Eric grinned.
"Young Master Lance seems to be in high spirits today. It's rare to see you practicing swordsmanship. How about I practice with you?"
"My father always says that training alone behind closed doors makes it hard to notice your own weaknesses. Only after sparring with someone else do you discover that the swordsmanship you were proud of is actually full of openings."
The blond youth glanced toward the others, whether deliberately or not, then puffed out his chest and looked at Lance with open provocation.
For years, everyone in the castle had regarded the viscount's second son as useless. Viscountess Nancy had deliberately encouraged that reputation until nearly everyone accepted it as fact.
A week earlier, Amman had personally acknowledged Lance's talent for magic, forcing many people in the castle to reconsider him. But wizardry was too distant from ordinary life. They could neither see nor touch it. Legends of wizards inspired fear and awe, but compared with the obvious, physical strength displayed through swordsmanship, magic still felt vague and unreal to most people.
Worse, rumors had recently begun circulating through the castle. According to the gossip, Lance had no magical talent at all. Amman had supposedly claimed that Lance successfully drew a spell rune only because of some hidden arrangement.
If Viscount Lane had been present, such rumors would have been crushed immediately.
Unfortunately, both Lane and Griffin had gone north to the Red River Plain. Viscountess Nancy was the one managing the castle in their absence, allowing the rumors to spread unchecked.
Combined with Lance's long-standing reputation, many people had begun to believe that the second young master had somehow bribed the old wizard to deceive the viscount and was still every bit as useless as before.
Eric was among them.
As the son of the castle patrol captain, Eric's position was already quite high. Apart from the viscount's family, few people in the castle outranked him. Among the young people he spent time with, he was naturally treated as their leader.
He was proud by nature and genuinely talented with the sword. Under Ola's instruction, he had developed considerable skill despite his young age, which only made him more arrogant.
If it were someone strong like Young Master Griffin, I'd gladly serve him.
But Lance is trash. Why should a genius like me ever have to bow to him?
Why?
Eric held his head high and stared at Lance.
Then a voice suddenly came from the crowd.
"No!"
A pretty girl with a flushed face awkwardly emerged from behind the boys. Her clothes were dirty, and to Lance's surprise, she was carrying a wooden sword of her own.
"Brother Lance, your body is weak. Don't spar with Eric. He's very strong."
Irene looked at him anxiously.
Lance had noticed his younger sister hiding in the group from the beginning, but he deliberately put on a surprised expression.
"Irene? Why are you with them?"
As the viscount's adopted daughter, openly mixing with a group of boys far below her social status was not exactly something people would consider proper behavior.
Irene's face turned even redder, and she had no idea how to answer.
Eric spoke first.
"Young Master Lance, Miss Irene merely came to find us about something. But what she said is right. Your health is poor, and sword training probably doesn't suit you. You should hurry back inside the castle before the sea wind gives you a cold."
He looked at Lance smugly after speaking.
The other youths did not dare mock Lance aloud, but the schadenfreude on their faces was obvious.
"Eric, where I choose to go is none of your business," Lance said slowly.
Then his tone abruptly sharpened.
"Someone beneath a noble should understand his position. Your father swore loyalty to my father. One day, you will swear loyalty to me as well. I am the master and you are the servant. A servant speaking to his master should know his limits."
Lance's gaze hardened.
"I didn't like your tone just now."
"Apologize."
Everyone froze.
No one had expected the normally timid, weak-willed Lance to speak with such force.
Eric's face flushed crimson.
He was an extraordinarily proud person, yet he had just been humiliated by the young master everyone in the castle regarded as worthless.
Worse still, it had happened in front of Irene, the girl he liked.
It was almost unbearable.
Fortunately, Eric retained enough reason to understand the situation. The viscount might not be inside the castle, but Lance was correct about their relative status. Eric's father served Lane, and Eric himself was no noble.
