3. Seria Was a Prodigy
"Don't worry. I'm pretty good at sports despite how I look... Hyaah!"
Feint while talking! Target: Seria's side! Of course, I had no intention of actually hitting her. I planned to stop just short, Hollywood action style.
But.
Whoosh! My stick sliced through empty air.
"Huh?"
She'd definitely been right there. But Seria had already dodged my attack and stepped back a pace.
"Young Master, you nearly tripped."
"N-no, that's not it? This was a feint motion!"
I rubbed my nose awkwardly. Probably just luck.
"Here I go again! Full power mode this time!"
I swung the stick once more. From above, down!
Crack! A sharp sound rang out, and a jolt vibrated up my arm. My stick was blocked by Seria's.
"......"
"......"
Seria blocked my attack with a blank expression. Her stance was flawless. Legs spread shoulder-width, center of gravity low. Even the angle of her wrist gripping the stick. No one had ever taught her this, right?
What the heck is this girl?
A spark of competitive fire ignited in me. My pride from three months at kendo academy in my past life wouldn't allow it.
"Yah! Yap! Take this! Sword Master's barrage!"
I swung wildly—left, right, up, down, even thrusts.
But.
Crack, crack, clack, crack! Seria stood rooted like a post, deflecting every single attack. She didn't even look winded. That casual ease, like swatting a pesky fly!
"Huff... huff..."
Five minutes later, I collapsed spread-eagled on the ground. My heart felt like it would explode. Overflowing energy but zero stamina—like a hyper puppy with noodle legs.
"Young Master! Are you okay?!"
Seria dropped her stick in a panic and rushed over. Not a drop of sweat on her. Her breathing was perfectly steady.
"You... what are you?"
"Pardon? I'm Seria."
"No, I mean... where'd you learn swordsmanship like that?"
"Swordsmanship? I just saw what you were swinging and... blocked it."
Just saw it and blocked? Was this the legendary prodigy talent I'd only heard about?
I stared up at Seria in a daze. Then a chill raced through my mind with a pop!
This is it.
My fantasy novel reader instincts kicked in hard. I shot to my feet.
"Seria."
"Yes, Young Master. Shall I fetch some water?"
"No."
I grabbed her dirt-streaked hand with my own filthy one.
"Be my knight."
"......Pardon?"
Seria blinked.
"A knight? But I'm a commoner girl, and still a kid."
"Who cares? Equality and all that. These days, talent's what matters—kid, adult, old fogey."
"Y-yes?"
I stared seriously into her eyes.
"You've got the gift. I guarantee it. You'll be a grand swordmaster who devours the empire someday."
"G-grand swordmaster? Me?"
"Yep. So from now on, you're my personal escort knight. Got it?"
Seria blanked out for a second, then giggled. She clearly thought it was just kid stuff, play-pretend.
"Understood. If that's what Young Master wants."
"I'm not kidding..."
I pouted, but whatever. Even if it starts as child's play, the end will be legendary.
"Alright. Knight inauguration gift: one wish. What do you wanna eat?"
Seria pondered, then hesitantly spoke.
"Well..."
"Spill. More chicken?"
"No! Ch-chicken's fine, no thanks!"
Seria waved her hands in horror. That chicken incident must've scarred her. I'll make killer chicken when I'm bigger.
"Hmm, okay. So what then?"
Seria fidgeted, then whispered in my ear.
"That... the chocolate-dipped cookies from last time... could I have just one more?"
That's it? Sweet tooth, huh.
I chuckled and stood.
"Two. No, three."
"Really?!"
"Yeah. But carry me. Legs hurt."
Not lying—I got wrecked so bad I couldn't walk.
"...A knight's duties are truly weighty."
Seria grumbled but offered her back. I climbed on. So warm.
And.
She smells insane.
We're using the same bath stuff, right? Must be that natural scent thing.
As I secretly sniffed away, all innocent-like.
"...Young Master."
"Yeah?"
"You're heavy..."
"Oh."
Glancing down, Seria's legs were trembling. Duh, five and seven years old—piggybacking's a stretch.
—
The duel with Seria yesterday—which is code for "one-sided smackdown"—anyway, the next day.
Waking in bed, I thought about it. That sensation from yesterday. Seria's impossible reflexes blocking my attacks. Was it luck, or real-deal talent? Time to test.
I was already half-convinced, but hyping her up with "You're amazing, you've got talent!" only for her to flop later? That'd be on me. Gotta tap the stone bridge first, as they say.
