Originally, the crown prince had no guard. Since the Grand Duke's Guard existed, if the crown prince ascended to the throne, he could simply take command of them as his direct troops. However, Grand Duke Karlus (35) had only been on the throne for three years.
The crown prince, my age, had to wait at least 20 more years until the next succession.
So the crown prince had wanted his own personal force. But fearing backlash from the Grand Duke's Guard, he'd selected ten men under the guise of receiving recommendations from them, and the Grand Duke's Guard members had offloaded their brothers who couldn't inherit and were treated like dead weight into the crown prince's guard.
"I'm Gert von Hornst. No hard feelings, but for that one silver coin, I'll kno—no, defeat you. I don't want to eat that garbage black bread anymore!"
"...My humble skills, but I'll do my best to face you, Sir Hornst."
I'd tried black bread too, and it wasn't fit for human consumption. But after learning that most commoners' staple food was that black bread, I'd stopped complaining in front of others—even if I didn't eat it—because it could hurt people's feelings.
Anyway, Hornst, my first opponent, had a stable Vom Tag stance.
Judging by his center of gravity leaning forward, a typical charging style.
I also took a modified Vom Tag stance: not the style of raising the sword overhead, but resting it on the shoulder. The difference between real combat and sparring is that real combat's principle is to kill, while sparring's principle is to test. So I observed the opponent's movement, center axis, and foot placement.
And I could predict exactly when the attack would come.
In a life-or-death battle with a real sword, I wouldn't have had the luxury to register all this.
"Hyah!"
Powerfully planting his right foot, he charged at me with considerable speed and executed Scheitelhau. I immediately struck the side of the descending sword with my back edge, breaking its trajectory—Krumphau.
And a clean follow-up head strike. Too committed to his charge, Hornst had left a gaping opening. Struck in the head and stumbling back, Hornst looked dazed.
"If you focus only on charging, you can be countered this easily. If you stay composed and prepare for the next move, you'll improve."
"My one silver coin! Black bread! Damn it!"
Hey, aren't you a little too fixated on black bread?
And are you even listening to my advice?
As Hornst went down too easily, unease rippled through the guards.
Their skills were a bit lacking for the crown prince's guard. The next opponent took a cautious Ochs stance, slowly training his sword tip on me, applying pressure. Had he learned from Hornst's mistake? Ernst von Haumels had composure but lacked the boldness Hornst possessed.
Thwack!
"Ugh!"
I simply made him drop his wooden sword with a wrist strike as Haumels attempted a diagonal upward slash. If you telegraphed your attacks that obviously, I could see them coming a mile away.
The next opponent had a fairly balanced style. He closed the distance to avoid having his moves read, attempted binding, rode the winding, and actively pressed me.
Thwack! Thwack!
Hmm, stable in both offense and defense, senior. But your lower body was far too exposed. In real combat, close-quarters fighting below the waist was extremely fierce. I hooked the leg of my opponent, who was working hard with footwork, and swept him off his feet.
Then a head cut. Weak wrestling skills. Was it Reinhardt? If he focused on wrestling training, he'd become a formidable fighter.
"Vincent von Bay. I'll be different from the men you've faced so far—one silver coin!"
"...I look forward to it, Sir Bay."
Now you were calling me "one silver coin"?
Thwack!
Oh, a thrust right from the start? Bold, but whatever. I'd already extended my left foot, so I lightly sidestepped with my right and struck his exposed wrist.
The same technique I'd used to wound the Rose Knight—and back then I'd dodged by a hair's breadth, risking my life. I could sidestep thrusts at this level with ease. And immediately, a head strike. See? Simple.
Leaving Bay's bewildered expression behind, the next guardsman charged in.
As I continued sparring like this, I found I could read opponents' movements effortlessly. Could this be Fühlen? Even after crossing swords, I seemed able to sense where the opponent's center axis and pressure lay, the direction and point of force, and even what attack would follow.
If this was system correction, maintaining this sensation was the most important thing.
I still tended to rely on sight, but being able to respond one step ahead was highly encouraging progress. As expected, without the burden of risking my life and facing opponents trained in the same swordsmanship, I could review techniques at my own pace, which helped me considerably.
