Staking a Claim
Feeling the eyes on her, Yoanna thought,
Talking is more fun than I expected!
It wasn't just talking. Understanding the children's hearts and giving them the words they wanted to hear—that was the joy of it.
All of this was thanks to the book Lord Dantalion had bestowed… no, the gospel.
Conversation is about understanding the other person, thinking, and putting your heart into it.
Do not deny sorrow, anger, or worry. All those emotions are necessary to make a person human.
Do not deny another's happiness, and do not hide your own. When happiness is shared, the walls between people crumble.
Every one of those lines had been written on the scroll Dantalion had given her.
Of course, he had reworked Jijang Bosal's sermon in his own style.
But would the depth of words carved into a woodblock fade simply because they had been stamped onto paper?
Making friends meant tearing down the walls of the heart and approaching another person.
Most people never thought about it that deeply, but Jijang Bosal's definition of friendship, vast as the ocean, ran far deeper than ordinary.
Once she had broken down the walls of her heart, becoming close to the children was not difficult at all.
"—And so the troll knight fell into a deep sleep in the princess's arms. Holding, for the first time in his life, the human heart he had always dreamed of."
"Waaaaah! The troll knight is so pitiful!"
"Princess, the princess is so pitiful too! She only wanted to be with the one she loved!"
"I'll never judge anyone by how they look!"
Innocent children had rich imaginations. The old tale, lightly adapted, seized their hearts in an instant.
Having reduced the children to a sea of tears, Yoanna felt a swell of pride.
It's still only at a level that works on kids, but I can say my speaking skill has improved enough, right?
In truth, it hadn't merely improved a little—it had improved far too much.
Did people think it was easy to hold children's rapt attention just by speaking well?
Maybe with kids her own age, but keeping seven- and eight-year-olds focused was no ordinary feat.
Which meant…
"Ahem! Y-Yoanna, right?"
"…Who are you?"
…it was hard enough to move a full-grown adult to tears and snot.
Yohanes, face a mess, sniffling, approached Yoanna.
Having a strange adult she'd never seen before come at her with tears streaming down his face was unsettling. He was clearly an odd one, and she couldn't let him get mixed up with the children.
"Kids, I'll tell you more stories next time. Shall we head inside for now?"
"Aww, that weird uncle ruined everything!"
"Take responsibility!"
"You're ugly!"
Pure, unfiltered criticism slammed into Yohanes's conscience.
"Big sis and the uncle need to talk about something important. Kids, go inside and have a snack."
Yohanes dug a finger in his ear and waved them off.
He hadn't spent all those years as an academy instructor for nothing. Compared to the personal attacks he got from the students he taught, the kids' insults were downright adorable.
The children grumbled as they headed into the orphanage building. They really didn't want to go, but since Yoanna had asked, they made a big concession.
Once she confirmed they were inside, Yoanna's face cooled into something hard and still.
"What is your business?"
"Where did the kind young lady who was just telling fairy tales go?"
Yohanes asked, looking absurdly put out. He pulled a Three-Headed Dragon medal from his pocket and dangled it.
"You know what this is, don't you?"
"A medal awarded to instructors of the Imperial Academy. And?"
"Huh?"
Yohanes blinked at the unexpected reaction.
This wasn't just any medal—it was the Three-Headed Dragon medal. One of the empire's highest honors, bestowed by the emperor himself.
Normally, seeing it made people's eyes light up with respect.
"Is there any guarantee that an instructor of the Imperial Academy is a good person?"
"Are you sure you're a little kid? Usually when I show this medal, kids go wild with sparkling eyes."
Embarrassed, Yohanes stuffed the medal away and scratched his head.
Apparently his disciple hadn't been exaggerating about his kid. She was more cautious than he'd expected.
"My name is Yohanes. You already know I'm an academy instructor from the medal… and I'm Clove's master—your father's."
"…I see."
Yoanna perceived that his words were true.
As her wariness eased, Yohanes's eyebrows twitched as if he'd seen something fascinating.
She wouldn't drop her guard for the medal, but she believes a claim like this with no proof?
In his youth, Yohanes had made a name for himself as a mercenary.
The mercenary world was filthy and sordid, full of betrayal, and one particularly memorable fellow came to mind unbidden.
A guy who could sniff out lies like a ghost.
Once they'd gotten close and Yohanes had asked how, the man had said it came from growing up under parental abuse…
Clove's personality rules that out. The wife's side? No—more likely the dead birth father.
What mattered was that she showed promise.
His old habit stirred. Yohanes held out the sword at his hip to Yoanna.
"You asked Clove for a recommendation to the Imperial Academy, right? Then draw the sword once."
"If I draw it, will you give me the recommendation?"
"As if. But if you draw it, you'll at least get a chance."
Yoanna nodded and drew the blade.
A plain, unadorned sword. Yet the marks etched into the blade and the killing edge flowing along it were anything but ordinary.
Yohanes put a proper distance between them, flicked the scabbard this way and that, and asked,
"Can you use it? Sorry, but that's the only sword I have on me right now."
"It's fine. I haven't neglected my training under Father. More importantly—what do I have to do for the recommendation?"
"The condition's simple. Block one of my strikes by any means necessary."
In that instant, Yohanes's presence changed.
Yoanna found herself settling into a stance without thinking and swallowed dryly.
A chill ran through her as if a cold blade were tracing her throat. She knew instinctively that it didn't matter what he held in his hand.
This is someone who could kill me with a tree branch.
An instinctive certainty that needed no evidence.
That certainty stripped away her pride and set fire to her competitive spirit.
