Swordsmanship Tournament (1)
“When the hell are you going to get married?”
Hildegard slowly lifted her head. Her father scowled at her attitude of ignoring him.
“You’re twenty-four now. You’ve long passed the age to marry. What are you waiting for if not marriage?”
“He says he doesn’t like me.”
“That’s because you’re being as stubborn as a rock! It’s been four years since you started seeing Drewber!”
It was a crude suggestion to sleep with him. From her own father, no less. Hildegard replied with a heart that had long gone cold.
“Our family’s principle is premarital chastity.”
“You’re bringing up house laws from four hundred years ago?”
“Even after a thousand years, house laws are house laws.”
“Are those outdated laws more precious to you than your brother? You know how much debt he’s drowning in.”
“That’s Brother’s problem.”
“You frustrating bitch.”
He spat the curse like phlegm and rose with a scrape of his chair. He glared at her in contempt, slammed the door, and left.
No need to see him off.
Hildegard glanced at her father’s retreating back and stood.
He came once a week like clockwork, nagging her about marriage. When he couldn’t make it, her mother came instead. They wanted this marriage that badly.
Drewber Falkmark was the only son of a count’s family. His house was renowned, with deep ties in the military. They owned a major trading company and were wealthy to boot. Her parents wanted her married off quickly so they could get the money to clear her brother’s debts.
Half her salary already went toward paying off her brother’s debts, but it barely covered the interest. The principal hadn’t budged.
Hildegard visited Drewber’s house for the first time in ages. He’d begged her to come.
“Ahh, Oppa, Oppa…”
As soon as she entered the entryway, a woman’s moans reached her ears. There were two pairs of shoes by the door. One man’s, one woman’s.
Hildegard didn’t show it, but her heart pounded wildly. The woman’s moans grew louder in response. A man’s panting joined in. It was Drewber.
She took a deep breath and strode into the living room without removing her shoes. The moans intensified. The bed creaked, flesh slapped against flesh in raw detail.
She wondered if this was a dream, but a swordmaster’s senses were precise. She heard every unwanted gasp and grunt from the man and woman.
The bedroom door hung wide open. She hadn’t wanted to see, but she did.
“Feels that good, you slut!?”
Drewber vulgarly swung his hand. A sharp slap echoed.
They moved frantically in a filthy, unspeakable position. Hildegard calmed her roiling emotions and stepped toward the master bedroom door, positioning herself to see the bed.
Only then did Drewber notice her. But instead of shock, he grinned like he was enjoying it.
“You’re here?”
“W-who’s that?”
“Work colleague.”
What followed was a nauseating parade of moments. Even caught in adultery, Drewber was brazen. He flaunted his grotesque manhood, looking down at her.
“Be honest. Isn’t it too much that in four years we haven’t even kissed?”
“Wow, she’s really something! If that’s how it was, why date her?”
“Drewber Falkmark is the one who asked to date.”
The woman, barely covering her chest with a towel, spoke from beside him, leaning into his arms like they were already lovers.
“That’s why I told you. Let’s get married.”
“Hildegard. You’re really dense. Shouldn’t we check our compatibility before marriage? Right?”
“Don’t make excuses. You never intended to marry me anyway.”
“You’re the one being dense! Do you know how much I held back before calling another woman?”
“Then end it there. Why call me? With the bedroom door wide open, no less.”
“Do I have to spell it out?”
Four years of affection shattered in an instant. She wasn’t even sure it had existed. Drewber had pursued her, and she’d gone along in a daze because of his family’s good name.
“...We’re done.”
“Where you going?”
“You don’t need to know anymore.”
Hildegard left Drewber’s house. He followed her to the entryway in brief confusion, then returned to the bedroom with the woman in his arms. What they’d do next was obvious.
She’d been openly cuckolded, but she wasn’t angry. She’d never expected anything from him to begin with. She hadn’t loved him, so of course she wasn’t mad.
Drewber, whom she’d first met at the officer academy, had confessed to her. She’d refused at first, but he’d sweet-talked her parents. With her parents and brother foaming at the mouth to date him, she’d just gone along.
Looking back, she’d never felt a thrill during their time together. So she wasn’t angry... but she was disappointed.
Her parents, who’d rejoiced and danced at the news of dating Drewber. Her brother, thrilled that the debt light would finally lift. The man who’d wanted her body, not her heart.
Disillusionment settled over everything. It was the deepest disappointment of her life.
Recalling a subordinate’s words about drowning sorrows in drink, she wandered into the first bar she found. She’d never set foot in one, so she headed to the red-light district.
One Drink of Anguish. The name suited her mood. She stepped inside without hesitation.
But unlike the name, the place reeked not of anguish but of lust. Men bantered with whores.
Having just witnessed fresh debauchery, her mood soured further. As she considered leaving, she spotted a man sitting alone in a dim corner.
Jet-black hair, blue eyes. He radiated the same anguish she felt.
