The Strongest Knight (5)
Gallerhead was one of the figures Chiron quietly worried about.
"Don't doze off, don't whine, and remember this well. You're the vice-captain now—you need to know the quirks of your knights, don't you think?"
No one in the Windsor Knights lacked a personal backstory. Chiron believed true leadership stemmed from understanding. That's why he'd drilled early education into Sisilia, emphasizing Gallerhead multiple times.
"Especially remember Gallerhead's traits."
"Lazy bum."
"...I can't deny it, but you need to understand why he's lazy."
"Hardcore veteran freeloader."
"Who taught you that foul mouth?"
"Uh, Captain Edward."
"Strange. As far as I know, you're the only one in this world who uses words like that."
After two hours of standing with her hand raised, sniffling, Chiron finally lectured her patiently.
"Gallerhead may seem listless, but once he starts dreaming, he's a knight no one can stop."
Stroking Sisilia's head fondly, Chiron looked oddly pleased.
"I never had that talent myself, but Sisilia... I believe you can do it."
The pressure multiplied a hundredfold.
In truth, Sisilia worked tirelessly for the newbies—to prevent their tragic deaths. But...
...honestly, salesmanship wasn't her forte. Sparking interest in someone and motivating them to act on it was incredibly tough.
Her one solution had been becoming the flawless Sword Princess, flaunting her heroine appeal. But that didn't work on Gallerhead. He wasn't some lolicon like Captain Edward, and he'd known her since childhood—no chance he'd see her romantically.
"I've got a ton on my plate, so this is Betty's job."
As usual, she dumped everything on Beatrice and headed to the archives. She pored over Gallerhead's incident reports and dungeon logs.
Chiron had given the basics, but her dad wasn't one for details. Smart Sisilia would handle it herself.
"Overall, he achieved everything without any real effort."
The captain tuned the whole order; the vice-captain handled the fine details. Mental care was her role too.
To Sisilia, Gallerhead's issue was his overwhelming talent.
"From the records, he never even showed his true potential. No real crises on record."
Thank goodness. His void was something Sisilia could fill. She'd been bored out of her mind from unmatched opponents too.
Sisilia quickly devised solutions. Within the Sword Princess's domain, draw out Gallerhead's true strength. Then shatter it spectacularly.
Shocked, he'd finally try effort—and discover fun in the process. Problem solved, global warming reversed, world saved. Perfect.
"Alright, decided."
When she met the depressed Gallerhead, she'd cure him with raw skill.
Key: utterly dominate as Sword Princess. The effect maximized if he lost to someone he deemed weaker.
That's why she'd struck first. She'd planned a spar anyway, and if winning got him on the Four Heavenly Kings hunt? No brainer.
"Gallerhead."
But beating him as Sword Princess was tough. Not just winning—forcing out his true strength.
That meant his special Blessing: one that exposed gaps to strike.
Too potent for spars—reserved for demons only.
"I'll say this upfront."
"...What?"
Aiming at the unflappable Gallerhead after her opener, Sisilia declared,
"I might not have gaps, but if you see one, strike immediately."
"..."
"Wind has no grain. It won't split like a log."
Sisilia gathered mana, visualizing four overlapping slashes centered on his solar plexus. Unavoidable—must parry.
"In return, I'll fight assuming you won't split either. So give it everything."
Sisilia kicked off, thrusting her sword. The slashes etched a # across Gallerhead's body, just as imagined.
Jerryway had once commented on Gallerhead's swordsmanship:
'That thing? Pure technique-wise, even a kid couldn't lose to it.'
Not literally unbeatable by kids, but mocking its formlessness.
Gallerhead didn't disagree. Swordsmanship still baffled him. He admired knights who wielded it effortlessly.
But learning? Nah. No one offered to teach him either.
—They call it pride. With countless hearts in the world, countless styles exist. Sparring insists yours is best. Lose, and who teaches you?
Gallerhead's swordplay looked amateur. A month in, anyone would nitpick.
He swung wildly, no form or style.
Yet no one critiqued. It always won.
"No claiming you went easy 'cause I'm young."
Gazing at confident Sisilia, Gallerhead pondered.
She'd been a prodigy since joining Windsor—famous. A tiny girl barely reaching waists overpowering adult knights with pure skill? Legendary.
Crowds always gathered for her spars. Gallerhead among them.
"Whoa, she's six?"
"Unbelievable."
"Always hits blind spots. Parries before power lands, attacks half-beat off. Headache just watching."
"Possible? Unless future-sight."
"...No, superhuman reflexes."
The usually rowdy Windsors turned serious, debating her spars earnestly. Sisilia making them so impressed him; Windsors analyzing like pros impressed him too.
But Gallerhead saw differently.
...She's toying with them?
Half-beat faster. Preempts attacks. Parries perfect timings like routine.
...Why bother? With that speed, no need.
She amps difficulty with self-handicaps.
Sisilia always smiled in spars—pure joy radiating.
Gallerhead was sure: she loved balanced fights.
"Spar with me."
One day, she challenged him. He never sparred, but accepted.
Public bout. Sisilia half-assed it. He surrendered quickly.
"I lose."
"..."
Sisilia pouted, never challenging again—"not fun to play with."
First rematch since.
She probably didn't know: he'd half-assed too, matching her effort.
Now? Serious.
"This your true strength?"
Sisilia went all-in; so did he. Her unavoidable quadruple slash? Shattered by one thrust.
No gap in her. But in her slashes? Yes.
That's it.
"Impressive, but not enough to drag me along."
"We'll see."
Voice from behind.
Already?
Blinding speed—near teleport.
Gallerhead swung without hesitation. Sloppy stance, perfect timing.
Before impact, Sisilia's blade smacked his hilt.
Ting— Clear ring; his balance crumbled. Parry.
He powered through, ignoring.
Her blade slithered like a snake along his flat.
She slammed down, stomped the flat.
He strained—sword stuck.
"Hup."
Wind swirled her left fist. Blue gale filled his vision.
The infamous Sisilia Sincere Punch.
Yet as it neared, Gallerhead looked disappointed.
...Nothing special.
What'd he expect from a Sword Princess thirty years his junior?
Realizing his hopes were absurd, he shoved his grounded sword deeper.
Crunch—!
"!"
Crack in the ground. Her stance precisely on it.
A mana pulse: ground under her foot collapsed.
Balance lost, he grabbed her wrist, hurled upward.
Midair, one clean line slashed across her.
Allowing even one gap airborne? Impressive.
But end.
He aimed gap-free strike. Victory without it.
Her expression changed his mind. Blank face, sparkling eyes—expectant.
Posture oddly stable.
...I see.
Gallerhead smirked.
You weren't bluffing about confidence.
Gap on her. None on her sword.
Meant: fully prepared.
Strike that gap... might change things.
Strange certainty. Swing now, something shifts?
But.
He didn't.
Sisilia landed lightly, staring blankly.
"I lose."
Much later, she asked,
"...Why didn't you swing?"
Simple: overlap.
Flash of past knight splitting like log when he struck a gap.
Gallerhead hurt no one. Especially not Chiron's daughter.
"Figured I couldn't take it, huh."
"..."
"Doubting a fellow knight—your vice-captain."
Her face hardened coldly. Sheathed sword, turned away.
"You're no longer Windsor."
Pausing, she muttered,
"I'll never forgive you."
Dazed Beatrice hurried after the furious Sisilia—first time seeing her this mad. Bewildering.