She had first chosen the sword out of necessity, but somewhere along the way she too had fallen under its spell.
She raised the blade as if to pierce the sky and focused on her opponent's every move.
"Here I come."
With those words, Yohanes's form vanished as if erased.
The moment she registered his disappearance, a gale slammed into her. Weeds and dust shot skyward, blotting out her vision.
One blink.
In that fraction of an instant, Yohanes's scabbard was already aiming for her throat.
Yoanna opened her eyes, staring at the scabbard locked on her neck, and thought,
I'm going to die.
It was a sword that merely looked like a scabbard.
A sickening sensation, as if death were slowly closing in, drove up her spine and stabbed into her brain.
A helplessness as if she stood on the edge of death itself seemed to drag her body down.
But…
This life already almost ended once!
She severed the helplessness pulling her under, and her sword flushed a deep vermilion, like the sun breaking the dawn.
The flower of faith planted deep in her heart bloomed fully; its roots sank into her veins and poured out their power.
Vermilion hair streaming, she stepped forward to meet death.
Thud!
Her footprint carved into the ground, and from the cracks red chains erupted, wrapping around Yohanes's body.
Against overwhelming skill the chains would shatter in an instant, but Yoanna didn't care.
As long as she could aim a blade at his throat, it was enough.
A flash of vermilion light, heavy with heat, streaked for Yohanes's neck.
"Ha, look at this little shit."
Yohanes burst out laughing at the sheer audacity of the choice.
How could a child who didn't share a single drop of blood resemble her father so perfectly?
With a single step he snapped the chains and swung the scabbard at Yoanna's sword.
KRAAAANG!!
It was less a clash of sword and scabbard than a collision of raw force against raw force.
Unable to withstand the impact, blood welled from under Yoanna's nails. The nails driven into her flesh screamed as if they would split.
But an obsession that knew no surrender only burned hotter, using pain as fuel…
"If you don't want your fingers broken, ease up on your grip."
"!"
With the warning, a murky gray aura coiled around the scabbard.
Like dozens of threads woven tight, the aura swallowed the scabbard and shaped itself into a blade.
In that moment the balance of power shattered and Yoanna's sword rocketed skyward. Her fingers broke; shattered nails fluttered down with the blood like flower petals.
Bang!
Yoanna's foot exploded into acceleration, aiming for Yohanes's face.
He tilted his head just enough to slip the kick and swept the leg she was balancing on.
She went down hard. The instant she tried to rise—
"Kh—!?"
"You're a complete wild horse. How does a kid like you tell such a moving story?"
Yohanes scratched his head, sword leveled at her throat.
He'd taken his disciple's daughter for something like a refined young lady. She was a born brawler through and through.
Had her birth father been a northern barbarian? Given the conditions for that lie-detecting talent to awaken, there was a fair bit of mystery to her.
"…I lost."
"Calmed down? Don't get up and start swinging a dagger for no reason."
"I'm still a child who hasn't even had her coming-of-age ceremony. Did you forget?"
Yoanna handed the sword back to Yohanes and stood.
The carefully arranged appearance was a wreck. The neat bun had come loose, and she was scratched all over.
It looked exactly like the time the lady next door had finished a brawl with the woman who'd stolen her husband.
Yoanna roughly tied her hair with a strip of torn clothing and held out her hand to Yohanes.
"The recommendation letter, please."
"Don't wanna."
"……"
Yoanna stared at him as if he were insane.
He had reduced a child to this state, and now he was saying he wouldn't give it?
Chuckling, Yohanes pulled a potion from his coat.
"You think an instructor just carries recommendation letters around in his pocket all the time? A resignation letter, maybe."
"Then when can you give it to me?"
"You'll be fourteen next year, right? So prepare for next year."
Under imperial law, a girl of fourteen could be recognized as an adult.
Only if she was a noble, not a commoner. It was a loophole nobles used to enroll in the academy early.
A knightly house still counted as nobility, so she could be recognized as an adult.
Honestly, I'd like to enroll her right now.
It was a shame.
He'd finally found a decent prospect after a long time, only for age to hold her back.
Still, next year wasn't far. If he licked the stamp on that recommendation letter now, he'd have at least three years free of boredom.
Consoling himself, Yohanes dripped potion onto Yoanna's hand and moved on to the next thought.
But which god's blessing does this kid have?
Yohanes visited churches often.
Not by choice, but from meeting so many priests he had grown fairly sensitive to holy power.
Considering the priests and holy knights who entered the academy as students, he could say he'd experienced just about every kind of holy power there was.
Yet Yoanna's holy power—he couldn't identify the god at all.
No—was it even holy power to begin with?
"Why are you staring so hard while holding a little girl's hand? Is that your type?"
"You little… My type is stacked, curvy older sisters."
"An uncle your age saying things like that is just pathetic. And considering your age, it wouldn't be 'older sister'—it'd be grandm—"
"Aagh! Don't say crazy things!"
This was simply the kind of thing Yoanna had grown up seeing and hearing.
Yohanes recoiled in disgust and sorted his thoughts.
Judging by her temper, she wasn't the sort of brat who would answer if he asked outright. Asking would only raise her guard.
At least there was none of the clammy, unclean feel unique to malevolent gods, so it had to be a proper one.
Still, just in case…
"Any interest in believing in the God of the Sword? A truly great one who reached the realm of gods in a human body—"
"No thanks."
"……"
If he'd known it would go like this, he wouldn't have teased her.
His disciple's daughter was a far more foul-tempered little brat than he'd expected.