[Translator - Prøks]
[Proofreader - Kawaii]
Chapter 48: Ten Gold on Young Master Allenvert
The training grounds were filled with the stench of sweat. Perhaps because the day was overcast, the sll seed even more pungent than usual.
‘But compared to what I’m used to, this is almost fragrant.’
In the back alleys on days like this, the stench was so overpowering it could give you a headache just walking through.
"Young Master Allenvert, welco!"
One of the senior officers of the 4th Battalion greeted , leading the way.
"A pleasure to be here. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important."
"Not at all! On the contrary, we’re quite honored that you chose to visit our battalion. It fills us with a sense of pride."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir. The troops are unusually motivated today."
"That’s good to hear."
Though I must admit, their enthusiasm isn’t what I’m here for.
"I’ll guide you around. As you may know, the Royal Guard consists of five battalions, each with 100 mbers. Entry requires achieving at least the 4th-tier…"
The so-called 4th-tier, was a prerequisite for joining the Royal Guards which can be summarized as follows.
A level attainable after about ten years of rigorous training by those with exceptional diligence, talent, and determination.
In other words, ordinary soldiers, rcenaries, or swordsn wouldn’t reach this tier no matter how hard they tried.
Typically, this level is achieved by knights—usually those in their late twenties or early thirties.
And what are knights, exactly?
They’re monsters capable of cutting through humans with a single stroke. They’ve mastered proper martial techniques, can unleash sword energy, and possess extensive combat experience.
Only then can they reach the 4th-tier.
‘It’s no easy feat.’
In the underworld, soone of the 4th-tier would essentially be king of their turf.
Not even the run-of-the-mill fourth-rate criminal organizations would dare challenge soone of that caliber.
‘Even in my past life, it took so ti to reach that level.’
Of course, even when I was a re 3rd-tier with rudintary mana, I had taken down countless 4th-tier opponents. Mastery of martial arts and actual combat prowess are entirely different matters.
‘Even the most skilled knight can die facing a seasoned underworld assassin. That’s real combat.’
But enough self-glazing.
As I glanced around, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer strength gathered under the na of Grunewald.
Every single Royal Guard here was a human weapon capable of taking down dozens of underworld thugs single-handedly.
‘And among them, Keseg stood proudly as one of their own.’
Half-listening to the officer’s explanations, I scanned the training ground for the face I was looking for.
‘There he is.’
Keseg was practicing with a real sword, slashing at the air in exaggerated motions.
‘Ugh, what nonsense.’
Even at a glance, his movents reeked of showmanship.
"Hm."
"Is sothing the matter, Young Master?"
"That man over there."
I pointed at Keseg, speaking just loud enough to be heard.
"His movents are flashy but clumsy. Is he perhaps a trainee?"
"…Pardon?"
The officer looked at with wide eyes, caught off guard by my sudden remark.
While Olivier stood nearby, he remained silent. Having lost our bet, he wasn’t in a position to refute anything I said.
"You’ve heard about what happened yesterday, haven’t you?"
"Yes, sir. Those thugs foolishly dared to challenge the Young Master of Grunewald…"
"The ones I fought were barely at the 1st-tier if even that. Their swordplay was rudintary, likely picked up from so third-rate manual."
"Ah, yes. That makes sense."
"But that man’s movents look eerily similar. How do you explain that?"
"…"
The officer was left speechless.
And then—
"…Excuse , Young Master, but I find your words a bit excessive."
Keseg, who had been swinging his sword in ostentatious arcs, approached with a scowl.
"Oh, did you hear ? My apologies if you did."
I raised my hand in a gesture of apology.
"I noticed you observing my training the other day, and I thought you might be seeking guidance. But seeing you today, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. My words slipped out unintentionally, so don’t take them too personally."
"…Ha."
As Keseg flushed a deep red, his face resembled that of a toad.
A toad wielding a sword, seething with embarrassnt and rage.
"This is disappointing. Is he really a mber of this battalion? Or is he perhaps assigned to… the kitchen staff?"
