CHAPTET …………………………..
It had already been two weeks.
“Your hand is resting, Adamas.”
“No, wait—this isn’t right. Hup!”
Adamas panicked as the trajectory of the wooden sword flashed past his eyes.
“If you don’t focus, this could be dangerous.”
“I know. I know that better than anyone!”
“What on earth are you thinking about?”
“I was just thinking… that if you mess up, even a wooden sword could take your head off—ah, there’s an opening!”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Sapheiros grinned and casually knocked Adamas’s wooden sword flying into the air.
Watching it spin upward, Adamas thought that no matter how he looked at it, he must have committed some grave offense against Sapheiros.
“I’m sorry. I really did something terrible.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry I insulted the baker for saying you looked unpleasant. When did you hear about that?”
“Did you insult him?”
“…Hey! What is this, seriously! First thing in the morning! It’s already been two weeks!”
Adamas flopped down onto the ground as he spoke.
Standing in front of him, gripping a wooden sword, Sapheiros hesitated before replying.
“…Because I’m grateful.”
“What?”
“No, it’s nothing. This is the only skill I really have. Knowing how to use a sword is useful. You’re a mage with poor stamina, and I thought it might help if you knew at least a little, especially if you’re going to judge a martial tournament.”
So in the end, he was saying he’d teach him swordsmanship for Adamas’s sake.
Ah, you socially inept man. Do you have any idea how much I’ve overthought this for the past two weeks?
“You should explain things more clearly and kindly! Don’t just show up in the morning with two wooden swords and say, ‘Follow me to the yard.’”
“…Understood.”
Only then did Adamas steady his breathing and get to his feet.
“Ahem. Fine. If you’re really going to teach me, I’ll learn.”
Adamas shrugged.
He’d been thinking he needed to build some strength anyway.
This marquisate was dangerous—wars broke out, golems appeared, and all that.
Besides, this was a one-on-one chance to learn swordsmanship from a genius. It would definitely be useful.
Damn it. If he’d explained properly from the start, I would’ve been much more enthusiastic.
No—this is where it really begins.
“I’ll learn properly.”
The first female mercenary king, Lady Nixtina, had said it: swords are confidence!
“Take this, Sapheiros! A blade filled with my confidence!”
Shouting loudly, Adamas charged at Sapheiros with his wooden sword.
Five minutes later, he was sprawled flat in the yard.
“Get up.”
“…Hhk—huff, huff. You… seriously.”
How could he not go easy even once?
Lady Nixtina—you were a genius too, weren’t you? That’s why you said nonsense like swords being confidence.
“Ughhh. This is so annoying. Geniuses.”
“What’s wrong? Come on, stand up and attack me again!”
“I said I was sorry!”
“I told you, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, I did! I definitely did!”
This is exactly why you shouldn’t learn from geniuses.
Adamas desperately wanted to slap the version of himself from five minutes ago who had confidently decided to learn swordsmanship.
“Um… I think I should probably start from the basics. Should we work on stance first?”
“Why would that be necessary?”
It seems more helpful than suddenly sparring with you while holding a single wooden sword.
“Wouldn’t it be better to start from the fundamentals? Like… cleaning the house first?”
“You say you want to learn swordsmanship—why are you talking about cleaning the house?”
“Well, before starting something new, I kind of want to organize things first? It helps build stamina too.”
“If you build stamina one step at a time like that, when do you plan to actually use it? Golems won’t wait for you to finish cleaning your house.”
He wasn’t wrong, but still…
“It’s just—I was wondering if someone like me, an unidentified nobody, should really be learning the elite techniques of such a distinguished knight commander. Haha.”
“There’s no such thing as special techniques. I just learned them to survive. Swordsmanship is about real combat. Come on, take your stance and attack.”
Sapheiros spoke seriously.
Learned to survive. That was the right answer.
Sapheiros was a swordsman who grew up an orphan. At ten years old, he won a martial tournament and, having his talent recognized, became a retainer knight of House Mano.
But without superior physical ability, could such a young boy really have survived alone in this dangerous marquisate?
Still—wasn’t this a bit too focused on real combat? Did he think everyone was like him?
“Alright, Adamas. Come a bit closer to me.”
“Like this?”
“No. Don’t stand side by side. Face me and press your swords together.”
“Oh, like this?”
“Fighting while feeling the sensation transmitted through the blades in contact is fundamental. You need to fight while bodies are close together to protect yourself and subdue your opponent. Don’t be afraid—step closer.”
“But still…”
It’s scary, okay!
“You shouldn’t strike only from one direction. If you rely purely on strength or speed, your openings will be exposed when your opponent deflects or dodges. Use both left and right widely.”
“Left and right? How?!”
“Don’t turn your head. This isn’t dancing. You need to keep your eyes on your opponent.”
“Then how am I supposed to use left and right without even looking?”
“If you put too much force in, your center of gravity shifts that way. Think about structural transitions.”
S-structural transitions? What’s that?
Does he mean forward and backward instead of left and right?
Didn’t he say to face each other with swords touching?
Trying to understand Sapheiros’s words, Adamas clumsily hurled his body straight toward him with his sword.
“Adamas! If you suddenly rush in like that—!”
Their faces drew so close that he could feel his hot breath, their bodies nearly pressed together.
Startled by the rough breath escaping from Adamas’s plump, pink lips, Sapheiros unconsciously shoved him away.
