The Knight Is Still Enhancing (4)

Irene Windler blinked.

"Wh-why are they suddenly like that?"

The two men had started preparing for a spar out of nowhere, and for someone who had been peacefully enjoying her dessert, the situation could not have been more bewildering. Irene was plainly flustered. Levi's reaction was another matter.

"They're knights. Testing one's skill against another's is hardly strange."

She answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and simply fixed her attention on their movements—the very image of a model student, studying hard so she might learn even one thing more. With her own body she was proving that she, too, now walked the path of the sword as a proper knight-candidate.

"I-is that so?"

"...Mm."

A barbaric custom, truly—one a mage would find hard to accept. No. One a modern person would find hard to accept.

Well.

"I... don't mind it. Hah—"

She didn't dislike it. As a feast for the eyes, it was perfectly fine. A girl and a ghost were drinking the match in with great diligence, only in an entirely different sense.

"Lady Irene is giving the instructor a rather burdensome look."

"She does that sometimes. I'm used to it now, so I let it pass."

"Hm. Are you all right with that? You are being ogled, I'll have you know."

"Ogled? Like there's anything worth staring at."

"..."

Was there self-deception anywhere to match it?

Warriors who had reached a certain realm would know: how a body was trained always changed with a person's temperament and with the weapon they used. Those who favored a simple straight longsword, as he himself did, were often lean, while men who wielded spears or greatswords developed enormous upper bodies, and now and then one of them called to mind a boar or a bear. Development of the flesh was a matter of choice. The proper path was not to measure oneself against someone else, but to possess the body that suited one beyond all else.

And yet.

Even I can't help a gasp of admiration...

There was something in the mere outline of Lee Han's body that drew wonder out of people. A specialness that overwhelmed every advantage of temperament, weapon, and affinity combined. What manner of training could possibly finish a body like that?

Those aren't muscles. They're no different from armor.

Muscle bunched and creaked with a violent, living motion. How much force had been compressed in there was impossible to guess; even if an arrow struck him, it seemed it would be slapped aside in the end.

Like my uncle—no. A finished work, but of a different grain.

If Uncle Maximus's body was a masterpiece shaped by the craftsman called heaven, then this was an ingot hammered out by enduring thousands—hundreds of millions—of pressures. It was difficult to declare which of the two was superior, and both were equally dangerous.

And on top of that...

He was still able to grow?

Hard as it was to believe, he could feel that the instructor's body had grown even further than before. It had already been an ingot compressed to the limit, and now even its quality had risen.

"I find myself curious what training you've been doing all this time."

"Fought a lot, ate some good things, and it just got trained."

"...I would like to call that nonsense. But if the instructor says so, it is probably not a lie."

"Jealous? Want me to look over your workout?"

"No. I have a path of my own."

Different from his uncle's, and from the instructor's. He intended to walk the path of a pure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swordsman and nothing else. What mattered was to keep growing, steadily, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the body he had now. He must not turn his eyes anywhere else. Each person had a path that fit them.

Steel whispered free. And as if to prove that his own path was the right one, the air changed the instant Roen drew his sword.

A blade-wind burst out with the draw. It was not a mere turn of phrase. Keen killing intent pouring from his sword raised a wind off the edge, and the branches strewn around them split clean in half, their cut faces smooth as if a knife had done the work.

A sword, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the most literal sense. He showed that even without a blade in his hand, his whole body could become a sword armed in keen edges. It was, without any doubt, a realm set higher than Sword Resonance.

"Well? Do you find the path I walk inferior to the one you walk?"

"No. A man who digs one well and only one well is the frightening kind. Nothing about you is to be taken lightly."

"I am grateful for the assessment. Then..."

"Pardon me. I'll be going first."

Against an ordinary foe, the body would have been sheared through wholesale the moment one tried to meet that sword qi, before a proper response could even form. Roen's sword qi was that sharp. A momentum hung about it that seemed ready to cut everything in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the world.

Except—

The impact detonated.

"Lethal from the very start, huh? Just blocking it chills me to the bone."

"...The instructor, stopping sword qi with the edge of his hand, seems the more lethal of the two."

"Wanted to take it once. Not doing it twice, though. Twice, and from then on I won't have a hand."

"..."

Watching sword qi of that order stopped so absurdly, Roen was at a loss for words. He had thought it yesterday as well, but this man was truly—!

An unbelievable man.

In more senses than one.

Second time, since that first class?

Fighting this one, that is. After the spar with those cocky students on the first day of lessons, it had been a good while since he'd crossed blades with Geomdung. He'd sparred the others plenty, and yet somehow the chance never came with him.

The brat kept sidling out of it.

