44. Rematch

“What do you mean by that? I’ve met every condition!”

When I protested, Kairon held up two fingers.

“First. The result of your Trial of Arms isn’t a pass — it’s on hold.”

Ah. I’d forgotten.

Half a year ago, my duel with the apparition of Arne VII down in the underground training ground had been overturned mid-fight, and my report card still had a question mark stamped on it.

“You can’t sit the final interview while carrying a report card that’s on hold. So you’ll go back to the very beginning and prove your strength all over again.”
“That’s… understood. I’ll take it again.”

“Second.”

Kairon folded down another finger, and before I could stop it, my brow furrowed on its own.

“The final trial requires the participation not only of the candidate himself, but of every one of his guardians.”
“What?”

At Kairon’s pronouncement, Lillian gave a violent start beside me and asked back.

“Me too?”

Kairon answered her flatly.

“There are no spectators in a fight of House Arne. If you’ve sworn to lend your strength, then paying the price of that blood alongside him is the way of things.”

“…”

“Of course, you may withdraw from being a guardian at any time. Right up until the very moment Arden sits the trial.”

Kairon’s gaze fixed on Lillian as if to pierce straight through her, and under it she froze.

Coldly put, the position of guardian is a system built entirely for the candidate’s benefit.

Word that Lillian had become my guardian, on the heels of Seraphina, would spread soon enough. I hadn’t planned it, but standing on the backs of the two of them, my footing within the house would only grow firmer. And yet, whatever I stood to gain, there was nothing in it for the guardians themselves. If I lost, both of them would be branded in the eyes of Valerian once he took the heir’s seat in my place, and on top of that they’d be tossed onto the servants’ pile of gossip.

As long as she just stays put, she comes out at least breaking even.

If Lillian ever said she wanted out, I’d planned to simply let her go.

“There’s absolutely no way I’d ever back out!”

With that, Lillian looked at me and shot me a wink.

“I’d be too anxious to send you off alone. My little brother’s about to go a round with his big brother — of course I have to lend my strength!”

She declared it triumphantly.

“Very well. See that it’s done.”

Kairon nodded.

“In that case, I’ll set the order for you. You cannot sit the final trial right now. Your first guardian, Seraphina, is absent.”
“Do I need to bring Sister back?”
“Yes. But one cannot summon an Imperial Knight Commander without due cause.”

Kairon pointed a finger at the floor.

“First, sit the Trial of Arms again. Turn that report card on hold into a pass, and I’ll call Seraphina here by my own authority.”

So in the end, it was back to square one. But it didn’t sit badly with me.

Half a year ago I’d fought through that trial like a man running for his life. For who I was now, it would be a different story.

I grinned and ran my hand over the sword at my waist.

“I’ll be back in no time, so go ahead and get your reason to summon Sister ready.”

A few days passed.

Down in the deepest level beneath the manor’s main hall, damp cold hung heavy in the air and blue torches flickered along the walls. I’d come back to the [First Underground Training Hall].

At the end of the corridor stood the massive steel door, the Sanctum of Struggle, as imposing as ever.

And guarding the front of it was a hulking old man, his muscle hard as rock, his body an old veteran’s map of scars. Bato.

He’d taken a single blow from the fallen Arne VII and been knocked out cold, yet here he stood guarding the entrance, none the worse for it, as if none of it had ever happened.

I felt exactly the same as Eve.

“Y-Young Master! You’re safe!”

The moment Bato saw me, he wiped at the corners of his eyes with that huge hand.

“Last time, I went down and failed to protect you… you’ve no idea how much I blamed myself. I’m sorry. I have no excuse….”

Bato bent his enormous body again and again in apology.

“We both came out fine, so it’s all settled. If anything, I’m the one who survived thanks to your help back then.”

What fault could there possibly be in you?

The fault lay with the curse fused to this body, resonating with the magic circle.

“But, Young Master — are you all right? The air down here is cold. Shall I have someone fetch you another coat? Or perhaps some hot tea?”

