Chapter 19: Sword Forging Family (3)
“Look over there!”
Roberta shouted, pulling on Ernst's collar.
“Demian-oppa is eating dirt!”
Yeah, yeah. I'm watching.
Ernst muttered with a sullen expression. Serves you right, you bastard. I've always believed you'd end up in the mud someday. You should have stopped wandering around like such an empty-headed fool.
A listless smile spread across Ernst's lips. Demian, who had been flailing, wiped his eyes, then crumpled his expression as he checked the grains of sand on his hand. Is he a little pitiful? Ernst thought, tilting his head.
‘By the way…….’
Ernst let out a languid breath.
‘How did he dodge it?’
The crowd was steeped in astonishment at Abel, who had thrown sand out of nowhere. A man of professorial status had, with a cool smile, thrown sand at a student for all to see. But Ernst's question was directed at the process leading up to the throwing of the sand.
‘He was so fast he was invisible.’
The act of ducking his body to avoid the blade.
The motion of grabbing sand, and scattering it.
It all happened in a fleeting moment.
‘I hate to admit it, but that Demian fellow's swordsmanship is superior to that of most knights.’
Ernst knew well what Demian had achieved.
Since they had been close since childhood.
As the eldest son of the Farenheit family, a renowned family of swordsmanship, Demian had renewed achievements worthy of shining the family name. A newly knighted knight would be no match for him, and even among his prodigy peers, Demian's swordsmanship was unparalleled. To have dodged the first attack of such a monstrous fellow, and to have taunted him for all to see……?
“I think you're right, Fleur.”
Just watching him make one move was enough.
The framework of a game is often easier to guess than one thinks.
Ernst decided to admit it cleanly.
Abel Argento is not just a former commander.
“……Fleur?”
Ernst's eyes shifted towards Fleur.
Fleur was not looking at Abel or Demian, but at Monika, who was standing at a distance. Ernst's gaze moved to Monika. A lusterless prosthetic arm revealed beyond her sleeve. Sharp eyes that didn't match her thin frame. Ernst felt an unknown chill from Monika's amber eyes.
‘Is that…….’
The expression of a commoner child who finds it difficult to talk?
No way. She looks like she's about to chew his eyeballs out.
While Ernst was feeling suspicious, Fleur smiled and waved at Monika. Fleur's blue eyes, glistening with moisture. Monika, captured within them, indifferently turned her head.
“……This is ridiculous.”
To think she'd greet me.
That damned bitch.
After letting out a small curse, Monika stared at Abel, who was facing Demian.
‘I want to become stronger.’
She vaguely guessed. How much effort would it take to become as strong as Teacher Abel? Recalling the time they overturned the base of the two-tongued Tarkan, Abel's combat style was so cold it made one's blood run cold. That's why even the act of throwing sand at Demian felt questionable. A trivial provocation should be unnecessary for Teacher.
‘Of course, this is also…….’
Very much like him.
Monika conceded, shrugging.
Teacher Abel, has a knack for pissing people off.
“You threw sand.”
Demian recited in a low voice.
Seuk, and. The sand grains flowed gracefully as Demian's hand tilted.
“The most important thing in combat is vision.”
Abel said with a stoic expression.
“That is why I tried using sand. You're not offended, are you? A knight must know how to use everything he can get his hands on as a weapon. If you can't, you won't be able to touch my body.”
“──Let's see about that!”
Demian's body shot forward as if leaping.
A clear trajectory engraved on the sandy path.
The blunt blade shot out and cut the wind, and a footprint like a wide-open eye was stamped down beside Abel. But a whisper reached Demian's ear.
“My grandmother's kitchen knife would be faster.”
A voice that grew distant in an instant.
Demian's blade had merely cut its tip.
Large, and small. Narrow, and wide.
Demian poured out his sword strikes, chasing Abel's movements. And so, he was certain. It's like the mouth sounds of a child who has just learned to sing. There was no rule given to Abel's movements.
‘And yet why…….’
Can't I reach him.
Demian bit his lower lip.
“It was a lie.”
Again, a whisper reached Demian's ear.
“I don't even know my grandmother's face. You're quite skilled.”
At the taunting praise, Demian's heart grew cold.
