CHAPTER FIVE

THE RIGHT EYE SEAL, MAY 380 HE

1

The Underworld.

That was the name of the world, but because it was in the sacred tongue and not the common language, hardly any of the world’s residents understood its meaning.

At the center of the Underworld was the human empire, a realm encompassing a circle 1,500 kilors across. A rocky range called the End Mountains formed its border. Beyond that was the Dark Territory, home to nonhuman races like goblins and orcs—or so it was said. Almost no humans had ever seen it for themselves.

The human realm was split into four empires, the northernmost of which was the Norlangarth Empire, a place of fertile fields, deep forests, and numerous lakes. At the southern tip of the fan-shaped empire was the capital of North Centoria. The other three empires were structured exactly the same way so that the four capitals connected to form one small circle, the entirety of which was simply called “Centoria.”

At the dead center of Centoria was the towering stronghold of the Axiom Church that formed the center of the world, ruling over the four empires with its unbreakable Taboo Index and Integrity Knights that together upheld the structure of the realm.

The tower was known as Central Cathedral, and it seemed to stretch nearly all the way to glowing Solus above. It was the center of humanity in all respects—which meant that it had to be the center of the Underworld as a whole, as well.

This was the world as Eugeo knew it.

Two years had passed since the spring when he’d left his little village of Rulid—at the far northern reach of the northern empire—with his partner, Kirito. They had made their way into the sentinel garrison at Zakkaria, largest town in the north, and then left for Centoria last spring with a handwritten recommendation from the garrison commander. There, they cleared the entrance test for the North Centoria Imperial Swordcraft Academy, the empire’s finest school for swordfighting; worked hard for a year as primary trainees; and scored two of the top twelve spots on the advancement test.

Rather than becoming secondary trainees, those twelve high-scoring students were granted the title of “elite disciple.” Disciples got their own dorm building with a roomy training hall, freedom from many of the onerous regulations of the academy, and an entire year of intensive training to prepare for their next goal: an appearance in the Imperial Battle Tournament.

The daily studies, sword instruction, and free training time were exhausting, but it was a dream come true for Eugeo. If he hadn’t met the peculiar black-haired Kirito in the forest two years ago, he would still be swinging his woodcutter’s ax until the day he retired of old age. Instead, he was mingling with the children of Centorian nobles, learning sword techniques and sacred arts, and making progress toward his true goal.

Unlike the other pupils, Eugeo’s dream was not merely to triumph in the gloried Four-Empire Unification Tournament and ascend to be one of the few, proud Integrity Knights. He wanted to be a knight so that he could pass through the gate of the Central Cathedral—a privilege even first-rank nobles did not possess—and reunite with Alice Zuberg, his childhood friend who had been taken there years ago.

This infinitesimally small hope had lain dormant for years until Kirito had come along and rekindled it. In fact, the two had worked together to overcome every obstacle blocking their path. Eugeo helped teach Kirito the Basic Imperial Laws that he’d lost all memory of, and Kirito taught Eugeo his unique Aincrad style of swordfighting. They’d come this far by acting like brothers…like twins.

Even now, as elite disciples, Eugeo and Kirito shared lodging in the dormitory. But they shared only the common space, as each had his own bedroom. While Eugeo still felt guilty about the beds being far bigger and softer than any back home in Rulid, their bathing room having as much hot water as they wanted, and their ample portions at the elite disciples’ mess hall, Kirito had adjusted to all of it almost instantly.

Even Kirito, though, had at least as much trouble as Eugeo at one particular thing.

The dormitory was not the only privilege the top twelve received from the academy. Every disciple had a primary trainee who served as his or her page and personal servant. Eugeo himself had been a page to an open-minded and generous disciple last year, and he’d actually enjoyed it quite a bit…but things were different once the tables were turned.

Eugeo’s page was a sixth-rank noble girl named Tiese Schtrinen who had only just turned sixteen. Kirito’s page was another sixth-rank girl of sixteen years named Ronie Arabel, and these two were a source of severe discomfort for two boys from the countryside.

For her part, Tiese didn’t seem bothered by the relationship at all. The lively girl with burning-red hair and reddish eyes of a tint rarely seen in the far north was blessed with plenty of motivation and dedication, and as her tutor, Eugeo often felt that he was the one getting lessons. But the part he would never get used to was having his needs attended to by a noble, three years younger than he and a girl to boot. Every single day, he would complain that he could take care of some task or another, and Tiese would insist, “No, this is the page’s duty!”

Kirito’s situation with Ronie was similar in many ways. Over the past month, whenever she’d showed up to clean his room, he’d often managed to find some reason not to be there.

