"A spar with Wylde Traverse, huh."
Luca felt his heart pounding.
The promise with Luca Traverse—to surpass Wylde.
This was the mont when he could gauge how far he had co.
'You don't have to do it yourself, you know?'
-...
Luca spoke to the Luca Traverse within, but he did not respond.
Maybe he had a lot to think about, or maybe what he wanted to say was simply embarrassing—Luca wasn't sure.
― I just think it's not yet ti for to go up against hyung directly. I'm not embarrassed.
'Ah. You heard ?'
― Tsk.
After reading Luca's thoughts, Luca Traverse replied curtly.
Luca smirked, then looked at the man in front of him.
Wylde, who had taken off his cumberso outerwear and wore only a short-sleeved shirt—
It was surely quite a loose, stretchy piece made from alchemical materials, but on Wylde, it hugged his body like a compression shirt, looking about to tear.
His physique, visible beneath the clothes, looked almost like an exaggeratedly sculpted statue of a warrior.
Huge, rugged, hard—it was obvious just by looking.
'He really is a monster.'
Luca clicked his tongue at how threatening Wylde looked—it seed unfair to call him human.
Wylde, who had been choosing a wooden sword, sensed Luca's gaze and looked over.
"Luca, are you planning to spar just like that?"
"...."
Luca was still in his street clothes.
He clicked his tongue once more and took off the outer layer.
Watching from the side, Bella let out a stifled laugh as Luca revealed his physique.
"Oh my, master. You definitely look slender with clothes on."
"Tsk. Hush."
While he didn't look it in clothes, with only the undershirt, Luca was clearly solidly built—
A well-developed upper body, naturally trained from daily sword practice.
Not to Wylde's degree, but Luca was muscular enough.
"You really haven't neglected your training. Impressive."
"Even you say that, hyung..."
Luca pouted seeing Wylde's impressed reaction.
Wylde, mouth slightly upturned, held out a wooden sword to him.
"This'll be a light spar, so let's not use magic power. What about swordsmanship style?"
"... I'll stick to basics for now."
"Understood. I'll only use basics as well."
The basics he had mastered were the fruits of Luca Traverse's efforts.
For now, he wanted to fight Wylde with those.
Wylde nodded in agreent and headed for the training ground.
"...."
The training ground was the sa as the one in Luca Traverse's inner world.
Luca paused there, briefly caught in his thoughts, then followed Wylde up.
The two faced each other, taking their stances.
"Then I'll judge! Both of you, get ready!"
Bella took the role of judge.
Standing between them, she shouted as she slowly stepped back.
"Start!"
Thud!
At Bella's signal, the two clashed swords imdiately.
The wooden swords, reinforced with special magic so as not to break easily, t with a deep resonance that echoed across the training ground.
'It's heavy.'
As their swords crossed, Luca was struck by how incredibly heavy Wylde's sword felt.
He had been sparring with Kryphi lately, but even Kryphi's blade wasn't this weighty.
'Defeating this man with heavy swords might really be impossible.'
Could Luca himself generate this weight?
He judged it absolutely impossible.
It wasn't a matter of effort, but of birth.
'Kryphi was right—physically, I'm at a disadvantage.'
Even in a world where won could overpower n by boosting with magic power, in extres, the difference in raw physical power was undeniable.
When clashing with equal amounts of magic power, the difference in body brought a difference in strength.
In the end, soone taller and with more muscle would always win by sheer size and weight.
Thwack! Tap! Tak!
Luca deftly deflected Wylde's sword and swung in quickly.
If he couldn't win by strength, he had to focus on speed and skill.
'Hoo.'
Wylde marveled at Luca's counterattack at such speed.
Martial arts were, fundantally, created so the weak could best the strong.
In that sense, the basics favored Luca here.
Indeed, as Luca pressed forward with his flurry of attacks, Wylde started to be pushed back.
'Huh? If I do this right...?'
Feeling himself slowly gaining the upper hand, Luca was inwardly startled.
He had thought he would be utterly overwheld due to the difference in physical ability between a Master and an Expert, yet he was holding on.
'He's not... going easy on , is he?'
Anyone would think the sa in Luca's position.
But Wylde was clearly giving it his all.
That only left one possible explanation for the lack of any physical disadvantage.
'Could it be the power of the sky...?'
That training he still did every morning with Whistle—sharing the sky's power.
The pain, not even comparable to low-frequency massagers, which had once made 15 minutes unbearable, yet now he was accustod enough to do it for a steady 30 minutes every day.
Thanks to it, though he hadn't noticed it himself, Luca's body had grown significantly stronger.
'At this rate, I might really win.'
With that in mind, Luca feinted—a light slash—then as Wylde raised his blade to deflect, creating an opening, Luca dashed in at the gap.
Whoosh!
'I've won!'
As Wylde attacked the feint, Luca slipped past—and now Wylde couldn't dodge Luca's real blow.
It was clean, precise skill.
Luca was sure of his victory.
Crack.
"...?"
Just then, Wylde's sword twisted in a bizarre direction.
A change in blade trajectory that should have been impossible.
Even having seen it happen, Luca couldn't comprehend it.
"?!"
Wylde, who had been swinging left, forced his sword to the right with brute strength—
And even imbued the blow with a heavy sword's secret art, adding overwhelming destructive force.
