Dull Talent
"...Stop it."
Philia, who had remained composed until now, was displaying her emotions far more openly today than usual. To be exact, it seemed her patience had finally reached its limit.
"No, why on earth... Ha."
It was stifling. Yet she had no one she could complain to about this tangled mess of feelings. After pointing out Ian's shortcomings, Philia had kept demanding he demonstrate his swordsmanship, but there was naturally no further improvement. If anything, his swings had grown even more 'thoughtless' than when he first picked up the blade, to the point that Philia felt dizzy just watching.
Is it because Ian never received proper instruction? But even so, this is...
A swordsman capable of God-Slaying possessed only this level of talent? At best, it was the starting line for a knight. No, honestly, it was barely enough for a mercenary to scrape by. It wasn't genius. It wasn't even average. It was closer to dull talent—the kind that would never achieve greatness no matter how long he held a sword. Anyone claiming such a person would one day cut down a god would be met with nothing but ridicule.
But it actually happens.
Having experienced it herself in vivid detail, Philia knew exactly how mysterious Ian's 'strength' truly was. That was why the mismatch between his power and his talent baffled her even more.
For now, I'll summon the family's knight commander and have him train Ian. There's no harm in judging after that.
Philia calmly laid out her contingency plan, yet a sliver of unease remained inside it.
Ian has to become strong...
Crack— She bit her nail without realizing it.
Philia considered herself mature and rational, but the truth was that she was a deeply flawed human being. Before her regression she had simply obtained whatever she desired as the devil's 'host.' She had rarely felt human anguish or responsibility. In the early days after her ego awakened she had lived burdened by guilt, but after encountering Ian that guilt had blurred and eventually vanished completely.
The problem arose the moment her anchor—Ian—disappeared. Her mind shifted into an extremely precarious state.
What do I do...?
Unable to make use of Ian's 'talent,' the most crucial element of her plan, Philia spiraled into panic. Back then she had simply followed whatever Ian decided, and because those choices had ultimately proven 'correct,' there had been no issues. While traveling with him she had believed she could think as wisely as he did and overcome any crisis... but reality was far colder than she imagined.
"...It seems the path of the sword isn't right for me."
Watching Ian spout such nonsense with that blank expression, Philia felt a sudden urge to pour out everything to him—how magnificent he had been, what majestic feats he had accomplished. She wanted to tell him right then and there, but she forcibly crushed the impulse.
It's still too soon for the current Ian.
Since even his talent looked uncertain, revealing future events would be premature.
Three years. No matter what, I must raise Ian back to his former level within that time.
If events had followed the original timeline, roughly five years would have remained until destruction. But in this world now crawling with every kind of 'regressor'—including Philia herself—doom would surely arrive even sooner.
And if Ian still cannot become strong...
Then Philia would have to make a choice. The choice to bind him to her 'flower garden' for eternity.
Outside Philia's door, Lucy waited for the pair with a flushed face.
J-just how long are the young lady and Ian going to keep at it...?
Once their 'time of pleasure' had stretched past three full hours, Lucy began to grow uneasy.
Is Ian's stamina really that monstrous? So that's why the young lady... Heh. What on earth am I thinking.
Lucy shook her head vigorously, slowly reclaiming her reason.
Right. I must have let my imagination run wild. Besides, what could the young lady possibly lack that she'd get involved with someone like Ian?
She decided her delusions had gone too far.
Creak— The door opened, and the faint scent of sweat tickled her nose.
Huh? Why does it smell like sweat?
At that moment, Ian emerged from the room looking utterly drained. To anyone watching, it was the face of someone who had just finished an intensely 'strenuous task.'
N-no way? For real?
Lucy's eyes widened, but the exhausted Ian never noticed. After he left, she cautiously stepped inside and found Philia letting out a long sigh. To anyone looking, it was the expression of someone 'left unsatisfied.'
"......!"
Lucy's delusions surged once more.
"Haa, you can head back now."
With Philia's sigh came my dismissal.
Man, my arms are killing me.
I must have swung the sword too much; my arms were now throbbing with muscle pain. It had actually been somewhat fun in the beginning, but Philia's icy attitude had made me shrink back, so I probably hadn't shown her proper swordsmanship.
I had too many distracting thoughts, so I just swung on pure instinct...
Naturally, swordplay without thought was even weaker. The more I swung, the more Philia's expression soured in real time.
At this point, anyone who wasn't an idiot could tell Philia held some kind of expectation for me.
She looks pretty disappointed. I just don't know what she's hoping to see.
Demonstrating any kind of achievement with the sword in a short period—and without instruction—was nearly impossible. Even a genius overflowing with talent needed at least the fundamentals.
Yet she had recklessly ordered someone like me, with no particular talent, to simply swing away. It was genuinely frustrating.
Does this mean I become so skilled with a blade in the future that she'd ask me to do something this ridiculous?
Having never truly felt the presence of talent in my life, it was all the harder to understand.
It would be nice if Philia would just tell me everything that happened in the first round.
The reason I never asked her about it was simple: instinct.
For some reason, it feels like something dangerous will happen the moment I bring up anything related to regression.
That same instinct had saved me in every critical moment, so I trusted it. And perhaps Philia had her own reasons for staying silent on the subject.
There might be restrictions on regression itself... For now, until she speaks first, I won't let her know I've caught on.
I walked while kneading my aching arms.
-Meow.
"Hm?"
Something small blocked the path.
A cat...? No one in the mansion keeps cats.
A few maids occasionally fed strays, but they would never bring one inside the castle proper.
"Did it sneak over the wall? It's kind of cute."
At first glance the creature looked like a kitten. Fluffy gray fur, blue eyes, and a small horn prominently jutting from its forehead.
A horn...? Why does it have a horn?
Ordinary cats didn't have horns, of course.
-Meeeow!
It cried out at me, then suddenly pounced.
I caught it in surprise, but the little thing kept wriggling in my grasp, flailing its tiny limbs. Watching it desperately throw cat punches was adorable, yet the horn made it clear this was no ordinary feline.
A magic beast...? But it's way too small.
According to the Haellan Chronicles, magic beasts were usually born with special horns. Since ancient times, only a tiny fraction of animals had awakened into magic beasts through mana, and most of them lived in the Deep Forest far to the east of the continent. Even as cubs they easily surpassed humans in size, and the highest-ranking ones could even take human form.
This one was tiny, and logically a magic beast infiltrating the castle was impossible, so it was probably just the offspring of some interspecies pairing.
The parents could have been different species. For now, I should take it outside.
I couldn't leave it wandering the castle, so I decided to release it outdoors.
-GRRRRRA!
Before the Behemoth roaring its monstrous cry, the man never stopped his sword.
Repeated slashes that had reached the state of no-self. Each cut was powerful enough to crack the world itself, yet against the Behemoth they left only shallow scratches.
A gap so vast it inspired despair. But the man was used to it. Facing his limits again and again, and shattering the walls of those limits.
Merge them.
He forcibly fused every principle of swordsmanship he had accumulated until now.
Integrating different sword styles was normally impossible. The principles of martial arts overlapped or contradicted one another—how could anyone combine them all? Tangling them together would only create greater confusion. Increasing their power was out of the question.
It was a realm every swordsman dismissed as impossible.
But the man could do it. He smashed through the wall that should have blocked him.
One Sword, Myriad Waves
With a single blade, all creation is shattered
In a realm beyond perception, the Behemoth's massive horn was severed.
For the first time, the beast of calamity felt 'fear' instead of hunger.