"I am alive."
That was Ghislaine Dedoldia's answer.
At first, I did not understand what she meant.
What I had asked was who had won.
Eugene and Ghislaine.
My younger twin brother with a wooden sword, and the female Dedoldia warrior known as the Sword King.
Naturally, there should have been one of three answers.
Eugene won.
Ghislaine won.
Or neither had prevailed.
But Ghislaine said this.
I am alive.
It did not sound like a joke.
Ghislaine was not someone who joked often.
More than anything, her eyes had not been the eyes of someone making a joke.
I lay on the floor of the carriage for a while, staring at the ceiling.
The swaying carriage.
The scrape of wooden wheels over the dirt road.
The dull ache lingering at the back of my neck.
And the fact that my father had knocked me unconscious, something I still did not want to believe.
Too many things churned through my mind.
But above all else, Ghislaine's answer bothered me.
"What does that mean?"
I tried to sit up, only to wince at the pain in my neck.
Ghislaine sat opposite me.
Her sword lay beside her.
She had her arms folded and looked as though her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep.
"It means exactly what it says."
"I asked whether you won."
"And I answered."
"No, that isn't an answer."
"For me, it is the most accurate answer."
Ghislaine opened her eyes.
"I am alive."
That left me with no immediate retort.
There was no humiliation of defeat on Ghislaine's face.
No excuse.
No anger.
She simply looked like someone stating a fact.
Like saying it was raining when it rained, or that meat was cooked once it was cooked.
She was stating the fact that she was alive.
Only then did I begin to understand.
For Ghislaine, that fight had not been the sort of thing one described as winning or losing.
Had she survived?
Or had she not?
That was probably the only question that mattered.
"...It was that bad?"
Ghislaine gave a short answer.
"It was."
"Eugene did that?"
"Yes."
"With a wooden sword?"
"Yes."
"He didn't use magic?"
"Not that I saw."
"And still?"
"I was no match for him."
The carriage fell quiet.
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
I was no match for him.
It would not have been strange for me to say that.
Nor would it have been strange if Father or Master Roxy had said it.
Anyone facing Eugene might have said something similar.
But it was different when Ghislaine said it.
Ghislaine Dedoldia.
The Sword King.
A swordswoman Father treated with genuine seriousness.
Someone stronger than anyone around Buena Village by a margin that defied comparison.
To me, she was less a person than a wild beast holding a sword.
And she had said it.
That she was no match for him.
"That makes no sense..."
I muttered under my breath.
Yet it did make sense.
If it was Eugene.
Once I thought of it that way, everything made a strange sort of sense.
Eugene had always been like that.
The Eugene I remembered had always been a little strange.
Even when Father came at him with a wooden sword, Eugene was rarely struck.
No, that was not quite right.
He was never where he could be struck.
When we were young, I thought he was simply lucky.
Later, I thought he had sharp eyes.
Later still, I thought he was quick on his feet.
But eventually, I realized it was not a matter of anything so simple.
Fast.
Observant.
Lucky.
Those words were insufficient.
It was as if he knew where Father's sword would go before Father even swung it.
As if he had already taken apart the structure of a spell before Master Roxy finished explaining it.
Most things, he could do after seeing them once.
After seeing them twice, he solved them beyond all necessity.
After seeing them three times, he changed them in ways the person who had originally done them would never have imagined.
Swordsmanship was the same.
Magic was the same.
Letters, arithmetic, cooking, cleaning, repairing things—it was all the same.
To be honest, I had envied him.
Not once or twice, either.
I was the sort who became capable through effort.
Of course, I had memories of my previous life, and I knew that I learned faster than most people.
Even so, I had to learn.
I made mistakes, corrected them, practiced, and mastered things.
But Eugene was different.
He did not seem to be learning. He seemed to be confirming something.
As if he were translating knowledge he had always possessed into the language of this world.
"Rudeus."
Ghislaine's voice stopped my thoughts.
"What do you think of that boy?"
"Eugene?"
"Yes."
I could not answer immediately.
My twin brother.
That was not wrong.
But it was not enough.
Family.
That was true, too.
But even that was not enough.
A monster.
Was that too harsh?
And yet, sometimes, it felt closest to the truth.
"I don't know."
In the end, that was what I said.
"We were born together, grew up together, and ate at the same table in the same house, but..."
"I see."
"I knew he was strong."
"Yes."
