Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

187 – The Third Bout (End)

The Valentine Marquisate,

Affectionately, or perhaps derisively, known as

The house of rakes and libertines.

Despite that trash-like reputation,

Their influence, compared to other nobles,

Wasn’t lagging in the slightest.

If anything, they surpassed them.

Though, truth be told, they didn’t seem

To particularly overestimate their own power,

At least within the Empire,

Few families wished to count them as enemies.

Even amongst fellow Marquisate

Families, the sentiment held.

Of course, any family with their wits about them

Would find the idea of antagonizing an Imperial Marquisate

A fool’s errand. Yet they went further,

Distancing themselves from the Valentines to an almost excessive degree.

Those unaware of

Their inner workings always

Wondered at the reason.

‘Avoid entanglement with the

Valentine Marquisate, if at all possible.’

‘…Forgive my impudence, but might

I inquire as to

The reasoning behind your words, Marquis?’

Many asked,

And even more

Were consumed by curiosity.

‘…Those devils are monsters.

If you must have a comparison…Well, something akin to succubi of lechery.’

‘…Pardon?’

‘In any case, if I tell you not to meddle,

Then make damn sure you don’t go looking for trouble.’

And the answer

They invariably received was always the same.

*

*Chirling─*

From her blade,

from a single surge of energy blooming forth,

a clear, crystalline sound erupted,

and at that same instant, I

took a step forward.

The ironwood sword, small and unrefined.

Feeling the rough surface of its bark

beneath the full grip of my hand, I readjusted my stance,

and then, I simply let both arms

drop downwards, my head thrust forward.

A posture reminiscent of an athlete’s crouch,

both arms lowered,

making reaction to an attack difficult,

the center of gravity pitched

dangerously forward, and moreover,

exposing one of the body’s vital points,

the face, completely undefended,

yet for me, possessing a

considerably swift reaction time,

it was simply a stance that allowed me

to continue an assault at maximum speed.

Finally, she opened her eyes fully.

Still, from her blade,

a surge of light poured out without restraint,

and as I readied myself to react

at the slightest movement,

“…Thank you.”

She uttered words

I hadn’t anticipated in the slightest.

Thank you?

To me?

‘…Why?’

*

In a comedy show I saw

a long time ago,

the background of the characters would change to space whenever they were surprised,

frankly, I thought that effect

was incredibly pointless.

How surprised a character was

I understand the intent, the desire to portray shock,

but must they truly resort to such CG?

To express the sentiment of amazement,

it felt, perhaps, a bit much.

Indeed, back then, I thought it

a primary element cheapening the whole affair.

Even I, seasoned by life’s trials and tribulations,

found it quite difficult to imagine

being so thoroughly startled.

‘…Did I do something

deserving of thanks?’

And yet, were I

to encounter that program again,

I suspect my thinking would shift somewhat.

If I were to paint my current heart,

the backdrop would undoubtedly

be the cosmos itself.

For a moment, I wondered if I’d misheard,

but I’m no fool, and at

this distance, barely

mistaking words is even more challenging.

She certainly said thank you to me,

and in her voice,

there was a palpable sincerity.

The voice of the same person who, moments before,

had subtly looked down on me?

It was simply unfathomable,

and I was rather bewildered by this

preposterous situation.

Look even now.

Her wrist, reddened and trembling,

shaking.

Without any other markings, no trace of blood,

the only sign I left

on her skin,

and I had tried to modulate my grip so as not to

break any bones, but

apparently, even with her strength,

Holding a sword… it must be a terrible burden for her now.

Being but a human form,

she couldn’t possibly force strength

into joints devoid of muscle.

It would be all the more crippling

for one already lacking in power.

And beyond that, the marks

I left on her were plentiful.

Shins, elbows, shoulders, and so on…

I’d targeted her joints and bones

with ruthless precision.

And even if I hadn’t broken bone,

it would have been quite enough

to paint her alabaster skin

with a bloom of livid bruises.

…No matter how I pondered it,

I couldn’t fathom why

she would offer me gratitude.

Racking my brain like this

wouldn’t help the situation at hand anyway,

so I decided, for now,

to focus my attention on her.

