Winter of the Cold Rose (5)
"By the way, I must apologize to you.
To be honest, I underestimated you quite a bit."
"No, no, it's fine. You don't need to apologize like that.
If anything, I should be the one thanking you. We don't even know each other, yet you agreed to spar with me."
"Not at all. I, too, was glad to have a match at such a late hour."
In the Serion family, strength was the only truth.
The reason I kept Marc Visus close, and the reason my father had his eye on him, was solely due to his overwhelming strength.
It seemed best to show some goodwill to this man before me, Rofel Teufel, out of respect for his skill.
"By the way, this is the first time we've actually spoken. If my memory serves me right, you've been training in this arena for quite some time now.
And late into the night, at that.
Are you preparing for the sparring exam in a few months?"
"Well, you could say that. I'm not particularly quick-witted compared to others.
Since I'm in the magic department, I have to focus on that too... but unlike the other students who only study magic, I felt I had to train my body as well, even if it meant staying up late."
"Hmm, is that so?"
So he pushes himself harder to make up for his shortcomings.
His attitude was highly commendable, yet at the same time, it was pitiful.
While I was not on my father's level, I could still gauge how much of a person's ability came from talent and how much came from training.
Judging by our spar just now, his skills were entirely the product of rigorous training—the fruit of pure effort.
Although it was difficult for me, a student of the knight academy, to easily evaluate his magical aptitude, I could tell there was nothing particularly outstanding about it.
The combat sense he displayed during our match was also born of practical experience and accumulated know-how, not innate talent.
His physique, too, was simply a toned body built through consistent exercise; he possessed no special physical traits, such as high muscle density.
His dedication to training, which I had observed until now, and the skills he demonstrated in our spar were certainly excellent.
However, that was only a relative evaluation, viewing him as an untalented, ordinary man.
Compared to other geniuses—especially Marc Visus—he was still woefully lacking.
In the sparring exam in a few months, he would likely rank in the middle tier at best.
Even after graduating from the academy, he would merely become a slightly above-average member of society, never anything more.
It might seem unfair, but it could not be helped. That was the reality for those without talent in this world.
An industrious ordinary man might defeat raw talent, but he could never defeat talent that also put in effort. This was one of the long-standing teachings of the Serion family.
No matter how many years one spent training through blood and sweat, the ultimate peak belonged only to the talented.
Personally, I despised this teaching.
Did it not mean that a person's limits were decided by their talent from the moment they were born?
Those without talent were doomed to live as ordinary fools until the day they died, destined to be left behind and forgotten.
...Just like my eldest brother.
Yet, even if I harbored such thoughts, the cruel truth remained unchanged.
The truth that, in the end, those with supreme talent would triumph in this world.
I wondered if the man standing before me understood this truth.
"Anyway, one round doesn't feel like enough. I still have some healing potions left, so could we go again?"
"Are you asking to spar with me again?"
"Yeah. Uh... is it too late, maybe...?"
"That does not matter. However, I will not hold back this time; I will face you in earnest.
I will unleash the same strike that blew you away earlier, repeatedly. Are you prepared for that?
To put it more bluntly, your skills are lacking. More precisely, you lack talent."
"You're hitting where it hurts...
It's true that I'm lacking in both magic and physical combat, but what else can I do? The more I fall behind and lack compared to others, the harder I have to struggle.
I didn't originally strike up a conversation for this, but since we're here, would you match with me once more?
Of course, there's no need to hold back. In fact, I want you to be more serious than ever."
"...Is that so?"
My time was limited, and there was little to learn from sparring with someone weaker than myself.
Yet, was it because I wanted to show the truth to this ordinary man who still did not know his place?
Or was it because I, too, harbored a sliver of hope in his reckless thoughts?
Whatever the whim, I wanted to indulge him just this once.
"Very well. I shall teach you another lesson.
But be careful. I will not hold back my strength at all this time."
With my reply, he rushed at me once more.
Intending to end it in a single clash, I raised my greatsword and charged forward.
As he swung his weapon with both hands, I swung my greatsword to match his trajectory.
It was the same strike that had concluded our previous spar—a blow containing the swordsmanship of the Serion family, carrying my talent and my utmost sincerity.
He, too, swung his mace. It was a strike containing nothing but the effort of someone who had trained and swung for a long time.
Thus, the two opposing strikes clashed with a thunderous roar.
The result, naturally, would be the man before me failing to withstand my greatsword, collapsing just as he had in our previous match.
Or so I thought.
Despite the deafening crash as he met my greatsword, he did not retreat even a single step.
Even as his feet dragged backward from the force of our locked weapons, he refused to let the strength drain from his body.
I could not help but admire his resolve.
Honestly, I had expected him to evade my strike by catching me off guard again.
I never imagined he would meet me head-on in a contest of pure strength.
Feeling momentarily underestimated, I poured even more strength into both hands gripping my greatsword.
He seemed to falter, his knees buckling slightly, but he forced himself back up and began to push my greatsword away.
And then, he took a step forward. Just one single step.
At that moment, the screech of metal scraping against metal echoed through the training hall, and my greatsword sliced through empty air.
It was unbelievable.
With the strike of a completely ordinary man, he had not only withstood a blow containing the talent and essence of the Serion family, but he had ultimately deflected it.
Though he gasped for breath and his hands trembled violently from that single clash, he stood proudly on his own two feet, his eyes still burning with unyielding determination.
In that moment, looking at him, I found myself harboring a sliver of hope for this man.
Though I did not yet know what exactly that hope was.
After that, I crossed blades with Rofel quite frequently.
The sparring exam was drawing near, and he was the only one who remained in the training hall so late.
Thus, I would spar with Marc during the day and continue training with Rofel late into the night.
Frankly, I found there was much to learn from sparring with him. Lessons that I could never obtain from my matches with Marc.
Of course, I could feel no talent whatsoever in Rofel's abilities.
Yet, precisely because of that, he developed techniques that caught opponents off guard or relied on sheer grit.
Honestly, I could not help but admire him each time.
He was constantly devising techniques that only an ordinary person could think of.
Although our spars always ended in his defeat, the number of exchanges we shared gradually increased.
I even applied the techniques he showed me to my spars with Marc, allowing me to catch him off guard a few times—something I had never been able to do before when he overwhelmed me.
In this way, we learned from each other and improved our skills together.
And to be honest, I simply enjoyed crossing weapons with him.
For some reason, sweating alongside him as we drew out everything we had was incredibly fun.
Perhaps because of that, my mood had been unusually bright lately.
I could not remember the last time I had felt such pure joy in simply enjoying a spar and watching my skills improve.
Though my skills were still far below Marc's, I felt that I might actually achieve a good result in the sparring exam next month.
Feeling my greatsword fit more comfortably in my hands than ever before, I stepped into the training hall.
However, I was immediately taken aback by the chaotic atmosphere.
The arena was always noisy with the clashing of steel, but today it was packed with far more people than usual, filled with a low, buzzing murmur.
And at the center of it all stood two figures.
One was Marc Visus, the rising star of the academy.
The other was my own flesh and blood, my father—Regulus Serion.
"...Father, what brings you here?"
I could not help but feel on guard against my father, who had appeared so suddenly.
Because right now, my father was acting as if Marc were his own son.
Only after I spoke did my father shift his gaze toward me, as if just realizing my presence.
"You've arrived at a good time. I should let you know as well.
I have decided to take this man, Marc Visus, as my disciple. Yes, I will be teaching him the swordsmanship of our Serion family."