“Is that…Lord Ian?”
Raze blurted in surprise.
She never expected to find an acquaintance fervently training with a sword in this blizzard.
Truly an energetic soul, she first marveled – until scrutinizing revealed cause for concern.
His clothes were drenched, having neglected any waterproofing magic, singlemindedly practicing strikes with that distinctively long, curved blade.
Why the hell is he swinging his sword so diligently in this freezing cold–?
In just five more days, it will be tournament time when he should be careful about managing his physical condition.
I can’t help but look around, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is trying to stop him.
“……Maybe I should just call out to him…”
It piqued my curiosity for some reason.
Raze steps out from the covered walkway into the light drizzle outside.
At this moment, she had completely forgotten.
That this is the world of an otome game, and he too is one of the targets to pursue–.
Ian Massé Drua.
He is the grandson of the former knight commander of the Cian Empire.
An energetic, friendly, and passionate boy whose red hair suits his personality perfectly.
His father was too physically frail from birth to become a knight, but he hoped his healthy son would pursue the path of the sword, his own unfulfilled dream if possible.
Ian too was raised watching his grandfather, and it didn’t take long for him to be drawn to the profession of “knight” that everyone dreams of at some point.
The toy swords gradually gave way to practice swords, and as his body grew, he gripped real swords with gleaming blades that could tear his opponent if touched.
With his straightforward and earnest personality, Ian listened well to those who taught him the sword and studied hard.
His future dream was to reach the lofty position of “Knight Commander” that his grandfather had held.
Day after day, day after day, he trained relentlessly.
Then one day,
an incident occurred that made even Ian, who never got discouraged over little things, seriously consider giving up the sword he had been so desperately pursuing.
[You’re not cut out for the sword]
It was an extremely low, gut-punching voice.
Those words cut Ian deeper than any razor-sharp blade,
because they came directly from his beloved and admired grandfather.
What’s more, his grandfather said it on his deathbed, so Ian never got to ask what he really meant.
At just twelve years old, he racked his brain over it.
–What was so wrong that Grandfather said such a thing?
Was it that the path of the sword was too harsh and grueling for his weak spirit to endure?
Or was it simply that he had no talent for swordplay?
No matter how much he thought about it,
he couldn’t find the answer.
All Ian could do was work many times harder than anyone else and become strong enough that everyone — including his late grandfather — would have to acknowledge him.
He devoted himself to honing his swordsmanship with twice, no, far greater intensity than before.
His efforts seemed to pay off as people gradually came to recognize his ability, filling Ian with pure joy.
After about four years, he began to think positively that his grandfather must have said those words to spur him on before passing away.
……And yet.
[Maybe I’m just not cut out for it?]
At the summer Battle Festa at Saint Riolle Imperial Academy of Magic, in the fourth round match.
His opponent was Bill Mess Gordon, the student council president in Class 3A who had won the previous year’s winter tournament as a second-year.
A user of dangerous offensive fire magic who only held back enough against human opponents to immobilize them, Ian was brought down and defeated by him, met again by those same words.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. He was speechless.
Ian was so shaken that he couldn’t even remember how he made it back to the dorms after the match.
And when he came to his senses, he thought again.
That he was told he wasn’t cut out for it because he was weak.
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–I have to get stronger. Much stronger.
Ever since that day he lost and heard those same words as from his grandfather, Ian increased his training hours, realizing it still wasn’t enough. He did sword practice, ran, lifted weights, and revised his diet every single day, morning, noon and night. As if driven to the edge, he did everything in his power just to get stronger.
“Hah!”
And today too, Ian continues his practice swings in the snow.
If he eliminates all distracting thoughts, the cold doesn’t bother him. A body and mind that would falter at this much is no good.
Snow has piled on his red hair, and the drops melted by his body heat trickle down his head.
Exhaling white breaths, he repeatedly brings the heavy practice sword straight down in a one-handed stance.
“Good morning, Lord Ian.”
“Uwah!?”
Suddenly hearing his name called out, Ian starts in surprise.
