Don't Interfere with the Duel (1)
The moment he recovered his mana, Roy was thrown into a whirlwind of frantic days.
He had a backlog of overdue deliveries to finish, after all.
Once those weapons reached the border, war would begin at once.
Roy never once doubted that the Steel Kingdom would emerge victorious.
He also returned to school. Having missed nearly six days not counting holidays, his reappearance drew stares from every direction.
"What? He's fine?"
"So the rumors were true? He ran away because he was scared."
"Well, of course he'd be scared. Look who he's up against. Mutant or not, that doesn't change anything."
A rather strange rumor was circulating through the academy, and Roy quickly grasped what it was about.
Roy Greenhilt ran away because he was terrified of a duel... What duel, exactly?
Finding the source of the rumor took no effort at all. The moment he stepped into class, a whole swarm of vermin came crawling up to him first.
"Haa... Don't you ever get tired of this? You horse-dung idiots."
They were the same pack he'd once buried under a heap of manure. Their guardians had even been summoned over the last incident, and still they came looking for a fight. Their sheer, brainless courage was almost admirable.
"Greenhilt. I challenge you to a duel."
"What? Me? Are you serious right now? You lot... still haven't learned your lesson, have you?"
"I-it's not me! I'm only here to speak on someone else's behalf."
"Then who?"
"D-don't be shocked! Lord James Biswald, having heard of your misdeeds, has agreed to stand in our place!"
James Biswald.
The name of Benjamin Biswald's son — the boy Roy had defeated in a magic contest on his seventh birthday. James had been two years older then, which made him a second-year senior if he was attending this school.
"Oh, for heaven's sake... You lot — where and how did you even hear about my history with that guy?"
"Th-that, we can't tell you."
Then another boy's voice cut in from elsewhere.
"I told them, Roy."
The speaker was none other than Daniel Biswald.
The instant Roy spotted him, his brow furrowed.
What a tiresome brat.
Whether he was still too young to know better or simply drunk on hero legends, Roy couldn't say — but the boy named Daniel Biswald was an absolute headache.
They say a fool with convictions is a terrifying thing, and this kid proved it. Born into the powerful house of a margrave with a monstrous reserve of mana, he still behaved like a seven- or eight-year-old child.
A self-styled champion of justice. A little hero-worshipper who seemed to believe crushing evil was his personal mission.
And that same brat had decided Roy was his rival. At the drop of a hat he would declare that one day they would settle things, that he wouldn't go down as easily as James — always flaunting some bizarre competitive streak.
What could a boy born with that much mana possibly still be missing?
Roy's head truly ached.
"Lord Daniel!"
The vermin bowed their heads with exaggerated deference the moment Daniel appeared. Habits die hard, it seemed — they weren't even vassals of the Rosemond marquisate they so fawned over, yet look at them. Roy clicked his tongue inwardly.
"I was the one who told them about your little episode with my nephew James, Roy. They were going around asking about you, so I shared what I knew."
Without quite realizing it, Roy pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a long, deep sigh.
Daniel Biswald, utterly unbothered, kept right on talking.
"The story of how, at only seven years old, you faced my nephew — two years your senior — and won. Truly remarkable. Ah, and I told them about the ogre as well. I really am looking forward to what you'll do next. I'd love to see more of that earth-rending magic you showed last time, right in front of me."
At Daniel's words, the vermin's faces twisted as if they'd bitten into something foul. The person who held Roy Greenhilt in the highest regard — the very boy they wanted crushed — was Daniel himself. They edged away and fled toward their own classroom as if escaping.
It was obvious enough why they had gone to the trouble of dragging in James, a second-year senior, instead of Daniel.
"Roy. There's a rumor going around about you. Are you really a mutant? That magic back then was nowhere near the mana level of someone born to a baronial house."
Roy scratched the back of his head with an awkward little laugh.
"Haha, as I've told you several times, that was all thanks to the excellent staff I was using."
Daniel regarded Roy the way one might a protagonist from some heroic epic or legend of a chosen champion. A boy from a baronial family defeating a child of margrave blood — to some, that would look exactly like destiny.
But Daniel belonged to the same house as the boy who had lost that day. If he were a proper noble, shame for the margrave's house should have come before admiration for Roy.
"I heard James challenged you to a duel. Well? Confident you can win this time too?"
Roy answered without hesitation.
"No. But a duel that's been issued has to be accepted."
His expression was bright. Facing margrave blood — and a senior two years older, no less — he looked utterly untroubled.
There was a reason for that.