From Lee Han's side of things, that was nothing but a shame. He'd finally met an opponent worth the effort, and still never got the chance to spar. But now Geomdung had a sword in hand, and Lee Han felt something almost like contentment—as if a cat he'd gone to the trouble of bringing home were playing with him for the first time.

And so.

Steel slid free with a thin hiss.

"...Not a wooden sword. You're taking up a hand axe?"

"Because I rate you that highly."

"...An evaluation I would rather decline."

Because he acknowledged this Geomdung brat, Lee Han did not meet him with a wooden sword as he did the other students. He drew an edged weapon. It was probably the first time. Not a wooden sword, not a blade with its edge blunted, but a weapon whose edge shone keen and cold, turned on a student. Even so, Lee Han did not see him as a mere student. He saw one swordsman, standing in his own right, and so he would say he used the hand axe.

Can't take him lightly. This one isn't at a student's level.

When they'd clashed the day before, he had only been gauging by a rough guess. Now that he himself had grown, he knew it clearly. Had the nobles looked at Geomdung and called him the Young Lion? That was the wrong expression, and he would assert as much in this very moment.

That one is already a full-grown lion.

And if he had to read him the way a status window would—

Lv.7, maybe?

He suspected the brat was what you'd call Hero Class, and since that meant stronger than your average knight-captain, Lee Han did not slight him in the slightest.

And so.

A long breath dragged out between them.

"..."

"...Hah."

They held still for a moment, eyes locked, and kept the quiet. A probing exchange, born of each acknowledging the other's skill. Neither showed a gap first, and no opening to strike presented itself.

So they stopped looking for a gap and stepped in at the same instant, to force one.

"...This is maddening."

Jack, whose presence was so faint that other people's eyes slid off him, watched their spar and felt his body tremble before he knew it. He was not one of the men fighting. He was only there to watch, and even so the tingling ran through him to the ends of his limbs. A truly frightening clash.

I wonder if I'll ever get to be like that.

Jack had lived with the aim of becoming a knight ever since he became Roen's subordinate. He had been born with an assassin's talent, but he wanted to walk a knight's path more than an assassin's, and so he went on living with that talent pressed down.

Can I even reach that far?

Whether he could ever arrive at a realm like theirs was something he simply could not picture. So perhaps he ought to give up even now, and go back to the way he had been...

"Watch while you eat!"

"...Ah, th-thank you."

Just as the bleak thoughts were about to spread, a maid held out a drink and fruit to him, and Jack flinched for an entirely different reason.

I-I didn't read her presence at all...!

Even his lord, Roen, could not slip free of his ability to detect presence. So what, exactly, was this maid?

"Um, excuse me. I don't really know about these things, but who's winning right now?"

"Y-yes!?"

"Hehe. I can't tell who's ahead."

"Ah, that is..."

Before he could even string the thought together, Jack had the lead of the conversation stolen clean away. Somehow it was difficult to resist her request, and without even registering that fact himself, he opened his mouth.

"F-for now, the one pressing the attack is my lord—no, Lord Roen. With a sequence as fast as it is precise, he isn't giving his opponent the slightest moment to strike back."

"Hee. Then is Sir Knight at a disadvantage?"

"...That isn't quite it either. The instructor is blocking every one of those attacks... s-so, with far too much ease."

Even as he explained, Jack's mouth fell open by degrees. The instructor was stopping all of it—his lord's combinations, flowing on like water. Every single blow was a threat, and if it had been Jack, he would have counted himself lucky just to tumble across the ground in an ugly heap, let alone block them. And if one asked whether the man was blocking them with any strain—

He's stopping them far too easily.

It was astonishing. How to put it? His lord was like a swarm of bees, and yet he could not break the iron wall called the instructor, and so he could not escape a hard fight. Was that not the scene before him?

And those are slashes wrapped in sword qi...

Sword qi was a cheating art. It did not merely raise a sword's cutting power; it raised power, speed, force, and penetration together. Watching all of that fail to get through, Jack could only find the instructor uncanny.

...Diamond Body!

Before he was his lord's subordinate, he was one of the instructor's disciples. He had formally learned Gyeong, and because of that he could roughly guess what technique the instructor was using now to stop the sword qi.

Not plain Diamond Body. An applied form, built on Diamond Body.

Ha! The admiration came out of him on its own. From Jack's place, he had thought the instructor's techniques were already complete, with nothing left beyond them. To learn there had still been room to develop further was nothing but a shock. It was different from the admiration he felt looking at his lord. What he felt toward his lord was wonder at that astonishing talent. What he felt toward the instructor was...

You could call him a guide. Someone who shows you the road.