On this, the seventeenth day of the fifth month of the year 380 HE, Kirito waltzed back into the room just as Tiese and Ronie were done cleaning. He had a large paper sack in his arms, full of the delectable honey pies from the Jumping Deer over on East Third Street in North Centoria District Six. He removed one each for himself and Eugeo, then gave the rest to the girls and instructed them to share with their roommates.

Primary trainees were forbidden to leave on weekdays, so of course they could never go out to market to buy treats like this. The girls were ecstatic at this unexpected gift, and it was the first time Eugeo ever saw them run, rather than walk, back to the primary trainee dorm.

Part of the disciple’s duty was to bond with the page and teach them in all areas of life, not just swordfighting, so perhaps the foodstuffs were a part of that effort—but Eugeo couldn’t help but find it more like simple bribery. He glanced sidelong at Kirito, who finished chewing his pie with a satisfied grin and said, “So, Eugeo, shall we engage in a little practice before dinner?”

“I don’t mind in the least, but remember, tomorrow’s the higher sacred arts exam. And it’s not just a written test but a demonstration of your least favorite subject: generating ice elements.”

“Ugh…”

Kirito had been reaching for his wooden practice sword, but this reminder stopped him short. He seemed to be grappling with his impulses for several seconds, then sighed and lowered his hand. “Why do I still have to study for tests after coming this far…?” he muttered wistfully.

As Kirito said, Eugeo never imagined himself studying sacred arts in Centoria when he was a simple woodcutter in Rulid. Sword practice was, of course, much more fun than memorizing complex rituals, but if they neglected their sacred arts studies, eventually even top marks in swordsmanship would not be enough to win them entry into the Battle Tournament.

Of course, Kirito didn’t need Eugeo to explain any of this to him. He swept back the black hair that matched his uniform and said weakly, “Eugeo, I’ll be studying all the way until lights-out, so if you could bring my supper from the mess hall, I would appreciate it.”

“Got it. You know, you’d find it a lot easier if you just studied it bit by bit on a regular basis.”

“You are indeed correct, young Eugeo. Alas, not all of us are capable of such feats,” Kirito lamented, plodding across the living room. He soon vanished through the north door into his bedroom.

Unlike the primary trainee dorm, the elite disciples’ quarters were totally circular. The building’s three-story structure was hollow inside, with interior walkways lining the walls, and the bedrooms were all located along the south exterior.

On the first floor were the mess hall and shared bath chamber, while six student rooms made up the second floor and another six occupied the third. Each pair of rooms had a shared common room between them, and Eugeo and Kirito’s suite was on the third floor.

Room placement was determined automatically by the individual results of the end-of-year exams. The top scorer received Room 301 at the east end of the third floor, second place got Room 302, and so on, such that the twelfth-place student was in Room 206 on the second floor. Eugeo was in Room 305 and Kirito was in 306, which meant that out of the 120 primary trainees, Eugeo had ranked fifth overall and Kirito sixth.

Their adjacent ranks were partially a result of intent and partially just good luck. Originally their plan was for numbers one and two, of course—that being the only surefire way to get paired together—but in the practical test against the sword instructors, Kirito scored fourth and Eugeo fifth. That would have split them apart, but Kirito lost points in the exhibition of forms and sacred arts, which bumped him down to sixth.

So they achieved their goal of sharing a common room, but it also created a new concern.

In one year—no, ten months—they needed to graduate as first and second in the class so they could qualify for the Imperial Battle Tournament. Kirito had been seventh and Eugeo eighth on the school entrance exams, so this was an improvement, but it was hard to be optimistic with four others ranking above them.

Kirito seemed to be more relaxed about it, as if just being an elite disciple was his only goal. His confidence wasn’t without merit. Disciples’ ranks were determined by test matches held four times in the year, rather than the overall scores from the previous year. These matches were against other students, not instructors, so rather than using traditional scoring criteria, winning was all that mattered.

And Eugeo’s norms-busting partner, as a primary trainee just two and a half months ago, had defeated the former first-seat disciple in a one-on-one duel. Technically, the judge ruled that it was a draw, but given the circumstances, it was undoubtedly a victory for Kirito. His foe was the son of a second-rank noble house that traditionally served as sword instructors for the Imperial Knights.

Eugeo had his own confidence in his abilities thanks to two years of instruction in Kirito’s own Aincrad style. But he wasn’t as optimistic as his partner. He certainly wasn’t cocky enough to ignore his daily regimen, even the night before a written test when book study was crucial.

With his sparring partner withdrawing to his room for an emergency cram session, Eugeo had no choice but to take his own sword and leave.

Beyond the interior hallway across from the door was the hollow space from the ground all the way up to the skylight cap on the roof, through which the red of the sunset was visible. There hadn’t been a building this extravagant even in Zakkaria, much less his humble home of Rulid. The floor beneath his feet was luxurious, polished wood, and the curved interior wall featured several works of art based on imperial history.

