novelraw Chapter 166 : Chapter 166
Chapter 166 : Chapter 166
Chapter 166: Pilgrimage (3)
Monika stared straight ahead.
A man stood there, his short blond hair streaked with gray. Judging by his build, he could easily be compared to an orc. Gerhard von Farenheit—surely that man was the head of a family that encompassed a lineage of swordsmanship.
‘Still….’
Are all knights built like that?
With her lips pressed together, Monika thought. Felix Christian, Drogo von Babenberg le Zylon, Gerhard von Farenheit—every last one of them possessed the look of a predator.
Among them, Gerhard’s face was unparalleled. Scars densely packed across his features. Marks like those left by a wild beast’s claws drew Monika’s gaze.
“They say it was from fingernails.”
Roberta whispered cautiously,
hand raised like a blade toward Monika’s ear.
“…Fingernails?”
“Yes. Apparently his relationship with the lady of the house is bad.”
“His face ended up like that because of a marital fight?”
“That is what they say.”
Do not let Demian Oppa notice, she added,
continuing while glancing at Gerhard’s face.
“Not just that. They say the lady of the house has burn scars all over her face too. Something about boiling water being thrown. I have heard stories like that.”
“…That is absurd.”
He is insane.
As Monika narrowed her eyes and muttered,
“──Focus!”
Gerhard shouted.
Thud. With the practice longsword resting against his shoulder.
“I, too, am a graduate of CIAR.”
Judging by his expression alone, he looked like a hearty middle-aged man.
Even so, there was no room for reassurance. Felix Christian, after all, looked like a jovial old man on the surface. One could not judge a person’s inside by first impressions.
“Thinking back on it makes me cringe. When I was a student, we trained using only real blades. The fine practice longswords assigned to you did not exist yet.”
No, that is not it.
Muttering so, Gerhard shook his head.
“It would be more accurate to say there was no reason to develop them.”
Do you know why?
As Gerhard asked,
“Answer, Ernst.”
Abel spoke.
He had stopped behind the students who were standing in formation.
“Well….”
Ernst adjusted his glasses.
After shrugging, he answered Gerhard’s question.
“It was an era when wars with other nations broke out repeatedly. The might of the Demon Realm was also far greater than it is now, and I have heard that conscripting child soldiers was common back then.”
“Correct.”
Gerhard nodded once.
“It has been a while, Ernst. Have you been well?”
“I am barely alive, but I suspect I might die soon.”
“Still sharp-tongued. You remind me of your grandmother in her prime. It feels like only yesterday that I served as a squire under her. I often feared I might be killed by her at any moment.”
“My congratulations. You have finally obtained your revenge. If you kill me, my grandmother in the Underworld will be quite saddened.”
“Rest assured. Lady Brunhilde may have truly tried to kill me once or twice, but I have no intention of killing you.”
Do you know why?
As Gerhard asked,
“Answer, Demian.”
Abel spoke again,
this time crouched at one side of the training ground.
“Because we are weak.”
Demian answered calmly.
His quiet voice carried visible breath.
“The knights of the Farenheit family do not harm the weak. To you, Father, we must look exceedingly frail. It is not merely because we are young. We have never floundered amid war, nor have we often witnessed death.”
“Well said. Just as I would expect from my son.”
Gerhard nodded once more.
“You are weak. Astonishingly weak. Being young does not matter—at best, it is just an excuse. Compared to the peers of my era, you are all the more feeble. I killed a person for the first time at around ten. It was common in those days. By fourteen, I was facing hordes of monsters alone….”
“And at my age, you were already commanding troops.”
“As you say, Demian. You are far too slow.”
“I train constantly, fully aware of your achievements, Father. To catch up, even a little….”
“No. You do not need to catch up.”
Do you know why?
As Gerhard asked again,
“You seem pleased.”
Abel spoke once more.
He straightened up and wiped his cherished blade with the hem of his formal uniform.
“You appear satisfied with the children’s frailty.”
