Date (2)
Friday, 9 p.m. I waited for her at the grand fountain in Lenz. Sitting on the bench, idly watching people pass by for a few minutes, I spotted her approaching from afar. She was a head taller than the average woman. Taller than most men, she was impossible to miss. But she was walking with her head bowed low. Her long black hair shrouded her face. I could see passersby stealing glances at her.
"I'm over h—"
I stood to call out but froze. Her appearance was visually striking right now. Even in a large officer's coat, Hildegard von Quyrhalstein's glamorous figure was evident. But in a dress? Her curves were blatantly on display. Her sleek abs were even visible. The abs were tame by comparison; her chest was the real problem. I forced my gaze upward from where it kept drifting, meeting her golden eyes.
She spotted me and hurried over. Only then did I see her face clearly. It was flushed beet red. Her eagle-like eyes, usually so stern, darted around like a child's, avoiding mine.
"Hey. You, uh, look nice."
"…I didn't have anything else to wear."
She jumped straight to excuses. She knew exactly how her outfit looked. She had to—it was impossible not to notice once she stepped outside. People stared openly, especially the men.
"Same here. I just buy a few things and wear them into the ground."
I tried to put her at ease. A woman with only two outfits to her name? Any other woman saying that would sound like a lie, but for Hildegard von Quyrhalstein, it rang true. She always showed up to our Friday evenings in uniform, after all.
"But… why'd you bring the sword?"
I pointed to the blade hanging at her waist. A dress obviously couldn't accommodate a sheath, so she'd rigged up a separate belt. A belt and sword over a dress—what an eccentric combo.
"It's my family's sword. I always carry it."
"…Got it. Where to? Anywhere you wanna go?"
"I don't know. I've never been anywhere."
"How about Lenz Grand Park? They say couples go there a lot."
"C-couples."
The word carried an embarrassed echo. This was the first time we'd met outside evening hours. The warm morning sunlight lifted my spirits. The sky was clear, children's laughter rang out. The atmosphere buzzed with brightness and energy.
I started walking. Honestly, dating was new territory for me too. But I'd picked up tips from watching others. First stop: the nearby market. Weren't dates all about sharing experiences?
The market brimmed with street food stalls. I bought some soy-glazed chicken skewers and spicy ones.
"Wanna try these?"
"These?"
"Chicken skewers. Never had 'em?"
"No."
"Give it a go. They're good."
Hildegard bit into the sweetly sauced skewer. Her eyes widened.
"How is it?"
"Delicious…"
Her cute reaction made me offer mine—the spicy ones.
"Try mine too. Different flavor."
"Thank you."
Crunch.
"!!!"
Her face heated up instantly after one bite. Her fair skin turned fiery red. Tears welled at the corners of her sharp eyes. Hildegard glared at me through teary eyes, fanning her mouth with her gloved hand. She huffed and puffed, desperately trying to cool the burn.
I handed her the water I'd prepared. She gulped it down in a panic. Calming slightly, she shot a glare at me—laughing my ass off.
"…Leo Valentine. Having fun?"
"Sorry. Didn't think it'd be that spicy for you."
"…If you're sorry, stop laughing."
Even as she said it, her angry-kid face only made me laugh harder.
"Sorry, sorry. But wouldn't it be better to take off the gloves? Aren't you hot?"
I glanced at her gloves—gray, matching her dress.
"I'm fine. I prefer wearing them."
I'd never seen Hildegard without gloves. Even at the bar, she wore her military ones. I always wore mine too, so I figured she had her reasons and let it drop.
Next, we headed to a salon. No way was she spending the whole date in that ill-fitting dress.
"Your height, by any chance…?"
"181 cm."
"One moment… let's see if we have anything that fits."
The salon madam rummaged through the dressing room.
"Ah! Got one that should work perfectly. How about this?"
It was a refreshing blue dress with shoulder straps, leaving her neck, shoulders, and collarbone exposed.
"How much?"
"1.3 million Hatz."
Prices at a high-end salon were brutal.
"…"
Hildegard looked troubled. As a major, her salary was around 5 million Hatz a month. But she sent half—2.5 million—to her brother, and after allowances for her parents, estate upkeep, food, and miscellany, she had almost nothing left.
"Here."
I pulled out the cash without hesitation.
"Mr. Valentine, you don't have to. This dress is fine."
"What do you mean 'fine'? It's falling apart. That's what guys are for."
"…I'll pay you back next month, for sure."
We caught a circus show, arriving early enough for front-row seats.
Whoosh!
The acrobat spewed fire. He held oil in his mouth and spat it onto a torch for an instant blaze. No magic involved—mages considered themselves too noble for such entertainment.
"Behold, the man who cannot die! No matter how many times—slash!—you strike, his neck won't sever!"
A woman swung at the man's fixed neck. Not holding back—she put her full weight into it with a razor-sharp real sword.
Hildegard watched, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
He's got monster shell layered finely around his neck.
As a mage, I could sense the magical armor on the man's neck. That shell would snap the sword instead.
"Unbelievable, right? Then come up and try cutting his neck yourself! You there, beautiful lady! Care to swing a sword?"
"…Me?"
Hildegard, quietly spectating, found herself on stage.