If I told my brothers back home that I lived in such luxury and even had my own servant, they’d never believe me, he thought as he made his way down the long walkway.

Elite disciple or not, he was still just a student getting VIP treatment. If this was what he got now, what kind of lifestyle comforts must the mighty finalists of the Unification Tournament receive—to say nothing of the Integrity Knights ranked above any of the four emperors?

“…Whoops!” he said, rapping his head with the wooden sword resting on his shoulder.

After a year at the school, Eugeo was getting used to it, but there were times that he felt guilty, as if he’d forgotten how he’d felt when he’d left home. He was here to raise his profile as a swordsman, not to indulge in the comforts of wealth and fame.

“Alice,” he mumbled, reminding himself.

Everything he was doing here—winning the test matches, striving to be an Integrity Knight—was merely a means, not the goal. It was all to gain access to the Central Cathedral, so that he could be reunited with his childhood friend imprisoned inside it…

He descended the stairs on the northern side of the building and headed for the special training hall adjacent to the dorm. This was another privilege of the disciples—as a primary trainee, he’d practiced the sword at the packed hall and outdoor training grounds, but now he had a spacious area available at any time, with no waiting period.

At the end of a short walkway, Eugeo pushed open the door and was greeted by the fresh scent of the training hall floorboards, which were replaced every spring. He stopped, started to breathe in a fragrant lungful, then froze. There was an oily, clinging perfume mingling in the air.

After he proceeded through the changing room into the hall, his foreboding was confirmed.

Two male students in the center of the wood floor noticed Eugeo and scowled. They were practicing their forms. One of them had paused with his wooden sword held aloft, while the other was adjusting the angle of his feet. Both of them lowered their arms in a very pointed way.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal your forms, Eugeo thought. He gave them a brief bow and headed for the corner of the training hall. He figured they would ignore him like usual, but this time, one of them stepped toward him and said, “Well, well. All alone tonight, Disciple…Eugeo?”

It was the one who’d been raising his sword. His broad chest was wrapped in a vivid red uniform, and waves of golden hair flowed down his back. There was a pleasant smile on his handsome face, but the way he had paused before saying Eugeo’s name and lingered on it after was a subtle dig at Eugeo’s birth to a frontier family that didn’t have its own surname.

Responding to each and every minor slight would be a waste of good training time, so Eugeo ignored the barb and replied, “Good evening, Disciple Antinous. Unfortunately, my room partner—”

The second man cut him off with a screech. “Insolence! When you speak Raios’s name, you must address him as ‘First Seat Disciple’!”

This one had gray hair tamped down with oils and a pale-yellow uniform. Eugeo turned to him with more open distaste and bowed. “Please forgive me, Disciple Zizek.”

The other man bristled even more and stomped forward. “You commit insolence upon insolence! You must address me as ‘Second Seat’! You betray the rich history and tradition of our hallowed academy with every act…”

“Now, now, Humbert,” said the first man, clapping his partner on the shoulder.

The fellow with the gray hair, Humbert Zizek, was indeed the second seat of the twelve elite disciples, while his golden-haired partner, Raios Antinous, was the first seat—the man who had taken over the position from Volo Levantein, whom Kirito beat in a duel before the end of the school year.

Unlike Volo, who had the quiet air of an accomplished warrior, Raios exhibited a higher noble’s opulent arrogance—yet their sword styles were quite similar. That had a lot to do with the fact that they both practiced the High-Norkia style, but it was still strange. Raios was refined (and twisted), while Volo placed all his focus into one straightforward, overpowering attack.

When Eugeo had mentioned this to Kirito, the other boy had said that half the skill of noble children came from the tremendous self-esteem instilled into them for years. In terms of dedication to his craft and training, Raios couldn’t hold a candle to Volo, but his sense of self-worth (or arrogance) was far greater, and that was how his blade could have such a nasty, insistent weight.

“But isn’t self-esteem supposed to be basically the same thing as pride? If they have so much pride, why do they stoop to petty pranks?” Eugeo had wondered.

Kirito had thought it over and replied, “Pride is something that you have to continually prove to yourself. But self-esteem doesn’t work that way. Raios and Humbert shaped their identities by comparing themselves to others. So at each and every opportunity, they feel the need to keep us inferior, because we’re not even from Centoria, much less of noble birth. They can’t maintain their sense of self-importance otherwise.”

Eugeo found this difficult to understand, but if Kirito was correct, that meant willfully submitting to their arrogance only fed their self-image and strengthened their skill with the sword.

That suggested the option of returning their aggressive insults with his own, but unlike Kirito, Eugeo didn’t have the keen ability to toe the line when it came to school rules, and he didn’t want to sow the seeds of conflict for no good reason.