She changed her mind and approached him.
After handing off the beast cleanup to the police, Leo chatted with her elsewhere.
“Once a week, like this.”
“Once a week... sounds good.”
Hildegard hadn’t expected things to turn out like this. She’d only suggested dating in a drunken whim, never thinking he’d accept. But the words were out, and she couldn’t take them back.
Besides, this man seemed decent. Far better than Drewber. He didn’t boast. His gestures were humble, his words considerate. He surpassed Drewber inwardly and outwardly.
The only issue was status. He was a commoner; she, a noble. If her family found out, they’d erupt. How dare she date a commoner? Why discard a count like Drewber?
Let them.
Hildegard smiled. Imagining her family throwing a fit actually eased her mind.
“See you later, then.”
The man—Leo—waved and vanished. Hildegard started to wave back, then caught herself and lowered her hand.
She got home at 1 a.m. thanks to the beast. Leo clutched his throbbing temples from the booze and opened the door.
The dark living room greeted him. Only the clock’s ticking broke the silence.
Elizabeth would be asleep by now, naturally.
He stripped off his clothes and headed to the bathroom.
“Where’ve you been?”
A cold voice came from behind. Elizabeth.
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking up at him. She wore a thin white nightgown that hinted at her figure.
I asked, “What’re you doing up this late?”
“You’ve been drinking?”
“...Yeah, had a few.”
“Drinking?”
“Yeah.”
“Just drinking?”
“...What’s that supposed to mean?”
Elizabeth stared at Leo intently. His nose and cheeks were flushed. He smelled of alcohol. He’d really been drinking.
But had it really just been drinking? Something felt off, but without proof, she couldn’t press.
“...”
“Nothing to say? Then go to bed. Dad’s gonna wash up and sleep.”
I showered. When I came out, Elizabeth was gone to her room.
Since the day I’d been summoned to school, things between father and daughter had grown awkward. Over a month had passed, but we couldn’t return to our playful banter. William, Betty, Nodis—they said time would heal it, but I wasn’t so sure.
Apart from the strained father-daughter bond, Elizabeth’s school life had returned to normal. She’d beaten Beatrice badly back then, but the reason was deemed justified, earning her sympathy. Honor-obsessed nobles understood. They’d snap too if their parent suffered such humiliation.
Friends even approached her more than before. Leo’s job had come out, causing a stir at the time, but it had blown over. Students excluding pureblood nobles gathered around Elizabeth for her character and personality.
Some people naturally drew others without trying. It wasn’t learned—it was innate. Born leaders.
Beatrice hadn’t picked fights or hovered since. She could’ve gloated about making Elizabeth’s dad kneel, but she just hung with her friends.
Just as that ordinary routine settled in...
“You Elizabeth Valentine?”
The old Valdek lady had forgiven the Valentines, but not all Valdeks followed her. Beatrice’s brother, who’d seen her battered face, was one such.
On her way home from school, a burly upperclassman blocked her path. His shoulder cape marked him as a third-year.
“Bro! Don’t do it!”
“Quiet, Beatrice. You gonna let a Valdek humiliation slide?”
Beatrice tried pulling him back, but the brute didn’t budge. He jabbed a finger at the impassive Elizabeth.
“They say you’re good with a sword. Fight me, then. Stop bullying the weak.”
“Out of nowhere?”
“Next month’s swordsmanship tournament. What do you say?”
Lenz Academy held sword tournaments periodically per tradition. But still.
His sudden challenge stunned not just Elizabeth’s friends, but even Beatrice.
“That’s ridiculous!”
“You’re a third-year! And you’ve had knight training!”
“It’s unfair!”
“Yeah, bro. I’m fine, so why...”
Beatrice tugged her brother’s arm desperately. Even she looked troubled.
“Not asking you lot. Elizabeth Valentine. Win, and I’ll do anything you want. Lose, and you kneel this time—not your dad.”
Daisy exploded. “Elizabeth! Don’t! Just refuse—”
“Fine.”
Elizabeth met the brute’s eyes squarely. “But if you lose, prepare to apologize.”
Just as the Valdeks hadn’t forgotten their humiliation, neither had Elizabeth. Her dad—innocent—had knelt because of her. She’d win and repay it in kind.
Dear Guardian of Elizabeth Valentine,
The academy will soon host its periodic swordsmanship tournament. If your schedule permits, we invite you to attend as a spectator.
Date: [Next month, exact date TBD]
Participants include:
- Elizabeth Valentine
We look forward to your support.
— Lenz Academy Administration
“Swordsmanship tournament?”
Leo checked the mail and opened the letter from school.
“Less than two weeks left.”
Without much thought, he scanned the participant list.
—Elizabeth Valentine.
...?
Thinking he’d misread, he checked again. The name hadn’t changed.
“This is why she’s been off since morning.”
I descended the apartment stairs to the yard. Elizabeth swung her sword in one corner.
