Swordsmanship Tournament (3)
The Lenz Academy buzzed with crowds of people. The Lenz Academy, founded by the Knight King Lenz himself, had originally been dedicated to training knights. Over the centuries, it had shifted toward cultivating elites in various fields, but its roots remained firmly in knighthood. Built over nine hundred years ago, the academy upheld a cherished tradition of holding a swordsmanship tournament once a year. Winners of the tournament were immediately honored as the king's knights. Most of the knights who shone in historical battles had been champions of this very event. In modern times, it had evolved: victors graduated early and joined the royal guard. The events had been streamlined to just one—swordsmanship. In the early days, they competed in mounted combat, archery, spearmanship, shield work, and more, but now it was swords alone.
"This is really happening, right? Ellie, forfeit while you still can!"
In the waiting room for competitors, Daisy was making a fuss beside her.
"This is a swordsmanship tournament. They won't call it off for minor injuries or even defeat—they'll keep going until you're hurt bad enough to quit!"
"I know."
"Then forfeit now! Simon's really going to... torment you."
"Yeah, Ellie... you're strong, but he's a third-year taking knight classes."
"He won't go easy just 'cause you're a girl."
Her friends chimed in one by one, urging Elizabeth to withdraw. They were good friends. But Elizabeth shook her head and tended to her sword—a blunted training blade.
"Sorry. I'm competing. And I'm going to win."
There was no retreating now that she'd come this far. Faced with Elizabeth's resolute determination, her friends couldn't press her anymore.
"Next match! Second-year Class A, Elizabeth Valentine, versus third-year Class A, Simon Valdek. Competitors, please enter the arena."
Her name was called. Elizabeth waved to her friends and stepped out toward the arena.
"I'll be going."
"We'll cheer you on...!"
"Don't lose, no matter what!"
"We're on your side!"
She entered the arena. It was a circular dirt field, surrounded by tiered spectator stands. Simon appeared from the opposite side.
Woooaaah!
The crowd erupted in cheers at the competitors' entrance. The overwhelming size difference between the petite girl and the hulking brute. Girl versus boy. An underdog battle where victory seemed obvious always drew eyes. And with Elizabeth and Beatrice's backstory thrown in, the excitement was off the charts. The feverish atmosphere filled the vast arena. Their cheers pounded at her heart.
But Elizabeth calmly scanned the stands. Her friends were in the front row. Not who she was looking for.
...There he is.
Leo was seated midway up. At the sight, her heart—which had stayed quiet amid the roar—began to race fiercely. Her muscles tensed, her nerves sharpened.
Daughter, do your best.
Too far away, and too noisy—she couldn't hear Dad's voice. But she read his lips as he clenched his fist.
"Yeah, I'll do my best."
Elizabeth nodded. She drew her sword and turned her gaze to Simon. He smirked arrogantly.
"Don't be too scared. I'll end it quick."
"We'll see."
That was the end of the talk. The referee explained the rules: no eye gouges, no groin strikes, no blows to the back of the head. You lose if you're unable to continue fighting or if you surrender.
"Then... begin!"
The referee raised the flag to signal the start.
"Come on."
Simon grinned wickedly, arms spread wide as he advanced.
"Show me that fancy skill of yours."
He was already certain of victory. Elizabeth eyed him coolly. His cocky stance reminded her of her old self—showing off to Dad and getting shut down in one hit.
Simon was big. But smaller than Dad. His presence even smaller.
When you fight, just trust your sword. No hesitation—thrust it in.
She could almost hear Dad's low voice. Elizabeth did just that. Trusted her sword and lunged.
Clang!
"!!"
Simon, who barely blocked in haste, panicked. It wasn't fast. Wasn't strong. But it was tricky. The timing—striking right as it disrupted his breathing rhythm.
Elizabeth stepped to his outside, gaining the flank. She twisted her shoulders and slashed hard—not downward, but shearing across with a shwick.
Simon recovered his breath and blocked, countering. His blade grazed past Elizabeth's head. She'd dropped her weight to dodge. From there, she slipped under his armpit and struck his side.
Thud!
"Ugh."
The blunt steel sword hit his ribs, drawing an involuntary groan.
Wh-what the hell?
Simon, who'd expected an easy win, flinched after just one hit. He looked into Elizabeth's eyes. Unlike his own fear-stricken gaze, hers were utterly indifferent. She gripped her sword tight and closed in slowly.
