episode_0002

The Sword of Defeat.

True to its name, it was a swordsmanship meant for defeat.

However, contrary to its name, the techniques contained within were so profound that even the most renowned swordsmanship styles on the continent paled in comparison.

This was only natural.

After all, it was a swordsmanship crafted by the finest swordsmen of the Leon Kingdom, a nation famed for its knights.

And because the royal family, known for producing the kingdom’s strongest swordsmen, insisted that one must first become a knight before claiming royal status, their martial swordsmanship had to be faced head-on!

Thus, learning the Sword of Defeat was several times harder than mastering the swordsmanship of any noble house.

“As expected of a once-in-a-generation prodigy!”

But in the end, the Sword of Defeat was still the Sword of Defeat.

A dazzling, powerful swordsmanship—yet one that always ended in defeat.

Therefore, the true talent required to master it was something else entirely.

“You’ve already surpassed me.”

These were the words of the Sword Master, a man counted among the top swordsmen in the Leon Kingdom—a land renowned for its knights. He was also the current king’s closest friend and the head of the royal instructors.

As a swordsman, there could be no higher praise. Unfortunately, this wasn’t praise for my swordsmanship.

“To think your acting is so convincing, even I can’t tell if it’s real or fake…”

That’s right.

The true completion of the Sword of Defeat wasn’t swordsmanship—it was acting.

Swordsmanship was relative, after all.

As long as it reached a level that would satisfy His Highness the Fifth Prince, that was enough.

So, I had to learn how to act.

To build up the tension of a hard-fought battle, exchange a soul-stirring strike, and then—with reluctant resolve—convey to the royal that though I had lost this time, I would surely prevail next time. That was the true essence of the Sword of Defeat!

And I had accomplished it.

So perfectly that even a Sword Master—the pinnacle of swordsmanship—acknowledged it.

“The other instructors should learn from this.”

The number of royal instructors belonging to the knight order matched the number of royals.

Occasionally, an instructor might lose their position for failing to keep up with a royal’s skill, but in such cases, a pre-selected replacement would immediately take their place.

Thus, with multiple instructors already dispatched for the princes and princesses above the Fifth Prince—

Meaning, with four princes and three princesses above him, there were at least seven senior instructors ahead of me.

“Aren’t the seniors performing their duties admirably as well?”

“That’s what I thought too, but thanks to you, the standards keep rising.”

Laughing heartily, the Sword Master roughly tousled my hair before his expression hardened.

“That’s why I’m saying this.”

Though he often appeared clumsy for his station, he was one of the kingdom’s most esteemed swordsmen and the leader of the royal instructors.

So, when handling official matters, he often wore that expression.

And thus, I could roughly guess what he was about to say.

“Are we starting the operation soon?”

“Huh? Operation?”

“You know, that totally coincidental, fateful encounter with His Highness the Fifth Prince?”

“Hoho.”

At my words, the Sword Master nodded in satisfaction.

“Yes, I think it’s about time we begin.”

Several weeks later, I received word that preparations for the operation were complete.

“The scenario is simple.”

“Indeed.”

True to its title as the “Kingdom of Knights,” Leon highly revered its knights.

Even compared to the empire at the continent’s heart, its knights were second to none. And though geographically distant from the Kingdom of Diel—known as the “Land of Mages”—the two nations were perpetually at odds.

Given these traits, making contact with the Fifth Prince was surprisingly easy.

“You’ll just be swinging your sword around when a pre-arranged instructor pairs you up for a spar with His Highness. A flawless scenario!”

Fitting for a kingdom famed for its knights, Leon actively promoted knightly training at the national level.

Thus, talented children were often summoned to the royal palace to learn swordsmanship.

All I had to do was blend in, casually practicing my swordplay until a royal—visiting the training grounds under the guise of inspection—crossed blades with me!

“Hmm…?”

But something felt off.

“Assume your stance.”

The crimson hair symbolizing the Leon royal family fluttered in the wind.

As I stared blankly, the jet-black eyes—another mark of our kingdom’s royalty—pierced through me.

A spar with a royal to establish contact. The situation perfectly aligned with the plan’s objective.

The problem?

It wasn’t the Fifth Prince.

“Referee!”

“Her Highness Princess Hestia and Adam Smith shall now commence their spar!”

At the princess’s command, the knight serving as referee announced the match with a bewildered expression.

Gritting my teeth, I could only glare at the Sword Master.

Hey, wasn’t this supposed to be a flawless scenario?!

Rewinding time slightly.

The Leon Kingdom took great pride in its title as the “Kingdom of Knights.”

Thus, even the royal family considered swordsmanship a given.

To the point where gifting wooden swords to children at age five and real swords at ten was a long-standing royal tradition—applying to both boys and girls.

Given this, it was no surprise that the kingdom’s strongest swordsmen often emerged from royal bloodlines. In fact, past kings had been known to lead the vanguard in wars, chilling their ministers to the bone.

