Chapter 22
The Flower That Bears a Sword - Chapter 22
Translation: godsn
Fatima smiled with her eyes crinkling. Her pupils were so large that when her eyes narrowed, hardly any whites were visible. This too made her look adorably puppy-like. And Eki liked pretty things. Among the reasons she didn't dislike Fatima—who kept pestering her to join the club—was that very appearance. Of course, the biggest reason was that Fatima looked at Eki without being swayed by rumors.
"I'm the founding president of the Wisdom club. My instincts tell me you're truly, truly a jackpot of talent. So I need to stake my claim before other clubs notice you."
"I don't know what you see in me, senior."
"You have no idea how diligently I've been scouting freshmen. I've watched nearly all your duels and training sessions! I even have a recruitment list. And Echinacea Roaz, you're candidate number one!"
"Who else is on that list?"
Eki asked with a quiet chuckle. Seeing her show interest, Fatima brightened visibly and began counting on her fingers.
"First, there are three I'm focusing on most—you included. I guarantee these three will take the top spots in the Freshman Ranking Tournament. Then you'll acknowledge my eye for talent, right? First is Cadet Mihail von Franc Almari, younger brother of Dame Teresa von Franc Almari, the Giosa Owner..."
Eki barely managed to conceal her agitation. If he was Teresa's younger brother, she knew him. In her previous life before regression, she remembered killing him at Agenka. The memory remained of the golden-haired knight cradling the corpse of a boy who resembled her, wailing in grief.
Unaware of Eki's startled reaction, Fatima continued cheerfully.
"And your roommate, Cadet Alice Winterbell! She's truly outstanding too. Real talent. Though she seems to be in a bit of a slump now."
"...A slump? Miss Winterbell?"
"You're roommates but call each other so formally? Not getting along? Well, you did duel on the first day."
Fatima tilted her head quizzically. As they walked and talked, the girls' dormitory came into view. Fatima pointed toward the pine forest behind the dormitory.
"You know there's a 9th Training Ground in the forest, right? Cadet Alice usually trains there. Go see for yourself—you should. I think you really need to."
"I need to see her? Why do you think that?"
"From what I see, Cadet Alice's slump seems to be because of you."
At the unexpected remark, Eki could only blink in flustered surprise. Fatima gave her a peculiar smile and gave Eki's back a light push.
"Roommates should get along! You two would be good for each other!"
Good for each other? Hardly. Before Eki could respond, Fatima waved and dashed off.
"Since I gave you advice, if you become friends, you'll both join Wisdom, right? You wouldn't betray me? I'll be waiting!"
"......"
Eki stared dumbfounded at the retreating figure with her braided hair. Then she turned her gaze toward the pine forest behind the dormitory.
She still carried lingering guilt toward Alice Winterbell. She'd deliberately provoked her for her own convenience, half-heartedly gone through their duel, and shown her many unfavorable sides. She didn't entirely believe Fatima's claim that Alice's slump was because of her, but...
[Going to see her?]
"For now."
She stepped onto the narrow path leading into the forest. She had nothing else to do anyway. With Baraha away, she couldn't receive squire training, and no matter how much she thought about the Yurien problem, no solution would come until the monster subjugation.
She'd already sent Nicole a telegram requesting detailed investigation results about the magic sword's origins. Until the reply came, there was nothing she could do. Preparing for the ranking tournament through training would be meaningless considering her current skills.
Sunlight pierced through the towering fir trees stretching toward the sky. The deeper into the forest she went, the quieter it became, the scent of pine thickly wrapping around her body. The Ninth Training Ground sat slightly off the beaten path through the woods, nestled as naturally as any other clearing in the forest.
The military academy had countless training grounds. One this remote, with no particular facilities to speak of, was rarely visited by cadets. The only presence she could sense nearby was a single person.
Unlike other training grounds, the floor of the Ninth was a patch of wild grass and weeds. At its center, a woman in a sweat-drenched white shirt swung her sword. Her cadet jacket, the color of deep steel-blue, hung haphazardly from a nearby tree branch, swaying intermittently in the wind.
It was impolite to spy on someone else's training. Echinacea deliberately didn't muffle her footsteps or presence as she approached the training ground. Yet Alice Winterbell, absorbed in her swordplay, didn't notice her arrival.
Echinacea stood at the edge of the training ground and watched Alice's movements. She was swinging her sword against an imaginary opponent. Sunlight, fractured through the fir branches, scattered over her short golden hair. Beads of sweat flew in arcs, following the trajectory of her blade.
Echinacea was an unfair kind of genius—so much so that one might suspect the misfortune she carried was the price for such immense talent. Even without formal training, she had reached a level beyond that of a Master, and that foundation was built on her innate gift.
Of course, her brutal real-world experience and the way the magic sword moved through her body played a significant role. The magic sword operated with the most efficient motions for slaughter, and swordsmanship was, after all, the art of killing efficiently.
