With her short blonde hair and tall, lean frame, Alice looked more like an elegant young man than a girl.
Combined with the plain dark blue cadet uniform, she was the image of an ideal cadet.
In a formal duel, receiving a salute obligated a return.
Echinacea drew her sword and carelessly dropped the scabbard on the ground. More than a few watching cadets frowned at the casual disregard for the weapon.
The sword itself didn't help the impression - poorly maintained, cheap, a longsword that didn't match its owner. Everything else about Echinacea was extravagant; the sword looked like an afterthought.
The mismatch was jarring.
She raised it one-handed, gathered the hem of her dress with the other, then shifted her grip so she held both sword hilt and dress hem in her right hand simultaneously.
She moved her right foot back, dropped her weight, bent her knees slightly, then straightened and returned to standing. As she did, she released the dress hem.
If she had set the sword down, it would have been a perfect noblewoman's curtsy. Nothing like this had ever been seen on the academy grounds.
Knightly custom and the code of chivalry had both been built around men. A lady was someone to be protected, which meant a female cadet, by the moment she became a cadet, forfeited the status of lady. The two were mutually exclusive.
And yet: a lady wielding a sword, saluting as a lady. No one had considered such a contradiction existed. The crowd's murmur had an uncomfortable, uncertain quality to it.
Echi was not paying attention to any of them. She was half somewhere else entirely. If she had known about the squire appointment before this, she would never have provoked Alice in the first place. Her mind was loud and her focus was fragmented, and she had an overwhelming, barely suppressed urge to swing her sword.
Because of that suppression, she didn't attack.
Alice, facing her, sensed the shift in atmosphere. Her gray eyes narrowed.
'Something is different.'
Not the same woman who had been smiling and deflecting arguments with cheerful irrationality a few hours ago. Something was held back in Echinacea now. She looked delicate and beautiful, like a hothouse flower, but it felt less like facing a person and more like facing a predator wearing a person's shape.
Alice tightened her grip on the hilt.
Ian confirmed they were both ready and drew his sword, placing it flat between them. He checked once on each side, then raised it sharply.
The signal.
Alice moved first, as agreed. Courtesy of the initiative: a thrust aimed at the throat, but grazing past, a feint at extraordinary speed, one that was hard to read even knowing what to look for.
Echi didn't move. Alice's blade brushed the back of her neck. Her hair stirred in its wake.
That non-reaction flustered Alice more than a block would have. She pulled back and reset her stance.
Echi remained still. Even as Alice withdrew, she didn't follow. It was only when Alice launched her second attack that Echi moved at all.
Swordsmanship was, at its core, the application of fundamentals: block, thrust, cut. Imperial style or southeastern style - every school was an elaboration of those three things.
The elaboration was vast, and when individual habit and personality were woven through, the result was a style unique to its wielder. An experienced swordsperson was recognizable by their swordplay.
This was common knowledge.
So the watching cadets had no idea what to make of what they were seeing.
Echinacea Roaz had no style. No personality, no will, no color.
She used no techniques. Only the fundamentals. If a strike came, she blocked it. If there was an opening, she thrust. If space permitted, she cut.
It wasn't even particularly clean - no textbook precision. If anything, it looked like something a beginner had cobbled together. Compared to Alice's composed, cultivated swordsmanship, it could almost be called clumsy.
And she didn't attack at all. There was only a response- improvised, reflexive - to whatever Alice threw at her.
But nothing landed. There was always, somehow, Echi's sword in the path of Alice's blade. Or Alice's blade found nothing there at all.
Most of the crowd found it strange that Alice couldn't break through it. A few of the sharper observers saw something more: that Alice, despite her relentless offense, was the one being overwhelmed. It was nearly as though Echi were playing with her.
She wasn't taking this seriously. At all. It was like a child demanding attention and being half-heartedly held to stop the noise.
No one saw this more clearly than Alice herself. Her face had been going steadily paler.
Every attack she sent was caught by a sword moving with lazy ease. The hem of Echi's dress was untouched.
Whenever Alice's strikes were redirected and the sword swept back toward her - not attacking, but the sharpness of it alone made her flinch.
