――Probably, no one would believe it.

“My name is Natsuki Subaru! A servant of Roswaal’s Mansion and the knight of the royal candidate here—Lady Emilia!”

At that moment, the blusterer turned everyone in the Royal Castle’s great hall into enemies.

Even the one who boldly proclaimed it couldn’t hide a tinge of light-headedness and impulsive behavior in their words—yet, there was one man who was deeply moved by it.

※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※

The sword of selection I picked up somehow fit perfectly in my palm to the point of making me want to cry. It was almost as if I were under the illusion that the sword had chosen me.

Yet, I had no reason to stand proudly like that.

“Shhh!”

Compared to my broken beloved sword, this one was slightly thicker and felt heavier at the tip. However, by taking that into account and unleashing my blade, it would be easy to compensate for any discrepancies.

It’s not that one can only handle weapons that fit snugly in their hands. I took pride in my training to adapt to any situation, making sure I could fight without being picky about my sword.

“You’re a bore, aren’t you?”

With that pride riding on my sharp thrust, I aimed it at the yawning man’s forehead. However, the man simply tilted his head to evade it, lightly brushing his hair with the blade, scattering his red locks as if he were tidying it, then leaping backward.

I closed the distance, pursuing him with my footwork.

When assessing swordsmanship during battle, it isn’t solely about handling the sword; the footwork also plays a vital role.

Naturally, there’s a range to a sword. To reach an optimal position as quickly as possible and seize every opportunity requires employing not just the arms but the entirety of one’s body.

Thus, when I began my swordsmanship training, the first thing I learned was footwork.

I would like to think I was fortunate to have a good teacher. Although his swordsmanship was somewhat inferior compared to mine now, given his age, it was understandable.

However, it was undeniable that he was skilled at imparting knowledge beyond his own prowess. He enjoyed discussing not just the practice of sword techniques but where those techniques originated and how they were passed down.

Naturally, I also found joy in listening to this and took pride in being able to put it into practice.

“——”

I caught up to his leap and struck with my sword, targeting his landing area. I disrupted three directions while my main attack aimed to slash from below.

“Just like in the example, huh?”

As my sword’s trajectory skimmed from under his legs to his chest, the man effortlessly changed it with a stick. When the stick intercepted my sword’s blade, my force was surprisingly diverted with ease. Even as I tried to resist, my swing was part of a brief instant of combat—where the man’s skill put an exquisite touch as delicate as threading a needle.

“—”

With astonishment, a groan escaped deep within my throat as my sword struck overhead. I twisted to avoid the resultant gap, commanding my consciousness to unleash the wind blade—no, that option was no longer available.

No magic was cast for containment. This was merely a gap created.

“Ha!”

A thrusting front kick pierced directly into my side. The toes of his bare feet dug into the spaces of my insides, and the moment my body bent uncontrollably, the foot that had pierced was twisted, causing all my organs to scream in unison.

I was blown away. In an instant, I flew towards the direction of the impact, preventing myself from being tossed about by inertia.

Yet, I couldn’t cancel out the potency of the kick itself. As my vision whirled and the impact to my torso cut through my brain, waves of nausea hit me while I focused my eyes to not lose sight of the enemy, smashing my feet down against the floor, attempting to stabilize my stance.

My breath was ragged. It would take a long time to recover from a deep breath.

I squeezed my lungs forcefully, exhaling all the oxygen left inside. Emptying my body completely, I forcibly remembered my calm amidst my hastened breathing.

“——”

I breathed out, and no longer had any breath left. With this, I could still fight. I had to be able to fight.

“——”

In my sight, about ten meters away, stood the red-haired man wearing a smile.

Once more, I leaped towards him. I had to desperately attack with my sword and strip that smug smile off his face. That would mark the start of the real fight—

“Quit posing, would you? There’s no truth or lies in battle, you know? Are you reading some fairy tale or something?”

“—Ah”

In the blink of an eye, the distance was closed, leaving me stunned.

