtesy for being given the advantage, she began with a feint thrust. An attack that seemed to pierce through the throat but passed beside it instead. Yet it was remarkably fast—fast enough that most would struggle to recognize the deception.
I didn't move an inch. As Alice's blade grazed past my neck, my hair fluttered in the wind. It was Alice who was flustered when her opponent showed no reaction. She quickly recovered her sword and stepped back.
I remained motionless even as Alice withdrew and reset her stance. Only when her second attack came did I begin to move.
Fundamentally, swordplay is merely the application of basics. Block, thrust, slash. Whether it's Empire-style swordplay or southern-style swordplay, they are ultimately nothing more than extensions of these fundamentals.
Of course, those extensions were vast and varied, and when individual characteristics and habits meshed with the many schools of swordplay, countless techniques emerged. Thus, a sufficiently accomplished swordsman develops such individuality that one can identify them by their technique alone. It was common knowledge among aspiring knights.
Therefore, the cadets watching the duel could only be bewildered. Echinacea Loaz's sword showed no individuality. There was no will, no fighting spirit, no color. She employed no special techniques. Only fundamentals. She blocked incoming strikes. When openings appeared, she thrust. When space opened, she slashed.
Yet her stance wasn't even clean enough for a textbook. It was the haphazard form one might see in a beginner just picking up a sword for the first time. Compared to Alice's graceful and refined technique, it was crude. She didn't even mount an aggressive offense. Her responses were merely improvisations or reflexive reactions to Alice's attacks.
And yet the blade never connected. Wherever Alice's sword went, my sword was always there. Or nothing was there at all.
Most cadets found it strange that Alice couldn't break through such haphazard defense. However, a few among them with superior skill recognized it clearly. At first glance, Alice seemed to have the advantage, rapidly unleashing attacks, but in reality, I was the one overwhelming her.
This was almost like I was toying with Alice. I wasn't responding seriously at all. Like absent-mindedly petting a whining child while looking away—that level of response. Yet Alice couldn't defeat me.
'What are you doing right now?'
It was Alice herself who recognized this most clearly. Her face grew increasingly pale.
My half-hearted movements blocked all her attacks. Her blade didn't even touch the flowing hem of my dress. When I casually deflected the blade and thrust with the recoil, there was no apparent intent to attack, yet the sharpness alone made her spine tingle with dread.
As I received or parried every attack, the trajectories traced by the clashing blades began to resemble a choreographed dance. The fluttering dress hem, the lace-trimmed sleeves, and the ribbon strings enhanced this impression. It was less like a duel and more like a waltz at a ball.
Finally, Alice retreated. She exposed her openings blatantly as she withdrew, yet I didn't pursue. I simply stopped in place and let my sword hang down.
Alice breathed heavily, her face flushed red. She felt toyed with. The fact that I wasn't attacking to finish it made it worse. Even while our blades were locked, it felt like my opponent wasn't taking me seriously. And this woman, responding so playfully, was even wearing high-heeled women's shoes.
She had never felt this humiliated even when sparring with knights of vastly superior skill. Alice gritted her teeth and asked.
"Why... why aren't you attacking?"
"...Oh."
Expression returned to my face, which had been blank the entire time. I felt genuinely embarrassed inside.
In truth, my swordplay did have characteristics and individuality. I certainly possessed techniques unique to me that others would find difficult to imitate. I didn't want to reveal those characteristics, and since I didn't need to, I simply concealed them. But failing to attack and only responding was not intentional—it was a mistake.
I was the master of the Demonic Sword, and when I lost my reason, I was influenced by the murderous intent dwelling within the blade. So I had developed a habit of not attacking at all when facing someone while in a confused state.
'I should have ended it quickly instead.'
My thoughts kept wandering elsewhere. But if I apologized here, it would only add to the insult. Distracted during a duel. I closed my mouth and moved my sword. One short step, one long step. In just two steps, my blade was thrust before Alice's nose.
