That morning, Father was strangely quiet.
Normally, Paul Greyrat would make at least one pointless remark at the breakfast table.
"Rudy, try to land at least one hit today."
"Eugene, go easy on me. Your father’s pride can’t take much more of this."
Something like that.
Then Mother would scold him, Lilia would give him a cold look, I would ridicule him inwardly, and Eugene would observe him with those emotionless eyes.
That was an ordinary morning.
But Father was quiet that day.
He barely spoke. He did not smile.
Every now and then, he looked at me.
More precisely, he pretended to look at me while looking at something behind me.
Sylphiette.
That was my guess.
For the past few days, Father had not approved of my relationship with Sylphiette.
"If all either of you can see is the other, neither of you will grow," he had said.
I hated those words.
I hated them even more because I could not say they were entirely wrong.
Sylphiette grew anxious without me.
And whenever she was anxious, I could not leave her.
What was wrong with that?
She was my friend.
A precious friend.
And someday...
No. It was too soon for that.
I decided I would play dumb.
No matter how cute Sylphiette was, no matter how dangerously sweet it was when she looked up at me, no matter how strangely fast my heart beat when we held hands, I had to pretend not to notice for now.
We were only seven.
That was early by this world’s standards, and by the common sense of my previous life as well.
As I was thinking that, Eugene looked at me.
"What?"
When I asked, Eugene set down his spoon.
"Your expression was loud."
"I’ve never heard anyone describe an expression as loud before."
"It contained a great deal of information."
"That was a roundabout way of insulting me, wasn’t it?"
"No."
Sure it wasn’t.
Stop looking into people like that.
Eugene had always been like this.
We had been born on the same day and raised in the same house, yet we were completely different.
I was someone desperately struggling to start over after failing at life. Eugene looked like someone who had never needed to begin in the first place.
And yet, sometimes, he reached out in the strangest places.
He had done it with Lilia, too.
Whether he was helping or simply stating facts, he put things in order in his own peculiar way.
Honestly...
He scared me.
But he was helpful.
That was what scared me most.
---
Morning training ended earlier than usual.
Father knocked me down three times.
I tried to counter with magic mixed into my movements, but he read every attempt.
If I turned the ground beneath his feet to mud, he jumped over it.
If I used wind to widen the distance, he immediately closed in.
If I blocked his sight with dust, he placed his wooden sword beside my head without even looking.
"Father, isn’t that a little too much?"
"In a real fight, you’d be dead."
"This is training."
"Die in training so you can live in battle."
Annoyingly, he was right.
Lying facedown on the ground, I looked up at the sky.
It was peaceful.
I wanted to believe that nothing bad could happen beneath a sky like that.
Father rested his wooden sword on his shoulder.
"Rudy."
"Yes?"
"That’s enough for today. I need to talk to you."
I pushed myself upright.
At that moment, it felt as if cold water had touched my back.
Father’s face was different.
It was neither his training face nor his joking face.
It was the face of a man who had already made his decision.
I had a bad feeling.
"You’re going to Roa."
I could not answer immediately.
Roa.
The city in the Fittoa Region.
The Boreas Greyrat family.
Nobles.
The words surfaced one after another.
"...Why?"
"An offer came in. A tutoring job."
"For me?"
"Yes."
"Teaching whom?"
"Eris Boreas Greyrat."
The daughter of the Boreas family.
Father’s relative.
A highborn noble girl.
Put nicely, she was a young lady from an esteemed house.
Put poorly, she smelled like trouble.
"I refuse."
I said it at once.
Father looked as though he had expected it.
"Why?"
"Sylphiette is here."
"That’s why I’m sending you."
My head went cold.
"What do you mean?"
"You two are too attached."
That again.
"What’s wrong with friends staying together?"
"Being friends doesn’t mean there’s no problem. You’re using each other as excuses."
I closed my mouth.
"Sylphiette gets anxious without you, and when she’s anxious, you can’t do anything. Even when you talked about attending Ranoa Magic University, the first thing you thought about was how to bring Sylphiette with you."
"Is that so wrong?"
"It’s not wrong. It’s too soon."
"Too soon?"
"You’re still children."
Counting my previous life, I was over forty.
But I could not say that.
Even if I did, it would mean nothing.
This body was seven years old.
And in this world, my place was that of a seven-year-old child.
"Go to Roa and earn money."
"Money?"
"You want to attend Magic University, don’t you? You want to take Sylphiette with you, too. Then earn it with your own strength."
For a moment, I had no answer.
It sounded plausible.
Very plausible.
Plausible enough to be unfair.
"For how many years?"
"About five."
"Five years?"
My voice rose.
"You want me to be apart from Sylphiette for five years?"