By the ti Luca realized it, he couldn't redirect the force and was forced to receive the attack head-on.
Clang! Crack!
Luca's wooden sword broke apart instantly.
Even Bella, witnessing this, stood blank for a mont before hurriedly raised her hand.
"Th-the win goes to the young master!"
"A nice warm-up," said Wylde nonchalantly as he lowered his sword.
Luca, face blank with disappointnt, pouted.
"Weren't you a bit too serious just now?"
"Going easy on you would be disrespectful, Luca. Besides, your current skill is far too good for to hold back."
"... Huh."
At Wylde's calm praise, Luca let out a faint sigh.
But he couldn't bring himself to feel too bad.
Wylde turned, his voice brightening ever so slightly.
"And what's more, I'm fairly competitive, you know."
"... Do you really not want to lose to your younger brother?"
Noting Luca's sulkiness, Wylde, smiling more clearly now, replied,
"When we're crossing swords, we're not brothers, but rivals fighting for the head of the family, aren't we?"
"... Huh."
Luca let out a hollow laugh and threw the broken sword aside, muttering, "That's true."
Even in defeat, he didn't feel all that bad.
* * *
When the break began, Ottbo didn't return imdiately to his family.
The Srettle Magus project had just begun and needed so coordination—and honestly, he just didn't feel like going ho.
"Haaa... I guess I should get going soon..."
But with the project coordination finished and no more excuses, Ottbo let out a long breath.
As Gress family had a railway station, he could reach there in one day.
Ottbo headed to the station in Havok, bought a ticket, and murmured,
"Luca should have arrived by now, I suppose?"
He looked gloomy, not speaking for a while as he held the ticket, then boarded the train with a sigh.
The train traveled quickly, soon reaching the Gress family territory.
Although both were territories of counts, magic noble houses and martial noble houses were of very different scale.
Especially in cases like the Gress family, involved in military supplies, the domain had many factories and was always bustling with rchant guilds, making it even more prosperous.
"Haaa... So, I've arrived..."
Climbing out of the train, Ottbo viewed the interior of the station, his expression bitter.
There were far more people than in Havok's station.
Most moved quickly, faces expressionless, simply hurrying to their destinations.
It all felt bleak.
As Ottbo watched them, a group approached,
"Young master Ottbo! Thank you for making the journey!"
"... Mm."
Though he hadn't contacted them, the Gress family servants had co to et him, probably inford by the fact that the very train he rode was made by the Gress family itself.
"An auto-carriage is waiting. This way, please."
"Mm."
The staff collected Ottbo's luggage and led him to a prepared auto-carriage—
Different from the racing kind, but still huge and ornate, waiting in front of the station for anyone to see.
Instinctively, Ottbo headed toward the driver's seat.
"Young master Ottbo?"
"... Ah."
Seeing the puzzled looks, Ottbo hesitated, then got into the passenger seat at the back.
As soon as he settled, the auto-carriage moved smoothly.
Leaning back and looking out the window, Ottbo thought,
'Slow.'
He felt sure he could have gone much faster himself.
Lost in such thoughts, Ottbo arrived at the Gress family mansion.
It was the largest mansion he had ever seen.
If any of his friends had seen this, they'd have been speechless.
But to Ottbo, it was just a place he'd grown to loathe.
"Welco ho, young master Ottbo!"
It was the elderly butler who greeted him as he stepped out.
Seeing him, Ottbo looked a little pleased.
"Long ti no see, Marcus."
Marcus—the head steward of the Gress family, and one of the few who cared for Ottbo.
He led Ottbo into the mansion.
"Just in ti for a al. The lord and lady are in the dining room; I'll take you right there!"
"... Mm."
Knowing they were waiting, Ottbo, though not showing it, tensed up inside.
Arriving at the dining room, he bowed his head to the man at the long dining table's head, who had the sa red hair as himself.
"I greet the Gress family's lord."
Cronine Gress, the current head of the Gress family—
Clad in extravagant, clearly expensive clothes, he spoke dryly as he looked over Ottbo.
"You're late, Ottbo Gress. I understand the break started several days ago."
"... I was delayed a bit for so Srettle Magus project coordination."
"Srettle Magus... Ah, the woman researching modified armored soldiers."
Recalling Srettle Magus, Cronine Gress clicked his tongue.
"She must be after Gress family technology. What a sly woman."
"..."
"Dear, leave it at that. There's sothing you should be congratulating him for, isn't there?"
The woman with swept-up blonde hair sitting next to Cronine—Suironea Gress, the Gress family matron.
Beaming at Ottbo, Suironea said,
"Welco ho, Ottbo Gress."
"... Yes, mother."
"I heard you ranked first place in your year at the Magic Departnt. That's wonderful!"
At Suironea's praise, Ottbo bowed his head once more.
"I think it was just luck."
"Heh, it's all thanks to our Gress family's superior engineering!"
At that, Cronine Gress interjected with a sneer,
"Weren't you in the sa year as the Magara family's eldest son? He must not amount to much, losing to soone like you."
"..."
"Dear, isn't that a good thing? It just ans our family's magic beat the Magara family's magic!"
As Suironea encouraged gently, Cronine snorted, looking at Ottbo.
"Hmph, not that it matters coming from a half-wit who can't even use magic properly..."
Suddenly, Cronine paused mid-sentence.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Ottbo Gress. Did you break your restriction?"
"...!"
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