༺ 𓆩 Chapter 28 — Duel (4) 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
A month earlier, Isaac had asked Carlson—
“Carlson. If I wanted to defeat you with swordsmanship within a month, how would I do it?”
To Carlson, it was the first childlike question he had ever heard from Isaac.
Children of noble houses, as a rule, believed themselves innately gifted in the sword, and believed they could surpass in short order the skill another had honed for over a decade.
“It is impossible.”
Carlson answered without the slightest hesitation.
“Not even a one-in-ten chance?”
“No.”
“One in a hundred?”
“Are you serious?”
“You always assu I’m joking whenever I say anything.”
“That’s because you only ever choose the things that make no sense.”
“And if I still had to win? If I had to win no matter what?”
“If it were magic instead of swordsmanship, young master, you would win.”
“It has to be swordsmanship.”
“…….”
Carlson shook his head.
It was a firm expression of utter hopelessness.
“Then I’ll change the question. If there were even a one-in-a-hundred chance, how would I create it?”
“Haa.”
Carlson let out a long sigh, then fell silent for a mont.
By then, Isaac had already been thoroughly beaten about by Carlson’s wooden sword.
An ordinary child would have had his spirit broken long before that, yet Isaac was still thinking of ways to win.
Carlson found himself wondering what could make this little brat so desperate, but even then, there was no emotion to be read from Isaac’s face.
“There are three conditions.”
“Let hear them.”
“First. I would have to underestimate you greatly and let my guard down. Second. Even if it were a contest of swordsmanship, there would need to be a specific victory condition. One that narrows the gap in our skill, however slightly.”
“That figures. And the third?”
“Lastly. In a situation where those first two conditions align, you would need a decisive move that could seize victory the mont you caught an opening in . If we only have a month, then you would have to spend that whole month training only that move.”
“You have a real talent for saying ‘impossible’ in such a roundabout way.”
“That is because it is impossible.”
“Still sounds worth trying.”
After that, Isaac drove Carlson rcilessly.
Every request was for goals equally lacking in realism.
For example, a way to overco an absolutely disadvantageous difference in physique and force the opponent back with even a single strike.
“You need to drive upward harder.”
“Hyaaaap!”
“Your point of contact is wrong! The opponent must be struck farther from their center of gravity, and you closer to yours! If possible, you must deflect with the part of the blade nearest the crossguard!”
Isaac asked Carlson for only a single hour of training ti.
But Carlson quickly realized Isaac’s training did not end with that one hour.
At so point, Isaac had begun wearing leather gloves wherever he went.
When Carlson handed over the wooden sword, he had once glimpsed Isaac’s glove and seen the area around the palm stained dark brown.
Carlson, who had lived by the blade, knew at a glance what it ant.
If one trained in swordsmanship without rest and beyond reason, first calluses would co, then blisters, then at last the palms would tear open.
“Would it not be better to receive treatnt?”
“You told to make you underestimate , didn’t you? Then shouldn’t the people around remain ignorant first?”
“It is a mad plan.”
“A plan that valuable ought to be mad.”
As the training repeated itself, Isaac gradually revealed his plan to Carlson bit by bit.
Even before he had been granted Vinfeldt, Isaac had already finished his assessnt of the place.
Its problems and the asures that could answer them. And its ideal use.
But for any of that to be possible, the military camp at Vinfeldt first had to be brought under Isaac’s hand.
Yet more than half the soldiers stationed there were mbers of tribes that Goethe had once subdued by force and broken apart.
Because of that, many among them bore resentnt toward Goethe, and it was common for them to harass officials sent from the kingdom.
That was why Pyke, who was himself of tribal stock, had originally been granted Vinfeldt.
“If you try to use Goethe’s military strength or authority on them, it will only deepen their hostility. The only thod is to respect their traditions and follow them.”
“But it is far too reckless. It has been half a month since training began, and you still cannot knock aside even a lightly swung strike from .”
“I’ll knock it aside. Just watch.”
And so the last day before their departure for Vinfeldt arrived.
