Sparring with the Crown Prince
I was pissed off. Even if they didn't have feelings for each other, a lovers' quarrel was still a lovers' quarrel. Dragging a complete stranger like me into something they should settle between themselves was annoying enough. And the Crown Prince's attitude, assuming I'd naturally do his bidding, grated on me too.
"That doesn't sit right with me."
My tone got a bit rough. Other transmigrators always seemed to find the perfect answer in the moment, right? For the grand goal of 'survival,' they'd bow their heads or drop to their knees if needed. Then, after meticulous planning and calculation, they'd flip the script on the villains and chug that sweet, refreshing cider of revenge.
Sorry, but I didn't have that kind of patience.
"You two should handle your own business. Why drag me into it?"
I couldn't hold back against this rude bastard of a prince.
"..."
What would the Crown Prince do? Would he try to lop my head off right now?
That might be going too far.
"...You're right. I was short-sighted."
A chill killing intent flickered in his eyes.
"You must feel insulted. Forgive my rudeness."
The Crown Prince lowered his posture. Up to here, it flowed naturally. No matter how much of a prince he was, our family had a solid standing. Plus, this guy was on shaky ground after his reckless affair and broken engagement.
There was no reason for him to pass up the image of a 'monarch who admits mistakes and apologizes.'
"As a token of my apology, I'd like to cross swords with you."
The problem came next.
"Men settle grudges with steel, don't they? From the look of your build, you seem to have some skill yourself."
...What the hell was this guy saying?
"I'm no warrior."
If anything, I was more like an athlete. All I could do was run.
"Don't be modest. I've heard the rumors about how you got into this academy."
Hah, this thorough bastard. When did he even investigate that?
"Not as lord and vassal, but warrior to warrior, I want to apologize to you properly."
It was almost pitiful how he was packaging it, but the conclusion was the same.
This sucks, so let's fight.
"I formally challenge you to a duel."
Does this punk have no shame?
He might be petty, but the Crown Prince was one of the novel's major villains. His swordsmanship was described as perfected by academy enrollment, and within years, he'd wield power rivaling a dragon. This was like an adult man betting life-or-death with a newborn baby. No embarrassment?
"Oh, what's this? A duel on the first day?"
A man in shabby clothes pushed open the grand hall's doors. His beard was unkempt, and beer foam from last night still clung vividly to his neck. Two swords clinked at his waist—he hadn't even tied his belt properly.
"Professor Lien."
The Crown Prince smiled lightly, welcoming the newcomer to the hall.
"Your Highness... and who's this?"
"Ram Artel."
"Ah, you? You look decent enough, just like the rumors."
Professor Lien laughed casually, ignoring any rudeness, and climbed to the hall's stage. How this guy was a senior professor at the academy the Crown Prince attended was beyond me, but his timing wasn't bad.
"So, a duel?"
A professor wouldn't just watch an adult man life-or-death with a baby, right...?
"Hah, I'll officiate."
?
"...Pardon?"
Professor Lien crossed his legs on the lone chair on stage.
"Go on, do it."
You crazy fuck.
"You have to exchange blows once per semester anyway. Might as well sort the pecking order early."
What academy has professors egging on student fights?
"By the way, my class has no ranks. Noble blood doesn't dodge blades."
His philosophy was dangerous as hell. How did this guy become a senior professor?
"Fight with intent to kill for all I care. If it goes too far, I'll step in."
The students' gazes slowly focused on me and the Crown Prince at the professor's declaration.
"...Isn't the skill gap too wide?"
"You gonna skip fighting on the battlefield 'cause the enemy's too strong?"
Most people would, probably. That's why I'd trained my ass off running.
"And to my eyes, the gap isn't that big."
Huh?
Me? Against this monster?
"100 meters in 0.46 seconds, right? A record no normal person could dream of."
"...What did you just say?"
"100 meters in 0.46 seconds."
"Didn't you mean 4.6 seconds?"
Fuck me.
"Uh... then can I set the win conditions?"
Screw it, whatever.
"Go ahead."
"Wooden swords. First to touch the opponent's vital spot wins."
"Scared of real steel?"
"How could I point a live blade at Your Highness?"
"Hm... fair enough."
The Crown Prince nodded, convinced by my logic.
Nice! The idiot bought it.
At least no worries about losing limbs!
"I said no ranks in this class. Real swords are fine? I'm watching."
Shut up, old man.
"Even if the professor says so, a vassal pointing steel at his lord isn't easy. I'll humor you with wood this time."