"…He is indeed one of our soldiers."
The officer stamred his expression a mix of awkwardness and slight displeasure.
Sensing his unease, I decided to add another jab.
"I see. My apologies then. It seems I let my expectations run wild.”
I said with a faint shrug.
"...Young Master."
Keseg's voice was strained with anger. I turned lazily.
"What is it?"
"If you’re so dissatisfied with my skills, why don’t we spar?"
"Are you serious?"
Keseg interpreted my question as doubt and let out a scoff.
"Then again, it might not be feasible. I wouldn’t dare risk injuring you, Young Master…"
I noticed the senior officer, who should have stepped in by now, was more preoccupied with glaring at in disapproval than de-escalating the situation. A grin spread across my face.
"Perfect."
This was the mont to hamr in the final nail. Once he realized what was happening, it would already be too late to back out.
"A sparring match with wooden swords should be fine, don’t you think? First to use lethal moves loses."
Even through his simring rage, Keseg’s eyes glead, as if he had stumbled upon an unexpected windfall.
"Are you serious about this?"
"Completely."
"My apologies, Young Master, but the gap between our abilities is far too great. Your lack of experience would only exacerbate it."
"Oh, is that so?"
"Of course. If you’ve mistaken for a common back-alley swordsman, I’m afraid that’s a grave error on your part—"
"For soone so skilled, your movents were awfully sloppy."
I interrupted.
"...If skill were judged solely by movent, then dancers would be the greatest swordsn on the continent."
"So you admit your movents are sloppy, then. And by the way, there are dancers who’ve reached incredible heights, so I’d say your remark is a bit narrow-minded."
Keseg’s expression tightened as though he realized he was being baited.
"While I may co from a less illustrious family than yours, Young Master, I am still a noble and a proud mber of the Royal Guard. I would kindly ask that you show more restraint in your words."
"Oh."
I couldn’t help but be a little impressed. A toad-faced man like him, speaking of honor with such conviction?
"I’m glad to hear you’re so honorable."
"And why is that, Young Master?"
"Because it’ll make it all the more entertaining when soone like —a re novice—defeats you."
I gestured lightly toward his unfortunate face.
"...You’ll have to take responsibility for those words."
"You needn’t worry about that. Leave that to ."
I fixed him with a firm gaze and continued.
"Let’s call this a duel, disguised as a spar. At three o’clock this afternoon, with witnesses allowed. Wooden swords only, no mana usage. Any objections?"
"No mana?"
"Surely you weren’t planning to use Sword energy against , were you?"
"Of course not."
He said hurriedly.
"Good. I’ll take that as your agreent."
"And who will officiate?"
Keseg’s confidence seed to have rebounded, a smirk creeping onto his face as if he thought the odds were now in his favor.
‘Simpleton.’
If that’s what he wanted to believe, I’d let him.
"My trustworthy Butler, Olivier, will officiate."
Keseg’s smirk remained, but he gave a small nod. Clearly, he recognized Olivier’s capability.
"I have no objections to that. I trust Sir Olivier will remain impartial."
His smirk widened into a sly grin.
"Whatever the result, I hope you won’t hold it against ."
"Pfft!"
I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
"…Why are you laughing?"
Keseg asked while frowning.
"My apologies." I said, stifling my chuckles. "It’s just—you look even funnier when you grin like that."
Keseg’s face darkened, his toad-like features twisting into sothing grotesque.
"That expression suits you better. I’ve always believed that ugly n are better off looking scary than trying to be amusing."
"Hah, haha."
Keseg laughed dryly.
"Young Master, you might want to tone down the provocation. I wouldn’t want an accident to occur—unintended, of course—during our match. Wooden swords or not, swords have no eyes."
"Well, that’s a given. If swords had eyes, wouldn’t that be horrifying?"
"..."
I chose not to rebuke this idiot’s thinly veiled threat. His foolishness was doing more harm to himself than anything I could say.