"Yes."
"What about Sylphiette?"
"We won’t tell her."
"What?"
"If we tell her, you won’t be able to go."
"Of course I won’t!"
I shouted.
"You expect me to suddenly disappear without saying anything? Do you know what she’ll think?"
"I do."
Father’s voice was low.
"That’s why I’m doing it."
I could not understand.
No. I understood.
That was why I was angrier.
Father knew Sylphiette would cry.
He knew I would be angry.
He knew Mother would oppose him.
And he intended to do it anyway.
Because he believed it was right.
"I refuse."
I said it again.
"I’m not going."
"You are."
"I said I’m not."
"Your father has decided."
Something snapped at those words.
Father.
Yes. He was my father.
Paul Greyrat.
He was strong with a sword, trusted by the village, and sometimes even impressive.
But he had cheated, gotten Lilia pregnant, and knelt before the family council.
And that man was trying to decide my life now, in the name of being my father.
"If you wanted to act like a father, you should have explained first."
Father’s eyes narrowed.
I knew my words had been cruel.
But I did not stop.
"You should tell Sylphiette. You should give me time, too. This is just kidnapping."
"Rudy."
"You aren’t telling me because you think you won’t be able to send me away if I persuade you, right?"
Father’s expression hardened.
I was right.
"Then that makes you even more of a coward."
"Yes," Father said.
"It does."
I lost my words.
"This time, I’ll be a cowardly father."
Father raised his wooden sword.
"Rudy. Go."
"I refuse."
"Then I’ll send you by force."
This was not training.
Father knew that.
So did I.
"Then I’ll resist with everything I have."
"Try it."
I moved before he had finished speaking.
---
I turned the ground beneath his feet to mud first.
The instant Father stepped forward, I softened the earth.
At the same time, I drove wind against him from the side to disrupt his balance.
I had used this approach many times in training.
Father slipped aside as though he had expected it.
But I had expected that much, too.
I snapped my fingers.
A small clod of earth flew toward Father’s eyes.
I was not trying to hit him.
I only wanted him to close his eyes.
Then I would retreat, widen the distance, and create scorching steam.
I would not use a fireball.
I had no intention of burning Father.
But I could keep him from approaching.
That was what I thought.
Father did not close his eyes.
His wooden sword knocked the clod aside.
And before the steam could rise, he was already inside my range.
Fast.
He really was fast.
I exploded wind beneath my feet.
My body was thrown backward.
Father’s wooden sword passed right before my nose.
I dodged it.
No.
It was closer to say he had let me dodge.
Father’s eyes were already following me.
"Not bad."
"Thank you for the praise!"
I immediately spread water across the ground.
Then I laid a thin sheet of ice over the wet dirt.
I only had to make him fall.
I would not hurt him.
Knock him down, then run.
Go to Sylphiette.
Explain.
Figure something out.
That was what I thought.
Father stepped onto the ice.
He did not slip.
Battle aura.
Center of gravity.
The footwork unique to a swordsman.
It was ridiculous.
Why did that man have to look so cool at times like this?
"Rudy."
Father’s voice was close.
"Your magic is good."
His wooden sword grazed my arm.
The mana gathered at my fingertips scattered.
"But before you use magic, look at where your body is."
A blow struck my stomach.
I could not breathe.
I nearly fell to my knees.
But I endured.
And as I endured, I placed my hand on the ground.
I kicked up a high wall of mud to blind him.
Then I tried to escape.
That was when it happened.
Something cold touched the back of my neck.
Over.
Father was already behind me.
"It’s over."
"Not yet..."
Before I could finish, a blow landed on the back of my neck.
My vision swayed.
The world tilted sideways.
Ah. This was it.
I was passing out.
That was my last thought before I collapsed.
The last thing I saw was Father’s face.
It looked strangely sad.
Then don’t do it, I wanted to say.
But my mouth would not move.
My consciousness went dark.
---
Paul looked down at the fallen Rudeus.
His hand trembled slightly.
He had not hit him hard.
His life was not in danger.
When he woke, his head and neck would hurt for a while.
That was all.
That was all, Paul told himself.
It did not make him feel any better.
"This is the worst."
A voice came from behind him.
Zenith.
Paul did not turn around.
He thought his resolve would waver if he did.
"I know."
"It really is the worst."
"I know."
"When Rudy wakes up, he’ll hate you."
"I know that too."
Zenith’s breath trembled.
Norn and Aisha were inside the house.
Lilia was watching them.
Eugene was there as well.
Eugene said nothing.
That made it harder to endure.
Perhaps it would have been easier if Rudy had cursed him.
Perhaps it would have been easier if Zenith had struck him through her tears.
