Chapter 10

Chapter One: The Story Starts to Come off the Rails

M Y NAME IS ALFRED DEEG.

I once served as vice-captain of the Royal Knights, but that’s all in the past now. I retired long ago and now work under Marquis Gilbert as his family butler. With each passing day, it only becomes clearer to me: I made a terrible decision when I took this job. I should have quit years ago.

I hate these damn nobles. I’m fundamentally not cut out for this type of work.

So why am I doing it in the first place? Well, I guess you could say I’ve got a debt of gratitude. There’s another terrible mistake I made—a much worse one, on the battlefield. I gave an order that sent a great many men to their deaths. I still see them when I close my eyes… The faces of my dead comrades haunt my dreams. After the battle, my captain told me it wasn’t my fault, that there was nothing I could have done. Regardless, I could never forgive myself. That’s why I quit.

I was then asked to work as an instructor for the Royal Knights, but I balked at the idea. An incompetent fool who lets his men die has no right to be training more.

Because I refused to take that job, I was without any means of supporting myself until the previous head of the Gilbert house took me in. He was an eccentric. I was born a commoner and spoke brashly with no hint of the formality required, but he taught me how to behave among the upper class. I hated nobles and aristocrats even then, and he softened those views just a little. He was a good man, but he was the exception to the rule. The current generation of Gilberts sneers and looks down upon their fellow man, deeming them worthless simply due to the circumstances of their birth. Quite a normal outlook on life for a family of aristocrats, I suppose.

To be fair, the Gilberts are at least marginally better than the other houses. They’ve managed to keep their hands cleaner. For both better and worse, they see themselves as being above the evil deeds perpetrated by many of their peers.

I’m not well suited to this work, but I have learned the trick to it. The secret is to completely disconnect your mind from your body—to be indifferent. Prevent yourself from caring about any of it. That’s all. That’s how I’ve done it all this time. That’s how I planned to continue to do it indefinitely, until…

“Teaaa…”

Luke Witharia Gilbert, young heir to the house of Gilbert, stood before me. I watched in complete bafflement as he struggled to scream his way through a sentence.

From what the maids say, this one can do whatever he puts his mind to without breaking a sweat. He’s unusually sharp, I’ll grant him that. I can’t bring myself to like the kid. I don’t like the way he looks at people… The disdain he’s got for everything in the world around him. There’s something about the look in his eyes today. It’s different somehow. He’s fighting some internal struggle, clearly. I can’t help feeling like I should at least try to understand him. I might hate aristocrats, but I’ll never forget the debt of gratitude I owe this family. Besides, something strange is going on here, and I can’t just shrug that off. I had to respond.

“What is the matter, Master Luke? Ah, are you feeling unwell?”

“No!”

No? Then what’s the matter with him? The previous head prepared me to deal with most situations as a butler, but he could not have anticipated this one. What’s wrong with this boy? He’s never once even looked me in the eyes to speak with me before. He doesn’t even consider me human. This brat’s the epitome of all the things I hate about aristocrats.

Still, at this moment, watching him try his hardest to convey something besides contempt, I can’t help but feel some small amount of affection. That’s not saying much, I suppose, but that’s just how incredibly low my opinion of the boy has been up until this point.

“I…order you t-to…t-teach me the…sword!”

What did he just say to me?

The boy must be joking. These aristocrats typically despise the art of sword fighting unless they themselves are descended from a knightly lineage. The house of Gilbert is no exception. He should consider it to be a foolish game played by incompetents who are unable to use magic… And yet he wants me to teach him?

“…Excuse me? What did you say, Master Luke?”

The words came almost reflexively. My brain tried to reject what I heard on account of how ridiculous it was. For just a moment, though, I could have sworn I saw the kid pull a face as if the whole world was coming to an end.

But that can’t be right, can it?

“T-teach me….the s-sword…!”

“My apologies. I am old and doubted my own hearing for a moment.”

“Hoo… Right.”

Apparently, my ears did not deceive me, but this still doesn’t make any sense. He’s exhausted and breathing heavily. Why’s he screaming every word as if it hurts him to speak? I took a moment to consider his request.

He must be underestimating the sword. It ain’t the kind of thing you can pick up in a day, kid.

It’s not like studying magic; you don’t get to sit at a fancy desk and flip through your little textbooks. To learn what I have to teach you, you’re gonna have to get outside and physically train. You’re gonna come home caked in mud, day after day. Your parents won’t ever allow that to happen. They’ll say the training regimen is too brutal, and I’ll be the one that gets blamed when it goes wrong.

