102

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t move around.”

Right after I stood, I heard the voice of the elf who had been watching me.

It seemed they wanted me to stay put here, but that would do nothing to stop my desires.

That said, charging in and whiffing would be bad.

So I lowered my hips again, cranked my fighting spirit and lecherous will to full, and used every sense to locate Number Six.

After a short focus, I concluded Number Six was still inside the manor, and decided to wait here a bit longer.

I supposed I was getting less and less human, but I was already a monster, so too late now.

For the record, I confirmed her presence because Dame Oppai was calling her name in a pitiful voice.

From the clinging plea of, “Please, Lady Rusheru! Anything but that!” I inferred she’d messed something up again.

If it wasn’t time yet, there was no need to rush.

I sat stolidly and picked up the beginner’s manual again.

I had already crammed in a certain amount of knowledge while pretending to be under control magic.

The problem was not knowing whether that knowledge actually covered the basics.

Now, by reading this “Guidebook for Magic Beginners,” I seemed to have solid basics.

Even so, I couldn’t sense any sign I could use magic; I couldn’t even grasp a toehold on the required “interference with mana,” and I was tripping over the prior step of “sensing mana.”

At this point, it felt impossible to use magic on my own; with nothing else to do, I resigned myself to rereading the manual.

I kept half an ear on the manor while flipping pages, but little sank in.

No wonder — things had been oddly hectic inside for a while.

From the voices, someone was apparently “coming,” which seemed to be the cause.

(I see. My being here brought out a village bigwig.)

That meant Number Six, presumed to be the local representative, had to deal with them, so I shouldn’t expect a trip to the river with the kids.

The only question was whether that bigwig would come to me or not… and the voices made it clear they absolutely would.

“Ugh, hassle,” I yawned wide and struck a suitably welcoming pose for a reluctant visitor.

In other words, a “see, I’m diligently studying” vibe.

(Behold this aura of intellect. You came to nitpick, I’m sure… but know that cheap tricks won’t work on me.)

Except I was reading a children’s primer.

If it were the intermediate-looking book from yesterday, I might still look cool, but I’d already returned those; this was all I had.

Anyway, I waited like that… I could tell they were coming, but they were painfully slow.

Judging from surrounding voices, the one coming to see me was quite elderly.

(Ah, that. The classic elder — a big shot is making an entrance.)

With that guess, the scent of trouble thickened, but there was no running now.

More than anything, “learning magic” was on offer — unless the risk outweighed that, I wasn’t backing down.

After a bit, an old man appeared in the corridor leading to the garden, accompanied by Number Six and two elf maids; I slowly closed my book and raised my face.

He looked younger than I expected, with long white hair.

But in his hand he held the scabbard of a longsword with at least a one-meter blade.

“This the one?”

At the old man’s chin-pointed words, Number Six nodded quietly.

You could call it aura, perhaps?

Even I felt the pressure radiating from this old man.

(It’s not my imagination. This geezer is no ordinary one. This feeling is… the same kind? That strong?)

I watched him without letting a single movement slip by, waiting for him to approach.

He snorted at my vigilance, stepped into the garden — and spectacularly missed the step and fell.

“Guh—! Ow, ow, ow… my back, my back again…!”

As I stared, dumbfounded, the two maids rushed to him.

They tried to help him up from either side, and I saw his face clearly at that moment.

The angle hid it from the nearby maids and from Number Six behind him, but from my distance I had a perfect view of his profile.

(…This guy.)

Both of the old man’s hands were firmly grabbing the maids’ bottoms.

In fact, he was kneading them.

Taking advantage of the commotion, he was kneading both their butts quite thoroughly.

One look at that slovenly grin and you knew — it was absolutely on purpose.

An unmistakably deliberate harassment move.

Then he slid the hands that had seized their rears as if stroking, wrapped their waists, and slowly stood.

(Is he… showing off!?)

The fact that those around him tolerated it shocked me even more.

In other words, this dirty old man occupied a position where blatant harassment was allowed.

“I can’t let my guard down,” I warned myself.

Who could have predicted we were the same kind — in that sense?

At least Number Six wasn’t the victim; if she left the maids to handle him out of caution toward this lech, then kudos to her.

“Phew, forgive me. I put in a bit too much spirit.”

Cackling, he took up the fallen sword from a maid and walked toward me.

From that setup, I half-expected him to go one step further and grope their chests, but since he didn’t — this lech was clearly an ass man.

And I, needless to say, was a breast man.

I loved butts too, of course, but my scales tipped decisively; I doubted this old man and I would ever see eye to eye.

That farcical interlude made bracing for whatever this lecher wanted seem a bit silly, but that didn’t mean I would underestimate him.

Because an ominous feeling hadn’t left me since earlier.

(Because of that…)

My gaze was drawn to the sword in his hand.

At a glance, it was a slightly long longsword in an ornate scabbard.

But I could tell, whether I liked it or not.

That thing was dangerous.

Ever since it came into view, I couldn’t stop fixating on it.

With each step the old man took toward me, my alertness ratcheted up.

He was holding the scabbard now, but if his other hand reached the hilt, I honestly wasn’t sure I could remain still.

I felt tingling air cling to my skin and raised a hand to signal, “Don’t come any closer.”

“Oh? Better than a beast — you do notice.”

So saying, the old man stopped, drove the scabbard into the ground, and gripped the hilt.

Seeing that, I flung the book aside and shifted into a fighting stance.

“Elder Schvard! I did not authorize anything of the sort!”

Number Six raised her voice, but the old man, called Schvard, acted like he didn’t hear her and drew the blade.

I looked at the naked steel and thought:

(My hunch was right. Also — what is that? Just looking at it gives off a pounding, awful unease.)

This old man was likely extremely skilled.

Then I realized something.

(Huh? Schvard… that name…)

I’d heard it.

And if I recalled right — yes, it was the only warrior’s name that came up when I brought Dame Oppai back to my base and tried to pry out elven inside info.

Even Dame Oppai knew the name — and the strongest elf stood before me.

“I suppose I should give my name, monster. I am Schvard Corner. I failed to cut the ‘Nightmare’ a bit, and I’m worried my edge has dulled. So, since you ate my prey, I felt like cutting you a little. Care to indulge me to that extent?”

Pointing at the forest with his free hand, the old man smiled only with his mouth.