And so, feeling slightly ashamed of his passive nature, Eugeo simply bowed to indicate his apology, then headed for the corner of the training hall again. As he walked across the unfinished boards, pristine and freshly cut from a nearby forest, Eugeo’s foreboding slowly eased. With all the stone buildings in Centoria, the scent of fresh wood was a precious source of peace.

Raios and Humbert might have had personal instructors since they were children, but for seven years in Rulid, I hit that Gigas Cedar two thousand times a day. I might not have their level of self-esteem, but I certainly have pride. Even if I was only swinging an ax, not a sword…

He stopped in front of one of the logs standing along the west wall for personal practice. These had been replaced at the same time as the floorboards, so the sides were hardly dented at all. Eugeo gripped the platinum oak practice sword with both hands, held it at default mid-level, and focused his breathing.

“Sha!”

He lifted the sword over his head, then brought it down with a quick cry. It smacked heavily against the right side of the thirty-cen-wide log, which trembled to its core.

Eugeo took a step back, savoring the vibration in his wrists, then swung down on the left side. Then right, then left. After ten strikes, his mind drifted from his body and sword, leaving nothing but the block of wood.

Eugeo’s nightly practice consisted of four hundred of these alternating high strikes. He did not practice the complex forms from class that Raios and Humbert had been performing just now. Kirito was his sword style master, and he said they weren’t necessary.

In this world, what you put into your sword is crucial, Kirito liked to say when he was teaching Eugeo. The High-Norkia, Baltio, and Aincrad styles’ secret techniques are very powerful. Once you have the knack of how to activate them, the sword practically moves on its own. The problem is what comes next: Like you saw with Volo and me, you’re going to have more clashes of ultimate attack versus ultimate attack. Once it comes to that, the weight of the sword will determine the outcome of the fight.

Weight.

Eugeo understood that he wasn’t simply referring to the physical weight of the swords themselves.

To Volo Levantein, the pride in his birth to the clan of the traditional instructors of the Imperial Knights gave weight to his sword. For Golgorosso Balto, whom Eugeo had served as page last year, it was the physical perfection of his body. For Kirito’s tutor, Sortiliena Serlut, it was the polished bite of her attacks. And for Raios and Humbert, it was the respect of their noble birth.

So what do I put into my sword?

When Eugeo had asked this, Kirito smirked and replied that it was his job to figure that out. But then he realized that this wasn’t a very good example for a teacher and added that Eugeo wouldn’t find it by practicing his forms.

So all along their journey to Centoria, and even after they made it to the academy, Eugeo continued practicing his strikes nearly every day. He wasn’t a noble by birth or a swordsman—all he had was years of practice repeating those simple ax strikes in the forest near Rulid.

But as a matter of fact, there was one other thing:

His desire to take back Alice from her imprisonment by the Axiom Church. Even as he stood here swinging his wooden sword, the image of that little blond girl would not disappear from his mind. It had been that way ever since he was chopping at the Gigas Cedar.

That summer day was eight years in the past now.

When the Integrity Knight named Deusolbert Synthesis Seven took Alice away, Eugeo could do nothing but stand and watch. He was holding the Dragonbone Ax capable of cutting through steel, and yet he couldn’t even lift it. Even though right nearby, someone…a boy around his age…was screaming, begging Eugeo to act, pleading.

And…who had that boy been, anyway? Eugeo’s only friend close enough to scream his name with that kind of passion was Alice. And yet he could practically hear the voice echoing in his ears today.

All these thoughts passed through his mind while an automatic counter kept track of the number of swings he’d done—until a glee-filled voice broke his concentration.

“Well, well, I must say that Eugeo’s training always surprises me with its strangeness.”

The tip of his sword slipped and landed awkwardly, delivering a nasty shock to his wrists the way it did when he failed to land a clean blow on the Gigas Cedar with his ax.

Eugeo was in the corner of the spacious training hall, while Raios and Humbert were in the middle, so it was no accident that he had overheard the comment so clearly. He’d heard every kind of snarky insult under the sun from them, and it ashamed him to admit that they were still effective. He resumed his exercise, chiding himself to ignore them.

“Eugeo does that each and every night, but I wonder what meaning there can be in simple, dull swinging, without any techniques or forms, Humbert.”

“I profess that I wonder the same thing, Raios.” They mocked within earshot, chuckling to themselves.

Eugeo did not react physically, but inside his head he retorted, You seem suspiciously bolder when Kirito isn’t around, Raios.

For some reason, for the last two months, Raios’s and Humbert’s provocations were totally absent when Kirito was with Eugeo. Instead, they doubled their spite when Eugeo was alone, but the circumstances indicated that it was more out of distaste for Kirito than weakness in Eugeo.

