Chapter 89: I Wish Everyone Would Just Get Lost (3)
Chapter 89: I Wish Everyone Would Just Get Lost (3)
A few days later.
The training grounds of the Knight Department.
The area was empty, everyone having headed back after finishing their practice. However, two people remained, still dripping with sweat.
Well, to be precise, only one of them was actually sweating.
“Your sword tip is shaking.”
“I know.”
“Focus.”
“Huuup!”
At Petrick’s critique, Matthew swung his sword with every ounce of concentration he could muster.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
It was a simple downward strike, but the sound it made was significantly better than before.
He’s improved a lot.
When Petrick first saw him, Matthew’s sword had been flopping around like a jellyfish drifting through the ocean. He’d actually been impressed that someone could manage to let their sword path stray in so many different directions with a single strike.
But now, the wind whistling off his blade was quite sharp. This was the very definition of "leaps and bounds."
Well, I still need to be careful. This is where the real plateau begins.
It was similar to studying. It was relatively easy to take a kid scoring 10 or 20 points and drag them up to 50. You just had to beat it into them.
But bringing a 50-point student up to 70 was much harder. And going from 70 to 80 was harder still.
In training, the difficulty increased and the plateaus grew longer the higher you climbed. If you handled those periods poorly, you could easily collapse into despair, laziness, or the complacency of thinking "this is good enough."
Since I, the Radiant Dragon Hero Jincheon, am the one teaching him, I can’t let him settle for being a mediocre 3-Star Knight. I’ll land him at 5-Star at the very least.
He wasn't "raising" him; he was "landing" him there. Matthew didn't really have a choice in the matter.
“Heh heh heh. I really am such a great master.”
Muttering to himself, Petrick grabbed his canteen and took a long swig. Naturally, the canteen was filled with booze—a little trick he’d prepared to make up for his previous blunder.
While one was sweating and the other was consuming alcohol, the sweating one spoke up.
“She didn’t come today.”
“Who?”
“The Princess.”
Petrick smirked at Matthew’s words. He’d noticed the boy was a bit distracted today; it seemed he’d been bothered by Isabella’s absence.
“Do you like her or something?”
“No! How could someone like me ever…”
“What’s wrong with someone like you?”
“Well, that’s…”
Watching Matthew hesitate, his entire body radiating the vibe of ‘I’m a timid soul,’ Petrick chuckled.
Come to think of it, this guy was an oddball too. Why was the only son of the Elvador Merchant Group—an organization with more wealth than the Atronia Royal Family—so lacking in confidence?
The merchants who ran the great guilds in the Martial World exuded confidence naturally, even if they didn't know a single martial arts technique. They understood the power of money. Compared to them, Matthew was definitely strange.
To put it nicely, he was humble. To put it bluntly, he was a wimp.
“It’s not that I like her. Really, it’s not. It’s just… she’s always been around, and now that she isn’t, I just wondered…”
“Alright, alright. Just swing your sword.”
“I’m serious…”
Matthew grumbled as he continued his swings, and Petrick remarked, “I gave her what she wanted and sparred with her once, so she probably won’t come back. Or at least, not for a while. Not if she has a conscience.”
The moment Petrick said that, Matthew spoke up.
“She’s coming right there, though?”
“What?”
Petrick looked toward where Matthew was pointing with an incredulous expression. There, he saw Isabella clearly walking toward them. Even after rubbing his eyes, it wasn't an illusion; it was her.
He was speechless.
“…She really has no conscience.”
As Petrick stood there with a sour face, Princess Isabella approached and spoke.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“No.”
“…I haven’t even said it yet.”
“You want to spar again, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Oh? Really?”
“I’m done with sparring. For now…”
‘For now,’ she says. Petrick decided to hear her out for a moment.
Isabella stared at Petrick and asked, “How strong are you, exactly?”
“Probably… the strongest on the continent?”
“…….”
“What? Why? What?”
Petrick didn't bat an eye at Isabella’s ‘What is wrong with this shameless jerk?’ expression.
Isabella shook her head slightly, as if telling herself, ‘He was always like this,’ before looking him in the eye.
“Please. Teach me the way of the sword.”
“I’m your junior, you know.”
“But you’re stronger than me.”
“The professors are stronger than you, too.”
“But you…”
Isabella trailed off. Her intuition told her that Petrick might be even stronger than the professors. He hadn't just beaten her—someone at the peak of the 3-Star level—he had toyed with her, guiding her like she was in the palm of his hand.
Among the professors, perhaps only the Indomitable Knight, Dustin Lobsky, could have defeated her so decisively. Therefore, Petrick was likely stronger than the rest.
Her gut was certain, but…
Common sense…
Indeed. According to everything she knew, the idea of a first-year academy student being stronger than a professor was beyond absurd. It was why she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud. Regardless of the truth, saying such a thing would cause all sorts of problems.
