The Ring (3): The Squire's Skill Inheritance

I pried Angelica off me as she insisted on sparring again and retreated to the corner, where I squatted down. The last thing I needed was to trigger another one of those not-quite-dates if I moved around too much.

A hulking figure like me crouching in the corner must have looked strange, because several people kept glancing my way.

“Not sparring anymore?”

Angelica came over and squatted right beside me. Thanks to that, I could feel the stares multiplying by the second. I wanted to tell her to leave me alone, but the words wouldn’t come.

She simply sat there with an expressionless face, blinking those red eyes while staring straight at me. Expectation burned quietly in them.

He’s stronger than before. He should still have enough stamina to spar with me again, right? She was probably entertaining some useless thought like that.

In answer to her gaze I silently pointed at the broken wooden sword. She nodded, stopped asking for another match, and simply stared into empty space. Her face remained blank, but I could read her perfectly. She looked like the world had ended.

Was it really that shocking? This was driving me insane. I was losing my mind because of that sparring-obsessed monster called Angelica.

To keep her burning stamina under control I’d probably have to spar with her at least once a day, but I had no idea how long I could keep getting lucky by snapping wooden swords.

Thanks to the title it was nice to gobble up experience until I caught up to her level, yet no matter how much I grew the gap between us refused to shrink.

On the other hand, letting my hands go idle meant sprinting straight toward a bad ending. What a headache. Still, what choice did I have? To avoid that bad ending I just had to grit my teeth and become stronger.

By the way, how exactly was I supposed to pass on skills? In the game you simply opened the skill book and clicked “Yes” on the pop-up. Now that it had become reality, touching the book was enough to learn it. But I had no clue how transference was supposed to work.

Judging from Kafka’s reaction after watching the earlier spar, it didn’t seem to be through demonstration. Hitting Kafka… definitely not that. Maybe I had to use the skill book myself?

That didn’t feel right either. I couldn’t get a read on it. The answer had to be in the game somewhere. Even though reality had changed many things, most systems still followed the original framework.

I turned the word “skill” over in my mind and unfolded every game screen still left in my memory one by one. Five minutes must have passed like that.

Could it be…?

After squatting and pondering for five whole minutes, the image from the loading screen that appeared whenever you acquired a skill in the game floated up. An SD version of the protagonist sitting in lotus position, meditating.

I looked at my shadow where Kafka hid and sent a telepathic message.

Want to come out?

Is it okay?

I nodded at her reply. There was no other answer anyway. It wasn’t as if I could use Mad Orlando on Kafka. Using the skill book myself felt wrong, and if demonstration wasn’t the method, this was the only option left.

My shadow bubbled, and Kafka slowly emerged from within. The sight of a giant beastman popping out of a shadow drew even more eyes, but that wasn’t my problem. I looked at her and spoke.

“Lotus position.”

“What’s that?”

Kafka tilted her head as if I’d spoken nonsense. Ah, right. Of course she wouldn’t know what a lotus position was.

I explained the lotus position to Kafka, and she settled into the exact posture I described. The moment she did, the notification appeared as if confirming I had guessed correctly. I let out a sigh of relief at not having to beat Kafka up and reached for Y.

The window in front of me immediately split into four empty slots.

I clicked on the skills ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I had already decided on. The empty slots filled one by one.

There weren’t many skills to begin with, and I had already decided which ones to give her, so the choice itself wasn’t difficult. I closed the window and watched for her reaction.

“Is it over?”

Kafka simply tilted her head, seemingly unaware of any change. I felt the same. I couldn’t sense anything different. Externally there was no visible difference between before and after the transfer.

It wasn’t as if her muscles had suddenly become as bulky as mine. She kept patting her own body, apparently unable to detect any change either.

Then there was only one way to check.

I fetched another wooden sword from the warehouse and tossed it to her. She caught it with a dazed look.

“Swing it once.”

“I’ve never swung a sword in my life.”

Muttering that, she lifted the blade and swung. She moved without instruction, simply following her instincts, yet the path of her sword was precise and perfectly formed. It looked exactly like…

“Logress Swordsmanship?” Angelica muttered from the side.

Exactly. What Kafka was doing wasn’t mere sword swinging. It was the Logress Swordsmanship I had transferred—the very first form, the Static Sword Style. And that wasn’t all. As if remembering something, Kafka let out a low growl and slightly furrowed her brow.

From that moment the wooden sword’s speed began to climb. A blade wind swirled around her, and scars from the wooden sword carved themselves one after another into the floor.

The students who had been training stopped what they were doing to stare at Kafka. Charles in particular watched with his eyes wide. Angelica’s voice came out flat, yet laced with pure astonishment.

“Does this… even make sense…?”

