The Hero and the Guillotine
The Hero and the Guillotine
With Siegfried's appearance, the already chaotic mealtime grew even more hectic, and after barely managing to finish eating, I decided to take the guy to the sparring hall.
Siegfried, who'd been rattling off excuses about how tired he was—a far cry from his vigorous entrance—lit up the moment he spotted Laika emerging from under the table, as if he'd never been tired at all, blurting out admiration.
"Holy... shit... fuck...! It's a Welsh Corgi!"
I'd only called Laika a sheepdog since I didn't know what they called the breed in this other world, but Siegfried, not giving a damn about any of that, spouted the term from his past life and busied himself stroking Laika nonstop.
[M-master. This is too much.]
The same creature who'd accepted Sheryl and Ragnis's petting as if it were the greatest bliss in the world found Siegfried's touch overwhelming—truly a demon dog of unshakable taste. While I reined in Siegfried, who couldn't hear Laika's words, Sheryl and Griwills also subtly tagged along, radiating anticipation.
Probably figuring they'd get something out of watching our sparring match... The fact that those two, whose swordsmanship was leagues above the Hero's, were acting like that put an unnecessary weight on my shoulders.
"If you had such a cute dog, you should've brought Laika to the Empire too!"
"I didn't have Laika then, and Laika's a demon dog now, but originally Laika was very much a Demon Sword."
"...Huh?"
Seemed he, like me, had no knowledge of Demon Sword crafting, given the dumbfounded look he wore and his total lack of comprehension. We had nothing better to do on the way to the sparring hall anyway, so I gave him a rough explanation of how early Demon Swords were crafted. Sheryl and Griwills recalled Laika's feats in the sparring match and marveled, while Siegfried deplored the utterly fucked character of Demon Sword makers. Then, nodding as if deeply satisfied about something, he spoke up.
"As expected, I've got a damn good eye for people. Anyone else would've been blinded by performance and kept it as a Demon Sword, but my little brother here doesn't even glance at that kind of shit, huh?"
"A cute dog's better than some gruesome thing that has to drink blood."
"Right. How's that any different from human sacrifice? So what's Laika eat now? Can regular meals replenish Laika's strength?"
"I took measures, on expert advice, to make substitution possible through other means. Laika doesn't need to drink blood anymore."
I'd worried Siegfried might go blind with obsession over Laika and throw a fit about getting his own Demon Sword, but mercifully, he accepted it at that level and didn't ask any more about Laika.
"My little brother sure lives an eventful life, huh? Demons, Demon Swords, chopping off rebel heads, and now becoming a former court mage's disciple and an academy teaching assistant? You seriously don't have a single quiet day."
"Having a clear objective makes what needs doing straightforward."
"But it's not as easy as it sounds, is it? Plenty of people can't find their footing even in favorable conditions, right?"
"Like you, Hero?"
"Ah, shit. I'm still pretty decent, by comparison."
"What's 'decent'?"
"It's, y'know, whatchamacallit. Means I'm doing pretty well, considering."
Honestly, talking with this guy makes playing dumb a pain in the ass. Even in trivial conversation, it feels like I have to stay razor-sharp just to call out every little thing, but... I didn't exactly hate these actions that stirred up nostalgia for the past. Would a day come when I could reveal we were from the same place and talk openly? Before, I'd hidden it simply to observe the situation, but now, with my backing being the Demon God Epaga, it was anything but easy to speak up.
"Cut the nonsense and get ready to show your swordsmanship. Do you think someone who's supposedly the Hero can get by saying he's just 'pretty decent'?"
Lightly pushing away the irrelevant stray thoughts that crept in, I got back to my usual routine of putting Siegfried through his paces as I opened the sparring hall door. Even if I had nothing to teach this punk, I at least had enough skill and experience to assess Siegfried's learning speed and progress.
Given his personality, he wasn't likely to bluff and lie about doing something he hadn't, but in a situation where confirming couldn't hurt, it was only right to check, wasn't it? I was about to go grab a wooden sword from the corner of the sparring hall when I recalled Siegfried's greatsword and asked.
"Here, unlike the Empire, we can't get support from illusion magic. Do you carry a wooden sword too, through that spatial magic of yours?"
"Ssip. Wait a sec."
Apparently, the Empire's already-perfected illusion magic system meant there was no reason to bother with wooden swords. I left Siegfried alone—he'd closed his eyes and was striking some random mental-victory pose in concentration—and tidied up the empty sparring hall a bit. Sheryl sidled up and asked quietly.
"Um, Eldmia? The Imperial Hero must have his own schedule, so is it really okay to just drag him here like this?"
"That's because you still don't know this guy. He'd already kicked his schedule to the curb the moment he showed up alone at the dining hall. That much is obvious."
"...?"
He probably put up with it up to the demon-slaying, but getting formally congratulated and fawned over like this rubbed him the wrong way, so he used it as an excuse to bolt. The proof was that the Holy Light Cross Order people and the trio that always stuck to Siegfried's side like glue were nowhere in sight.
"Well, despite appearances, he's a guy who keeps to his own lines. You don't need to worry too much."
"Kicking an official function to the curb and acting unilaterally already undermines his credibility, but..."
"Officially, it's an invitation from the Royal Academy's dean, not Itisel. That much, he can kick."
"...That kind of thinking is very much you."
Sheryl's observation was accurate.
