Chapter 13
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Alright, Rookie Intrusion
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After sending off the sniveling mage who'd insisted on being called back anytime if there were questions,
I lay on the bed, placing the spirit on my hand and shaking it around playfully.
"So this little thing is a spirit, huh..."
-Wong.
Arwen had said its attribute was earth and its affinity was vibration. So... it was an earth-type.
"Yeah, I always slept on the ground in the back alleys anyway."
Sure, there was that one intense lantern session while catching the drug dealers.
But that was a one-night stand. The real deal is always the ground.
Having the option of a spirit was a small mercy, given my total lack of talent.
Unlike spirits that had lived for decades, this one had just gained sentience, so it didn't have much power yet.
I'd tested it outside just moments ago.
-Wong!
All it could do was gather a handful of dirt or harden it a bit.
It would grow stronger if I raised it diligently, but spirits lived for eons.
Even if I nurtured it until I died... it'd probably top out at mid-tier.
"Sigh."
-Wong?
"Nah, Wong-i. Cover your ears! You didn't do anything wrong!"
I pinched the palm-sized, fluffy ball of brown fur—Wong-i—with two fingers.
I wanted to cover its ears, but I couldn't find them.
"You like dirt, right..."
Arwen had mentioned a second condition for Wong-i's growth.
Satisfying certain conditions helped boost a spirit's abilities.
For Wong-i, the more familiar it got with earth, the stronger it became.
And...
"...The more it's shoved into the ground, the better?"
-Wong.
Physically slamming it into contact with the earth was good for growth.
And it was even more effective if it wasn't voluntary.
"Ah, that means I need to hop on the knight training train first."
Unless I suddenly apprenticed at a pottery workshop,
the most fitting way to get intimate with earth was swordsmanship.
You end up face-planting there all the time.
When Arwen relayed that bizarre condition, she'd chuckled awkwardly.
'Come on, Young Master. Spirits grow like weeds if you just feed them mana, right? Growth conditions are just nice-to-haves based on preferences.'
She said not to worry too much.
But how could I neglect such a cute little guy!
Later, when I had time, maybe ask the knights to dig an underground tunnel?
A few days living and eating there would make Wong-i happy.
"Everything's great, all good but..."
Arwen was a more capable mage than expected.
She shared plenty of knowledge and confirmed I had no magic talent—which saved time.
Better than wasting effort blindly.
But.
"It cost more than I thought."
Contracting with Wong-i had exposed my age—two years older than my registry said.
The Rovelen Ducal Family's bastard young master, older than claimed.
If Arwen wasn't an idiot, she'd noticed something off.
Ah, should have been more careful.
"How was I supposed to prepare for something I didn't even know..."
I'd bribed her for now... but it wasn't enough.
With the family's influence, she wouldn't blab yet. But if the duchy faltered and someone offered more...
"Ugh, I hate that scenario."
She'd chatted amiably, even visited periodically—I wanted to keep good relations.
But if betrayal loomed, I'd have to turn hostile.
For my survival.
"What comes to mind now: magic, artifacts, and the spirit?"
Arwen seemed to use fire-affinity magic, like her red hair.
She'd made a tiny fireball in front of me.
Affinity? No clue. I barely understood, and she hadn't shown much.
Artifacts... better be cautious; who knows what she's hiding.
The white rat spirit didn't seem impressive, but in a fight, it'd help somehow.
Grow bigger or fly around casting spells, maybe.
Best counter: the sword.
Mage or whatever, a stab to the heart drops anyone.
Ambush with Eirin, draw attention, close the distance...
"No idea..."
I pressed my increasingly heavy head and prayed nothing like that happened as I drifted to sleep.
Still, tell Eirin or Dort tomorrow.
"Young Master, are you aware of the sparring match scheduled with Lady Elena?"
"...Pardon?"
During my usual run around the estate followed by wooden sword swings,
the knight teaching me dropped it casually, like no big deal.
"Sparring? Me? With Sis?"
"Yes."
Lady Elena, firstborn of the swordmaster Rovelen family,
had fully inherited the talent of current sword saint and family head Alster Rovelen. She'd excelled since childhood.
In short... she's insanely strong.
"My skills aren't ready for sparring with anyone yet, right...?"
"Swordsmanship grows fastest in real combat. I'd step in if I could, but as a knight, I can't risk injuring you."
"...Even after this?"
I lifted my shirt with a wronged tone.
My abdomen, covered in bruises from wooden sword strikes.
What I'd learned since coming to the duchy were sword stances.
Block overheads like this, low waist attacks like that.
But as with all sword arts, it quickly moved to practice.
Blocking taught stances, the knight went, 'Oh? You blocked that? How about this? Oh, even this?' speeding up.
Unable to keep up, I took hits, and he said:
-Do you think enemies wait in real battle?
Beat me excitedly, then claims no injuries now?
"Yes."
"......"
...The knight was stoic, not a liar.
He genuinely believed bruises weren't injuries.
What abyss shaped that mindset?
Heard athletic corps hazing was brutal.
Medieval closed knight orders must be...