"I knew he was smart, too. Magic, swordsmanship, judgment, memory... Honestly, most of it is absurd."
As I spoke, I felt myself growing a little heated.
"Father has never properly landed a hit on Eugene with a wooden sword. Master Roxy was the teacher at first, but later she was curious about magic she did not know and tried to learn from Eugene instead. Sylphiette found Eugene intimidating too, but most of what he said was right. Lilia is afraid of Eugene, but she trusts his judgment in household matters."
"..."
"But."
I rubbed the back of my neck.
It still hurt.
Father had really hit me hard.
"But sometimes, he scares me."
Ghislaine looked at me silently.
"He scares me because he seems too complete."
I looked out the carriage window.
Buena Village had already receded into the distance.
The village where Sylphiette was.
The home where Mother was.
The place where Father had knocked me unconscious.
And where Eugene had not stopped him.
"People get angry. That's only natural."
"Yes."
"People get flustered, hesitate, make excuses, cry, laugh. Those things are natural, aren't they?"
"They are."
"Eugene doesn't have those things. No... he looks as though he doesn't."
I shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position.
The carriage swayed, and pain flared in my neck again.
"For example, when a child cries, people usually comfort them. They say it will be all right, or they apologize."
"Yes."
"Eugene gives them food."
One of Ghislaine's ears twitched.
"Food?"
"Yes. Food. He says things like, hunger makes a person's thoughts unstable, and after crying, food that is easy to swallow is better."
"He is not wrong."
Ghislaine seemed to consider it for a moment.
"That boy did not want to hurt people."
"Eugene?"
"Yes."
Ghislaine spoke slowly.
"He was the same when he fought me. He did not want to kill me. He did not want to cut me. He did not want to break me. Even though I held a sword, he kept his own power folded away."
"Folded away..."
"Yes."
The expression sounded strange. Yet somehow, I understood it.
Eugene had always felt that way.
He lived without unfolding something within himself.
His strength, his thoughts, his emotions.
Perhaps even himself.
"But even with it folded away, I could not reach him."
Ghislaine said it calmly.
"He was not where I tried to cut. He was already where I tried to retreat. Before I changed my stance, that boy knew the weakness in the stance I was about to take."
"..."
"It was not merely that he was fast."
I looked at Ghislaine upon hearing that.
"At first, I thought he was only fast too. But he was not. It was not a matter of speed alone. That boy controlled the distance."
Distance.
The word suited Eugene well.
The distance between sword and sword.
The distance between person and person.
The distance between conversation and silence.
"Then how does he compare to your teacher?"
I asked cautiously.
Ghislaine's teacher.
If the Sword King called someone her teacher, that person had to be unimaginably powerful.
Ghislaine did not answer at once.
The carriage swayed.
Its wheels rolled over a stone, and our bodies rose slightly before settling back down.
"My teacher is the Sword God."
"The Sword God...?"
I repeated the words.
The Sword King's teacher.
Then someone above a king.
A god of the sword.
Taken literally, it was the most extravagant title a person could bear.
"Yes," Ghislaine said.
"The pinnacle of the Sword God Style. When it comes to cutting with a sword, he stands above anyone I know."
"That much?"
"Yes."
Ghislaine did not hesitate.
"The Sword God is the limit of strength a human being can reach."
I swallowed.
The limit of strength a human being could reach.
Those words felt strangely heavy.
"Then what about Eugene?"
When I asked, Ghislaine's eyes narrowed slightly.
"He is different."
"What do you mean, different?"
"He is difficult to compare."
I felt a little deflated by that answer.
"Does that mean you don't know?"
"Yes. I do not know."
Ghislaine said it without shame.
"Perhaps there are things I could not see because my skill is lacking. I do not know all of my teacher's swordsmanship, either. Nor have I seen all of that boy's strength."
"..."
"So it would be foolish to declare which of them is superior."
Ghislaine did not exaggerate.
Nor did pride make her pretend to know what she did not.
"But within the fight I witnessed."
Ghislaine looked down at her hand.
The hand that had gripped her sword.
A hand marked by calluses and scars.
"His speed, body, strength, eyes, judgment. In all of it, that boy was superior."
I fell silent.
"Even technique?"
"Even technique."
Ghislaine's answer was brief.
"It was not Sword God Style. His stance was different, his footwork was different, even the way he held his sword was different. But if it is a technique for reading an opponent, taking their distance, and subduing them without killing them... it was more complete than anyone I have seen."