Alice panicked and raised her sword to block. Our blades met at the same height, and following her training, the moment they connected, Alice pushed her sword forward. Her blade, sliding along mine, thrust toward my face.
My response in that moment was simple. I raised my wrist upward. Rather than resisting the force being applied, I accepted it and merely redirected its trajectory. As a result, Alice's blade, which had been riding atop mine, lost its balance and flew upward. My sword used the recoil from shaking off Alice's blade to rotate a half turn.
The blade swept toward Alice's temple. And it stopped with precision, leaving a gap of barely half a finger's width. The wind from the sword made Alice's short blonde hair flutter upward before settling.
A low murmur rippled through the cadets. This was the first proper sword strike from Echinacea Loaz. It was a simple and common technique found in sword manuals. And with that first attack, the duel was over.
"...I have lost."
Alice spoke as if expelling the words. I sheathed my sword and offered a bow—the same lady's courtesy as before. To Alice, it felt like mockery.
'This wasn't... a duel. That woman wasn't even focused.'
Her insides churned. Still, a duel was a duel. The victor was decided. Alice put away her sword and bowed deeply and properly. She couldn't help but let her voice tremble.
"I acknowledge my defeat. I will no longer interfere with you."
"I myself have been quite rude, Miss Winterbelle."
I spoke with considerable sincerity. However, Alice seemed unable to receive my apology as genuine. Her eyes were cold as she straightened. Ian clapped as if to clear the atmosphere.
"Good work, both of you. Fortunately, no one was injured. Oh, and since this duel was before the first ranking tournament, it won't be reflected in the rankings."
The moment Ian finished speaking, Alice spun around and left the Training Grounds. Once the cadets confirmed the duel was over, they began to leave as well, murmuring among themselves.
She's pretty skilled, but not enough to be named a Squire on the first day of enrollment, right? What's so great about that? The blonde opponent just didn't do well. How did she even become a Squire? It's nothing special. Still, that last attack was decent. I could do that much. If that's all it takes to be a Squire, then I'm a Squire too.
The cadets exchanged such remarks as they left one by one. I picked up the scabbard I had carelessly discarded earlier. Ian smiled awkwardly and spoke to me.
"You were impressive."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't mind what those kids say—they can't recognize true skill. That was excellent swordsmanship. I'm looking forward to the ranking tournament."
So that's what he meant. I pay no attention to such remarks whatsoever. I offered a casual bow.
"Thank you, Senior."
"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Cadet Echinacea Loaz. Nine o'clock—don't forget."
"Yes."
Ian spoke gently and turned to leave. Something suddenly occurred to me, and I called out to him as he walked away.
"Senior, wait!"
"Hmm?"
"Do you know why I became Captain Yurien's Squire?"
I nearly called him Yurien. It was because I kept calling him that in my mind.
Ian tilted his head. His blue eyes—a shade much deeper than Yurien's, closer to navy—studied me quietly. It was an observant gaze.
"I've served as the Captain's temporary Squire a total of three times until I became a third-year student. Well, I'm still his temporary Squire now. Every time I served him, it was quite comfortable. Can you guess why it was comfortable?"
"...I'm not sure."
"Because he was easy to predict. Regular habits, rational yet honorable judgments, respect for the law. Truly befitting the master of a Holy Sword. Do you know what Giosha the Holy Sword Langiosa is made of?"
"Yes."
Just as the Demonic Sword Bardegiosa was forged from human malice and murderous intent, the Holy Sword Langiosa was a Giosha created from human sense of duty and justice. As I nodded, Ian continued.
"He doesn't act on impulse or whim. He rarely makes decisions that are difficult to understand. But this decision... well, it's hard to comprehend. Truly. I'm the one who should be asking you."
Ian's eyes widened as he smiled. It was a subtly chilling smile. He asked gently.
"Why did the Captain name you as his Squire? Do you perhaps have some connection with him?"
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