Winter of the Cold Rose (13)
My family, the Serions, is a historic house that took deep root in the continent long before Dandelion Academy was ever established.
For generations, the family taught only natural-born geniuses, producing countless elite knights over their long history.
There was a saying that the House of Serion always emphasized.
The mediocre cannot defeat the genius.
Under the shadow of that motto, which was practically their family creed, the glory of the House of Serion never faded.
Yet, rendering such teachings meaningless, the Sword Saint—who had suddenly appeared at their estate to teach them swordsmanship—spoke these words on the brink of his death:
“When climbing a hill, it does not matter where you start or where you reach, nor does the height of it matter.
What matters, regardless of the height, is how much you have climbed using only your own feet.
Serion, you have gazed upon the heights countless times, yet you have never truly seen the bottom.
...Thus, even I could not complete your swordsmanship.
But just as there are things that can only be seen because one is high up, there are also things that can only be seen because one is low down.
If someone who can complete your swordsmanship ever appears, it will surely be one who has trodden the bare ground...”
Leaving those words behind, my master, Lord Sargas, passed away the following day from his chronic illness.
In truth, while I respected and revered him, a part of me also resented him.
Master Sargas, why on earth did you say such things?
Because of those sweet words, someone ended up dreaming a futile dream.
Because of those words, someone ended up dedicating their life to denying you.
...
But even so.
It wasn't that I hated the words you left behind.
Seraphina Serion and Rofel Teufel charged at each other simultaneously, but the first strike belonged to Seraphina.
In terms of raw physical ability and talent, she was far superior.
Using the momentum from kicking off the ground to accelerate continuously, she thrust her greatsword forward in a long, sweeping pierce.
The speed and range of the thrust were akin to a charging lancer.
Naturally, the blow was far too swift to be evaded cleanly with mere agility.
Thus, Rofel struck the tip of the greatsword precisely with the mace in his hand to deflect its trajectory. Spinning his body in the same motion, he cast a spell with his free hand, launching a fireball at her.
Having already adjusted her stance the moment her strike missed, Seraphina raised one arm to guard, minimizing the damage.
Rofel launched counterattacks whenever an opening inevitably presented itself, and Seraphina dealt with them in turn, maintaining her offensive momentum.
When Seraphina initiated, Rofel barely managed to dismantle it and counter.
Anticipating the counter, Seraphina blocked it, resetting the exchange back to the initial clash.
As this pattern repeated, the flow of the battle began to stagnate.
Normally, in a fight between a mage like him and a knight like Seraphina, keeping his distance would have been advantageous.
However, wielding the greatsword of the Serion style, she could use her monstrous strength to press the offensive even from a distance, as if wielding a massive spear.
Even if he managed to pull back completely to cast long-range offensive magic, her sheer agility and speed would allow her to close the gap in an instant.
Furthermore, Rofel's mace was much shorter than Seraphina's greatsword, making him vulnerable in close-quarters combat at awkward distances.
Knowing this, Rofel quickly closed the distance.
Seraphina, in turn, anticipated his strategy of rapidly swinging the mace while spamming magic with his other hand.
She shifted her grip from holding the hilt with both hands to supporting the blade with one hand.
Although this shortened her reach, there was no better tactic for blocking his attacks at point-blank range.
Thus, countless exchanges—clash after clash—unfolded between them.
This was due not only to the growth they had achieved through grueling special training, but also to the fact that they had sparred countless times over a significant period.
Whenever Rofel, who knew the weaknesses of the Serion swordsmanship, targeted those flaws, Seraphina actively countered them.
Having already seen through each other's combat styles and habits, the two engaged in a breathless, evenly matched struggle.
And the climax of this fierce battle was marked by a violent collision of iron from both sides.
The dirt in the clearing swirled, scattering like a thick shroud of smoke.
“...So it ends like this after all.”
“Huff... pant...”
The victor of the fierce battle, which had seemed as though it would never end, was none other than Seraphina Serion.