The swordsmanship Elizabeth learned from Leo wasn't anything special. Just honed through endless, battle-like spars. She'd never beaten Leo once, but she'd turned every loss into strength.
Clang! Clang! Scraaape!
Simon tried to rely on his one advantage: raw power. He was stronger than Elizabeth, at least. But even that didn't work. Her constant sparring partner had been Leo—who never held back for his daughter. He'd overpower her, knock her down, disarm her. After enough beatings, she'd learned the counters.
Scraaape, grriiind.
Simon slashed down hard. Elizabeth tilted her blade to deflect it. With plenty of room to spare. Her golden hair swayed with her fluid movements.
"...This—!"
Simon was losing his cool. Losing to anyone stung, but to a junior girl? Humiliating. The crowd roared as the underdog dominated—the arena shook. Simon's friends hid their faces or hung their heads in shame. His sister Beatrice watched intently. Everyone foresaw his defeat.
He couldn't lose like this. He had to win. The right jolt of pain exploded his adrenaline—and his reason.
Simon stomped forward roughly, putting his full body weight into a massive overhead smash. The momentum was incomparable—heavy with pure fury, like rage itself had become the blade.
"Whoa?!"
"What the hell is he doing!?"
The edge was blunt, but the steel weapon might as well have been a sledgehammer. A direct hit would fell even an adult. Let alone a fifteen-year-old girl—her head wouldn't survive.
Whoooosh—!
The menacing blade plunged down in an instant. But Elizabeth was ready. She gripped her sword two-handed, raising it overhead in a half-swording stance.
Craaaunch!
The blades clashed, screeching with friction. Elizabeth dipped her knees slightly, took a measured breath, then smoothly pulled back, using the rebound to redirect Simon's force. Strength can't beat skill. Simon gritted his teeth and pushed, but balance had already tilted her way.
In that moment, Elizabeth twisted her blade into a rotation.
Thwack!
The pommel struck Simon's temple dead-on. His brain rattled; he dropped his sword and collapsed.
The referee rushed over, blinking at Simon's state. Unconscious.
"W-Winner! Second-year Class A top student, Elizabeth Valentine!"
Woooaaah!
The cheers rocked the arena.
No match had ever been this shocking. Later competitors put on fine shows, but they paled after Elizabeth's stunner. The victorious Elizabeth advanced, winning steadily through to the semifinals.
"Ahh... so close."
But in the semis, she faced a sixth-year senior in a fierce battle and fell short. He was from a knightly house—the royal guard captain's prized protégé, specially trained. The tournament was practically his coronation: win, graduate early, join the guard. Students, parents, knights—all had bet on him.
"Sniff, hic... waaah. Sob."
"It's okay. You did great. Losses happen."
"B-but it's so frustrating! Sniff."
Leo wiped Elizabeth's tears. They wouldn't stop. Pretending to cry, she burrowed deeper into his arms.
Aigoo, what to do with this kid.
"There, there. You tried your hardest. That's what matters, right?"
"...Yeah."
"Let's eat something delicious tonight. It's been ages since Dad took you out, huh?"
She nodded shyly, nose red.
Then Beatrice approached. Elizabeth instantly went expressionless, as if she'd never cried.
"...Elizabeth."
She spoke in a hesitant voice.
"Beatrice?"
"...Sorry. My brother went first."
Simon, beaten by Elizabeth, was supposed to apologize. But he'd run off.
"Then why'd you come?"
"To apologize..."
"You?"
Elizabeth didn't get it. Sure, Beatrice had been wrong back then, but it was ancient history—done and dusted. No need for her to apologize.
"Sir, I'm truly sorry."
Suddenly, Beatrice bowed deeply to Leo in front of everyone—exposing the crown of her head.
"...Back then, I said such awful things. I'm sorry. I was jealous of Elizabeth. So... I'm really, truly sorry."
"..."
Beatrice didn't lift her head.
"You can look up now."
Only after Leo spoke did she raise it, eyes glistening.
"You're still young. Sure, being young doesn't excuse it. But what matters is if you're sincerely sorry. Uncle thinks that's enough."
"Thank you..."
Beatrice sniffled and turned to Elizabeth.
"...Sorry to you too, Elizabeth. Because of me. Your father..."
"Said your brother would do it instead?"
Elizabeth stared at her with an inscrutable expression.
"N-No! That's not it. I just... said horrible things back then and wanted to apologize..."
"Fine."
"Huh?"
"Apology accepted."