What Kafka was unleashing was a storm of blades born from intense emotion—Angelica’s own secret art, Mad Orlando. It was unfolding perfectly in her hands. When the sword storm finally vanished, Kafka stared at the wooden sword with a blank face.

“This… actually worked…?”

She looked herself over, tail wagging gently.

“And my body feels lighter than before.”

She muttered again, clenching and unclenching her fist repeatedly. So the transfer had succeeded. Somehow it all felt strangely anticlimactic. The fact that I had passed on the skills with nothing more than a click left me with oddly mixed feelings. It was convenient for me, sure, but still.

Suddenly Angelica began walking slowly toward Kafka. Perhaps the expressionless approach was frightening, because Kafka instantly hid behind me.

Seeing a girl who easily cleared 190 centimeters cowering behind someone only a little over 170 centimeters was a strange sight, yet I didn’t find it odd at all. If Angelica approached me that way, I would have done exactly the same thing.

But now she was coming toward me? What was this? How was I supposed to handle it? Was she angry that I had freely taught the family’s secret techniques? No—when I had used them she hadn’t reacted at all. In fact, hadn’t she looked entertained?

Angelica stopped right in front of me, grabbed my collar with one small hand, and pointed at Kafka with the other. Kafka flinched at being singled out. Angelica looked me dead in the eye and spoke.

“How did you do that?”

There was no anger, no denial—only pure curiosity. Her red eyes sparkled with wonder. Meanwhile Charles had a hand pressed to his forehead, frowning deeply. He was scowling so hard that even Iris asked if he was all right, and his rivals Asdel and Arse looked genuinely worried about him. I sympathized.

The Karl Kingdom’s secret techniques had become public property long ago, and the person responsible for leaking them was standing there with sparkling eyes and zero consequences.

We had essentially NTR’d a secret technique from the Karl Kingdom. If the emperor ever learned of this he might throw a festival in celebration.

“It appears to be an effect of the spirit contract.”

I roughly covered it up with the spirit contract. I couldn’t explain the System. Angelica rested a hand on her chin, thinking for a moment.

“Then the way you were gesturing into empty air earlier—was that also related to the spirit contract?”

At her question I swallowed my saliva the wrong way and started coughing. She had seen everything. I had assumed she wasn’t paying attention while she stared blankly into space. I forced a smile and nodded.

Whether curiosity or interest had been sparked, she went to the warehouse, picked up another wooden sword, and slowly approached me.

The corners of her lips were faintly lifted, and expectation burned in her ruby-red eyes. The fortunate part was that the gaze wasn’t aimed at me. The unfortunate part was that it was aimed at Kafka.

“Kafka… right? Could you spar with me?”

Just as I thought. Maybe I shouldn’t have demonstrated it in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠front of the sparring monster. A rather chilling request left Angelica’s lips. Kafka flinched, then tucked her wagging tail between her legs. I could feel the fluffy fur brushing against my shin.

Once caught in that radar it was hard to escape. Kafka looked up at me with folded ears and pitiful eyes, but with her gaze narrowed to slits all I could do was give her a thumbs-up. I’m sorry, Kafka. There’s nothing I can do.

Wearing an expression that clearly said I was the worst, Kafka was dragged away by Angelica’s hand. I prayed she would last at least a little while. After all, her level was higher than mine and she now had the same main skills.

Maybe for Angelica it would feel like facing a slightly stronger version of me. Then, if things got difficult, she could take it out on Kafka instead.

But that was nothing more than wishful thinking.

Even though Kafka tried her best to fight back using both Mad Orlando and The Insight of One Who Has Seen the End, she couldn’t endure more than a few exchanges before she was sent flying.

Wait—her level is higher than mine, yet she couldn’t even last a few moves? Was it lack of experience, or was she simply too scared?

I walked over to the collapsed Kafka and checked her condition.

“…Ugh.”

She wasn’t unconscious. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠She was covered in dust, but there were no visible bruises.

“Sorry.”

“…No, it’s fine.”

I apologized for throwing her into the lion’s den and reached out to help her up. At that exact moment an emotionless voice sounded from the side.

“It really won’t do after all.”

The owner of the voice was Angelica. Something about her tone felt disturbingly cold, so my strength left me and I stopped trying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to pull Kafka to her feet.

When I turned my head she was simply staring at us with her usual blank expression. Thinking I must have misheard, I tried to help Kafka up again.

“After all, it seems it won’t do unless it’s Ian.”

If that chilling voice hadn’t reached my ears a second time, I might have kept believing I had imagined it. I turned my head once more.

This time her gaze held only me. The corners of her mouth were slightly raised. It was still expressionless—nothing more than the faintest lift at the edges, as if she were quietly happy.

Yet somehow I couldn’t read her at all. The emotions that usually showed through her blank face were gone. The only thing left in her expression was something sticky and eerily unknown.