Chapter 14
Clang—!
Steel clashed against steel, blade against axe, ringing out a sharp, metallic cry that split the air.
A battle between sword and axe.
At first glance, the sword should have the advantage—light, swift, precise.
Yet the princess wielding that sword was drenched in sweat, her breath ragged.
Clang!
“Ghk—!”
Each strike was a thunderbolt. Each impact numbed her arms and made her wrist scream in pain.
Worse still, the imbalance between them was absurd.
She was fighting with both hands on the sword, every ounce of focus drawn to the edge.
He—Deus—swung his axe lazily with one hand.
And still, she could barely defend herself.
If this was the difference while he was barely trying… then how vast was the gulf between them truly?
“On the battlefield, distraction,” he said coldly, “is the fastest road to the underworld.”
His axe flashed.
The next instant, the princess’s feet left the ground.
“Kyaah!”
Crash—!
Her body slammed into the dirt, dust exploding around her.
Guards rushed toward her in alarm—but she raised a trembling hand to stop them and forced herself upright.
She had promised herself this.
Here, she was not the princess. She was a student.
“Are you unharmed, Your Highness?”
“I’m fine. Truly.”
“Then let us end here for today.”
She wanted to say I can keep going, but her limbs trembled too violently.
Her arms ached from blocking, her legs quivered from sheer terror.
How does anyone fight like that… and stay calm? Deus, how?
No matter how much she trained, she couldn’t even begin to grasp his level.
Was he really human?
She’d known there was a gap—but not that it was this vast.
“Your Highness,” came a voice beside her.
It was her knight, Sir Lyle, eyes full of concern. He had always known her as the regal, untouchable princess—never like this.
Fearing he might lash out, she smiled faintly.
“I’m fine, Sir Lyle. Truly.”
“…As you command.”
He seemed to understand what she meant: don’t interfere.
“Do the other instructors not train you this way?” Deus asked.
“Of course not. Even when I hide my face, everyone knows who I am.”
“Fools,” he muttered. “No—faithless servants. Send you to the battlefield like that, and you’ll die in minutes.”
He clicked his tongue, sat beside her, and for a moment she forgot to breathe.
There was no false respect in him, no empty flattery.
No desire to impress.
That honesty—so stripped of pretense—was strangely comforting.
Here, in front of this man, she could be a student.
She could learn, fail, and be corrected.
And for once, that didn’t feel humiliating.
[Profile Access: Character Data]
Name: Edelweiss Teresa (Rank: B)
Traits: Iron Sense of Duty / Romantic Idealist / Diligent Worker / Lightning Strike / Concealment
Growth Potential: Developing—slow but steady
Not much had changed.
Her potential wasn’t bad—far from it. Better than most.
Certainly better than Uriel’s at the start.
Not that Uriel was untalented, only… misguided.
He’d fixed that, through blood, sweat, and endless pain.
If I went through hell to make her competent, I’m sure as hell not letting her waste it.
“I’d say Your Highness favors the quick, decisive strike over power or finesse,” Deus said.
“Exactly. I’m not particularly strong, so I’ve always relied on speed.”
The “Lightning Strike” trait. The flashes of movement he’d seen earlier—the same techniques the masked swordsman had once used.
“Your swordplay aims to finish battles in a single blow,” he said. “That’s not just a quick style—it’s an instant-kill sword.”
“Wait, what? How did you even— I’ve never shown that to anyone!”
“You have. Many times. Without realizing.”
Her expression twisted, clearly not following.
“When you swing, you always show traces of intent. You feint, then always go for a single, lethal thrust. When that fails, you cloud your intent again—but your body remembers.”
“…I was serious in every duel.”
“And that’s precisely why it shows. To you it’s hidden— to others, it’s obvious. Even a lesser opponent might have seen it.”
Edelweiss was gifted—no doubt about that.
But she was still too honest.
Too pure in how she fought.
On the battlefield, that kind of purity gets you killed.
The ones who die first are those who only know how to fight the way they were taught.
