Swordsmanship Tournament (2)
“...What mercenary group were you in, anyway?”
The father and daughter paused under the shade of a tree for a moment's rest. A cool breeze brushed past Leo and Elizabeth. Elizabeth wiped the sweat from her neck and collarbone with a towel and said,
“Even though I'm young, Sir Otto acknowledged my skills.”
“I just wandered around a lot. Nothing particularly impressive.”
“That's not—”
“Anyway.” I patted Elizabeth's shoulder and stood up. “Want to learn from Dad? Swordsmanship, I mean.”
“...Sure.”
Elizabeth had been defeated. Utterly defeated in the swordsmanship she prided herself on.
...Come to think of it, Dad's body was never ordinary.
Elizabeth had glimpsed her father's naked body at times. It was packed with muscle, like an ancient statue. The difference from a statue was the scars—countless ones.
At first, she thought they were from construction work. Manual labor leaves plenty of wounds. But.
They were all sword scars.
It wasn't a guess; it was certain. Once she started training with the sword, she could see it. Every scar etched into her father's body had been carved by a blade. Not labor.
Dad... is strong enough that he doesn't need me to protect him.
Sir Otto of the Glory Sword. It was still hard to believe, but her father seemed even stronger. How to put it? His style was different.
Sir Otto wielded heavy, textbook swordsmanship—like a proper knight. Dad, on the other hand, was concise and swift. He dismantled his opponent like butchering prey, sword and body alike. You could see the intent behind it.
But I can protect Dad in other ways.
The world didn't run solely on raw power. Politics, money, honor. There were mountains of things power alone couldn't solve. In that sense, Dad only had his strength. No power, no money, no fame.
Elizabeth decided to focus on filling those gaps.
That aside.
What kind of past did he have?
Looking back, she knew little of her father's history. When she asked about her mother, he'd brush it off vaguely. When she probed about the old days like now, he'd just say he was a mercenary.
Dad had skills approaching Swordmaster level—maybe even equal. With that kind of talent, he could've been welcomed anywhere... So why wasn't he?
She was curious but didn't ask. He'd answer any other question, but never about his past.
“Swordsmanship isn't that hard. Just put some acceleration into it and slice the enemy like you're carving them up.”
Dad demonstrated right beside her. No wasted motion, lightning-fast. A true master's measure wasn't flashiness, but fundamentals. All the showy moves in the world mean nothing if the basics are hollow. That lesson was worth more than gold—from someone who'd fought countless real battles.
But Elizabeth couldn't focus at all.
...It smells so good.
She tilted her head slightly, inhaling the faint scent wafting from her father. A stimulating aroma burrowing into her nostrils. The musky sweat of a man.
Normally, she'd recoil. But strangely, now it felt like perfume. No repulsion—just a desire to get closer. Close enough to bury herself in it and breathe him in forever...
“Ellie.”
“Huh, what?”
“What are you doing with your eyes closed?”
Without realizing, she'd shut out her sight to savor the smell. She snapped her eyes open to find Dad staring at her. His natural breath grazed her lips and nose.
“Dad...”
Elizabeth called to him, her own breath mingling slightly. It traveled up his face, brushing his eyes. He blinked at her exhale. That tiny exchange sent a thrill through her.
“What is it, Elizabeth?”
“I didn't hear. Explain it again.”
“I told you to focus. How are you top of your second-year class?”
Dad teased playfully.
“Nothing else to it. Last explanation: concise and fast. No need for fancy, complicated techniques.”
“So just stick to the basics?”
“Put simply, yeah. The key is not being bound by forms.”
Elizabeth finally focused for real. This moment was nice, but she had to win the tournament for Dad.
“In a fight, just trust your sword. No hesitation—thrust it out.”
As she trained diligently, Elizabeth thought,
I'll sneak his clothes into my room later.
Leo, who never broke a sweat sparring with her, was now drenched teaching her. His light shirt breathed well but soaked easily. Half of it clung wetly. The sour sweat smell hung in the air.
But to her, it was more intoxicating than any perfume.
That night.
“Huh? Elizabeth, have you seen my shirt from earlier?”
“Shirt? Which one?”
Leo had lost a shirt.
*
As the swordsmanship tournament drew near, Elizabeth's skills improved by leaps and bounds. Gone were the weird tricks and gimmicks; she honed a fundamentals-based style, adaptable to irregularities.
She's a real genius.
Leo watched Elizabeth perform her sword dance. Just two weeks. Hardly enough time for noticeable growth.
Yet now, she was completely different from two weeks ago.
With this talent, if she focused solely on the sword, she'd be a Swordmaster before twenty.
That was Elizabeth's caliber.
“All done.”
Elizabeth finished her sword dance. It was stringing together basic forms—a routine Leo did often too.