Indeed, it was mere moments post-blink. The man closed the ten meters in an instant, thrusting the stick of his weapon right before my eyes. I instinctively raised my sword to deflect it, but a reckless motion would lead to a swift, arcing double strike to my temple and chest.

With sharp pain, my consciousness teetered on the edge, the acute sting almost pulling me under. I clenched my jaw, desperately clinging to the consciousness I was about to lose, stamping my feet firmly against the ground.

“Oh, ah!”

At that moment, I let out a low roar, delivering a crescent blade-like strike at the man. He elegantly dodged it, moving as if dancing, while an elbow struck my side again. My awareness wavered once more.

Shaking off my legs, the gradually spreading pain across my shoe supported my will to fight. However, my momentary judgment was impaired. Hence, I selected the most familiar strike available to me.

Simultaneously chanting fire and water, I combined it with a sword attack for a three-pronged assault—yet it failed.

There was no assistance from flames or ice, only the fruit of repeated practice that achieved the artistic slash deemed ‘the best.’ If my opponent were just an ordinary person, that alone would have surely sufficed to take him down.

“Hey”

The pinnacle of knightly swordsmanship was effortlessly deflected by the stick he swung casually.

A rising knee slammed into my solar plexus, forcing out my stomach contents accompanied by a groan. As I staggered, a barrage of strikes assaulted me from the front, preventing me from collapsing.

“Oh?”

Rather than toppling forward upon impact, I nearly fell backward, catching myself with an outstretched hand. Then, propelled by the momentum, I kicked out toward the man, who expressed surprise and dodged.

Spinning backward, I maintained my distance. Blood flowed from my nose. I dabbed it with my white sleeve. My uniform became glaringly stained with red.

It didn’t matter. I exhaled sharply, pouring every essence into the sword I’d been gripping tightly with my right hand.

It must reach him; it had to reach him. I needed to be strong, stronger than I had been.

“How pathetic you are. What of holding a sword? I’ve only been holding one for three months, you know? I might slice through light, but what can you cut?”

“Now, here, you—”

“Shut it. Can you even do it? You can’t do a thing. You can’t even swing until you can. You haven’t done what you needed to do, yet you only say what you want to do. Pathetic.”

In lieu of rebuttal, I slammed my blade down hard.

In response to my strike, ten or more blows rained down, pummeling me.

“——”

My consciousness swayed, yet I wouldn’t fall. Why wouldn’t I fall? That was—

“You’re lacking. Deficient. This isn’t your place. You’re out of your league. You don’t belong here.”

I had to be strong. I must prove that with my sword.

Having lost my name, my home, my family, my lord, my comrades, my friends, and the spirit bound by my soul.

What remained was just this. What remained was only myself. What I had built up as myself, shapeless, was all that was left.

That alone must serve as proof of my existence.

“You’re disgusting. Are you wearing a pretty mask? Are you satisfied just monkeying around and copying others? Your sword and you, they’re both boring.”

I once aspired to the peak of the sword.

There were moments I thought I could reach that place.

Yet, I soon released that desire, realizing it was a high ambition.

When I recognized that the red-haired boy, the boy wielding a sword, was shouldering something great in his gaze.

“No one is watching you. No one is expecting anything. Don’t think I’m playing around while you slack off. Hitting or kicking, it’s no fun with you, you know?”

I had dreams. Stories filled with brilliance flooded my mind.

To stand alongside those tales, I believed I fell woefully short as I am now.

Thus, I struggled desperately, hoping once again to reclaim the dream I had let go of at that time.

“——”

Those azure eyes, unfettered by an eye patch, along with the wild, flaming hair reminded me of the boy who caused me to relinquish my dreams, merging with countless other aspirations thereafter.

Someday, I wished to reach it, and I thought I had diligently pursued that wish.

“You’re not enough. Not at all. – Don’t slack off on life.”

Cast aside by the aspirations I yearned to reach, I was beaten down by a single stick.