Seeking sparring partners had ultimately been the right call.
I managed to win against all nine without a single loss.
"Didn't we lose too easily?"
"We've learned swordsmanship, but we're no match."
Perhaps because I'd steamrolled them without showing an ounce of mercy, the senior guardsmen were thoroughly dejected.
Bertheim smiled with satisfaction and said to the crown prince:
"How was it, Your Highness? Was it worth making time for?"
"Truly speechless. Honestly, I thought the Marquis was exaggerating—for the entire guard to be dismantled so easily. Eisenach, show me the guard captain's mettle."
The last remaining one was the guard captain, a decurion who outranked me.
The leader commanding nine guardsmen: indeed, a tough-looking man whose very presence inspired confidence. What would Eisenach, who'd watched his subordinates get countered after rushing recklessly or lose the initiative by being overly cautious, show me?
"Bertolt Ritter von Eisenach. Who taught you?"
"I learned from my father, who died in battle."
"I see. An excellent master to have raised such a student."
My swordsmanship teacher was the system, but in moments like these, I had to invoke my father's name, right? Eisenach's bearing was no ordinary thing. He definitely seemed skilled enough to warrant the title of guard captain. Come to think of it, only the guard captain had seen real combat, so wouldn't it be fitting to face him as if it were the real thing?
Eisenach's wooden sword, slowly pressuring and advancing, traced a diagonal line like lightning.
Thwack!
Judging by the heavy force of the clash, his strength was no joke. And his technique of drawing me into binding and driving into close combat looked polished. But I wasn't outmatched in strength either, because I had F-Rank Knight (military power 20%, courage 20%).
The battle for initiative—attack upon attack, rotating the sword around the gripping hand—no longer overwhelmed me. If these had been real swords, it would've been a fight measured in blood.
The fact that they were wooden swords gave me peace of mind. The guard captain didn't seem to share that luxury, and this difference was surprisingly significant. I read through every technique Eisenach attempted one step ahead and counterattacked, pressing him as he fought to seize the initiative.
At the end of the flashy exchange of winding techniques spinning like a windmill, I landed three precise strikes on Eisenach. When he attempted a diagonal slash, I deflected it downward with Krumphau and struck his wrist; then as he forcibly lifted his guard, I sliced his arm with a sliding cut.
Then I drove my shoulder into him, and taking advantage of his broken guard, I struck his head with the butt of the handle. If it had been a longsword's pommel, it would've been over. No, if it had been a real sword, it would've already been over when I'd struck his wrist and arm. Eisenach, hit in the head and sitting down hard, looked like he'd seen a ghost.
Because it had been a seamless chain of techniques flowing like water.
"Excellent sparring, Sir Eisenach," I said.
"I pay respect to your skills. I was no match at all," Eisenach replied.
"You were the strongest opponent I've sparred with so far."
"If I were weaker than my men, I'd have no right to call myself guard captain. If the chance arises, I'd like to spar with you again."
Eisenach looked deeply regretful. I'd gained quite a bit from sparring with the ten guardsmen. I'd been fighting for my life with real swords from the very start, so I'd rarely had breathing room.
Especially the fight with Klugen: if I'd lost concentration for a moment, I could've died, so the mental toll had been severe. That was why I hadn't wanted to face him again.
But through sparring, I could cultivate composure and actually see through opponents' attacks, so what I'd needed was precisely this kind of breathing room.
Whether this mindset would carry over to real combat was uncertain, but experiencing firsthand how opponents grew hasty when you faced them with calm was undeniably valuable.
On the other hand, the guardsmen's morale had hit rock bottom.
"Excellent skills. But I'm frustrated to see the caliber of my newly recruited guard—though I didn't expect even Eisenach to be outmatched," the crown prince said.
"Since you selected second and third sons, a drop in quality is unavoidable."
"I know, Leo. This seems to be the ceiling with what I have to work with."
Through this sparring, I confirmed that my Fühlen proficiency had risen by about five. It had risen less than expected, but the important thing was that I could develop Fühlen through sparring.