I Like the Sword
The distractions vanished. I had finally realized what I needed to pursue.
The sword.
I wanted to see how far the sword could take me.
Not so much because I wanted to escape the Berce duchy, or because I refused to be toyed with by Eleanor and her string of admirers—but simply because wasting this talent felt like such a terrible shame.
Think about it.
One glance at a movement, and I could grasp the principle behind it. I could see the play of every muscle with perfect clarity and understand exactly why that motion had been chosen. Even without watching an entire sword form through to the end, I could already map out how the technique was constructed.
How could anyone throw away a talent like that?
What a waste. An absolute, unforgivable waste.
That Bellatrix had never taken an interest in the sword—that was the greatest waste of all.
The world through Bellatrix's eyes was nothing like the world I had known before possessing her. How to put it—her innate senses seemed to soar so far beyond ordinary human limits that comparison felt meaningless.
I never imagined the solid weight of a sword in my grip could be this intoxicating. It felt as though I had rediscovered a purpose I had long since lost.
When I lowered the blade, a heavy exhaustion washed over me. For all that Bellatrix was reasonably strong… strength only went so far when you were a fifteen-year-old girl who had never trained a day in her life.
As I stood there with the sword lowered, I became aware of eyes on me from every side. The knights were staring with looks of pure astonishment, as if they couldn't quite believe what they had just witnessed.
"M-my lady? Just now, that was…?"
It was Sir Edric, the Knight Commander.
I didn't bother elaborating. I simply told him:
"Commander. I want to learn the sword."
"…Understood. I will inform the Duke."
There was no "why."
If anything, Sir Edric's eyes were shining. Rather than being flustered that I had swung a sword at all, he seemed to be marveling at the talent latent within me.
That alone was enough.
Knock, knock—
"Enter."
Valentin Berce, head of House Berce, looked up as Edric opened the door and stepped inside.
"What is it?"
"My lord… the young lady…"
"Bella? What about her?"
Edric relayed everything that had happened at the training grounds that day.
"Is that true?"
"It is. And at the end, she said she wished to learn the sword herself."
"…Unexpected. The child never showed so much as a flicker of interest in the blade."
Bellatrix had never once taken up a sword in her life. And yet that same child was now displaying an almost unfathomable talent for it?
Had the head injury she suffered not long ago something to do with it?
There was no way of knowing.
"Frankly, I was astonished. To my knowledge, the young lady had never so much as held a sword—and yet she produced a form like that."
"If even you speak of it so highly, I find myself curious."
"I expect Your Grace will be surprised as well."
"Very well. I will observe Bella myself tomorrow. You may go."
Once Edric had left, Valentin sank into thought.
If Edric's report was true—and if Bellatrix's newfound attitude was more than a fleeting whim—then what was he to do?
Fifteen. Far too late an age to begin learning the sword. No matter how extraordinary the talent, those early formative years could decide the course of the decades that followed. If Bellatrix was truly earnest about the blade, she had already let that golden window slip away. Even with talent, she would likely never rise beyond a certain point—and she might well come to know bitter frustration.
But did that mean he needed to force the cold reality upon her?
The succession of the house had already been settled on Ragnar. A year younger than Bellatrix, Ragnar had displayed a brilliant gift from early childhood and left his mark on everyone around him. In other words, there was no chain binding her. Becoming the master of a great house meant gaining much—but it also meant shouldering a great deal more. That heavy burden had already been placed on Ragnar's shoulders. Bellatrix need only live as she pleased.
So there was no reason to stop her.
That was how Valentin saw it. His daughter might never achieve greatness with the sword—but he would let her have what she wanted.
…And that conviction shattered the very next day, the moment he saw Bellatrix swing a blade.
"Bella. Sir Edric tells me you wish to learn the sword."
"Yes."
Valentin Berce—Bellatrix's father, and now mine. Calling him Father still felt strange, but what choice did I have? I would have to get used to it. Becoming Bellatrix was no fleeting dream.
In any case, Father broached the subject of yesterday's events with a light touch.
"From what Sir Edric said, it seems you have a fair amount of talent."
