The Sword Saint's Visit (1)
Oden, who had been guzzling liquor without a care for decorum, suddenly froze in place.
He set down his glass wordlessly and scanned me with a grave gaze.
I met his eyes without flinching, a faint smile playing on my lips.
"Disciple? I must be getting old. Or maybe the booze has gone straight to my head."
"You didn't mishear, and you're not drunk enough for that. I asked if you had any thoughts on taking one."
"Hah."
His face, brimming with things he wanted to say, shook the glass in his hand.
It almost looked like he was gauging just how much he'd drunk.
Was it that shocking?
A small question flickered in my mind, but I pressed on with my proposal without pause.
"Surely even you, Duke Craig, have thought at least once about taking on a promising disciple?"
"Aye, I did. Must've been around twenty years ago."
"Then I don't think my suggestion sounds all that strange."
"Your suggestion itself is fine. It's just odd coming from you, of all people."
"What do you mean by that?"
As I voiced my puzzlement, Oden poured himself another round, downed it in one go, and replied.
"I never imagined the guy with those hollow eyes, who seemed destined to stare at books his whole life, would take an interest in swordsmanship."
"...Pardon?"
"Hm?"
Ah, wait. Did this guy think I was the one asking to become his disciple?
"There must be some misunderstanding. It's not me who wants to be your disciple."
"Not you?"
"From the start, I'm such a hopeless case with the sword that even in the Argent family, they'd call me a black sheep."
"I figured you'd taken up the sword late in life, like some prodigy apprentice."
"No way."
Even handling just magic was more than enough for this body of mine.
If I tried learning swordsmanship on top of that, I'd end up like the lyrics of that old song from my youth—twenty-four hours in a day wouldn't cut it.
"The one I hope you'll take a look at is my niece."
"Niece?"
"Yes. Liriet Argent—a very cute and lovely niece of mine."
"That's even harder to believe. Since when were you the type to care about others?"
"I can't exactly deny that."
At least, the old 'Baal Argent' had been far removed from that image.
He barely cared about acquaintances, let alone family.
Nothing existed for him outside of magic—nothing he knew or wanted to know.
I had no sense of disconnect thanks to my returned memories from my Yoo Shin-woo days, but from Oden's perspective, who'd watched me all this time, it was natural to suspect I'd already had a few drinks.
"Better late than never, I suppose some affection for family has finally bloomed in me."
"Hah, that's a fine excuse. So you want to show me this 'friend' of yours?"
"Yes. Of course, I'm not asking for an answer right now. Just... when you have the time, I'd be grateful if you'd meet her and give it some thought."
"That's some pricey booze you're offering."
Only then did Oden seem to realize this was a bribery attempt, flashing a wry smile.
"I heard that even when His Majesty the Emperor requested you to teach the Crown Prince, you didn't even glance his way and refused outright."
"That's right."
"But on the flip side, if there's someone worthy of your teachings, you'd take them on regardless of whether they're common-born, wouldn't you?"
"Your niece has that kind of talent?"
"I can't say for certain, but I think the potential is high."
Liriet hadn't awakened her Sword Aspiration yet.
Even if Craig had said as much in the original story, I couldn't dare claim certainty.
But if there was even a 1% chance, it was worth the shot.
And if it fell through, I still had my ace in the hole.
That said, pulling out that final card might take time.
Or maybe I wouldn't be able to play it until before Liriet entered the academy.
That's why I'd chosen the fastest, most reliable path.
"Interesting. But the name sounds like a girl's."
"Correct."
"Doesn't your family have a boy too?"
"Yes. Abel, two years older."
"Why not recommend him?"
Simple reason.
Even setting aside my push for Liriet, Abel wasn't even worth mentioning.
In the original story, Abel had met Oden Craig.
Sixteen or seventeen, I think. Probably during a visit to the imperial palace.
As a self-proclaimed swordsman with some pride, and right when his name was spreading among noble houses, he'd boldly approached, declared himself a swordsman, and professed his admiration.
Well, 'admiration' was just lip service.
But Oden's reaction afterward was priceless.
'He reacted like he had no idea the kid was even a swordsman.'
Specifically, he'd tilted his head, looked down at Abel, muttered 'A swordsman?' and just walked past.
Abel's reaction back then had been comedy gold.
It was one of the scenes where seeing the beloved young lady get her revenge felt the most satisfying.
But I couldn't exactly tell him that truth, so I'd have to gloss over it elegantly.
"I'm no swordsman myself, but I like to think I have an eye for talent."
"Oh ho, so the girl's talent outshines the boy's?"
"Yes."
"Fascinating. How old is she now?"
"Ten."
"Perfect age. Just right to start gripping a sword."
Was ten ideal for picking up a sword?
Fantasy world values, I guess. Whatever.
"Very well. For the sake of your face and this booze, I'll make time."
"Thank you."
"But if I do take her as a disciple, do I have to say it's because of your recommendation?"
"No need. Would someone like Duke Craig take a disciple just because a guy like me suggested it?"
"True enough. But wouldn't it score points with the girl?"
Oden asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.
He had a point.
But there was no need.