At this, his left hand opened. It supported the end of the hilt.
As it was, he put his right foot between Abel's legs, then swung the blade back as if wrapping around the empty air. For a moment, Abel's gaze wavered. The tip of Demian's blade, extended. It spread in all directions as if distorted by rainwater.
‘Not bad.’
A faint smile hung on Abel's lips.
Numeros Formal Swordsmanship, 37th Section, ‘Fox Rain’.
A technique of nimbly extending the blade while feigning a heavy downpour, as if violating the law of weight bound to the sword. There would be few knights in the capital who could perfectly execute that. Abel duly acknowledged Demian's talent.
‘But it's not enough.’
Abel's footprint, chewing up the ground.
A blade that was quickly extended. It was not aimed at Demian. Abel deeply stabbed the wooden doll that had been stuck behind him. And so, udeuk, and.
The frame of the wooden doll that had been stuck in the ground was revealed. The wooden doll, pierced through by Abel's blade. Demian's mouth opened as he looked at it.
‘Did he……, pull it out with force?’
A brutish plan. But effective.
If Demian's blade was a descending downpour, the wooden doll pierced by Abel's blade was a seamless umbrella. Therefore, he must stop. He should stop his motion, but it was impossible to take back the downpour he had poured out with all his might.
“──Kkeueuk!”
The wooden doll struck Demian's body whole. A shock as if being swept away by a giant blunt weapon. Demian's movements faltered powerlessly.
‘I'm going to fall!’
Demian clenched his teeth. Demian's blade, just barely stabbing into the ground. He maintained his posture by adding strength to his lower body.
Good. I endured it. I didn't fall. While half of his body throbbed, Demian swallowed his breath and lifted his head.
- He's not an ogre with a club or anything……
- That's not it, look at his speed. Does that make sense?
The onlookers were murmuring and scanning Abel. Abel himself was trampling on the wooden doll with a languid expression.
“Why did you not use magic.”
Abel asked Demian. Tookang, and. The training longsword that had been stuck in the wooden doll was pulled out. Abel roughly wiped its blade with the hem of his clothes.
“I know you also have talent in divine magic. You could have blocked it if you had mobilized a defensive spell.”
“That's absurd.”
Demian, who had been panting, wore a smile.
“Your movements were too fast, Professor. I didn't have time to recite a cast.”
“No, it was different. You didn't even try to calculate the gap. It must be because you thought it was far from being fair and square. To mobilize magic in a duel between knights is……”
“I'll admit it.”
A hollow laugh escaped Demian's lips.
“I have been taught about honor since I was young. My father always used to say. Do not forsake your honor even if you are defeated. For honor is the heart of a knight.”
“That's a funny story.”
Abel's steps were directed at Demian.
“A heart is just an organ inside the body. A slave's heart, and a king's heart, there is only one. In the end, those who can protect their honor even if they are defeated are only those with power that transcends victory and defeat.”
While facing the blade, Abel had gained insight several times. Demian was a student with exceptional talent. There was only one regrettable point. His rigid thinking was blocking his room for growth. A good environment, good teachings, and a good heart were rather having a negative effect.
‘He lacks application. Even his way of thinking.’
Even if he were to hone his skills as he is, it would be possible to reach a high level. But he was concerned. The chaos that would come with the advent of the Demon King would mercilessly shake Demian's values.
“Pick up your sword, Demian. The duel is not over.”
“……I know.”
Demian pulled out the sword that had been stabbed into the ground.
Demian's hand, barely supporting the hilt. It was trembling. Abel let out a sigh and shook his head. It would be fine if he just mobilized a healing spell, but why……
‘What that child needs is not a good teacher.’
He will need a bad teacher.
A teacher who makes him have a rebellious feeling towards the teachings. A teacher who makes him repeatedly doubt, and eventually desire to surpass. What Demian needed was such an existence. Convinced of this, Abel opened his mouth.
“I have heard of the fame that the Farenheit family has built. They say that the heads of the family have all left their names as knights without exception. I know it is all thanks to the secret techniques written by their ancestors. You will also soon be able to view it.”
“That is correct. The secret techniques of the Farenheit family are only given to honorable knights……”
“No need to say more. If your father is a truly upright knight, you will not be able to inherit what you desire.”
