"This must be the training grounds!"
"That's right. The very place where you were dodging my spear just a little while ago."
After finishing their meal, Butlerh, Matthew, and Heckenroze headed to the training grounds.
The Northern Archduke cracked his joints with a rough shake of his body.
His eyes burned with competitive fire, as if he couldn't wait to clash with Matthew right then and there.
Matthew, on the other hand, was busy scurrying around the grounds, inspecting everything.
"Ooh! Are these the knights' weapons?"
"Yes. To be precise, they're training weapons with very dull edges. Still, getting hit would hurt."
"They're really blunt."
Heckenroze trailed after him, answering his endless questions.
"Enough sightseeing. Let's get to it. By the way, don't you have a weapon?"
"Ah, this is mine."
Whoosh.
Matthew spun the staff around in a full circle.
It smoothly separated into a hilt and blade.
"Ho, so that's why it felt so sturdy for a staff... It was a sword all along."
"It's light and solid, making it easy to use. Plus, the staff form is great for long walks."
Matthew toyed with the staff-sword like he was dancing.
The blade flashed dangerously, but he remained completely at ease.
As if he'd been wielding it since childhood, like a seasoned swordsman.
Then, a voice cut in from the side.
"How dare you hide your weapon in front of His Grace the Archduke!"
"...Huh?"
"This can't be overlooked!"
A blond, hot-blooded knight burst forward.
Even as he addressed Matthew, his eyes darted nervously toward Heckenroze and Butlerh.
Heckenroze's brows furrowed as she looked at him.
'Knight Michael... He's decent in skill but has a bad habit of craving recognition. Definitely.'
Michael was a third-year knight around Heckenroze's age.
His skills were impressive for his years, but his desire to stand out often led to mistakes and trouble.
Why was someone like him suddenly picking a fight with Matthew?
"Your Grace, I heard you're planning to spar with this man."
"That's correct."
"Before Your Grace steps in, may I test his skills myself?"
One corner of his mouth twisted upward as he eyed Matthew.
"I'm worried he might use sorcery or underhanded swordplay to ruin Your Grace's enjoyment."
"...!"
At the blatant mockery, Heckenroze finally stepped forward.
Even for an upstart knight's insolence, this crossed the line.
"What do you mean by—"
"Hm, that could be interesting."
"Father!"
Butlerh stroked his chin and nodded.
"Michael's words may be over the top, but he's not wrong. I was curious about Matthew's evasion skills myself. It wouldn't hurt for Michael to demonstrate first."
"Thank you for the opportunity!"
"What about you, Matthew?"
"Haha, sounds good to me."
Matthew readily accepted the spar.
Heckenroze could only stamp her feet in frustration, but the water was already spilled.
With other knights gathering out of curiosity, it was impossible to call it off now.
So, there was only one thing left to hope for.
"Mr. Matthew."
"Yes, Lady Heckenroze?"
"Win this. No matter what."
She whispered it into his ear.
She'd never thought highly of Michael's conduct before.
She wanted to use this chance to knock him down a peg.
...And she was a bit angry at his rudeness toward Matthew, too.
"Don't worry, my lady."
Matthew gripped the sword's hilt firmly, as if to say there was nothing to fear.
"I don't lose—whether it's a spar or real combat—unless I choose to."
Step, step.
He strode to the center of the training grounds, leaving those words behind.
Michael was already strutting around, glancing at the onlookers.
The knights in training had all rushed out, forming a wide circle.
"Michael's stirring up trouble again!"
"Knew that guy would eventually."
"He saw that evasion earlier and still challenged him?"
"A knight's a knight, though. He's flashy, but he's got the skills."
The knights chattered among themselves, betting on the outcome.
Matthew's dodges were impressive, but most figured a knight like Michael would win.
Some bias toward their own, sure—but their pride in the knightly title ran deep.
Knights lived by the sword, and Northern knights were held in especially high regard compared to those elsewhere in the Empire.
They were the real deal, tempered by magical beasts and constant combat.
Michael, three years into his knighthood, was no different.
'His evasion looks incredibly fast. But if that's all... I've got a solid chance.'
Michael's mind raced.
He couldn't afford an embarrassing loss with all these knights watching.
Recalling Butlerh's bout with Matthew, he devised his winning strategy.
'He's evasion-focused, so close in, grab his arm, and switch to grappling.'