Just continuing to build our bond with Liriet would be enough.
Besides, this proposal wasn't about scoring points with her.
It was just a step to boost her confidence.
If Liriet became Oden's disciple, it would fill the void of fulfillment and self-affirmation she'd lacked until now.
But if it got out that I'd pulled strings in the process?
It might score points, but it'd backfire on building her self-esteem.
She'd think it was thanks to me, not her own talent.
I didn't need that outcome.
"It's fine. I'm grateful just that you accepted the proposal. Here, have another drink."
"I'll drink alone now. Go tend to your master."
"If you insist..."
He said that, but it was clear he'd dismissed me now that my fawning was done.
Still, he didn't seem displeased.
Relieved by that, I approached my master, whose face was already flushed red.
Having polished off a whole bottle of that strong stuff by himself, he looked at me with bleary eyes.
And then—
Grab!
"You splendid disciple! Come sit by your master! It's my mood today—I'll pour you one for a change!"
Suddenly wrapping an arm around my shoulders and forcing me into the seat beside him, he started pouring.
"Pfft. Yes, Master."
Oden's earlier words weren't entirely wrong, after all.
Realizing that brought a quiet wave of emotion.
Masters will be masters, and disciples disciples, I suppose.
That day, I got properly drunk for the first time in ages and crashed hard.
A week later.
A bolt from the blue struck the peaceful Argent household.
Or so it was called, but everyone who heard the news was in festival mode.
"Mother, really!? The Sword Saint is coming!?"
The boy bounced around the room with eyes full of excitement, a wooden sword at his waist.
Abel Argent.
The twelve-year-old heir apparent of the Argent family.
True to his sly fox nature, he could feign the innocent eyes of a pure child in front of anyone except Liriet or the servants—and he was nailing the act for his age upon hearing the good news.
The news being Oden Craig's impending visit.
Kasdia nodded warmly, stroking the bouncing Abel's head as if he were adorable.
"It's true, dear. Your uncle Baal sent a letter saying he'd personally escort the Sword Saint here."
In truth, even as she spoke, Kasdia felt a twinge of unease.
Since when had Baal fussed over Abel like this?
He'd never shown much interest in family matters, let alone outsiders.
'He must've finally developed some family affection late in the game.'
He'd visited the main house recently and doted on Liriet, so it wasn't impossible.
No, thinking that way made everything click.
"Does that mean I'll be the Sword Saint's disciple!?"
"Too early to say. But I believe our talented Abel can pull it off."
"Right!? Who else could possibly become the Sword Saint's disciple if not me!"
Abel brimmed with confidence.
Born the firstborn son of the Argent family—renowned as a house of swordmasters—he'd received early education since young.
At just twelve, he'd never lost a mock duel to his peers.
Even the instructors who occasionally visited to teach praised him.
'I have to make sure Liriet, that idiot, stays locked in her room!'
Savoring the feeling of already being chosen, Abel steeled his resolve.
If that novice little sister, who couldn't even match half his talent, dared show up wielding a sword in front of the Sword Saint, it might just burn the old man's eyes out.
"Mother! I'll go to Liriet's room for a bit!"
Thus, he planned to head to his worthless sister's room early and bark at her to stay put.
"Milady. Master Baal and the Sword Saint have arrived."
"Already? They're early."
"Gah!"
Before he could slip away, Gilbert—who'd come straight from their room—announced their arrival, forcing Abel to scrap his plan.
But it was fine.
That gloomy sister spent all her time holed up anyway.
Unless called, she wouldn't come out today either.
Especially after he'd given her a proper thrashing yesterday under the pretext of sparring.
"Mother, hurry!"
"Don't pull so hard, Abel. You can't act so improperly in front of the Sword Saint."
"Don't worry!"
So eager he even tugged at Kasdia's dress hem, Abel hurried to the drawing room.
Knock knock.
"This is Abel Argent! I heard we have guests, so I came. May I enter?"
—Come in.
Having arrived first and politely announcing himself as etiquette demanded, he stepped inside at the familiar yet unfamiliar uncle's permission.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Abel Argent. It's an honor to meet the great Sword Saint."
He bowed sharply at ninety degrees, greeting with vigor.
In response, the golden-haired old man on the sofa's right—face marked by a large scar—offered a gentle smile.
"What a spirited lad. You know who this old man is?"
"Yes! As a proper swordsman myself, I've long admired you, Sword Saint!"
In truth, Abel's feelings were more envy and intimidation than pure admiration.
To him, the Sword Saint was an obstacle he'd one day surpass.
A mere twelve-year-old boy, but Abel was brimming with confidence that he'd become the world's greatest swordsman.
Wanting to be his disciple was merely a means to defeat him faster.
Still, his words sounded, at first glance, like the innocent aspiration of a child his age.
But Oden glanced sidelong at Abel subtly flexing to show off the wooden sword at his waist, then opened his mouth.
"...A swordsman, are you? Hah, forgive me for not noticing."
As if the wooden sword at his waist didn't even register as a blade.
His sincere apology, devoid of even a hint of sarcasm—
Thud.
Sent Abel's inflated mood plummeting into the abyss in an instant.