Chapter 107
At first, everyone was confident.
Even if they were rotten, they were still nobles—every one of them had learned decent cultivation methods and respectable sword techniques.
Taking down a boy knight who hadn't even come of age would be a piece of cake.
Even if the boy knight possessed unexpected skill, they calculated that after multiple sparring matches he would tire, and they would inevitably win.
But that premise was wrong from the start.
"Next."
A noble went flying before Allen.
Not just him, but the other noble bastards couldn't even withstand thirty exchanges before getting completely wrecked.
"Next, come out."
The nobles started glancing at each other.
The ones who had boldly stepped forward hadn't even managed to make the boy knight breathe heavily, so their confidence plummeted.
Then, someone reluctantly picked up his sword and faced Allen.
"Tch. Begin."
Using my own standards, I forced those who dropped their swords, fell on their backsides, or collapsed to get back up and fight.
So these messes were the ones strutting around calling themselves the pillars of Carpe. Just thinking that I'd have to lead people like this in a war against the Empire already made my head ache.
'It's not that there are no useful ones.'
Most were trash, but among them there were indeed some usable ones.
Right now they were being swept up in the atmosphere and wasting their talents, but with some cutting and polishing, they were rough gemstones that could become quite useful.
'Even so, Allen fights really well.'
Is it because he's experienced the battlefield?
Allen, who had lost one eye in the Northern war and become even more cautious with his sword, didn't allow a single effective strike.
His independent swordsmanship forged through real combat subtly revealed his disposition.
His skills had improved dramatically compared to before, and his straightforward sword without any particular tricks formed a solid formation with no gaps.
It seemed he had successfully melded the Seven Star Staff cultivation method I had given him into his swordsmanship. Looking at him, it appeared Allen would see a significant leap in skill after this.
Clang.
"Ugh...!"
Another noble who lost his grip on his sword shuddered, then raised his head and politely asked Allen.
"How did you so easily read my swordsmanship?"
Allen looked at me, and when I gave him a nod, he offered a simple answer.
"When you aimed for my sword. I aimed for your heart."
"...Ah."
The very target of a sword differs between someone who has experienced real combat and someone who hasn't.
Did he realize something?
He asked another question.
"I heard the North experienced a great war against the orcs. May I ask how strong the orcs are?"
"An average warrior is about equal to me. A great warrior is much stronger than me. And the military commanders above them are incredibly strong, close to Master level. Lord Callius also barely won after passing through two near-death experiences."
Suddenly, all eyes focused on me.
Looking at their gazes, I could clearly see their thoughts: That scoundrel is that strong? Was it not just a false rumor?
What truly rude bastards.
"I see... Thank you for your answer."
Then he looked at me and said one thing.
"I've received instruction. If you ever face difficulties, please seek out me, Prine. I will help you, Count."
So this man was from the Prine family.
I nodded in acknowledgment and looked around.
The nobles' gazes had already changed.
Not a single person stepped forward before Allen. Having felt the overwhelming gap, they kept their mouths shut.
And as if unable to bear that depressing silence, a man strode out.
"Please allow us to witness the swordsmanship that felled a military commander right here."
It was Jordan, who had just been beaten and sent flying.
One side of Jordan's face was swollen like a steamed bun. Despite his rather comical appearance, he challenged me to a sparring match.
Looking at his confident face, I could clearly see what he was thinking. He must think I'm just flaunting by putting forward a strong knight named Allen.
When someone gets stepped on but crawls back up again, it's only right to grind them down even harder.
"Alright."
I walked over to the table he had knocked down and lightly grasped a fallen knife.
Perhaps because it was made by the royal family, it was quite high-quality with a well-honed edge.
"What... are you doing."
As if firmly suppressing his anger.
Trembling as if he couldn't bear it, he asked.
"I need to match your level."
"Prepare yourself!!"
Clang-!
I didn't use the Crimson Spider Lily like before.
No matter what, this was the Sword Dance Assembly.
There are times to crush someone with power, and times when you shouldn't.