But Eugene only watched in silence.
Paul avoided his gaze.
"Paul," Zenith said. "Is this really right?"
It took Paul a while to answer.
"I don’t know."
It was the truth.
"I don’t know whether it’s right. But I know we can’t leave things as they are."
Sylphiette and Rudy.
Whether it was love, dependence, or friendship, it did not have a name yet.
But Paul knew this much.
If they were not separated now, neither would move forward.
Rudy used Sylphiette as an excuse, and Sylphiette made Rudy her entire world.
That was too heavy for children.
Paul had not reached that decision because he was a good father.
If anything, it was the opposite.
But because he was not a good father, he had to take responsibility for at least one bad decision.
"Is the carriage ready?" Lilia asked quietly.
Paul nodded.
"It’s waiting on the road beyond the village. Ghislaine is there."
Zenith’s eyes moved at that name. Lilia reacted as well.
Only then did Eugene speak.
"Ghislaine Dedoldia."
It was a brief confirmation.
"Yes," Paul said. "She teaches swordsmanship to the Boreas family. A beastfolk. A [Sword King]."
Zenith drew in a breath.
A Sword King.
It was not a title one heard easily in an ordinary village.
Paul was strong, too. He had mastered all three advanced sword styles, and there were few in the village who could face him.
But a Sword King was different.
One who had attained King rank in a school of swordsmanship.
The kind who could contend with the commander of a kingdom’s knights through sword alone.
Someone like that should be more than enough to protect Rudy.
Paul was about to say so when Eugene spoke first.
"We need to confirm whether she is sufficient."
Paul looked at him.
"Eugene."
"This is not a matter of will."
Eugene’s voice was as even as ever.
"It is a matter of capability."
The words fell into the room.
Paul could not argue, because they were right.
Did Ghislaine want to protect Rudy? That mattered.
But it was not enough.
Wanting to protect someone meant nothing if one could not.
Paul lifted Rudy onto his back.
He was light.
The body of a seven-year-old child.
Yet inside him were mature words, talent, and stubbornness Paul could not understand.
And he was sending that child away by force.
With his own hands.
Paul clenched his teeth.
"Let’s go."
---
A carriage stood at the road outside the village.
A woman stood beside it.
Dark skin. A powerful, trained body. An eyepatch covering one eye. Beast ears.
Ghislaine Dedoldia.
She stood with her arms folded, then raised her head as Paul approached.
Her gaze went first to Rudeus, the unconscious child.
Then to Paul, the father who had subdued him.
And lastly to Eugene.
Ghislaine’s ears twitched faintly.
Paul saw the reaction.
Ghislaine was a woman with the eyes of someone who had killed many people. She had cut down monsters and humans alike, and passed through battlefields.
Yet the instant she saw Eugene, she changed her stance.
Only slightly.
So slightly that anyone unfamiliar with combat would not have noticed.
But Paul did.
She unfolded her arms. Her right foot slid half a step back. The fingers near her sword loosened, then quietly gathered again.
It was not an attacking stance.
Nor was it a defensive one.
It was a stance prepared to move in any direction at any moment.
Paul felt a chill run down his spine.
Ghislaine was not seeing Eugene as a child.
"Is that boy Rudeus?" Ghislaine asked.
"Yes."
Paul laid Rudy down inside the carriage.
"I’m counting on you."
"Understood."
Her answer was short and firm.
But Eugene stepped forward.
"I will confirm it."
Ghislaine turned her eye toward him.
"Confirm what?"
"Whether you can protect Rudeus."
The air stopped.
"Eugene, Ghislaine is a Sword King," Paul said.
"I know."
"She is the finest escort we can find in this region."
"That is precisely why."
Ghislaine’s eye narrowed.
It could have been taken as an insult.
But Eugene’s voice held no mockery, no provocation, and no fear.
Only confirmation.
The carriage wheels creaked. A bird flew overhead in the distance. The wind stirred the grass.
Ghislaine looked at Eugene.
At first, she saw a simple child.
Then she saw Paul’s son.
Then she saw something she could not understand.
It was a child’s body: small, light, with bones not yet fully grown. His hands were small as well, large enough to hold a sword but not the hands of one who had crossed battlefields.
And yet there was no opening.
Every swordsman looked at the center of gravity. The direction of the feet. The height of the shoulders. The rhythm of breathing. The flicker of the eyes. The tension in the fingers.
From those things, they read their opponent’s next move.
But Eugene offered nothing to read.
His stance was not perfect.
On the contrary, it was too ordinary.
He looked like an ordinary child standing ordinarily.
Yet Ghislaine’s instincts did not believe that ordinariness.
"Ghislaine," Paul said quietly, a warning in his voice.