"It seems so."
I agreed without hesitation. Claiming otherwise would have been pure deception. More than that—when you tell someone you want to do something, you need to show confidence. Who would grant permission to a person who asked without any conviction of their own?
Of course, Father had always been the sort to indulge Bellatrix in whatever she wished. But this was different. House Berce was a renowned sword lineage. Soft as the family might be toward Bellatrix—toward me—treating the sword lightly was the sort of thing that would draw talk from every corner of the house. There was no need to go out of my way to make myself unpopular.
I needed to make it clear that learning the sword was no passing fancy.
So—had my answer just now radiated confidence?
No.
If I had already declared I wanted to learn the sword, and if I had made it the new purpose of my life, then I needed to show confidence to match.
I gave a slight shake of my head and spoke again.
"No—to be honest, I regret not taking up the sword much sooner."
"That much, is it?"
"Yes. Yesterday, when I stopped by the training grounds for a bit of air… something about the world around me felt different."
I relayed everything I had felt the day before, without embellishment or omission.
"The world felt different?"
"Yes. I don't know how else to put it."
"What changed?"
"My vision."
"Your vision?"
"Yes. The way I look at the world shifted—and the amount I can understand just by watching something became far too much."
That was a lie, of course. The world Bellatrix saw had always been this way. But in another sense, it was also the truth. To me, it was a world I was seeing for the first time.
Honestly, Bellatrix herself was almost miraculous. With senses and vision like these, how had she managed to avoid physical movement so thoroughly? Perhaps she had been born this way and simply never found it remarkable.
"Then show me. Swing a sword."
"Yes."
Father led me out to the training grounds. I was glad I had come dressed for easy movement—I had expected something like this.
When we arrived, the sounds of knights at drill filled the air.
"Ha!"
Clang!
The ring of steel on steel had never sounded so pleasant. Life truly did take strange turns.
Whether they had noticed our arrival or not, the knights turned toward us with keen, fascinated eyes—toward Father and me, but mostly toward me.
Without a word, Father held out a sword. I took it without hesitation and drew it from its scabbard.
Shiiing—
Even the sound of the blade leaving the sheath was intoxicating. The sword settled into my hand as if it belonged there. A blade Father himself had handed me was bound to be a fine one.
I felt almost like a pervert. Bellatrix was one thing—but the original me had never particularly cared for swords either. They say talent makes it easy to grow fond of something. I was living proof.
I gripped the sword in both hands and settled into the stance I had watched the day before.
"Oh."
A murmur of admiration rose, and a thicket of gazes fixed on me. Mixed among the fascinated stares was unmistakable awe—the shock of people who had just witnessed something extraordinary.
I drew a deep breath and poured every scrap of my focus into the blade. The watching eyes melted out of existence. Only the sword and I remained in a world of pure white—a blank sheet of paper with nothing else on it.
I swung slowly.
All I knew were the brief movements and cuts the knights had shown me yesterday. But those forms did not quite fit my body. The sword path shifted of its own accord. What I had seen the day before began to reshape itself into something that was mine—a swordsmanship suited not to a sturdy male frame, but to a delicate, flexible woman's body.
I stepped forward.
One step.
As my foot advanced, the blade swept through the air in a fierce arc, carving the empty space. One step, one cut.
And as I moved, the knights appeared before me like phantoms—as though someone had thoughtfully provided me with sparring partners.
Whoosh—!
They thrust exactly as I had seen them do the day before. The path of each blade, the precise point it aimed for, burned itself into my vision with perfect clarity. In an instant I could judge what was wrong with their swords.
I stepped sideways.
I did not meet the oncoming steel with force.
Ssshk—
I simply let it slide past. There was not even the metallic ring of edge meeting edge. I twisted my wrist, warped the trajectory of the incoming blade, and extended my own point forward.
The moment the tip pierced the phantom, the blank white world snapped back into its proper shape.
I carefully returned the sword to its scabbard.
And then…
"Hah."
"…Good heavens."
Awe poured out of the onlookers on a scale utterly different from before I had swung. And Father was no exception.