Looking to the side, he sees a lone female classmate, her trademark being her braided brown hair.
“G-Granoli?”
Caught off guard by the unexpected voice, Ian lowers his sword in confusion.
“What are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold without an umbrella.”
“Well, I could say the same to you…?”
Raze responds with a bit of an exasperated look,
her expression asking why he’s out here practicing sword swings.
It seems she came out of concern to stop him.
Thinking she’s such a diligent one, Ian shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about me. I want to keep going for a little longer, so you should head back under cover, Granoli.”
“I see……”
There, Raze realizes Ian won’t be easily dissuaded.
She had noticed how he always seemed to be swinging a sword every time she saw him lately. Since she was in the military, scenarios like this of subordinates training were quite familiar to her.
“Well then, I’ll join you.”
“Eh? …No, you don’t have to-“
Thrown by her unexpected reply, Ian falters.
Raze smiles at his reaction, making a proposition. When dealing with someone who won’t listen to words, sometimes actions are the best way to get through to them.
“Let’s have a match here. If I win, you go back to the dorms. If you win, I’ll leave without another word.”
Ian’s eyes go wide at the sudden challenge from Raze.
She lost in the first round of the recent inter-year tournament he advanced far in.
Honestly, considering he had beaten third-years in that grueling bracket, he couldn’t imagine her being able to overcome him.
She hadn’t stood out in practical lessons either, and her specialty, like his own, was just the fairly common movement-type magic that anyone could easily learn if suited for it.
Even if she used movement magic to gain a positional advantage, with their size difference and a woman’s physical strength, she would ultimately lose to sheer power in the end. Despite being a distinguished student, combat didn’t seem to be her forte.
And yet…he does recall she had defeated Addis,
though the seriousness of that match is unknown — still, maybe, just maybe there’s a chance.
He had been wanting a real opponent anyway, and all he has to do is win.
“…Alright. Let’s do it.”
He accepts her challenge.
The rules are that the winner is whoever renders the opponent unable to continue fighting.
No magic besides physical enhancement, making it a contest of swordsmanship.
“Are you sure about this? My specialty is physical enhancement magic, you know?”
The conditions proposed by Raze give Ian the advantage.
“Yes, I’m fine with that. My secondary affinity after movement is that type of magic too.”
“Is that so…?”
Surprised to hear this new information about her, Ian ponders it. Come to think of it, he did see Raze diligently doing basic practice at the training grounds right before the summer tournament. He also recalled sometimes spotting her morning jogs. Maybe she came out for morning practice today too?
Despite her small, cute looks, she could actually be more of a physical type.
Raze summons her practice sword with teleportation magic, tying her hair back casually before stretching lightly.
This time, instead of a knife, she chose a sword. She picked the shorter blade so Ian wouldn’t be hampered fighting someone wielding such a compact weapon.
“I’m ready. Remember, if I win, you go back to the dorms.”
“–Got it.”
Switching gears, Ian nods and takes a stance.
Raze picks up a small rock from the packed snow at about fist-height and tosses it high into the air.
She takes her sword stance while it’s airborne.
The moment the rock lands between them is the signal to start.
Ian makes the first sweeping sword strike that Raze blocks. The clang of metal rings out.
Seeing his probing attack was solidly defended, he feels he can use more force. Having his opening moves blocked was expected, so he immediately follows up with a second strike.
Raze parries that too.
“–!”
Here, Ian’s eyes narrow sharply.
These two strikes tell him – she may be a girl, but she’s no pushover.
It felt like striking a massive tree trunk, her footwork completely unshaken.
“You can go all out, I’ll be fine,”
Raze assures the hesitant Ian, her expression confident and relaxed.
“Well in that case…!”
He enhances his physical abilities with magic, putting more brawn into a heavier swing at Raze. She defends it too, then instantly counterattacks. Raze’s movements flow fluidly without any wasted motion.
The precise strikes aiming for vital points send a chill down Ian’s spine.
His instincts are screaming “She’s dangerous.”
Unconsciously, his sword grip tightens.
“Haah!”
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