Before Lyriette could even get a word out, I hurriedly grabbed Oden and pulled him into a nearby empty room.
"Lord Craig, why is it that you cannot take her on as a disciple?"
My voice rose slightly, unlike myself.
And no wonder—I never expected to actually be refused.
Even setting aside everything else, Lyriette's talent at this point in time was already considerable.
For a moment I wondered if it was the same reason as with Abel, but that didn't seem to be it.
At the very least, Oden had already acknowledged Lyriette as a "swordswoman."
So then, why?
"How strange. Didn't you say you'd leave the decision of whether to take her as a disciple entirely to me?"
"I did, but surely you can at least tell me the reason."
"That, I cannot say."
"Why not?"
"There are simply things like that, my boy. There are truths in this world one need not necessarily know."
Need not know?
That almost sounds like knowing would be a disadvantage.
"Is there something wrong with my niece? Don't tell me she doesn't have long to live, or—"
"What a terrifying thing to say. She might hear you."
Ah, right.
I'd been so flustered I'd briefly lost my composure.
Since she was the very child who'd met a bad ending in the original story, all sorts of dreadful thoughts kept surfacing.
What if there was some incurable illness I didn't know about, some strange twist hidden away?
"Besides, if it were something like that, I would have told you immediately."
"Right. I suppose my head went a little strange for a moment."
"Was it truly that much of a shock?"
"Yes, it seems so…"
Honestly, I'd barely considered the possibility of refusal.
At most, ten percent or so.
I'd more or less expected Oden to take Lyriette on without much trouble.
"Don't worry, it's not a bad reason. If anything, it's welcome news. In time, you'll come to know it on your own—and even if you don't, I'll give you a hint when the time comes."
What a cryptic thing to say.
If it's good news, why can't he just tell me?
And I had no idea when this "time" he spoke of might even be.
"Besides, I only said I couldn't take her as a disciple. I can still give her the occasional lesson."
"Really?"
Well then, he should have said that first.
Confusing a man like this.
Just moments ago I'd been glaring at him like a mortal enemy, but now I switched tones in an instant, my voice turning smooth and pleasant as I asked again.
For a moment, Oden looked at me as if to say, "What kind of person is this?" But I merely smiled back, shameless as ever.
"My, my. Weren't you the man who never looked twice at anything but magic? Your devotion to your niece runs quite deep."
"Well, she is my one and only niece, after all."
"And what of that boy, Abel?"
"Ah, right. There was a fellow like that too."
I'd forgotten all about him.
Well, not that it mattered.
In any case, the important thing was that although he couldn't take her as his chief disciple, he was at least willing to grant her the position of a student receiving instruction.
Of course, it wouldn't compare to being his chief disciple, inheriting all his sword arts.
He wasn't the type of man to teach halfheartedly just because someone wasn't his chief disciple, either.
Just one piece.
The foundation Lyriette had never properly received until now—if even that alone were given to her, her talent might bloom so quickly that catching up to Abel would only be a matter of time.
"Then may I go tell my niece right away?"
"As you like. Ah, but before that, there's a piece of advice I'd like to give you, regarding that child."
"Yes, I'll take it to heart."
If it had been the old man nagging me about myself, I might have brushed it off.
But when it came to anything about Lyriette, I needed to open my ears wide and listen.
I even bolstered my hearing with magic, determined not to miss a single syllable, when—
"For a while, hold that child close, and stay by her side. That should be the very first thing you do."
"……?"
Oden offered advice that felt somewhat vague, floating without ground to stand on.
It wasn't as though I needed to be told to do that—I would have done it regardless.
But the weight he'd put behind those words nagged at me.
Could it be connected to whatever truth he hadn't revealed earlier?
***
"Uncle!"
"Sorry to keep you waiting. The conversation ran a bit long."
"It's all right. I was worried you might have come in the middle of something busy…"
"Even if I'm busy, I'll always make time to see my dear niece."
In truth, my teacher had clung to me stubbornly, insisting we attend the academic conference together, and I'd only managed to slip away by saying I just wanted to see my niece's face.
I'd have to go back eventually, though.
Ugh, I really don't want to.
Just thinking about sitting among a bunch of old men, tiptoeing around their moods again, gave me a headache in every possible way.
"Well, since it's not often we meet like this, why don't we take a look at her skills for a moment?"
Oden, having stepped away briefly to wash his hands, spoke up as he returned.
Seeing is believing, after all—he probably wanted to get a rough sense of Lyriette's ability.
"U-Uncle, will it be all right? For me to show my swordsmanship in front of the Sword Saint himself…"
"It'll be fine. Even if you fall short, you can learn from here on. Lord Craig said he'd personally teach you, after all."
"Really? But earlier, he clearly said—"
"He said he couldn't take you as a disciple, not that he couldn't teach you. For all his airs, Lord Craig is quite sincere about nurturing the next generation."
In the original story too, it wasn't that Oden never had a disciple before Leon—it was simply that he'd never had a formal one.
He'd stop by the academy from time to time, giving lectures, staying reasonably active in fostering the younger generation.
Even the crown prince, who had once been refused as a disciple—whenever he happened to visit the palace, Oden had still looked over his swordsmanship on occasion.
"So show him your best. I know you can do it."
"Yes. I'll make sure to do well."
It seemed Lyriette had been quietly discouraged by Oden's earlier words, because the moment she heard mine, a fire lit up in her eyes.
Blood really doesn't lie.
"Then I'll go fetch my wooden sword."
"Ah, before you go, take this."
"What is this, Uncle?"