To avoid any ridiculous claims that I hesitated because of my status, I made sure to preemptively squash such nonsense.
"By the way."
I said, turning to the senior officer who had been silently watching as the duel was casually arranged.
"My apologies. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble during what was supposed to be a simple observation session."
"...It’s fine."
The officer replied, clearly taken aback by my sudden display of politeness.
"However, I am concerned about the possibility of an accident. While I will, of course, caution everyone—"
"Don’t worry. No one, yourself included, will be held responsible."
Hearing this, the officer’s expression eased, though only slightly.
"Well, this has been an unexpected turn of events. I’ll take my leave now."
I turned my back, flashing Keseg a smug smile before walking away.
"You’re really setting the stage here."
Olivier remarked as he caught up to .
"Does it seem reckless?"
I grinned.
"Perhaps. But with high stakes co high rewards."
"Exactly."
I had intentionally scheduled the match for the afternoon. That would give the rumor mill enough ti to spread the word, ensuring a decent crowd. People always love a good spectacle.
‘And it’ll surely reach Father’s ears. Maybe even my sister’s.’
It was a flawless plan. How many benefits could I reap from this single move?
‘Though there’s always the chance they won’t react as I expect.’
But that was fine. Most importantly, the thought of stealing a glimpse into the fad swordsmanship of Grunewald’s Royal Guard excited the most.
‘I can’t wait.’
After all, when it cos to leaning new martial arts, I can't control myself.
***
The news of a sparring match—or rather, a duel—between Allenvert and Keseg spread through the entire Grunewald ducal estate in no ti.
"What? Young Master Allenvert is sparring with soone?"
"Yeah, with Keseg from the 4th battalion."
"You’ve got to be kidding."
Jeffrey, the Captain of the Royal Guards tasked with escorting Allenvert the day before, recalled his carefree but undeniably handso face.
‘Like so hunting dog unleashed after being cooped up for too long. Always stirring things up.’
But Allenvert wasn’t soone who acted thoughtlessly. While Jeffrey couldn’t pinpoint the exact intent, he was sure there was a purpose behind this.
‘Still, Keseg is on a whole different level compared to those clumsy fighters. Does he actually think he can win?’
Jeffrey thought back to the thugs he had interrogated until exhaustion in the Royal Guard’s underground cells.
"Captain, are you betting too?"
One of the guards asked.
Jeffrey smirked at their eager expressions.
"Ten gold on Young Master Allenvert."
"What? Seriously?"
"Works for us! No one’s betting on him anyway."
Another guard said with a grin.
"Good. Spread the word. The bigger the pot, the better for ."
Jeffrey rubbed his hands together, clearly enjoying himself.
"But won’t that an less for us?"
"Exactly! What’s the point of ten gold if we split it?"
Jeffrey glanced at the four guards who had accompanied him.
"What about you lot?"
"I’ll put one gold on Young Master Allenvert."
"Forty silvers for ."
"Cheap."
Another muttered.
"I can’t help it! I just spent a fortune on new gear."
"I’ll put two gold on Keseg."
"I’m sitting this one out. My mother always told never to gamble."
"You’re no fun. Fine, suit yourself."
Jeffrey clicked his tongue but couldn’t help recalling Allenvert’s unpredictable nature.
‘He’s not soone who does reckless things without reason. There’s a plan here, no doubt.’
To be honest—
Jeffrey didn’t really believe Allenvert could defeat Keseg in a fair fight.
‘The gap between a trained swordsman and an amateur is insurmountable.’
Distance, timing, mind gas, techniques to disarm or deflect strikes…
Without that knowledge, anyone would be helpless. Even if Allenvert was a prodigy, seven years wasted in a sheltered life wouldn’t let him overco a seasoned Royal Guard.
‘Even if he loses, it’ll be a valuable experience. Maybe I’ll teach him a thing or two afterward.’
Jeffrey didn’t yet realize that he was already thinking like one of Allenvert’s loyal retainers.
[Translator - Prøks]
[Proofreader - Kawaii]
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