The contest back then had been a children's match, something people could smile at as merely cute. It had also been an indirect competition rather than a direct clash. Officially, for the sake of everyone's face, it had even been recorded as a draw. If one had to classify it, it was closer to a children's talent show than a real duel.
But the present situation? This was no lighthearted match for entertainment.
This was a duel, pure and simple.
A duel was a different beast entirely from a simple contest. Serious injury was common; death was far from rare. And even if both parties walked away unharmed, the stain a defeat left on a noble's honor was another matter altogether.
From a positional standpoint, I have nothing to lose.
Even if Roy lost — even if he ran away out of fear — his honor would not suffer. No one would point fingers at him.
Of course not. The opponent is margrave blood... isn't that obvious?
People would only point at James, the one who had challenged the weaker party first. Most would see it as one-sided bullying.
Whatever choice Roy made, he stood to lose nothing at all.
Not that I have any intention of throwing the match.
Reading Roy's expression, Daniel asked,
"That confident look of yours — you think you've got a chance, don't you?"
Roy didn't answer. He only smiled. A careless word here could be taken as an insult not merely to James, but to the entire margrave house.
Class was about to start, and children from other families filing into the room had already turned their eyes toward Roy. The talk of the duel, the exchange just now, and the look on Roy's face — surprise, anticipation, jealousy, curiosity — all of it stirred different thoughts in every watching student. Some were even hoping to see Roy crushed so thoroughly he'd crawl on the floor begging for his life.
I didn't start this fight. Might as well use the chance to clean out the nuisances all at once.
Roy saw this as an opportunity. Starting with the vermin, he intended to make sure no one else dared treat him lightly. A little demonstration of power was in order. And since the other side had issued the challenge first, the justification was perfect. Even if he broke an arm or a leg, no blame would fall on him.
This wasn't a casual match. It was a duel.
I'm looking forward to it. But when is the date?
Roy found himself impatient for the day of the duel to arrive.
James was thoroughly startled.
A group of unfamiliar children from a viscount's house — the ones Roy so fondly called vermin — had come looking for him. What business could first-years possibly have with a third-year? They weren't even from a vassal house of the Biswalds, nor were they acquaintances he'd made at some banquet.
But once he heard what they had to say, a painful memory rose unbidden.
The bitter memory of losing — as a young boy — to that child from a baronial house. To Roy.
When he first lost, James hadn't hated the boy. He'd felt a flicker of jealousy at that astonishing magical talent, yes, but the way Roy had deliberately forced a draw for his sake, and the way Roy's swordsmanship was so hopelessly clumsy that James had beaten him in an instant — all of it had left him strangely intrigued.
Truthfully, he had wanted to become friends. Competitive pride played a part, of course, but more than that he had wanted to talk — to share all sorts of things with someone who, like him, could remember so many magic spells.
Until his father, Benjamin, struck him across the face.
Even after they returned home, his father never stopped hounding him. A disgrace to the family. How could he fail at something a child that young could do? The slightest mistake was answered with violence.
From that day on, James had thrown himself into magic and swordsmanship lessons from morning till night. Rapidly growing stronger was the only way to free himself from his father's fists.
It had become a memory he never wanted to revisit — but it had given him something, too. After arriving at the Knight Academy, he discovered his skill ranked among the very best of his year. Outside the royal family and the ducal houses, even the children of marquisates fell far short of him.
The confidence that had vanished returned in a rush. The past had become something he could laugh off as nothing more than an old story.
And then the children who had come to find him said this:
"A boy named Roy Greenhilt has been going around insulting you, Lord James. Forgive us for even repeating it, but he says you're nothing but a disgrace to the margrave's house — older, and nothing more. He brags that he faced you as a child and beat you easily. We were born to a vassal house of a marquisate, and as a mere viscount's family we stand far below the Biswald margraviate. But hearing him insult a superior noble made our blood boil, so we came to you knowing full well it was improper."
"Why not face him yourselves?"
"The brat has no sense of his place. He's been clinging to a young lady from a count's house. We don't know how he seduced her, but whenever anyone tries to say a word to him, he hides behind that count's daughter like a shield."
"Exactly. Ever since people started praising him as a mutant or whatever, he's lost all sense of restraint. He goes around boasting that he defeated margrave blood and charms the children of great houses."
The old memory surged back, and James felt a deep, sour displeasure.
Life on the estate had been hell, but for more than two years now, attending the Knight Academy in the capital had felt like living a new life. Praise had followed him wherever he went.
And now, because of one boy, that new life was about to be soiled all over again.