On the carriage ride back to my main base—the workshop—after practically wrenching the thing out of the main house.
“Kukuku.”
A cackle straight out of some third-rate villain slipped from my mouth without meaning to.
Because I could already guess, more or less, what must be happening back at the estate right about now.
Cassdia had surely come around to pick another fight with Lyriette, tried to dispose of the doll, and either fainted dead away at the illusion of a horde of bugs bursting out of it, or fled with her feet practically on fire.
In the original story, Cassdia was a woman with an absolutely monstrous case of mysophobia.
Bugs especially—she loathed them to a degree that was genuinely unsettling.
It got so bad that once, when she happened to stop by the kitchen and a little pill-bug turned up, she had every single fixture in that kitchen cleared out and issued an outright order to exterminate the vermin.
“Ah, it’s such a shame I couldn’t see it with my own eyes.”
If only I’d thought to attach some kind of recording function to the doll.
But no matter how tempting, I couldn’t very well stuff something that shady into a gift meant for Lyriette.
I’ll just have to ask her for a full report the next time I visit.
“Nice weather we’re havin’.”
The wind fluttering in through the carriage window was so refreshingly cool that a smile bloomed on my face. I even caught myself humming under my breath.
“Now then, let’s see…”
Basking in the cool breeze, I decided to take the time to sort through my thoughts.
I could reasonably say that rapport with Lyriette had been established to a decent degree.
At the very least, I’d started off well.
The problem now was the direction going forward.
Even if, on the surface, she looked like she’d opened up to me somewhat.
There was a good chance that, deep down, she still found me intimidating.
Simple gift offensives alone wouldn’t be enough to heal all the wounds Lyriette’s heart had accumulated over the years.
‘Oden—yeah, I need that old man after all.’
That was why the first bright idea that had come to mind was somehow tying Oden and Lyriette together in a mentor-disciple relationship.
Lyriette’s biggest problem was her self-esteem.
Even in the original story, Cassdia and Abel picked fights with her over every little thing, so by the time she entered the Academy, Lyriette had almost no sense of self-worth outside of swordsmanship.
Even her confidence in her own swordsmanship fell far short of her actual skill.
To begin with, Abel had always been her point of comparison.
In terms of raw talent, Lyriette was never inferior to Abel—if anything, she surpassed him. But the problem was that, unlike Lyriette, Abel had received excellent instruction and the full backing of the family, allowing him to shoot up in skill at a blistering pace.
According to the original text, by the time he turned fifteen, he was already said to have no rival not just among his peers, but even among fairly seasoned swordsmen.
And in a way, that very Abel was an even greater root of all evil than Cassdia.
Riding on his early-blooming skill, he’d constantly summon Lyriette for sparring matches, and use them as an excuse to inflict violence on her.
Cassdia, cunning as she was, at least rarely left physical marks. A caning on the calves under the guise of “discipline” was about the extent of it.
But Abel was different.
And it had only grown worse from the point when Abel came of age, and Edmund, the head of the household, began wasting away under depression and a weakened will.
‘And that’s exactly where the reason—and the justification—behind Abel’s bullying of Lyriette comes from. If I fix just that one thing beforehand, I can rein in his cruelty.’
Abel was the textbook image of a noble villain straight out of a romance-fantasy novel.
High-handed, self-important, and fond of looking down on others.
But it wasn’t as if there was no basis for it at all.
The specific reason Abel was able to torment Lyriette to such a degree was his conviction that he himself was the more fitting heir to House Argent, and that Lyriette, despite sharing the Argent bloodline, simply didn’t measure up.
So then, what if the opposite happened—what if Lyriette’s skill leapt ahead early on, to the point that she could overwhelm Abel outright?
‘At the very least, he won’t be able to treat her the way he has been.’
Of course, he wouldn’t suddenly do a complete about-face and start fawning, calling her “dear little sister” with honeyed words. But at the very least, I could make him avoid her.
The first card I needed to make that happen.
That was none other than the Sword Saint, Oden Craig.
“Knowing my teacher, he’s probably dragged that old geezer along with him too. In that case…”
The two of them were practically inseparable whenever drinking was involved, so it was an easy guess.
Which meant the best possible move I could make was already decided.
