It's the Heart, Young Master
I swung the sword.
Faster. More precisely.
I sought out my opponent's openings and thrust, reading his intentions as I moved.
Thwack.
But the wooden sword I drove forward was struck by Rictman's and sent flying.
The blade spun through the air a few times before clattering across the floor.
I stared down at the discarded sword and gave a hollow laugh.
"Haa... Rictman, I just can't beat you."
"Not at all, Young Master. Your skill is excellent."
I wiped the sweat streaming down my face, yet Rictman remained composed, not a single drop on him.
"However, it would be better if you moved a little more calmly. Your offense is good, but there are many openings. You must always watch your opponent's movements."
"Thank you. Would it be all right to spar once more?"
"As many times as you like, Young Master."
We exchanged more blows after that, yet I still could not land a single touch on Rictman's body. He calmly turned aside every attack, and I remained unable to read his moves.
In truth, it was hardly strange. Though Rictman now served as chief butler of the Brontë family, he had once been an outstanding swordsman who rose as high as vice-commander of a knight order. And no matter how gifted Edward might have been with a blade, what lived inside him was not Edward.
"Let's stop here for today."
"Understood, Young Master."
Then a thought suddenly rose.
If I borrowed Rictman's strength, could I stop Yohan's attack? Rictman was an excellent knight; the likes of Yohan's gang would be nothing to him. But I soon realized it was impossible. At this point in time, I alone knew that Yohan was the drug lord of the underworld. Even if I revealed Yohan's true identity to Rictman, he would not believe me. Within the family, Yohan was well regarded as a businessman of outstanding ability.
On the path back to the mansion from the training grounds, I spoke to him.
"Rictman."
"Yes, Young Master."
"May I ask you just one thing?"
"You may ask me anything."
Even if I could not borrow his strength, I thought I might at least borrow his experience and wisdom.
"How does one defeat someone stronger than oneself?"
"Hmm... A difficult question."
Rictman stroked the tip of his beard in thought, then nodded with an "Ahem."
"There are several methods, but if we go by the textbook, you simply become stronger than your opponent."
"I already know that."
"Haha... That was a joke."
He raised his index finger.
"As a former knight, it may sound a little ridiculous for me to say this, but if you truly wish to win, you must not be choosy about the means. For example..."
Rictman kicked up a spray of dirt from the ground.
"If you are fighting on dirt like this, you could throw it into your opponent's eyes and then strike."
"I see."
But if Yohan attacked, it would be inside the mansion. I had planned to prepare a few traps for that contingency, yet traps alone would not be enough. When I answered with an expression that made plain my dissatisfaction, Rictman curled the corners of his mouth into a smile.
"And as a knight, let me offer one more method..."
"What is it?"
"It's the heart, Young Master."
"The heart?"
Rictman laid a hand upon his chest.
"Yes. Exactly. Do you know who the hardest opponents for me to fight were when I was a knight?"
"Strong knights?"
"Of course, knights of great power were difficult to face. But those who fought desperately to protect something were the hardest of all to defeat."
"To protect something..."
"For example."
Rictman looked up toward a second-floor window of the mansion. Ania, who had woken at some point, was staring blankly at the Geumdonghwa blooming in the garden.
"In my days as a knight, it was the resolve to protect the empire. After I entered the service of the Brontë family, it became the resolve to protect the young lady. So whenever I take up my sword, I always fight while picturing her face."
It was a vague story, yet I understood it well enough. Like those tales of fathers who display superhuman strength to shield their children... something of that sort, I supposed.
"Thank you."
"I am glad this old man's words were of some help."
Rictman smiled gently, but I could not be certain.
Did I... want to protect Ania that much?
Of course, if Ania dies, the road ahead of me will be a bed of thorns, but...
Whether that was truly a desire to protect her, I still did not know.
"My lady. I am coming in."
When I opened the door, I found Ania sitting demurely on the bed. She looked a little haggard, yet she still held her beauty as she gazed at me. Then her eyes fell upon the tray in my hands, and the tips of her brows lowered slightly.