Right now, rather than overwhelming with power, it was better to show the gap in a different way.
His sword was honest.
His face was as unsightly as if smeared with butter and dripping with grease, but his swordsmanship itself was orthodox.
It was quite unexpected, but saying it was orthodox meant there were no other tricks, and having no tricks meant it was easy to block.
Even while holding a dining knife, it was a swordsmanship that could be easily deflected and defended against.
I sometimes deflected, and sometimes made small cuts on his shoulder, waist, and neck with the tip of my blade.
Each time, despite his face turning pale with fright, he never let go of his sword.
"Huaaaah!!"
What he was aiming for was too obvious.
He seemed to be trying to apply the principles of the Golden Aegis technique that the Golden Lion had shown, but it wasn't as easy as he thought.
The Golden Aegis technique, which solely pursued solidity, mixed the circulation principles of manifesting divine power through the body and draping it over the sword, making them work as one.
It was certainly easier than suppressing repulsive force like the Crimson Spider Lily.
With a little more practice, though he wouldn't be able to use his whole body like the Golden Aegis, he might be able to use it with just a sword.
"Damn it!!"
Screeeech!
The knife flowed along his sword.
It rode from the tip to the crossguard, creating sparks, and simultaneously spun around in a flash, reversing the knife grip and aiming it at his neck.
"It's over. Now get lost."
Jordan stood stiffly frozen, unable to say a word.
Swordsmanship, physical technique, skills—all were woefully insufficient to stand against Callius.
Just a mere knife.
The knife didn't break, and instead pointed at his own neck.
Defeated by Callius holding just a knife—Jordan couldn't even come to his senses.
Completely shattered Jordan.
Nobles who couldn't defeat Allen. From among them, someone walked out.
"Lord Jerban."
I thought it might be another provocation, but instead he respectfully asked Callius.
"May I... request a sparring match with Sir Allen?"
It wasn't for the sake of winning a bet.
He seemed to genuinely wish to exchange swords.
"Allen."
"Please draw your sword."
The noble raised his sword with a joyful face and charged at Allen.
After him, several young nobles, like Prine, requested sparring matches with Allen.
Most of them ended up falling down, sweating, and getting their grips torn.
However, while most were defeated in their sparring matches, their faces didn't look too bad.
After each sparring match, Callius gave advice without hesitation.
When he advised them on which parts of their defense were lacking and what flaws their swordsmanship had, the faces of those who had been half-doubting began to exclaim in deep admiration.
"Ah... then the sword that suits me isn't a longsword but a short sword?"
"Your swordsmanship is unique. It's probably passed down in your family. It seems you've modified it a bit to use it. Is that correct?"
"Y-yes. Originally our family were merchants. They were excellent at short sword techniques, but after being granted a title, I heard they changed it because it didn't look proper for a noble to use short swords."
"You should either use short swords or change your swordsmanship. I think using short swords would be faster."
His insight was also extraordinary.
With just a few words from him, the stiff-necked nobles bowed their heads and their eyes sparkled.
"Anyone could say something like that..."
"What an arrogant show-off."
Of course, not everyone viewed him favorably, but the crowd was gradually being captivated by his atmosphere.
"Your scent is truly wonderful..."
"I wonder what perfume you use?"
"Should I ask?"
Some young ladies were more interested in things other than swords.
But before anyone realized, the Sword Dance Assembly was revolving around Callius.
Furthermore, the knight named Allen was also remarkable.
He had already sparred with the nobles more than ten times, yet showed no signs of fatigue.
When someone asked why that was,
"On the battlefield, you cannot rest. We had to fight for days on end without resting. Anyone who tried to rest even a little died easily."
Whenever asked anything, he brought up stories of war.
But no one could tell him to stop talking about such things.
Because the one-eyed knight was more serious than anyone when speaking of war, and seemed to overflow with pride.
As time passed and most of the people were collapsing from exhaustion—
"Baron Esther Sol Cilliad enters."
Someone entered.
Confident stride.
Corners of her mouth raised as if she found this interesting, along with flowing water-blue hair.