Hm.
Pity him later; I need to survive first.
"Still, taking Sis's time for me feels bad. The skill gap's huge too?"
Not even amateur; I'm a total newbie. Suddenly facing a pro? Too much.
All I could imagine was getting wrecked.
"It's fine. They insisted it's necessary for you."
"Really?"
"From what I heard, it's for power control practice."
So not dummy target damage testing.
Adjusting intensity against a bot?
"...What if control fails?"
"No issue. A temple priest will be on standby."
Priest, huh.
Having one ready means high failure odds.
"They can mend a bisected body quickly, though it'll hurt."
"No thanks."
Seemed I'd be dragged in, so I refused firmly.
I'm a ducal heir!
If I say no, they won't force me, right?
"The Duke commanded that if you refuse, drag you anyway."
"......"
"But also to relay this: 'If you achieve sufficient results in the spar, I'll grant one wish.' That's it."
That sly, reverse-psychology duke knew exactly how to handle me.
Not specifying me achieving it meant...
Even if I got one-hit KO, he could claim it helped Elena.
Wish as participation trophy, but motivates effort. Something like that.
Normally, I'd say he gives everything anyway, no need for a wish ticket.
But.
'Fewer things the duchy can do than expected.'
Duke's promises were noble youth perks.
Not full ducal power.
Meaning: for personal matters not benefiting the house, knights likely won't move.
But a wish-granted authority could change that.
'Can protect Bern and Riel under noble protection.'
Ah, feeling like I'm infiltrating the duchy more.
Just my imagination?
"...I'll do it."
"Wise choice."
Think of it as that old mascot gig.
Like holding signs, doing WWE bits, then getting mobbed by kids mid-fall.
Days later, at the training grounds in the knight order's grounds.
With nearly all the ducal knights gathered to watch.
"Whew, tight fit."
I was cinching the leather armor strapped all over me.
Back of hands, forearms, right chest, sides, thighs, calves.
A bit restrictive, but better than nothing. Really.
Bruises last longer than you'd think.
"To your positions-!"
With the shout from the obvious knight captain,
I slowly walked to the center.
Surrounding knights murmured.
Couldn't hear clearly, but probably:
-Hey! Didn't they say the Young Master has no talent?
-Haha, yeah! Down in the first clash?
-Why is Lady Elena doing this spar...
-Maybe... the Young Master has something we don't know...?
Something like that.
By cliché, I'd shatter expectations and win here.
'That'd make me a real scumbag.'
Generously, I'd barely held a sword weeks ago.
She's genius-trained since childhood with top talent.
Me winning? Wastes all her effort.
Even if possible, only a psychopath would.
"Hm."
Across: Elena in comfy training wear.
'...Why no leggings in this world.'
If she wore real ones, blasphemy—every knight here would gouge eyes.
But as her brother, it's fine, right?
Distance closing, eyes met.
First impression: beautiful.
Dark black hair swaying to her waist in the breeze.
If Riel's my cuteness #1 and dark horse Wong-i chases wildly,
Elena feels like art.
Pre-possession, eye contact would've been impossible.
Beauty past a point numbs you.
"Hoo."
I nodded slightly, scooped dirt from the ground,
slowly let it sift through fingers.
Hm, southeasterly.
Or whatever.
"Ready-!"
"Ah, one moment."
"...Any issues, Young Master Dane?"
"Not that... just need a quick word with Sis about the spar."
I approached without stance.
Max brotherly smile:
"Hi, Sis. First time face-to-face like this?"
"......"
"No biggie. Just yield first strike this spar—skill gap's huge."
"...First strike?"
"Yeah... give me first attack rights."
I explained: don't attack till I do.
Her brow twitched each "Sis," scary,
but.
'...Little bro role backfired?'
She knew the bastard plan fully.
Some alley rat boldly "bro"-ing her? Awkward.
I'd feel it too.
"Got it."
She nodded after my full explanation.
"Good, then that's the rule."
Back to position, eye signal: knight captain retreated, shouted.
"Spar starts on Young Master Dane's attack-!"
Ignoring his helpful exit,
I observed Elena's stance slowly.
Light wooden sword grip... no openings.
Any attack deflected easily.
But...
'As expected, no mana.'
No basic body reinforcement or her recently manifested aura.
She planned none for this spar.
Probably the power control condition.
So I...
"......?"
Stepped closer.
To touching distance.
"Hmm, hoo."
"...What're you doing?"
"Observing. Where to hit to win."
She flinched, leg back—but
"Hey, you yielded first strike? First attack rights."
"......"
Stopped at my words.
Limited attacks only; retreating fine.
Public debut spar, new rule—she wasn't sure.
I'd aimed for that.
Slowly dragged left foot between hers, whispered:
"What, Sis? Thought you were super pretty..."
"......"
"...All makeup, huh?"
"...!"
Her eyes widened—cue.
"Hup!"
Tripped her right leg with my extended foot,
swung wooden sword diagonally.
-Clack!
Blades clashed, crisp ring echoing.
Numb wrist pain signaled the spar's start.