The ones who believe training manuals still matter once blood hits the ground.
They die wondering why it didn’t work.
“Start by refining your false strikes,” he said.
“False strikes? But I can’t even land a proper hit on you yet!”
“Exactly why you must start there. Once you learn to deceive, you’ll know when to strike true.”
Because war was not about honor—it was about survival.
Deception, adaptation, instinct.
And he’d seen too many idealists die learning that truth too late.
“One question, Your Highness,” Deus said quietly.
“Drop the honorifics, please. You’re my instructor. Treat me like a student.”
“…Very well, then. About my earlier request—?”
“Oh… that.”
Her face twisted in discomfort.
Ah. That request. He’d expected that reaction.
“You asked for a mage, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Your— I mean, yes.”
“Do you have to ask that one?”
Her arms crossed, voice laced with worry.
She even offered to find another mage, any other.
“That man’s a genius,” she said. “But also… insane. Everyone at the Tower calls him that—well, the polite ones do.”
“I know,” Deus replied, expression calm. “That’s why I want him.”
“Wha—?!”
Of course.
Who else could teach shadow magic to a swordsman from a fallen noble line?
And Uriel didn’t just need any magic—she needed dark magic.
The kind only lunatics touched.
The kind that turned geniuses into monsters.
A dual-blade shadow swordsman… that’s going to be a nightmare to train.
But if she mastered it, she’d become something beyond mortal—an heroine forged in shadow and steel.
Edelweiss sighed.
“Well, I’ve passed along your request. Even a minor princess still has some pull, you know. The Tower will reply soon.”
“I hope for a favorable answer.”
“They’ll comply. Rank and bloodline can be… useful.” She paused, wincing. “Ah—sorry, that was rude.”
He shook his head. He was long past taking offense.
It was the truth, after all.
“Then,” Deus said, rising, “you’ve rested enough. On your feet.”
She obeyed, eyes burning with resolve.
“This time, I’ll take it seriously.”
“Good,” he said with a faint smile. “Don’t worry.”
“W-Why not?”
“Because at least,” he said, hefting his axe, “you won’t die.”
The session ended as it began—with her driven into the dirt.
Her guard looked ready to gut him on the spot, but Deus ignored him.
This was what the princess had asked for.
Pain. Growth. Reality.
“Hyah!” “Haah!”
Elsewhere, students trained with fervor, shouting their spirits into the air.
Their effort was admirable. Their technique… less so.
Don’t intervene. Not yet.
He was already unpopular enough—known as the “commoner instructor” who “bullied nobles.”
It was nonsense, but gossip stuck like mud.
Especially since the one he’d put in her place had been a noble instructor himself.
So, he watched in silence.
I’ll focus on the ones who matter—the ones who can still become heroes.
Uriel Raich. And perhaps a few others.
He’d done this before, and he’d do it again.
Not for fame. Not for pride.
But because the world still needed them.
The headmaster gave me authority to train privately for a reason, he thought. Let’s use it well.
“Hope she’s doing fine,” he murmured, turning toward a secluded training ground.
The same one Uriel often used.
He heard it before he saw her.
Whssh—!
Steel cutting air.
She was alone—good. No nobles mocking her today.
Just her and the blades.
“You can’t wield a longsword one-handed,” he had told her before. “That’s just asking to die. Use shorter weapons—make them yours.”
She’d hesitated then, staring at her old sword like it was part of her soul.
Now, she was adapting—awkwardly, but sincerely.
Two blades: one short sword, one between a dagger and a sword—lighter, faster.
Each swing still unsteady, but improving.
That’s it. Keep going.
Her focus was absolute.
She hadn’t even noticed him watching.
Or perhaps she had—he’d hidden his presence too well.
Breath shallow, pulse slowed, aura buried.
He didn’t need to look to know.
Someone else was watching, too.
He could feel it.
A scent crept through the air—faint, acrid, and wrong.
It stirred an old memory, one he wished he’d buried.
A scent no human could ever forget.
Damn it…
That smell—
A demon’s scent.
