Sparring for the Swordsman, Pilgrimage for the Saint
Whenever she gripped a sword to face someone, Zikrinde always found a lingering echo of memory draping over her mind. It was the castle of the Ainhart count's family—the place where she'd been born and raised her entire life before coming to the academy. Somewhere in the training grounds there.
"Zikrinde, Zikrinde…."
"Hah, huff… haaah…."
"You look exhausted."
That deep, thick voice calling her name belonged to her father. The swordsmanship she wielded was naturally the family's technique, so it was he who had passed down the Ainhart style to her. Yet the man who had guided her all this time always said the same thing.
Just get up. Endure it. Bloom through it.
He barked at her. The harsher the training grew with each passing day, the more she crumpled—and he always shoved her to the back burner.
"Tell me, Zikrinde. Can you become a better person than me?"
"F-Father…."
"Answer honestly. The whole world calls you a gem of raw talent, doesn't it? You're better than me. That's certain. So I want to hear it from your own mouth. Can you surpass me…? I want to know."
He gripped his sword tightly.
"I don't even know how long I'll have to keep knocking you down, but do you know why I put up with this bullshit every time?"
"—Of course, Father. For you, whom I respect, and for our family, I'll do anything."
"Is that so?"
Crunch.
"Then shut up and grab your sword. Get up quick. I don't want to see a swordsman of our house bawling in broad daylight just because she took a hit."
"I-I will, Father—! Please don't say it like that."
"If you don't score points on me this time, I'll smash your sword and hang it on the castle gate. I don't want to raise a worthless child."
Her father wasn't a good man. Because he had crumbled. After losing the hero's position to Lagrange in the hero selection during his youth, he had lived his entire life steeped in bitter defeat.
The hero should have been me. My father was a hero, and his father before him. But in my generation, I couldn't achieve it….
That must have been how it felt. Every member of the Ainhart family was a loser drowning in inferiority and defeat. But the one who led that family atmosphere was always him—Sigmund von Ainhart.
As a child, it hadn't been so bad. But as she, the precious daughter, grew older and old enough to wield a sword, he revealed his true colors.
And when glorious news of Sir Laval's victories shook the empire to its core…
"—Rip it apart. Rip it all to shreds!! Tear every last bit. In Ainhart territory, ban all news of that bastard. Anyone bringing hero tidings will have their mouths sewn shut and hands chopped off. Got it?!"
He showed manic frenzy, his paranoia worsening day by day. By the time word came of the Demon King's subjugation, he was smashing every piece of furniture in the house.
On the other hand, what position was Zikrinde in? From childhood, she'd heard endless praise for her decent sword skills. Naturally, she was the family's one glimmer of hope, worth pinning their status on.
So every day, her father drove her harder, more harshly, treating her not as a person but as a tool.
Grind.
Yes. That's who Zikrinde was. No matter who she faced, she couldn't escape that mold. The hope of Ainhart. The family's tool. Her flawed father's idol. Material to forge the next hero.
—A pawn to defeat Lagrange.
Yet she herself was empty-handed, with nothing to her name. So she had no choice but to fill out the academy application.
She wanted to escape the house as hero selection loomed and things grew more horrific.
At first, she'd regretted it. For someone born and bred in Ainhart her whole life, everything was unfamiliar. The chattering central nobles, stupider than her family's shadows, grated even more.
But now, she couldn't regret that choice.
Because it was all thanks to this man.
"Zikrinde, let me make this clear. You don't need to push yourself at all. If you collapse like Irina, it'll put me in a tough spot…."
"I've been telling you since earlier. Don't hold back or go easy on me. I'm tougher than I look."
The Demon King Slayer. The Muser Sword Emperor.
Thanks to Sir Joseph.
She'd only ever heard that he didn't want to raise worthless people.
—And yet, Lagrange's number one sword, in direct opposition to Ainhart, this handsome, burly man—what had he said at their first meeting?
She remembered it vividly, despite her poor memory, because it felt so good.
'I said I'd take responsibility for you all when I took you on. You think I'd let even one of my students end up like that?'
Exactly. Just as she'd gleaned from hero party news her father desperately tried to block.
Actually, she'd never cared much about Sir Laval from the start. Same age as her, but picked up early by the hero, seasoned on the battlefield, shining there, and ultimately the one who slew the Demon King.
From the stories her nursemaid told, Zikrinde had always wanted to meet this man.
That longing had taken root, so naturally, she couldn't help but like him a lot.