That was why she could see it all at a glance—what was wrong with Alice's technique, the root of the problem, and even how to overcome it.
Alice's gray eyes had lost their usual dignity, wandering aimlessly. Her sword had strayed from its proper path. And, just as Fatima had said, it was Echinacea's fault.
'Because of our duel.'
Alice's swordplay had originally been swift, precise, and refined. Though they had only dueled once, her technique had been so polished it bordered on elegance.
But now, she had lost that precision, swinging wildly. Her form had crumbled into something crude. Rough, discordant movements had seeped into her swordsmanship, clashing with her natural strengths and disrupting them entirely.
It seemed Echinacea's sword had left its mark on her. The remnants of that fight—brutal, devoid of personal style, almost reflexive—were visible in Alice's movements now. Of course, losing to a freakish cadet like Echinacea on her very first day must have been a shock.
The solution was simple. Erase those lingering traces and return to the swordplay that was truly Alice's own. But if it were something she could forget just by trying, it wouldn't have imprinted on her in the first place. For Alice to break free on her own would take a long time.
Echinacea hesitated. Interfering with another's swordsmanship was also impolite. She wasn't Alice's senior, nor were they close. If anything, their relationship was strained.
Echinacea, who had never formally learned the sword, had naturally never taught anyone either. Alice hadn't asked for her help. If she offered, Alice might take it as an insult—or worse, lash out in anger.
By all logic, the right choice was to pretend she hadn't seen anything and walk away.
But Echinacea let out a shallow sigh, then drew the cheap longsword she carried with her. She tossed the scabbard carelessly to the ground and stepped into the radius of Alice's swinging blade. A blind slash came cutting toward her side—she deflected it with ease.
Clang! The sound of clashing blades rang out.
"......!"
Only then did Alice notice Echinacea's presence, startling violently. She must have been deeply absorbed in her training. She dropped her sword and stumbled back. As Alice struggled to steady her ragged breathing, Eki stood motionless, her blade hanging loosely at her side.
"......What is the meaning of this, Lady Roaz?"
Alice's voice was icy. Eki grinned.
"Spar with me, Lady Winterbell."
"That is the most discourteous request for a duel I have ever received. You truly are......"
Alice's face twisted in displeasure. Eki, who was about to do something far ruder, paid no heed to her reproach. What she was about to offer would be considered nothing short of a miracle from a knight's perspective, but she had no intention of expecting gratitude or repayment.
If I don't get cursed out, I'll count myself lucky. Still, this is the surest and fastest way to erase my lingering influence.
Eki leveled her sword straight ahead. With a mocking smirk, she tilted her head slightly.
"Afraid of losing to me?"
Fire ignited in Alice's pupils. The tips of her eyebrows trembled faintly, and the grip on her sword visibly tightened. Clenching her teeth, Alice retorted,
"Do you think a future knight would fear defeat? That's not the issue here."
"Then just spar with me. Fight me, Lady Winterbell."
"I'm telling you your method is wrong! You barged in uninvited while I was training alone, blocked my strike, and now you call it a duel?"
"Ah, my apologies. You were so focused I felt bad interrupting."
"Barging in is far ruder than calling out!"
"I hadn't realized."
Eki blinked innocently. Of course, it was a lie. She had deliberately provoked her—a polite request for a duel wouldn't have stung half as much. Just as expected, Alice's temper flared.
"Do you even intend to become a knight? If one who wields a sword disregards courtesy and discipline, how are they any different from a back-alley thug?"
"I'll be more careful next time. Anyway, so—are we dueling or not?"
She twirled her cheap longsword playfully against the ground, not a shred of reverence for the blade in sight. Alice, her face flushed with anger, adjusted her grip on her sword.
"Raise your blade."
"Thanks. Let's skip the tedious formalities, shall we? Then—"
Without waiting for Alice to settle into her stance, Eki lunged forward. Caught off guard, Alice barely managed to block in an awkward posture.
From that moment on, Echinacea began fighting in a manner completely unlike their previous duel. Her attacks were relentless—swift, precise, and utterly devoid of excess. The hem of her dress, fluttering just above her calves, tangled and untangled around her legs in rhythm. The delicate footprints left by her thin women's shoes formed a steady, measured tempo.
Alice frantically parried, until at some point, she recognized the rhythm. The trajectory of each thrust, the movement of her arms, the focus of her gaze, the form of her defense, the footwork, the shifting of her center of gravity—
This is impossible.
It felt like facing an entirely different person. Clean, elegant swordsmanship. Refined movements. A style so familiar it was uncanny. Echinacea was wielding Alice's own swordsmanship.
No, this is—!
Not the same. She had felt this before. Back when she had sparred with the knight who had taught her swordsmanship before enrolling in the academy. The sensation of witnessing a perfected version of her own style.