At last, the day of the sparring match between Lyriette and Abel had arrived—it was tomorrow.
After finishing ten grueling days of training, Lyriette went to bed a little early to keep her condition in check.
"Shh... shh..."
On either side of her, like the Azure Dragon on the left and the White Tiger on the right, lay her sturdy friends and comrades.
To her right, the rabbit doll she cherished and hugged close—Bel.
To her left, the wooden sword worn smooth by her hands.
"Uncle Baal..."
Even in her sleep, she now called out for her uncle, indulging in a little whining.
Treating the rabbit doll as a stand-in for her uncle's embrace, she nuzzled her face against it and squeezed the arm wrapped around it with all her strength.
Had Baal seen it, his heart might have stopped and he'd have collapsed on the spot—Lyriette was unconsciously staging a scene that perfectly embodied the phrase "the violence of cuteness."
Creak....
Into a room that seemed destined to remain peaceful, an uninvited guest appeared.
Muffling every sound as much as possible, the figure carefully pushed the door open and crept inside.
Soon, the faint moonlight filtering through the window revealed the intruder's face.
It was Abel, Lyriette's older brother.
*She's out cold, sleeping without a care.*
Seeing his sister's carefree, sleeping face—utterly oblivious to what churned inside him—made his stomach boil.
That she, a failure of House Argent, would dare—
Would dare be chosen by the Sword Saint over him.
*I should have been the one in that position.*
In truth, he didn't care one way or another about the Sword Saint himself.
What Abel wanted was simply the value of that name.
Just being able to say he'd studied under the man—how much he could boast among children his own age, how the young ladies of other houses would look at him with sparkling eyes.
Just imagining it made his body tremble with exhilaration.
Up until the morning ten days ago, he had been dreaming of a rosy future.
And then his tactless little sister had ruined it.
*She must have secretly wanted this too. There's no way she'd have accepted so readily otherwise.*
If she'd had even a shred of respect, reverence, or proper courtesy toward her older brother, she should have declined once and yielded the spot to him.
That she hadn't meant one of two things: either she harbored some rivalry against him, or she was drowning in baseless arrogance, believing herself worthy of the Sword Saint's teachings.
As the eldest son of House Argent and its future head, Abel could never tolerate either.
If it was the former, that was a crime of defying her older brother and the future head of the house.
If it was the latter, that was a crime of arrogance beyond her station.
Either way, as her older brother, he had a duty to discipline this inadequate sister of his and set her straight.
*I really am too generous.*
That he wouldn't give up on even a lacking sister like this, that he still sought to correct her ways—
Abel marveled at his own magnanimity.
Surely, if his mother could hear his true thoughts, she would praise him endlessly as a truly admirable child.
*Ah, right—I need to finish quickly and get out.*
Abel belatedly came back to his senses and pulled something from inside his clothes.
It looked like a slightly worn piece of parchment.
Difficult-to-read characters were written upon it.
A magic scroll.
Something he'd managed to secretly obtain over the past few days by whining at Cassdia relentlessly.
It contained no great magic.
After all, scrolls could typically hold only spells up to the 3rd Circle at most.
And the spell contained in this particular scroll was something called Fragility—a mere 2nd Circle spell, quite low in tier.
Its effect was simple.
It drastically reduced an object's durability while leaving its outward appearance untouched.
He planned to use it on the wooden sword Lyriette always carried around.
*There were other methods, but this one still seems best.*
Originally, he'd planned something more direct—slipping a laxative into Lyriette's food, that sort of thing—but he'd pivoted to this instead.
The reason was simple.
He wanted to give Lyriette a proper lesson.
If the match never happened at all, victory would come easily enough, but then there'd be nothing to make Lyriette actually fear him, would there?
So he'd participate in the match, but stage a scene where his sword would shatter to splinters right before her eyes, delivering her a crushing, hopeless defeat.
