Salon (3)
"…What the hell is this?"
The last time I'd laid eyes on the White Rose must've been a full month ago.
It was still far from complete back then, but even so, its sturdiness and resilience had been easy enough to imagine. And now, that White Rose lay in utterly pathetic ruins.
"What else? It's the White Rose you came looking for."
Otar, the master craftsman whose skill was unmatched not just in the kingdom but across the empire—counted on one hand—said it like it was no big deal, all while hammering away at the glowing iron.
"…Cut the wordplay. You know damn well I'm not asking because I don't recognize it."
What I wanted to know was how the White Rose, which was supposed to be finished today, had ended up like this.
I wasn't the one wearing it, sure, but after waiting a whole month, I couldn't just let this slide.
"You're not seriously saying you smashed it because you didn't like how it turned out, are you?"
"Do I look like some potter to you? Smashing my own work 'cause it didn't please me? Nah… it's complicated to explain, but let's just say I lost a bet, and that's that."
"A bet?"
What kind of bet could possibly lead to the White Rose getting destroyed?
Honestly, before the anger even hit, my curiosity about the story behind it was stronger.
"At least give me the short version. It's my sister's armor that's ended up like this—I deserve to hear it, don't I?"
"…Some young punk shows up and asks me to forge him a yoroi-doshi."
"Yoroi-doshi?"
The name alone gave me a rough idea of what it was, but if my guess was right, it sounded like a failed experiment born of some bizarre purpose.
"What's that?"
"Long story…"
The tale Otar spun of that one sword master was questionable as knightly inspiration, but as a martial artist, it struck deep in my chest—a profoundly moving story.
A man who'd spent his life washing blood with blood in hellish service to his country, abandoning all wealth and honor to embark on a journey of atonement with a yoroi-doshi in hand—what must that have felt like?
An immature kid like me couldn't even imagine it.
"…So if he asked for a yoroi-doshi, does that mean he swore a vow of non-killing too?"
"Nah, that bastard loves killing too much for a vow like that. Said he just needed one for sparring matches."
His casual explanation was so absurd I nearly blurted out "Pardon?"—my face froze solid.
"…And you still made it for him?"
"Aye, 'cause I lost the bet."
As he said it, my eyes followed his gaze to the item at the end of it, and I didn't even need to hear the details to guess what the bet had been.
My one gripe? Why use my sister's commissioned White Rose for a stunt like that?
"Why not use one of your own armors… Why the White Rose of all things…?"
"I'm not sayin' I handled it perfect, but if you were in my shoes, you think some cocky brat yappin' like that could've cleaved the White Rose?"
"…"
Probably not.
Hell, I'd have done just like Otar—shoved my finest masterpiece in the fool's face and dared him to take a swing.
"…So what kind of guy was he, the one who actually cut the White Rose? Now I'm more curious about him than anything."
"A madman."
"…A madman?"
"Aye. But his talent? The real deal. If your sister's lookin' for a husband, I'd recommend the bastard myself."
"…That impressive?"
"Eh… maybe I'm overhype 'cause he smashed my masterpiece in one go. Take an old codger's words with a grain of salt."
With that, Otar went right back to pounding the red-hot iron, same as before I arrived.
Once he got like this, no one's words would reach him—not even mine.
Knowing that full well, I stepped out of the forge, thinking to myself:
'Talent that even that guy raves about… I wanna meet him.'
Madman or not, I was hooked.
Who the hell was this guy that the greatest smith in the land would nominate as the next Sword Saint's groom?
*****
"What do you mean, 'take responsibility'?!"
When the cart full of wedding-cake-sized confections tried to roll into the villa, Victor blocked the way, shouting that.
"Exactly what I said. I'll just hand this over and say it's my bad. Then the heat's all on me."
"Just say there was a delay at the bakery! In the meantime, you or I grab some decent desserts!"
Even if we did, we couldn't dodge every suspicious glare—but it'd still be way better than wheeling this in.
Too bad—I had no intention of playing nice.
'This stupid exchange party's pissed me off from the start.'
Dragging me out here on a perfect day for Battōjutsu, half-forcing me into this crap—and now complaining the gift's too flashy, go buy a new one?
Like hell. Some chick who can't even draw a blade, swinging a barbaric hammer—what makes her so special that I gotta bend over backward?
And above all, I feared neither Jessica, her family, nor the bootlicking nobodies in there kissing up to her.