She did not look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on Eugene.
"Your conditions?"
Eugene answered.
"I will not use magic."
Ghislaine’s ears twitched again.
"I will not kill. I will only move within limits that will not harm Father or Rudeus."
Father. That word alone made him sound like an ordinary child.
But the rest was different.
He would not use magic. He would not kill. He would limit collateral damage.
Those were not promises.
They were restrictions.
Restrictions he was placing upon himself.
Ghislaine slowly put her hand on her sword.
For the first time, Paul wondered if he had made a mistake.
He knew Eugene was strong.
No. He thought he knew.
But he had not expected Ghislaine to react this quickly.
Ghislaine was no coward. Because she was strong, she could see danger accurately.
And now she was preparing to draw a real sword before a seven-year-old child.
Eugene took one step forward.
"This is not a matter of will."
It was the same thing he had said before.
But this time, it was not directed at Paul.
It was directed at Ghislaine.
"It is a matter of capability."
Ghislaine drew her sword.
At that moment, Paul shut the carriage door where Rudeus slept.
Then he stepped back.
A battle was about to begin.
---
Ghislaine Dedoldia drew her sword.
The metallic sound was brief, but it changed the air around them.
Instinctively, Paul took another step back.
The carriage door where Rudeus slept was shut.
Zenith, Lilia, Norn, and Aisha were not here.
They should not be.
What was about to happen was not something a family ought to see.
Ghislaine held her sword low. Its tip did not point at Eugene’s throat, but at the ambiguous space between his chest and stomach.
It was not a stance for facing a child.
Eugene held a wooden sword, slightly shorter than the one Paul used in training. It was suited to a child’s frame.
Yet it looked strangely out of place.
Small hands. A light body. Shoulders not yet grown.
That wooden sword did not look like a weapon in those hands.
It looked like shackles he had placed on himself.
Ghislaine immediately erased the thought.
Whatever stood before her, if it stood in her path, she had to cut it down.
"I’m coming," Ghislaine said.
Eugene nodded.
"Come."
His tone was slightly different.
Paul noticed.
Eugene was always even. His words were short, his emotions faint, his judgments cold.
But now, however faintly, there was warmth in his voice.
Not fear.
Not tension.
Anticipation.
Eugene was not frightened of Ghislaine.
If anything, he was a little excited.
---
Ghislaine vanished.
That was how it looked to Paul.
The sound of her kicking off the ground came afterward.
The sword moved first.
No, the sword appeared first, as if Ghislaine’s body were following behind it.
The physical power of a beastfolk. The footwork of a Sword King. The battle sense that delayed the killing intent.
Ghislaine’s sword was unlike Paul’s.
Paul’s sword was a human sword. It struck openings and exploited the enemy’s mind.
Ghislaine’s sword was a beast’s fang.
It did not hesitate.
It did not warn.
The instant it touched, it tore flesh apart.
Her first strike aimed for Eugene’s neck.
More accurately, it only pretended to cut his neck; its path was designed to follow wherever he dodged.
It was not a sword meant to frighten a child.
She would not truly kill him, but if he failed to evade, the back of his neck would be torn open.
That kind of sword.
Eugene dodged.
He did not move greatly.
He did not retreat.
He did not lower his body.
He did not raise his wooden sword to block.
He moved only enough to evade.
A few strands of silver-gray hair scattered through the air where the blade passed.
Ghislaine’s eye flashed.
Her strike had not missed.
Nor had she allowed him to dodge.
He had read the blade’s trajectory and shifted aside by exactly the necessary amount.
Ghislaine understood immediately.
Her second strike came in.
This time, at his waist.
A low slash intended to cut off the direction in which Eugene could sidestep.
At the same time, Ghislaine stepped forward with her left foot to erase his room to escape.
Eugene’s wooden sword moved.
Tap.
A dry sound rang out.
The wooden sword touched the flat of the real blade.
It did not block it.
It did not deflect it.
It changed the blade’s direction by the width of a fingernail.
Because of that tiny difference, Ghislaine’s sword only grazed Eugene’s clothes.
She immediately twisted her wrist. The sword returned.
This time, it came from above.
A descending slash.
Eugene raised his wooden sword.
Bang!
The wooden sword and steel blade collided.
The sound was strange.
It was not the sound of wood striking metal. It was as though two solid iron bars had collided, bursting the air in a short explosion.
The impact traveled through Ghislaine’s wrist, elbow, and shoulder.
She bared her teeth.
It was a wooden sword.
Her opponent held a wooden sword.
Ghislaine put more force into her grip. The dirt beneath her feet compressed. Her muscles swelled. A Sword King’s battle aura ran along her blade.