If he openly defied Lance, the castle patrol would immediately have to restrain him. Once the viscount returned and learned that someone had insulted his son, Eric might even drag his father into the consequences.
Grinding his teeth, Eric lowered his head.
"My apologies, Young Master Lance."
The apology did nothing to lessen the hatred in his eyes.
Irene looked worriedly at Lance and tugged at his hand.
"Brother Lance, that's enough. Eric didn't mean it. Let's go back."
Lance ignored her and instead looked at Eric with a faintly teasing expression.
"I've heard you're good with a sword."
Eric answered stiffly, "I'm all right."
"Good."
Lance smiled and pointed at him.
"Eric, son of Ola. I now order you to spar with me."
"What?!"
Irene stared at him in shock and hurriedly pulled at his sleeve.
"Brother Lance, Eric is really good at swordsmanship! You barely know how to use a sword at all!"
"Don't fight him. Let's go back, all right?"
The others were equally startled. They had known Lance for years and had never seen him act this confident.
'But where could that confidence possibly come from?'
He was still thin and frail-looking.
"Well... Young Master Lance does look a little stronger than before," one observant boy muttered.
Lance's arms had indeed thickened somewhat, but beside the tall, powerfully built Eric, the difference was still enormous.
Eric was seventeen and already almost as large and strong as his father. He had trained in swordsmanship for more than eight years, and only a few members of the castle patrol were better than him.
To everyone watching, Lance challenging Eric could end only one way.
Badly.
Eric, on the other hand, was delighted.
He had been looking for somewhere to vent his anger, and now Lance had practically offered himself up for a beating.
Eric agreed immediately.
"Fine, Young Master Lance. Let's begin."
He sprang into the training ground, snatched up a wooden sword, and took a textbook stance.
He did not dare use a real blade. Lance was still the viscount's son. If anything truly serious happened, Eric would pay dearly for it.
A wooden sword, however, was enough to humiliate him. A few bruises could always be dismissed as accidental injuries from a sparring match.
'Damn him. He actually called me his servant.'
A vicious glint flashed through Eric's eyes.
How could someone as talented as me ever be servant to a useless fool like him?
I'll teach him a lesson.
"Brother Lance, don't do this," Irene said anxiously.
Lance smiled, shook his head, and gently motioned for her to let go. Then he walked out to face Eric.
"Before we spar, I have one rule," Lance said.
"What rule?"
"We use only basic swordsmanship."
Lance looked at Eric and added plainly, "Because that's the only kind I know."
Eric almost burst out laughing.
'He only knows basic swordsmanship and he still dares challenge me?'
Young Master Lance isn't merely useless. He's an idiot.
'Even if I restrict myself to basic swordsmanship, my physical strength alone is enough to crush him.'
Outwardly, Eric readily agreed.
"Of course. Basic swordsmanship only. Nothing else."
Lance nodded, raised his wooden sword into a simple guard, and said, "Come."
The last word had barely left his mouth when Eric charged.
'Just how badly does this guy want to beat me?'
Lance almost laughed.
He stepped back half a pace and blocked.
Success.
The six basic movements were already deeply ingrained in him. With Fox's assistance, Lance's technique was now almost identical to Poirot's. Poirot's motions were the most standardized in the entire castle patrol, which was one reason he was so formidable.
Thud! Thud!
Eric attacked three times in rapid succession, and Lance intercepted every strike with extraordinary precision.
His movements were simple and clean, but extremely effective.
In pure technique, the gap between them did not seem especially large.
Physically, however, they were worlds apart.
'Even when I block properly, my arm goes numb from the impact. A few more hard blocks and my muscles will weaken. Once that happens, my form will break down and the movements will lose their effect.'
When Eric attacked again, Lance stopped meeting him head-on. He twisted lightly aside and let the strike pass.
"My turn."
Lance answered with a perfectly standard horizontal cut.
It looked utterly ordinary.
Yet the angle made Eric deeply uncomfortable.