As such, royals had always maintained close ties with exceptional swordsmen.

Conversely, those lacking skill faced discrimination—regardless of their noble status.

“Ha.”

“Wow, Your Highness.”

Unfortunately, the Second Princess of Leon, Hestia, was in a league of her own.

“Not even ten exchanges?”

Hestia’s sword-like eyes darkened like an abyss.

True to her lineage—a royal house where life revolved around the sword—her talent was unmatched among her peers.

And her primal thirst for the blade burned even brighter than her innate skill.

Thus, she regularly crossed swords with the kingdom’s so-called future prodigies—yet never found satisfaction.

A pity, but an inevitable one.

Hestia was born with talent even the royal family acknowledged. Moreover, her status granted her access to elixirs and magical circuits from infancy.

But that wasn’t all. With such gifts, one might expect complacency—yet she trained relentlessly, skipping meals before ever skipping sword practice.

Natural talent, privilege, and the effort to refine them further.

Hestia was, without exaggeration, born to wield a sword.

Expecting her peers to match her was simply unreasonable.

“Sigh.”

Even after defeating a knight cadet three years her senior—a state-recognized talent—Hestia remained unsatisfied.

The gap is too wide.

If this was the best the knight trainees had to offer, what hope was there?

Fighting full-fledged knights was still beyond her, and while a fresh recruit might give their all, the title of “Second Princess” preceding her name complicated things.

I’d rather spar with trainees.

Asking newly minted knights to face a princess was too heavy a burden.

Win or lose, it was a problem—and the moment they accidentally wounded her, consequences would follow.

Of course, neither Hestia nor the royal family would protest.

“Before royalty, one must first become a knight.”

In a household that lived by such words, would they really punish a knight for a sparring injury?

Yet, regardless of their magnanimity, the lower ranks had their own concerns.

Even if the king or princess dismissed it with, “Ah, swords clash, wounds happen,” the knights knew: spilling royal blood could brand them as traitors.

Thus, most new knights deliberately lost—obviously so.

Such theatrics benefited no one.

At this rate, she might as well practice on a dummy.

Still, whenever new recruits arrived, Hestia couldn’t resist testing them—hoping to find an equal.

“Sigh, maybe I should just wait for Lucia.”

Thinking of her frail but skilled friend, Hestia sighed.

Lucia was the only one who could match her.

The problem? Her frail health often sent her back to her hometown to recuperate.

Hestia resolved to prepare tonics for her—partly for herself, but also for the kingdom.

Losing a swordsman of Lucia’s caliber to poor health was a national tragedy!

Unaware that Lucia—supposedly “resting at home”—was currently sobbing in the royal instructors’ quarters while submitting her fourteenth resignation letter, Hestia prepared to leave after her third defeated opponent.

“B-Big sister!”

But the sight of her younger brother leading a group halted her.

Has the time already come?

Among the royal family’s traditions:

At five, a wooden sword.

At ten, a real sword.

And at twelve—a person.

A peer from the kingdom’s talents would be chosen as the royal’s direct retainer.

A lifelong friend, rival, right hand, and most trusted vassal.

This ancient tradition of the Leon royal family could shape one’s destiny.

Hadn’t Hestia herself gained Lucia just two years prior?

Ignorant of the fact that her “lifelong friend, rival, and vassal” was currently sobbing as her twelfth resignation letter was torn up by her superior, Hestia resolved to find someone equally remarkable for her dear brother.

“Princess Hestia?”

Unfortunately, her goodwill spelled disaster for those who had meticulously prepared this event.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I’ll test them instead!”

Her bold declaration was adorable for her age—but its implications were anything but.

To the Sword Master and officials, it was pure horror.

“But according to royal regulations—”

“There’s no such rule, is there?”

“……”

An attempt to bluff failed.

Because there was no such rule.

How does she even know that?

Even the administrators didn’t memorize every procedure.

Usually, if a higher-up cited a plausible-sounding rule, subordinates would nod along.

“Traditionally, royals test candidates themselves, but historically, there have been cases where others stepped in, right?”

Was this a lucky guess? As her precise explanation continued, the Sword Master could only fall silent.

“So, it’s fine?”

Thus, he had no choice but to nod.

Just how good is he?

Hestia’s insistence wasn’t purely out of sisterly love.

The Sword Master, Kariks—head of the royal instructors—was like an uncle to her, having served as the king’s instructor.

And not just that: he was a swordsman renowned across the continent.

Yet he had praised this candidate endlessly.

To the point where he was practically pre-selected as her brother’s partner.

Lucia never received such praise.

Unaware that Lucia was currently wiping away tears while drafting her fourteenth resignation letter, Hestia wanted to gauge this prodigy’s skill—for her brother, for her friend, and—

“Draw your sword.”

—for her own selfish desires!