"Young Master, where are you going?"
"Follow me. Got something to see."
I grabbed Seria's hand and headed to the mansion's back door. She trailed hesitantly.
"Um, Young Master. Isn't that where the guards train? Dusty and dangerous..."
"It's fine. We'll just watch from afar."
We arrived at the territory's outskirts Training Ground. Fancy name for a weedy lot with a few straw dummies.
A dozen or so guard uncles shouted in unison, swinging wooden swords.
"Hup! Hah!"
Sweat stench wafted. I plopped under a tree, chin in hand.
Hmm, rural barony vibes.
Me, three months kendo... nah, dropping that. Anyway, the scene was honestly pitiful. Sluggish moves, poor sync. Like burly neighborhood dads doing stick aerobics.
But one stood out. Guard Captain Mason. The territory's only formally trained knight. He weaved through, correcting stances.
"Seria."
"Yes, Young Master."
I nudged Seria, who was yawning blankly beside me. Adorable yawn, by the way.
"See anything from that?"
"Any... thing?"
Seria tilted her head, scanning the training guards.
"Not really..."
"Nothing? Cool? Wanna try?"
"Hm, just... they're working hard."
As expected. Their moves didn't impress her either. Makes sense—after yesterday's block, this level might bore her.
Okay, how about this.
I grinned, scanned around, and picked up a decent stick.
"Here, catch."
"More firewood?"
"It's a sword."
I shoved it in her hand and pointed to the training ground center.
"See that uncle? The bushy-bearded one."
"Guard Captain?"
"Yeah. Wanna mimic what he's doing?"
"M-me?"
Seria's eyes widened. She shook her head frantically.
"How could I..."
"C'mon, just imitate."
"N-no! I can't!"
Oho, playing hard to get? But I know the magic words to move Seria.
"Seria."
"I said I can't."
"Do it, and ten choco cookies."
Instantly, her head snapped around.
"...Choco cookies... ten?"
"Yup. Chocolate chip ones. Milk too."
Seria's eyes changed. I heard her gulp from here. Classic girl that age—sweets are unbeatable.
"Promise? No lies."
"When have I ever lied?"
"The chicken time."
"Ahem, moving on."
Seria steadied her breath, gripped the stick right, and watched the captain.
Perfect timing—he was demoing.
"Watch close! Downward strikes come from the hips, not the waist! Hup!"
Whoosh! His thick arm swung the wooden sword vertically. A heavy thud. Guards went "Ooh."
"Got it? That."
I whispered. Seria nodded silently.
And.
"Hup."
A tiny shout, and she swung.
Screee!
"Whoa!"
This might actually work. No joke—the stick's air-slice was sharper than the captain's sword.
Stance perfect. Foot placement, hip twist, wrist snap. Cleaner than the captain, even.
"Like that?"
Seria asked casually. I thumbs-upped.
"Spot on. Perfect."
Then, footsteps rushed from the training ground.
"Y-Young Master!!"
Guard Captain Mason. He ditched training, sprinting over. Eyes like saucers.
"Ah, Sir Mason."
"Who is this child!? Did you see that stance? One glance and she replicates it?!"
Mason spat in excitement. He reached for Seria's shoulder but pulled back—girl and all. Instead, circled her, inspecting.
"You ever trained? Knight dad?"
"N-no..."
Seria hid behind me, spooked. Mason cleared his throat.
"Ahem! S-sorry. Got carried away."
He gawked at us alternately, incredulous.
"Young Master, this girl... she's no ordinary talent. Twenty years as a knight, first time seeing this. A genius! Genius!"
Yes! My gut was right. Fantasy novel chops don't fade.
I snorted proudly, shrugging.
"Ahem, my escort knight. Pretty good, huh?"
"Escort? Her?"
"Yup. Reserved her. Future empire's top sword, so keep an eye, Sir Mason."
"Whoa..."
Mason shook his head in awe. Kinda making me smug.
Anyway, now just beg Dad for formal training...
Tug tug.
Hm? Someone yanked my clothes. Seria looked up with pleading eyes.
Happy to be called genius?
"Young Master."
"Yeah?"
"Cookies."
She spread her tiny palm.
"Ten. Milk included."
"......"
I burst out laughing. Right, genius schmnius—sweets rule now.
"Got it, got it. Let's go beg the kitchen auntie."
"Yay!"
Seria's face lit up. I smiled warmly at her bouncing away.