He was still treating me like a frail child who couldn’t be left alone for a second.

Looks like word never reached him about the wild things I got up to over the past stretch.

I spoke to the fretting Bato.

“Don’t worry. I’m not such a weakling anymore.”

I shrugged off the outer garment I was wearing and set it down on the floor. Under the thin training clothes, the firm muscle I’d built over the past four months stood out.

“Uh…?”

Bato’s eyes went wide.

“A little wind won’t blow me away now.”

I loosened up with a few light stretches and pointed at the steel door.

“Let’s go.”

Bato stared at me blankly for a moment, and then, instead of tears, a contented smile spread across his face as he nodded.

“Yes, understood.”

Creeeak—.

With a ponderous groan, the door swung open. Beyond it the Sanctum of Struggle waited, its mouth gaping open into darkness, and I stepped through with my head held high.

I don’t know who designed the system, but sitting the trial required the consent of the other candidates.

“As I told you, the purpose behind the heir’s trials is for a candidate to witness the moment a rival overcomes their ordeal and walks out, and from that, to guard against their own arrogance and stoke their fighting spirit.”

The trial wasn’t focused solely on deciding the heir. Woven into it was the wish of our ancestors that the candidates compete and grow through one another.

But apart from me and Bato, I couldn’t sense the presence of a single other soul.

“This case is a retrial owing to the unprecedented situation of a result being put on hold. So by the original procedure, the two of them ought to be here observing as well, but….”

Bato went on, laying out the situation.

“I inquired after the wishes of Young Master Valerian and Young Master Lucius. Young Master Valerian said he did not wish to observe.”

Given the circumstances, forcing his attendance would only have been awkward. In any case, it was Lucius’s whereabouts that had me more curious than Valerian’s.

“All right, fine, Big Brother Valerian passed, so I get it — but what about Big Bro Lucius? He’s a fellow flunk-out, same as me. Shouldn’t he be here?”

At my question, Bato’s face twisted with discomfort.

“That would be correct by procedure, but… he has gone missing.”
“What?”
“Just as I said. Right now, no one knows where Young Master Lucius is.”

Thinking I’d misheard, I asked again, and Bato let out a deep sigh.

“I mean it literally. The Young Master hasn’t been seen for several days now. Not in his room, not at the training grounds, nowhere in the domain… he’s vanished without leaving so much as a trace.”

The second son of the house had simply evaporated. A runaway? An abduction? Either way, it was no ordinary sign.

He hasn’t been possessed by a demon, has he.

It left a bad taste in my mouth, but there was nothing I could do about it right now. For the moment, I had a trial in front of me to finish.

“Understood. Let’s get started quick.”
“You remember the rules, yes? Once you step onto the summoning circle in the center, a past hero suited to your level will materialize, drawn out in response to your mana.”
“Yes. I remember very well.”

I picked up where Bato left off, with a wry smile.

“I’ve no idea how my mana is wired, but… last time, a demon wearing the mask of Lord Arne VII came popping out. Made me an unforgettable memory, thanks to that.”
“Haha, no need to worry on that count. The house took measures in advance this time so there’d be no such mishap.”

Bato chuckled heartily as if to put me at ease, then drew a single red mana stone from inside his coat and held it up.

“A fixed summoning stone.”
“Oho.”
“It’s an item that locks onto and calls forth only one specific hero’s wavelength. With this, instead of a random draw, we can designate and summon the target we want.”

I’d used these now and then in the game myself, so it was a welcome sight.

“I’ve set it to ‘Arne VII’ — the one we never settled things with last time.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”

Bato placed the red mana stone atop the summoning circle and stepped back. I drew the sword from my waist and stepped up onto the magic circle.

Wuuuuum—!

In place of last time’s pitch-black ink, a brilliant golden light flooded the space, holy and bright enough to sting the eyes. Within it, a colossal figure slowly revealed itself.

