An Uncanny Talent
A sharp jolt of pain. "Ugh..." A groan escaped Drin as she lay sprawled on the floor. I lost... She had actually lost. Not moving from her spot. Using only one hand. She had imposed these handicaps on herself, only to lose the bet.
For some, such self-imposed restrictions might have offered a convenient excuse. They could easily say, "Ah, what a shame. If only I hadn't held back." But not Drin. She had believed that even with these handicaps, she would easily win the bet and teach this man a proper lesson. Yet the moment she lost, the foundation of that belief was exposed not as deep understanding and confidence, but as sheer ignorance and arrogance.
Worse, the manner of her defeat was utterly absurd. It wasn't as if the man had unleashed some carefully hidden trump card. No, it was merely a clumsy stumble, a breakdown in posture born of sheer nervousness. To think she had failed to react to such a sloppy movement, letting her sword get knocked away before tripping over her own feet. She found herself so pathetic that she was on the verge of self-loathing.
Something is wrong... Suddenly, a sense of incongruity washed over her. To understand why she had made such a pathetic blunder and correct it, she began to replay the exchange in her mind. Yet, no matter how many times she reviewed it, she couldn't find the fault in her own movements.
She replayed the scene over and over. The man, losing his balance, recklessly lunging forward and swinging his sword. And herself, utterly unable to counter that clumsy motion, ultimately falling to the ground. No matter how she visualized it, she couldn't see a way she could have countered his movement under those conditions.
Eventually, she lifted the self-imposed restrictions in her mind. She allowed herself to move freely and use both hands. After replaying the scenario several more times with her full capabilities restored—Clang! In her imagination, she finally succeeded in parrying his strike.
Whew... A wave of accomplishment washed over her, akin to finally solving a long-vexing riddle. Yet, an even greater sense of unease quickly followed. How on earth...? She dissected and analyzed the movement, desperate to comprehend the underlying principle of his strike. But try as she might, the logic eluded her. Even with all her restrictions lifted, barely managing to deflect it was the absolute limit of her capabilities.
For her to fail to comprehend a sword strike... This was an experience she had only ever known when sparring with her father, the greatest swordsman on the continent. Could it be...? Perhaps this man possessed a level of skill far beyond her ability to measure, and was actively hiding it. Drin raised her head and stared at him.
He was beaming, wearing a silly, carefree grin. "..." No way. The moment she saw that utterly frivolous face, her suspicions vanished without a trace. She was just overthinking things because the sting of defeat had left her flustered. She needed to keep it simple. Just as he said, his move had been nothing more than a fluke.
Just as Drin finished sorting her thoughts, Sillon offered her a hand. Grasping it, she pulled herself up, brushed the dust off her clothes, and cleared her throat with a dry cough. "I have shown you an embarrassing display."
"Oh, come now~ I wouldn't call it embarrassing at all. Anyone can lose a spar~ No matter how outstanding a swordsman is, how could they possibly win every single time?"
"This was not a spar!"
"Ah, is that so?"
"This wasn't a spar, it was a bet! A game of sorts! You said so yourself, didn't you?!"
"Oh, my goodness, look at my head. You're right! You're right! I certainly did say that!"
"Ahem. And! When I said I was embarrassed, I did not mean because I lost the bet." She averted her eyes, looking genuinely mortified as she continued. "The reason I imposed those restrictions on myself was because I was absolutely confident I wouldn't lose, even with them. I was confident I could properly evaluate your swordplay. And yet, to show such a... pathetic display." She then carefully stole a glance to gauge his reaction.
"My goodness. Aren't you being a bit too earnest?"
"Urgh—what are you trying to say!"
"Hahaha, aren't you going to say 'Earnestness is a virtue' this time?"
"How could I possibly say that in this situation? You, too—"
"Hmm?"
"You're thinking I look ridiculous right now, too. How can you say such—"
"Me?"
"Is it not true? You're thinking, 'Look at her, acting so confident only to lose so miserably.' That's what you're thinking, isn't it!" Drin stared straight at him, as if ready to catch him in a lie the instant he spoke.
"Heaven forbid~ I have never once thought you were ridiculous. I swear to the heavens!"
"...Saying that with such a smirk on your face isn't very convincing."
"Ah, that is just my natural face. I look like this even when I cry, you know?"
"Clearly, you mean when you're crying from laughing too hard."
"Ah! You saw right through me."
"..." As Drin's expression began to bristle with irritation, Sillon quickly changed the subject.
"By the way—I was truly astonished."
"What are you trying to say now..."