But above all, the biggest reason was—
*This is just cooler.*
He'd once read a novel he enjoyed, where the protagonist shattered the villain's sword and received cheers from everyone around—he'd admired that scene more than a little.
No doubt tomorrow, a crowd of onlookers would gather.
And in front of all of them, both siblings wielding the same wooden swords handed down by the family, he would crush Lyriette with sheer strength.
Just imagining it filled him with a thrilling, exhilarating satisfaction.
"Mm..."
"...!"
While he was still lost in the lingering afterglow of his imagined victory,
Lyriette showed signs of stirring awake.
Zzzt.
Startled, Abel quickly raised the scroll and cast the spell,
then, confirming the purple light seep into the wooden sword, swiftly left the room.
At last, as Abel's figure vanished into the darkness of the corridor,
Shhh....
A figure that had been hiding its presence, blending in with the wall, revealed itself.
***
"I heard Young Master Abel and the young lady are having a match today?"
"They've sparred plenty of times before. What's the fuss about? Honestly."
"No, this isn't just a regular sparring match. From what I hear, a while back, Young Master Abel..."
The next morning.
Having caught wind of the rumor spreading among their fellow servants, the household staff began gathering one by one at the training grounds.
Wandering off leaving their duties undone was normally unforgivable for servants,
but Cassdia, who had arrived at the training grounds before anyone else to claim a seat, chose to overlook it this time.
Why would she pass up such a fine opportunity, when she could show everyone the sight of Lyriette suffering a humiliating defeat?
"We shall now begin the match. Both of you, take your positions on either side."
"Yes."
"Yes!"
Unlike Lyriette's slightly tense expression, Abel—his voice charged with confidence—walked up to the marked line with a smirk on his face.
"The rules are simple. Whoever declares defeat first loses. However, should the situation escalate into excessive violence, I will step in personally to determine the outcome. Understood?"
"Understood."
Their voices overlapped, and Oden raised his hand.
"Then... begin!"
Crack!
The moment the signal rang out, a sharp clash echoed through the air.
The two wooden swords, having collided in midair in an instant, returned to their original positions.
"Ho, not bad, Lyriette. To react to that!"
He'd thrown out his first strike more as a test.
Seeing Lyriette respond with unexpected sharpness, Abel gave a cold smile.
His tone still implied he was the one standing above her.
But Lyriette merely thrust her sword forward, indifferent.
Thwack! Crack!
"...!"
Just two thrusts.
But this time, it was Abel's once-confident expression that crumbled instantly.
*She's fast!*
Lyriette's hand movements were strangely, uncannily quick.
The speed of the thrust itself, he could somehow manage to react to.
The problem was the speed of the recovery, and the thrust that followed—it was on an entirely different level.
It felt as if she had no preparatory stance at all.
Thanks to that, his reaction lagged just slightly, and the wooden sword grazed his shoulder.
But taking that as an opportunity, Abel launched a counterattack.
Let her taste the same medicine, he thought, delivering two thrusts of his own in return.
But—
Clack! Whoosh!
"What!"
The first attack, she blocked.
And on the timing of the second, she pressed her shoulder in and closed the distance, throwing his own balance off instead.
"Gah!"
Seizing that opening, Lyriette's wooden sword struck his left arm,
and a groan of pain escaped Abel's lips.
"A-Abel!"
"You're in the way. Please stay seated, sister-in-law."
Seeing this, Cassdia sprang up in shock,
but was stopped by a gesture from Baal, forcing her to sit back down.
"Damn it!"
Feeling humiliated at being struck by a sister he considered so far beneath him, Abel gritted his teeth and swung his sword in a wide arc.
Lyriette, too, had just delivered a large attack, leaving an opening—
he was confident this next strike would be one she couldn't dodge.
"Hah!"
"She—she dodged that...!"
But Lyriette, as if to prove a point, bent her body sharply backward, dodging the strike with such precise distance calculation that the wooden sword grazed the very tip of her nose.
