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Chapter 4: Swordsmanship instructor (4)
"...Pfft."
Siellin didn't bother holding back her laughter.
At the same moment, Nardi's expression stiffened.
"I'm sorry... did I mishear?"
"It means no."
"Why is that...?"
He had completely lost control of his expression.
The disappearance of that infuriating smile was very satisfying indeed.
"Simply because I don't particularly want to show others."
"That's all?"
"If that isn't enough, what more do you need?"
"...Understood."
Nardi bit down on his lips and gave a stiff bow.
"It seems I've been rude. I'll take my leave then."
"Were you not here to dine as well?"
"I can eat elsewhere. I hope you and my sister enjoy yourselves."
That statement carried this meaning:
That he would henceforth consider him to be on Siellin's side.
'Let him consider what he likes.'
He hadn't been planning to leave Nardi alone anyway.
"Pfuhh..."
As Siellin burst out laughing, Nardi slipped out of the dining hall.
"Did you watch carefully?"
"Mister."
Siellin wiped tears from the back of her hand and spoke.
"Yeah. I get it this time, for certain."
"This lesson connects to the earlier one too. When someone speaks in roundabout ways, you speak directly back—but you have to make your refusal unmistakably clear."
To her credit, Siellin gave a nod.
A great leap forward.
The fact that she was listening to what he said.
'Let's teach her everything while we're at it.'
Table manners first.
"When eating, you sit up straight. Knife on the right. Leave the other utensils in their place. And..."
He trailed off mid-sentence.
'Wasn't she just going to listen to me now...?'
Siellin was listening to him with a look of complete exhaustion, barely paying attention.
"Siellin."
"Mister. Is that really so important?"
Come to think of it, the Sword Saint had always eaten alone.
Eating with him had been the rare exception.
Even for imperial audiences or public events, she had always refused to attend dinner seatings.
'She managed well enough, as I recall.'
Though admittedly the only data point was the two of them eating together.
Still, she followed table manners quite well.
She hadn't eaten in a slovenly manner either.
"It does matter. But... you don't need to follow every rule to the letter."
"Then I don't have to learn it, do I?"
"You need to know it to some degree, or you'll end up with unnecessary trouble."
Not all nobles were strict about table manners.
But there were the occasional rigid ones.
The type who would tear into someone for a single lapse in etiquette, calling it a lack of refinement.
"What does it matter if a few people criticize me? It happens all the time."
Siellin grumbled, lips jutting out.
"True. The ones who point out etiquette are few, and can be ignored. You can think that way. I don't exactly disagree. But."
That attitude needed to change.
She shouldn't treat it as natural for others to look down on her.
'That's going too far.'
He had been about to put his hand on Siellin's head—
But they weren't close enough for that yet.
He awkwardly pulled his hand back and spoke instead.
"There is no one who has the right to look down on you."
He leaned his body forward slightly and met Siellin's eyes.
"Ugh..."
Siellin recoiled at being face-to-face with him directly.
That stings a little.
"Alright. Alright, I get it, so back off. You're making me uncomfortable."
"Anyway. That's the point I want you to understand."
"...Yeah."
He looked at Siellin, whose spirit had deflated somewhat, and thought to himself.
'Let's leave the etiquette for later.'
There was plenty of time.
Cramming too many things in at once wouldn't allow any of it to sink in.
He'd give her a crash course when a major event came up.
"Your meal has arrived!"
A waiter appeared, pulling a serving cart.
"Leave it and go."
"Yes, sir!"
He sent the waiter off and placed the dishes on the table himself.
Today's menu was a whole roasted turkey.
"Wow... ugh!?"
Siellin had been drooling as she stared at the turkey—
She noticed him watching and frantically wiped her mouth.
"W-what are you looking at!"
Then, having the nerve to turn around and snap at him.
He simply found it endearing.
He smiled without a word and picked up his knife.
"Use a fork to eat."
He cut a piece of the roast and placed it on her plate.
Siellin stared down at it with a look like she was beholding something strange—
Then shoved it into her mouth.
"Mm, mmm!"
Siellin showed him her true feelings through furrowed brows as she devoured the roast.
"You can eat slowly. You'll choke."
He slid a glass of water over, and she immediately took it and gulped it down.
'She eats well.'
Of course she would.
The Sword Saint had liked roasted food too.
"It's good, isn't it?"
Nod.
"You can eat as much as you like. You can ask for more too."
"Mph. Mmmm!"
"Swallow first, then talk."
"Don't look at me like that...!"
Siellin swallowed what was left in her mouth and shot him a warning glare.
"Ed. Could you stop looking at me like that?"
