Chapter 11

A few days later, Rian changed back into commoner clothes and sought out the ‘Well of Knowledge.’ Old Fox pretended to be dozing, but when Rian entered, he silently led him into a small inner room.

“Little young master, no, Argos’s proxy. The information you requested.”

Old Fox handed over a thick bundle of parchment. The report he offered far exceeded Rian’s expectations.

‘Kale Reinhardt. Second son of Marquis Reinhardt. Possesses a natural talent for swordsmanship but is arrogant, trusting in his family’s power. Strong in orthodox sword duels, but tends to be flustered by unpredictable, unorthodox attacks. In particular, he has a habit of using a powerful technique early in sparring to overwhelm his opponent. This causes a momentary collapse in his defensive stance.’

The report listed his minor eating habits, the names of other noble youths he kept close with, and even the name of the female knight he was secretly writing love letters to.

“Excellent.”

Rian, satisfied, handed over a pouch of gold larger than promised. Old Fox’s eyes gleamed with greed.

“Please continue to assist me, sir. Argos promises the highest rewards to partners who do not betray us.”

“Of course, of course! This old man will serve you with the resolve to be buried in your service!”

When Rian returned to the manor after successfully securing the first node of the capital’s information network, the atmosphere in the household had sunk heavy. News had come that his brother Kaion had been crushed by Kale Reinhardt in an official Academy sparring match.

Kaion, who returned late in the evening, looked a mess. His armor was dented and his lip was split. But the deeper wound seemed carved into his pride.

“It stings…!”

As soon as Kaion entered the room he slammed his sword down against the wall.

“That bastard wasn’t definitely stronger than me. But… he used a cowardly trick. He broke my core with a movement I’ve never seen before!”

Instead of approaching his enraged brother, Rian asked calmly.

“Brother, did that cowardly move break the Academy’s rules?”

“It… didn’t. But it wasn’t the honorable way a knight should fight!”

“Then it wasn’t cowardice but strategy. The opponent simply knew a technique you didn’t.”

Kaion was left speechless by Rian’s cool words. Rian continued, recalling the report from Old Fox.

“Kale Reinhardt. That guy always tries to break an opponent’s spirit early with a heavy downward strike. Right?”

“How…?”

Kaion’s eyes widened.

“If you block that attack, he shifts his stance for the next combo, leaving his left shoulder exposed for a very brief moment. But the Reinhardt family’s distinctive footwork immediately hides that weakness. That’s why no one can exploit the gap.”

It was an analysis as precise as if he’d watched the duel himself.

“So what should I do? I can’t match that footwork.”

“You don’t have to match it. You mustn’t fall into his rhythm in the first place.”

Rian’s eyes shone coldly.

“He mocks you as having ‘rustic swordsmanship,’ doesn’t he? Then fight like a true rustic. Abandon the textbook moves and show unpredictable motions. Before he launches his favorite first strike, drag him into a mud fight first. Fight in the way he despises most. The moment he panics and loses his composure, your opportunity will come.”

Kaion felt as if he’d been struck in the head with a hammer by his younger brother’s words. The cause of his defeat—hidden by anger and pride—had been perfectly pierced by his thirteen-year-old sibling. It was the moment he realized with his whole body that his brother did not only read books, and how terrifyingly effective that knowledge could be as a weapon.

“Rian… what on earth are you…”

“I’m your strategist.”

Rian answered with a faint smile.

From that day on, Kaion’s sword changed. After the Academy’s standardized training, he practiced his own swordplay in the manor’s training yard according to the strategies Rian devised. Sometimes rough, sometimes unorthodox. It was a sword trained solely to topple Kale Reinhardt.

Behind Kaion sharpening his blade of revenge, Rian began to extend Argos’s tendrils into the deeper darkness of the capital.