Sword Talent
Speaking of sword talent, life here was luxuriously perfect in every way.
“Ah, Arnold?! A… a walk, perhaps…?”
Living as a noble truly felt like paradise itself. Spend your time doing whatever you pleased, then enjoy a feast prepared by a master chef: “Young master… what would you like for dinner today?” After that, bask in idle free time until sunset, when you could retire whenever you wanted. “Yawn~ Time to call it a night? I’ve read enough books for today…”
Compared to my previous life, crushed under the grind of society before my possession, this was the dream existence I’d always yearned for.
But not everything was flawless. There was just one thing. One nagging issue worth complaining about.
“Hey.”
“Y-yes…! What is it, Arnold?!!”
As I’d mentioned before, the way people looked at me was downright pitiful.
“……….”
They showed outright terror just sharing the same space or exchanging a word with me, fearing Arnold to that extent. Their expressions screamed worry over some random punishment from a single phrase.
“Over there—”
“What’s wrong?!!”
But the truly unfair part was that Arnold wasn’t even that bad of a guy. That made this reality—devoid of any chance to defend myself—all the more terrifying.
“Wait, you dropped your handkerchief.”
I was just picking up something a maid had dropped, nothing more.
“I-I’m sorry, Arnold!”
Yet the maid responded not with thanks, but with a face pale in fright, spilling apologies.
“No, it’s fine, really—”
Even trying to reassure her with a simple “it’s okay” didn’t help.
“Ugh…!! You must be upset?! I’m so sorry for dropping my filthy handkerchief and blocking your path, wasting your precious time!!”
I had to endure her desperate defense, as if she were babbling her last words on death’s doorstep.
“Jace, what now…!!”
“If he’s offended Arnold’s mood, there’s no helping it. Even if we don’t see her tomorrow, just accept it…”
Even more shocking, the others nodded along as if this were perfectly understandable.
“……….”
How long did I have to live under this perception? The idea that Arnold equaled irredeemable demon was so deeply rooted that changing it seemed impossible.
“Have you eaten, Master?”
Even now, aside from Eily, most people still eyed me warily.
“Yeah, so now that I’m full, thought I’d work off some energy.”
“I see! If there’s anything you need, just tell your servant Eily!”
Oh, and speaking of Eily.
“I’ll obey any command from ‘Master’!”
Ever since that forest fiasco, she’d started calling me “Master.”
Technically, servants referring to their employer as “master” was standard. But she used it for me, who wasn’t even her official employer.
“…….”
It grated a bit, but it didn’t seem like a real problem, so I let it slide.
A clear sky with pristine white clouds drifting lazily. Warm sunlight bathed the land under a gentle, cool breeze—perfect weather.
“Heave-ho~”
Ideal conditions for outdoor training. I was in the large clearing behind the mansion, loosening up with some stretches. This spot was where the estate guards often trained, so practice wooden swords and dummies dotted the area.
“Hoo…”
Side note: I had the whole place to myself right now. The guards had been here first, but when I said I wanted to train, they broke out in cold sweats and fled… leaving me with unwanted solitude.
Still, while a sparring partner was nice, I preferred practicing alone in peace. As long as no rumors spread like “Arnold tried to use the guards as punching bags.”
“Let’s start with stance.”
Anyway, back to it. I grabbed a random wooden sword and began with the basics.
Today’s focus was swordsmanship, not magic. I’d already tested my magic aptitude, but my sword talent was still unknown. In the game, Arnold handled both magic and blade with skill, so I might have potential here too.
Plus, reflecting on the forest incident brought some insights—hard to articulate, though.
“Hah—”
First up: basic overhead strike from a proper stance.
“Hmph!”
Raising the hilt overhead with both hands, I swung down swiftly and precisely.
Whoosh—the air sliced with a sharp whistle, a faint gust following. Sand scattered, kicking up dust—not just my imagination.
“…….”
Just one try, but it felt… extraordinary. Overconfidence? Or did I really have sword talent?
“Hmph! Hmph! Hmph!”
Recalling proper form from books, I spent hours practicing grips, stances, and weight distribution.
“Arnold, what brings you here?”
Mid-swing against empty air, a calm, solemn voice addressed me.
“…You.”
“You might recall—I am Martin.”
A massive build, muscular arms, skin tanned dark from years under the sun. His stern face held a stoic, expressionless dignity.
“Martin?”
The towering man—twice my size—spoke up.
“Wait, you’re…”
The name rang familiar. Memories clicked: he was a Stenman family knight from the game, appearing a few times.
“A knight captain, perhaps…?”