There’s no way he’s serious about this. This is one of those passing fancies rich folks have. He’ll give up the moment he starts to tire of it or it gets too hard.

I had reached a conclusion.

“Understood. If you consider me worthy of the task, then I will serve as your instructor, Master Luke.”

Back then, that’s really all I thought of his demand.

The next morning, the kid showed up to training as promised. Unfortunately , I thought with some bitterness. I was sure he’d flake out, and I’d be off the hook, but I guess I’ll actually have to teach him something. What a pain in the damn neck. I handed the brat a sword—a replica, of course. I sure as heck couldn’t have him getting injured on my watch. I had spoken to the master about this yesterday, and though he granted his permission, he was clearly displeased.

“Right, then. Let’s begin with form. Follow my lead and swing your sword as I do.”

Few students of the sword enjoyed learning about form because, simply put, form was boring. All must familiarize themselves with the basics of it at some point, but it’s certainly not the fun part. Had I been serious about taking him on as my student, I’d have started with some practical techniques to keep his interest and then worked on refining his form later. I didn’t really care, though. My goal was to prove to this brat how boring training could be and get it over with .

“Th-th-th—ah, I-I mean,” he spluttered. He took a few deep breaths before trying again. “Ha… H-hurry it up.”

What’s the matter with him? He should be listening to my instructions, not ordering me around. Hmph. He’s been pretty emotionally unstable since yesterday.

Well, if I have to do this, I’ll do it right. First things first, I should see what he’s made of , so let’s just get this over with. “Then let’s begin.”

A few strikes later, I could not ignore his potential. As much as it pained me to admit it, that’s all it took for me to realize how exceptional he was.

It’s not as simple as just brandishing a sword around. A good strike is the result of many details: your footwork, the way you shift your weight, your stance, timing, breathing… A seasoned swordsman has acquired all of these skills. An amateur doesn’t realize their importance, and so their attempts are unreliable. But this kid gave me a real, decent swing after watching a single demonstration.

Beginner’s luck, maybe?

I was so instinctively sure of his talents, yet I did everything in my power to deny them…until finally, the moment came that I could no longer pretend not to see his true nature.

Monster.

The word came to me unbidden, creeping in the back of my mind.

“Master Luke. Excuse my asking, but have you practiced with the sword before?”

I knew the answer was surely “no.” There was no way. I attended to him as his butler from dawn until dusk. When would he have gained sword fighting experience? But I had to ask just to be sure. How else could I try to understand the inexplicable?

“…What, I look like I have experience?”

Those words were all I received in answer, delivered with a look of utter disdain. I no longer cared about his demeanor or disrespect, though. “Right, never mind. Continue, Master Luke.” I managed to quell my unsettled emotions and continue the training.

Seems like when humans are confronted by stuff we don’t understand, our natural immediate response is fear, eh? I could never win a single battle against my captain, but I never feared her… Yet I find myself afraid of a boy who first took up the sword mere minutes ago.

His movements continued to grow more refined with each swing, his technique maturing at a frankly terrifying, violent pace. It would take years of dedicated effort for most people to reach this position, and for him, it was simply the starting line. It can’t be. This just ain’t possible. I had intended to train him in his form for several minutes, but we soon approached an hour of practice. It was at that point that I finally witnessed the swing—the one that truly blew me away.

Huh? How? That was even better than one of mine…

It wasn’t as if I’d gotten rusty either. I served as the boy’s butler, yes, but also his bodyguard, and I could scarcely remember the last day I didn’t hold a sword in my hand. What’s this boy’s deal?

That thought triggered a vague memory, something that I’d overheard the maids talking about.

“Master Luke is incredibly talented; he can learn anything in no time at all! He must be a genius.”

No, I thought as I watched him. That ain’t it. Cheap words like “talent” don’t do it justice.

Monster. Freak. Aberration.

Those words suit him better.

“Master Luke, that will be enough for today.”

“What? We’re done already?”

“Today was your first time even holding a sword, Master Luke,” I said. “Let’s take it one step at a time. There is no need to rush things.”

“I see. I suppose that makes sense.”

I escorted Luke back to his room before heading off to meet with his father. I could not help but hurry a little and suppress a smile as I went.

“Two, three years… That’s all it’ll take for him to surpass me…”

I suppose I must have a really unsettling grin on my face, but how can I keep from smiling? Despite everything, I’m the former vice-captain of the Royal Knights. I was the second-best swordsman in the whole kingdom, you know? At his age, I had nothing but my sword in my hand. I’ve held one for as long as I can remember. I already know this kid’s going to surpass me. From seeing just that one swing, I can tell.