Northern knights trained not just swordsmanship but basic punches and kicks for survival.
To fight capably even without a blade, prepared for any scenario.
His plan: pin Matthew down so he couldn't dodge, then strike.
"We'll begin the spar shortly."
The knights fell silent at Butlerh's voice.
"Rules are simple. Artifact magic triggers? You're out. Step outside the ring? You're out."
Butlerh handed each a circular artifact.
"Channel mana into this, and a protective spell activates. It blocks one fatal or severe injury. Got it, Matthew?"
"Artifacts for sparring? Fun! Haha, understood."
Artifacts—magic-infused items, also called magic tools—were traded even for paltry effects.
This high-end one would cost a bundle of gold coins.
A fitting tool for the North, where real-combat spars were prized.
"Ready..."
Shing!
Michael drew his sword with fluid grace.
A classic knight's longsword.
Matthew aimed his slender staff-sword at him.
Tension peaked.
"Spar starts!"
Butlerh's command rang out.
"Hup!"
Michael enveloped his body in mana and kicked off the ground.
'Close in and shut down his evasion!'
Butlerh's spear hadn't connected due to reach.
At point-blank boxing range, victory was his.
Not the most knightly win, but he didn't care right now.
"He's awfully aggressive!"
"That's a Northern knight for you!"
"Impressive... Quite the lesson."
Matthew retreated with a hint of surprise.
'Good, he's rattled.'
Michael's sword flowed smoothly.
A barrage centered on hard-to-dodge horizontal slashes.
Yet Matthew evaded as if dissecting every move.
The instant Matthew slipped away unscathed.
Clang!!
Michael felt a sharp impact on his shoulder and staggered back.
'...Hit? When?'
The staff-sword was thin, but not so slow he wouldn't notice.
Otherwise, he couldn't have survived three years of Northern sword-for-hire life.
So what was that attack just now...?
"What's Michael doing?"
"Why stop mid-attack? Perfect timing, no?"
"Take the spar seriously! For your knightly honor!"
The clueless knights shouted noisily.
To them, it looked like Michael had just retreated alone.
Even veteran knights hadn't caught Matthew's strike.
As he clutched his shoulder and groaned, Matthew spoke.
"Why'd you stop? Oh, is your shoulder hurting?"
"...What?"
"We can pause anytime, so just say the word."
Michael ground his teeth at Matthew's concerned tone.
'Is this bastard... looking down on me?'
Grip tightening on his sword.
As a knight, he couldn't ignore that remark.
That constant smile felt like mockery now.
"Don't get cocky!"
"I've never been cocky, though..."
Scree!
Michael pressed aggressively.
Short steps for lunges, even a shoulder charge without swinging.
But every result was the same.
Clang!
"...Cough!"
Matthew was already out of range.
He'd taken an unnoticed blow and retreated.
Shoulder aching, body throbbing all over.
'Am I... going to lose?'
Huff, huff.
Sweat dripped from his jaw.
The knights' wild speculation quieted.
They'd realized midway he wasn't joking around.
"You alright? We could end it here."
"...Shut up."
Matthew suggested stopping again.
Blood boiled in Michael's veins.
Losing to pure evasion, no sword clashes?
By means no one else even saw?
Fury twisting his face, Michael whirled around.
"Your Grace!!"
"What is it? Forfeiting?"
"No. I believe this man used sorcery. I lodge a formal protest."
The air froze instantly at his words.
'Sorcery' carried layers of meaning.
Forbidden black magic in the Empire... or, in a sword duel, artifacts, spells, potions.
A smirk curved Butlerh's lips.
"Michael, what sorcery do you think he used?"
"Well..."
"Answer me."
Step.
Butlerh advanced a step.
Michael's mind blanked.
He'd assumed the Archduke would back him.
"Can't answer?"
But Butlerh's face twisted in rage.
"Of course not. It wasn't sorcery."
"Impossible! How else does he attack while evading? Our swords didn't even touch!"
"You bet on winning, then cry sorcery when you're losing."
"N-no, Your Grace, hear me out—"
Bam—!!
Before Michael could finish, a fist slammed into his jaw.
He flew beyond the ring's line on the training ground floor.
"Don't tarnish the Atlante name any further, Michael."
The artifact finally flashed, a barrier forming around the unconscious man.
A bit unsightly for a knight.