Something must have happened between Kirito and the nobles at the end of their primary year, but Kirito never elaborated on it more than that it was “a little tiff,” and Eugeo certainly wasn’t going to ask Raios. The only detail that seemed relevant was how after the graduation ceremony, when Kirito presented Sortiliena with a pot of rare blue flowers, Raios and Humbert had been visibly pale when they saw it. Eugeo didn’t know what that meant, though.

At any rate, he wasn’t going to complain about the fact that Kirito’s presence made the noble sons behave. On the other hand, he was an elite disciple now and couldn’t hide in the shadow of his partner forever.

In the middle of June next month would be the first testing matches of the school year. The final ranking would be just before graduation, but if Raios and Humbert showed total superiority in the first head-to-head, it didn’t bode well for his future chances. The way that Sortiliena had finally overcome the superior Volo Levantein at the last possible chance simply did not happen, Golgorosso explained, strangely pleased for an outcome that didn’t affect him.

Like Volo, the current first and second seats—Raios and Humbert—had lifelong training in the High-Norkia style of swordsmanship. Their personalities were devoid of any inspirational qualities, but their skill with the blade was head and shoulders above the other nobles. With less than a month to go to the first match, Eugeo had to admit he didn’t know what he could do to overcome the challenge they posed.

But at the very least, I can tell myself that you haven’t swung your weapon more than I have, he insisted silently, finishing off the four hundred strikes.

He stood up straight, grabbed a towel from his waist, and wiped down the wooden blade, followed by the sweat glistening on his forehead and neck. Eugeo looked back and saw that the two men were still standing in the center of the hall, instructing each other on their forms.

As he faced forward again and exhaled, the Bells of Time-Tolling hanging from the tower of the main school building played the melody for six o’clock—the exact same melody that had played at the church back home. As opposed to the highly regimented primary trainee dorm, the elite disciples were given plenty of leeway to determine their own schedules, and Eugeo was allowed to eat dinner at any time between six and eight o’clock. He could’ve kept practicing if he wanted, but Kirito was busy studying, and Eugeo had to bring him some food.

Speaking of which, Kirito never specified the dish he wanted. If they’re serving those pickled knobblemelons he hates so much, I’ll get him extra.

He put the hand towel and wooden sword back in their spots along his waist, then headed for the exit when he heard Raios and Humbert talking as they hung up their swords.

“My word, Disciple Eugeo merely struck the log and didn’t bother to practice his forms.”

Humbert picked up where he’d left off. “From what I hear, Eugeo was a woodcutter at some miserable rural village. Perhaps the only techniques he knows are meant for logs.”

“Well said! As fellow students under the same roof, I suppose it behooves us to at least teach him a proper form.”

“Why, Raios, your dedication and generosity are the very image of a nobleman!”

The well-rehearsed farce nearly made Eugeo groan aloud, but he held it in and kept walking.

Then Humbert spoke to him directly. “What do you say, Eugeo? Why don’t you take Raios up on his magnanimous offer? You’ll never get such a deal again.”

Now there was no way to ignore them. If they addressed him directly and he intentionally ignored it, that would be considered impolite. Elite disciples had the right to perform disciplinary punishment on other students, but only to regular primary and secondary trainees. However, this was an unspoken rule and not an explicit one, so it was possible that they might force Eugeo to undergo punishment, too.

He was going to murmur, “No need to go to such lengths for me” and continue on his way, but then a different thought occurred to him: What if this was actually a golden opportunity?

Raios and Humbert were first- and second-seat disciples—the best and second-best swordsmen at the academy. Kirito constantly reminded Eugeo not to underestimate them, and he did not believe he was.

But there was something about the nobles’ strength being rooted in their self-importance that Eugeo could not accept. Their pride in their noble birth, their derision toward students born from common stock or lesser noble houses, their mockery: Was it right that these things could be giving them strength? If he accepted it as truth, wouldn’t he be defiling the lessons of respect and love that Sister Azalia, Elder Gasfut, and his old friend Alice had taught him?

Despite the looks of disdain he was getting, Eugeo summoned the minimum of respect—if not love—for Raios and Humbert that he could. But if that attitude was serving only to amplify their pride and self-esteem, and thus strengthen them, what was the point of it? It would be empty.

On the other hand, he was determined not to follow their example and choose a life of insults and mockery…but he had to know before the testing match next month. What was the true nature of this strength born of self-image? Now that they were offering a “lesson,” this might be his best chance to find out.

Eugeo had to admit to himself that this was exactly the sort of thing Kirito would come up with. He opened his mouth and said, “You’re right…I won’t get another chance for this. I gratefully accept your offer and tutelage.”

Raios’s and Humbert’s eyebrows shot up. They hadn’t expected that response, but their lips soon curled into sneers. Humbert spread his hands wide and shrieked, “Ha-ha, of course, of course! Then go ahead and demonstrate your form to us. Let’s start with an easy one, such as the Third Form of Flames…”

“No, Second Seat Zizek,” Eugeo said, raising his hand and choosing his words carefully. “I would hate to waste your valuable tutoring opportunity on a simple form appraisal. I would prefer to receive your blade instruction directly.”