“Ha! Freakin’ incredible,” I muttered under my breath.

I can’t even envy him. He’s so overwhelmingly talented, set so far apart from everyone else, that feelings like envy are simply not relevant. This boy was born to wield that blade, and I want to see how far he can go.

Fierce emotions welled up inside of me. I was overwhelmed—no, enchanted. I was utterly entranced by his talents, the very embodiment of devilish irrationality.

I knocked at the door eagerly.

“Master, might I trouble you for a word?”

“Enter.”

I didn’t know where to begin to explain or how to make my request. But it didn’t matter. I was ready to beg on my hands and knees for this opportunity.

Please allow me to instruct Master Luke in the art of sword fighting!

***

It’s been roughly one year since I first asked Alfred-san to teach me to fight. I had intended to begin studying magic too, but I didn’t want to spread myself too thin. I should probably keep focusing on one thing at a time until I reach a point I’m happy with, then move to the next thing.

…Oh, what am I saying? I freaking love sword training!

It’s sort of hard to explain what’s so great about it, but it’s just so much fun. I always work up a good sweat, and I’ve been sleeping really well. Plus, the more I train, the more I can feel and see the improvement, and that feeling sure is addictive. I haven’t managed to beat Alfred-san in a single practice fight yet, though. Every time he wins, I have to fight off this unbearable sense of shame at having lost to him, a mere butler. Sometimes that frustration overflows into words of abuse directed at Alfred-san or at myself. It’s happened once or twice… Okay, several times.

…But all that said, I’m still enjoying every moment of this training. The human heart really is a fickle thing. I think it’s also good for me to experience these feelings early on in life. I’m learning that I can be defeated, and how to pick myself up again. That’ll make a big difference in how I…I mean, how “Luke” turns out. Anyway, of course I’m losing to him. Most people would—he’s the former vice-captain of the Royal Knights, after all. I lost again today, but why do I feel so angry about it? It’s weird. Then there’s also the fact that… How do I put this…? Alfred-san seems to be taking this a bit too seriously. I’ve only been at this for a year or so. Couldn’t he go a little easier on me?

“In a single year, Master Luke, you have acquired almost all of the fundamentals of swordsmanship. That is not all, you… No. It’s nothing.”

Huh, what’s this all of a sudden?

Alfred looked up at the sky. He seemed pensive, but I couldn’t tell what he might be thinking about. Or maybe he wasn’t pondering anything but struggling with whether to let go of something. His expression was ambiguous, but when he turned his attention back to me, it seemed he’d reached a conclusion of some sort.

“I served as vice-captain of the Royal Knights…”

“Oh wow, thanks for telling me. Like I didn’t know that already.”

I tried to be polite, but that was the best I could manage, huh…?

“I stood on countless battlefields in my time and took many lives.”

I struggled to digest his words. I could feel the cogs in my brain spinning in an attempt to comprehend what he was trying to say and why.

What’s this all of a sudden? Why does he want to talk about this now? I want to understand, though… I mean, he’s my mentor. I owe him more than I could ever hope to repay.

“A sword is simply a tool, Master Luke,” he began again. “A tool for taking the lives of others, but a tool nonetheless. Its morality is entrusted to the heart of its wielder. Whether it is used for good or evil…that’s entirely up to you. Please, never forget that, Master Luke.”

With those words, Alfred lowered his head to the ground.

I don’t know why he’s talking about this… I really don’t. What should I say? I should start by thanking him for training me this past year, I suppose, but I can’t. The arrogant will of Luke would never let me get the words out. After a whole year, I know that well enough.

“And yet,” Alfred continued, as if to fill the lull in the conversation, “whichever you choose, I want to see what you’ll do, Master Luke!” he exclaimed, his demeanor flipping in an instant. “For good or for evil, I cannot help but wish to bear witness! Ah, this is no good. This is one desire I fear that I’m completely helpless to resist!”

“Huh?!”

What’s wrong, Alfred-san?! You’ve got a really weird look in your eyes! What happened to the gentleman from a few seconds ago?! Is this all because I put in some effort? What kind of route has this choice put me on?!

“And so, in our next training session, I will teach you how to take a life. The techniques I will show you are far from the time-honored traditional swordsmanship of this kingdom,” he continued excitedly. “They’re tricks I learned on the battlefield, surrounded by death. I cannot promise that they are all honorable, but I do guarantee this: In times when victory is key, they will save you from defeat.”

Alfred sighed. “You know, ideally, I’d like to take you to a real battlefield, so that you might taste the atmosphere in person… But I am most certain that your father would never allow it.”