With her left hand gripping the sword at her waist, she walked looking at only one man.
"No matter what, you went too far. He too is someone who wields a sword, yet you faced him with a knife."
Her appearance was so beautiful and full of confidence that Jordan forgot his own defeat and stared at her without realizing.
And Callius, looking at her with an expressionless face, quietly set down the knife he had been playing with.
'The scoundrel and the saint candidate.'
Two people who seemed like they wouldn't match yet somehow did, but more than that, I couldn't erase the thought that sprouted in my mind without realizing.
If those two sparred, who would win?
What kind of swordsmanship would they show, what kind of sword dance?
The others seemed to have the same thought as they craned their necks forward.
"Pilgrim Esther. Why are you here."
"I've come in the capacity of a Baron right now. I said I didn't need it, but I received it anyway, and it turns out there are times when it's useful."
What she had received must be an honorary title.
Thinking so, Callius set down the knife.
"You don't pick up a knife against me?"
"Even this wouldn't be enough for you."
Callius slowly drew his sword.
And immediately, Esther disappeared.
Kaaaang-!!
Huuuuung—
A fierce wind blew across the faces of the nobles who had collapsed from exhaustion.
Their eyes grew as large as lanterns as their hair was swept back, and soon their eyes shone at the sparring between Callius and Esther, their sword strikes clashing like scattering petals.
If you blinked once, they had already exchanged close to ten strikes.
An unbelievable rapid attack.
It was a speed difficult to even follow with the eyes, and each clash was so powerful it felt like it would burst eardrums, making every single strike destructive.
How could such destructive swordsmanship come from a woman's body?
As expected of a saint candidate.
But Callius, who calmly deflected and blocked all of that, was also remarkable.
However, the pressing Esther seemed slightly stronger for a moment.
Then the flow of the sparring reversed.
Esther, who had soared into the sky and unleashed ten consecutive thrusts, could feel the flow changing the moment she landed.
Screeeech!
Whiiiish!
Esther's eyes narrowed.
In the blink of an eye. Callius's swordsmanship had become soft.
If until just now they had been competing in speed and power, now they were purely competing in technique.
"Is that... really a sword match right now?"
"Then what is that?"
"But, can you hear the sound right now?"
"Sound? Why would sound..."
"!!"
They were clearly clashing swords, but almost no sound came out.
Only a slight sword resonance like iron scraping against iron echoed.
Along with the sword resonance that sounded as if playing an instrument, I thought the two of them looked like they were dancing.
Sword dance.
Could that be the true sword dance?
The old tradition of Carpe originally.
Didn't it begin like that?
Such thoughts wouldn't leave my mind. Looking around, the other nobles seemed no different.
Esther was the same.
'Fascinating.'
Originally, she had intended to compete in sword skill.
But at some point, as if they had practiced together, she was being led by his intentions.
Like holding hands and dancing.
When Esther's foot advances, he retreats. When his foot advances, she retreats, exchanging swords.
Since Callius seemed to desire that, she also tried to match him as best as she could.
I think I understand why he only deflects.
It's not just deflecting, nor is he simply deflecting.
Pretending to receive.
Pretending to deflect.
But then, like a much larger wave, he uses the opponent's power in reverse and presses forward.
A smile formed on Esther's lips.
His swordsmanship is not complete.
But I can understand why he's clinging to this.
'A fragment of Saint Stella.'
It must be the essence of the swordsmanship she created.
The moment she thought that, fragments of sword qi floating like petals scattered around Esther.
The moment she saw that, the flow of sword strikes changed again.
'He's pressing forward.'
Can I block it?
That wave of petals.
She hesitated for a moment, but only for an instant.
She is the kingdom's greatest genius.
Esther Sol Cilliad.
Pushing through the pouring wave of petals.
Dodging even the pure white flowers blooming at the bottom, she thrust a single strike.
Kwaaaang-!
Whiriririr.
Thud.
The fierce wind subsided, and what could be seen were two broken swords.
It was Callius and Esther, holding them while pointing at each other's necks.