Wow, thanks a ton.
Why not cancel this duel while you're at it?
"Both of you, up on stage. If you're gonna clown around, make it flashy."
...Somehow, the instigating professor felt more loathsome than the provoking prince.
The light wooden swords bore the marks of countless hands. The long blades had nicks here and there, rounded blunt at the tips.
Two days into academy life, and here I was dueling the Crown Prince.
Should've just said yes.
Standing on stage, facing the sword-wielding prince, a chill crawled up my spine. His blue eyes gleamed like a wolf's, his neatly swept golden hair like a lion's mane.
Could I win?
No chance in hell.
In a deathmatch, I'd lose every time. How could a guy who's never held a sword kill that monster?
But a sport with rules?
That's different.
This wasn't life-or-death. Just touch the opponent's vitals with my wooden sword. Like a single fencing bout.
Let's trust it.
The professor said he'd intervene if things got dicey.
He even claimed our gap wasn't huge.
"Get ready."
Above all, I had confidence in my speed.
"Start."
I kicked off. The world slowed.
****
0.13 seconds. That's all it took for Ram to close in on the Crown Prince.
A speed far beyond any student's perception.
Only the Crown Prince barely tracked the afterimage.
Ram Artel's speed was like a flash of light.
Oh.
Professor Lien couldn't help but smile at the unexpected harvest.
Final Pass: Ram Artel.
Special Note: Traversed 100 meters in 0.46 seconds.
Professor Lien had confronted the interviewers the moment he saw their report, demanding if it was real.
Running 100 meters in 0.46 seconds was uncertain even for knights like him.
If true, this academy freshman outpaced knights in speed alone...
Damn, he's fast as hell.
Lien marveled at the lightning movement before his eyes.
But why's he so weak?
A sigh escaped simultaneously.
Ram Artel was fast. On Lien's level.
But his power was sorely lacking.
Doesn't make sense by my logic.
Power is speed. At that velocity, the shockwave should've wrecked the hall.
Yet everything was serene.
And why's he gripping the sword like that? No tutoring?
Noble kids entering the academy all had magic or sword lessons from age five.
Ram Artel's grip, swing—everything was a mess.
First guy with zero foundation like this.
A blank white canvas. Ram Artel's potential was vast, but untouched.
Opponent's textbook perfect, though.
In contrast, the Crown Prince. Despite Ram's explosive acceleration catching him off-guard, he raised his sword to guard his neck.
A 'prediction based on experience' of where the strike would come—and it hit spot-on.
Wood clacked against wood.
Real sword, and that wrist would've snapped.
The weak wooden blade let Ram's improper grip barely hold.
Back next?
Lien's prediction was right. Before the sound faded, Ram pivoted behind the prince.
Dumbass.
Stabbing from blind spot. Seemed textbook, but suicidal.
Aiming back extends your path. Gotta stop and reaccelerate.
As expected, Ram halted 20 meters away after 0.8 seconds.
Should've kept momentum, attacked front or side to bait a mistake.
0.2 seconds to stop and accelerate again.
At this level, 1 second is fatal.
That 1-second gap decided winner and loser.
"Gone completely."
Ram vanished from sight. Even the afterimage Lien tracked faded.
Yet the Crown Prince stayed cool.
"Which means—"
Mana flowed into his wooden sword. The sudden torrent cracked it.
"—he's behind."
Whoosh—!
No hesitation. He swung back full-force.
It's over.
The massive mana torrent blinded Ram, accelerating beyond sound.
"Hm..."
A sword slid from Lien's hilt.
"Maybe a 4 out of 10?"
Steel clashed with mana, vibrating.
The world fell silent; the waterfall mana vanished.
One of Lien's hands held a sword, the other Ram's head.
"...Out of 5?"
"Out of 100."
Ram's wooden sword rested on the Crown Prince's neck.
"...Who won?"
"Sword's at His Highness's neck?"
"No way His Highness..."
"His Highness wins."
Lien shoved Ram and the prince apart.
"No complaints, right? Without me, you'd be a corpse."
"No, I accept defeat."
Ram set down his sword with a faint smile at the unexpected gain.
Better than I feared.
"Tch."
The prince seemed more dissatisfied. Pushed to the brink by a total novice who couldn't even hold a sword right.
With a bit more experience, Ram would've won.
The prince knew it too.
"Rematch next time."
He couldn't let go of the shattered hilt for a while.