As attack after deflected attack traced their arcs, the paths the two swords drew began to resemble a rehearsed dance. The fluttering hem, the lace trimming, the ribbons swaying - the impression only deepened. Less a duel, more a waltz.
Finally, Alice stepped back. Even as she exposed her openings, Echi didn't follow. She only stood there, sword hanging loosely.
Alice's breath was labored, her face red. She felt patronized. The fact that her opponent wasn't finishing it was worse than being beaten cleanly.
"Why aren't you attacking?"
"...Ah."
Something crossed Echi's face - the faintest flicker of genuine chagrin.
In truth, her swordplay did have its own character and techniques - difficult things that most could not imitate.
She simply hadn't wanted to reveal them, and since holding back was enough, she had. But not attacking at all was not deliberate. It was a habit she had developed against the demonic sword's influence - when she was emotionally disrupted, she stopped initiating entirely, to avoid being pulled by the sword's killing intent.
Her thoughts had been elsewhere the whole time. She should have ended this sooner.
Apologizing now would only insult the other woman further.
She moved.
Short first step, longer second. Two steps, and the blade was in front of Alice's face. Alice raised her sword in alarm to block.
The blades met at the same height.
Alice, following ingrained reflex, pushed forward - pressure toward Echi's face.
Echi simply raised her wrist. She didn't resist the force. She redirected it.
Alice's sword, turned from its path by that minimal movement, went spinning upward, off-balance.
Echi's sword followed the rebound in a half-circle and swung toward Alice's temple.
It stopped. Half a finger's width away.
Alice's short golden hair settled in the sword's passing.
A low sound moved through the crowd.
Echinacea had, for the first time, thrown a genuine attack. A simple thing — basic, textbook, unremarkable. And with that one attack, the duel was over.
"…I lost." Alice said it before anyone else could.
Echi sheathed her sword and made the same noblewoman's curtsy as before.
To Alice, it felt like mockery. But a duel was a duel. She sheathed her sword and bowed formally.
"I acknowledge my defeat and will honor my word - I won't interfere with you again." Her voice held. Barely.
"…I was the one who caused trouble, Miss Winterbell." Echi said it with genuine sincerity.
Alice's eyes were cold as she straightened. Ian clapped once to ease the tension.
"Well done, both of you. No injuries - good. As a note, since this occurred before the first ranking match, it won't affect official standings."
Alice turned and left the training ground immediately. The other cadets confirmed the duel was over and began to disperse, talking among themselves.
"Not bad, but what's so impressive about the Commander's squire? The blonde one was just sloppy. That last move - I could do that. If someone like her can be squire, anyone can."
Echi picked up the scabbard she had dropped. Ian came over with an awkward smile.
"You're remarkable."
"What do you mean?"
"Those cadets don't recognize real skill. Your swordsmanship was exceptional. I'm looking forward to the ranking matches."
"Thank you, Senior."
"See you tomorrow at nine, Cadet Echinacea. Don't forget."
"Yes."
As Ian turned to leave, Echi called after him.
"Senior."
"Yes?"
"Do you know why I was named" She caught herself. "...Commander Yurien's squire."
She had nearly said just 'Yurien.' She had been calling him that in her head without thinking.
Ian tilted his head. His deep blue eyes, nearly purple, looked at her with an even calm.
"Does it matter?"
He said it as if the question were aimed inward, at himself as much as at her.
"By the time I was a third-year, I had served as Commander Yurien's temporary squire three times. Even now, technically, I'm still his. I've always found it easy to work with him. Do you know why?"
"I'm not sure."
"He's predictable. His life is governed by routine, by logical decisions consistent with the code of chivalry, by respect for law. He is, in the truest sense, a knight of the holy sword. Do you know what RanGiosa is made from?"
"Yes."
Echi nodded. RanGiosa, unlike ValderGiosa, forged from human malice and killing intent, had been made from human conviction and justice.
"Commander Yurien doesn't act on impulse. His decisions are always reasoned. But this time... " Ian's eyes sharpened slightly with a warmth that didn't match.
"I find it puzzling. Honestly, I'd like to ask you."
That gentle, searching look.
"Why do you think Commander Yurien named you as his squire? Do you have some prior connection to him?"