To Surpass the Wall
Two weeks had passed since the wolf incident in Boeub Village. Time had slipped by in the blink of an eye, more than enough for Rood’s body to fully recover. Once he was able to move freely again, he began training with the other soldiers at the training grounds. Even there, he was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Today was no different.
“Haaap!”
Rood had begun the practice of shedding the habits he’d built up in war. Perhaps it was the awkwardness of abandoning the efficient killing of enemies in favor of swinging his sword while staying aware of his surroundings. Each swing consumed a considerable amount of mental energy, so beads of sweat formed on his forehead. The only sounds that filled the air were the repetitive whoosh of the wooden sword slicing through the air and the dull thuds as it struck the training dummy from every angle. It was almost suffocating.
Why isn’t this working?
Rood felt irritated, as if he had become a beginner learning the sword all over again. The sword forms that had once come naturally now felt difficult. It seemed that learning an entirely new way of wielding the blade required time to reestablish his foundation.
As he continued swinging, Rood began to doubt whether a defensive style of swordsmanship was truly right for him.
At this rate, I might end up unable to protect even what I wanted to protect.
Still, Rood did not stop learning how to use the sword. Since it was a path he had already walked once before, he didn’t overthink it. In the process of learning anything, there were always periods of stagnation or even regression. The body knew it had to empty itself of old habits before it could accept new ones. Rood understood that the mind always followed the body’s wisdom a step behind.
That was why, instead of complaining or resting out of exhaustion, he swung his sword one more time than planned or mentally replayed sparring sessions against strong opponents. Once that review was finished, Rood would seek out Moneck the next day and request a spar.
“Come, then.”
“Here I come.”
The results were crushing defeats. On some days he managed to exchange several blows, but on others he couldn’t even land a few strikes before being forced to his knees. Rood compared his own moves to Moneck’s and tried to find answers, but the solutions he came up with were always dismantled in the next sparring match, leaving him with a long face late into the night.
Do I… have no talent?
Rood tried to imitate the movements of Moneck’s rapier, but he could only mimic them awkwardly. He couldn’t grasp the underlying principles. Even so, Rood never gave up. Every time the number of defeats against Moneck piled up, he told himself that his own sword was growing sharper. Though there seemed to be no visible difference, when compared to the level he had when he first set foot in the Voenac estate, he had improved considerably.
“Ha, damn it.”
There were days like today, when despair crept in. He had thought he was closing the gap, but the techniques Moneck displayed today seemed to belong to a realm far beyond his reach. On such days, Rood would swing his sword one more time than the number of repetitions he had set for himself before heading back to the mansion.
Because every time he saw Isabelle’s face, all the frustration he had bottled up inside scattered like dust in the wind.
Knock. Knock.
The two knocks had long since become a signal that belonged only to Rood and Isabelle.
“Come in.”
When Rood opened the door, he saw Isabelle rummaging through documents, searching for something. Not wanting to disturb her, he sat down quietly on the sofa beside the office area.
“Hand me the document over there.”
Without even turning her head, Isabelle gave the order. Rood silently picked up the stack of papers in front of him and held them out to her.
“No, not that one… Kyaaak!”
Startled by her sudden scream, Rood was taken aback. When he saw her expression, he let out a small chuckle.
“Wh-what? Was that you, Rood?”
It seemed Rood had been the only one who thought two knocks was their private signal. Isabelle’s face softened for a moment when she saw him, but then she made a small sound of realization and returned her focus to the documents.
“Not those. Could you bring me the one in the yellow envelope?”
Rood handed her the letter from the yellow envelope on the table in front of the sofa.
“What has you so busy?”
“We’ve detected signs of an enemy surprise attack. I’m reviewing the situation.”
A surprise attack? Rood stood silently beside her and occasionally fetched the documents she requested. Just watching Isabelle concentrate from the side was enough to smooth the furrow that had formed between his brows. She was both admirable and adorable—like suddenly having a younger sister.
Rood looked around the room again. On one wall hung a map of the Jere continent, covered with countless notes pinned in place to show the current state of affairs. Naturally, he first looked at the region he had once belonged to. There were records of battles he had fought, battles currently underway, and several battles with names he had never seen before.
“Ah, among them, the Vase Battle seems likely to begin tomorrow.”
At Isabelle’s words, Rood narrowed his eyes and read the tiny handwriting.
The Vase Battle. Estimated allied casualties around fifty. A Thousand-man Commander will personally lead a strike team to break the encirclement. Each of the ten strike teams will bring one combat mage into the center. Each mage will unleash wide-area elemental magic to pin down the enemy before quickly retreating.
“How do you predict something like this?”