"Even more than the Sword God?"
Once again, Ghislaine did not answer immediately.
But this silence was less hesitation than an effort to choose her words.
"My teacher is human," Ghislaine said.
"He is the pinnacle reached by a human who took up a sword, honed it, carved away at it, discarded what was unnecessary, and built it anew."
There was respect in her voice.
A weighty respect.
That alone told me how Ghislaine regarded her teacher.
"Then what is Eugene?"
"That boy..."
Ghislaine looked out the window.
"He felt like a mountain or an ocean wearing human form."
For a moment, I had no words.
A mountain.
An ocean.
Strange comparisons to use for a person.
But somehow, they suited Eugene.
"My teacher is a strong human," Ghislaine said.
"The strongest human I know."
Then, after a brief pause:
"But calling that boy a strong human was not enough."
The carriage grew quiet.
"When I stand before my teacher, I feel that I will be cut down."
Ghislaine spoke slowly.
"When I stand before that boy, I know I have already lost."
I could not say anything.
Ghislaine was not trying to frighten me.
Nor was she trying to diminish the Sword God.
She was merely describing what she had seen.
The Sword God was the highest place a human could reach.
But Eugene was not someone standing on the same mountain path, even at its peak.
He was not a person standing at the end of the path.
He was the mountain itself, standing in human form.
That was the difference.
"That is why I answered that I am alive," Ghislaine said.
"That is the only accurate result I can state about that fight."
Ghislaine looked down at her hand.
The hand that had held a sword.
The hand with calluses and scars.
A brief silence passed.
At last, I asked again.
"Then why are you taking me?"
My voice came out a little sharp.
"If Eugene is that strong, can't he protect me? Eugene can do anything, can't he?"
As soon as I said it, I realized again that I was angry.
I was angry at Father, too.
He had deceived me and knocked me out.
But the person I was angriest with was Eugene.
Eugene could have stopped it.
Father's wooden sword, Ghislaine's hand, this carriage.
He could probably have stopped all of it.
But he had not.
"That boy said something," Ghislaine began slowly.
"He said you often forget that you are weak."
I tried to answer on reflex.
What was that supposed to mean?
I was plenty careful.
I could use magic, had memories of a previous life, and made my own judgments.
But the words would not come.
Because the back of my neck hurt.
Father had knocked me unconscious with one blow.
That single fact was an excellent rebuttal.
"...What an obnoxious thing to say."
That was all I could manage.
"The truth is more obnoxious when it is right."
Ghislaine nodded.
"The truth often hurts."
"It sounds even stranger coming from you."
"I was hurt too."
"By Eugene?"
"Yes."
Ghislaine looked out the window.
"My body was not badly injured. But I was hurt."
I thought I understood what she meant.
The pain Ghislaine spoke of was not torn flesh.
It was the realization that the sword she had built over a lifetime had, in an instant, been placed before something operating on an entirely different scale.
That must have hurt.
I bit my lip.
That was the kind of person Eugene was.
"That boy did not abandon you," Ghislaine said.
I raised my head.
"How would you know that?"
"His eyes were not the eyes of someone abandoning another."
"His eyes?"
"Beasts know when they see eyes."
Ghislaine remained matter-of-fact.
"Eyes that want to kill. Eyes that want to protect. Eyes that want to run. Hungry eyes. Frightened eyes. Even if they are hidden, you can see them."
"What kind of eyes did Eugene have?"
"Eyes that did not know."
"...What does that mean?"
"Eyes that did not know why they wanted to protect."
I could not answer that.
Eugene did not know why he wanted to protect me.
It was a strange thing to say.
Yet somehow, it did not sound wrong.
"That boy does not want you to die," Ghislaine said.
"He does not want you to be hurt, either. But he also does not want you to learn nothing."
"So he sent me away as though I were being kidnapped?"
"Paul sent you away."
"Eugene was the one who didn't stop it."
"Yes."
Ghislaine did not deny it.
That only irritated me more.
"That boy could have stopped it. But he did not."
"Why?"
"From what I heard him say."
Ghislaine seemed to search her memory.
"There are times when removing danger and removing growth are the same thing."
I clenched my teeth.
That sounded exactly like Eugene.
"He really is obnoxious."
"Yes."
Ghislaine agreed readily.
"I thought so too, a little."
I stared at Ghislaine in disbelief.
It was almost funny to hear the Sword King say something like that.