“…What?”

The smile faded from Humbert’s face. It was replaced by doubt, suspicion as to Eugeo’s motive, and the cruelty of a predator toying with its prey.

“Direct…instruction, you say? Should I take that to mean you wish for me to hit you directly, Disciple Eugeo?”

“I would prefer the stop-short method, of course, but I am the one asking for a lesson. It is not my place to dictate the terms.”

“Aha, I see, I see. So a first-strike duel would be agreeable, then.”

Humbert’s slicked-back gray hair seemed to stand on end just a little bit. His already narrow eyes were down to slits now, and their gaze was vicious. Sadistic enjoyment had won out over suspicion at Eugeo’s suddenly agreeable manner.

“As the second seat of the academy and a fourth-rank noble, you might say it is my duty to respond when my tutelage is sought. Very well, Disciple Eugeo—I shall demonstrate my style to you.”

He promptly yanked his wooden sword from his waist with unnecessary flair. It was made of the same platinum oak as Eugeo’s, but his had fine patterns carved into the sides. Next to Humbert, Raios started to say something, but he reconsidered and clamped his mouth shut. He smiled easily, retreated three mels, and nodded to Humbert when he turned back to look.

Emboldened by the approval of his partner, Humbert pointed his blade straight at Eugeo, who was standing still with his arms at his sides, and shouted, “Here I come! Feel the full might of the High-Norkia style!”

He spread his legs front and rear and pulled the sword back with his right hand until it rested upon his shoulder. This was the stance for Lightning Slash, the ultimate attack of the Norkia sword style. Oddly, it wasn’t Mountain-Splitting Wave, which was the corresponding attack for the actual High-Norkia style he mentioned. Surely he hadn’t held back out of concern for Eugeo—he was probably just hesitant to show off his best moves.

Still, Lightning Slash was not an attack to be overlooked. Even a dull wooden sword could knock you unconscious and wipe out half your life if it struck your skull. It was a terrible taboo to decrease the life of others, of course, but in a consensual duel, the first blow was essentially free. And Humbert obviously had no intention of holding back.

The second seat’s decorated practice sword glowed blue, an impressively short period between pose and activation. But Eugeo could completely predict the trajectory the blade would follow; Lightning Slash was identical to Vertical, one of the many secret skills of the Aincrad style.

“Sheyaah!!” Humbert screeched. His sword bolted.

But Eugeo was already on the move. He drew his sword from the left, paused, and activated an attack of his own—he would receive the overhead smash with an upward diagonal slice, the Aincrad style’s Slant.

Strangely, all the attacks Kirito had taught him were not in the common language but the strange and foreign sacred tongue. Even Kirito didn’t know why. It probably had something to do with his missing memories from before he appeared in Rulid as a “lost child of Vecta,” so it was a very lucky thing that he hadn’t forgotten the skills themselves.

Like Lightning Slash, Slant was a one-part skill, but its versatility lay in how it was effectively bidirectional: you could swing it from upper right to lower left or from lower left to upper right. In the latter case, the stance allowed him to draw and activate directly from his left hip, which drastically shortened the time required.

Normally, if one waited for the opponent to start a skill attack before reacting, the only choice would be to leap out of the way—and even that rarely worked. But Eugeo timed his Slant to start just after Humbert’s, the sword leaving a blue trail in the air as it swept upward to smash against the Lightning Slash. The resulting light and sound were nothing like one would expect from pieces of wood.

“Whoa…” Humbert grunted. The surprise on his face gave way to anger, and he pressed down hard. The dark- and light-blue glows infusing the swords were still active. As soon as one of them got pushed back a few cens, the attack would conclude and give way to the other. Eugeo tensed his legs, willing his sword to stay put and swing through.

The wood creaked and cracked, and Humbert’s sword gave way slightly. The dark-blue glow of Lightning Slash flickered, suggesting its imminent demise.

I knew it—in a simple competition of strength, I’m superior!

He’d expected this, but seeing the proof in action strengthened Eugeo’s resolve. He couldn’t match the nobles’ precise image control, which extended down to the very angle of their fingers and toes, but he knew that swinging that heavy ax two thousand times a day in the forest gave him physical strength. Even Golgorosso, with his steel-like muscles, said that Eugeo was “slight but well trained.”

Some of the nobles trained in the High-Norkia style liked to label common-born Golgorosso’s Baltio style as rural swordsmanship from the sticks, but in a proper duel—not the practiced beauty of form demonstrations—arm strength was a formidable weapon on its own. And Kirito’s free-flowing Aincrad style gave Eugeo the flexibility to lock blades in any circumstance.

