Schooling Him on Sight

The next morning.

I'd finished breakfast and was about to head for the training grounds near the lord's manor when Mom stopped me.

"Son, you're training today, right?"

"No, actually. Most of the hero candidates are coming back today, so I think we're just assembling first."

We might end up training after we gathered, but nobody had actually told me what we'd be doing. Not that I cared. What I was really looking forward to was something else entirely. Among the hero candidates was a female character so stacked they'd nicknamed her Mamang. What would it feel like to see her with my own two eyes? Heheh.

"Make lots of friends. There's no bond quite like the one between comrades-in-arms! Oh, and this is a gift!"

"Whoa, is this...?"

Mom held out a ring. I checked the specs.

Come to think of it, Mom's original surname was Canape, wasn't it? She was basically handing me a family heirloom. And this thing had a subspace inventory function?

"I used to be an adventurer myself, you know. I used this all the time. Now it's your turn, son!"

"Thank you, Mom. I love you!"

I kissed her on the cheek and left the house. The moment I slipped the ring on, a strange sense of weight settled over my finger.

With this, I can just eat any hidden pieces I find on the spot. If I can find them, that is.

I headed for the lord's manor and glanced at the guards as I walked past. They didn't ignore me anymore. They recognized me as a proper hero candidate now.

Better than those bastards on the territory walls, at least.

When I reached the training grounds, a bunch of guys around my age were already gathered. Every last one of them was either built like a barn or strapped with decent gear. They all looked like they'd come prepared, but from where I stood, they were nothing special.

I've got the family swordsmanship AND a title. Title Masterrrrrr!

So yeah. I had confidence.

WHACK!

Someone smacked me hard across the back of the head.

"Ooooh, Lashu. This dwarf bastard hasn't changed at all, no? Haha!"

I turned around. He used to be a neighborhood older-brother type I actually got along with, but after a year at the academy his frame had filled out and his personality had flipped completely. Even with that backstory, he was your garden-variety early-game villain.

Ugh. Just thinking about actually having to put up with this asshole in real life made me want to puke. I gritted my teeth and started picking out a practice sword when he started in on me again.

"Nah, wait, gayboy! What's a disabled freak like you doing trying to be a hero, no? You need to get out there on the streets, no!"

"Your speech pattern got really weird since I last saw you. What is that, some kind of dialect?"

"Country-ass gayboy, you don't even know, no? It's how they talk at the Expedition Society — the capital-region meetup. You don't know shit like this, that's why you never improve, no? You inherited talent from your parents and this is what you do with it, no?"

"Ah, is that so? How about you just take care of your own damn life? You think flashing that speech pattern to show you belong is going to make those people actually give a shit about you?"

"This little shit talking back to his elder! I'm Runner Mid in Force Heart — and you? What are you, no? Dead-end gayboy, you even past the early stage, no?"

He wasn't lying. When I looked closely, I could see two bright white rings coiled around his solar plexus. I ignored him and picked out a practice sword.

Force Heart.

Just as mages have Circle Hearts, swordsmen have Force Hearts — condensed ki that wraps the heart in circle form, boosting the efficiency of their swordsmanship and enhancing the body. It's the measuring stick for a swordsman's level, and Runner Mid sat at roughly the same output as a two-circle mage.

Well, at least he didn't just fuck around at the academy. But doesn't talking like that give him secondhand embarrassment for himself?

In a way, I felt sorry for him. He genuinely thought he had to flaunt that belonging just to survive. But there was one thing I couldn't let slide.

"What's this about the streets?"

"Alright, big bro Abeiru will spell it out for you, no. You belong out on the streets protesting. 'Guarantee our basic rights! We're people too!' That's your look, no. Kekeke. This guy, out there marching!"

The moment Abeiru fired that off, everyone around us burst out laughing. They were all sneering at me.

Putting me on the same level as those shitty activist groups. The absolute nerve.

I was pissed, but I held it in. Timing always presents itself eventually.

Soon the captain of the guard arrived and bellowed across the yard.

"Everyone fall in, rows and columns! Move it, move it!"

Stamp, stamp, stamp!

"This is the discipline of kids who want to be heroes? You think you can even kill a slime like this?!"

The captain started cracking the whip from the jump. Once we were properly lined up, he pointed upward. A figure was visible on the third-floor balcony of the lord's manor, though the sunlight was so fierce I couldn't make them out clearly.

"Today I will personally oversee your training. Train hard, and based on your performance, the Acting Lord will assign you missions!"

That was unexpected. The news of the lord's death must have shaken things up more than I'd thought. The lord's wife was going to watch our training herself and start building her own faction.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Gotta make a good impression this time. This is our chance!"

"Who knows? Maybe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she'll introduce us to a famous guild or a mercenary company?"

"If you want to stand out, it's gotta be a duel."

"Whoa, the lady of the manor looked at me!"

Someone pointed upward. When a cloud slid across the sun, I could see clearly. From the balcony, Renata — the lord's wife — was looking down at us.

The hero candidates were visibly tense. Even better.

Perfect timing. This is it.

I needed to stamp a proper impression on Renata. The period for graduating from hero-candidate status varied by city, but they said the minimum was a month. And I was not someone with that kind of time to spare. I wanted to become an official hero yesterday so I could start collecting more MILFs.

I was waiting quietly when Abeiru suddenly raised his hand.

"Captain! I have a proposal!"

He dropped the speech tic for this, huh.

"What is it?"

"There's someone among us who doesn't belong. A hero is a being who protects humanity from the Demon King. I have serious doubts about whether a guy who can't even manage his own life can become a hero."

"Who are you talking about?"

