Chapter 9: Guardian Knight - (3)

Millia Liantour was a diligent person.

Whatever she did, she was always the first to step forward. If she didn’t, she knew she’d be left behind.

Born without any exceptional talent into the long-standing and prestigious Liantour family, Millia was nothing remarkable compared to her brilliant relatives. No one had any expectations for her.

But in a strange way, that lack of expectation became Millia’s greatest motivation.

Since her family didn’t expect anything from her, she decided she would make herself into something through sheer will.

She swung her sword day and night, pouring herself into relentless training.

The title of Guardian Knight—she had seized it with blood, sweat, and grit. It would’ve been impossible without the bone-crushing effort she gave.

That effort didn’t stop once she became a Guardian Knight.

In terms of skill and experience, Millia was still lagging behind her peers. To stand shoulder to shoulder with them, she had no choice but to sleep less.

There probably wasn’t a single knight in the Royal Guard who slept less than she did. That’s how much of a grinder she was.

On mornings when Millia rose before dawn to head to the training grounds, it was normal for the place to be deserted, the chilly wind the only thing stirring.

“This is… strange.”

That’s how it should be.

But that man… what on earth was he doing out there at this hour?

Millia found herself staring at Freud, thinking.

Before sunrise, there he was—swinging a sword with a lone soldier in the drill yard.

They dueled all morning, and when it looked like he had finally gone back to his quarters, he returned to strike at the training dummies until nightfall.

He’d been repeating that same routine for three days straight.

Devotion to training was certainly a knight’s virtue.

And as someone who could be considered the poster child for hard work, Millia wasn’t about to dismiss it.

But there was something about the way Freud swung his sword that didn’t sit right.

There was no finesse, no conviction in his movements.

It looked no different from a clueless child flailing a toy around.

At first, she watched out of curiosity—trying to figure out what his game was.

Now, it had become part of her daily routine.

“Millia, there you are.”

“Sir Lautrec.”

Before she knew it, Lautrec had walked over and taken a seat beside her.

“You were watching Freud again?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Getting interested now? You always acted like you couldn’t stand him. Are you finally falling for the handsome guy?”

She glared at him. Lotrek quickly looked away, whistling innocently.

“It’s not that. I just wonder if it’s right for him to push his body like that, without even using mana. And he’s not even showing his real strength.”

“Well, of course you’d think that.”

The blue spirit perched on Lautrec’s shoulder kicked its legs back and forth.

When Millia met its eyes, the spirit turned its head away sharply.

After a moment, Lautrec spoke again.

“Looks like the Council’s decision is starting to come together.”

“What’s the result?”

“Just what we expected. Princess Lincia will be the next Empress. Of course, the coronation will only take place after her coming-of-age ceremony. Before that, they’ll need to formally gain the Senate’s approval. At the same time, the Empire will officially announce the former Emperor’s passing.”

“Which means…”

“Exactly. The vultures will descend from every corner. From now on, we can’t afford to have naïve thoughts. We’re surrounded by enemies.”

Lautrec let out a bitter smile.

The moment the crisis in the Imperial Family was made public, enemies would draw their swords.

For the religious cult that had tried to annihilate the royal bloodline, news of any survivor would spark new assaults.

They probably wouldn’t risk another full-scale war after what happened before, but still, it was now their job to protect the Empress-to-be from covert and cunning threats.

The Empire’s enemies weren’t limited to that cult.

Other nations long suppressed by the absolute power of the Emperor—and malevolent factions within and without—would rise to snatch their share from the chaos.

But the true enemies weren’t just outside.

From now on, they’d have to deal with the ones within, too.

Overwhelmed by the bleak future, Millia bit her lower lip hard.

“In that sense, Freud probably understands his role better than anyone.”

“Him?”

“Maybe it seems meaningless, but look at that soldier.”

The one dueling Freud—a slender, androgynous-looking soldier.

“Not long ago, that one was terrified of swordplay. But now they fight quite well, don’t they? They’re not even losing in strength to a knight.”

“That’s only because…”

“Because Freud is holding back?”

Lautrec beat her to the punch.

“If he didn’t, it wouldn’t even be a fight.”

“You’re saying this is… some kind of training? That Sir Freud is trying to raise the soldiers? That he’s thinking that far ahead?”

“Who knows? Freud is unpredictable. He might have other reasons. Maybe it’s just for his own amusement.”

Lautrec chuckled, and the spirit on his shoulder—Sylphy—sneered at Millia.

Sylphy was always rude to her.

But Millia couldn’t exactly scold her.

Her low affinity with spirits meant she could only see them—never hear or speak to them.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Freud, Lautrec continued.

“But one thing’s certain—Freud is doing something. In this situation.”

This situation—

The Emperor was dead.

The Royal Guard decimated.

Two Guardian Knights slain.

And the only one left… was a young Princess Lincia who hadn’t yet come of age.

Was there ever a more dire and desperate time in the Empire’s history?

There wouldn’t be another.

“That’s why you shouldn’t try so hard to keep your distance, Millia. Try to meet him halfway. He’s a capable knight, at the very least.”

Lautrec was right.

Freud’s skill was unmatched.

During the recent terror attack, he supposedly killed the assassin who had murdered Oswald—with his bare hands, no less.

No denying that.

“But…”

Even if her head understood, her heart didn’t.

Millia took a breath and spoke again.

“I still can’t accept him as a comrade.”

The memory was still fresh.

Her very first day as a Guardian Knight.

The day her hard work had finally been recognized.

Freud had called her over…

And with words too cruel to repeat, he trampled her efforts and pride.