Gleaming golden armor. A helm carved into a dragon’s head. A man gripping a spear taller than he was.

Now that I thought about it, Eve had analyzed the patterns of the Arne VII that Lucius had fought before.

Oh. So that was it?

Eve leapt up, bursting with excitement. To think that the trick of having her study Lucius’s battle back then would come back around like this.

.

.

.

Clang! Cla-aang!

The golden spearpoint and my steel sword struck sparks in midair. Arne VII’s spearmanship was sharp, no question. He swung that long, heavy spear as though it weighed nothing, pressing in from every direction, truly worthy of the hero who’d led the house through its golden age.

My time in the underground training ground hadn’t simply built muscle. I’d carved the swordsmanship of my ancestors, etched into those very walls, into my own bones, and crossed blades with Kairon’s apparition more times than I could count.

But chances to use that hard-won swordsmanship in real combat had been few. Fending off vines in the forest where I’d gone to fetch Lillian, fighting the puppeteer’s dolls in her nightmare. That was about the extent of it.

Clang!

Which was exactly why this retrial doubled as training, in a sense, drilling real-combat instinct into me.

As the fight wore on, my eye started to adjust. Before a strong attack he’d suck in a rough breath, or he’d flick a glance at the spot he meant to aim for next. His particular habits began to show.

I learned your spearmanship, too.

True, I’d focused on swordsmanship down in the training ground, but that didn’t mean I’d ignored everything else. Here and there, I’d taken care to study the traces left behind by the heads of the house who’d wielded spears and other weapons.

Bang!

I knocked aside a strike tracing a line toward my flank with ease. He hadn’t put his heart into that one to begin with, though, and the instant I parried it, he twisted the trajectory and went straight for my throat.

“Young Master!”

Seeing the spearpoint come right up to the edge of my throat, Bato cried out.

Not a chance!

But I hadn’t put my heart into that first block either.

“Phew.”

I quickly raised my sword and stopped the spearpoint.

And so a contest of strength against strength unfolded, but a spear’s thrust could put more force behind it, leaving me at a relative disadvantage.

That was the plan even without her saying so. I kicked the shaft up with my foot, sent the spear flying high, then drove into the opening of his now-undefended chest.

Phaaat—!

The moment my sword sank into his heart, Arne VII’s golden apparition burst apart and scattered through the space.

The win mattered, but more than anything I was glad I’d taken it without getting hurt. His spearmanship, too, had become fertile ground for the stronger man I now was.

I bowed my head briefly toward the fading light.

“Well fought, Ancestor.”

Rrrumble.

A dull tremor rang up through the floor. Then, from the center of the now-empty magic circle, a familiar sheet of old-fashioned parchment slid into view, scattering golden dust.

It made as flamboyant an entrance as a book of revelations granted only to the qualified. The trouble was, the length of the thing was no trifling matter.

Furl-furl-furl—.

The scroll unrolled with a flutter, threatening to reach all the way to my feet, packed end to end with writing so fine it would take a microscope to read.

You faced the shadow of one once lauded as a hero of old and yet did not flinch; and before the spearpoint that pierces through the bygone age, you displayed a fighting spirit harder than stone. Furthermore, you respected the martial prowess of your ancestors yet did not follow it blindly, carving out your own path and proving that the swordsmanship of the present surpasses the spearmanship of the past, which heralds that a new star has risen for the house…

I stopped reading partway through and pressed a hand to my forehead. I didn’t need to read on to know.

This is one hundred percent written by Rose.

It was the Trial of Wisdom all over again. Ask this woman to draft a certificate of passing and she sits down and writes an entire epic saga.

I grabbed the tail end of the scroll, rolled it up, and tucked it under my arm. Then I made to leave the training hall.

“Yo… Young Maaaaster!”

Bato’s tear ducts had burst again, and through them he was asking when I’d gotten so strong.

“I studied straight from the textbook.”

A textbook carved into stone and walls, but a textbook all the same.

Anyway. Retrial cleared!