Let’s Go Together

The academy’s sparring hall was located close to the main building.

When Mikhail, Adrian, Catherine, and Hans arrived at the sparring hall, it was already packed with academy students murmuring excitedly. Since the duel had broken out suddenly during a swordsmanship class, the crowd was made up mostly of second-year students. They made room and greeted Catherine and Hans, who had arrived a bit later.

Adrian and Mikhail followed them inside and turned their eyes toward the duel.

“What’s with the sudden duel?”

Catherine nudged the friend next to her with her elbow and asked. The male student, who had been watching the match intently, grinned and said, “Wow, even you heard about it, Catherine? Word really gets around fast,” before filling her in on the situation.

It had happened earlier during the second-year swordsmanship class. The duel had begun when the headmaster, who was supposed to have a lunch appointment with Professor Idros—the swordsmanship instructor—showed up in person at the sparring grounds. According to the student, the match had begun in a moment of heat and had continued from before lunch started until now, with break time almost over. In other words, they had been clashing swords for several hours straight.

Upon hearing how long the duel had gone on, Catherine clicked her tongue and turned her gaze to the two figures in the center of the sparring ground. Their stamina was something else. Professor Idros looked visibly worn out, but from the outside, it was impossible to tell whether Headmaster Declaire was tired at all.

Declaire Foster—the woman known as the strongest among all living knights.

Mikhail had watched knights spar since he was a child. In the Kingdom of Rustavaran, knights were considered the ultimate warriors.

And the strongest in Rustavaran meant the strongest on the entire continent.

Headmaster Declaire was dressed casually in everyday clothes, holding a massive sword, nearly as tall as she was, effortlessly in one hand. It was the very same Temaria that Jonathan had once misnamed.

Her appearance was quite different from how she looked at the entrance ceremony, where she had worn a formal dress. Her faded, wavy gray hair gave away her age, but that was about it. Her body, honed by years of intense training, visibly expanded and relaxed beneath her casual attire, something even distant onlookers could discern.

By now, the duel had been going on for some time, and her opponent’s clothes were torn in several places. This was no practice match with blunted training swords—they were using real blades.

“This reminds me of back then.”

Huff… huff… Standing across from Declaire was a knight, barely managing to stay on his feet. He was a large man, even bigger than Declaire, and clearly exhausted from their prolonged match.

“…Back then? You mean the time when you didn’t listen to a single one of my suggestions on the battlefield?”

“Haha! You’re still holding a grudge about that?”

Declaire laughed as she lightly swung her long sword from side to side. She looked positively delighted.

“If you’re going to hold onto something, you should be holding onto sword techniques—not grudges. That way you might actually master them properly.”

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

Standing tall in the center of the sparring hall, Headmaster Declaire taunted the man who had once been her lieutenant. A bit of provocation would only make their duel that much more enjoyable.

In response, Idros—the professor of swordsmanship—rose from his brief rest, gritting his teeth.

The tall knight clenched his jaw and charged straight at Headmaster Declaire. His sword slashed wide through the air, flying toward her, but she merely twisted her body with ease, dodging the strike. In the same motion, her sword Temaria gleamed with a brilliant flash as it swept toward the man standing opposite her. It was the motion of a predator seizing prey that had walked willingly into the lion’s jaws.

Realizing Temaria’s incoming path, Idros twisted his airborne blade with the other hand, forcibly changing its direction midair. He could feel the muscles in his arm rippling with strain, but there was no other way to block Declaire’s strike.

CLANG!

A harsh, metallic clash echoed in sharp reverberations throughout the sparring hall. The force of the two blades colliding caused their lengths to tremble violently, locked in a struggle for dominance. Declaire looked at Idros’s tightly clenched mouth and chuckled.

It had been a long time since she’d had such an exhilarating match. Any ordinary knight would have been finished by that last blow. But her longtime lieutenant had, to some extent, internalized her patterns. His body had instinctively reacted to block her blade.

As the two swords remained locked in a contest of strength, Declaire’s other hand grasped the back of her blade and rotated it along the point of contact. With a sharp metallic scrape, shrrrk, the two weapons slipped apart. Professor Idros angled his sword upward, tilted his torso, and barely managed to put a bit of distance between them.

Even after all these years, her monstrous skill remained unchanged.

