I Will Kill Him (Revised)
Leon Venil, eldest son of House Venil, was in an exceptionally good mood at that moment — thanks to none other than the boy floundering right before his eyes.
'Kheheh... to think that Jenison would be flailing like this in front of me...'
That Jenison. The Jenison who had once run rampant through the Academy on the strength of his family name alone. But that was over now — during those fifty days when he had suddenly stopped showing his face, the rumor had already spread to every corner of the Academy. The rumor that Jenison was no longer a Reinhardt.
'Which means you're nothing but a commoner now..!!'
House Venil was merely that of a Count — a title sitting squarely in the middle of the Empire's five noble ranks — yet even so, to a commoner it would be a wall of limitless height. And so Leon had settled on Jenison as his next target. He gathered up the boys who hung on his every word and ordered them to torment the man, and since they too knew Jenison had been reduced to a commoner, none of them had any reservations.
Even so, there had been fear at first. A rumor was only ever a rumor — what if the story of his disownment proved false? The fallout that would follow was beyond imagining. But one look at his indifferent reaction told them it was true, and with that certainty, they stopped pulling their punches.
Tripping him, sticking paper to his back, shoulder-checking him along the path, splashing water over him — to an outsider it might have looked like childish pranks, but the Academy tolerated no act of bullying, and so every one of them demanded the pretext of an 'accident.' They were confident, too, that even this much would deal a deep humiliation to the once-arrogant noble.
It didn't go the way I'd expected. He reacted to none of it, laughing off everything we threw at him. The figure who had been maddeningly arrogant until only days before was gone; in his place stood a commoner who had somehow learned his place.
I didn't like it. If he had so much as opposed me, I'd have had the perfect pretext to punish him — then I could have stepped in personally, forced him to his knees, and savored degrading him at my leisure. As it was, I had to seize on some fault however I could. And at last, I found my justification. By some lights it was hardly more than a nitpick, but what did that matter? He was a commoner, and a commoner had let slip a sigh loud enough for a noble to hear. That would be the offense.
Even after I knocked him down so satisfyingly, the bastard smiled. And I smiled too, deep inside. 'What can you do?.. Heh heh.. I'm a noble, and you're a commoner.' With that thought, I dragged his commoner-born mother through the mud as well, jeering in delight.
And then, at long last, the reaction I had craved so dearly erupted out of him.
He crossed the line.
Him coming after me, I could have borne. It wasn't what I'd wanted, but acting as I had was my own doing — my karma, and I would have paid it gladly. But the moment he laid hands on someone else, everything changed. My mother, of all people. Sariel.
My mother, who had spent nearly her whole life confined to a bed, wrung through with pain. And even so, she had never once shown me anything but a smile, always gentle, always kind. She who had lived with her chin held high no matter how sharply the stares around her cut. My only family. And he had cursed her — to my face. Of course I saw red.
"W-what..."
He looked utterly flustered, but I was in no state to care. I was filled to the brim with a killing intent unlike anything I had ever known, and before long, I had found a way to kill him — legally. I stripped the glove from my left hand and hurled it straight into his face.
The crowd broke into murmurs in an instant. A Duel of Honor — the only match in the Empire in which killing was officially sanctioned. Because to the nobility honor outweighed life itself, the Empire permitted a match with one's very life on the line against anyone who defiled it.
But in the circumstances at hand, there was a single flaw in that.
"Do you take me for an idiot? You're a commoner now. A Duel of Honor is a right between nobles. Did you truly think I'd grant one because the honor of a mere commoner was slighted?"
Yes — that was it. Honor was, above all else, the monopoly of the aristocracy. Just as he said, Jenison was a commoner, and so he had no rightful cause of his own. And that was exactly how it had to be.
"You seem to be misunderstanding something, Leon Venil. I'm not challenging you to a Duel of Honor to reclaim my own honor."
"It is my mother's honor I am staking. Eldest son of Venil."