“Huh—ahh!”
With a thud, Adamas fell backward, landing hard on his backside.
“Hey! You!”
“S-sorry.”
“Did you just push me?”
“N-no! I didn’t mean to—”
Sapheiros hurriedly apologized and reached out his hand.
“Aaah! No! I’m done! I quit! To hell with it!”
Seizing the opportunity, Adamas finally threw down his wooden sword and lay flat on the ground.
Huu. Sapheiros let out a deep sigh and looked down at him with exasperation.
“Who throws away their sword just because they’re tired? If this were a battlefield, Adamas, you’d already be dead.”
“Yeah. Dead. Let’s stop here in consideration of the warmth of dead Adamas.”
Warmth…?
Sapheiros recalled Adamas’s pink lips from moments ago.
Whoosh—
Overheated, he snapped at Adamas without even fully realizing what he was saying.
“I—I actually noticed. I knew it the moment you started wearing all those jewels. That you wouldn’t be able to understand the beautiful, profound world of swordsmanship.”
“Breathe while you talk. Did you go to some kind of rapid-speaking academy? Where’d you pay to learn that?”
“I didn’t pay to learn speech. I acquired it naturally.”
“Oh wow. Aren’t you amazing.”
“Not amazing at all.”
“You are amazing. Ridiculously amazing. Handsome, great skin, and the best swordsmanship in the entire marquisate!”
“…I-is that so?”
“Yes! So! Let’s stop and go eat? Huh? Ros?”
“Ahem.”
His cheeks flushed red, Sapheiros put his sword away. His hands trembled slightly as he gathered it up.
Man, good thing he’s weak to praise.
Smiling brightly, Adamas jumped up and brushed the dust off his clothes.
“Um, Adamas. This morning’s meal is wheat bread and lamb soup.”
“Mm. Sounds good. I’ll eat a lot. You finish up and come slowly.”
As he headed toward the log cabin, Adamas found himself smiling without realizing it.
Because his everyday life with Sapheiros was ordinary—and pleasant.
As the last week of August began, the marquis’s residence grew busy. Preparations for the Harvest Festival were underway, along with intensive magic stone mining.
Adamas also began working in earnest.
Separating magic stones from ordinary minerals. Then classifying magic stones by grade. Finally engraving grades onto them and marking their processing limits.
This was work only Adamas could do in the entire marquisate.
And today—one day before the Harvest Festival.
The magic stones he had sorted last week emerged for the first time as finished products: silver swords, one of the prizes for the martial tournament.
The uniquely designed scabbard, finished with buffalo horn, shimmered mysteriously depending on the angle. The grip, wrapped in black buffalo leather, bore the golden-embroidered beetle crest of House Mano.
Sapheiros drew the silver sword with force.
A whisper of air echoed through the quiet space. Reflected in the sharp, silver blade smoothly drawn free was Sapheiros’s blue eye.
For some reason, Adamas found that blue sharpness a little frightening.
It had been carefully forged in the only smithy in the marquisate. Even to Adamas, who knew little about swords, it looked excellent.
“Does it please you, my lord Marquis?”
The white-haired old blacksmith who had delivered the sword rolled his eyes nervously, gauging both Sapheiros’s and the Marquis’s reactions.
After inspecting the sword from various angles, Sapheiros nodded firmly to the Marquis, then quietly said to Adamas,
“You’d be fine with something like this too. Shall I order one for you?”
“Huh? What did you say?”
“It’s light, not too long. Since you’re a mage, it would work well as a secondary weapon.”
“Hahahaha.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“No, nothing. I’m just happy.”
Offering a sword as a gift—how very like you.
Hiding his true feelings, Adamas simply nodded enthusiastically.
Embedding magic stones into swords had been Adamas’s idea, inspired by Sapheiros’s rapier.
The currently popular “Imperial Sword Style” used one main weapon and one secondary blade.
Sapheiros himself used a rapier as his main weapon and a dagger as his secondary. Since anyone skilled enough to enter the Harvest Festival tournament would already have their own primary weapon, Adamas suggested that a practical secondary dagger would be ideal—and the Marquis accepted his idea.
“That aside—when will my sword’s repairs be finished?”
“Ah, soon. We’re melting it down completely and forging a new longsword.”
For some time now, Sapheiros had left his rapier at the smithy and carried a common iron sword instead.
It didn’t look right for the sole knight commander of the marquisate to carry a weapon wrapped in white bandages.
The Marquis had also encouraged the change.
Sapheiros would soon turn eighteen by Imperial reckoning—an adult. His strength would only increase from here, so it was time to switch to a longsword.
“Sir Sapheiros’s sword will be finished the day after tomorrow.”
“Understood.”
Sapheiros glanced at his waist, licking his lips unconsciously.
After the Harvest Festival, he would have a longsword of his own. An indescribable excitement welled up inside him.
Come to think of it, the Harvest Festival was where it all began.
Sapheiros recalled his childhood, when he first entered the Harvest Festival martial tournament.
Ten years old, holding a rusted iron sword he’d found in a trash heap.
Entry was free—but even reaching the semifinals earned a sack of winter wheat.
In that tournament, Sapheiros was the very last one standing.
Under the blazing sun, the boy who remained until the end began to grasp a sword from that day on.
And now, candidates aiming to become tomorrow’s victors were lining up, streaming into the marquisate.