Worst case, I trash this party—what're they gonna do?
Economic sanctions?
Pfft, try it~ My two villages' yearly income combined wouldn't cover yesterday's cake bill. Zero impact~!
If they come at me with force? Even better.
Jessica's dad—the strongest warrior around his hometown? If I could Battōjutsu that tough bastard, I'd wreck a dozen of these parties without a second thought.
The nobles under House von Grind would turn hostile too? More Battōjutsu chances—win-win!
'Wait… isn't wrecking this actually a gain for me?'
The perks of ruining this snoozefest exchange party.
Trash it and bail? Cool breeze in my face, Battōjutsu to my heart's content.
Plus, once word spreads someone wrecked one, no more invites to these boring social gigs—total freedom from high society!
And who knows, if Jessica's old man comes gunning for me, I get to feed Battōjutsu to a real powerhouse. All upsides.
'Downside? Mom might stress out and collapse?'
Hmm… Mom's tears versus my freedom from hassle.
Weighed 'em on the scales—freedom won by a hair.
They say a child's happiness is a parent's, so Mom—being the understanding type—would be thrilled, right?
Thinking that, I tugged the cart toward the entrance, but Victor still stood firm, blocking me.
"Victor, what the hell? Move it."
"No way, I can't! As a noble, I can't just watch you sacrifice yourself for me!"
"What bullshit is that?"
Did Victor seriously think I'd claim the cake mess was my fault to cover for him?
Outcome might be similar, but sacrifice for a guy? One who can't even do Battōjutsu? No chance in hell.
"Why the fuck would I sacrifice anything for you?"
"Th-then why're you doing this?!"
"…I'm just here to smash it."
Everything in this world that blocks my Battōjutsu.
With that, I shoved Victor aside and hauled the cart inside the villa.
"W-wait!!"
Finally sensing something was off, Victor lunged to stop me—but too late, pointless.
A magic department kid outrunning knight academy students? Fat chance.
"Stop!! Winds, obey!!"
Realizing he couldn't catch me, Victor switched to blasting the cake itself—eliminate the problem at the source.
"You lunatic, casting spells indoors?! Do you know how much this cake cost?!"
"I'll pay for it! Better than the fallout!!"
Indoors, non-lethal intent—the spell's power was weak, but plenty to wreck one cake.
Alone, I'd have dodged that low-tier spell easy. But indoors with a cart-mounted cake? Tough to evade.
'Ngh! Grazed it…!'
Victor's wind spell ripped the lid off the cake box, exposing the whole thing.
Cold sweat as I realized nothing stood between it and doom—then the second spell flew.
"Whoa!"
I dodged by a hair and bolted toward the hall where Jessica waited.
The closer to the hall, the fainter Victor's "Stop!" yells got, his spells weaker too.
Probably didn't want to alert Jessica to the commotion up ahead.
"I'm this close—you're done. Give up."
"You mad bastard!! We're all dead if— Hey, ahead!! Ahead!!"
"Ahead? Oh? Oh?!"
Just like he said—there stood Jessica from the hall, flanked by nobles like a human screen.
Here to check the minor ruckus, huh?
Spotting Jessica right in front, I slammed the brakes—but that backfired hard.
The sudden stop sent the cake flying straight off the cart, smacking Jessica dead-on.
"…"
Yellow cream-drenched Jessica left me, Victor, and the surrounding nobles all speechless.
I'd meant to wreck the party, but not like this—even I was thrown.
"…We had a gift… and now it's gone?"
I cleared the cart and stepped up, wiping the globs of whipped cream from Jessica's face with my hand.
Behind the cream, Jessica's face radiated pure murder.
"If you're gonna make that scary face, better cover it back up."
Saying that, I smeared the wiped cream right back on, masking her again.
That did it—the watching nobles erupted, men and women alike.
"Wh-what the hell are you doing to the lady?!"
"Insolent cur! How dare a mere baronet—!"
"Get your hands off her!!"
They swarmed Jessica; I backed off behind the cart.
Jessica took a handkerchief from one lady, wiped her face clean, then fixed me with a venomous glare.
"…I'll never forget this."
"Yeah, sure. If it gets too tough, just tattle to your dad."
Not planned, but Victor stayed clean, and I was free to bail and Battōjutsu all I wanted.
Ahh, perfect…
World complete—everyone happy except Mom.
'Mom, I kept my promise.'
Just… with the worst possible result!!!