At those words, Leon had no choice but to fall silent — because I had struck a blind spot. That my mother was commoner-born was an undeniable fact, but her station had been that of a Duchess. A Duchess she remained even in death. And so his slurs against her became grounds aplenty — an opening I did not let slip, driving the point home where he never saw it coming.
"Accept it, Leon Venil. If you're fond of that head of yours, you know full well what fleeing this duel would mean."
To run from a Duel of Honor was to confess before the world that one had no honor to defend. In noble society, a fall in honor meant the collapse of one's house's prestige and one's reputation in high society — and for a man riding Class A's elite track, it would certainly come back around as a crushing blow.
But Leon had his confidence.
"I've no idea what confidence you're drawing on to make such a challenge. Fine."
"..."
"From what I know, your combat ability is weak enough that I wonder how you ever made it into Class A at all?"
It was true. Most of the cadets quietly understood that Jenison owed his place in Class A to the Duke's house pulling strings — for the simple reason that his combat ability was pathetic enough to inspire pity. Naturally, no one looked kindly on a weakling who was arrogant and lashed out on top of it, and that, too, was among the reasons Leon Venil tormented Jenison now.
"I'll handle that myself. You're not thinking of dodging the challenge, are you?"
"Heh. Of course not. Why would I throw away a chance to play with you however I please?"
And so, a storm began to sweep through the Academy.
"How about surrendering now, Jenison? Do that, and I might settle for leaving you your arms and legs."
The sight of him grinning as he said it turned my stomach — I felt like I might retch.
I would kill him. Without fail. His blood scattered across the ground, his flesh burned until not a trace remained. I would not stop until he begged me, with his own lips, for death.
With that resolve, I took up my bag and stepped into the First Training Ground. The place was packed with cadets — seniors who had come to keep the duel safe, and students who had gathered simply to watch. But more than anything, the biggest draw was surely the chance to see someone with a reputation as foul as mine get brutally beaten down by the son of House Venil. With that thought, I made my way slowly across the dirt floor of the arena.
"What's this? Not planning to carry a proper weapon?"
He was speaking of the bag in my hand. His own weapon, at least, looked every bit a famed blade. His mana trait — said to have marked him as a powerful combat talent from childhood — was Fighting Spirit. So long as he refused to give up, mana would flow from him without end, which meant the mana channeled into his sword and the reinforcement of his body could be sustained indefinitely. Thanks to that trait, he held the middle ranks even within Class A — firmly among the strong.
Measured against his talent, mine was hopelessly shabby; my swordsmanship would rank near the bottom even within the Academy. And yet I was confident of victory. I hadn't sealed myself inside my room for fifty days merely to go on living with these insults ringing in my ears. If I couldn't so much as beat the neighborhood brats, I'd have no face to show anywhere.
'Fighting with this talent isn't impossible. If anything, it might surpass all the alternatives.' Of course, putting this method into practice would demand a madness of mental fortitude beyond imagination.
Besides, this was a match in which killing was permitted. A friendly bout or an exhibition might have been one thing, but a match where slaughter was licensed changed everything — for the very first skill I had ever learned was how to kill a person with ease. And killing that bastard would bring no harm upon the family, either. With every restraint stripped away, there was no reason to hold back.
"We will now begin the Duel of Honor between Leon Venil and cadet Jenison."
The man laying out the rules of victory before me was Professor Oliver, the professor in charge of Class B. A professor had to be summoned to keep the spectating cadets safe. Honestly, it would have been far more convenient for me if he hadn't been.
"...And while this is only my own wish — please, if you can possibly manage it, don't kill each other."
They do say there are no bad bald men. Is the light gleaming off his head supposed to stand in for a halo?
"You cur, this is your last chance. Even now, if you kneel and grovel like a dog, I see no reason not to show mercy."
I flashed him a grin and hurled back a mountain of curses.
"Quit flapping that yap and get in here already."
The way his face flushed red the instant the words left my mouth was truly a sight to behold.
"You'll regret this..."
Even his parting line sounded like something out of a third-rate villain's script. And so, trash talk concluded, we hurled ourselves at each other as the signal to begin the duel rang out.