Demian's gaze widened.
Is this a provocation? Throwing sand, mobilizing a wooden doll. Is it an extension of the plan that had disturbed my mind? Demian tried to guess, pouring strength into his hilt.
No. It's different from that.
What lurked beyond Abel's lifeless blackish-blue eyes. It was a clear sincerity. Professor Argento is trying to deny my knighthood entirely. Demian's expression trembled as he sensed this.
“Demian von Fernando Farenheit, I guarantee it. You will not be able to reach the realm you have wished for.”
Along with a declaration as light as a snowflake,
Heundeul, and.
Abel's wide-open eyes were cast beside Demian. It was in an instant. The languid expression that had been firm all along was gone. It's not the gaze of a person. It's closer to the eyes of a rock. As Demian was about to step back, having such a thought,
‘……Aura Blade?’
Demian's gray eyes flashed. A translucent streak of light on Abel's blade. It was undoubtedly Aura. There were many Holy Knights who had achieved Aura within the Farenheit family, and Demian had no difficulty in being certain.
‘I've never seen such an Aura.’
An Aura so clear and transparent, and therefore so overwhelming.
Not only had he never seen it, he had never even heard of it. An Aura is woven from belief and is bound to be radiant. Why is it a color as empty as a margin?
“The games are over, Demian.”
The blade gripped by Abel shot up towards Demian.
Demian's stance collapsed. It was because of instinct. I must not touch that. I have to avoid it no matter what. A pure fear took root in his mind. Demian swallowed a scream in front of the descending blade. That was the best he could do.
But silence.
And soon, a murmur.
The training longsword that Abel had been holding was gone. To be precise, it was scattering. Turning into powder, finely ground. It was fluttering, swept away by the wind like sleet. What on earth had happened? While the students were suspecting, Demian sensed the answer.
‘The sword couldn't withstand it.’
The sword had not been able to withstand Abel's Aura.
The students probably didn't even notice that Abel had woven an Aura. Since it had all happened in an instant. Demian believed so without a doubt.
‘In that brief moment…….’
The Aura had cut several times. Hundreds of times, thousands of times. More than that. Countlessly. It had cut until it turned to powder. In the end, even the sword with the Aura Blade on it had crumbled.
‘Is there even a sword that can withstand that?’
Even though it was just a training longsword, it was an item made of steel that was guaranteed to be of the highest quality.
It's an absurd power. A truly ridiculous power.
Demian looked up at Abel, steeped in astonishment.
Forgetting even the fact that he was helplessly sprawled out.
‘Shall I leave him some advice.’
Meanwhile, Abel pondered, leaning towards Demian.
‘What advice does this child need.’
Advice that would guide him to break free from a pretense like chivalry and create his own path. A smile spread across Abel's lips as he considered this. And so, he whispered into Demian's ear.
“Hey, young master.”
Did you pee yourself or something?
and.
“Ah, ah, ah……”
Demian's face turned red. Trembling lips. The sound of teeth chattering. The inner thoughts stained with fear scattered, and a pure sense of humiliation, not based on anything, soared. Finally, Demian's mouth opened and a voice leaked out.
“──Sir Abel Argento!”
A scream-like roar echoed.
* * *
“Did you really have to go that far?”
Abel's office.
Monika, who had been sitting facing the round table, opened her mouth.
“You provoked Demian Senior on purpose, didn't you?”
That sunbae……, he seemed like a good person.
At Monika's whisper, Abel shrugged his shoulders once and picked up a towel. The regular sound of wiping his beloved sword. Monika let out a sigh and propped her chin on her hand.
Stark surroundings.
A single round table placed in the center.
Abel's office was no different from the structure of his dormitory. A wardrobe, a round table, and one chair. Thanks to that, Monika had to procure a folding chair again.
‘He's really a strange person.’
Monika turned over the textbook spread out before her.
<Let's Learn with Granny Fruit! Sweet and Lovely Writing Class>.
The cover, decorated with a cheerful handwriting, stimulated Monika's displeasure.
“I had to.”
Suddenly, Abel opened his mouth.
Abel's gaze was now directed at Monika.