Carlson did not have even the faintest expectation that Isaac would be able to knock aside his blade.
“We’ll use real swords. Let say this in advance, I’m not joking.”
“…….”
“And bring it down harder than usual.”
“…….”
Carlson hesitated.
Whence ca that confidence?
Isaac had trained without pause for a month.
If he overdid it here, he might suffer a serious injury.
Besides, throughout all their training with wooden swords, not once had Isaac been able to counter Carlson’s strike.
And yet.
Kang—!!!
“……!”
With a sharp tallic crack, Carlson’s hesitation was knocked away.
“Harder!”
Kang—!!!
“Harder!”
Kang—!!!
“More!”
Kang—!!!
“More!”
Isaac drew in ragged breaths and took his stance again.
Carlson’s eyes shook.
For the first ti in the last month, Isaac had knocked away his blade, and then done it again, and again in succession.
The harder Carlson struck downward, the harder Isaac knocked him away.
There was no need even to ntion how precise Isaac’s timing was.
“What have you done?”
“A little trick.”
Isaac smiled.
***⚜***
It was not so grand trick.
Isaac’s scabbard was wrapped all over in the torn pages of grimoires.
They were the grimoires of phase-shifting magic that Bishop Levonius had used when he sent the stakes flying.
A grimoire containing spells that could change the position of an object from multiple directions.
The mont mana was sent through them, the recorded spell would activate.
Isaac had selected only the pages bearing the spells he needed, affixed them to the scabbard, and then bound cloth over them to hide them once more.
Isaac looked as though he were gripping the sword, but in truth he was only pretending. The blade floated in the air.
To levitate an object was entirely possible with phase-shifting magic, but to control that object as freely as though a man were swinging it himself was, by common sense, impossible.
Unless one had several brains, that was.
But Isaac could do it.
The swordsmanship Lucas had taught him in his previous life, and the countless imaginary sparring matches he had reenacted in his head through all the ti he had been imprisoned underground.
Because of those, he needed only the position of Besser’s feet and the movent of his shoulders to predict where the next blow would fall.
Through imagination, he forecast several seconds ahead and moved five circulation paths at once.
Like five fingers, those circulation paths touched the needed spells in the grimoires from mont to mont.
The most important thing was the control of mana.
The output of mana.
In other words, it demanded delicate control over magical power.
If he was to block the strike of a powerful warrior with a sword floating unsupported in midair, what he most needed was balance.
If his magical force were even slightly too weak or too strong, the balance of that unsupported sword would collapse.
It would go flying, or, if fortune turned against him, the spinning edge might slash him open instead.
With gestures, he determined the desired position of the sword, its angle, and the direction of the magical force.
From one instant to the next, he could not be a little too late, nor a little too early.
Isaac’s consciousness moved like that of a musician, keeping rhythm with Besser’s tempo.
It required extre concentration and control, quickness and physical coordination all at once.
It was madness that few magicians would ever dare attempt.
But Isaac was ready to accomplish it.
No, he had to accomplish it.
And then,
Kkaeng—!!!
when the first clash ca,
Isaac was certain of his success.
‘Carlson’s blade yesterday was far heavier than this.’
At the sa ti, Isaac applied cooling to Besser’s arm the mont it entered his domain.
It was impossible to freeze a man of warm blood into sothing like an ice crystal, but it was possible, at the very least, to induce frostbite.
A single cooling would have no great effect, but the cumulative cold that gathered each ti sword edge and axe edge collided would produce a result that could not be ignored.
A hand that had grown cold would lose sensation, and the strength would drain from its grip.
No matter how mighty a giant’s body, he was still human, and could not escape that.
Especially not an excited opponent who had never imagined such a trick might be used and thus had no chance to respond.
Thud—!!!
The sound of the axe dropping into the mud rang out with startling clarity.
The soldiers had been holding their breath so completely as they watched the duel.
Though nearly a hundred of them had gathered, only a false, unbelievable stillness hung over the place.
Even seeing Besser lose his axe, they could not at once grasp what exactly had happened.
“My victory, Besser.”
“…….”