Elizabeth said it and walked past Beatrice.
"See you tomorrow."
"T-Tomorrow?"
"At school tomorrow. You weren't planning to pretend we don't know each other, right?"
Elizabeth flashed a bright smile.
After parting with Beatrice, an inexplicable sense of fulfillment welled up.
"Mr. Valentine."
A familiar voice called them.
"Hildegard."
Leo called her name, and she tipped the brim of her military cap in salute. A dozen soldiers stood behind her.
"You watched the tournament too?"
The age gap let him drop formalities.
"Here for security. Got to see an excellent match because of it. Pleased to meet you, Elizabeth Valentine."
Hildegard looked at Elizabeth. Elizabeth met her gaze evenly, looking up.
"Hello. Pleased to meet you."
Her tone was stiffer than Hildegard's military one. Hildegard faltered slightly and glanced at Leo. He shrugged.
"Kid's in a mood. Close loss and all."
"Even that is impressive. Your opponent was the guard captain's star pupil. Shame about the loss, but don't be too down, Miss Valentine. You were splendid."
"Yes."
The conversation lapsed awkwardly. After a brief silence, Hildegard checked her pocket watch.
"We'll head out first."
"Yeah, go ahead."
Hildegard, still on duty, led her soldiers away.
"That's the woman, huh."
"Yeah."
Elizabeth stared at Hildegard's retreating back, then turned away.
Elizabeth felt her good mood plummet. She was supposed to have a nice dinner with Dad, and that woman showed up. Tall, decent-looking soldier girl.
Smoothly, Leo took Elizabeth's hand—first time in ages.
She flinched, shoulders twitching. Her ears peeked red through her golden hair. The gloom lifted; her mood brightened again.
Right—dinner with Dad after so long.
They'd walked a bit when Leo stopped. Dull thuds of a beating echoed from nearby.
"Dad?"
"Hold on."
Leo let go and headed over. Elizabeth rubbed her empty palm and followed.
They passed a bumpy alley. The thumps grew louder. Then the scene of violence: several men savagely beating a girl. If no one stopped them, she might die.
"Ellie, stay back."
Leo's voice was ice-cold.
"I'll stay with you."
Elizabeth hung back a few steps—close enough to jump in if a fight broke out.
"Who the hell are you? Scram."
"Hey, don't wanna see ugly stuff? Keep walking."
The men growled.
"Let her go, and I'll leave."
Leo pointed to the girl crumpled amid them—face a swollen mess of bruises.
"Piss off. We're legally collecting. She borrowed money and won't pay."
"Yeah, over ten million hats."
The girl cried out.
"N-No! I borrowed 700,000 hats a month ago!"
"Dumbass? You know interest?"
"B-But how's the interest...!"
"Shut it."
A man yanked her hair, forcing her face up.
"Get it now? We're just here for the loan. None of your business—beat it."
Leo couldn't just walk away. He wasn't saintly, but he had enough conscience to deal with trash like this. He strode toward the men.
And in a flash, struck their necks. Too fast for their eyes. The three dropped like marionettes with cut strings.
"Huh?"
The girl made a dazed noise. Leo knelt to her eye level on one knee.
"Can you stand?"
"Y-Yeah, just... ugh!"
Her leg was hurt; she couldn't rise.
"Let me check."
Leo knelt fully, gently palpating her ankle with care. It was swollen.
"Too rough to walk. Uncle'll carry you to the hospital."
"Huh? N-No! I'm fine."
"No, you're not. Stay still. 'Scuse me."
Leo piggybacked her. She yelped in surprise, arms around his neck—then clung tight. Her face rubbed against his nape and jaw.
"..."
Elizabeth watched blankly with sunken eyes.
"Ellie. Let's go."
"To the hospital?"
"Yeah."
It was a thirty-minute walk. Seriously? What about dinner? Elizabeth wanted to ask but held back. A good, pretty daughter wouldn't.
They went to the hospital.
"Sophia, huh? Pretty name."
"Th-Thank you..."
"Aigoo, such a pretty face all busted up. Face feel okay? Not hurting?"
"I'm fine... hehe."
Elizabeth trailed a few steps behind.
"..."
Dad chatted away with some stranger, ignoring her. The girl on his back grinned foolishly, hugging his neck tighter—while sneaking indifferent glances back at Elizabeth.
Meaningless eyes. The girl faced forward casually and resumed talking to Dad.
Grind.
Elizabeth ground her teeth.