Eugene’s wooden sword did not move.
Neither did his arm.
That small arm held Ghislaine’s sword in place without shaking.
Paul swallowed.
He knew Eugene was strong.
No. He thought he knew.
Eugene had always been strange. The way he held a wooden sword, used magic, and moved his body—none of it was normal for a child.
But somewhere in his heart, Paul had always thought the same thing.
He was still a child.
He was still my son.
That thought shattered now.
Eugene, holding back Ghislaine’s sword with a wooden weapon, was not a child.
Everything Paul had seen until now had not been Eugene’s strength.
It had been the trace of Eugene trying not to use it.
---
Ghislaine retreated.
She was not fleeing.
She was readjusting the distance, the first thing a swordsman must do upon meeting a powerful opponent.
Speed. Strength. Reach. Habits. Eyes.
Ghislaine lowered her breathing.
One exchange had been enough to tell her.
Eugene was fast.
But he was not merely fast.
Speed could be followed. She had seen faster swordsmen, heavier warriors, sharper killing intent.
Those people left traces in their movements. Their feet moved first. Their waist turned. Their shoulders opened. Their breaths shortened. Their eyes went ahead.
Eugene was different.
It was not that his movements could not be seen.
There was simply too little process for them to be called movements.
When a sword was about to touch him, he was already somewhere it could not reach.
When he needed to block, his wooden sword was already at the angle that could block.
When he needed to dodge, he was already shifted aside by precisely enough.
The child completely controlled the distance.
"Good," Eugene said.
It was brief, but Ghislaine heard the clear change in it.
He was enjoying himself.
The realization chilled the back of her neck.
"You can still do more, can’t you?"
That was what the child asked.
No.
Something in the shape of a child asked it.
Ghislaine did not answer. Instead, she stepped in again.
This time, not from the front.
To the right, slipping low through the shadows between the trees.
Her goal was not to vanish from sight. She drew Eugene’s attention right, then tore herself off the ground with her left foot toward the opposite side.
A beastfolk body could make such movements. A human’s joints would not follow.
Ghislaine was not late.
Her sword rose from below and to the left, aiming at Eugene’s right arm—the arm holding the wooden sword.
Strike that arm, and it was over.
She would not kill him.
Then Eugene’s wooden sword vanished.
Ghislaine instinctively tried to withdraw her blade.
Too late.
The tip of the wooden sword pressed into the inside of her wrist.
The pain was nearly an order to let go of her sword.
Ghislaine’s fingers nearly loosened.
She gritted her teeth and held on.
That was the right choice.
The next instant, Eugene’s wooden sword stopped before her throat.
It did not touch her.
But it could have.
Ghislaine stopped breathing.
She was dead.
She had just died.
She admitted it immediately.
But Eugene withdrew his sword.
"Your wrist opens first," he said. "When you come in like that, it’s easy to have your weapon taken."
Ghislaine’s eye narrowed.
Advice.
Advice during a battle.
It could have sounded insulting.
But Ghislaine did not take it that way.
She had nearly lost her sword. Against a swordsman with killing intent, her wrist tendons would have been severed. Against a monster, her arm might have been torn off entirely.
Ghislaine laughed quietly. It was closer to an exhale than a laugh.
"Are you teaching me?"
"I’m confirming something," Eugene said. "Rudeus isn’t a vanguard. He’s a magician. And he often forgets that his body is weak."
The tip of the wooden sword lowered slowly.
"To protect someone like that, being strong alone is not enough."
Ghislaine understood.
This fight was not about Eugene defeating her.
Nor was it about making her submit.
He was assessing whether she could serve as an escort.
No.
He was confirming whether Rudeus could be entrusted to her.
Only then did Ghislaine understand a little of the child’s sincerity.
The fight itself was not the purpose.
Rudeus was.
The sleeping child inside that carriage.
He had made her draw her sword for that child.
"Then watch properly," Ghislaine said.
Her stance changed.
It was neither an attacking stance nor a defensive one.
It was the stance of an escort.
She stood between Eugene and the carriage.
Her sword pointed toward Eugene, but the center of her body protected the carriage.
If he went right, she would follow. If he circled left, she would stop him. If he attacked from above, she would receive him. If he came from below, she would plant her feet harder.
It was not the posture of one pursuing a fleeing enemy.
It was the posture of one enduring with what must be protected behind her.
For the first time, Eugene’s eyes shifted slightly.
Ghislaine saw it.
His assessment had changed.
"Excellent," Eugene said quietly. "That’s what I needed."
The moment he finished speaking, he moved.
---
For the first time, Ghislaine was driven backward.
It was the first time Eugene had entered first.
The wooden sword came in briefly from the front.