Besser turned his head toward Isaac with the stiff creak of a broken wooden doll.
Disbelief was written vividly across his face.
“H-he won. That brat really won!”
Only then did one of the soldiers realize what had happened before his eyes and cry out.
“The little young master beat Besser!”
Waaah—!!!
At once the soldiers burst into cheers.
Whether they were of tribal stock or of Goethe stock, what they had just witnessed was certainly a rare spectacle in any man’s life.
They were flushed and exhilarated.
The reversal wrought by a little brat who had been outmatched by every asure was more than enough to set a soldier’s blood boiling.
“I’m not so little young master. I am Isaac! Isaac von Goethe!”
Isaac raised his sword high.
Isaac!
Isaac!
Isaac!
The soldiers began chanting his na.
“Shut up! Shut up, all of you!”
Besser’s face went so red it looked fit to burst as he roared, but no soldier cared to listen to the words of one defeated in a duel.
“I said shut up!”
At last Besser snatched up his axe and swung it threateningly.
“Whoa.”
The startled soldiers recoiled.
“You, you cunning Goethe bastard!”
Besser snarled and seized Isaac by the collar, lifting him bodily from the ground.
“What filthy trick did you use!?”
“You an to deny the result? To cast away a warrior’s honor?”
“It was you who defiled this sacred duel! I’ll wash it clean with your blood here and now!”
Besser raised his axe.
“What are you all doing!?”
Schiller shouted urgently.
“The one you serve is Goethe! If Besser so much as lays a finger on the young master, everyone here will be executed for treason!”
Only then did the soldiers co to their senses and rush Besser.
His strength was so monstrous that it took two or three stout n for each arm and leg.
“Let go, let go of , you rotten pig bastards!”
Besser thrashed wildly.
“Get a grip, captain!”
“You madman, are you trying to get us all killed!?”
“God above, the captain’s gone mad again!”
A full fifteen n rushed him, yet Besser hurled them aside as though flinging bundles of straw.
But at last, through the desperate effort of the soldiers, his center of gravity gave way.
Besser plunged nose-first into the mud, and soldiers sward over him in a heap.
“Let goooo!”
Besser could not bring himself to swing the axe at his own comrades, and so he only bellowed.
The one who finished it was Carlson, who struck the back of Besser’s head with the poml.
***⚜***
“I can’t go.
“Go. I won’t say it twice.”
“I can’t. I’ve already taken enough snide looks from the other servants for serving the young master. If I get kicked out even as a servant, how am I supposed to work at the estate without dying of sha?”
“Trying to charm your way through it won’t work this ti.”
Go back to the estate. I no longer need a servant.
Isaac said it over and over, but Hans showed no sign of listening.
To Isaac, it was maddening.
As long as they remained in Vinfeldt, no one could know how many tis they would yet have to cross the threshold between life and death.
And the first thing looming close at hand was this: hundreds of hell wolves would soon descend upon the camp.
As things were ant to unfold, within a matter of weeks Vinfeldt would cease to function as Goethe territory.
It would beco a nesting ground for demonic beasts.
The first task Isaac had to accomplish in Vinfeldt was to prevent that.
He could not know how much blood would have to be spilled in the process.
He could not even know what would beco of himself.
He had not co here in order to live comfortably, but in order to change Goethe’s future.
If he kept his life, all the better, for then he might attempt the next task as well.
But he could not dismiss the possibility of death that flickered always near at hand.
He was prepared to leap into a hell of fire in order to save the house, in order to rescue those dear to him.
And now one dear to him was saying he would leap into that hell beside him.
There was no world in which Isaac could permit that.
Shing—!!!
At last Isaac drew his sword.
“I indulged you once or twice, and now you’ve grown bold enough to climb over my head. Go. Or I’ll kill you with my own hand.”
No matter how great Hans’s loyalty toward Isaac might be,
Hans too had a family.
He too had things he must protect.
This was Isaac’s last resort.
“Yes, if I can’t serve you, dying by your hand wouldn’t be so bad. Kill . What are you waiting for? Why aren’t you killing ?”