Even if I don’t yet have that “something” I can imbue my sword with, the technique and strength I’ve built up are enough to match any noble’s! Eugeo told himself, summoning all the muscle he could.

But at just that moment, Humbert’s expression swiftly morphed into one of rage. “Don’t get…cocky!”

His eyes and brows shot up as far as they would go, and a metallic screech escaped between his clenched, bared teeth. Suddenly, the nearly faded blue light pulsed back, dark and ugly.

This time, it was Eugeo’s blade that creaked. The weight on his right arm doubled, and fierce pain shot through his wrist and shoulder. The two cens of advantage he’d held slipped away until their positioning in the clash was where it started.

Where is this strength coming from?! Eugeo wondered, just barely holding his ground. Humbert couldn’t have this kind of physical strength, not with the way he always preened and practiced his forms without ever breaking a real sweat. So if it wasn’t physical might…it had to be the “strength of self-image” that Kirito talked about. Apparently, his point of view that he was naturally superior to others was powerful enough to overcome all of Eugeo’s steady discipline.

He couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t bring himself to believe that Stacia, goddess of creation, would implement this law of the universe.

Just then, Humbert’s hair bristled, and he hissed, “Did you really think you could break me with that cheap sneak attack?”

“Ch-cheap…?”

“Of course it is. You pretended you would let yourself get hit, then pulled out that technique without any form or stance at all. If that’s not cheap, what is?”

“N-no! That’s just part and parcel of my style…the Aincrad style!” Eugeo shot back without thinking. If the High-Norkia style placed emphasis on the power and visual of the technique, then the Aincrad style was a practical one that prioritized landing the blow above all else. Of course its skills launched quicker, as it had combination attacks that the other sword schools did not.

The concept of the Aincrad style was exemplified by the life of Kirito, its only adherent. Never bragging, never for show, simply moving headlong toward the goal. Hit a wall and bounce back, again and again. If it weren’t for him, Eugeo would never have even reached Zakkaria, much less Centoria.

So Eugeo’s reaction to Humbert’s assessment of the style was instantaneous. However, the mental response rebounded into his physical body, such that his sword weakened a bit. This time, it was the pale-blue glow surrounding Eugeo’s blade that flickered. He spread his legs, bent back his upper half, and desperately stood his ground.

Humbert leered. In a voice like fingers scraping glass, he jeered, “The miserable cheapness of your style is apparent from your predicament. Perhaps you thought you’d take over Raios’s position or mine in the next testing matches…Well, think again. I’m going to shatter your shoulder so that you won’t swing a sword for a good long while.”

“Rrgh…!”

He gritted his teeth, but Humbert’s sword only got heavier. Even when it met resistance, a sword technique could hold its power for quite a while as long as it was still located in the original path, but the direct vertical pressure of Humbert’s Lightning Slash was pushing him away from the proper trajectory. One more cen—five milices, even—would spell the end of his Slant and doom him to that shoulder wound.

The Swordcraft Academy had an excellent medical facility, of course, replete with healing herbs and an attendant healer with expert knowledge of sacred arts. But there was a limit to what they could do, and unless they used a dangerous art like pouring one’s life directly into that of the injured, there was no way to instantly heal a broken bone, for example. If he suffered such a wound now, he wouldn’t be able to participate in next month’s testing match…

How stupid am I? What swordsman fears injury?!

Eugeo dismissed the fear creeping into his heart and focused his mind on his sword.

He could have chosen to ignore the taunts. It had been his idea to make it a duel. Now he was in danger of losing, rattled by the opponent’s words—how pathetic could he get? He had drawn his blade; after that, he could only use his skill and strength to his best efforts and accept the consequences. That was the mentality of the Aincrad style.

And I still haven’t given him everything I’ve got.

He focused not on Humbert’s sadistic grin but on the wooden sword gripped in his right hand. The firmness and weight of the oak, its curve and grain registered in his arm—he could even feel the faint vibration of the Slant’s dying power.

Make yourself one with the sword, his friend and teacher, Kirito, would always say.

Eugeo couldn’t manage that yet, but thanks to his everyday practice, he could on very rare occasions hear what seemed like the voice of the sword. A voice that said, Not that way, move like this instead.

This was one of those moments.

If he continued to receive the overhand swing from below, he would inevitably be overpowered. A change in technique was needed.

“…Rah!” Eugeo bellowed, a rarity for him. He flicked his wrist, catching Humbert’s sword on the right flat of his own. That action ended his Slant, giving the Lightning Slash a free path toward his right shoulder, roaring bluish-black as it descended.

In one smooth motion, Eugeo slid his sword back atop his shoulder. Immediately, that triggered the Aincrad style’s Vertical.