With that decision made,

I turned my gaze to her once more,

and she remained expressionless.

No, to be precise,

with a look of serene detachment, she looked back at me.

And then, once again,

she leveled her sword at me,

offering her thanks.

“After all, it is thanks to you

that I’ve reached this level.”

“…No, what did I even do—”

“Let me state in advance, my gratitude

and the outcome of this duel are separate matters.”

With that unspoken promise to win,

another single strand of sharp energy

erupted from her sword once more.

The Professor, who had been

observing us from afar,

already had his gaze completely captured by her blade.

The junior, victim just moments ago

to Sylvia’s merciless brutality,

struggled to lift his bloodied face,

every nerve focused

on her blade.

‘…So, it was true, the dream

that swordsmen whispered of.’

Drawing up his mana like threads,

using it as a sword.

Sword-Thread.

Surely, the Professor,

watching her, had said those very words,

and I, knowing something

of its meaning,

understood the sheer

impossibility of what she was doing.

Only two Sword Masters within the entire Empire.

Those who made the impossible possible

with a single blade,

a dream for every knight and swordsman,

and to reach that summit,

there were trials one had to pass,

one of them being

the Sword-Thread, drawing mana

into a long, thin line, maintaining its steel-like hardness,

and I’d heard that many swordsmen devoted

their entire lives

to simply drawing forth that single strand.

Of course, those blessed with

prodigious talent could dismiss such things,

but considering she was barely

sixteen years of age,

it was no exaggeration

to say she had achieved a remarkable feat.

No, perhaps ‘remarkable’

wasn’t quite enough.

At least, to my knowledge,

no student outside of Class A

could wield the Sword-Thread as she did.

…In truth, she seemed to believe

that she’d gained such power simply

because of me, but

anyone seeing her now

would surely declare with confidence,

“A Sword Tempest has appeared at the Academy!!”

…If only her personality would change a bit,

there would be nothing more to wish for.

Clumsy swordsmanship was

a problem that could be solved with training, and

her physique too, presented no great issue

if one dedicated a long time

to diligent conditioning, but

at least her temperament

needed to change quickly.

Believing in one’s own ability

wasn’t necessarily a bad thing,

but that was only permissible when it was confidence,

excessive self-assurance would only

bring trouble to her.

“I’ll finish this quickly,

I have no interest in toying with others.”

As if she was

doing me a favor this one time.

I had patiently waited for her to

finish her meditation,

and already she seemed convinced

that she was the victor,

a newfound ease overflowing

in her eyes where there was none before.

Watching her,

I sighed deeply to myself.

If only she’d fix that personality,

she’d truly be quite the asset…

‘Still, the professor

will somehow manage it, I hope.’

Even if I trusted no one else,

I could at least trust Professor Oliver.

If he had no solution in the first place,

he wouldn’t have entrusted this task to me and them.

Perhaps she was unaware, but…

I imagine he would be,

since he’s already lauded amongst the common folk

as the Academy’s only truly incorruptible professor.

At the very least, he wouldn’t

do anything to hinder her future.

He cared for his students

that much, after all.

‘So, what I must do now is…’

“…Why are you staring like that? You’ll

collapse any moment now.”

This little brat, who, far from believing in her skill, overestimates it to a fault,

I must utterly and

crushingly defeat and remold.

From long, long ago,

the way to eradicate arrogance and conceit

began with cracks appearing in the skills one overconfidently relied upon.

And, no matter that she

had reached the realm of drawing the Sword-Silk (劍絲),

the thought that I might lose to her never even crossed my mind.

As I said before,

her swordsmanship was quite crude.

No matter that her sword

emitted a powerful energy,

I’d never even considered the thought of losing to swordsmanship with such flawed fundamentals.

“You won’t yield, then?”

“No, I don’t intend to.”

“…Don’t resent me for this!!”

*Paaang*—

Facing each other once more,

stance adopted,

after our brief exchange,

the sound of air tearing apart

echoed through the training grounds,

and just before her sword reached me,

I saw it.

The curve of a smile on her lips.

Moonlit Nine Swords (月下九儉), Third Form:

Crescent Moon (眉月) Cut.

It didn’t seem to please her all that much.