It was as if the man were teaching him the way itself. As if he were showing, with his own body, that you could grow stronger according to the effort you put in—or according to what kind of knight you wanted to become. It would take time, but someday...!

"I do hope you become a splendid knight."

"!!?"

"Do your best."

"..."

The maid trotted off in small quick steps, as if her business were finished. Jack felt as though a fairy had put a spell on him, and before he knew it he was murmuring to himself.

"...She isn't remotely ordinary either."

Somehow, not one person around the instructor was a normal human being. Jack clicked his tongue at the realization, a clear, refreshed smile on his face—nothing like the one he had worn a moment ago.

The blast shook the air. A low hum rolled out after it. Dust billowed thick, and the ground turned over on itself. Sword qi from Roen had put out an unusually great force, and the shockwave was the result—a blow with a fair measure of power condensed into it, unlike the smaller strikes until now.

And even so.

"...Could you at least pretend it hurts a little?"

"The shock hangs on, but that's about it. Anyway, what are you even calling that technique?"

"..."

He was perfectly fine. Roen even began to suspect that he was not fighting a man at all, but a giant.

Even a frost giant wouldn't be this bad.

A sturdiness that wore a man out. Just as a wry smile was about to pull at his mouth—

"...I should pay the ordinary one a little more mind."

"?"

"That kid's only all right because the maid comforted him. A moment ago it looked like he was about to reach the step right before he went dark."

"What is 'going dark'?"

"Going crooked."

"...For the moment, I find it astonishing—and somehow hollow—that you have the leisure, while dueling me, to listen in on someone else's conversation as well."

"It's not like that. I just fight while watching the whole field. You're the one who needs fixing. Focusing too hard on your opponent alone is a bad habit. You have to spread your concentration over everything."

"..."

"Looking only ahead is fine, but try to turn your eyes other places too. If you don't, you'll regret it later."

"...I will take it to heart."

Roen gave a slow nod. He knew by instinct that this teaching was exactly what he needed now.

Was I about to make the same mistake all over again...?

He had no room to spare a glance for his surroundings, and he lacked a sight that took in the whole. It was a flaw he had been told of once, at some point. Not now—heard before he turned time back. And so he had meant never again to keep the narrow sight he'd had in the past, and yet... it seemed he was still a greenhorn.

Jack really might twist crooked.

In the first place, the one who had urged Jack to press down the talent he was born with and become a knight was Roen himself. To reform a man who, if things had gone as once ordained, should have become the Temple's hidden dagger. But if Roen went on suppressing him and failed to pay him any mind, there was the danger he would return to the way he had been back then. And so Roen reflected. He was trying not to commit the same wrongs as in the past. If he neglected that effort, how stupid a thing would that be?

"Hah. People do seem to repeat the same foolish mistakes forever."

"That's why you should always keep someone nearby who can advise you."

"Yes. I agree."

And wasn't there one right before his eyes, as it happened? A master who pointed out his faults...

Ha. I was sure I'd go my whole life without anything like a master.

He woke again to the fact that this, too, had been an arrogant prejudice.

"It is late to say so, but entering the Academy seems to have been a good choice."

"Out of nowhere?"

"I was able to meet the finest of masters, after all."

"...Kid. Flattery doesn't suit you."

He said it like that, but the praise did not seem unwelcome. His face said he didn't mind it. And then, abruptly—

"That technique of yours just now. You condensed your sword qi, didn't you? A little like Lightning Drop."

"...I was influenced by my uncle, yes."

So he really had dueled Uncle. To think he had even seen Lightning Drop.

Which means Uncle took the duel quite seriously. What was the result...?

As far as Roen knew, it would not be too much to call one knight the strongest of all, and that knight was none other than Maximus. So he did not think his uncle had lost. And yet the instructor had seen Lightning Drop and was still standing in this place, perfectly fine—

Perhaps it was a draw...

Roen meant to follow that guess through. Regrettably, he could not. For he was simply too astonished.

"........."

Roen's mouth fell open in a blank stare. For the first time his composure cracked, and he wore an expression foolish enough to embarrass him—yet just this once, he could not help it.

Light flared.

"I can't use sword qi as naturally as you do. Talent's lacking, and I don't have a delicate technique like yours. But I can use something roughly in the neighborhood of sword qi, and fighting that uncle of yours—whoever he is—taught me how to manipulate it, too."

And how was a man supposed to look at that and not play the fool? From his axe, light was surging up—brighter than the sword qi Roen himself had made, and hotter.

"..."

"Not a bad name, is it?"

"...Ha."

Sword qi made firm. Had he not set a star into the tip of the sword? Roen could not take his eyes off the crystallized power pouring from the axe, and he thought: perhaps...