"Lashu ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Leonhart. I don't think it's right for someone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to take a spot based on bloodline alone! Shouldn't we, at least, be equal?!"

A guy like him talking about equality was almost funny. Classic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠politician type. The kind who breaks every rule behind closed doors, then stands in front of the people shouting about equality and putting people first.

Everyone started giving me the side-eye, like they agreed. Makes sense — I hadn't shown them anything. Hadn't proven a damn thing. Fair enough. Then I'd show them.

Abeiru pressed on.

"I propose we expel Lashu from here! Pffft."

"Cut the jokes."

"I'm not joking. I'm serious!"

Well, no choice then. He's laying the table for me. Calling me out. I'll take it. I raised my hand.

A guy destined to play supporting character his whole life, and he's doing me this favor. I'll take the free meal.

"Then, Captain, mind if I make a proposal of my own?"

"What?"

"I'll duel Abeiru. Practice swords, whatever — I don't care. I won't back down. I'll show everyone — I'll prove — that I have the right to stand here, and the right to become a hero."

Show and prove. The creed I live by. I'd even taken down a ZKT T1 pro, even if it was just in-game. All that matters is proving it.

"OOOOOH!"

Everyone hyped it up. The atmosphere cranked up another notch. Abeiru sneered.

"A duel with a little shrimp like that? Pathetic."

Called it. I fired back like I'd been waiting for it.

"Looks like Abeiru's scared. He's backing out. I won't back down no matter what that guy does."

This time everyone laughed along with me. Abeiru, who'd just been mocked in front of the whole yard, started trembling.

"Ha! I accept! I'll show you that Lashu has no qualifications whatsoever!"

The captain clicked his tongue, then reluctantly agreed.

"I don't like private duels — they create hierarchies. But fine. Abeiru, Lashu. Up on the dueling platform! Everyone else, sit in a circle around it!"

We each took a practice sword and climbed up. Abeiru ground his teeth.

"You learn that bluffing from your mommy, no? Public execution incoming, this is gonna be sick, no."

"Guys who talk like that always have long tongues."

"Yep, and I'm gonna use this long tongue to lick your mommy's pussy, no! Heheh."

"Shouldn't you start with your own mom first? She'd be heartbroken. Gotta be a filial son."

The reverse-provoke made Abeiru rub the back of his neck. The captain stepped between us and laid out the rules.

"Fight with pride, but no fatal wounds. Begin!"

He stepped back, and we pointed our swords at each other. Abeiru shouted so the whole yard could hear.

"Today I'll send you where you belong. The Provincial Disabled Alliance!"

"Yeah, your mom."

I tossed back a casual yo-mama and launched my attack. I came at him head-on, but when Abeiru looked ready to block, I cut to the side. He stepped lightly in time with me — whoosh, tap-tap — his center of gravity sitting in his hips. Flexible. Adaptive.

So he didn't just fuck around at the academy. His reactions are smooth.

Abeiru quickened his footwork and flicked a thrust at me. I slipped to the side, and he chained into a combination — vertical slash, vertical slash, then a full-power horizontal cut. I blocked and got shoved backward. My frame was smaller, period. That meant I was losing on weight class.

"See, Lashu's no good."

"Abeiru even studied abroad at the academy for a year."

"You really do need that academy polish."

Skeptical commentary from the peanut gallery. I ignored it and focused.

Alright. Let's try this.

I shifted my weight back, settled into a Muay Thai stance, and lifted my lead foot slightly. I angled the sword diagonally opposite my extended foot and locked eyes with Abeiru.

Time to show them the Leonhart Severing Sword Style — the art of cutting anything, anytime.

Abeiru started sneering.

"Being a hero isn't a game, you disabled piece of shit! Time for some real education, no!"

He roared like a beast and charged, the momentum of a wild boar tearing down a mountainside. I slipped to the flank like I was gliding on ice. He followed instantly and ripped a horizontal slash across — tap-tap-tap, WHOOSH, CRACK — and I deflected it lightly, circling to his side.

Then Abeiru grabbed me by the collar. My movement locked up.

"Checkmate, no! Gayboy!"

But honestly, I'd been waiting for this. The timing was a little unexpected, though.

WHAM!

I drove a front kick straight into his lower abdomen without a shred of hesitation. He staggered back in shock, his stance crumbling out from under him. I closed the distance in a heartbeat, poured ki into the blade, and thrust with everything I had.

One of the few thrusting techniques in a style built almost entirely around cutting. I drove the point dead-center through his chest before he could recover his stance.

THUNK!

"GRAAAAGH!"

Abeiru went flying backward and landed out of bounds. The atmosphere dropped to library-silence. I walked over to him.

"Fix your speech pattern first. The mother who gave birth to you would be wailing."

Then I turned around and said it so everyone could hear.

"Runner Mid isn't all that, huh."

"W-WOOOOOOOAH!"

The yard erupted in shock and cheers. The captain stared at me like he couldn't quite believe what he'd just watched, then shouted.

"This duel goes to Lashu! Well done."

Applause and cheering exploded from every direction. My heart hammered against my ribs in that unfamiliar atmosphere — harder than it had when I actually won.

"Whoa, Lashu. I take it back!"

"You can actually fight? Damn, kid, you're cracked."

"Lashu Leonhart... I'll remember that name."

As I stepped down from the platform, I thought to myself:

A guy who only knows how to swing a sword thinks he can be a hero?

The Leonhart Severing Sword Style, as the stance itself makes obvious, is a sword art that accounts for hand-to-hand combat on top of the blade. You lose a little mobility, but when something unexpected hits, you can answer it with rock-solid composure.

I was heading back across the training grounds, soaking in everyone's cheers, when a voice bloomed behind me.

Thank you, Goddess.