“Correct.”
His strength was no joke—he overwhelmed foes with raw power and sword mastery. Fittingly, he was the first game character I’d met here. He could dispatch a Dire Wolf pack effortlessly, even said to cleave boulders or cliffs.
“Honored you remember.”
With his immense strength and size, he was one of the few unflinching before Arnold.
“Mm… yeah.”
Come to think of it, I’d forgotten about him—rare appearances in the original, and no encounters here yet.
“Practicing swordplay. Got interested lately.”
“I see. Might I assist in some way?”
He showed perfect courtesy to the much smaller, younger me.
“Hmm, if you’re up for it—spar with me?”
His offer sparked an idea.
“A spar? Possible, but… if I may speak frankly.”
“I’m unskilled at holding back, even against vast skill gaps.”
“The guards avoid sparring with me for that reason… But if you’re willing, Arnold, I’d gladly oblige.”
Every word dripped humility and respect.
“Good, let’s do it.”
Martin was the perfect partner, though his size worried me.
“Yes, I’ll adjust my power carefully.”
He wasn’t incapable of restraint, just clumsy at it. Worth a shot.
“Ready, Arnold?”
He picked up a wooden sword, checked it, stretched lightly, and awaited my signal.
“…Yeah.”
I steadied my breath, nodded amid rising tension.
“Here I come…!”
Martin lunged with ferocious speed, belying his bulk.
“……!”
A knight’s velocity—sharper, swifter than a wolf’s fangs.
“Hup!”
Even powered down, one solid hit would shatter bones.
“Miss—”
“What…?! ”
But…
“…….”
If it didn’t land, power meant nothing.
“Impressive.”
I dodged with freakish reflexes. This was why I suspected sword talent.
During the Dire Wolf fight, I’d noticed: Arnold’s physical prowess far exceeded his age and experience. Dynamic vision, especially.
“…!”
“Dodged that too!”
My reactions were superhumanly sharp.
“Remarkable. Then, I’ll ramp it up.”
Martin’s pressure dwarfed the wolves: hulking mass, proportional might, terrifying speed. Knights earned their title.
“Hmph!”
His face hardened, sparring more seriously.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—I visually tracked and evaded his flurry.
“……”
Each dodge brought fierce wind pressure. How devastating was each blow?
“Ooh…”
No hits landed yet, but a problem: pure evasion meant no victory for me.
“Truly astounding.”
“I’ve been at full throttle, yet you read them all—”
Whoosh—whoosh—relentless pace left no counter window.
“……….”
Dodging endlessly, seeking an opening—then it flashed: one technique.
“This might—”
Risky, but if it worked, it’d bridge our power gap.
“Hmph!”
I planted my feet, facing him head-on.
“Here goes!”
For once, I met his swing squarely.
“……….”
Raw strength? I’d be crushed. But technique changed everything.
Clack!
“Wha—?!”
His full-force strike rebounded off the frail boy.
“……….”
My hands tingled from the deflection, but minor given the disparity.
Clack! “…!”
I parried the next flawlessly. Tap, clack… clack!!
His barrage continued, unyielding and brutal.
Thud! Tap… tap! Clack!
But I handled them all effortlessly.
“How in the world…”
The knight’s composure cracked, incredulous at his power bouncing off my slight frame.
“…Now!”
Clack! But I wasn’t just blocking.
“Urk?!”
Defense into offense. His sword flew from his grip on the final clash.
“It’s over.”
“Ugh!”
I pressed my blade to his throat, signaling the end to the now-vulnerable Martin.
“I yield, Arnold… To defeat me at your age. Your future shines bright.”
He bowed his head, defeat laced with resignation.
“Good work.”
Truth be told, it was tough. But the solution—swordsmanship—prevailed.
That technique? Parry.
A game skill: time a defense perfectly against melee physical attacks to nullify most damage and drain foe stamina.
“Well fought, Arnold. Forgive any rudeness on my part.”
Well-regarded in the game, though with cooldowns—not omnipotent. Here? No such limits.
“It’s fine.”
Against swordsmen, could this alone guarantee wins theoretically?
“So, what do you think?”
Once more, Arnold Stenman’s talent astounded me. I’d hoped, but his sword aptitude was phenomenal.
First time gripping a blade in this life, yet instinctively dodging, parrying with perfect timing.
“To speak candidly… a few moves showed inexperience, but otherwise…”
With polish, he could become a master swordsman.
“Mm… one request. Teach me swordplay when I ask?”
“Pardon? Er… yes, if you wish, Arnold…”
The prospect thrilled my heart.