Just because someone always keeps a resignation letter in their pocket doesn't mean everyone slaps it down and storms out of the office on the spot. Not because it's illegal, but because the moment they resign, they have to bear all sorts of problems directly tied to their livelihood stabbing in from every direction.
This case was the same. Even if you're in a position to flat-out ignore an invitation sent in the name of the kingdom's academy dean, actually doing so openly wasn't even something the king would do. Even wielding the power to easily do so, they'd convey their refusal in accordance with form and procedure. In this world, the position of an academy dean was one that warranted at least that level of treatment.
But Siegfried was different. The unwanted otherworld visitor, branded as the Hero and dragged here, radiated an attitude of, 'I'm the Hero you people chose. Suck it up and deal with it, by spite or by grit,' and exercised his authority however he pleased without caring about his surroundings. While the root reason differed from me—who'd lost my parents twice, been steeped in venom, and sought legality just to burn it all to the ground first—the attitude of not giving a single damn about all the complaints that would arise from those actions was similar.
"So I guess that's why we can communicate in our own way. The first impression wasn't great, but he's a decent..."
Still, he wasn't a bad person, so I'd been about to package him reasonably before Sheryl got the wrong idea, but...
"Found it!"
Siegfried's cringe-inducing presence—bright-faced, exclaiming, gesturing at empty air to pull out a wooden sword the size of his greatsword, then striking a pointless pose—shut my mouth for me.
"...Decent?"
"...I think I'll have to watch him a bit longer to know. Still, at minimum, he's a harmless human being. That's certain."
Sheryl let out a small laugh at my completely reversed reaction. The moment she descended from the sparring hall, Siegfried approached and shouted.
"Behold! My swordsmanship, tempered after having my very soul fleeced by you! And wail! Before the Hero's boundless talent!"
"Haah... Stop spouting that shit and get up here, please."
When a talentless bastard spouts off, I'd dismiss it as a joke, but since this was a guy who really did have it, it got on my nerves for no good reason. For some reason, my vulgar outbursts only fired Siegfried up further. We climbed into the sparring hall, exchanged blows at a reasonable pace, and I'd begun examining his swordsmanship—it hadn't been long before students who'd previously just been gauging the mood started gathering one by one to spectate.
"How's that? Haven't the fundamentals started taking shape?"
Oblivious or indifferent, Siegfried, who still paid those looking up to him not a lick of attention, spoke confidently and attempted a high-guard attack. Nothing particularly special—attacks and recoveries, counters and blocks that are treated as basics in most swordsmanship styles—but the fact that he executed longsword techniques with that insanely massive greatsword without hesitation was, in itself, extraordinarily special.
Every time Siegfried's sword swung, it produced a sound I wanted to describe not as the wind being parted, but being split. The speed, at odds with the size visible to the eye and the weight felt through the parted wind, created a strange sense of dissonance.
"Did you choose longsword techniques yourself?"
"Nah. Some professor recommended it. Said it wouldn't be a problem since I can swing it regardless, right?"
As I thought, those Imperial Academy professorships weren't earned through card games, after all. The unidentified professor who'd taught him by appropriately swapping some motions impossible with a greatsword for others was impressive, but Siegfried, who'd learned it like this, was certainly no ordinary case either.
After continuing the sparring for about five minutes like that, gradually correcting and confirming postures, I was able to achieve a fairly significant result.
"Hero's learning ability seems to be a kind of blessing."
"...Huh? What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said. It's not that you learn fast because you're a genius—it's that your repetition and mastery speed is extraordinarily fast. Quite a peculiar sensation."
A level of learning ability where a technique others would half-acquire after twenty repetitions could be acquired passably in about three tries. After comparing it with my experiences in the Empire, it was nearly certain.
"I think I can tell, comparing it to our last sparring match. Unnecessary motions and habits aren't something you can just root out completely in such a short period, yet even those have mostly disappeared."
"Isn't that what being a genius is?"
"No. I've dealt with geniuses, so I know. Hero, every action that links to a motion you lack mastery in is lacking. Low guard defense and mid-level horizontal slash. You practiced those half-assedly, didn't you?"
"Motherfucker...? You can see that?"
Siegfried's genuinely awed expression was truly something to behold, but it was simply a matter of those actions standing out because the gap with his other motions was so starkly clear. And that became even more certain as Siegfried repeated the points I'd corrected in this sparring session.
With every swing, the motion gradually perfected itself, as if leaping over several steps of trial and error in a single bound—it created a truly peculiar feeling in the observer.
"It's not that I'm so amazing I can see it—it's that there's a gap in refinement between motions you've practiced heavily and ones you haven't. Geniuses don't have that kind of gap. Tell them something once, and they fix it immediately and even try to find further improvements."
"Isn't that story just you gilding your own face?"
"I'm talking about this one. This one."
I pointed at Sheryl with the wooden sword, and the gazes of the spectators and Siegfried all snapped to her. It was enough to fluster most people, but true to her ownership of the confidence that allowed her to boldly proclaim herself a genius, Sheryl showed no particular reaction.
What was certain was that this was a blessing of definitive performance rather than simply being handed innate talent. Because it meant that if Siegfried simply put in the effort, the claim that he could master all the academy's knowledge before graduation wasn't some empty boast.
With no discrimination by field. Yeah, a Hero really was a Hero, apparently.
"No wonder... studying felt weirdly easy..."
Though the face he made, stunned by his belated realization, was anything but Hero-like.