episode_0024

I was Firnea’s dedicated swordsmanship instructor.

Of course, naturally, my swordsmanship skills at the time weren’t particularly outstanding. Even though I learned the sword from a knight, I was still just a butler.

So, I called upon other knights of the imperial court to ask for their guidance, but…

“…Ugh, ugh…”

“F-Firnea, young lady? Firnea, young lady!”

…Unfortunately, it was still during Firnea’s childhood, when the trauma lingered.

To teach swordsmanship, one naturally had to wield a sword and engage in sparring.

But whether it was a real sword or a wooden one, Firnea would react with such intense hostility—to the point of hyperventilating—if it was pointed at her.

Except for one person: me.

“…Berdem, can you do it?”

“I must.”

No matter what, I couldn’t compromise when it came to swordsmanship.

If the heir of the Serlatus family showed weakness in swordsmanship, she would become nothing more than a laughingstock—worse still…

For the sake of basic self-defense, she had to learn the sword.

—I had to learn the sword.

“Come at me with the intent to kill.”

“…I think it’s best we stop for today.”

“Why?”

“Look at your left arm.”

In the dark of night, the captain of the imperial knights clicked his tongue as he looked at my grotesquely twisted wrist.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you insane?”

“A little.”

I threw myself into it, prepared to die.

For a mediocre talent like me to play the role of instructor to a genius, I had to struggle ten times harder.

And even then, it still wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t even pass on half of the techniques the knight captain taught me to Firnea.

I wasn’t disappointed in myself. There was no time for that—I had to do what I could.

“Knight Captain. Could you take a look at this for a moment?”

“What is this?”

“A swordsmanship style I devised.”

“…What?”

The one thing I could confidently say I was better at than anyone else—

—was knowing Firnea better than anyone and my sheer tenacity.

With Macklein’s help, I compiled every publicly available and even unpublished swordsmanship manual.

And for half a year, I lost sleep refining a failed creation.

Yes, it was a failure.

Despite being a swordsmanship style, it demanded an extreme level of magical talent.

Every technique required the simultaneous division of offense and defense.

I honed it so that, when executed, it would appear more beautiful than any other swordsmanship.

—A swordsmanship meant for one person in this world… Firnea alone.

Such a swordsmanship could only be called a failure.

“Let me see it.”

I watched with skeptical eyes as the knight captain read through my half-year’s labor, waiting calmly for his evaluation.

Was the time too short? If even a single flaw is found, I’ll scrap it and start over—

As expected, the knight captain let out a deep sigh before looking at me and answering.

“…You often said it yourself—that you were mediocre and had to work harder.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“If you don’t want a beating, never speak of this again.”

“…Huh?”

The knight captain stared at me with genuine disgust as I stood there bewildered.

“That, my boy, is called deception.”

…It seemed I had passed the bar.

“What the—?!”

Michelini stared in shock at his cracked sword.

“Are you going to call me a witch now?”

“…”

Michelini flinched, still staring at his broken blade.

Magic, by its very nature, demands extreme focus due to its intricacy. It’s not something you can wield in a life-or-death battle.

That’s why a mage’s combat begins with never allowing the enemy to close the distance. If they do, your options shrink drastically.

“I had no idea the Serbus family was raising a spellblade…”

“It’s not that grandiose.”

…Is it?

Though I created it, it was a swordsmanship I could never master.

—Incantation through technique.

While other mages chant spells, I swing my sword to achieve the same result.

From the opponent’s perspective, it would seem like magic was being cast mid-combat. No wonder they’d mistake me for one of those eccentric spellblades.

Michelini, now far more guarded, closed the distance in a single leap.

“Let’s see how far you can go!”

I hadn’t planned to do this mid-battle… but it seemed he either never learned proper swordsmanship or was taught a shoddy version.

From my perspective—having reviewed thousands of swordsmanship styles and extracted only the finest elements—his movements were trash, with nothing worth emulating.

But his strength and speed compensated for every flaw.

“Ugh…!”

Every time his half-broken sword struck like a club, sending sparks flying, the shock reverberated through my entire body. It felt like hitting a bowling ball thrown at full force with a baseball bat.

The bloodshot eyes, already strained from the start, told me he didn’t have much time left—

But holding out was brutal. Like a beast, he never let up, hammering at my defenses with his sword, as if certain they’d shatter eventually.

As the tide turned, Michelini—now further mutated—let out a vulgar laugh and jeered.

“Go on, show me that little trick again!”

“Sure, why not?”

“…?”

Clunk.

Michelini’s assault suddenly stopped.

It wasn’t him making the idiotic decision to halt his onslaught despite knowing full well that giving me time was disastrous.

It was the shards of rime physically freezing his shoulders in place.

Michelini staggered back in panic, but as he watched his body slowly freeze over, he let out a scream.