Humbert’s blade caught the right sleeve of the practice jacket, tearing several cens of the dark-blue fabric.

Suddenly, Eugeo’s sword flashed a brilliant blue again and rocketed back against Humbert with tremendous force.

“Nwah!”

His eyes went wide at this unexpected response. Humbert and Raios knew about the Aincrad style’s combination attacks by now, but they wouldn’t have predicted that they could chain one ultimate attack with another. Even Eugeo hadn’t known about the possibility; he simply moved as his body willed.

Humbert’s sword shot back over fifty cens, the light of the Lightning Slash fading promptly. He lost his balance, and his feet came off the floor.

But fortunately for him—and perhaps for Eugeo—by not staying firm and suffering a blow to the left shoulder, Humbert himself was launched through the air and flew over three mels backward.

A fall would certainly end the duel in Eugeo’s favor, but to Humbert’s stubborn credit, he managed to land on his feet and avoid toppling. He leaned as far as he possibly could, just to keep his balance.

Eugeo knew that if he followed up, he could easily land a blow, but before he could regain his footing, a crisp voice filled the training hall.

“That is enough. We will consider this a draw,” said Raios Antinous theatrically, a smile playing on his red lips.

Humbert stood up straight again and shouted, “B-but, Raios! I…I would never draw with this bumpkin of a—!”

“Humbert,” the first seat reprimanded softly. The other youth abruptly bowed his head. He transferred his sword to his left side and raised his right fist to his chest—the knight’s salute—then turned on his heel without waiting for Eugeo’s response.

From Humbert’s left, Raios glanced at him with that wan smile and made a show of applauding. “Your bizarre techniques were quite entertaining, Disciple Eugeo. Perhaps you should consider petitioning the Imperial Circus for a new calling after graduation.”

“…Your advice is appreciated, Disciple Antinous,” Eugeo replied, intentionally omitting the “first seat” title, but Raios merely nodded amiably and turned for the exit. Humbert followed him, glaring at Eugeo for all he was worth.

Raios’s soft leather practice shoes squeaked on the polished floor as he walked. But just as he passed Eugeo in the center of the hall, he paused and murmured, “Next time, I’ll show you the might of a noble house.”

“…Nothing stopping you from doing it now,” Eugeo retorted, but in truth, he was exhausted after his four hundred swings and the impromptu duel.

Raios merely smirked and continued walking, only to utter an even quieter, “Waving your sword around is not all there is to battle, you nameless buffoon.”

The first seat continued on his way with a chuckle, followed by the furious Humbert, who passed without comment. Eventually, Eugeo heard the door open and close behind him.

Amid the fresh silence, Eugeo breathed long and deep.

A strength based on a noble’s regard for himself. In his first experience face-to-face with it, Eugeo found that it was much heavier than he expected. If he’d stuck to his Slant, he would have failed and ended up with a broken bone in his shoulder. Part of it was the disadvantage of blocking an overhead strike from below, but that wasn’t all of it. Humbert’s disdain and mockery of Eugeo’s class was like a curse that bound his blade and limbs.

The Aincrad style’s flexibility in producing ultimate techniques from various stances got him out of trouble this time, but tricks and sneakiness weren’t going to help him through all of the upcoming test matches throughout the year. There would come times when he needed to win head-on through sheer strength.

Eugeo had to find something by then. Something he could put into his blade that could counteract the boundless self-confidence that Humbert and Raios wielded.

He lifted the practice sword and traced the wood that he’d treated to such abuse.

“…Thanks. Hope you’ll help me out next time, too.”

Then he put it back on his waist and started walking, just as the bells chimed a quick count for six thirty. Kirito was bound to be getting hungry during his cram session back at the room. Eugeo crossed the pale floorboards, gave the empty training hall a brief salute, then headed for the cafeteria.

After a short hallway, he was back in the elite disciple dorm. There were no private rooms on the first floor, which was reserved for the bathing hall, the cafeteria, and meeting rooms.

In the primary trainee dorm, meals were at fixed times with preplanned daily menus, but the disciples had much more freedom in both regards. The mess hall was open from six to eight, and the cook there would prepare any of a number of rotating dishes to the students’ needs. Not only that, you could eat it there or take it back to your room if you wanted.

Fortunately, Raios and Humbert must have gone into the bath, as the cafeteria was empty. Eugeo walked up to the kitchen counter and checked the day’s menu. The choices for main dish were roast mutton, fried fish, and boiled chicken dumplings.

Let’s see…He’d want the dumplings, a big serving of cheesy vegetables, the pickled ori nuts, and some ice-cold siral water.

Disgruntled that he somehow knew his partner well enough to identify his ideal meal out of the possible choices, Eugeo leaned over the counter to shout into the back.

“Good evening! I’d like two servings to go. For the first one, I’ll have…”