Exciting, exciting… so exciting… Elation wrapping my body.
So after handing him the wooden sword, facing Sir Joseph properly for the first time…
She had no idea how happy this made her. It was the moment she'd waited for since imitating his movements alone in her prison-like room.
And a chance to confirm it, too.
…The conclusion she'd reached and pondered since then.
The sincerity of this being who had retired to a deserted place to bear the curse from slaying the Demon King alone.
'Prepare thoroughly for hero selection.'
'Report comparative scores with Lady Lagrange.'
So even without saying much, the letter she'd agonized over replying to from the family until this morning…
Whoosh.
Zikrinde burned it in her mind.
Right now, only this moment mattered. Enjoying it fully…
"Then, let's begin."
"Good."
Flash!!
"Wha—coming at me full force from the start? That's tough on the teacher. Why so fierce? Ah…."
Clang—!!
"And yet you're blocking it all… Hehehe—great, full power, full power—!!"
But even pressing with the Ainhart style's relentless, sharp offense…
He blocked like a snake slipping over a wall, deflecting and parrying with ease. No sign of showing that technique from last time.
Still, Zikrinde didn't panic.
This was… only natural, right?
He's holding back his power. Consciously suppressing so no techniques leak out.
That's expected from a man bold enough to declare he'd protect everyone. All of them. No, her.
Lots of students, sure. But honestly, Zikrinde rated herself as the one who understood Joseph best deep down.
In her view, Sir Joseph was… a saint still fighting ceaselessly after the war, curse and all.
No need for explanation, really. The Anemone Class girls all knew.
He grumbled daily about nuisances and rice thieves, but surprisingly delicate inside, caring for everyone.
Listening to all their stories, forging harmony impossible in Anemone Class before.
Yet bearing that thing in his body without a hint, with ironclad mental fortitude.
Of course she couldn't draw out his true heart just by pushing him.
Her chest burned hot.
Bang—!!
"Oh, that was good. Lucky I blocked— even a wooden sword would've killed at that downward strike."
"I know you won't die… I can gauge human limits pretty well, too."
"Haa…."
Sir Joseph sighed deeply, furrowing his brow.
But to Zikrinde, who had it all figured out from the start, that sigh didn't register as 'Fuck, swing a bit better next time, I was hyped for sparring but this is tiring….'
Yeah, hitting hard brings out the curse's weight…! And not a flicker on his face. Amazing.
In truth, just a sleepy uncle. Whatever.
"—We've come this far, so asking about resolve again would be rude. Alright, Zikrinde."
And so, to satisfy her, Joseph gradually ramped up the intensity, thinking.
Whoosh.
"Th-that's…."
Whoooosh.
"—That's it. Yes!"
Zikrinde gradually felt it building.
That thing. The thing in the professor.
"…Zikrinde, you've opened distance—try that. Flash Circumference."
Yes! Just what she wanted.
Those words felt almost provocative somehow.
Thinking nothing could stop her now, Zikrinde kicked off the ground in one burst.
Her mana control sharpened with excitement, calculating the folding terrain ahead.
Flaaaash—!!
But even knowing it wouldn't land, her all-out strike…
"Heh, you actually use it."
Sir Joseph, smile fading, unlike last time blocking with his scabbard—spun his body in a full circle, swinging the wooden sword like a baseball bat smashing a home run, right at the end of her trajectory.
—Ting.
"…?!"
From his genuine power, Zikrinde felt her sword-gripping hands shatter.
Her flying speed doubled as she soared far away.
Slam—!!
And magnificently crashed into the wall.
"…Heh. Hehehe—."
She blinked.
No pain.
Dreadful yin energy. Crushing mental pressure that could erase her mind. Goosebumps over her whole body.
It emerged.
Confirmed. As expected.
—When combat intensity rises, he can't fully suppress it himself.
Nausea surged. Body trembling uncontrollably. Couldn't stand properly.
But.
Fine.
Let's go all the way once. Uncover what it is, Zikrinde.
You're Ainhart's countess daughter.
And right then, Joseph brushed back his sweat-damp hair and said to her,
"Shall we rest?"
Seeming to have noticed his technique leaking just now, the professor worried she'd been affected.
But to Zikrinde in this state, it was touching.
Worrying about me while harboring that horror.
Truly a fine man.
"Continue. No end."
"Fine Anemone spirit."
"Continue, continue, contiIIIINNNUE—!!"
Zikrinde screamed like a rabid beast, not even wiping the blood drooling from her mouth.