Slow.
No, it looked slow.
She could receive it.
Ghislaine raised her sword.
The next instant, her blade shook.
Impact exploded at the point where the wooden sword touched.
Heavy.
Impossibly heavy.
It was not a strike that could come from a child’s hand.
Ghislaine’s feet dug into the earth.
One step.
Her body was pushed back.
She twisted immediately to let the force flow past.
It was the perfect response.
But the second wooden sword strike was already there.
Her left shoulder.
Ghislaine raised her sword.
Thud!
This time, her arm went numb.
She gritted her teeth.
The third strike came for her knee.
Ghislaine did not leap backward.
The carriage was there.
If she retreated, the side where Rudeus lay would be exposed.
So she slipped aside.
It was the right choice.
Eugene’s wooden sword did not follow her.
Instead, it stopped.
Its tip pointed at the gap between Ghislaine and the carriage.
"There," Eugene said. "You need to move one step farther. Just now, the lower right side of the carriage was open."
Ghislaine did not answer.
Her body moved first.
Eugene was right.
The guard movement she had made was correct for saving herself.
But it had not fully shielded Rudeus.
The wooden sword came again, this time in a continuous assault.
Front, right, left, low, high.
It was fortunate that it was not a real sword.
She did not even have time to think that.
Ghislaine received every blow.
She caught them, redirected them, twisted, and blocked.
It was not perfect.
But she did not collapse.
Twice, Ghislaine cut Eugene.
Or rather, she thought she had.
Once at his side.
Once at his neck.
But the blade did not touch him.
It did not even tear his clothes.
That distance.
The width of one finger joint.
It was that distance again.
Then Ghislaine became certain.
Eugene was not dodging.
He knew the exact limit of where her sword could reach, and stood outside it.
Not an inch farther.
Not an inch closer.
That was not leisure.
It was control.
And the direction of that control was not for himself.
It was to avoid hurting Ghislaine.
To avoid involving Paul.
To avoid shaking the carriage.
To avoid waking Rudeus.
He was considering all of it at once.
Ghislaine did not grow angry at that realization.
Instead, she acknowledged it.
This child was not looking down on her.
He was desperately restraining himself so as not to kill her.
---
Paul had clenched his hand without realizing it.
His nails dug into his palm.
He watched Ghislaine being forced back.
A Sword King.
Ghislaine was not weak.
Quite the opposite.
Paul knew that if it were him, the fight would have ended in the first exchange. If Eugene had not held back, his arm would likely have broken the moment the wooden sword touched him.
Ghislaine was holding on.
She was receiving the blows.
She was changing her approach.
With the carriage at her back, she was turning the fight into one focused on protecting Rudeus.
Because Ghislaine was strong, she could see how much Eugene was holding back.
Eugene was not using his full strength.
He was restricting himself so heavily it was embarrassing to call his movements attacks.
And even so, Ghislaine was being driven back.
Only then did Paul realize it.
He had never seen Eugene’s strength.
Not once.
He did not know what Eugene did at night.
He did not know how far he could go.
He did not know how much magic he could use.
He did not know what Eugene was capable of with a sword in hand.
All he had seen was how small Eugene folded himself within the house, before his family, and inside the village.
The thought made Paul feel breathless.
How should he have raised this child?
No.
Could he even claim he had raised him at all?
"Damn it."
The curse escaped softly.
He did not know whom it was for.
Himself.
The situation.
Or his son, carrying something too vast inside a body far too young.
---
Ghislaine’s breathing grew harsh.
Her arms were numb. Her wrists were heavy.
Her legs could still move.
But not for long.
Eugene’s breath was undisturbed.
There was no sweat on him.
His clothes were barely disordered.
His wooden sword bore marks from striking Ghislaine’s real blade dozens of times.
But it had not broken or been cut apart.
Was the wooden sword truly that hard?
Or did the strength of its wielder simply refuse to permit it to be severed?
Ghislaine drew one last deep breath.
She could not win.
That conclusion was already settled.
She could not even endure much longer.
That conclusion was settled, too.
Then only one question remained.
Could she protect him?
Could she create even one instant for Rudeus to escape, even if it cost her life?
Ghislaine’s eye changed.
Eugene saw it.
So did Paul.
They were the eyes of a beast that had abandoned escape.
Not the eyes of a hunter, but of a beast guarding its nest.
Ghislaine stamped the ground.
The earth burst.
This time, the sword did not come first.
Her body did.
It was not a slash.
It was a breakthrough.
She moved on the assumption that Eugene would pass through her and head for the carriage.
Ghislaine raised her sword and made her entire body into a shield.
If Eugene dodged, she would follow.
If he blocked, she would endure.
