The Lord Whispers: Get Some Exercise
“Hah… hah…”
Priscilla staggered backward, her breath tearing out of her in ragged bursts.
When was the last time she had swung her sword until her body was this thoroughly spent? It felt like ages. She could not even remember. That alone told her how extraordinary this spar had been.
In the frenzy of trading blows she had lost herself completely, drunk on the sword. Even though this was only a practice bout and not a true duel, she had slipped lethal techniques into her strikes—sheer madness, pure and simple. The other side would have been well within their rights to explode in fury and demand to know what the hell she thought she was doing.
“Huu…”
Yet the man facing her—Kyle of John Nassen—simply stood there catching his breath the same as she was. He had matched a swordswoman bare-handed, had traded blows with one of the Imperial 10 Strongest, and brought the fight all the way to this point.
It was incredible. No—incredible did not even begin to cover it. This was the sort of feat that would stun the world, the sort of prowess that would make people revere him.
“Are you coming again?”
At Kyle’s question Priscilla slowly shook her head. It was enough. The swordsman’s instinct still burned in her, still hungered to keep swinging, but her hard-won reason had seized the blade and held it still. This much was enough.
“That’s a relief. Honestly, I’m pretty wiped out myself.”
With that, Kyle simply dropped to the ground where he stood. Even the hardest workouts rarely left him this drained or set his muscles twitching, yet sparring with Priscilla—one of the Imperial 10 Strongest, after all—had delivered a monstrous volume of work.
Whoa. That must’ve laid some serious progressive overload on me.
The unexpected exercise left him so pleased he almost started doing a little shoulder dance right then and there. Of course the very next thought was, What the hell? Why am I enjoying this? and he immediately scolded himself for it.
Still, two things had become crystal clear. First, the Imperial 10 Strongest really were that strong. Second, Yulika had not been fighting at full power the last time they clashed.
How strong is Princess Yulika when she goes all out? Suddenly I really want to know.
Priscilla’s swordsmanship had been endlessly varied, fluid, and elegant—the complete opposite of Yulika’s rough, brutal style from their recent bout. Even so, that earlier fight had ended after only a few exchanges; it had never been the all-out war of attrition they had just finished. What kind of battle would Yulika unleash if she truly poured everything into it?
Just thinking about it made Kyle’s heart hammer like a mad thing.
“Huuu…”
Priscilla was still sitting on the ground, breathing hard, when she looked across at the man opposite her. Kyle’s face was lit with pure, unmistakable delight. She murmured under her breath.
…Grandfather. Only now… only now do I understand you.
If her late grandfather had ever fought a battle like this, he would have cried out in wonder: So this is what a heart-pounding duel feels like! She was certain of it. It was the instinct no swordsman could ever hide, the unbreakable fighting spirit that demanded to be tested. Victory or defeat became secondary. When would she ever again taste a fight that made her chest race like this? When would she ever again enjoy a contest so pure?
Priscilla rose smoothly to her feet and walked toward him. Kyle, sensing her approach, pushed himself up as well.
“Brother Kyle.”
She stopped right in front of him and bowed deeply at the waist. As knight-commander, as one of the Imperial 10 Strongest, and as a swordswoman, she laid every shred of pride on the ground. It was the highest courtesy and the deepest gratitude she could offer.
“Thank you. Because of you… I think I finally understand.”
She understood why the man she had always admired had spoken of feeling so free even in defeat. Why, even after age and illness had taken their toll, he had insisted he must face them again. Why he had forced himself upright, seized his sword once more, and declared he could not die without that rematch.
At last Priscilla understood her grandfather.
“Hearing you say that makes me feel pretty great myself.”
Kyle smiled and offered his hand first. Priscilla clasped it with both of hers.
“It was a fine spar. Thank you.”
“I had an incredibly good time as well.”
Thanks to you my body got some proper progressive overload. Oof, the muscles are already screaming so good.
“Ah, and if you ever have the time later…”
Priscilla made a request. Kyle thought for a moment, then nodded as if he would give it serious consideration.
“You’re amazing!! Truly amazing, Brother Kyle!!”
After they roughly cleaned up and headed for the carriage, the Saintess bounced up and down, completely unable to contain herself. Under normal circumstances Cardinal Paulo would have gently reined her in. This time, however, the cardinal himself was still too stunned to utter a word.
He truly fought Priscilla commander as an equal! And he only just came of age!!
Everyone knew the John Nassen family was strong, but no one had imagined it was this strong. Nearly thirty years had passed since the Empire’s campaigns of conquest ground to a halt. That long stretch of peace had slowly, quietly eroded the dread once attached to the name John Nassen. Some had even begun to claim the old legends were exaggerated—mere packaging by the imperial house. Surely the full Imperial 10 Strongest could handle them without much trouble, people said.