"You're, uh, quite tall."
"Like this?"
She took the longsword—keenly honed—and gripped it naturally.
"Yes! Swing with all your might!"
"All my might… Understood."
Something felt off. In that instant, Hildegard's aura shifted; golden mana rippled along the blade.
"Huh?"
The man's smug smile faltered as his eyes widened. The woman panicked, and the audience gawked.
Hildegard inhaled deeply. Before she could truly slash, I rushed onstage, grabbing her hand and shoulder to stop her.
"Mr. Valentine?"
"Haha, sorry about that. Let's go, Hildegard."
She turned, sword mid-swing. I apologized profusely to the near-dead acrobat and dragged her out of the tent.
"Why? It was the key moment."
"…You thought that guy could take a hit from your sword?"
"He couldn't?"
"…"
Her innocent reply. A full-power Sword Master strike severs anything.
"You're a Sword Master. You have to be careful."
"Not yet. I'm far from it."
"…Far from it?"
What more was she aiming for?
"I dream higher. The realm of the ancient Sword Masters."
She gazed skyward, golden eyes distant. She answered more seriously than I'd expected.
"Ancient Sword Masters, huh…"
In this era of guns, cannons, and trains, a Sword Master gets pulverized by a locomotive or obliterated by artillery. But back in the barbaric early medieval days? Different story. An age of spears, swords, blood, and thundering hooves. Sword Masters then were monsters incarnate.
"As you know, modern Sword Masters qualify just by handling mana."
"Yeah."
"But not in the old days. They wielded Aura."
Ancient Sword Masters wielded Aura—a power fundamentally distinct from mana. Swordsmanship realms divide into three: Sword User, Sword Expert, Sword Master. Users are ordinary swordsmen. Experts handle mana. Masters wield Aura.
"I'm just a Sword Expert, not a Sword Master."
Over time, Aura users vanished. Ten years of sword training couldn't match a month's rifle drill. The age of blades and spears had faded. Elite knights were still trained in small numbers, but for how long?
The World Swordsmanship Association lowered the bar. No Aura swordsmen left, so mana handlers got the title.
"Why the sword obsession?"
I asked. From our first meeting, she'd talked swords and chivalry.
"…For my grandfather. He was a Sword Master. Not some half-baked mana user—a true one, wielding Aura. I must restore his honor."
"For real? Fewer than three in the last century. Who?"
"…"
She averted her eyes. Too personal? She wasn't the lying type. So, a genuine ancient Aura Sword Master. Names floated up, but I shook my head.
Whatever.
No point prying if she's hiding it. She'll tell when ready—or not.
"Getting hungry. Dinner? I booked a restaurant."
I stood from the bench, offering my hand. She took it and rose.
*
The restaurant I'd booked was near the Lenz royal palace, frequented by elites and nobles. I'd reserved a week ago for the date. Our table had a great view by the window.
"Mr. Leo Valentine, Lady Hildegard von Quyrhalstein. Welcome. This way, please."
The waiter checked the reservation list. His gaze lingered oddly on Hildegard. We sat at our table, surveying the serene dining room.
"What do you want?"
"I'm no expert here. Could you order for me, Mr. Valentine?"
"Me neither, but sure. I'll pick something."
I ordered two steaks and a pasta dish. As we chatted waiting for food, someone swaggered over.
"Well, if it isn't Major Quyrhalstein."
Blue-haired, brown-eyed man.
"…Colonel Falkmart."
"Come on, loosen up. This isn't the army."
Falkmart. I'd heard of him. Hildegard's ex—the one who wanted bed without wedding.
"Oh, hello! First time since then?"
A heavily made-up woman in revealing clothes sidled up to Falkmart. Hildegard's face hardened. This was the woman she'd caught him with.
"On leave and vanished… Off to meet a guy? Should've said so."
Falkmart tilted his chin arrogantly at me, sizing up my clothes and wealth.
"Pity. I offered you a chance. Even considering your bloodline. But you pick this?"
Leo sipped his wine, then addressed them.
"Sorry, we're on a date. Save the lineage bragging elsewhere."
"You know what bloodline she's from?"
Falkmart sneered at Hildegard. Her expression stiffened.
"Quyrhalstein, right?"
I'd only been in Eichenwald three years, busy raising Elizabeth. How was I supposed to know every noble house?
"Spot on. Then you know Maximilian the Butcher?"
"The worst mass murderer."
Just twenty years ago, one man's hands brought catastrophe. The Rhineborn massacre in Eichenwald. Records said the city had 50,000 souls; 30,000 died by blade. Blood rose to the ankles, mutilated chunks strewn everywhere. The horror drove the photographer who documented it to suicide.
Maximilian surrendered meekly and burned at the stake. They called him demon knight, butcher knight, the ultimate knight. Decades later, it still shocked Eichenwald and the world. Even the Imperial Guard took note—because he was an ancient Aura-wielding Sword Master. He could've stormed the palace and slain the emperor if he'd wanted.
Falkmart eyed Hildegard.
"Full name: Maximilian von Quyrhalstein. Hildegard von Quyrhalstein's grandfather."
Hildegard had bowed her head so low, her face vanished.