Chapter 31 – To Me, You Were Like the Sun

A sword made of steel.

Even unsharpened, it’s a dangerous weapon.

Especially so in the hands of those trained to wield it: cadets and apprentices.

Even before their formal knighting, they are undeniably dangerous. This is an inescapable truth.

Thus, even steel training swords are never swung with full force.

They’re swung in the air, or during sparring, stopped short before impact, barely grazing the opponent to simulate real combat.

The focus is on control, utilization, and adaptation through practice.

Add protective gear, and the intensity increases.

Direct hits are allowed, simulated cuts are acceptable.

Introduce mana, and everything changes again.

So, for realistic sword training, wooden swords are used.

Even these are carefully crafted—tips blunted or sharpened—depending on the trainee and the instructor’s judgment.

And Cariel…he had a particular aversion to steel blades. They unsettled him.

“Even in the lawless wilds, you show such pathetic hesitation?!”

The blade sliced through the air like moonlight, a swift, rebounding arc, a whirlwind of aggressive swings.

To his former self, they would have been terrifying.

“……”

The fear lingered.

No, he corrected himself.

Unease. It was merely unease.

He drew his own sword, parrying but not engaging, retreating.

Her arming sword, designed for one hand, contrasted with his longsword, usable with one or two.

Both bore the shape of a cross.

Before knights existed, a king pondered.

Foot soldiers have their limits.

Excellent defenders, they lack the power to dominate a battlefield.

The need for mobility became clear.

And beyond that, the need for a specialized cavalry force—one that could control and crush the enemy’s movement. The king saw the value in professional horsemen.

Not just riders, but trained warriors.

He summoned his vassals.

[“I grant you lands. Raise horses and livestock, manage the people. Train warhorses, and train yourselves as warriors. When war calls, your strength will be needed. Answer that call.”]

And when war came, their power was essential.

Still, the concept of a knight had yet to be born.

This was the age of warrior-nobles.

Wars between nations emphasized the need for such specialized forces.

Later, when the Demon King and her legions invaded, these warriors fought bravely.

But they were too few. Heroes capable of facing hundreds, even thousands, alone, were still a minority.

And when the chaos subsided, a new problem emerged.

Warriors were a legitimate, armed force.

They committed atrocities against all—kings, commoners, slaves. Even during the brief peace, they turned their weapons on each other, driven by greed for power and land. They stole food and valuables. They enslaved and sold people.

It was a true age of barbarism.

“Times change, but where is safety guaranteed?!”

Elhermina’s sword was incredibly swift. A one-handed sword offered unparalleled freedom, unbound by the constraints of two. In skilled hands, with sufficient strength, it became a devastating weapon.

Clang!

“Ugh!”

Swords rarely meet cleanly. Even then, it’s a brief overlap of edges.

The image of warriors calmly locking blades, close enough to feel each other’s breath, is a rare exception. One misstep, and both are cut, or one is overwhelmed.

At close range, even blunt weapons are impractical.

Daggers are better. Fists, hands, elbows, knees, legs become weapons. Headbutts, scratches, bites.

No matter the skill, a sword cuts.

“Show me your strength, Cariel! You were so confident; wasn’t that why you chose to fight?!”

That wasn’t it. He had no choice.

“Gah!”

Strangely, his techniques were useless against her.

She didn’t lose her balance, didn’t falter when their blades met.

Instead, she pressed her attack.

Each defensive move he made was met with a furious strike, as if she intended to shatter his sword, not him.

Clang! Clang!

The impacts vibrated through his blade, up his wrist, arm, and shoulder… but no further.

What monstrous strength…

The force didn’t dissipate, wasn’t absorbed. It concentrated on his wrist, the strain building. Elhermina hammered his blade, but her target was his wrist, the fading feeling in his hand a clear sign.

She had masterful control.

And more.

Pure physical power?

Not a flicker of mana, not even unconsciously. Just raw strength and perfect arcs, each strike precise and controlled.

“I know you can absorb and manipulate mana!”

So, “If I use no mana, problem solved!”

Easy to say.

How was that even possible? Unless, like Cariel, one’s mana was inherently flawed.

But she was doing it.

As expected…

The Demon King’s words echoed in his mind.

[That woman has already mastered what you’ve only recently grasped.]

Years of dedicated training combined with that inherent understanding.

[Before Luelde, you must overcome her.]

And that meant…

[It will take you years.]

“Isn’t this enough already?!”

Then why did she look like she was about to cry?

He was the one being pummeled.

She was always earnest.

And because of the Demon King’s words, he understood the sincerity and passion she poured into every moment. Her earlier confession hadn’t been empty words.

He felt gratitude, mixed with the bitter sting of regret and resentment. But that was his burden. He was misdirecting his anger.

Clang!

“If you try another desperate tactic like with Patina, you won’t escape!”

He knew.

He’d be dragged back to his mother.

He wasn’t that foolish. Patina had been a calculated risk. He hadn’t harmed himself; he’d used her as a tool. At the time, it was the only way he could see to gain an advantage.

Hurting himself to unsettle his opponent. A pathetic, cowardly tactic.

Was he weak? Or just twisted?

Hardly the mindset of a knight.

Creak

[You’d give up so much for one thing? How?]

“Where are you looking?”

A flat voice cut through his thoughts.

“Ugh!”

Even now, his mind wandered. Across a distant river. Children playing in a yard. A child holding a branch, lifting it high, shouting—not with a sword, but a simple branch—laughing with pure joy:

I’m going to become a ●●!

“Focus!”

A kick sent him flying, crashing into a tree.

“Ugh!”

The tree shook violently. He’d barely managed to distribute the impact; otherwise, that would have been the end.

“Damn…”

This frustration, this anger… why?

Something nagged at his mind, unsettlingly familiar.

“It’s no use. Give up.”

“Show me that miraculous trick of yours.”

“Let’s see it.”

Flames erupted, engulfing the forest.

Yet, they didn’t spread, didn’t burn. Completely controlled.

Such a blaze would normally consume everything, an inferno.

But this wasn’t hell. This was focused rage, directed solely at him. The world turned crimson. The heat was intense, yet…

What is this?

He felt no pain.

She stood amidst the flames, untouched, like a figure blessed by the god of fire, radiant, transcendent. Like a phoenix from myth, burning brightly.

Yet, paradoxically, nothing burned.

She rarely revealed this power. Few had seen it. Fewer still would face it.

“……”

Strange. Fascinating. Bizarre.

He was awestruck.

“Finally.”

To him, she was like the sun.

Too bright to approach, to even look at directly.

It was agonizing, just seeing her, being compared to her, measured against her. It had always suffocated him.

But…

“I can see you.”

Elhermina.

El.

His childhood friend.