Unable to even swing my sword, unable to land a single blow—even my accumulated efforts felt meaningless now, the blood and sweat I had built up were in vain, and the one thing I had faith in, I was now trampled over.

“——”

Something began to rise within me.

Yet, it was drowned out by what surged forth even more.

“Ha! Still holding on, huh? Things just keep getting more tedious with you.”

As I clicked my tongue, light erupted and my limbs were pierced.

I crumbled like a puppet with its strings cut. However, violence would not permit this.

My torso was struck. Breath escaped me. My hair was grabbed and I was swung side to side. I was slammed against the floor, rolling, my face kicked away. I spun like a disc across the floor, endlessly tumbling in a boundless white world.

I slammed against the floor. My body froze as I looked at the direction I was kicked away. The man’s knee struck me dead on. At the moment of impact, I aligned my forehead with his knee and managed to successfully bounce him away even as my skull cracked.

A gap had opened. I should be able to regain my stance—yet my body wouldn’t move.

“Hu, urgh…”

My whole body screamed. Especially the damage to my head was quite severe. My swaying consciousness wouldn’t stabilize; I felt like my brain might spill out if I relaxed even for a second.

Where was my sword? I slowly focused my strength in my right hand as if checking for it. I felt the certain grip of the sword’s hilt there. Relief washed over me.

I couldn’t let go. This much I had to hold onto. If I lost this, what would it mean to let go of everything else?

――Or perhaps, what I now held was something different in the shape of a “sword.”

“——”

I believed there was no error in my existence. This was my path, and I had walked it believing so.

I thought that would always be the case. It couldn’t waver through my life.

Thus, that something slipped through my hand and vanished was a question beyond right or wrong.

――Was it a mistake after all?

Had I corrupted my existence, strayed my path, misjudged that which I believed in?

Having lost my name, my home, my family, my lord, my comrades, my friends, the spirit bound by my soul.

If even that which should have remained as the one thing I clung to was nothing but a mere illusion, not substantial enough to support me—

――To be strong and support you, I swore to my lord.

――To remember my strength, the one remaining friend told me.

In a world where I had lost everything, that “strength” alone was all that supported my being.

That “strength” alone was the only irrefutability of my fragile, weak self.

“—Your doubts have revealed themselves in your sword.”

“—!?”

How much time did I spend in self-questioning?

Perhaps it was but a moment less than a second. However, in that brief gap, for the man—no, for the “Sword Saint”—it was an opportunity to endlessly slay the enemy.

I desperately swung my sword to block the incoming attack.

A high-pitched sound resonated. When I opened my eyes to see, there lay my sword rolling across the floor.

It slipped from my grasp, and finally, even my sword was lost.

Standing here with neither name, pride, nor sword, what remained of me then?

“No qualifications to reach the divine sword. — You, I couldn’t even offer you a subordinate’s position.”

His dry voice coldly announced, as the Sword Saint gripped the stick firmly and lowered his stance.

――For the first time, the Sword Saint assumed his posture.

Almost immediately, the stick howled, and the sword technique—this was undoubtedly a sword technique.

An absolute sword strike was unleashed, throwing me around amidst the shockwave.

“——”

Be it a fist, a kick, whatever violence I had faced until now, none compared to this hit.

This wasn’t mere violence. This was the peak of swordsmanship, the true “strength” manifesting in supreme sword technique.

Engulfed by light, my consciousness faded.

Would I see death? Would I witness something that had surpassed death? I couldn’t even tell.

Yet, at the moment of being blown away, I heard a voice just barely.

“Julius—!!”

That wild cry bore an air of tragic desperation.

In a mad dash, racing up the long stairs to abruptly encounter a decisive moment.

Such a voice was calling, and a smile inadvertently surfaced because it felt so out of place.

The best knight. The Lugnica Kingdom’s royal guard. Heir to the Euclius family and the next head. The knight of the royal selection candidate, Anastasia Hoshin.

――Julius Euclius.

“Ha”

Did I even have the right to be called that name now?

With that last question, Julius’ consciousness was engulfed by light and cut off completely.