At the same moment, the Sword Saint's words overlapped with it.
'Really... identical.'
Nothing had changed.
***
After a satisfying meal.
They stepped back outside.
"Mister, you're not going to run off again this time, are you?"
Siellin had lost faith in him.
What was there left to live for...
"Stop making that hurt expression and say it properly. How did you deflect my sword earlier, and how do you plan on teaching it? Give orders clearly and directly—that's what you taught me, isn't it?"
Siellin pulled up one corner of her mouth.
She seemed pleased with herself for getting a hit in on him.
'Good for me too.'
As her teacher, a student absorbing a lesson in one go was something to be glad about.
"Of course. I have no intention of running."
"Then explain it quickly."
"When asking your Master for something, don't use a commanding tone. Keep that in mind."
"...Please explain."
Siellin became considerably more subdued.
"That's more like it."
Feeling it was about time, he drew his sword.
"The reason I was able to counter your sword is simple. Because I watched carefully."
More precisely, it was because he had learned the Sword Saint's swordsmanship.
But that wasn't wrong either.
Even if he hadn't learned swordsmanship from the Sword Saint—
If he had faced Siellin in his current state, he would have watched carefully and countered just as well.
"Mister. Do I look like I'm playing around right now?"
Siellin's expression went flat at his half-hearted explanation.
"Siellin. What's the strength of your sword?"
"Mister, you really need to break that habit of suddenly changing the subject."
Grumbling as she did, Siellin answered his question dutifully.
"My sword is... good at overwhelming. Not giving the opponent any breathing room and chaining strikes together. And I instinctively see how my opponent is going to move, so I follow that and swing my sword."
"That's right. The strength of your sword is its wildness. Put nicely, you could call it beast-like."
"How exactly is 'beast-like' putting it nicely?"
"Using a sword like a beast is the highest praise. Fighting while calculating unnecessary things is actually harder to deal with than just swinging however your body moves—it's unpredictable."
That was why the Sword Saint, when she fell into Madness, had been overwhelmingly strong to the point of hopelessness.
She had already been beast-like on a normal day.
When she became a true beast outright, there had been no answer.
"But if a beast-like sword had only strengths, every swordsman would go to the mage tower to become a beast. Hey, mage—I want to wield the perfect sword, so make me a beast."
"Mister? What does that make me then."
"I mean your sword is beast-like, so don't take it the wrong way."
He tried to smooth it over, but Siellin was on the verge of sulking.
"Hm. Anyway, the weakness of your sword is just as clear. The moment your unpredictable attacks are read, every advantage fades."
Siellin's sword was well-suited to crushing those weaker than herself.
Striking at openings with a blade path no one could predict—
Then pressing the advantage gained from that to quickly overwhelm and clinch victory.
He himself, in the past, had been completely unable to deal with that style.
"That's also what I mean by winning because I watched. Your moves were plain as day to my eyes."
"...You could see all of that?"
"It's possible with good enough eyes."
He tapped his own eyes.
"The way to counter these eyes of mine in reverse is just as simple. You just need to develop the same level of insight as me. And the first lesson is about how to cultivate that insight—would that be direct enough?"
"That's definitely direct. But can insight actually be developed?"
"The crude method is usually the best."
"The crude method?"
He didn't answer, and instead cut the practice dummy.
Slash!
The dummy was split in two with a single strike.
Ordinary people wouldn't notice the difference from before—
But Siellin would certainly have felt it.
"Something is... different? The speed and form of the swing are subtly different."
"Exactly. From now on, I'm going to drive every sword I know into you."
How to develop insight?
Simple.
There are countless swords in the world.
The more of those swords one experiences, the more naturally insight develops.
'The Sword Saint was the same.'
The only difference from others was this.
The Sword Saint didn't need to experience that many swords—she received them all.
The reason that was possible was simple.
No matter how many swords exist in the world, the essence of a sword never changes.
To swing. Only that.
The methods of swinging had branched out to create various swordsmanship Arts.
And so the Sword Saint, after experiencing all the foundational swordsmanship Arts—
Imagined in her mind every sword that could be created from those foundations, and devised counters for all of them.
'Geniuses really are something else.'
He had tried following that method himself.
He could imitate it, but a full reproduction was impossible.
The Sword Saint really was something extraordinary...
'Whether the twelve-year-old Siellin can manage it is another question.'
The Sword Saint hadn't started doing this at twelve either.
So realistically, it would be difficult.
That's what he thought—
"I think I can do it."
"...Really?"
Siellin was a genius far beyond imagination.
"Would someone even be a person if that were hard?"
...Though a rather arrogant one.