novelraw Chapter 165 : Chapter 165
Chapter 165 : Chapter 165
165
"Honestly, my swordsmanship was slightly better. The only thing you ever had going for you was standing in the right line and making yourself look good to the right people."
"Th-this is outrageous!"
"Well, I suppose being able to grovel and suck up to people is a skill in its own right. Yes, I can grant you that much — we can call it a skill."
"M-maintain your dignity! Were you not a knight as well?! Huh?! What kind of knight does nothing but slander people......!"
"Who knows. I would not put it past you to have bought a few corpses from people during the extermination campaigns for a bit of coin. Those were the times, after all. And well, I consider even that a form of ability."
The words poured from Murray's mouth without pause.
Once he had started, all manner of things spilled out more easily than expected.
Above all, it was a little enjoyable.
Murray did not agree with a single thing he was saying.
Palmer certainly cared about his relationships with people, but he was not corrupt enough to rig results with money.
And Palmer's swordsmanship was, in truth, slightly ahead of his own.
Had Teacher Cassian not confirmed as much?
'But there is no need for a provocation like this to be truthful.'
In the military, there existed a position known as the war crier.
A soldier whose purpose was to hurl abuse at the enemy and raise the morale of allied troops.
They would drag in every distant relative and family member imaginable to insult their opponent.
But in a war between nations, how much could one truly know about the other side?
They would piece together rumors brought by mercenaries, spies, and other drifters and weave them into fiction.
All manner of slander and defamation ran rampant, digging up even the history and traditions of families to weaponize.
What he was doing now was much the same.
"Now hold on! You are going too far! Huh? I came here out of pure goodwill, for your sake! Do you not realize how miserable it is to govern a vast territory beyond the limits of your ability? Besides, were you not wasting away here, drowning in alcohol and ruining your life? If you hand over the territory to me, you could even aim for a return to central politics!"
"Good grief."
A heartfelt sigh left Murray's lips.
Part of what fueled his ability to berate Palmer was that Palmer was simply too oblivious.
No — it was not just Palmer. Belmain Royal Castle itself, for sending a man like this here at a time like this, was equally so.
No matter how out of touch they were, he had not expected them to be this out of touch.
"What?!"
"Central politics, you say? And you claim this is for my sake? Palmer. You dense fool. Go into town and repeat what you just said to anyone you can grab. Every single one of them will tell you that you have lost your mind."
Palmer's face flushed red.
But it was the indignation and fury of a man who believed he had been slandered.
He did not believe that Lord Murray was telling him the truth.
In fairness, it would have been stranger if he had.
Instead, he drew a sharp breath, then reached into his coat.
In his hand was a white glove that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
Thwap.
The glove sailed through the air, struck Lord Murray square in the chest, and slid to the floor.
It was a challenge to a duel.
"I, Knight Palmer Keila, hereby challenge Murray Taylor to a duel! You have insulted me and my liege, the King of Belmein — atone for your crime with your life and beg forgiveness in hell!"
And in that very moment.
"Whoa! A duel!"
"Huh? Mister, are you going to duel?"
"Everyone, make room! A guest from outside has thrown down the gauntlet at our Lord! Thrown it down, I say!"
As if they had been waiting for exactly this, people came flooding out from every direction.
Most of them were students — specifically, upperclassmen of third year or above who looked old enough to know better.
Students with red hair, blue hair, brown hair, and blonde hair, boys and girls alike, poured out and filled every corner like spectators at an exciting show.
"W-wait, what is this?"
Palmer looked around in confusion, flustered by the sudden flood of students.
In the blink of an eye, the crowd had swelled well past twenty.
No — it was not just students. Several older guards had also gathered to fill out the audience.
Why on earth were they here?
Could it be that they were bearing a grudge over his challenge to their territory's lord and intended to harm him?
He considered the possibility, but the delight in their eyes was genuine.
"A duel, then."
Lord Murray nodded calmly.
He looked as though he had anticipated this very scenario unfolding.
And of course, he had.
"Very well. Shall we proceed right here?"
"O-of course!"
A sacred duel initiated by throwing down the gauntlet was, by convention, conducted before an audience.
One's honor had been tarnished before witnesses, so it was only right to vindicate oneself through a formal contest.
So having a few spectators was hardly an issue.
A few — that is to say.
"Understood. Then the duel shall follow official rules. The Academy's official rules deem it a loss when a combatant drops their weapon or can no longer continue. Is that acceptable?"
"We recommend using the Academy's certified wooden swords. I am sure both of you are skilled enough for live steel, but this is still a sparring match — it would be terrible if someone of your stature were to be injured."
"The Training Ground would be ideal for a duel, would it not? How about adding the condition that being pushed outside the bounds of the Training Ground counts as a defeat?"
People swarmed in one after another, each offering their opinions.
This was an audience that far exceeded "a few."
By the time Palmer came to his senses, he found himself standing in a Training Ground tucked in a corner of Akarind Academy City, wooden sword in hand, preparing for a match against Murray.
"Lord Murray had been drowning in alcohol and has only recently recovered. His swordsmanship and veteran instincts aside, his breathing will fail him in the end. Successive strikes are the key."
Somehow, a student who had appointed himself as Palmer's second had attached himself to his side.
Palmer did not know it, but the student's name was Zelta.
"......Was all of this a scheme you people prepared?"
By this point, it was impossible not to see what they had set up and how.
Palmer glared at Zelta with a displeased expression.
Naturally, Zelta was not intimidated.