Hans seized the blade Isaac had drawn with his bare hand and pressed it to his own throat.
“You think so little of now that you dare deceive ? You think I can’t cut you?”
“Then cut quickly.”
“…….”
“No matter how slow-witted I may be, do you think I wouldn’t know you, young master? I knew from the mont you said you’d duel that giant, Besser or Besemilk or whatever his na was. I knew you’d steeled yourself even to die. You think I’d send you alone into a place like that?”
“…….”
“I don’t know how you think of , young master. But to , you are family, no, more than that. My son lived because of you, and my family eats because of you. I’ve spent more ti with you than with my own family. I could die for my family, yes, but I could die for you as well. If my family died, I would follow them in death, and if you died, I would follow you too.”
“……That’s all very solemn, but your face has gone blue.”
“If a sword’s at your neck and you aren’t afraid, that just ans you’re insane.”
Hans’s whole body trembled, but he said every word he ant to say without swallowing a single one.
“I envy whichever master gets to claim you as his servant.”
“Carlson? What, you heard all that?”
“You were speaking loudly enough. It nearly moved to tears.”
Carlson, entering the barracks, spoke with a blank face.
“Keep him here.”
“What’s wrong with you too?”
“Because I know better than most the pain of failing to protect what must be protected.”
At Carlson’s words, Isaac looked at Hans.
Hans’s gaze remained fixed stubbornly on Isaac, as though he ant to convey his sincerity with his eyes alone.
“I’ll train him myself. I’ll turn him into a suitable sparring partner for you, young master.”
“Haa.”
Isaac let out a sigh.
The pain of failing to protect what must be protected.
How could he not know it?
He had lived with it all his life.
To be imprisoned forever within the mont you failed to protect sothing.
That was not living. Not truly.
If Isaac had miscalculated anything, it was the depth of Hans’s feelings toward him.
“……Fool.”
Isaac muttered as he lowered the sword.
“Hans.”
“Yes, young master.”
“From now on, you are both my servant and Carlson’s squire.”
“Sir Carlson’s squire?”
“And Carlson. You’re coming with .”
Isaac left the barracks and walked through the military camp.
It was still afternoon, and the sunlight yet remained alive.
The tale of Isaac defeating Besser in a duel was already circulating among the soldiers.
That did not an he had won their goodwill.
They only glanced sidelong at him as he passed and whispered among themselves.
No one acknowledged Isaac. No one showed him favor.
They rely kept him at a careful distance and hushed one another when he drew near.
To borrow Besser’s expression, his position had improved only slightly from that of a cursed cripple.
Isaac walked on in silence, straight out beyond the camp.
Carlson followed without a word.
Once they had left the camp behind and all traces of people had vanished, Isaac finally spoke.
“Carlson.”
“Yes.”
“If Hans dies in Vinfeldt, I won’t help you.”
“If you break our agreent, I will kill you, young master.”
“Yes. Even so, I won’t help you.”
“…….”
Only then did Carlson realize the price of having turned Isaac’s mind.
“Is a common-born servant really that important?”
“To , he is. So either protect Hans, or, if that’s too troubleso, make him strong enough not to die.”
“You ask the impossible. Everyone dies.”
“I’m telling you to do your utmost.”
“I’ve thought it before, but you are a very strange noble, young master.”
“You aren’t exactly ordinary yourself.”
Isaac gave a faint laugh and began walking again.
“Let’s go back, Kyle.”
“It’s Carlson.”
Carlson followed Isaac back toward the camp.
“One day, you’ll be Kyle, son of Keyan.”
“Until then, I am Carlson.”
“So you are.”
“As for Hans.”
“Yes?”
“If I work him hard enough that he nearly dies, but not quite, is that acceptable?”
“That sounds good. Turn the servant who won’t listen into a squire who does.”
“As you command.”
Isaac and Carlson looked at one another and smiled.
‘I’ve found one more reason I need to grow stronger.’
Isaac thought.
If he could not even protect Hans, then he had no right to speak of protecting the house.
So,
he had to grow stronger.
END σϝ CHAPTER
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