“Exactly. I am very pleased. If they were not weak, how could they be children? They should laugh, be frivolous, and be weak.”
It is fortunate.
Truly fortunate.
Gerhard muttered so. That children were weaker than in his era meant society had become stable enough to allow such weakness. Above all, Gerhard understood as a man of arms that alternatives existed beyond brute force alone. That wallowing in the mire was not the only answer, and that there were things to learn from beautiful scenery as well.
“Am I wrong, Professor Argento?”
“I agree to an extent.”
Form up, everyone.
Abel whispered to the students.
“Which part do you disagree with?”
“I should be precise. I am in no position to agree wholeheartedly.”
The students formed ranks and faced Gerhard.
Demian and Monika at the front, Ernst in the center, Roberta at the rear.
All were equipped with practice gear. Real blades were forbidden, Aura use prohibited, and divine magic allowed only in a few limited spells. Abel had made this clear to them beforehand.
“In any case, I am in the position of teaching these children….”
There was only one rule.
Land even a single successful attack.
If Gerhard took a hit, the training would end. If not, it would continue until dusk.
“…Which inevitably means urging their growth. At times, even forcing it. That is why I do not have the right to fully agree.”
“That is understandable. I can account for your position.”
Keh ha.
Gerhard let out a hearty laugh.
“It cannot be helped. I will savor it alone.”
Tap.
A sharp push-off from the ground.
It almost sounded like a scoff.
“Your children’s….”
Monika’s pupils dilated.
In an instant, Gerhard seemed to vanish from before her eyes.
She could not even catch his afterimage. It was as if he had used a teleportation spell. There should have been more than ten paces between them, yet he had closed the distance as though it were compressed into a single moment, scattering pale sand dust with absurd ease.
“──That utterly indescribable frailty!”
Clang!
A metallic crash shook Monika’s ears.
Gerhard’s blade collided with Monika’s. It was not the result of calculated swordplay. Monika had relied purely on instinct to block his strike.
“Oh?”
Very good.
Gerhard muttered so.
Between the crossed blades, he was smiling.
“A very fine prosthetic arm. Is it not, little one?”
Gerhard was correct.
What was impressive was not Monika’s skill.
Flesh and bone alone could never have withstood his strike. She was holding his blade through the durability of her prosthetic arm.
“Demian, prepare while Monika holds.”
Suddenly, Abel’s voice rang out.
“The target’s right flank is open. Roberta, prepare a protective spell. Ernst, support Demian.”
Tap tap.
Footsteps closing in on Monika.
She had no leeway to turn and look. Barely, she kept her eyes on Gerhard. What method should she use? She could think of nothing but enduring. Not only physical strength, but even her capacity to think was being consumed by the contest of force.
“I heard from Demian. You grew up in the slums, did you not?”
“Ghk….”
“Will you not answer? Am I mistaken?”
“Ugh….”
“Do not misunderstand. I am not looking down on you.”
“No, right now….”
“No? You did not grow up in the slums?”
“Do you think I have time to talk right now?!”
Damn it.
Monika frowned.
Gerhard’s blade was pressing closer. It felt like arm-wrestling a beast.
“I see. My apologies.”
Gerhard’s arm bulged grotesquely.
Monika glanced sideways at it. Knights without divine power emphasized mastery over the body itself, she had heard. Had he artificially swollen his muscles and reshaped his skeleton to support them? This man was a monster.
“In any case, that is fortunate.”
While Monika was enduring with all her strength,
Gerhard was casually chatting.
“That even though you grew up in the slums….”
Then, tap. The tip of Gerhard’s shoe brushed Monika’s ankle.
“…You are this pure.”
She fell before she even registered what had happened.
Before realizing that Gerhard had swept her leg.
“──I will learn from this, Father!”
What is this….
Sprawled across the sand, Monika thought.
The grains against her cheek were icy cold. It did not even feel like she had fought, much less trained. A hollow sense of defeat, like losing to someone earnestly playing alone, etched itself into her mind.
