The Knight Commander's Scorn
The knight commander narrowed his eyes. "...You recovered faster than I expected."
Was it because my body was still that of a child? I'd figured I'd be groaning in pain for at least a few days, but every trace of muscle soreness had vanished overnight.
Well, since this is a world where mana exists, maybe the muscle structure itself is different from my original one.
In a world where magic was real, recovering a little quicker didn't even register as strange. In the Haelan Chronicles, mana was described as both a fragment of the world itself and a special kind of energy. It was also the very source that granted mages and knights their transcendent abilities.
Ordinary people never sensed mana in their entire lives, yet everyone was born with a tiny amount of it. For anyone who'd consumed a lot of fiction, it was an eye-rollingly familiar setup.
It's just a familiar trope, but if I flip it around...
Maybe that baseline mana inside the body was what sped up muscle recovery, too. In that case, pushing myself harder than I thought might actually be fine?
Muscles grew tougher and stronger every time they tore and repaired. Faster recovery meant shortening the growth cycle itself.
The situation is better than I expected.
I'd gained a powerful new technique and even come up with a decent plan. Since my body had fully recovered, I intended to seek out Philia again.
I need to take the sword and test it properly.
This time I would use the skill I'd learned not as some illusion, but with a real, physical blade.
…Of course, I'll have to be careful not to overdo it.
If I went wild trusting only in my recovery and actually ruptured something, there'd be no fixing it. I needed to calibrate my strength to stimulate the muscles without crossing the line.
Let's start by testing with only upper-body power.
If possible, I could even refine the technique a little more. I was lost in those thoughts when—
Creak—
The head butler suddenly came looking for me.
"Ian, the young lady summons you. Follow me to the training grounds."
"...The training grounds?"
Until yesterday it was her room. Now it's the training grounds?
Of course the training grounds would be more comfortable for swinging a sword, but the abrupt change of location felt off. Something feels ominous.
For some reason the words "training grounds" sent a chill down my spine. Still, I couldn't ignore the butler just because of a bad feeling, so I followed him obediently.
On the way, the butler glanced back and asked, "Ian. You didn't… anger the young lady again, did you?"
"...Pardon?"
"She's standing in front of a wooden sword right now, deep in thought. You'd best steel yourself."
What the hell is he talking about?
Ian wore a completely bewildered expression, but the butler only looked at him with pitying eyes.
Poor boy. He's done for.
From the butler's perspective, there was only one reason Philia would call Ian to the training grounds.
The young lady must have finally reached her limit and given in to rage.
She usually treated the lower servants so kindly that he'd half forgotten, but Philia was still a noble. The purpose had to be personally disciplining the disobedient Ian. They say even hate is a kind of affection.
The butler had never particularly liked Ian, but he didn't despise him enough to wish him dead, so he offered a warning.
"Ian. The moment you arrive, kneel and apologize to the young lady. At the very least, that should keep you alive."
"......? Yes."
Ian understood none of what the butler was saying, but the man's earnest face made him nod anyway.
"......"
Philia was staring intently at the wooden swords lined up in the training grounds. There was only one reason she examined them so closely.
Which sword would suit Ian best?
She was choosing one ideal for his training. On top of that, she had already begun preparing various buff spells that would aid his practice.
As she pondered with meticulous care, the man beside her hesitated, then spoke.
"Young lady. Must you really… go this far?"
A man who had just crossed into middle age— Aldric, knight commander of the Barhen family— wore a discontented frown.
"Sparing your time for a mere servant seems rather wasteful, does it not?"
He had omitted the subject, but the implication was clear: he found it a waste.
Aldric was the quintessential medieval knight. He lived for honor, yet all other values felt faint to him. His pride was ironclad, and the current situation made no sense to him at all.
I obey because it is the young lady's command, but I truly cannot comprehend this. Does that insignificant servant truly possess talent worthy of my personal attention?
If he had that much talent, surely he would have revealed it long ago. Yet Aldric did not realize he had stepped on Philia's reverse scale.
"......Mere?"
He flinched.
"I misspoke. Please, forgive me."
For an instant Aldric felt as if he had been thrown back onto the battlefields of old. The helpless sensation of waiting for death before an overwhelming superior.
…Such charisma. It's monstrous.
If even Aldric felt this way, few people would dare raise their voice in Philia's presence.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. I have no desire to cause trouble here."
Philia understood her current position perfectly. Dealing with an ordinary knight might have been manageable, but eliminating the knight commander would jeopardize her plans and force her to abandon the Barhen family.
If it weren't for Ian's training, I would have torn that mouth to shreds…
Even if Ian's sword talent vanished, he remained her precious companion. For some insignificant worm to insult her beloved—
Swallowing the fury boiling inside her, Philia imagined ripping the knight commander apart dozens of times in her mind.
While Aldric shivered from an inexplicable chill—
Clank—
Ian had arrived at the training grounds.
Aldric narrowed his eyes at the approaching boy.
So that's the Ian the young lady cherishes so dearly?
He had heard the rumors, but seeing him in person left no doubt. In Aldric's eyes, the boy possessed no talent whatsoever.
…Judging by his bone structure alone, he doesn't even have the foundation to awaken. Then perhaps his true gift lies in comprehension or insight?
Having evaluated countless talents as knight commander, he could say it with certainty. The boy's frame was small for his age. His bones and muscles lacked both density and strength.
If he's this ordinary, no matter how brilliant his mind…
Without the body to support it, none of it mattered. After all, no matter how clever the head, a knight's flesh came first.
Finally—though it might have been prejudice— Ian's signature squinty eyes irritated him beyond measure.
Disappointing.
The moment he faced Ian directly, the faint spark of interest Aldric had felt was snuffed out instantly.
Stepping inside the training grounds, I found Philia waiting alongside a middle-aged man. Deep brown hair and a savage scar running down his left cheek— a man who had clearly lived a brutal life.
…So that's Knight Commander Aldric.
He had appeared in the original story, so I remembered his appearance fairly well. A character who showed up early, sparred with Andrew, and suffered a crushing defeat. In this reality, however, he was overwhelmingly stronger than me.
"Greetings. My name is Ian."
I offered a polite bow. Aldric looked at me with clear displeasure, then ignored me outright and strode toward the center of the grounds.
"How dare that vermin speak to—!"
Philia's face twisted like a vengeful demon. My instincts screamed a warning: if I didn't stop her, things would get ugly.
The instant she raised her hand—
I rushed forward. "Y-young lady? I'm perfectly fine."
"......Ian."
She stared at my face so intensely it felt like her gaze would pierce straight through me. Then, as if forcing herself to calm down, she spoke softly.
"It seems I lost my composure for a moment. Don't worry. I am perfectly, perfectly sane."
She really doesn't look it…
Philia's eyes were currently emitting a faint glow. It wasn't my imagination— actual multicolored light was radiating from them. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.
The Plague Lord Tarmark, overwhelmed by the man's relentless assault, finally began to seal himself away. Gathering every ounce of plague energy he had accumulated along with the demonic realm itself, he performed a self-sealing spell. For a moment, he almost looked pitiful.
The man watched with an expressionless face, then murmured something as he gazed at Tarmark, now buried deep beneath the earth.
Half a day passed.
Just as the man turned to leave, a shrill voice rose from the mountain of corpses.
"P-please take me with you too!"
"?"
The Sword Ghost was begging to accompany him.