Complete nonsense! Absolute rubbish! The Imperial 10 Strongest? You would need an entire legion of fighters at that level just to stand a chance! There was no exaggeration, no packaging—if anything the stories were downplayed!
One of the reasons Cardinal Paulo had agreed to Priscilla’s request in the first place was a lingering doubt about John Nassen. Why did such monstrously powerful people simply hole up in that backwater domain and never come out? If they had truly given even the Empire a hard time, they could have conquered the entire region and more. There had to be a reason they accepted a mere baronial title and then did nothing.
Or so he had half-believed. In this single moment that belief shattered into dust—ground so fine not even a shape remained.
“Ah, that was a truly magnificent spar, Brother Kyle.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence. I feel wonderful myself.”
And on top of everything he was in a good mood. The smile on his face stretched nearly ear to ear. Priscilla had fought with a sword; Kyle had used only his bare hands. The fear and pressure he faced should have been far greater. How could any human look so calm? How could he look so thoroughly pleased?!
“Aren’t you tired, Brother Kyle? I could use a little divine power to—”
“Aaaah!! No! Absolutely not!!”
“Huh? Wh-why?”
“I have to feel this progressive overload. If you heal me with divine power it’ll all disappear.”
“Eh…? I-I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying…!”
The Saintess was not alone; the cardinal wore the exact same blank expression. Kyle waved it off with a vague “it’s a thing.” Explaining would have been pointless—there was a ninety-percent chance they still wouldn’t get it.
“Anyway, I’m perfectly fine. No need to worry. In fact…”
In fact, he wanted to wrap things up while he was still riding this high. The whole reason he had come all the way to the Holy Order was to inspect the physical condition of the priests!
“Your Eminence.”
“Yes, Brother Kyle?”
“I’ve worked the body, so now I’d like to nourish the spirit. Once we return I’d like to meet the priests right away.”
“Ah… are you sure you aren’t exhausted? You were sparring until just a moment ago…”
“A quick wash and a change of clothes and I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry too much.”
As if a little physical effort mattered when he was itching to check the priests’ condition. Cardinal Paulo let out a short sigh and agreed.
Truly… he isn’t human. He just sparred with Commander Priscilla and he’s still this lively! Even if it were empty boasting it would be impressive—but that clearly isn’t empty boasting!
Once again the cardinal understood why the Emperor himself had gone to the farthest northern fringe to persuade these people, why the Empire had granted noble titles even to those once called barbarians. It had not been the mercy of the victor or the magnanimity of the strong. It had been a desperate plea to prevent any further damage.
“Your Eminence! I’m going back with Brother Kyle!”
“Ah… yes. Go ahead.”
The Saintess clearly wanted more time to talk with him. The spar just now—those impossibly dazzling moments—had left her, a girl with little natural talent for physical combat, thoroughly electrified.
“Come on, Brother Kyle! I’ll tell you exactly how you fought! You were throwing punches like shook!Shook-shook! and blocking everything! I’ll describe it all!”
“Uh… do you really need to? I was the one doing it.”
“No! It’s different! You were focused on the fight itself so you couldn’t see it! You were so cool! As cool as the heroes in the scriptures!!”
Well, heroes are always ridiculously strong no matter the story. Or maybe those heroes were John Nassen too.
Kyle muttered the thought to himself and climbed into the carriage after the Saintess.
“….”
Watching them go, Cardinal Paulo suddenly found himself thinking. He had heard that the successor to the John Nassen barony was already decided. So what of the second son, Kyle? Would he remain with the family, or would he leave?
For the past thirty-odd years the John Nassen barony has never truly mixed with the Empire. The eldest, Lear John Nassen, did attend the Academy, but it was more symbolic—proof that a direct descendant of John Nassen was being sent—than any real attempt at exchange.
The eldest daughter, Leah John Nassen, had caused an incident within a year and returned home. Everyone had assumed that would be the last time a John Nassen set foot in the Empire. Yet now this Kyle had reopened the path.
What did it mean? What did it signify?
After long, careful thought the cardinal formed a single hypothesis. Suppose Kyle John Nassen was considering a future residence somewhere other than the John Nassen domain. Suppose—just suppose—that residence turned out to be the Holy Order itself.
Wouldn’t that open the possibility for the Church to stand on its own without constantly watching the imperial family’s mood?
In that instant a grand design began to take shape in Cardinal Paulo’s mind.