His sword arm trembled violently. The muscles he had forcibly used in reverse directions were now screaming in protest, begging him to stop.

If someone like her never became a Swordmaster… then what kind of person can become one?

As that thought flashed through Idros’s mind, he inhaled deeply, exhaled, and his broad chest heaved.

But Declaire gave him no time to rest.

“Tsk.”

With a frigid gaze, Declaire looked down at her longtime lieutenant and slowly brushed her palm down the flat of Temaria, which was still faintly quivering from their clash. The trembling stilled under her hand.

“Do you really have time to be lost in thought?”

In a few swift strides, Declaire dashed toward Idros, who was now at the edge of the sparring hall, crouched over and trying to catch his breath. Gritting his teeth at her sudden burst of speed, Idros dug his blade into the ground with both hands and rolled to the side to avoid her.

But he was too late.

Just as Idros planted his feet and began to rise—

Swish—

Temaria hovered menacingly above him, poised to slice clean across his nape.

Idros released the tension from his body, spent from the prolonged duel, and looked up at Declaire’s face.

“…This is it.”

“Yeah. Let’s grab a late lunch.”

“If you’d held back even a little, we could’ve eaten on time.”

“It’s been ages. You should’ve known to pace yourself.”

With an exasperated expression, Idros gave Declaire a tired look and gave his real sword a sharp shake. Then, he sheathed it.

That signaled the end of their long-awaited duel.

The students surrounding the sparring hall erupted into cheers at the final exchange. A few from the knight faculty even stomped their feet with enthusiasm, showering the spectacular duel with praise. A demonstration by the strongest knight could, at times, be more enriching than training itself.

Mikhail hadn’t yet pulled himself out of the trance sparked by the duel between the headmaster and the knight. His eyes burned with intensity, as if he were ready to leap into the sparring hall that very moment. Standing upright with his gaze fixed, the prince slowly curled both hands into fists.

At last, he had taken one step closer to his goal.

Ever since he had revealed his dream of mastering the sword, all Mikhail had faced was opposition. His dream, for the youngest prince of the kingdom, was seen as dangerous—reckless, even. But Mikhail had persevered, steadfast in his pursuit.

The first to snap out of it was Catherine.

“Ah! Should we go get our assignment now?”

Next to her, Hans—who had come along grumbling—was now far too immersed in the duel. He excitedly discussed several sword techniques from the match with nearby friends in meticulous detail.

“Wow… That was seriously incredible.”

“Told you it’d be fun.”

“Yeah, but it’s only because it was Declaire’s duel. When underclassmen start swinging at each other and call it a ‘duel,’ it’s enough to rot my eyes out.”

Catherine and Hans turned to look at Adrian and Mikhail, who stood nearby. Adrian, who had been smiling subtly at something, noticed their gaze and spoke first.

“Let’s go.”

Afternoon classes for Adrian and Mikhail were about to begin. Reluctantly, Mikhail tore himself away from the sparring hall.

***

Still seated on the ground and catching his breath after the duel, Idros glanced around the sparring hall—and spotted Mikhail. He nudged Declaire.

“Oh? His Highness is here too.”

“Mikhail?”

Both had once served as knights of the kingdom. While stationed in the capital, they had watched the young prince grow up. Naturally, they were glad to see him.

“He’s already entered the academy. Time really flies.”

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“What for? What’s a greeting from the headmaster going to change? The boy has to handle himself either way.”

Declaire slid her sword into its sheath. Shrrk—the metallic scrape echoed faintly through the hall.

She slowly scanned the students before her, then extended a hand to her lieutenant still sprawled out on the ground. With a wide grin, he grabbed her arm and hoisted himself up.

“Didn’t think he was the social type, but looks like he’s already made a friend?”

Declaire was looking at Adrian, standing beside Mikhail Luce Inehart.

…We’re not friends, though?

Adrian, the dragon with keen hearing, caught every word from afar but kept his mouth shut, simply offering the headmaster a pleasant smile. From the students’ vantage point, all they could see were the headmaster and the knight quietly conversing after the duel.

With eyes seasoned by years of experience, Declaire gave Adrian—standing next to the prince—a thorough once-over.

Tall stature, a well-conditioned body.

Is the friend aiming to enter the knight faculty too?

Declaire let her thoughts wander with mild curiosity, then walked off with Idros, thinking the boy seemed like a fitting companion for the prince.