Before her, as she wore an expression of regret, Rofel knelt on the ground, covered in dust and gasping for breath.
“I felt it and thought about it every single moment we sparred... but in the end, you cannot hide your fatal flaw.”
Rofel, who had been kneeling, wiped the blood from his lips with a rough swipe and stood up once more.
He cut the figure of a gallant and brave warrior, but his arms and legs trembled violently, as if they had not yet recovered from the shock of the impact.
“The lack of talent—that cruel reality prevents you from ever becoming anything more than an outstanding commoner, no matter how hard you struggle.”
“It is harsh, but that truth will linger by your side forever, holding you back.”
She looked at Rofel with pitying eyes.
“I did not like this reality either.”
“But no matter how hard one tries or screams, there are gaps that simply cannot be bridged.”
“...Perhaps, for a long time, I simply did not want to admit that fact.”
“Haha... you've been poking at my sore spots for a while now...”
Rofel gave a bitter smile and straightened his back.
“You're right. Even though it's a minor noble house, I was born into a family of mages and yet had no talent.”
“It took me longer to cast my first spell than it did my younger sister, who was born after me.”
He gripped the mace in his hand tighter, squeezing until the veins stood out.
“Every single moment felt hopeless...”
“Because while others started their climb with the summit right before their eyes, I felt like I was starting from the very bottom.”
“I thought it was unfair.”
“If we were all walking toward the same peak, I would never be able to overtake those ahead of me.”
“But... soon, I began to think differently.”
“I realized that I could see countless sights that those who started from the heights could never behold...”
In the dust-choked clearing, only his eyes shone brightly.
“And above all, just because I'm lagging behind doesn't mean I can stop moving forward, right?”
Even the trembling in his limbs had ceased.
“Hurry up and fix your stance. Raise your sword.”
“Let's settle this with this final strike, Seraphina.”
Despite facing what seemed like certain defeat, there was not a shred of hesitation or fear in his posture.
Only confidence and a steadfast, unyielding resolve shone brightly in his eyes.
“...Do not blame yourself too harshly if this defeat means you can no longer help me.”
“It is only that I must carry the burdens I had to leave to you due to my own incompetence once more.”
“So, with this strike, let me go with a peaceful heart.”
Seraphina, who swung her greatsword with a trajectory so precise and fast it was nearly invisible, was instantly struck with shock.
For her greatsword, which should have sliced his skin by now, had its trajectory warped by an unknown impact, cutting through empty air.
“What...?”
Surprise preceded bewilderment.
Rofel's figure vanished from her sight in an instant, as if he had evaporated.
She hurriedly sensed his presence, shifting the center of gravity of her greatsword back toward herself to adopt a defensive stance.
But with the sensation of something incredibly heavy—something that could not possibly be a mace—making contact, her greatsword and the hands gripping it were flung into the air.
Standing before her utterly defenseless self was Rofel.
He was poised, preparing for a single, final blow.
Although he was clearly holding a mace, in this moment, it felt as though a massive greatsword was gripped in his hands.
This is strange.
That is definitely...
Watching the trajectory, Seraphina thought:
That stance, that trajectory, that reaction...
Could it be... No, this is impossible.
She could not believe her eyes.
Truly.
A strike so clean, so crisp, without a single wasted movement.
A strike that is nothing short of beautiful.
Even clearer than the sight I saw in my childhood...
With an impact unlike anything she had ever experienced, the ground rushed up to meet her, and her vision went black.
Before long, the day of the sparring examination—the academy's grandest event to mark the end of the year—arrived.
Today, the academy's students, particularly those from the Knight Academy who stood at the pinnacle of combat, would be the center of attention.
Among them, Marc Visus, who had drawn eyes since his admission and become a celebrity for resolving the dungeon outbreak, could truly be called the protagonist of today's event.
For today, his first spar was scheduled to be held in public.
Countless students, faculty members, and the massive crowd of spectators permitted to enter the academy only on the day of the sparring exam trembled with anticipation.