Sword Lessons and the Gambler's Den
“Y-Yes…?”
“I was planning to observe you a bit longer, but you’ve been completely useless. What the hell have you been doing for the past week?”
The vibe he’d brushed off as a misunderstanding last time resurfaced.
And at this point, there was no ignoring it.
“No way—you’re Intelligence Agency too?”
“Now you’re even volunteering your affiliation.”
“Ah.”
Realizing his slip, he clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late.
This is seriously fucked.
It was the kind of trashy move you’d expect from some spoiled noble brat.
“How am I supposed to work with a guy like you? How long are you planning to lounge on the ground like that?”
Stung by the sharp glare, he scrambled to his feet and brushed the dirt off his uniform.
“Ahem, sorry for the disgraceful display, sir.”
“You’ve always been disgraceful, so no need to apologize. Just report what you’ve dug up in the past week.”
“Yes…?”
“I haven’t checked everything myself, but you must’ve done something.”
I didn’t.
To be precise, he couldn’t.
Exhaustion hit him like a truck the second he clocked out—he’d passed out cold every night.
“Uh… well, Battalion Commander. Ahem, apologies. I’ve been too busy adjusting to the new environment to conduct any investigations.”
“I hoped it wasn’t true, but damn.”
Lieutenant Alpen shook his head and picked up his wooden sword.
Wh-why the hell is he grabbing that scary thing?
He seemed to be the field agent Eden had mentioned, which meant his sword skills were on par with Special Forces.
He’s not gonna kill me just for being useless, right…?
In this insane secret outfit, it wasn’t out of the question.
“From now on, you move exactly as I say. Got it?”
“Y-Yes, sir!”
Fine by him, actually.
I had no clue where to even start, and now he’s finally pointing the way.
Thinking back, wasn’t it kinda creepy just watching him for a whole week?
This is why I hate Intelligence.
“First, pick up your wooden sword again. Step one is getting you to human level.”
“Yes, sir…! But could you hold off on the beatings?”
That kick to the gut earlier had nearly killed him.
In Korea, that’d be assault charges.
One call to 1365 and he’d be done—no questions asked.
There’s probably something like that here too, but it’d be pointless.
Report an Intelligence agent?
Lucky if you didn’t get vanished for it.
“Don’t do anything worth hitting.”
Lieutenant Alpen dropped a line straight out of a parent’s mouth.
His firm, no-nonsense attitude killed any further protests, so he grabbed the wooden sword.
“They only taught you the basics at the training camp—forget everything you learned.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Start with stance. Show me what you just did.”
He’d literally told him to forget it a second ago, yet now he wanted the training camp stance.
Either a contradictory nutjob or a goldfish with no memory.
Whatever, I’ll dance to his tune.
Doubting he’d teach properly, he assumed the stance anyway.
“In swordplay, archery—any physical technique—the key is where you place your center of gravity.”
Lieutenant Alpen pressed the wooden sword against his right thigh as he spoke.
“Ugh!”
His leg buckled instantly, stance crumbling. He barely stayed upright.
“A bad stance collapses from the slightest impact. Feel that?”
Wasn’t it just hitting a weak spot? The doubt lingered, but he nodded.
“Never realized the difference could be this stark.”
“You might think swinging the sword with your arms makes the upper body key, but every stance starts with lower-body balance.”
Balance. Center of gravity. The explanation zeroed in on those terms.
Uncharacteristically expert for a soldier—high-level stuff.
“It’ll feel awkward at first, but stick with it till it becomes second nature.”
Standing in the corrected stance, something felt off—but better.
Like proper posture.
Awkward as hell, though.
“Next, how you hold the sword. In your opinion, Second Lieutenant, what’s more important—defense or offense?”
“Defense, sir?”
“Hm, correct.”
Did he expect offense?
The surprised look felt insulting.
The hell? I was top of the training camp.
From Captain Eden to this lieutenant, they treated his two weeks like a joke—full of delicate nobles or not.
Top dog was still top dog.
“Why do you think defense comes first?”
“Because you have to survive to kill more enemies, sir?”
“That’s true enough, but not the answer I wanted.”
Whoosh!
Suddenly, the lieutenant swung his sword, aiming straight for his throat.
“If I push just a bit more, your neck’s done. How do you respond?”
“Block with my sword, sir?”
“Exactly. Block the attack first, buy your turn, then you can win.”
“So, the best offense is a good defense?”
“Hm?!”
He tossed out a community meme on a whim, and the lieutenant’s eyes lit up.
“The best offense is a good defense… Excellent phrase. Where’d you hear it?”
“Uh… just popped into my head, sir.”
Couldn’t exactly say “internet.”
“Great comprehension. Shame your body can’t keep up.”
The lieutenant lowered his sword from his throat.
“I’ll train you to master Imperial Basic Swordsmanship in a month. Keep up.”
“Yes, sir!”
Whatever—he bellowed it out.
“Fresh out of training camp, nice voice. First technique: defending frontal attacks. Useful for blocking your pathetic swings from earlier.”
Lieutenant Alpen raised his wooden sword diagonally, shielding head and torso.