"I'm sorry for troubling you."
"I am only doing this because I wish to."
Ania lifted the corners of her mouth into a faint smile. It had already been five days since she had taken to her bed with a cold. A cold that would clear in a few days for a healthy person seemed quite severe for her, and her recovery was slow. As a result, I had been keeping watch at her side for several days now.
"If my lady recovers quickly, my heart will be a little more at ease, will it not?"
"Hehe..."
Ania blushed softly, as if pleased by the answer, and nodded. Fortunately, the sulky mood she had worn before collapsing seemed to have eased a little.
"Would you like a bite?"
I sat beside the bed, scooped a spoonful of porridge, and offered it. Ania quietly parted her lips and closed her eyes. It had been awkward at first, but I was growing used to it. The spoon slipped between her small, red lips.
"It's delicious. What kind of food is this?"
"A traditional dish from the East. Made by boiling rice for a long time. They say people often prepare it when they are ill."
"You have a talent for cooking as well."
"It is nothing special."
Watching Ania eagerly accept each spoonful like a baby bird filled me with a strange feeling. To think this woman had driven men to their deaths with her silver tongue... I almost wished someone would tell me it was a lie.
"Edward."
As I blankly offered another spoonful, Ania called my name.
"Why? Does it not suit your taste?"
"No. I've had enough. I want to sleep now."
Saying so, she wriggled deeper into the bed and stared at me intently. Wondering what she wanted, I tilted my head, and she stretched a hand out from under the covers toward me. It was a small, soft hand.
"I haven't been able to sleep well lately."
"How about having the doctor prescribe a sleeping draught?"
"Mm..."
Ania shook her head from side to side.
"That's not it."
She stretched her hand toward me again. I knew what she meant. She wanted me to hold her hand. It was not as if I failed to understand and was acting this way on purpose.
"Ever since I was little, I've always slept well when someone held my hand. Please hold my hand."
"I'll speak to Rictman about it."
"......"
Ania narrowed her eyes and glared at me, then said, "Hmph, fine. Go away," and turned her body sharply toward the window. After pondering a long while, I sighed as if I had no choice.
"I only need to hold your hand, correct?"
"Yes."
Her expression brightened at once as she seized my hand firmly. Maintaining my composure and pretending it was nothing was no longer particularly difficult. No matter how beautiful a landscape, seeing it every day makes one grow accustomed; no matter how delicious a dish, eating it every day dulls the excitement. Yet why was it that with Ania Brontë alone, no matter how long I looked, I never grew tired of her? To the point that I had to deliberately act as if it were nothing.
"Hehe..."
Ania closed her eyes with a bright, cheerful smile, as if she were happy.
"Please sing me a song."
"A song..."
"A lullaby."
"I am not good at singing. You know that, do you not?"
"Even so."
The only lullaby I knew was something like "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." As I sang the song I was not even good at, the corners of Ania's mouth slowly began to lower. By the time I finished, she was already deep in sleep.
"Rest well."
I muttered to myself and laid a hand on her forehead; the fever was still considerable. To be acting spoiled even when her body was this unwell... I supposed children of noble houses really were children of noble houses.
As I left Ania's room and started back toward my own, I suddenly came face to face with someone. It was the maid Lorelnd.
"Young Master."
"What is it?"
"A guest has arrived."
A guest... Who would bother coming to this mansion? At most it would be Valentine Brontë, or Yohan. But it would not be Valentine Brontë. If that man had come, he would already be rampaging about asking whether Ania was all right. So... the guest who had arrived must be Yohan.
I slowly opened the door to the guest reception room, already thinking of what I would say if it was him.
"Brother!"
But though it was someone from the Radner family, it was not Yohan.
"Aria?"
"Brother! It's been so long!"
A girl with red hair who still carried a childish air. Eyes full of mischief. A magic genius second to none in the empire. The top mage of the Academy. Edward Radner's younger sister, Aria Radner.