A chorus of astonished voices erupted among the watching crowd.
A smile had already crept onto Baal's lips.
*Doesn't matter. If this drags on, that boy's sword will break first anyway.*
Abel, though inwardly on edge, recalled the scheme he'd set up the day before and smirked darkly.
From that point on, he switched to a purely defensive stance.
He focused solely on clashing swords, waiting for Lyriette's wooden sword's durability to run out.
The number of times their swords clashed had already exceeded twenty, but for some reason, Lyriette's wooden sword showed no sign of breaking—not even a single crack.
*Damn it! Why isn't it breaking!*
Feeling the anxiety mount, Abel ground his teeth.
Could the scroll have malfunctioned somehow?
No—just in case, he'd obtained two identical scrolls and even tested one beforehand.
The odds of that were slim.
If so, there was only one option left.
"Huff, huff... Lyriette."
"Whew... Yes, brother."
After exchanging dozens of blows, their bodies gradually approaching their limits, ragged breaths began escaping their lips before either could speak.
Lyriette readjusted her stance and waited for Abel to speak.
Putting distance between them, he wore a wicked smile as he opened his mouth.
"I'm getting tired of this tug-of-war. How about we settle it with one final exchange?"
"One exchange, meaning..."
"We each pour out everything we have into a single strike, and settle it there. Of course, if you're scared, you're welcome to run."
"....."
At the blatant provocation, Lyriette's eyebrows twitched.
The onlookers were watching, after all.
If she refused now, even a victory would be tainted by whispers behind her back that she had no pride as a swordsman.
Winning that way wouldn't really be winning at all.
More than anything, she didn't want to run away in front of the uncle she so respected.
"Fine. Let's do it that way."
*Idiot girl!*
As Lyriette nodded, Abel's eyes gleamed as he readjusted his stance.
Was she trying to preserve her honor, just because she was technically part of House Argent?
That foolish sister of hers had no idea this would be her fatal mistake.
Honor like that meant nothing in the face of winning or losing, anyway.
If it had been him, he would never have accepted this—he'd have simply kept the advantage and won as things stood.
*Well, I suppose since she's never had honor to begin with, she'd cling to the idea all the more.*
Distancing herself, Lyriette drew in a sharp breath.
Abel, too, watched her with cold eyes as he poured every remaining bit of strength into his wooden sword.
She'd held out fairly long, but she had to be nearing her limit by now.
With this one strike, he would shatter that eyesore of a sword and hand Lyriette a devastating defeat.
"Here I come, brother."
"Come, then!"
Lyriette struck first, and Abel charged in at the same instant.
Neither showed the slightest intention of dodging or defending.
Both, recognizing that this was the endpoint, swung their swords with the sole intent of felling the other in this single blow.
In that moment, a vision of the future flashed before Abel's eyes.
Lyriette's sword, snapped in two, and her hollow, defeated gaze staring at the sight.
Crack!
At last, their swords collided.
And with a weak thudding sound, something shot up into Abel's field of vision.
*I won!*
Fragments of a shattered wooden sword.
Only then did Abel, wearing a victor's smile, turn his gaze to relive the future he'd just witnessed.
"...Huh?"
But for some reason, an entirely different scene unfolded before him.
*How...?*
Lyriette's wooden sword was closing in on him.
And in reverse of what he'd imagined, it was his own sword whose blade had shattered.
Thud!
"Argh!"
With an undignified sound, his body slammed into the ground.
He tried to force his trembling, powerless body upright, but it was utterly futile.
Still reeling, his mind clouded in confusion and shock,
"The winner—Lyriette Argent!"
Oden stepped forward, raising Lyriette's hand high, announcing the match's outcome in a voice indifferently loud.
Barely managing to lift his head amid the despair of utter defeat,
*Huh?*
His gaze fell upon the base of his own wooden sword, snapped clean in two.
And for some reason, engraved there was a charming little flower pattern he had never once carved himself.