“Sorry, could you pull over here for a moment? I need to buy some liquor as a gift for my teacher.”
“Yes! Understood.”
Before long, a village came into view up ahead, and I had the driver stop the carriage there.
Its name was Yeastwood.
Not a particularly large village, but renowned above all for its brewing, thanks to remarkably clean water and a mild climate.
Looks like I’ll really be emptying my wallet today.
Since it’s all for our dear niece’s sake, might as well go big.
***
“You little brat! Who leaves the workshop door wide open like that when you go traipsing off!”
The moment I arrived at the workshop, I was greeted with such a thunderous scolding that I immediately regretted coming back at all.
Unlike Gilbert, who’d only had a few scattered strands of white in his hair.
This man’s hair had gone completely, utterly white, with deep wrinkles etched beneath it.
And that nose of his—so enormous it reminded me of Big-Nose, tucked away in my subspace.
No, actually, Big-Nose had it better.
At least that thing didn’t have such a furiously hooked beak of a nose.
“My apologies, Teacher. I left in a bit of a hurry and forgot to lock up properly.”
I bowed my head toward my teacher, Godwin Rowell, and offered my apology.
Whatever the urgency, leaving without securing the workshop door was undeniably my mistake.
“Hmph, tch. At least you’re quick to apologize, I’ll give you that.”
“I’ve always been quick to admit fault, if nothing else.”
“Oh, is that something to brag about, you rascal!”
Well, isn’t it, though?
There are plenty of fools in this world who can’t even manage a proper apology after doing something wrong.
Anyway, feeling a gaze fixed steadily on me from beside my irate teacher, I turned my head that way.
“Lord Craig, you’re here as well. It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been keeping well.”
Oden Craig.
Like my teacher, a man well into his seventies, yet still sporting a neat head of blond hair—handsome... no, distinguished, is probably the better word for a man his age.
If Godwin was an old geezer with a foul-tempered face, this man, by contrast, carried a classical dignity and gravity that suited his age perfectly.
At the same time, he was one of the four current Dukes of the Silverion Empire.
In this world, the title of Duke generally referred to a hereditary title passed down through a family line.
But in extremely rare cases, there existed titles granted directly by the Emperor himself, accompanied by an epithet, in recognition of one’s renown.
This man was one of the few who had received such an honor.
The Heaven’s Sword Duke, Oden Craig.
“Well, it’s been a while indeed. You seem quite different somehow. Your air’s changed.”
“Has it?”
“Brighter, somehow. Did something good happen? Got yourself a woman, perhaps?”
“Ha, hardly. What woman would want a man who just sits in a corner reading books all day?”
I made a show of teasing him back, raising my pinky finger just as he had.
“Tch, I thought you’d changed a little, but you’re still just as dull as ever. At your age, you ought to be out meeting all sorts of women, getting bruised and battered a bit.”
“Unfortunately, I haven’t nearly the popularity Lord Craig once enjoyed.”
“Well, I suppose I did make quite a few women cry back in my day.”
Puffing out his chest with pride, at a glance he looked exactly like some paunchy middle-aged man reminiscing about his youth, spinning nonexistent heroics or embellished tales of the past.
But terrifyingly enough, that particular boast happened to be entirely true.
Not just from what was mentioned in the original story—I’d once seen a photo of him in his younger days, and he’d looked every bit like some devastatingly handsome young man ripped straight from a romance-fantasy novel.
If you asked me, as a man, whether I envied him—of course I did.
But just as I was about to fully indulge in that envy, I learned he’d also once been stabbed by a jealous woman, and decided things were fine exactly as they were for me.
Harems really aren’t easy, huh.
“In any case, congratulations are in order. I heard from your teacher that you’ve reached the 7th Circle this time?”
“Yes, somehow, it worked out that way.”
“‘Somehow it worked out’? Is reaching the 7th Circle something one just stumbles into? Ha, if the mages of this continent heard you say that, they’d all sink into despair and self-loathing.”
He wasn’t wrong, but hearing it said in front of the monster who’d reached the 8th Circle at thirty made me feel oddly embarrassed instead.
“In front of my teacher, that’s nothing but a drop in the ocean.”
“Is that so? Funny, considering he couldn’t stop singing your praises the whole way here.”
“...What?”
Someone praised me? That old man? Him?