But I could not laugh.
The carriage continued toward Roa.
Buena Village was growing farther away.
I had not been able to say anything to Sylphiette.
I had not even properly said goodbye to Mother.
Father had knocked me unconscious, and Eugene had not stopped him.
I was still angry about all of it.
But after hearing Ghislaine, I understood one thing.
I had thought I knew Eugene was strong.
But I did not.
What I had known was not Eugene's strength.
It was how desperately Eugene had been holding himself back in front of us.
---
Roa was completely different from Buena.
The roads were broad.
There were many people.
Carriages passed by, horses whinnied, and the market mixed the smells of meat, spices, and sweat.
The buildings were tall, and the walls were thick.
In Buena Village, everyone generally knew whose child belonged to which home.
If someone was sick, someone had fought, or someone had gone into the forest, word spread quickly.
But in Roa, I was nobody.
I was Rudeus Greyrat.
In Buena, I had heard people call me a genius a few times. To Sylphiette, I had been something like a teacher, and at home, I had played something close to the role of eldest son.
But here, I was simply a small child.
A candidate for the position of tutor to a noble family, dragged here after being knocked unconscious by his father.
Nothing more, nothing less.
The Boreas Greyrat family estate was enormous.
It was so large that, if I wrote about it in a letter, the only word I could use would be enormous.
The gates were large, the gardens were large, the corridors were large, and people's voices were large.
Sauros's voice, in particular, was truly loud.
When I first heard it, I genuinely thought a monster was roaring.
Philip greeted me with a smile.
It was a gentle smile.
But seeing it, I thought that this was the kind of person one had to be more cautious around when he smiled.
Hilda was beautiful.
And frightening.
She was frightening in a different way from Mother.
If Mother was warm water, Hilda was more like a finely sharpened blade.
That day, I met many people.
I heard many things.
The conditions of my employment as a tutor.
Lady Eris's personality.
My compensation.
Food and lodging.
Etiquette.
What I had to do, and what I must not do.
I tried to arrange it all neatly in my mind, but another thought kept rising from one corner of it.
How would Eugene have judged these people?
What would he have read in Philip's smile?
What would he have calculated from Hilda's silence?
What routes would he have considered upon seeing the layout of this estate?
Would he have known who mattered just by watching the servants' footsteps?
I clenched my teeth.
Stop it.
Eugene was not here.
Things might have been easier if he were.
But Eugene was not here.
So I had to do it.
The moment I thought that, the door flew open.
With a bang, a head of red hair burst into the room.
My first impression was simple.
A storm.
It felt less as if a person had opened the door and entered than as if the weather had changed.
Red hair.
Sharp eyes.
Dissatisfaction on her lips.
An air that seemed to cry out from her entire body.
I knew instinctively.
Ah, this was her.
The young lady I was meant to teach.
Eris Boreas Greyrat.
She looked me over from head to toe.
Her gaze was blatant.
Small.
Looks weak.
Boring.
That judgment was written plainly across her face.
"What?" Eris said.
"You're my teacher?"
I bowed as politely as I could.
"It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Rudeus Greyrat."
"You're small."
That was her first remark.
I smiled.
I had no choice but to smile.
If I got angry here, I lost.
She was a noble young lady.
And I was only a prospective tutor.
Stay calm, Rudeus.
I was an adult.
Mentally, at least, I was an adult.
"I may be young, but I can teach reading, arithmetic, and the basics of magic—"
Before I could finish, a fist came flying at me.
It was faster than I expected.
No, to be honest, I had let my guard down.
Sylphiette would not throw a punch in a moment like this.
Even Norn did not do things like this yet.
But Eris was different.
Her fist came first, and the reason came later.
I tried to dodge.
But I was too late.
Thwack.
My face snapped to the side.
It hurt.
It really hurt.
Ghislaine's words from inside the carriage rose in my mind.
You often forget that you are weak.
Ah, damn it.
Another truth that hurt because it was right.
Eris grinned.
"Boring."
I pressed a hand to my struck cheek and looked at her.
A red-haired storm.
And in that moment, I knew for certain.
The methods I had used with Sylphiette would not work.
Neither would the methods that had worked in Buena.
Resenting Father or being angry at Eugene would change nothing.
If Eugene had been here,
that fist probably would never have reached me.
But Eugene was not here.
There was only me, Ghislaine, and this red storm.
So I had to endure.
Here.
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