44. Rematch

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

I protested, but Kairon only held up two fingers.

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

Ah.

Right. That had slipped my mind.

Half a year ago, the fight against Arne VII’s apparition in the underground training ground had been upended partway through, so 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… I understand. I’ll take it again.”

“Second.”

Kairon folded down another finger, and my brow creased all on its own.

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

“What?”

Lillian, standing next to me, jolted hard and asked back.

“Me too?”

Kairon’s answer came flat.

“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.”

His stare fixed on Lillian as if to run her through, and she froze under it.

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

Word would get around soon enough that Lillian had become my guardian too, right after Seraphina. I hadn’t planned it, but riding on those two’s backs, my footing in the house would only get firmer.

Yet whatever I stood to gain, the guardians got nothing out of it. If I lost, the pair of them would be marked in the eyes of Valerian, who’d be the heir in my place, and on top of that they’d go on the servants’ list of gossip fodder.

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

So if Lillian ever said she wanted out, I’d meant to simply let her go.

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

She looked at me and winked.

“I’d be way too nervous sending 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 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 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 that didn’t bother me. Half a year ago I’d fought through that trial as if running for my life, but the me of today was 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 later, I was in the deepest place beneath the manor’s main hall, among cold, damp air and blue torches flickering 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, still flaunting how imposing it was. And guarding it was a hulking old man, an old veteran all rock-hard muscle and scars.

Bato.

One blow from the fallen Arne VII had knocked him out cold, yet here he was on guard at the entrance, perfectly fine, as if none of it had ever happened.

I felt exactly the same.

“Y-Young Master! You’re safe!”

The moment he saw me, Bato 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….”

He bent his enormous body in apology, again and again.

“We both came out fine, so it’s all good. If anything, I’m only alive because you helped me back then.”

What fault could there possibly be in you?

The fault lay with the curse fused to this body, which had resonated 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 sickly child left out by the water’s edge.

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

He was fretting, so I spoke up.

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

I shrugged off my outer garment and set it on the floor. Under the thin training clothes, the firm muscle I’d built over the past four months showed.

“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.”

For a moment Bato just stared at me blankly. But before long, instead of tears, a contented smile spread across his face, and he nodded.

“Yes, understood.”

Creeeak—.

The door opened with a ponderous groan, and there was the Sanctum of Struggle, its mouth gaping open into darkness.

I stepped inside with my head held high.

I don’t know who designed the system, but to sit the trial, you needed the other candidates’ consent.

“As I told you, the heir’s trials exist so that a candidate may witness a rival overcome their ordeal and walk out, and from that, guard against their own arrogance and stoke their fighting spirit.”

So this trial wasn’t only about deciding the heir. Woven into it was our ancestors’ wish that the candidates compete and grow through one another.

Yet apart from me and Bato, I couldn’t sense a single other soul.

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

Bato went on explaining.

“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 him to attend would’ve been awkward. Besides, I was more curious about Lucius’s whereabouts than his.

“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?”

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.”

I figured I’d misheard and 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 evaporated.

A simple runaway? Or had someone abducted him? Either way, it was no ordinary omen.

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 the 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 he left off, with a wry smile.

“I have no idea how my mana’s wired, but… last time, a demon wearing the mask of Lord Arne VII came popping out. Thanks to that, I’ve got a memory I’ll never forget.”
“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 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 one specific hero’s wavelength and calls forth only that hero. With this, instead of a random draw, we can pick exactly who we want to summon.”

I’d used these now and then in the game too, 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 on the summoning circle and stepped back, and I drew the sword from my waist and stepped up onto the magic circle.

Wuuuuum—!

Instead of last time’s pitch-black ink, a brilliant, holy golden light filled the space, dazzling enough to sting the eyes. Within it, a colossal figure slowly revealed itself.

Gleaming golden armor. A helm carved with a dragon’s head. And a man wielding a spear longer than he was tall.

Come to think of it, Eve had analyzed the patterns of the Arne VII that Lucius fought before.

Oh. So then?

Eve leapt up, thrilled. To think that sneaking her in to observe Lucius’s battle through a loophole would come back around like this.

.

.

.

Clang! Cla-aang!

The golden spearpoint and the steel sword struck sparks in midair.

Arne VII’s spearmanship was sharp, no question. He swung that long, heavy spear as though it were a feather and pressed in from every direction, truly worthy of the hero who’d led the house’s golden age.

But my time in the underground training ground hadn’t just built muscle. I’d carved the swordsmanship my ancestors etched into those walls into my own bones, and crossed blades with Kairon’s apparition countless times.

What I hadn’t had was much chance to use all that hard-won swordsmanship in real combat. Fighting off vines in the forest when I went to fetch Lillian, and the puppeteer’s dolls in her nightmare. That was all.

Clang!

Which was exactly why this retrial was, in a sense, training that drilled real-combat instinct into me.

As time passed, my eye started to adjust. He’d suck in a rough breath before a strong attack, or flick a glance at the spot he meant to aim for next. His habits were beginning to show.

I learned your spearmanship, too.

Sure, I’d focused on the sword in the training ground, but that didn’t mean I’d ignored everything else. I’d taken care to study, here and there, the traces left 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, but he hadn’t put his heart into that one to begin with. The instant I parried it, he twisted its path and went straight for my throat.

“Young Master!”

Bato cried out at the sight of the spearpoint right at the edge of my throat.

Not a chance!

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

“Phew.”

I raised my sword quickly and stopped the spearpoint, and so it became strength against strength. A spear’s thrust could put more force behind it, though, which left 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, and drove into the opening at his undefended chest.

Phaaat—!

The moment my sword sank into his heart, Arne VII’s golden apparition scattered into pieces that filled the space.

Winning mattered, but more than anything I was glad I’d won without getting hurt. And his spearmanship, too, had become fertile ground for the stronger me of now.

I gave a short bow of the head toward the fading light.

“Well fought, Ancestor.”

Rrrumble.

A dull tremor rang up from 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 was as flamboyant an entrance as a book of revelations granted only to the qualified. The problem was the length of that parchment, which was no trifling matter.

Furl-furl-furl—.

The scroll fluttered open, threatening to reach all the way to my feet, and it was packed end to end with writing so fine you’d need a microscope to read it.

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.

Same as the Trial of Wisdom last time. 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, tucked it under my arm, and made to leave the training hall, but—

“Yo… Young Maaaaster!”

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

“I just studied the textbook, that’s all.”

A textbook carved into stone and walls, but still.

Anyway, retrial cleared!