"I have never seen such an outstanding swordsman in my entire life!"
"Save your flattery..."
"Flattery? I felt like I was facing a massive fortress wall! I'm still in a daze. I have no idea how I won that 'bet.' It was nothing short of a miracle."
"..." Sillon went on for quite some time, singing praises of Drin's skill and elaborating on the vast gulf in ability he had felt while facing her. Despite his blatant flattery, Drin's disgruntled expression remained, but the sharp thorns of irritation on her face slowly began to recede. Before long, she muttered with a sullen pout.
"So, are we just going to end it like this?"
"Pardon? Ah. Do you mean the spar?"
"I don't have any other intentions. It's just that it seems too hasty to evaluate your swordplay based on this, so don't get the wrong idea."
"Ah, of course. I would never think of you as a petty person who, frustrated by losing a bet, would use a plausible excuse to subtly drag it out."
"Naturally!" Even as she said this, Drin somehow avoided his gaze.
"Just as you said, we put the cart before the horse. I might have won the bet, but the original purpose of having you evaluate my swordplay fell by the wayside. In that case, if it isn't too much trouble, could I ask for one more bout?"
"...Are you certain?"
"Ah, but no bets this time, alright?"
Tsk. Coward. Drin clicked her tongue and muttered under her breath.
"Oh? Didn't you say provocation wasn't your preferred style?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Haha, dear me. I'm terribly worried I might be leading you down a dark path." The two of them picked up each other's swords, which had fallen closer to them, and exchanged them.
"Oh! Come to think of it!"
"What is it now?"
"We haven't even introduced ourselves yet!"
"Ah." Drin realized this as well, but her expression quickly turned hesitant. She worried that his attitude might change once he learned her name—just like all the others who found it difficult to be around her.
"My name is Sillon."
"...I am Drin. Drin of the Libringer family." But she could hardly refuse to introduce ourselves. After stating her name, Drin cautiously observed Sillon's reaction.
"Hmm? Drin? Drin of the Libringer family? Hmm—I feel like I've heard that name somewhere... Ah! Libringer! You're the famous prodigy of the Libringer family! Oh? You look somewhat uncomfortable, though?"
"Aren't you the one who should be uncomfortable, not me?"
"Pardon? Me? Whatever would make you think that?" Having blurted out her defensive response, Drin carefully observed his demeanor. Contrary to her worries, the man's attitude hadn't shifted in the slightest.
"What a strange person." A soft smile broke across Drin's face as she shook her head.
"So suddenly?"
"Never mind that. Now that introductions are out of the way, let us finish what we started, Sillon."
"As you wish, Lady Drin." Drin let out a quiet chuckle. For some reason, Sillon's use of the title "Lady" felt slightly sarcastic. She didn't know why, but she rather liked it. The two faced each other once more, widening the distance between them. At Drin's nod, Sillon lunged forward. This time, he did not employ any of his assassin skills. He engaged in the clash with his Assassination Arts and Black Magic completely sealed away. As a result, the clash unfolded much like their very first bout. In their first encounter, Sillon had lasted seven exchanges. This time, he lasted exactly seven exchanges once more.
"Goodness~ I really gave it my all this time, but the result is exactly the same." Sillon gasped for breath, barely managing to squeeze the words out. But Drin shook her head.
"No, it is not."
"Pardon?"
"In our first bout, I was not fully serious either. I treated it half as a game. But this time was different."
"Which means?"
"It means you have improved in this brief span of time. Furthermore... as I mentioned before, there is something about your swordplay that catches my attention." Drin's gaze locked onto Sillon. In her mind, she overlaid the impressive movements she had noted during their recent clash. Once she finished her mental review, she nodded.
"You were born with a highly unique sense."
"A highly unique sense?" Drin was certain that Sillon possessed an extraordinary instinct. However, she wasn't entirely sure how to articulate it.
"This is merely a metaphor, so please do not take it too literally. I apologize in advance if it offends you."
"Whatever could you be about to say?"
"You..." she began cautiously.
"You possess the talent to achieve greatness if you were to walk the path of an assassin. Your instinct for creating and exploiting an opponent's openings is exceptionally, almost unnaturally, outstanding." This was the assessment of Drin, who, exactly as Sillon had intended, had failed to grasp even a fraction of his true nature.
"Oh, the talent of an assassin... That is quite surprising..." For the first time, Drin saw Sillon look genuinely flustered. Well, of course he would be; being told one had the makings of an assassin was bound to be disconcerting. Fully understanding his reaction, Drin quickly sought to correct her words.