“There was a surprisingly similar battle in the past. The Flower Garden of Blood is the most representative example.”
The Flower Garden of Blood was a battle that had taken place long before Rood and Isabelle were even born. Since it was the first time the Alliance had achieved a reversal victory against the Empire, Rood had a rough idea of what it was. Instead of gathering mages in one place to fire large-scale magic, they had deployed them locally, raining spells across their assigned sectors like laying down a carpet before using the opening to withdraw.
He wondered if it was truly possible to escape an encirclement with only fifty casualties from a thousand-man unit. But since Rood had already experienced battles and wars designed by Isabelle, he had no choice but to believe it.
I thought it was only possible because the enemy was a disorganized rabble until now.
The sheer volume of information—dozens of memos lined up along the border—was enough to fill an entire book. Rood felt overwhelmed. As he carefully examined the map, he saw Isabelle quickly scribble a letter on a piece of paper before stretching.
“Are you finished now?”
“Well, I’ve even finished tomorrow’s work, so I suppose I can rest easy today. Up we go!”
Isabelle ordered snacks and black tea to be prepared. Soon after, she settled into the seat of honor across from where Rood sat. The hour had already grown late, but she looked at him and began rolling one shoulder in circles.
“How is your training progressing?”
“It’s… going well, I suppose.”
“Any progress in handling aura?”
“I don’t have much to report on that yet, but I’ve been meditating consistently.”
Isabelle spoke with absolute certainty, as if there was no doubt that Rood would be able to wield aura.
“How can you be so sure? Aura is a power that maybe one in ten thousand people can handle.”
“He is the escort knight I personally chose with my own eyes. Of course he should be able to handle at least aura, shouldn’t he?”
“Aren’t I still just a guest?”
When Rood asked, Isabelle looked at him with an incredulous expression.
“Isn’t tomorrow the day of your formal appointment as escort knight?”
Rood turned his gaze toward the ceiling, thought for a moment, then answered.
“Now that you mention it, I suppose it is.”
As they chatted, a servant entered pulling a silver tea cart laden with black tea and snacks.
“Ah, Anne. How is your younger sibling doing?”
Anne was the servant who had nearly been framed as the main culprit in the poisoning attempt due to Wendy’s false accusation. Anne held back tears and smiled as she answered Isabelle.
“Thanks to you, my lord, my sibling is already running around like the wind. I truly cannot thank you enough!”
“Good. I’m glad the treatment worked. It makes me feel proud as well.”
After finishing her greeting, Anne left the office. Isabelle once again began rolling her shoulder this way and that.
“Ugh!”
“Is something wrong?”
“My shoulder has been stiff since earlier…”
Every time Isabelle rolled her shoulder, she glanced at Rood. Reflexively, he stood up and moved behind her.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
Rood began massaging the stiff shoulder she had mentioned. When he heard only the sound of her breathing, he asked.
“Does it hurt here?”
“Mmm? Ah, maybe a little lower…?”
At her words, Rood moved his thumb slightly downward.
“Here?”
“Oh, right there. Riiight theeeere!”
As Rood kneaded with his hands, Isabelle twisted her body, complaining of pain. But Rood showed no sign of stopping.
“Stop! Ah, doesn’t that hurt!”
“Just bear with it a little longer. It’ll feel refreshing soon. I know from experience.”
Rood had massaged the stiff shoulders of many comrades on the battlefield. His excellent massage skills—which had earned him visits even after earning the nickname “Mad Dog”—were something he took quiet pride in.
“Aaaagh! It hurts, I said it hurts! You’re going to leave bruises… Aaaaaagh!”
“Just wait a little. I’ve never seen a back this knotted before.”
Realizing that such a small, delicate back could be just as stiff as those of his battlefield comrades, Rood diligently worked the tense muscles.
“It huuurts! Stoooop!”
After kneading a few more times, Rood finally removed his hands from her back. Isabelle let out a groan, placed her hands on the office floor, and muttered weakly.
“Huff… huff. You terrible bastard, Rood…”
“How is it? Does it feel better?”
“Better…? It does feel better?”
Isabelle looked puzzled as she rolled both shoulders a couple of times. The pain she had felt earlier had vanished, and her shoulders now felt as light as clouds. Even her groans had stopped completely.
“Here, take my hand.”
Rood extended his hand. Isabelle took it and stood up.
“If it gets stiff again later, feel free to call me anytime. I’ll loosen it for you.”
“Uh, yes… It was quite painful, but it does feel much better now. Wait, this wasn’t what I originally intended…”
For a while, the only sound was Isabelle repeatedly sipping her black tea. Rood felt a little awkward under her slightly pouty gaze, but he thought her expression was rather cute and spent the short tea time in a relaxed mood.