“Demian needed that kind of education.”
“Why?”
At Monika's question, Abel answered, holding his beloved sword up to the sunlight.
“One who handles a sword must ultimately be neither good nor evil.”
Deureuk, and.
Abel continued, shoving his beloved sword into its scabbard.
“One must not become a good person, nor an evil person. If one's heart has tilted towards either side, that is wrong.”
The sword is evil.
Swordsmanship is for killing, and therefore, no justification should be attached to it.
But the sword is good.
Swordsmanship is for defense, and therefore, it must be governed through honor.
Abel thought that neither could be the right answer. The virtues that a knight should revere should not be established. A chivalry that only cries out for righteousness is as lazy as an outlaw's greed.
Whether one handles a sword, magic, or power, everyone ought to walk a tightrope between right and wrong. For whatever one holds in their hand is nothing more than a weight.
“I want to become stronger.”
Listening to Monika's words,
Abel picked up the document envelope he had received from Konstanze.
“Because I'll have to be strong to survive. Strong enough that no one can look down on me……”
“Is there someone who looks down on you.”
Listening to Abel's words,
Monika held a blunt fountain pen and started writing.
“Well. I often hear sneers whenever I walk around the campus, and a certain professor often asks me particularly malicious questions……”
She did not utter the name of the Saint-Pierre family. She thought she didn't know what to say or how to say it. It would be possible to shout, drenched in anger, but she still didn't know how to calmly explain her anger. Just as it is ultimately difficult to write beautifully.
Monika let out a sigh.
“If I reach a level as high as yours, Teacher……, will no one look down on me then?”
“It won't change no matter how strong you become.”
Abel said, opening the document envelope.
“Even the emperor cannot escape from ridicule. If he abuses purges out of fear of ridicule, he becomes a tyrant, and if he protects even those who ridicule him, he just becomes a wise ruler.”
But as I said,
One must not settle for good or evil.
What's important is the attitude of contemplating what is right and what is wrong.
Abel muttered so.
“Do you also contemplate, Teacher?”
Monika asked, swinging her legs.
“I am.”
“What is your contemplation about?”
“There are too many to pick just one. For now……, I am contemplating on how your handwriting can become proper.”
“I'm very sorry about that.”
“I'm glad you know.”
Abel wore a faint smile.
Then he reviewed the documents on Vincent Tremblay. The man who had created a religion for himself as an apostate. The personal details of the man who had deluded the students' sense of good and evil were revealed. Abel, who had been quickly reading through the information, suddenly discovered a small Crystal and his expression hardened.
‘Not bad.’
To have secured something like this.
Abel admired Konstanze's eye.
“Monika, the weekend starts tomorrow.”
Abel said, standing up from his chair.
“So, we will have a special class.”
“……A special class?”
A question crossed Monika's face as she was writing.
“Let's meet at the airship station around noon.”
“Where are you thinking of going?”
“The capital's Grand Cathedral. I'll let you experience what you'll be doing as a Holy Knight.”
What a Holy Knight will be doing……, and.
Monika mulled over Abel's words. Will we be barging into a place like Tarkan's base again? No. It will be different since we decided to go to the Grand Cathedral in the heart of the capital. Thinking so, Monika nodded her head.
‘And above all…….’
A curiosity about what a Holy Knight would be doing sprang up.
What is a knight in the first place? Both Abel and Demian talked about knights throughout their duel. For Monika, neither side could be considered right. In the first place, Sarrifis was a village without a single resident knight.
Towards Monika, who was repeating such thoughts,
“Write it again.”
Abel said, tilting his head.
“Monika Lohengrin, your handwriting is terrible.”
“……I know.”
You told me last time too, and.
Monika moved her fountain pen, grumbling.
Once with her left hand. Once using her prosthetic arm. Writing was a task that required daily concentration, and it was Abel's intention that she should get used to using either hand.
“Write it again.”
“Understood.”
Monika wrote the characters over and over again.
“Write it again.”
“……I will.”
“Again……”
“……I said I'll write it.”
And so, Abel smiled.
“A slime's handwriting would be more plausible.”
“How does a slime hold a writing instrument!”
Again, again, again.
Monika's clumsy handwriting filled the empty space.