If they collided, she would fall with him.
It did not matter whether she was cut or broken.
For one instant only, she would stand between Eugene and Rudeus.
That was an escort’s sword.
The corner of Eugene’s mouth rose ever so slightly.
Paul had never seen that expression before.
It was neither a child’s smile nor a monster’s smile.
It was the smile of a warrior who had finally met a proper opponent.
Eugene lowered his wooden sword.
Then he stepped forward.
Just as the two wooden swords and the real blade were about to collide, Eugene’s wooden sword vanished.
No.
It dropped beneath Ghislaine’s sight.
Briefly, low, and to the side.
It did not strike Ghislaine’s sword.
It did not strike her hand.
It did not aim for her ankle, knee, or elbow.
The tip of the wooden sword touched the spine of her blade.
Tap.
One small sound.
That one sound sent Ghislaine’s sword flying upward.
In that instant, Eugene stepped inside.
The wooden sword stood before Ghislaine’s throat.
This time, it was not a finger joint away.
It was a sheet of paper away.
It stopped there.
Ghislaine did not move.
If she did, her throat would be torn open.
No.
If Eugene had wanted it, her head would already have flown.
Ghislaine slowly exhaled.
The battle was over.
Eugene withdrew his wooden sword.
"Excellent."
This time, the praise was clearer.
Eugene looked up at Ghislaine.
His body was that of a child.
But his gaze did not feel as if it were looking upward from below.
It was a gaze in which height had no meaning.
"You knew I was clearly above you, but fear did not slow your movements."
Ghislaine did not answer.
"You are not without fear. You are not incapable of feeling it. But fear did not cloud your judgment."
Eugene pointed toward the carriage with the tip of his wooden sword.
"Your last move was especially good. You did not try to win. You tried to protect."
Ghislaine lowered her sword.
Her arm was heavy.
But she did not let go of the weapon.
Eugene continued.
"There are shortcomings, too."
Ghislaine’s ears moved.
"When you see a strong enemy, you tend to try to eliminate them first. That is a quality an escort needs, but it may be dangerous for Rudeus."
"Why?" Ghislaine asked.
"Rudeus often expands the battlefield. He’s a magician. If you rush forward to kill an enemy, Rudeus may follow behind you, or an enemy may enter through the place you left open."
Eugene spoke calmly.
"And Rudeus overestimates his own judgment. Even in dangerous moments, he may try to solve things with words or think he can overturn the situation with magic."
Paul grimaced at those words.
"So before killing the enemy, your task is to force Rudeus into a position where he cannot die."
Eugene looked at Ghislaine.
"Your sword can do that."
Silence passed.
Ghislaine looked down at Eugene.
Her pride was not untouched. A Sword King had been judged by a seven-year-old child.
And the judgment had been accurate.
But before anger came understanding.
This fight had not been an insult.
It had not been a game.
From beginning to end, Eugene had been looking at Rudeus.
Through Ghislaine.
"I will entrust Rudeus to you," Eugene said.
His speech had become slightly more formal again.
"On conditions."
Ghislaine’s eye narrowed.
"What conditions?"
"If Rudeus tries to do something dangerous, stop him even if you have to hit him."
Paul drew in a quiet breath.
Eugene did not look back.
"And if Rudeus forgets that he is weak, remind him. If words do not work, use your body."
"Understood," Ghislaine answered shortly.
"And one more thing."
Eugene’s voice grew low.
"If Rudeus is truly in danger of dying, prioritize Rudeus."
Ghislaine understood what that meant.
So did Paul.
Rudeus over Ghislaine herself.
The protected person over the client.
Survival over pride.
Ghislaine nodded.
"That is my job."
Eugene watched her for a moment.
Then he said, "Then that’s settled."
---
Rudeus slept inside the carriage.
The child who had been knocked unconscious on the back of the neck knew nothing.
Not about the moment he was leaving.
Not about the battle that had taken place behind him.
Not about how he had been unable to say anything to Sylphiette.
Not about why Eugene had not stopped it.
Knowing nothing, he breathed shallowly inside the carriage.
Paul opened the carriage door.
Rudy’s face came into view.
He was still young.
When angry, he spoke like an adult. When he used magic, he was more frightening than one. Sometimes he said things strange enough to make Paul question whether he had lived before.
But he was still young.
Paul reached out, then stopped.
He wanted to stroke Rudy’s head.
But he did not know whether he had the right.
Instead, he shut the door.
"Ghislaine."
"Speak."
"I’m counting on you."
"Yes."
A short answer.
But this time, its weight was different.
Paul bowed his head, not to a Sword King, but as a father.
Eugene stood beside the carriage.
For a moment, he looked at Rudeus.