I caught Lyriette just as she was about to head back to her room and held out a small paper bag.
Curious, she peeked inside—and her eyes widened like saucers.
"They're clothes that are comfortable to train in. I didn't know your size, so I just guessed, but I think they should fit."
It wasn't anything special—just a few outfits that absorbed sweat well.
I was fairly certain Lyriette didn't own anything like this.
Of course, given that she had rather luxurious dresses, one might wonder why she wouldn't have clothes like these.
But those dresses existed only to make it look like Cassdia was properly treating her as a daughter—borrowed through an acquaintance, hand-me-downs dressed up to seem otherwise.
Beyond that, Lyriette's wardrobe was truly sparse.
She'd had so little to wear that there had even been times she'd practiced swordsmanship in a dress.
"Was it not a good gift?"
I asked with a hint of deliberate teasing, watching as tears welled up in her eyes.
Lyriette shook her head without a word.
She looked like she'd burst the moment anyone touched her.
"No. Hff! I—I'm really grateful, Uncle. I'll wear them carefully."
"They're not clothes to wear carefully. It's fine if they get dusty or dirty—just focus on your training. I'll buy you as many more as you need."
"Hnngh… hic!"
Goodness, who would have thought our dear niece was such a crybaby.
It was so different from the Lyriette Argent I knew that it felt a little strange—and yet refreshingly novel.
After she'd already become the villainess in the original story, Lyriette had never shown a side like this.
No—actually, there was one time.
Right before she died, at Leon's hands.
*As long as I'm here, that future will never come to pass.*
The moment that brutal, heartbreaking scene—the one I'd once only seen as an illustration—came rushing back to me, my hand moved to Lyriette's face without my even realizing it.
Wiping away her tears, I found her gazing up at me, and she looked so much like a piece of glasswork crafted by a master artisan that holding her any longer felt almost dangerous, and I pulled my hand back without thinking.
For some reason, Lyriette looked at me as if she regretted that—but I simply told myself it was a mirage born of being swept up in the moment.
"T-Then I'll go change and come right back out, Uncle."
Perhaps she thought she'd shown an unbecoming side of herself in front of her uncle and the swordsman she admired.
Embarrassment seemed to catch up with her belatedly, and she practically fled into her room.
Somehow it reminded me of a rabbit poking its head quietly out of its burrow, only to spot a predator and dash back inside.
Which just goes to show how adorable she is.
"Lord Craig."
"What is it?"
"Isn't my niece just precious? 'So dear you'd never want to let her out of your sight'—I think that's exactly what this phrase was made for."
"…It's not easy to become a doting fool at your age, and yet you've outdone even me."
Is that so?
I'd think anyone with a niece that adorable would become a doting fool too.
Go on, raise your hand if you disagree.
Bang.
Next.
***
Swish! Shwoosh!
Lyriette's hand thrust her wooden sword forward with considerable speed, then pulled back, and struck again, over and over.
Her footwork was quite fast as well.
Though I wasn't a swordsman myself, it seemed no easy feat for a ten-year-old to have such fluid movement, and an admiring sound slipped from me without meaning to.
"Stop. That's enough."
"Hff…! Yes."
At Oden's signal, Lyriette's body came to a halt.
"Well done. Drink this and catch your breath."
"Oh, thank you, Uncle."
I handed the waterskin to Lyriette, who was breathing hard, and she smiled as she wet her throat.
It really was a healing sight to behold.
The villainess who'd met a bad ending in the original story was now burning with youthful passion right before my eyes, sweat beading on her skin.
And smiling so brightly, no less.
Meanwhile, Oden seemed to sense something was off, stroking his chin as he studied Lyriette intently.
"How peculiar. I heard you'd been taught swordsmanship, but your fundamentals are quite lacking."
"I—I'm sorry."
"I'm not scolding you. Your fundamentals are lacking, that's all—but certain stances and movements are remarkably clean. Almost as if you learned them by watching someone over their shoulder."
"Hic!"
The man was practically a mind reader.
At his uncannily accurate remark, Lyriette let out an adorable little hiccup.
Just as Oden said.
Lyriette's swordsmanship hadn't been taught to her by any instructor, nor by her brother.
It was something she'd nurtured alone, painstakingly, simply by watching the two of them practice from a distance.
"Very well. As promised, I'll stay here for a while and personally teach you. I happen to have some time to spare, so ten days or so should be possible."
"Ten whole days?"
"What, is that too long to be a bother?"
"N-No! It's because I'm so happy. Thank you so much, Lord Craig."
Lyriette bowed deeply, ninety degrees, her face lit with a bright smile.
Even I hadn't expected Oden to go this far, and I found myself a little astonished.
For all his eccentricities, he was famous enough that there wasn't an institution that wouldn't want him.
Ten days might sound simple, but keeping a man like him tied down at an academy to play tutor for ten straight days would be impossible even for a fortune beyond counting.
"How wonderful, my dear niece."
"Yes! It's all thanks to you, Uncle."
"What have I done? It's simply that our niece's talent is so outstanding that it moved Lord Craig's heart."
As I wiped her sweat-drenched face with a towel, Lyriette smiled shyly.
She seemed genuinely delighted to have been acknowledged by the world-renowned Sword Saint himself.
I really did make the right choice.
If I just kept building up Lyriette's confidence like this, so much would change—
"I cannot accept this!"
"…Hm?"
Cold water was thrown over the warm atmosphere in an instant.
The cause was an uninvited guest whose face had appeared at the far end of the training grounds.
Judging by how flushed and out of breath he was, he must have run here in a great hurry, glaring this way.
It was Abel.