“Anyway, I want to learn from you.”
“And I don’t want to teach you.”
At Petrick’s blunt refusal, Isabella glanced at Matthew, who was swinging his sword diligently nearby. Matthew was working hard to look like a bystander who had absolutely nothing to do with this mess.
But as they say, things rarely go as planned.
“You’re teaching him, aren’t you?”
“He’s…”
Petrick paused to choose his words. If he were to be brutally honest…
[His dad is loaded. I’m planning a new business venture, and having the cooperation of the Elvador Merchant Group would be great, so I’m doing this to get on their good side.]
That was his true motive. But even so, who would say that out loud? Petrick was a noble, after all; he had a reputation to uphold. He had to choose his words carefully.
Having finished his thoughts, Petrick opened his mouth.
“His dad is loaded. I’m planning a new business venture, and having the cooperation of the Elvador Merchant Group would be great, so I’m doing this to get on their good side.”
You absolute jerk…
Isabella’s jaw dropped at Petrick’s blatant, greedy honesty. She looked at Matthew, who was sighing nearby, and asked, “Are you okay with this?”
“Princess.”
“Yes?”
“What’s the problem?”
“Well…”
Isabella was at a loss for words. When she tried to pinpoint exactly what was wrong, she couldn't find the right argument.
In truth, Petrick’s motives weren't news to Matthew. Petrick had been so shamelessly pestering him to meet his father that they’d already agreed to meet during their next leave after exams. So what? Was she expecting him to be heartbroken by this?
Matthew was timid, but he wasn't an idiot. Regardless of a person’s motives, if their actions were sincere, the relationship held value. A bond between a man and a woman that started from a misunderstanding could turn into passionate love, and a general who surrendered just to stay alive could later fight bravely and achieve great feats.
That was the way of the world Matthew had learned from his father. He wanted to be a knight, but he’d been raised by a merchant; that mindset wasn't going anywhere. His sense of right and wrong was rooted in a typical business mind.
Petrick wants to see my father, and I’m sincerely learning the sword from Petrick. We’re both just fulfilling our promises faithfully, so what’s the issue?
Purity of motive? To a merchant, that wasn't very important. What mattered was the sincerity shown in the process and the results produced.
Matthew spoke to the faltering Isabella.
“If you want Petrick’s help, Princess, then you should offer him something in return.”
“If I do that, will he teach me?”
“That depends on what you can give him.”
With that, Matthew went back to swinging his sword. He’d given her that advice out of respect for her passion, but that was as far as he would go. The rest was up to her.
Isabella looked at Petrick and said, “I’ll pay tuition.”
“How much?”
“10 gold.”
“No thanks.”
It was a decent sum, but considering the various headaches that would come with teaching a princess of the kingdom, it was far too cheap.
Isabella looked troubled, as if the amount she’d just named was the absolute maximum she could offer.
She doesn't know how to haggle. No, more than that…
“You’re a princess, aren’t you? And the limit of what you can pay is 10 gold?”
“Yes.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yes.”
Petrick was baffled by her calm response.
That’s weird. Is it always like this? I’ve never met a princess before, but this is a bit much…
Depending on the situation, 10 gold could be a fortune. But as the maximum amount a princess of a nation could spend, it was honestly pathetic.
Isabella then said to Petrick, “I can’t give you any more. That’s all the money I have.”
“If you give me all your money, what are you going to do?”
“…….”
Petrick was flabbergasted as he saw the ‘Now that you mention it’ realization dawn on her face.
“You really are a naive princess who doesn't know the value of money, aren't you?”
“That’s harsh.”
“Harsh? It’s the absolute truth.”
“…….”
She puffed out her cheeks, looking quite pouted. But she had her reasons.
Even though she was a princess, she wasn't the child of the Queen. She wasn't even the child of a high-ranking concubine. Born to a maid who had served the King, she was a princess in name, but she was far removed from power or wealth.
She didn't have a powerful maternal family, nor did the King cherish her. Fundamentally, the King was indifferent to her. Though he was her father, the last time she’d seen him was at her coming-of-age ceremony.
A princess with no money, no power, and nothing but a noble title. That was Isabella.
After a moment of hesitation, Isabella said to Petrick, “If you teach me the sword, I’ll do anything in return.”
“Pffft!”
“Cough, cough!”
Petrick, who had been drinking from his canteen, sprayed his booze everywhere. Matthew, who had been swinging his sword, also choked and nearly dropped his blade.
Petrick looked at Isabella with a horrified expression.
“Senior, do you… No, forget being royalty, do you have any idea how dangerous it is for anyone to say something like that so carelessly?”
“I know.”
“You know? Then why say it?”
“…….”
“What if I—huh? What if I told you to do something… something terrible? What then?”
“Something terrible?”
Princess Isabella thought for a moment, then opened her mouth.
“S…”
“Aaaaah!”