“W-what is this—?!”

“I told you, I’m not a spellblade.”

Those guys are just brutes who use magic without incantations alongside their swordsmanship.

Of course, if their focus breaks, they’re useless. They take the strengths of both swordsmen and mages but also inherit all their weaknesses. Against a truly strong opponent, they can only fight as one or the other.

The swordsmanship I made for Firnea took only the strengths.

A single slash carrying twenty-nine syllables, a thrust bearing thirty-two…

There was no way for the opponent to predict what magic would manifest.

“Had enough?”

“…Shut up!”

Michelini, now even more frenzied, burned hotter, his skin flushing crimson.

I frowned as I saw steam rising from him even amidst the blizzard.

The side effect of all resonance—he was on the verge of permanent demonification.

One of the reasons curse users were shunned and curse-wielding families were looked down upon.

Curses were like indigenous magic—no matter the type, they came with absurd risks.

The truly terrifying part? Michelini had no idea of his own condition.

The worst aspect of curses. You don’t pay the price upfront—instead, overuse slowly consumes you. Like a frog in boiling water.

“You…”

I considered explaining his state but stopped.

Even if I told him to stop now, there was no way he’d listen.

I sighed. If I killed someone during the exam, it’d cause problems for my master, Firnea.

“Hah, is this all you’ve got…?!”

Crack. The ice restraining Michelini shattered lightly.

Proof of overuse. Naturally, his attacks grew even fiercer.

Clang! Clang! Clang! The strikes came without pause, so crude that the first and second felt indistinguishable, all aimed at my head.

Should I really spare this guy? I debated briefly, but for Firnea’s sake, I had no choice.

Amid the barrage, I wove my magic.

The swordsmanship I created allowed for higher-tier spells the more exchanges there were in battle.

The tally so far: 169 exchanges.

What I’d use now—

“Hey, one last piece of advice.”

“…What?”

“Stop hitting on noble ladies. It’ll really screw you over.”

“What the—”

Crrrrack—!

Michelini couldn’t finish his sentence before freezing solid.

“…A spellblade?”

Someone in the observation room muttered, breaking the silence.

Before anyone realized, all the nobles were fixated on a single crystal orb.

And for good reason—most of the examinees had already been eliminated.

The sponsors who had invested money sighed in frustration, though some seethed with anger.

It couldn’t be helped. The exam was absurdly difficult… to the point where one wondered if anyone could pass.

But it seemed someone had.

“But he’s a butler. How did he learn that?”

“Wasn’t it common knowledge that Firnea dotes on her butler? Maybe she got him a tutor.”

“No, I mean, even if he had ten or a hundred tutors, how could a butler—”

“I’m more curious about that weird commoner. Is he even human?”

“At this point, he’s definitely being groomed as head butler. They’re probably preparing to unveil him to society soon.”

Thus, the nobles poured out their opinions, each more varied than the last.

They all looked as if they’d seen some fascinating exotic animal.

—All except one.

“…”

Emilie stared at the crystal orb, half out of her mind.

‘…I’m screwed.’

Not literally, but a spellblade meant someone capable of wielding both sword and magic at a genius level.

Which meant if Firnea had turned Berdem into a spellblade, the pieces didn’t fit.

—Berdem was confirmed to be a spellblade.

This gave legitimacy to his participation in the special admissions exam.

Michelini, who had thrown money at this, was now a frozen statue…

And Berdem would be entering the academy.

Without anyone ever finding out who put Michelini up to this.

“Should I just die…?”

Emilie muttered in a tone devoid of even a shred of pride.

“Is he dead?”

As I caught my breath after subduing Michelini, Arin tilted her head and pointed at the ice statue.

Her body was drenched in blood. Glancing behind her, I saw the yetis completely massacred.

…Couldn’t she have been a little less brutal?

“Not at all. This looks like ice, but it’s not. He’s still breathing inside, perfectly fine.”

I tapped the frozen Michelini lightly.

“He’ll thaw on his own eventually. And this is a 5th-circle spell, got it?”

“…?”

“This is what magic is. Not that weird… whatever you do.”

“Mm.”

Arin actually smiled softly. Weird girl.

I used partial combustion to burn away the blood clinging to her body.

“Anyway, thanks. If I were alone, I’d have had to resort to other methods… This is far enough.”

“Mm.”

“See you at the academy, then. I’ll owe you one.”

There was still a bit left, but I couldn’t imagine Arin failing.

She’d single-handedly slaughtered fifty yetis. Even if a yeti dragon showed up, she’d probably tear it apart.

She’d pass for sure.

So…

…

..

.

“Why are you following me?”

“?”

Arin trailed behind me like a lost puppy.

When I stopped, she stopped. When I walked, she walked.

“…”

When I glared, she awkwardly averted her eyes.