Chapter 48
Clang—
The speed of Aken and Rishian’s duel was almost too fast to follow with the naked eye.
Rishian was ever so slightly faster.
In just ten days, he seemed like a completely different person.
Whoosh—
Even while attacking at full speed, Rishian effortlessly twisted his body mid-air, fluidly redirecting the angle of his strikes to keep pressure on Aken.
Clang!
“I can see everything you’re doing!”
But Aken’s strikes were more precise and powerful.
With every clash, his blade narrowly grazed Rishian’s neck, wrist, and legs.
“I can’t afford to hold back even a little.”
Mid-exchange, Aken, sensing a growing danger, gripped his sword more tightly with sweat beading on his forehead.
“I’ll end it with one blow!”
Reading Rishian’s shadow that had somehow moved behind him, Aken swung his sword diagonally with all his strength.
“Guh!”
Even Rishian, as quick as a weasel, couldn’t completely dodge the strike this time.
He fell to one knee, clutching his waist.
Still, Aken didn’t let his guard down and lunged forward.
“I know that was a graze! You think I don’t know you’re faking pain to land a cheap shot?!”
“Hmph, sharp old man!”
As if to prove Aken right, Rishian sprang up and deflected the incoming sword with ease, swinging his own in return.
“I told you not to blindly swing without thinking!”
Rishian’s sweeping strike narrowly missed Aken’s leg but clipped the back of his shoe.
Aken staggered, momentarily losing balance—and Rishian’s torso was wide open.
Aken didn’t miss the opportunity and slashed vertically.
Thud.
The strike landed cleanly, and Rishian’s sword went flying far away.
“Hah, it’s over!”
“Says who?”
Aken grinned in triumph, but Rishian—whom he expected to collapse—suddenly dropped low and twisted like a snake.
Then, unarmed, he lunged at Aken’s unprotected lower half.
“What the—?!”
“You said there are no rules in combat, right?”
Gritting his teeth to suppress pain, Rishian reached out with both hands and grabbed Aken’s waistband, yanking it straight down.
Shrrrp— Aken’s pants fell to the ground.
Revealing tight shorts and his hairy legs underneath.
“You little bastard! In front of your uncle, how dare you—?!”
CRACK—
Aken roared with a voice that could burst eardrums and slammed the hilt of his sword into Rishian’s back.
Rishian didn’t even scream as he tumbled all the way to where I was sitting.
“I’ll slit your damn throat!”
Aken’s face turned bright red as he quickly bent down to retrieve his pants.
At that moment—
A cold breeze brushed past my knees.
“…?”
I looked up.
Rishian, who had just been rolling on the ground moments ago, was already right in front of Aken.
In his hand was the sword I had rested on my knee.
“What?!”
“H-He took it?!”
Morve and Jurik shouted in unison.
Aken’s eyes went wide as he pulled up his pants and looked up.
“What is this…?”
“This isn’t some ‘Sword of Apellemeon’ or whatever. I picked it up, so now it’s my sword.”
“You brat!”
“I learned that changing weapons mid-fight opens up new opportunities.”
“Why you—!”
Just as Aken tried to adjust his grip, Rishian used all his body weight and momentum to strike at Aken’s waist with the sword.
Fwhoom—THUD!
“GAAAH!”
This time, there was no defense.
The heavy blade, something only a giant could easily wield, struck Aken’s waist at full force and with added acceleration.
Boom—Aken collapsed to the ground.
And this time, he couldn’t get up.
A long silence followed.
Finally, it was Morve who spoke first.
“…Rishian wins.”
He said it in a dazed voice.
“…Hah. He really won. Against Aken.”
Jurik let out a stunned breath, a mix of awe and disbelief on his face.
“O-Ohhhhhhh!”
One of the knights watching the match shouted, and others soon joined in.
“Rishian won!”
“He pulled up his pants, grabbed a new sword, and struck him—dirty and cheap, but a win is a win!”
“It’s so filthy I wouldn’t want to touch him, but he still won!”
“What a sly little bastard! Amazing!”
As cheers erupted around him, Rishian slowly closed his eyes and sank to the ground.
“…I can stay.”
He murmured, barely audible.
“I can stay… here.”
“It wasn’t my idea, Uncle!”
“Hmph! I heard everything—how you said anything goes!”
Sitting in a guest chair in the study with a lemon cake in hand, Aken pouted and lifted his chin.
“I thought you meant throwing sand in his eyes or something! If I lost, morale would dip, so I just…”
“Hmph!”
Aken turned his head away with arms tightly crossed.
Jurik chuckled from the side.
“Don’t mind him, Lord Duke. He’s just embarrassed that his pants got pulled down in front of his nephew.”
“Exactly. Twenty years ago, Aken used every dirty trick to beat the former duke. Rishian’s already following in his footsteps,” Morve added.
“How dare you compare me to that brat? That little punk’s trouble.”
Aken scoffed.
“Sure, he’s improved ridiculously in just ten days, and yeah, he’s a genius. But he’s still a cheeky little rascal.”
“We all like cheeky bastards, don’t we? You’re the one who said the strongest man isn’t the one who memorizes sword manuals, but the one who survives real fights.”
At Morve’s remark, Aken let out another snort and fell silent.
He might be sulking for days, but his eyes sparkled every time Rishian’s name came up. There was no mistaking his genuine admiration.
And it wasn’t just Aken who couldn’t forget that duel.
Knights, servants—anyone who met you brought it up. The story even spread beyond the duchy.
People argued—was Rishian a genius swordsman or just a cunning cheat?
It even boosted the popularity of Lin and Kyle.
Knowing full well how sly Rishian could be, they regaled curious listeners with tales of his dirty tricks from childhood—how he ousted rival gangs with underhanded tactics.
In other words, Rishian and his two siblings had already fully adjusted to life at the ducal estate.
“Any other issues, Ray?”
I gave up trying to soothe Aken and turned to Ray, who had been standing by.
With Kent having taken the orphans to the Apellemeon territory, Ray had been so busy acting as head steward that she barely had time to breathe.
“No major problems. I’ve finally finished sorting five years of botched ledgers. We’ve also filled all the vacancies left by the Penten family.”
“What about Julius and his family?”
“They’re hopeless. No matter what we assign them, they don’t improve.”
Ray shrugged.
“They leave stains when doing laundry, clean too slowly to be useful, gag at the smell of horses when assigned to the stables… Yesterday, Lord Bartol tried to push his chores onto a new servant and ended up getting punched a couple times.”
“Was he hurt badly?”
“No. Just a bruise—he’s even uglier now, apparently.”
I briefly considered rewarding the servant but shook my head.
That could easily start rumors of abuse.
“How about the kitchen?”
“He poured salt instead of sugar into the lemon cake. We still haven’t sorted which cakes have sugar and which have salt.”
Aken, who was about to eat a lemon cake, quietly put it down.
“I should save it for Rishian.”
He mumbled.
“The only one who’s decent is Lady Demeira. Surprisingly competent, and she doesn’t complain like the others.”
“…I see.”
That much I had expected.
Having chased after Anthony and other high nobles for errands all her life, she was naturally quick and efficient.
Unlike Bartol, who followed Balthazar around and gained nothing.
“Leave them be for now. I need more time to decide where to throw them out.”
I gave my instructions.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t considered casting the Penten family out into the streets with nothing.
But in noble society, reputation was everything, and that option came with risks for me, too—so I had to weigh it carefully.
“In the meantime, make them earn their keep. Whether it’s gathering firewood or cleaning manure—work them hard.”
I added to Ray.
I mean, whatever works, right?
They are useless at being nobles and commoners!