Clang, clang, clang. The metallic sounds ringing above her head felt just as empty.
“It has been a long time since we last sparred!”
Demian was swinging his practice longsword.
Engaging in a contest of strength would only lead to being toyed with. He had to deflect the strikes and create openings. As a son, Demian knew Gerhard’s strength well. In all their past sparring, he had never landed a decisive hit.
“Yes. It truly has been a long time, Demian.”
Gerhard savored it calmly.
Demian’s more mature assault.
“Lately, I have had no time. It feels like only yesterday you were playing with a wooden sword….”
Has he grown more cunning?
Gerhard smiled to himself.
He is twisting his sword path to create openings, hoping I will make a mistake. He aims not for victory by skill, but for victory through the opponent’s lapse.
His way of thinking has become more flexible.
“I am satisfied.”
Crunch.
Gerhard’s hand closed around Demian’s blade.
“Is it thanks to Portsmouth? You have become rather underhanded.”
Demian clenched his teeth.
He could not shake off Gerhard’s grip. He could only look up at his father’s gray eyes, so similar to his own. Even though it was a blunt practice sword, an unmistakable mass of metal, Gerhard held the blade as though catching an insect.
“That is also admirable. If one is inevitably weak, one must cling to gambling at least. Even a scrawny vagrant becomes strong the moment he gambles.”
“I agree!”
Demian released the hilt.
He stretched out both arms and grabbed Gerhard by the collar, pulling with all his might. Using his body weight, drawing him closer, if only to create an opening for a moment.
“Ernst, Roberta, now!”
Demian’s gray eyes slid to the side,
“That is it!”
Thud.
After throwing Demian aside,
“Now, children!”
Gerhard shouted as he pushed off the ground.
“Do not come closer! This is genuinely terrifying!”
Ernst shouted toward Gerhard,
“No such thing!”
Gerhard gripped the practice longsword with both hands.
He drew his arms back behind his head.
“My wife says there is no man as gentle as I am!”
“That is impossible! You home-wrecker! They say you threw boiling water in your wife’s face!”
Roberta shouted at Gerhard,
“…What are you talking about?”
Even as he asked with a blank expression,
‘This is a mess.’
Abel thought, and at the same time,
“I, Gerhard von Farenheit!”
Flash.
Gerhard cleaved between Ernst and Roberta with a single strike,
“Have never once committed violence against my wife!”
Boom.
A violent gale of sword wind shook the ground.
As sand erupted within the gust,
“Who started such rumors?!”
Whoosh.
A massive frame cut through the dust.
Gerhard emerged from beyond the sword wind.
‘I see.’
Abel nodded once.
It was not difficult to grasp Gerhard’s intent. Those keen gray eyes were fixed upon Abel. Clutching the practice longsword tightly, Gerhard charged forward with speed that belied his build.
‘Not only the children’s frailty….’
Abel tightened his grip.
Holding the hilt of his cherished blade, he fixed his stance.
Margin-White Aura gathered along the tattered blade. Abel prepared to receive Gerhard’s strike.
‘He wishes to glimpse my frailty as well.’
Was it to probe his son’s teacher?
Or the competitive spirit of a knight?
Abel tried to discern Gerhard’s intent. No clear answer came to mind. One thing was certain. Though wielding a practice sword, Gerhard was preparing a strike in earnest.
‘So that is his code.’
Thus, Gerhard narrowed his eyes.
The Aura clinging to Abel’s blade. Seeing it, he was convinced.
The beliefs of Holy Knights, named Aura, were usually radiant. If it bore such a hollow color, then it could only be a code. When belief swelled and grew heavy, it became a code. Abel was not a Holy Knight who mastered his own belief, but one crushed beneath his own code.
‘Interesting. Very well….’
Tap.
Gerhard kicked off the ground.
He focused the weight lingering in his soles into the tip of his blade.
‘…Show me.’
Numeros Formal Swordsmanship, First Form, ‘Instant Pierce’.