“Elizabeth! You entering the sword tournament?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it change anything?”
“Dad could help a bit.”
“You?”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at me, skepticism plain.
“Yeah. Dad was a mercenary once. Knows a little swordplay.”
“...Fine. Show me.”
Elizabeth responded indifferently. No way Dad was skilled. Untrained, he just did construction—swordplay? Still, spending time with Dad was reason enough not to refuse.
Leo fetched a wooden sword from home. Father and daughter faced off, ready for sparring.
“Dad.”
“Yeah.”
“Know who teaches my swordsmanship?”
“No. Who?”
Leo stretched languidly. Dormant muscles loosened pleasurably.
“Sir Oto of the Glory Sword.”
“Oh, heard of him.”
Sir Oto of the Glory Sword was a former royal guard captain. A swordmaster who shone in wars.
“Yeah. I train under him—top of the class. Honestly, nothing to learn sword-wise from you.”
Elizabeth stated it flatly, watching Leo’s face. She’d said it harshly on purpose, but he seemed unfazed. He even smiled leisurely.
“Daughter. You know you’ll look bad if you lose after talking like that?”
“Won’t happen.”
Whoosh. Wind blew—a signal.
They assumed stances. Leo’s was standard, sword raised. Elizabeth’s...
“Elly, what’s that stance?”
Leo’s expression hardened. Elizabeth stood bow-legged, sword dangling. The tip nearly touched the ground. No swordsman’s ready pose.
“Can’t go all out against Dad.”
Meaning she ranked higher.
“No need for that.”
“Come at me first.”
A look for the weak. That’s what her eyes held. The leisure of the strong.
Didn’t expect this treatment.
Leo found being condescended to in swordplay bewildering—especially by his own daughter.
Elizabeth had been rough for a reason. Not just to crush his ego.
...I’ll show him my superiority.
Dad saw her as someone to protect. Still a fragile, weak girl needing safeguarding.
Elizabeth was strong. No student save knight-trained boys could beat her. She’d properly mastered Sir Oto’s techniques.
Now I’ll protect Dad.
Elizabeth renewed her solemn vow, gazing at her beloved man.
Leo gripped his sword. “Then I won’t hold back.”
No point lecturing an arrogant daughter. Better one experience than a thousand words.
Leo raised his sword overhead and charged. Wind parted around his head. He exhaled, slashing down.
Elizabeth met it head-on, twisting her tip toward the ground to deflect. Textbook, one-sided.
Leo reversed the deflecting force, spinning his blade. It whirled once and rested at Elizabeth’s exposed neck.
“Huh?”
Elizabeth’s languid eyes widened like saucers.
“Told you, no need for mercy.”
Leo withdrew his sword. The bout ended before she could react.
“...Again.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Some trick he’d picked up—who knew where—but luck. Just luck. She wouldn’t fall for it twice.
“Sure.”
Leo shrugged, stepping back. Elizabeth’s eyes turned serious. She dropped the cocky stance, raised her sword properly, widened her footing.
“Come at me first.”
Leo said, face brimming with ease. It irked her for some reason.
Hah.
Elizabeth lunged. Light, fast. She closed in instantly, mimicking Leo—overhead raise, slash down.
It looked identical. But to Leo’s eyes, slow.
Clang.
Leo caught with one hand on blade, one on hilt. Sword horizontal, blocking her vertical strike. Half-swording. He shoved the hilt end hard, twisting sharply.
Elizabeth’s blade caught on his guard and bent. Clatter.
The sudden force made her drop it. Her sword rolled across the ground.
She snatched it up immediately. “Again.”
“Anytime.”
Cling!
“Again.”
“Okay.”
Grind, clatter...
“Again...!”
“Yeah.”
Cling, cling, cling!
“...Again.”
“Daughter.”
“What.”
Elizabeth panted, raising her sword. Sweat glistened on her body. Stray hairs stuck to face and neck. Sweat from her brow beaded on lashes, blurring vision. Heart hammered. Palms throbbed near bleeding from impacts.
Weird? This can’t be? Why’s he so strong?
“Let’s rest a bit.”
Leo, meanwhile, looked as fresh as when he’d drawn his sword. Face pristine, breathing steady. Without the sword, you’d think he hadn’t moved.
“No. Again.”
Dozens of clashes, Leo won every time. Elizabeth lost every time.
It felt so close. Just a bit more...!
“Alright, let’s go.”
Leo read the competitive fire in her eyes. He’d been going easy, but it had stoked her too much. Time to end it.
Sip. He inhaled deeply, tensing muscles.
They readied. Signal: a falling leaf. Unspoken, but set over repeated bouts.
The leaf dropped. No sound, but it began.
This time I win!
Elizabeth surged forward—but froze. A blade hovered before her eyes. Inches from contact.
When...?
“...”
Leo was suddenly beside her. He patted her stunned shoulder.
“That’s enough, right?”