Chapter 81….
Lionel’s tendons were torn throughout his entire body.
That alone meant he would live the rest of his life needing the care of others.
But the greater problem was that even his Stigma had been destroyed.
All the mana he had built up over a lifetime scattered, and Lionel became a complete cripple.
He could no longer be called a knight, nor even maintain the dignity of a noble.
And all of it had been done by Dante himself.
Unable—no, unwilling—to tolerate Lionel’s vile actions,
he personally delivered judgment.
Since then, Dante had erased Lionel’s name from his memory.
A man unworthy of remembrance.
But now…
Lionel’s elder brother was sitting before him.
That smiling face.
Though there was no open hostility, Dante knew there must be killing intent hidden within—something he could not yet fully measure.
For that was the nature of the Bellast family.
“Is that so. And how is Lionel faring?”
The calm question caused a faint twitch in Albert’s expression.
His brow jerked, if only slightly.
But it passed quickly.
Albert regained his composure and replied casually:
“Regrettably, that fellow can no longer function as a person.”
Of course.
That was the very point.
“Your family must look upon me with resentment, then.”
“Surely not.”
At Dante’s blunt remark, Albert waved both hands.
“Was it not Lionel who first committed a wrong? He received the price he was due. We have no reason to blame you, Sir Dante.”
The words were smooth.
But Dante now clearly felt it—
the irreverent emotion hiding in Albert’s gaze.
“…Good. At least you understand.”
Dante looked away.
Not worth associating with.
Had this been a battlefield, he would have cut Albert down without hesitation.
So he dismissed the man from his mind.
“You’re the chief administrator of Rittergut, then?”
“That is correct.”
He asked Rubrik, who answered with due respect.
Rittergut was said to wield enough authority to “bring down birds in mid-flight,” but the Aquites family still possessed even greater power.
For Dante, a mere bureaucrat was hardly someone to hold his head high before.
“You’ve come to deliver an induction order, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Since you have reached your fifteenth year, His Imperial Majesty decrees that you must now take on the duties of nobility.”
Dante did not respond at once. Instead, he tapped lightly on the armrest of the sofa.
The longer the silence stretched, the more sweat dripped from Rubrik’s face.
“This duty means I must enroll in Rittergut without exception, correct?”
At last Dante spoke, and Rubrik exhaled in relief.
“That is so.”
“And I as well?”
“I know of no exceptions.”
Did he understand what Dante was hinting at?
Rubrik’s answer was firm.
“…I see.”
Not as easy as expected.
He had thought that invoking the Aquites name might be enough.
Rubrik clearly feared and respected that name, but he did not yield.
“Must I use that method after all?”
Dante did not wish to waste time going to Rittergut.
There was nothing there he needed to learn, nor did he require noble connections.
He had only one priority.
Time—time to hone his sword.
So after long nights of thought, he had arrived at one idea.
He did not know if it would work.
But doing nothing was worse.
Taking a slow breath, Dante spoke:
“I hear Rittergut is recruiting sword instructors.”
An abrupt statement.
Rubrik tilted his head, not guessing the intent.
“Indeed. We are always short on instructors, so recruitment is ongoing.”
“So lacking? Surely many would wish for such a post.”
“True, but we cannot accept just anyone. Only those with the proper qualifications may earn that honored seat.”
In other words, while instructors were few, only proven skill could grant the position.
Dante already knew this.
“Then… what of me?”
“…Pardon?”
Rubrik looked at him as if the words made no sense.
Even Dante admitted it was outrageous.
So he explained again, slowly.
“I am asking whether I might fill one of those scarce instructor positions.”
“S-Sir Dante!”
Now understanding, Rubrik gaped in shock.
A candidate for induction… as an instructor?
In Rittergut’s entire history as an Imperial Knight-training institute, no such case had ever occurred.
“Th-that is impossible…”
“And why would it be impossible?”
There was no regulation against it.
At Rittergut, anyone could teach the sword if they had the qualifications.
