Boys Grow by Fighting (2)

As soon as Gawain dropped his gauntlet, Richard charged. He closed the distance in an instant and swung his sword. Argon raised his shield to block. Bam! It sounded like a blow from a blunt weapon. Impossible for a sword blade. Richard was holding his sword upside down, gripping the blade and smashing the crossguard above the hilt into the shield like a hammer.

'Murder Stroke?'

One of the auxiliary sword techniques. You reverse your grip on the sword to use the handle like a club against heavily armored foes. I'd read about it in the game description and thought, Oh, cool. Of course, I'd never actually swung a sword myself. Seeing it in person felt entirely different.

'Now I get why you'd do that.'

Hitting a shield with the blade does nothing. But focusing the force on the crossguard lets you dent even sturdy shields or plate armor. Bam! Bam! Bam! Richard swung relentlessly, like pickaxing stone. Argon couldn't even dream of countering. Blocking alone strained him; his face twisted with every parry. Richard said nothing, just hammered away obsessively. A faint madness gleamed in his subtle smile.

'The Lion Knight... so this is where it started.'

"Hup—!" Argon barely dodged a full-force strike. He swung back immediately. But Richard slapped the flat of the blade away with one bare hand.

'...Is he insane?'

Even with dulled training swords, deflecting a weapon barehanded? And Richard did this even later, when he earned the title Lion Knight. I'd just thought, Impressive. But now, holding a weapon myself, I understood. Blocking a swinging blade with your bare hand? That's crazy.

Richard thrust his two-handed sword with one hand. Somehow he'd reset his grip mid-motion. Argon staggered back, shoulder pierced. As he raised his shield to recover, Richard grabbed it barehanded and yanked it down.

"Wha—!"

Panicked, Argon swung wildly.

'It's over.'

Off-balance, reckless counter ignoring the opponent's reaction. No need to watch further. As expected, it ended in a flash. Richard had already reset. Gripping the hilt and blade.

'Half-Swording.'

He deflected Argon's sloppy attack, then smashed the pommel into his face, toppling him. Finally, he thrust at his throat.

"Enough."

Gawain declared the match over. The falling sword halted inches from Argon's Adam's apple.

"Match ends. Winner: Richard."

The crowd's reaction was muted. There were cheers, but the outcome had been obvious from the start. Yeah, figures. Exactly that vibe.

"Argon. As the loser, fulfill the winner's demand."

"......"

Argon rose unsteadily. He glanced between me and Richard, hesitated, then slowly bowed. Deep enough to show his crown.

"...Sorry."

Argon murmured softly. Boos rained down—"Boo, boring!"—but he ignored them, staying bowed for a long moment.

"...Tch."

Richard clicked his tongue and planted his sword tip on the ground.

"Prostrating yourself, huh. Hey, Judah."

"Yes."

Richard scratched his head vigorously.

"Sorry. Feels like I made you do something pointless."

Now I saw it—Richard was nosy in his own way.

'He set this up for my sake, but feels bad forcing an apology.'

Lots to feel sorry about, apparently.

"I'm fine."

"Alright..."

Even after Richard stepped back, Argon didn't straighten. What was he thinking? Meanwhile, Gawain wrapped things up.

"You've seen plenty of trainee matches by now, but today's—Judah and Lindel's, beginners fighting with full sincerity—was a first. Remember it."

The excited mood sobered. Training resumed soon after. It was such a masterclass that everyone focused intently.

"Lindel got too heated, swept up in the crowd. Judah stayed calm from start to finish, dictating the flow and winning. Some of you might mock their bout."

A few flinched guiltily.

"But remember: your next real fight might be like that. A guard knight isn't a soldier marching in formation. You're a tool ready to die for your lord anytime, anywhere. Don't get swept by surroundings. Understood?"

"Yes!"

Gawain referenced me and Lindel a few more times. Mostly praising me, critiquing Lindel's flaws. Next, Richard and Argon—little to say, it was too one-sided. Argon listened stone-faced, not displeased but resolved. Lindel too.

"We'll proceed with afternoon training. You four—"

Gawain pointed at me, Richard, Lindel, and Argon.

"Get treated, rest, then get separate coaching."

"Understood."

Richard approached, grinning.

"You good?"

"Manageable."

"Tough guy, huh?"

"And you, sir?"

"Me? Didn't get hit."

"...Ah."

Impressive. No wonder he passed the fifth exam at his age. Whatever that was.

Footsteps mismatched subtly. Richard glared back. I glanced too. Lindel and Argon, following, froze.

"Something to say?"

"...No."

"Not really..."

Awkward silence as we walked. We got quick treatment at the infirmary and returned. Training went smoothly. No incidents after. During breaks, a few greeted me warmly. Impressed by my match, maybe. Strangers, so from other rooms. I nodded politely, scanning around.

'Allies mean enemies too.'

Sure enough, glares multiplied. Price of standing out. I accepted it—I chose this.

But something else bothered me more. Room 13's trainees. Factions split sharply around Richard and Argon.

'This is trouble.'

They're who I'd live with. No major offenses, so better if we got along.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Time passed with questions unanswered. Afternoon training ended uneventfully.

*

Dinner. I sat between Richard and Dillon at the mess hall. Watery soup and hard bread as always. Dinner was heartier—salted meat too. Tough and salty as hell.

'This diet... will we even grow properly?'

Low trainee budget? Or corruption here too? Either way, problematic. Growth spurts need nutrients....

"Doesn't make sense! 'Best defense is offense'—how do they counter blind swings?"

Richard griped.