“I didn't hear it! I didn't hear anything!”
The two young men, terrified of being implicated in lèse-majesté, scrambled to shut Isabella up.
“Are you joking right now? Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’d cause if you said that?”
“But I don’t have anything else…”
“Think pure thoughts. Pure thoughts. Only pure thoughts. Pure thoughts…”
Matthew was crouched on the ground, clutching his head as if fighting a mental battle.
Petrick let out a long sigh. He knew this woman—princess or not—had a bit of a strange mental world. Following a junior around like a leech to beg for a spar wasn't exactly normal behavior. But still…
“Why are you so desperate to learn the sword? You’re a princess, aren’t you?”
“…….”
“I hate to be the one to say it, but it’s not like swordsmanship is part of bridal training. What’s a princess going to do with it? It doesn't seem like a very useful skill for your life.”
Petrick’s words were biting, but they were undeniably true. A princess being good with a sword wasn't exactly a plus. In fact, if she were to be used as a tool for a political marriage, it could even be a minus. A patriarchal husband might be put off by a woman with such a strong spirit.
But for Isabella, there was a problem.
“I have to get stronger. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise?”
“…….”
A look of deep distress crossed Isabella’s face. Seeing her struggle to speak, it was clear she had her reasons.
So what? Everyone in this world has reasons.
Everyone had a story. Even a kid stealing bread off the street had the reason of being hungry. In fact, those reasons were usually much more desperate. If he helped everyone just because they had a reason, he wouldn't be Petrick. Doing something like that was…
[You brat! What separates a human from a beast is the presence of compassion!]
‘That’s why everyone called you a pushover, Master.’
It was a lecture he’d heard countless times in his past life. A master who couldn't help but try to save every pitiful soul he saw, and a great disciple who tried to stop his master’s meddling. There wasn't a day in the Twin Dragon Sect when those two weren't arguing.
And the thing his master had always emphasized to Petrick was that damned compassion.
And there was someone else just like him.
[Ho ho ho. The newly arrived residents don’t have jobs yet, do they? The children are crying from hunger, so what else can I do?]
‘Father. Father. My hopeless father.’
Even so, how could you just give away all the reserve grain to refugees? Thinking about the hell he went through to scramble and fill those stores back up…
Anyway, I’m different from those pushovers.
“Begging without even giving a proper reason won’t— Wait, are you crying?”
“…Ugh…”
She tried to suppress it, but tears eventually welled up and spilled over. Petrick was genuinely flustered. A woman’s tears were a powerful weapon, whether in the Martial World or on the Pangemonia Continent. It was even worse when that woman was royalty.
“Don’t cry. Stop!”
“…Hic… hic…”
“No, I said don’t cry! You’re making me look like the bad guy!”
“I think you are the bad guy.”
“You shut up!”
Petrick barked at Matthew, who had muttered under his breath. Matthew grumbled something back.
“It’s not like I said anything wrong. So sensitive…”
This guy had been developing some grit lately, but it seemed that grit came with a side of sass. Someday, Petrick would have to give him a ‘tune-up’ to shrink that inflated ego of his; it was his duty as a true friend.
More importantly, I have to deal with this first…
“Sob…”
“Ah, don’t cry, Senior. Look, peek-a-boo!”
“I’m not a child…”
“Then stop crying!”
It was a strange thing. When someone cries out of frustration or unfairness, the words "don't cry" often act as an accelerator. The moment they hear those words, they realize their crying has been noticed, and the surge of embarrassment and sorrow acts like a booster, opening the floodgates even wider.
In short…
“Waaaaah… hic… uwaaaaah…”
She started bawling.
Petrick was in a full-blown panic. He’d been through all sorts of messes in his past life, but he’d never made a princess cry right in front of him. If anyone saw her like this, wiping away a never-ending stream of tears with her hands…
Treason? Lèse-majesté?
This was a problem. A serious problem. He knew that most problems in the world could be solved by hitting them, but a crying woman was one of the few exceptions.
In the end, Petrick made a decision before this disaster could be spotted by anyone else.
“Alright! Alright! I’ll teach you!”
“Hic… Really?”
“Yes. I’ll teach you. So stop crying. If you keep crying, I won’t do it.”
“…And the payment?”
“I’ll make sure to collect it later. In full!”
Unpaid labor could not exist in Petrick’s life.
Isabella thought for a moment and said, “…S…”
“No, not that!”
What kind of princess was she? This was Petrick’s first time dealing with a princess, but he was certain this wasn't normal.
And so, the number of people Petrick had to teach increased by one. And she was a princess, no less.
It wasn't part of the plan, and he let out a small sigh, but he decided to look on the bright side.
Tsk. Well, she’s a princess. If I keep her around, she might come in handy someday.
Petrick, thinking so simply, had no idea.
He had no idea what kind of situation this would lead to in the future.