Winter of the Cold Rose (10)
"Everyone, please stop. The sun has already set."
"Without proper rest, training is useless, so please take a break now."
"Here, some water and a towel to wipe off your sweat."
"Phew... I suppose it's already that time."
"*Pant, pant...* Thanks, Meiru. I'll take that."
A week had already passed since then.
Except when eating or sleeping, Rofel never stopped swinging his weapon and chanting spells.
And though his skills still paled in comparison to Marc Visus, he was steadily gaining practical combat experience, holding his own against me for a long time using pure physical combat.
His magic-related skills had also grown noticeably in both precision and speed.
Since I lacked specialized knowledge in that area, I couldn't make a proper judgment myself. But according to Meiru, growing this much in such a short period was by no means common.
"...Here is yours, too."
Meiru's advice had indeed been a massive help.
Not only did it help Rofel counter the Serion swordsmanship, but it also—though unintentionally—helped me patch up my own weaknesses.
To think a student with such outstanding abilities existed in the Academy, and I had never known until now.
I thought it would be wise to establish some sort of connection with her once this ordeal was over.
However, she always seemed strangely wary of me and acted coldly, so closing the distance between us wouldn't be easy.
In any case, Rofel's special training in preparation for his duel with Marc Visus could be said to be progressing smoothly.
Yet, even under these circumstances, the fact remained that Rofel's skills were still lacking.
Of course, his persistence, passion, and willpower were second to no knight.
But there was a fatal weakness, a stark difference between him and Marc: the absence of talent.
It was something I had realized after our previous spar, but there was nothing particularly special about him.
From his physical capabilities to his magical aptitude, everything fell squarely within the realm of the utterly mediocre.
If there was anything worth noting, it was his unique resilience and grit, but even those could hardly be classified as talent.
Moreover, Marc wouldn't just be sitting idly by in the days leading up to the duel.
He was certainly arrogant and conceited, but he wasn't stupid.
On the day he challenged me to a duel in a fit of anger, Marc had displayed skills that far surpassed mine, even though he had only recently begun learning swordsmanship.
It was because his innate talent and the Serion swordsmanship—a style meant for geniuses—harmonized perfectly.
I shuddered to think how much stronger he would become after training under my father every day until the duel...
My father would undoubtedly train him ruthlessly.
To utterly crush Rofel and me for defying the Warden Family, and to teach us our place.
Of course, just because the situation seemed hopeless didn't mean I had any intention of giving up.
The same went for Rofel, and for me as well.
We would struggle with all our might until the very, very end.
Lately, however, I had been feeling a subtle sense of déjà vu from Rofel's movements.
In truth, I had felt this way ever since our very first spar.
The crude trajectory of iron he showed that day, when we clashed weapons one last time before parting after our first conversation in the sparring grounds.
His strike, which had ultimately deflected my Serion swordsmanship—a style backed by my talent and earnest effort—despite his own immaturity.
For some reason, it felt incredibly similar to a refreshingly clean clash of swords I had witnessed in my childhood—specifically, a strike shown by my father's teacher.
When I first felt it, I dismissed it as a momentary illusion caused by late-night fatigue.
But as I continued to spar with him and repeatedly felt that same aura, I had no choice but to admit it.
Rofel was capable of using a technique similar to my father's teacher.
...Could it be that some aspect of his current skill was approaching the level of my father's master?
No, that was absolutely impossible.
My father Regulus Serion's teacher... Sargas.
A man who belonged to no noble house, yet traversed the entire continent with nothing but a single greatsword.
It was said that he literally split the heavens and the seas, shaking the earth with that greatsword.
For whatever whim, he had one day begun teaching his swordsmanship to a knight family—the Serion family—before eventually passing away, unable to overcome a chronic illness he had carried since birth.
His strength in life was so immense that even my father, his disciple, could never reach a realm close to his, despite dedicating his entire life to training.
Though I had only seen his swordsmanship a few times during my childhood, I knew his skill surpassed my wildest imagination.
In contrast, Rofel's skill was completely mediocre. There was no common ground between them, neither in talent nor even in the weapons they used.
For someone like him to reach a realm similar to Master Sargas in any capacity—it was a bit cruel, but it was absolutely impossible.
And if anyone were to reach Master Sargas's realm, it would surely be Marc.
Though I had never felt an aura similar to Master Sargas's while sparring with Marc, unlike with Rofel...
Now that Marc was formally learning the Serion swordsmanship, the situation could easily change.
Yet, the more I thought about it, the deeper my doubts grew.
Because it was an undeniable fact that Rofel's movements carried an aura strikingly similar to the Master Sargas I had seen in my childhood.
The more our swords clashed, the more I found myself convinced against my own logic.
...Why, of all things?
"That is enough. Rest for today."
"Phew... Understood, Master."
In the historic training ground where successive heirs of the Serion family had received their swordsmanship training, knights clad in dark iron armor bearing the Serion crest lay collapsed on the floor.
And standing in the center of those fallen knights was a single man, Marc Visus, holding a greatsword.
The greatsword currently gripped in his hand was the heirloom sword of the Serion family, passed down through generations of family heads—a weapon that had once been held in my own hands.
The Serion crest engraved on the hilt shone more brilliantly than ever, and the golden runes etched by magic caught the eye.
In this very place where my daughter—once praised as the greatest genius among all successive heirs—used to train, he was now writing a new history with every passing moment of his practice.
To achieve such an overwhelming victory even when facing multiple knights of the Serion Order, who had trained in the Serion swordsmanship for no short period.
He had only recently been initiated into the Serion swordsmanship, yet he had already reached such a level.
As expected, my eye for talent was not mistaken.
He is a genius.
A genius who surpasses all others.
If it is him, he will surely achieve it.
Reaching the realm of my master, which even I could never attain...!
"Commander! Pardon the interruption during Lord Marc's training, but I have a report!"
"What is it regarding?"
"Yes! It concerns Lady Seraphina!"
"Very well. Speak."
"Yes, sir! The letter we sent to Lady Seraphina has been returned! A reply did arrive, but it was a completely blank sheet of paper!"
"...So that is how it is."
Come to think of it, has it already been a week since my daughter defied the family and left the estate?
I even sent her a letter offering to overlook everything if she returned now, asking her to come back to the family so we could take him as a son-in-law, yet she refuses to bend her stubborn will and rejects my mercy.
I thought she would have realized it by now...
The existence of 'talent,' a chasm that can never be bridged.
...A cruel truth she refuses to acknowledge.
But this is actually for the best.
Through this opportunity, she will learn as well.
At the same time, it is an opportunity to prove.
To myself... and to her... that I was not wrong...
With those thoughts, I unconsciously turn my head to look out the window.
Toward the direction of 'that,' which I always find myself looking at.
"Um... Master, you really do gaze toward that tree from time to time."
"I noticed because you unconsciously turn your head even while watching my training."
"Is there something in that direction?"
My disciple Marc Visus's voice pulls me out of my daze.
...Right. I have made the same mistake again.
But in just a few years, the family's successor will be decided.
And soon... I will witness the result that will completely erase my lingering regrets.
The days of indulging in such useless contemplation are almost over.
"...It is none of your concern."
"Pardon..? Ah... I... apologize for my thoughtless remark."
"Enough. You may leave."
I, too, am still lacking.
Have I grown sentimental in my old age?
To think I would still show such weakness when I thought I had buried it deep in my heart and forgotten it.
...No, that is not it.
I do not regret it.
My actions back then.
My choice back then.
I made the right choice for that child's sake.
Everything I did was out of consideration for her, necessary measures.
I do not regret it.
Never.
Never, under any circumstances.