A fundamental technique, basic among basics. It was merely a thrust meant to teach apprentice knights, yet in Gerhard’s hands it became a strike as sharp as the tip of a crescent moon.
‘Let me see….’
A straight sword path carved across the sand.
Gerhard’s blade shot toward Abel.
‘…Show me!’
A single metallic sound.
Like a raindrop falling into a lake,
──Boom!
Vibrations spread like ripples.
It was not only the students who were startled by the roar. The ground itself seemed to recoil as sand burst upward. A circular shockwave expanded from the clash, shaking the training ground.
“Now it is certain.”
Gerhard spoke.
Amid the swirling dust, he released the hilt he had been gripping.
“You and I will likely cross paths again before long.”
It was scattering.
The practice longsword began to crumble lightly. One could say it was vanishing. Yet Gerhard could perceive it. At the moment it collided with Abel’s Aura, the blade was being sliced apart countless times and dispersing.
“When that time comes, perhaps we will stand together as knight to knight.”
“I agree.”
Abel nodded once.
He had only received a single strike, yet he could be sure.
Had Gerhard wielded a real blade, the exchange would have devolved into a prolonged melee. Had he used a higher-order form rather than a basic one, the outcome would have differed.
“I may ask for your help soon.”
A moment of silence.
Abel and Gerhard faced one another.
It did not take long before they spoke. After exchanging brief bows, they turned and crossed the ravaged training ground in opposite directions.
“My apologies. Let us resume the training.”
“Glad words to hear. It has been a truly enjoyable afternoon.”
Could the two of them not train together instead?
The students all thought the same.
‘…We are still far behind.’
All but one.
‘Compared to the two of them, I….’
Demian alone thought so.
***
‘I am exhausted.’
Abel let out a sigh.
He had just returned to his office after the training.
His formal uniform, pristine until the morning, was now coated in dirt and dust. Gerhard had charged at him repeatedly. They had only exchanged a few bouts, yet repelling Gerhard’s robust pressure each time had drained him.
‘It would be good to establish amicable relations.’
Seated before the round table, Abel thought.
At most, two weeks. That would suffice. Enough time for Iris to complete her behind-the-scenes work against the Parousia Denomination.
The Farenheit family would make a good ally. Given the possibility that some among the ruling class were colluding with the Parousia Denomination, Abel judged it necessary to solidify ties with a trustworthy noble house.
‘There is not much time left.’
Abel crossed his arms.
Lowering his head, he pondered briefly.
‘Until the time comes to confront the Parousia Denomination head-on.’
He would soon visit the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace.
The Emperor and the Pope would have learned of the progress as well. Reports had been submitted repeatedly.
‘This turmoil will surely be troublesome….’
…Just as Abel was thinking that,
“Professor Argento.”
Knock, knock.
Someone rapped on the office door.
“It is Demian. May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Come in.”
Abel raised his head.
Creak. Demian pushed open the arched door.
He looked disheveled, having not changed out of his training clothes. After brushing back his sand-covered blond hair, Demian bowed to Abel.
“Come, sit.”
Abel gestured toward the seat across the round table.
“What is it? Are you nervous about departing on the pilgrimage?”
“Of course. I am still quite immature, and I wonder whether it is right for me to receive such a good opportunity.”
“I cannot help you with that matter.”
Abel shrugged.
“I believe your achievements are sufficient. You seem to think otherwise. That is not an issue that can be resolved by advice from me or anyone else.”
“I understand.”
Demian smiled.
Seated across from Abel.
“I, Demian Fernando von Farenheit, know that this is a matter I must resolve on my own. The reason I sought your counsel has little to do with me.”
“It has nothing to do with you?”
At Abel’s question,
“That is correct.”
Demian nodded.
“The reason I came to see you is….”
Because of Ernst von Tresckow.
Demian whispered softly.
“He will not ask you for advice himself.”
So I came in his stead.
Please help us resolve Ernst’s problem together.
“Please, Professor.”