That can’t be right.
I’ll say this with full confidence: not once, since becoming his disciple, have I ever heard a word of praise out of that man’s mouth.
Even when I reached the 6th Circle and was overjoyed, all my teacher had to say was, “What’s all the fuss about? You’ve barely learned to walk,” without a shred of hesitation.
That cold, heartless old geezer, praising me?
Unable to believe it, I glanced over at my teacher without thinking, only to hear—
“Praise, my foot! Has your hearing finally gone in your old age?!”
—him snapping at Oden in a voice thick with fury.
“Strange. As I recall, wasn’t it you who said we ought to throw a grand feast to celebrate, or something along those lines?”
“I just needed an excuse to drink! Don’t go fabricating things!”
“Hmm. If memory serves, you said something about being impressed he’d beaten Grita’s disciple…”
“That was only because I couldn’t stand watching that old hag preen about it!”
Grita’s disciple—ah, that must mean Clovis, the current Tower Master.
Aside from my teacher, he was the fastest to reach the 7th Circle before me.
Well, now I suppose I’m the fastest, though.
Anyway, having caught something worth teasing him with, I figured I might as well have a little fun. Chances to needle this old geezer didn’t come around often.
I put on a look of the utmost sincere emotion, clasped both my teacher’s hands, and cried out as if overwhelmed.
“Teacher…! I knew it—deep in your heart, you truly cherish me so much!”
“You brat! Cut out that fake act! I have no hobby of holding hands with some grown man covered in stubble!”
“Uhh, huhu…! Even if you say that, I understand. This must be what they call the boundless grace of a teacher’s love…!”
Using magic, I swiftly dabbed some moisture at the corners of my eyes and clung to him, and my teacher peeled me off his arm like some kind of leech, grinding his teeth.
“Grrrgh! Oden, this brat’s gone completely senile…!”
“Senile? What are you talking about? Anyway, it’s a lovely sight. Such a heartwarming teacher-disciple bond. When the time comes, you could have this boy carry your coffin.”
“No thanks!”
“Tch tch, what a sour-tempered old man. Don’t you realize what a blessing it is to have such a devoted disciple? I’m almost envious, myself.”
While I was busy putting on that shameless little performance, the moment I heard Oden’s words, an idea struck me—this is it.
Determined not to let the opportunity slip by, I hurriedly pulled a whole armful of liquor crates out of my subspace.
Both old men’s eyes went wide with astonishment at the sight.
“Y-you brat. What in the world is this now?”
“Don’t tell me all of that is liquor?”
“Of course it is. I wanted to treat the two of you properly, so I stopped by Yeastwood on the way here to pick some up.”
Yeastwood.
At a name no self-respecting drinker could ever forget, the two men’s eyes lit up with barely restrained excitement.
“Yeastwood, no less!”
“The liquor there really is excellent. Though this much must have cost you a fortune. Godwin, sure, but is it really alright for someone like me to accept something this valuable?”
“If you’re a friend of my teacher, then to me you’re practically a teacher yourself. I owe you plenty for all your past kindness, so please, don’t worry about it and have a drink.”
I personally uncorked a bottle, dropped a single ice cube into a whiskey glass I’d spent a small fortune on, and poured the liquor in as I spoke. Both men let out hearty, booming laughs.
“This fellow really has turned into a proper man, hasn’t he! Wouldn’t you agree, Godwin?”
“Of course, of course! I saw the talent in this one the very first time I laid eyes on him! Said to myself, this boy will command the world someday. Kekeke!”
Was that so.
All I can remember is him clicking his tongue at our first meeting and saying, “Go learn to walk first, brat. I’m not some wet nurse here to feed the likes of you,” before chasing me out.
Anyway, the moment I confirmed both their throats bobbing as the potent whiskey vanished in a single go, I refilled their glasses at once and hurried over to Oden’s side, leaning in to speak in a low murmur.
“Lord Craig. There’s actually something I’d like to discuss with you, if that’s alright?”
“What is it? I’m in good spirits, so say whatever’s on your mind.”
Doing this made me feel oddly like some kind of hostess at a lounge bar, but since it was all for a greater cause, I decided not to dwell on it.
“By any chance, would you have any interest in taking on a disciple?”
All of this—for the sake of our dear niece.