The Will Embraced by Your Sword -6-
The day of the decisive battle dawned. Those fifteen days—short if you called them short, long if you called them long—had flown by like an arrow. It was too little time to prepare for anything meaningful. For a swordsman, fifteen days was hardly enough to ready oneself for battle. Gaining enlightenment and reaching a new realm in such a brief span sounded easy enough to say, but no swordsman had ever truly achieved that miracle. Even with a great master and perfect conditions, it all came down to the individual's own capabilities.
Yet, in our arrogance, we had pulled off that miracle. Hanna had overflowed the cup of growth I'd prepared for her. She charged toward the essence of aura and pressed on toward the goal of the sword. I didn't know what her personal goal was, but Hanna had grown steeply—so much so that even Rowen couldn't believe it.
It was 11 p.m. when the moon rose. In the dead of night when no one else was around, we arrived at the training ground and stood in its center, waiting for our opponents amid the cool blowing wind. Hanna took deep breaths to calm her trembling heart, but her stomach was churning so much she kept drinking water. I approached her side and cautiously spoke up.
"Nervous?"
"Haha... no... Does that sound like too much of a lie?"
"Yeah."
"Haa... I feel like I'm going insane."
Hanna let out a dry laugh as she looked at me.
"I thought I wouldn't be nervous... but I'm shaking a lot. You said I could win, but I'm sorry—I'm just trembling nonstop."
I nodded at her, assuring her it was okay. Her entire life was on the line after this nonstop sprint, after all. It would be weirder if she took it in stride. For some, this might be a chance to prove their worth to their master, but for Hanna, it was a duel tangled up with her passion for the sword and, beyond that, the weighty matter of marriage. If—and God forbid—she lost, I had no intention of accepting the outcome. I could grudgingly nod to her quitting the sword, but I wouldn't let something as important as marrying the person she loved get wasted on this. I'd topple Rowen if I had to, just to keep things from going his way.
Not that it'd come to that.
For Hanna, this duel was monumentally important. It tied back to the reason we'd first met, and it might be her last chance to prove her sword to her father. Not knowing the full weight of the burden she carried, I offered a pat on the shoulder instead of some vague "You'll do great." That would give her real strength.
Time marched on. The hour of reckoning drew nearer for someone. In the lead-up, Hanna had faced Rowen at the academy and felt the stress, clenched her fists watching her father teach others the sword. Those academy students got it without any of the begging she'd done. And Mikhail's emergence as his disciple? That alone would hit her with an overwhelming sense of deprivation. Everything she'd so desperately wanted had started just to block her own sword—that kind of disillusionment was beyond words.
If I were in her shoes, I'd have despaired.
I couldn't fully grasp Hanna's feelings. Who was I to try? It might sound obnoxious, but I'd built a lot with my sword and grown smoothly without major obstacles. The only "troubles" I'd dealt with were the young miss's tantrums. It felt wrong for me to judge her hardships. So, with conviction, I told her—not empty comfort, but faith. That she could win.
"You can win. Just like we've been doing."
"Of course. Who am I a disciple of? The strongest butler in the world."
I smiled and nodded at her spirited reply.
"You know it."
The earrings I'd gifted her dangled from Hanna's ears, catching the moonlight and swaying. Seeing them tremble faintly, I clenched my fist. She can do it.
Barring some massive upset, Hanna could beat Mikhail. That's what I'd seen in her, and that's what Mikhail's inaction showed. Even in the original story at this point, Mikhail couldn't match her current level. Her sword had grown that much, relentlessly. Even if Mikhail had some grand epiphany or learned Histania swordsmanship, it wouldn't sway the duel. I was certain.
-Thud.
In the distance, familiar male silhouettes appeared. Mikhail approaching with heavy steps, Rowen strolling casually as if he already knew the outcome. I kneaded Hanna's shoulders and whispered softly.
"Don't tense up."
"Hoo. Got it."
"Even if you lose, I'll block the marriage, so don't worry."
"Huh...?"
"Just trust me. Not that it'll happen."
I brushed off Hanna's flustered question and checked my watch before speaking to Rowen and Mikhail.
"You're late."
Rowen shrugged nonchalantly.
"We're right on time. Who's late? You for waiting."
"Pfft... True. I thought you'd run."
"Strong sense of self, huh."
"Thanks for the compliment."
Rowen eyed me distastefully and clicked his tongue.
"This'll be the last time I see you."
"Same here."
"..."
I glanced sidelong at Mikhail beside him. He stared at Hanna and me with eyes full of resolve. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the sword at his waist and spoke in a heavy voice.
"Sorry."
Mikhail bowed his head to Hanna.
"..."
"I've thought a lot. About why you made this choice. Why you'd request such a disadvantageous duel. I pondered it deeply."
I wore an awkward smile and watched as Mikhail monologued, ignoring me. Whatever—he must've had some realization. It'd be nice if he forfeited. Not that he would.
He continued to Hanna. Sorry for not understanding, for being rash—he kept apologizing with bowed head.
"If I'd thought a little more, I wouldn't have accepted this duel. It was rash of me."
"Draw your sword."
"You've grown up in a good environment. You could have a brighter future if you just—"
"Shut up and draw your damn sword."
Hanna ground her teeth at his pointless apology. Still, Mikhail pressed on, eyes straight ahead like he'd already won.
"I'm going to win."
"Now I have a reason I must win."
"So... sorry."
The wind was cold. Lingering longer might give us all colds, so I turned to Rowen.
"Just one question."
"What."
"If Hanna loses, will you go through with the marriage we talked about?"
"..."
"Let's settle this first."
"..."
"Tying two proposals to one duel is unfair. We only wanted severance in exchange—adding marriage feels off."
"I'll think about it."
"..."
I flashed a chilly smile at Rowen.
"Thinking alone isn't enough."
"We've already agreed to honor the results."
"Isn't it unjust if one side loses more?"
"You accepted the injustice from the start."
I dropped the smile.
"Know when to quit."
A frigid tension hung in the air. Rowen's anger at my impudence clashed with the young swordsman's warning, stirring the wind.
-Clap.
I clapped my hands.
"Let's start now. Tired of looking at each other."
I looked at Mikhail and Hanna.
"Ready?"
The two swordsmen nodded, drew their blades, and took positions at opposite ends of the training ground, awaiting the signal.
"No lethal blows."
Rowen raised a hand, cutting me off.
"I allow it."
"You're joking."
"Just block it. She needs to feel the wall of reality to break."
"Ha..."
I shook my head.
"I won't block."
"Want to see your disciple hurt?"
"No."
I eyed Mikhail's sword—the long blade I'd pegged as his weakness from the start. Half the victory was mine already. He hadn't bent his stubbornness yet.
"Yours is the one that'll get hurt bad."
"Ha..."
As scattering petals drifted to the ground, Rowen's low voice echoed softly across the training ground.
"Begin."
The two swordsmen kicked off and charged. Hanna's blade sliced through the flying petals; Mikhail's cut the pink flurries as he advanced.
And then.
-Kclang...!
In the whirlwind of their sword dance.
"What."
Even I, on the cusp of Sword Master,
"..."
And the Sword Master Rowen,
Stood frozen, unmoving.