The next moment, she had drawn her sword, and…

“I’m not saying to accept him. I’m saying to use him.”

“That’s…”

“Regardless, we need Freud’s strength. It’d be stranger not to work with him. That goes for me too.”

That old saying—even a child’s hand is worth borrowing—might’ve been made for times like this.

Though, in Freud’s case, he was no child.

Millia sighed, her eyes falling to the ground.

“I know… I really do. But what am I supposed to say to him now?”

Even in the infirmary, she’d left with a warning hanging in the air.

Things were already rocky between them, and that might’ve made it worse.

Looking back, it did feel unfair—to treat a knight who had given his all for the Empire that way.

A small twinge of regret began to grow in her chest.

“Then try this.”

Lautrec unfastened something from his belt and held it out to her.

It was a sword.

A familiar grey-steel blade with elegant silver patterns engraved into the sheath.

She recognized it.

It was Freud’s sword.

“I found it lying around. Probably lost it during the chaos. He can be such a mess sometimes.”

“And you’re giving this to me because…?”

“So you can use it to strike up a conversation.”

“A conversation…”

“I know you’re terrible at social stuff, so take this as a peace offering. Just—don’t go yelling at him again like last time.”

Millia opened her mouth but couldn’t find the words to argue.

Her awkward silence only proved Lautrec’s point.

With a small laugh, Lautrec set the sword down and stood.

“With Sir Uriad gone, the only real fighting force left in the Royal Guard is the three of us.”

“…”

“Millia, you’re a Guardian Knight too. You can’t afford to stay behind.”

“…Yes.”

Her eyes gleamed with quiet resolve.

****

Shak.

Kora’s sword came flying in, fast and sharp. I dodged it by slightly tilting my head.

Using that very momentum, Kora spun around and unleashed a second strike.

I raised my sword to intercept its path.

Clack.

The wooden swords collided with a rasping scrape of splintering wood.

After a brief contest of strength, I twisted my wrist slightly and deflected Kora’s blade.

His wooden sword slid down mine and dropped.

The thorn-like edge came dangerously close to my face.

I twisted my blade using the crossguard, knocking his sword aside, and closed the distance between us.

“Urgh…”

Kora quickly adjusted his stance and swung again, but I was a step ahead.

I reversed my grip and brought the blade up to his throat.

“…I lost.”

“And I won.”

Kora dropped his sword and raised both hands in surrender.

That made ten wins in a row.

No—if I counted yesterday, it was more like fifteen.

Today was day three of sparring with Kora, and by now, I was feeling confident.

I was certain I could fight him a hundred times and not lose once.

On the first day, I got the crap beaten out of me. But by the second day, I was already starting to win here and there. Now, on the third day, I was completely dominating him.

“As expected, once you get serious, I’m no match at all.”

It seemed like Kora had finally realized I wasn’t as terrible as the rumors made me out to be.

The tension in the way he treated me had noticeably eased.

I shrugged.

Of course, I hadn’t gotten “serious,” and I definitely hadn’t been going easy on him.

I just got better.

“Well done. You don’t have to come out tomorrow.”

“Ah, thank you!”

Then again, calling it “growth” might not be quite right.

The more time I spent crossing swords with Kora, the more vividly the experiences stored in this body resurfaced, as if awakened from a deep slumber.

It was something I could feel instinctively.

When facing an opponent, my body just knew—what movements were most efficient, where their weaknesses lay.

My body moved faster than my thoughts could keep up.

Just a few days ago, I’d been clueless about swordsmanship. Now, I could confidently declare I’d win every bout against a trained soldier.

But this overwhelming success wasn’t due to any talent of my own.

It was all thanks to Freud’s abilities.

It wasn’t so much growth as it was synchronization.

It was more accurate to say that my mind had synchronized with Freed’s body.

Of course, this wasn’t even the full extent of Freud’s potential.

I could already tell instinctively—Kora was no longer a worthy sparring partner.

To grow more, I’d need to face a stronger enemy.

That was why I let go of such a convenient punching bag.

“Well, take care then.”

“Yeah.”

As I watched Kora dragging his wobbly legs back toward the barracks, a loud, awkward cough rang out behind me.

Then came a woman’s voice.

“You’re very dill-hm—diligent in your training.”

I turned around to find Millia standing there, cheeks slightly flushed, a hand over her mouth.

…She bit her tongue, didn’t she.

Feeling secondhand embarrassment for her, I decided not to respond. I just stared at her.

She coughed again to recover.

“You were… instructing the soldier, right? That’s commendable.”

“…Instructing? This? How?”

I was just beating him senseless as a sparring partner.

In what world would this be called “instruction”?

“Hiding your true strength to match your opponent’s level… that humility is the mark of a true knight.”

What… is she even talking about?

“Did you eat something weird?”

“….”

Millia turned away for a moment, seeming to pull herself together.

Does she really hate Freud that much?

From what I’ve heard, I can’t blame her.

When she turned back toward me, her lips were pressed tightly together.

“Th-that.”

She awkwardly moved her stiff body and held something out to me.

A bundle, wrapped in fine red cloth.

A glint of silver peeked through—steel scabbard, elegant and polished.

I didn’t need to check to know what it was.

The sword I’d tossed aside during the Founding Day festival.

“That’s my sword. You found it?”

It was a rare and valuable blade.

I’d instantly regretted throwing it.

I’d been racking my brain trying to figure out how I’d recover it, so this was a huge relief.

Beaming, I took the sword from her and looked up.

Millia, her face locked in a rigid expression, forced her stiff lips to move.

“I… just happened to pick it up.”

What’s up with her today?

-- The End OF The Chapter --

 

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