Among the Academy's upperclassmen, there were far more unhinged individuals for him to be scared of.
A knight who had come demanding the lord's seat in an attempt to take over the Academy was hardly frightening.
Zelta shrugged and replied.
"We did not really need to prepare anything."
"You will all regret this. I am the Knight Commander of the great Belmein Kingdom, Palmer Keila!"
"You have introduced yourself plenty already. The match is starting. Go out there and do well."
Commander Palmer started to say something more, but Zelta casually pushed him forward by the back as if he could not care less.
'Huh?'
It was a peculiar experience.
Someone had just shoved the Knight Commander in the back — and not just anyone.
This was not merely a matter of etiquette.
'How?'
As Knight Commander, Palmer possessed acute Mana Sensitivity.
He could detect monsters concealing their presence and approaching with uncanny precision — that ability was precisely why he had survived long enough to rise to the rank of Commander.
And yet a mere Academy student had laid a hand on him?
He could not fathom it.
'Come to think of it, I did not even notice these brats watching me before they surrounded me.'
Even a person's gaze carried a sensation.
If one honed their senses to a sharp enough degree, they could feel the eyes watching them.
Soldiers, in particular, always underwent this kind of awareness training.
It was a precaution against enemy ambushes.
And yet these students had evaded that very sense and surrounded him?
An inexplicable unease began to creep up within him.
"Hoo. It must have been ten years since I last crossed swords with someone."
But Palmer forced down the fear that had begun to seep into his mind.
The notion of being nervous against a mere Murray of all people was something his pride would not allow.
"Was that your last defeat?"
"You keep rewriting history. Did I not say the last one was my win?"
"The hunt!"
Palmer snapped in a sudden outburst, then glanced around at the watching eyes.
Their stares stung.
"Ahem, the results simply differed slightly in a hunt, that is all! It was not a duel — it was a hunt!"
"Is there a difference?"
"......I will carve that difference into your body today. You clearly need a wake-up call!"
Palmer shouted and raised his sword.
There was no formal starting signal.
Both men stood in the Training Ground with swords drawn — and that was the start of the duel.
'Here I come!'
However rash, somewhat simple-minded, oblivious to the ways of the world, and foolish enough to fall for cheap provocations Palmer might have been, none of that meant he could not handle a sword.
True to his title of Knight Commander, his body hurtled toward Murray at terrifying speed.
In an instant, he launched himself into the air, and a sword that seemed ready to pierce the sun itself came crashing down on Murray, laden with ferocious power.
It should have landed.
"Hrrgh!"
Murray did not move from his stance.
He spread his legs wide, received Palmer's sword, and redirected it to the side.
At the moment the blades met, there should have been a hard jolt traveling through the wrist — but instead, it felt as though he had struck a soft cushion.
"What?!"
The instant his sword was deflected, Palmer grasped the technique behind it.
But understanding it was one thing — believing that the likes of Murray was actually using Advanced Swordsmanship was another matter entirely.
"Th-this is impossible!"
Palmer brought his sword down in rapid succession, hacking as though swinging an axe.
Blow after blow hurtled toward Murray.
Murray walked forward slowly, one step at a time, deflecting each strike with composure.
In truth, the composure was only how it appeared from the outside.
He was clenching his teeth so hard that his gums were bleeding.
'Damn it.'
Deflecting the sword to the side at the moment of contact.
Easy to say, but a ludicrous feat of skill.
One had to read the timing of the opponent's attack with perfect precision and swing the sword in sync with that rhythm.
The secret lay in a monstrous teacher.
Cassian had perfectly replicated Palmer's swordsmanship after seeing him only once.
No — could "replicated" even be the right word, given he had never actually watched Palmer fight?
Cassian had predicted every timing and rhythm of Palmer's sword swings purely by observing the man's outward appearance.
Even during training, Murray had doubted whether any of it could be right — and yet it was.
"How in blazes is this possible?!"
Palmer screamed, having lost his composure.
Confronted with a situation beyond the limits of his comprehension, a wave of fear swept over him.
In truth, Murray was in a similar state.
It was only the countless hours of repeated training that had caused his body to unconsciously press close to Palmer.
"Now!"
Cassian's voice reached him from somewhere within the crowd.
Or perhaps he only felt as though it had.
Throughout the training that had continued until yesterday, Cassian had given him signals hundreds of times.
His body had reacted to those hundreds of signals and moved on its own.
WHOOSH!
Slipping past the timing of Palmer's attack, Murray stepped in close and swung — not his sword, but his head.
CRACK!
"Gakh?!"
It was a headbutt from a middle-aged man with everything he had.
Palmer, who had never expected to be struck by something other than a sword, reeled in shock and lost his balance.
Murray immediately lowered himself, hooked the back of Palmer's knee, and swept him to the ground.
It was swordsmanship — no, hand-to-hand combat — designed solely for fighting people, not monsters.
"Th-this is cowardly......!"
While Palmer, experiencing something like this for the first time in his life, struggled to regain his senses.
Murray's wooden sword drove past the side of Palmer's head and planted itself into the ground.
"My win, you bastard."
The middle-aged man's victory was somewhat unsightly and utterly devoid of elegance.
Clap, clap, clap.
But it was enough to draw applause from the onlookers.
Ah — with one exception.
"......Teacher Cassian?"
"Yes."
"Why do I only receive after-the-fact reports about major Academy affairs?"
"Ha ha ha, ha ha. Ha."
"Do not run away — come here and explain yourself!"