Why Am I Even Fighting?
The blood trickling from her mouth wasn't from any serious injury. When Joseph's powerful grip had sent her flying into the distant wall like a peg, she'd accidentally bitten her lip hard—that was all it took for the blood to spurt out.
"Zikrinde…?! Damn, was that too much? Are you okay?"
But to this young professor, who'd spent her life brawling her way through everything by instinct, it was impossible to tell if the blood was coming from her mouth or surging up from inside. If it was from inside, that was serious. It meant she couldn't withstand the impact and something had ruptured internally. She'd need to see a doctor immediately to have any chance.
So Joseph consciously lowered his sword. He was far more flustered than usual as he tried to approach Zikrinde, who was still shouting to continue.
Professor, our professor—he's great in every way, but his kindness is the problem.
Her brain was a mess of adrenaline, numbing even the pain. And it hadn't been that bad an injury to begin with. Zikrinde's eyes flashed as she looked up at the approaching Joseph.
"Just a little…."
"…?"
"Just a little more, and I'll definitely see it."
She tried to endure the ominous killing intent she'd felt building since earlier. This time, she consciously tried to ignore it.
Swoosh—
Crack—!!
She twisted her fist into Joseph's jaw up close. The fight wasn't over yet.
"Hah."
The impact was tremendous. Even Zikrinde was startled by how perfectly it landed. Joseph should have been dazed, at least.
But he brushed the struck spot with his gloved left hand and looked down at her as if nothing had happened. In that gaze, Zikrinde caught a faint crack in his composure.
—Flinch.
She wants to go for it, huh. I was worried I'd gone too far, but it seems she's fine.
And then he thought: No matter the reason, for this student who was genuinely trying to clash with him head-on, warning her that she'd get hurt or it would pain her might be insulting in itself.
He didn't like fighting. But he'd given his word.
If it was for the lesson's purpose, maybe once wouldn't hurt.
"Zikrinde."
—Flinch, flinch.
So he called her name in a low, gravelly voice. Without the usual student suffix he added when addressing them formally. Just her name, each syllable drawn out slow, like he was chewing it.
There was no leisure in it, like how he usually treated his students. No trace of his gentle demeanor, that much was certain.
"Maybe I've been underestimating you. Your durability is the real deal."
"Hah. So you finally get it. That's why I told you from the start…."
"Five seconds should be enough for you."
Flinch. Flinch, flinch—.
"Fall back."
Hearing that tone, Zikrinde couldn't help but gasp for breath, her hand instinctively groping at the nape of her neck.
Flinch, flinch, flinch, flinch, flinch—!!
And cold sweat poured out. Not from exertion, but because, fundamentally, she was genuinely a little scared.
—Wait, I might actually die here.
And only then did Zikrinde realize for sure. The swordsman who'd slain the Demon King wasn't someone who could do that by accident. This man had simply been hiding his power. He wasn't human. The feeling was unmistakable. If he wanted, he could wipe out the Imperial Knights or anyone, a one-man army. If it were her, she'd do just that and claim the top spot. How the hell did he stay so quiet and meek?
The capital nobles are fucking idiots. They probably never even thought to be grateful he's on humanity's side.
With that, a thrill of vindication surged through her at her theory being confirmed.
Whoosh—!!
As Joseph had said, Zikrinde put distance between them. In one word: run for your life.
But when the promised five seconds were up, Joseph assumed his signature stance, gripping the sword one-handed with his right while slicing horizontally through the space between them with his left.
Thud—.
"…?!"
The ground folded. No, that wasn't it. Was the space splitting?
"That's why I never use Flash Circumference right away, Zikrinde."
"P-Professor…?!"
"It's similar, but you're not the only one who can pull it off."
But this wasn't the time for such worries. She'd barely created distance, only to be pulled right back into Joseph's range in an instant.
Terror. That left hand… Whatever it was, it hid something just as absurd as his internals.
If what he'd sliced wasn't the space between them, but her instead…
Her head would've flown clean off.
"Guh, guh…."
Instinctively, Zikrinde thrust her wooden sword at him to counter. But Joseph, still gloved, overlaid his left hand on his sword-bearing right and swung lightly.
The trajectory that shot out was impossibly sharp for a wooden blade. An onslaught from the tip.
"………Hiek?!"
And he'd swung only once.
But the attacks came from everywhere. Two, three, four…
—Seventeen? No, more than that….
"Fuck, how the hell do I block this…?"