Proving those qualifications, however, was notoriously difficult.
Age, gender, race, nation—none of it mattered.
Only skill.
“But you are only fifteen years old, are you not?”
“And?”
“You have held a sword no more than five years…”
His voice trailed off.
He could not bring himself to say, “With such little skill, how could you teach anyone?”
“Do you think my five years are the same as another’s?”
They were not.
Not even close.
Dante’s five years were eighty years of struggle—
a life no one could imitate.
So if anyone questioned his qualifications, Dante could answer firmly:
“I am qualified.”
And now—
He intended to prove it.
“B-but still…”
In all his decades as Rittergut’s administrator, Rubrik had never faced such a case. His mind seemed paralyzed.
His eyes darted, searching desperately for an answer.
“It is simple. If proof is required, I shall provide it.”
After all, the administrator’s duties included appointing instructors.
Not impossible.
This was the solution Dante had devised—
a way to avoid formal induction.
He would serve as instructor instead.
And unlike cadets, instructors’ contracts lasted only a year.
Dante planned to remain just one year, then leave.
As Rubrik floundered, Albert interjected with a smile.
“An amusing thought.”
Dante’s impassive gaze turned toward him.
“Why not? There is an administrator to ensure fairness, and instructors present to test you. Everything needed is here.”
So he is an instructor as well…
In Dante’s previous life, Albert had not been at Rittergut.
The future had shifted.
No doubt Lionel’s downfall was involved.
“But still…”
When Rubrik hesitated again, Albert rose from the sofa.
“I will take responsibility. If Sir Dante truly has the qualifications, Rittergut gains a sorely needed talent. That is no bad thing.”
If Dante failed the test, he would simply proceed with induction as planned.
Rubrik thought it over, then reluctantly nodded.
“…Very well. I shall personally verify your qualifications.”
Good.
The anxiety in Dante’s chest eased.
If it had failed, matters would have grown troublesome.
“Then Sir Albert, I ask you to oversee the test.”
“It will be my honor.”
The qualification exam for sword instructors was simple:
Prove your skill.
And the surest way to prove skill—duel a current instructor.
Nothing was clearer.
“When should we begin? Perhaps tomorrow or the day after, once I have reported to Marquis Zenon…”
“No.”
Dante cut Rubrik off.
He looked at Albert, who still smiled at him.
“No need to delay. Let us begin at once.”
“N-now?”
Rubrik was startled again, but Dante was already rising.
“Bring your sword to the training ground.”
He left the parlor.
“Uh—Captain? Where are you going? We brought tea…”
At that moment, Triciel arrived with the maids, blinking in confusion.
“Go to my chambers and fetch Arpeon.”
“Eh? Right now? Why?”
She had thought it was a simple meeting. Why bring his sword suddenly?
As she asked in puzzlement, Dante replied:
“The men from Rittergut wish to see my blade.”
“Ah…”
That made sense to Triciel.
Dante’s sword was famous throughout the duchy, after all.
Even in the Empire, many had heard of it.
Naturally, some would wish to confirm the truth for themselves.
Though the reality was slightly different, Triciel simply nodded.
“Should I bring it straight to the training ground, then?”
“Yes.”
“Understood! I’ll be right back!”
Like the wind, she dashed down the corridor.
“Take the tea back. It seems I will have no need of it today.”
Dante said gently to a bewildered maid before heading toward the training ground.
Albert, Rubrik, and Rubrik’s assistant Tain followed.
“…This is becoming quite unusual,” Rubrik muttered.
Albert burst into laughter.
“All the better! When else will we witness the heir of House Aquites wield his blade?”
“…True enough.”
Yet Rubrik could not shake a foreboding sense as he watched Dante’s back.
Still a boy.
Tall for his age, perhaps, but no more than a youth just getting used to the sword.
And yet he spoke of becoming an instructor?
Absurd nonsense…
A deep sigh drifted down the corridor.