Leo approached. Time to teach the final technique.
“Half-swording. One way to beat a stronger opponent.”
Leo gripped the blade and hilt to demonstrate. Half-swording meant wielding the sword by the blade with your hand. Used against power clashes or counters. Risky with a sharp edge, but effective when mastered.
“Like you did?”
“Yeah. Try an overhead strike.”
Elizabeth raised her sword overhead and brought it down. Leo caught it with half-swording, absorbing the blow.
“From here, twist to thrust, or reverse and smash their head with the pommel.”
He demonstrated.
Moments later, Leo attacked, and Elizabeth half-sworded. Clang. She handled it effortlessly, then went further—aiming her sword tip at Leo's throat.
Half-swording wasn't hard if you grasped centrifugal force. Elizabeth did, and after a few tries, wielded it masterfully.
“Good job.”
Leo sheathed his sword and ruffled her hair. Affection and love poured through.
Elizabeth purred like a cat, nuzzling into him.
Over the past two weeks, she'd become a different person. As if all her recent worries were overblown, she'd been lavishing him with adorable affection. Like the old Elizabeth was back.
The old guys were right after all. Puberty passes with time.
She'd snuggle into his arms whenever she could. Like now, rubbing her face against his cheek and nape.
Like she was a cat or something.
“What, puberty over already?”
“Maybe. But Dad.”
Elizabeth smiled, slowly interlocking fingers with Leo's. She rubbed her pale, delicate hand against his large one, overlapping them.
“Why do you come home late every Friday night?”
“Told you. Meeting a friend.”
“Really?”
“...You doubting me? That hurts.”
“You smell like a woman, that's why I'm asking.”
Dog nose, huh. Leo averted his eyes from hers.
Every Friday, he met Hildegard at a quiet tavern. They'd drink, talk, and part ways. That was it.
“Answer me. Huh? Is it really just a friend?”
Elizabeth stared at Leo unblinking. Her eyes held no emotion, like a doll's. She already knew.
“...No.”
Caught, Leo admitted it. A guy with a kid meeting someone new might feel off. From Elizabeth's view, even though her birth mom was gone, it was basically Dad cheating.
“You're seeing a woman.”
“Yeah.”
“I see.”
Surprisingly, Elizabeth's expression was normal. Her usual faint smile.
Leo didn't know how hard she'd clenched her facial muscles to keep from twisting.
Smooth.
Elizabeth pushed Leo's chest and hooked her leg. He toppled onto the grass.
Thud.
Leo played along with his daughter's prank. Elizabeth flashed a seductive smile. The follow-up was a bit risky.
She straddled the fallen Leo, looming over him like a predator. Her soft golden hair draped down, tickling his face. On purpose, maybe.
Then she went cat-like, pressing her body close. Breasts against his chest, face nestled in his nape. She gazed up at him with dizzying eyes. Their fingers still interlocked.
“Enough, enough. What's with the sudden clinginess?”
As the mood turned strange, Leo sat up. Elizabeth obediently pulled away.
“What's she like?”
Elizabeth asked with a smile. Her eyes weren't smiling.
“What's her job? Tall? Pretty?”
“Aigoo, that jealous already?”
“Answer me.”
She pressed relentlessly, leaning her face against his chest. Sticky with sweat, but even that felt good. Beneath the firm muscle, she heard Dad's heartbeat.
Thump, thump...
That woman gets this every time. Squeeze... Elizabeth's hand on his chest balled into a fist.
Oblivious, Leo answered honestly.
“She's an amazing woman. I can't figure out why she'd go out with me.”
“She asked you out?”
“Yeah. She confessed first. But I think it wasn't serious. Her ex cheated, so probably on a rebound.”
“Ah.”
She laughed. This time, her eyes laughed too. The fist relaxed.
Dad didn't confess first. That bitch did.
“But why's my daughter entering the swordsmanship tournament?”
“Just because.”
“Just because?”
“Yeah. Just entering, that's all.”
Elizabeth hugged his neck, dodging the question. As her soft cheek rubbed against him, Leo let it slide. He changed the subject.
“Good thing.”
“Why?”
“My girl's puberty is over.”
“Disappointed? Should I stay in puberty longer?”
“You rascal.”
Leo kneaded Elizabeth's cheeks like mochi, playing with the mischievous girl. She savored his touch.
Elizabeth had ended her puberty. Or rather, decided to.
Dad no longer felt distant. No—he was too lovable.
The rivalry of love had been too much for a pubescent daughter. But now she knew: a doting daughter was far more effective.
For Dad's love, she'd set aside her pride.
And finally, she realized.
This wasn't mere familial affection. Her feelings for Dad were far more complex... and deep.