But it was too late for such thoughts. Zikrinde felt her body sliced into twenty pieces or more in an instant.
Agony hit.
Thud-thud-thud-thud—.
"A-ahhh…!!"
She didn't know the method. No way to cope. Just an onslaught of dozens of slashes. The pressure from their wielder—the terror and helplessness that choked even breath.
That was the essence of Swordsman Joseph.
And in that moment—
Crack—.
Zikrinde's wooden sword shattered. It really just broke apart.
"Oops, it broke. You don't mean to say you blocked all those slashes with that wooden sword, do you? Impressive."
"Hahk. Hahk, haaah…."
Zikrinde gasped for air, collapsing to her knees as she thought.
…No. It wasn't blocked. The professor just focused the ends of all those outgoing slashes on the wooden sword. That's how it barely held.
You monster….
"That's enough. You did great, Zikrinde. Truly impressive."
Joseph approached as if the intensity from moments ago had never happened, helping her to her feet.
"Shall we get you up now?"
Any trace of menace was gone from him. Zikrinde, who'd always endured horrors at Ainhart just from the word "get up," hated collapsing first in the training ground and being helped up like this.
But her professor checked her over without a hint of reproach, simply lifting her.
The situation was awkward for Zikrinde. Uncomfortable, hard to accept.
"P-Professor. Sweat. I'm, uh, sweaty."
"After a good workout like that, of course you'd sweat."
"Urk…."
"Want to take a break?"
"…Yeah."
But honestly, she didn't hate it. Zikrinde didn't resist his touch and headed to the bench at the edge to catch her breath.
* * *
Nothing much happened after that. With the sparring concluded spectacularly, they tidied the training ground. Zikrinde, who'd sweated and bled it all out refreshingly, chugged water like a camel.
Joseph, parched for a post-workout smoke, unconsciously reached for his cigarette pocket. Then, seeing her face, he trembled and held back… That was the scene.
Focused as they'd been, it was nearly nightfall before they noticed. Zikrinde lacked the stamina to head straight back to the dormitory.
Seeing her, Joseph thought, as always, in his own way.
Oh no, did I overdo it? What now… I should send her back soon.
But Zikrinde didn't seem to mind sitting there alone with him. Wiping sweat with the towel he'd handed her, she suddenly asked.
"Professor, how was I?"
"…Swordsmanship?"
"Yeah. Honestly, I got wrecked again, terribly. But I put everything into Ainhart-style swordsmanship. I want your honest evaluation."
To that, Joseph replied flatly.
"You were excellent. I've faced plenty who use Ainhart style, but you're the real diamond in the rough, Miss Zikrinde."
But how could such praise sound good to her? Uncharacteristically, she pouted and whined to him.
"But I didn't land a single hit."
"True enough."
"If our one-sided offensive style doesn't even graze you, it's meaningless."
"Hmm. I don't see it that way. Isn't the reason for our gap today clear?"
Zikrinde tilted her head.
"Difference in knowledge."
"What do you mean?"
"I've faced countless Ainhart-style swordsmen already. But you've only seriously encountered my style for the first time today. How could we start on equal footing?"
Bullshit. Why is he so infuriatingly right? Honestly, even if they sparred like this every day until her bones shattered, catching up to him felt like a distant dream.
But even so, Zikrinde ground her teeth.
She was lazy about everything, couldn't focus properly. But at least.
At least when it came to swordsmanship.
She couldn't back down.
"Professor, then make one thing clear for me."
"What?"
"If I train hard under you, can I surpass Lagrange?"
It was purely a straightforward question. Surpassing Lagrange was her genuine goal in swordsmanship, her current milestone as a swordswoman.
But saying it out loud, Zikrinde hesitated.
—Come to think of it.
Surpassing Lagrange was just family pressure, after all.
…Hah. Me.
I really want to stay a tool to the end, don't I?
What a shitty realization.
Joseph answered immediately.
"If you use me—well, it's not impossible. You're an outstanding student without peer, after all."
Precise, with fitting praise. She should feel good about it.
But hearing it, Zikrinde's face twisted briefly. Nausea welled up as she looked up at him.
"…Miss Zikrinde? Did I say something wrong?"
"N-no… It's not that…."
Not that, but the problem was with her.
Use the professor?
…Damn it.
Not Joseph's inner thought—hers.
She'd fled her family because she hated being used as a tool.
—Maybe she was doing the same, trying to use someone else as a tool?