“Link it to offense from defense. Attack me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He closed in and swung the same way as before.
Clack!
Wood met wood with a dull thud. The lieutenant slipped inside his guard.
“An attack exposes your body. From there, it’s all about timing.”
Thud!
The wooden sword vanished from view, slamming his gut again.
“Guh!”
“No whining. That wasn’t even hard.”
Like he’d done him a favor after the punch.
Textbook Intelligence agent—no doubt.
These psychos.
Entry requirements had to include brutality and shattered morals.
“You saw it—now try.”
Damn it.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, he gripped the sword.
Ruining my hard-earned day off.
Swallowing curses was his new job.
“What, playing around? When did I say to do it like that?!”
It felt like one-on-one hell from a training instructor.
He figured it’d wrap before dinner, but nope—his miscalculation.
“S-Sir… dinner?”
“Brought my own. Keep going.”
The lieutenant popped nuts from his pocket.
Fuck, you got a mouth—share!
* * *
“Ah….”
A week into hellish training with the lieutenant.
Life was rough before, but now it was straight-up madness.
Just kill me.
Day shifts kissing Aditz Imperial asses on sorties, nights getting drilled by Lieutenant Alpen.
Unit harassment material for sure.
But the real killer?
This goddamn Sword Mastery.
The cursed skill sucked up technique like a sponge, skyrocketing his skills.
And now the lieutenant was hooked on training him.
“I wanna discharge.”
If not for the family title, he’d chuck noblesse oblige and take the dishonorable out.
“Working out? Your arms are beefier.”
Lieutenant Ramon, workout evangelist, eyed his forearm eagerly.
“Calluses, not muscle. From holding the sword so long lately.”
If he finds out I’m exercising, he’ll drag me along.
Ramon’s routine: two hours pre-dawn.
Screw up, and it’s double duty.
“Definitely not calluses.”
“No workouts besides swelling up—muscle doesn’t just appear.”
He yanked his sleeve down before more suspicion.
“Anyway, rare day off tomorrow—any plans, sir?”
Topic switch to tomorrow’s holiday.
“Morning workout, then crash. Catch up on sleep.”
“Surprisingly normal. Thought you’d hit the field or futsal.”
“Wanna, but no team lately. Pre-war, we played nonstop with the troops, weekdays and weekends. Hey, since you mention—”
“I’d love to join, but got plans tomorrow.”
Even without, futsal on a holiday? Insane.
Combat Alert: Level 2
Order: Division Commander
“Sigh. Let’s go.”
“Last one before holiday.”
Another routine alert, shrugged off like breakfast. His company’s turn for holiday came after two weeks.
Everyone but him.
“Like I said yesterday: use this chance to cozy up to the battalion commander.”
“Got it, sir.”
Alverum—the city nearest 3rd Division.
Today: Randall Casino there.
To lose money.
“You studied the book I gave you?”
“Yes, sir. Mastered the card games especially—no worries.”
Major Ollmen loved poker, Texas Hold’em top pick.
“Don’t trust you, but no choice.”
Couldn’t he just trust a little?
Do Intelligence psychos skip personality training?
Seemed vital, but militaries taught useless crap instead. No hope there.
“Trust me a bit, sir.”
“Trust comes after trust is earned.”
“Ah, yes, sir.”
Philosophy-book line left him speechless.
“Anyway, since I can’t go, bail if the vibe’s off.”
“Understood.”
He’d run regardless.
His life trumped any mission by miles.
“Don’t dawdle—head out.”
“See you later, sir.”
Last salute, then out of division HQ to the carriage.
“To Alverum, Street 21.”
“Yes, sir.”
No fancy mods like the capital—beat-up ride.
Hit the gravel, and his ass rattled like crazy.
This shithole village.
“Here. 12 silver.”
Nausea hit even him as it stopped.
Charge 12 silver for this crap?
Capital deluxe would’ve been 14 tops—barely cheaper.
Villages suck.
Tsking at the ripoff, he stepped down.
Straight along this road, right?
No direct carriage to casino for a reason.
‘Officer dignity’ bullshit.
Gambling, hookers, drugs.
Get reported, mess explodes.
“Found it.”
Obvious casino.
Expensive magic tools lit the sign—visible from afar.
“Ahem.”
Guards scanned him entering; involuntary cough.
Lose a fight? Yeah—get wrecked.
*Ding! Ring ring! Ding ring!*
Orchestra and suits/dresses everywhere inside.
No doubt the local hotspot.
Why so crowded?
Streets outside were dead; here, full party.
Chips first for games, right?
Exchange counter: dead simple. Five steps from entrance.
“Welcome!”
Stunner employee beamed—head-turner for sure.
“Hm.”
Smiled back, but time for acting.
Chip Exchange Guide
1G → 10BIT
100G → 1,050BIT
10BIT → 95S
5% house cut.
Casinos barely profitable, and they skim fees too.
Still packed—wild.
How much to swap without looking broke or flashy?
No real dilemma.
Decided already.
“First time, so lightly… 500 gold.”
No hesitation—five 100-gold notes from wallet, tossed.
Her eyes flickered.
Swooned? Nah.
Probably “sucker!”