"Only if you're overwhelmingly stronger. Or if they read you? What if they predict you'll block with your arm and smash full force?"

Dillon countered. Debating Richard vs. Argon.

"Like that loss last time..."

"Hey, watch it. Who brought that up?"

"But it's true..."

"Shut up and eat your bread."

"How with my mouth shut?"

"I'll feed you. Gimme that bread—open wide."

Richard swung the hard loaf at Dillon's mouth; Dillon wrestled to keep his. I quietly chewed the tough meat amid their bickering.

Someone sat opposite. The duo looked. Lindel, Argon, and a few who'd glared at me earlier.

"What?"

Richard snapped gruffly. Lindel's eyes darted awkwardly.

"What? Didn't hear?"

Argon stepped up, resolute. He bowed; Lindel followed. The others too.

"...Sorry, Judah."

Lindel's voice.

"Truth is, this morning... I hit hard on purpose. So, I..."

His voice trembled faintly. Richard and Dillon stared, stunned. I waited patiently.

"...You got here after me. Only three months, I know. But I'm your senior. Except... I got nothing special. No recognition. So, I... took it out on you."

Lindel teared up. Full confession. I nearly smiled.

'Kids, after all.'

My demand was simple: face reality. I hadn't forced it post-win. But Lindel did. Self-reflection's hard. Many know but can't. Adults drown in excuses. A kid this honest? Admirable.

"Damn kids."

Richard shuddered, goosebumps apparently. Dillon nodded, touched. Old soul vibes.

Argon followed, owning his faults. The others too—jealous of a newbie like me, they admitted.

'Looks like Lindel and Argon convinced them.'

"...This is the reality I accept. Sorry, Judah."

I blanked, then chuckled. Boys bond through fights.

"Eaten yet?"

Out of left field; Lindel stammered.

"Uh? N-No, not... yet."

"Then grab some and join."

Acceptance, basically. They lagged, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then scrambled for bread and soup. Richard shook his head watching.

"Who's senior here?"

"I'm the mature junior."

"Kids should act like kids."

...Says the other kid. Sometimes he's an old man.

Lindel and crew sat awkwardly with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trays. Richard tsked.

"Keep acting stiff, and what about Judah forgiving you?"

Awkward smiles. Hard to go buddy-buddy after morning insults.

"Let's chill from now on. Good day—share the leftover cookies too."

Dillon objected.

"Not your call. Especially Judah's share..."

"Give him triple?"

"I'm good."

Richard teased headache-Inducing Dillon; dinner warmed up. Talk flowed despite awkwardness.

"Judah, that wasn't your first fight, right?"

Richard munched bread. Lindel eyed eagerly. Others too.

I deflected vaguely.

"Just some scraps before coming here."

"...Sorry. Shouldn't have asked."

Silence fell.

'What?'

Ah. My slave backstory hit them. Imagining tragic past. Not quite, but denying felt weird. Awkward smile.

"Judah."

Dillon called softly, scraping soup.

"Thanks to you, we're all getting along. My job... appreciate it."

True. Room 13's twenty filled the long table, chatting over dinner. Not bad.

"No problem."

*

Most walked back together. Dillon, Richard, Lindel, Argon, etc. Me sandwiched in. Lindel beside me asked cautiously.

"Throat okay?"

"Fine. You?"

A few leg stabs for me. But him... face shield-smashed.

"Eh, lesson learned cheap. Haha."

Gutsy, huh. Amid chatter, my mind wandered.

'Hidden quest.'

This game's quests: main ones called "Fate" for playables. Rest are hidden—revealed only on discovery/completion.

One question: 'Does Judah have a main quest?'

Non-playable? Maybe not. Who knows.

Lindel halted mid-laugh, staring past my shoulder, face hard. Others froze one by one.

'...No way.'

One reason for this. I turned slowly, dread creaking my neck. Far off: Elijah. Same sky-blue dress as morning. She blinked at us like we'd sprouted horns.

"Lady Elijah."

I bowed quick. Room 13 followed.

Clack, clack. She approached. Cute black shoes gleamed—polished leather. Something gripped my chin. Soft, warm, small hand. Elijah's. My face lifted. I met her eyes meekly.

She tilted her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head, smirked.

"How do you always show me something so intriguing? On purpose?"

Now what'd I do....

Still holding my chin, she scanned around. Trainees flinched, bowing deeper under her gaze. It lingered on one—Lindel, by direction.

"...Fun."

She peered back, beaming.

"Follow."

She released and walked. I trailed, glancing back. Roommates still bowed. Richard thumbs-upped—you got this. I faced front, following her swaying black hair.

*

Usual parlor.

"Sit."

Elijah sat first.

'...Floor?'

She laughed, shaking head at my hesitation.

"Chair's fine."

"Thank you."

I sat fast. Tea and treats ready, like last time.

"Why not eat?"

I had manners. No mindless gorging.

"Don't mind—eat."

Permission granted. I reached eagerly. She watched, fascinated.

"Listen while eating. One question."

She knows more than me. What curiosity?

"Can enemy and ally coexist?"

"...Pardon?"

Riddle? What answer does she want?

"Sorry, my dull mind can't grasp your intent."

"Really? Usually, the dim don't even try."

"......"

"Rephrase, then."

She propped her chin, smiling sweetly. Thorned inside.

"If I become your enemy, what then?"

"Pardon...?"

"Or if you become mine—what would I do?"

Familiar tactic. No direct ask—invert to draw out. I'd endured it plenty. I knew what she meant.

'Today's events. Stirred interest again, unintentionally.'

Test and extension. What to say? I gathered thoughts, spoke. Elijah listened faintly smiling.