There was almost no emotion on his face.
But Paul could no longer easily believe that expressionlessness.
Eugene was not a child who felt nothing.
He was a child who did not express what he felt.
"Eugene," Paul called.
Eugene turned.
"Rudy will ask why you didn’t stop this."
"I know."
"What will you tell him?"
Eugene thought for a moment.
"I will tell him that removing a crisis and removing growth can sometimes be the same thing."
Paul gave a bitter smile.
"Do you think Rudy will accept that?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"He will be angry."
"He will."
"Even so, it is true."
Paul lowered his head.
"Are you... all right?"
Eugene did not answer immediately.
The silence was long.
"I don’t know," he said.
It was not like Eugene.
"But if Rudeus remains in this house, he will use Sylphiette as an excuse. Sylphiette will make Rudeus her world. And whenever Rudeus is stopped, he will look to me."
Eugene looked at the carriage.
"That would not be good."
Paul could say nothing.
"So he has to go," Eugene continued.
The carriage began to move.
Its wheels rolled over the dirt road.
The horse walked slowly.
Ghislaine stood beside the carriage, then looked at Eugene one last time.
Wariness remained in her eye.
But there was no hostility.
Eugene looked back at her and gave a slight nod.
That was their farewell.
The carriage grew distant.
Paul remained where he was for a long while.
Eugene did not move either.
Dust rose low from the road.
The carriage became smaller between the trees.
Then it vanished from sight.
---
Sylphiette learned the truth that afternoon.
As usual, she came looking for Rudeus.
She carried a book.
Perhaps she wanted to show him the letters she had learned that day; she also held a small sheet of paper in one hand.
"Is Rudy here?"
Zenith could not answer immediately.
Paul was gone as well.
Lilia quietly bowed her head, Aisha in her arms.
Eugene stood by the doorway.
Sylphiette saw their expressions and grew anxious first.
"Where’s Rudy?"
No one answered.
Silence was faster than any answer.
The paper fell from Sylphiette’s hand.
"Where did he go?"
Zenith barely managed to speak.
"He went to Roa."
"Roa...?"
Sylphiette did not immediately understand what that meant.
"When will he come back?"
Zenith’s eyes wavered.
Lilia held Aisha a little tighter.
Eugene answered.
"In a few years."
The color drained from Sylphiette’s face.
"That’s a lie."
Her voice was small.
"It’s a lie, right?"
Eugene did not answer.
Sylphiette walked toward him.
"Rudy wouldn’t leave without saying anything."
Eugene looked at her.
"If he had been told, he would not have been able to leave."
The words were cruel.
But they were not a lie.
Tears filled Sylphiette’s eyes.
"Why...? Why didn’t you tell him?"
It was impossible to tell whom the question was directed at.
Paul.
Zenith.
Rudeus.
Eugene.
Perhaps herself.
Eugene was silent for a moment.
"They needed to be separated."
"Why?"
Sylphiette’s voice shook.
"Was I getting in his way?"
"No."
Eugene denied it immediately.
"It is because you need each other too much."
Sylphiette did not understand.
She could not have understood.
What she needed now was not an explanation.
She needed Rudeus.
The single fact that Rudeus was gone was shaking her entire world.
Sylphiette began to cry.
At first without a sound.
Then with gasping breaths.
Finally, like a child.
Zenith came to embrace her.
Sylphiette cried in Zenith’s arms.
Eugene watched the scene.
He could have stopped it.
Before Paul subdued Rudeus.
Before the carriage departed.
Before Ghislaine drew her sword.
He could have stopped it at any time.
But he had not.
The result was before him now.
Sylphiette’s crying.
Zenith’s trembling hands.
Lilia’s silence.
Paul lingering outside the village, unable to return.
And the empty seat at the table.
Eugene saw all of it.
The calculation was correct.
The judgment had not been wrong.
And yet something deep in his chest quietly sank.
Eugene did not yet know the name of that feeling.
---
That evening, one seat at the table was empty.
The seat where Rudeus used to sit.
It was not cleared away.
Zenith had said not to remove it.
Paul returned late.
Dust clung to his face.
Zenith looked at him, but said nothing.
Lilia set down the soup.
Norn cried.
Aisha blinked in Lilia’s arms.
Eugene lifted his spoon.
The soup was the right temperature.
It was seasoned properly.
The meat was tender.
There was nothing wrong with it as a meal.
And yet, it was different from usual.
Though the food had come from the same pot, the table seemed a little wider.
No.
It had not grown wider.
It was empty.
Rudeus had left.
The house had not fallen apart.
But from that day onward, an invisible empty seat remained at the Greyrat family’s table.
End of Chapter 1.
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register