I nearly spat out my tea.
I couldn't believe Oden had just delivered the exact same line I remembered from the original story.
*That's what makes it worse—there's no malice in it at all.*
I wasn't trying to badmouth Oden. It was simply a fact.
To begin with, Oden wasn't the type of man to casually insult others.
He simply had a temperament that was honest to a fault, incapable of speaking anything but the truth.
He hadn't said it to deliberately belittle Abel.
He'd said it because, truly, he hadn't felt so much as a mosquito's hind leg's worth of swordsman's presence from the boy.
Which made it all the funnier.
I hadn't even aimed for it, and yet watching Abel take a hit like that felt utterly satisfying.
*Am I really this petty?*
I did wonder, briefly, whether it was unseemly to feel this way toward a mere twelve-year-old nephew. But given who the "nephew" in question was, I felt no guilt whatsoever.
Who was Abel Argent, after all?
One of the worst culprits behind everything that had happened to Lyriette.
In the original story, he was the one who beat a ten-year-old Lyriette black and blue, and then, standing before her as she wept, spat out garbage like, *"To think something like you is a member of House Argent. How shameful!"*
Which meant that beneath that innocent-looking face lurked something even more devilish than his own mother.
"Abel, why are you standing here?"
"M-Mother...!"
Cassdia came hurrying over belatedly, and at her bewildered question, Abel looked ready to clutch at her skirts and pour out his grievances.
"You've arrived, sister-in-law. Let me introduce you first. This is Lord Oden Craig. Lord Craig, this is my sister-in-law, Lady Cassdia Argent, mistress of House Argent."
"A pleasure to meet you. I am Oden Craig."
"I am Cassdia Argent. It's an honor to meet a man of such renown as Lord Craig."
So I swiftly cut Abel off with a smile, using the introduction as my excuse.
"Ugh...."
In the end, unable to even voice his complaint, Abel—looking utterly miserable—stuck close to Cassdia's side as she introduced herself, and drifted over toward us.
Come to think of it, that kid really did have a bit of a mama's boy streak.
"When my son told me he was suddenly bringing Lord Craig here, I can't tell you how surprised I was."
"Heh, surprised over some old man like me?"
"Not at all... Ah, if it isn't too rude to ask, how did the two of you come to know each other?"
"It's not much of a connection, really. My old friend Godwin happens to be this boy's teacher. We've crossed paths here and there, that's all."
"Oh my, is that so."
The conversation seemed to be going smoothly enough on the surface, but I could feel it.
Cassdia was glancing around nervously, subtly pulling Abel closer to her side.
No doubt trying to make a good impression on Oden.
All without any idea what had just happened here moments ago.
Meanwhile, Abel—looking like he wanted no part of this—kept trying to shuffle back away from her, which was frankly comedic.
*Ah, I shouldn't laugh.*
I really felt like I might burst at any moment.
"Since our child has taken up the sword, I suppose my son must have gone to some trouble to have him seen by someone so distinguished."
"Something like that."
"How was it? Do you think our child has talent?"
She likely hadn't noticed it herself, but Cassdia's nostrils were flaring.
The mask she always wore while playing the demure, elegant duchess was cracking in real time.
She reminded me, oddly, of those overzealous stage parents I'd seen in my past life.
As Cassdia's gaze, brimming with expectation, turned on him, Oden gave a wry smile and shook his head.
"Regrettably, I haven't yet seen his face, so to speak. I'll tell you after that."
"Pardon? You haven't seen him? What do you mean—"
Cassdia looked as if she'd been struck on the back of the head, glancing dumbly between Oden and Abel.
As if silently asking him, *He's right here—do you not have eyes?*
"Ah, could you mean this young man? My apologies. This old man made a mistake."
"Ah, n-no. There's no need to apologize, but..."
And once again, Oden's expression showed genuine lack of malice.
The same reaction he'd given Abel earlier.
Thanks to that, Cassdia's face twisted into the same bizarre expression Abel's had just moments ago.
Not a drop of shared blood between them, and yet mother and son were somehow as alike as two peas in a pod—which was hilarious in its own right.
"Well, since you've brought it up, might I ask... what do you think of this child?"
Still, playing the role of mother, Cassdia mustered the courage to ask for his impression.
Abel, too, seemed to be searching for some flicker of hope, his eyes brightening amid it all.
"Hmm."
Oden stroked his chin for a long moment, looking troubled.
*Surely he's not agonizing over whether to be honest or not—that's not his character.*
He was probably just choosing how to phrase it.
"Forgive me for saying this as a mere guest, but when I evaluate a swordsman, I don't look solely at talent with the blade."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I suppose you could call it looking at their vessel. The sword is a deep discipline, a martial art—and the human vessel meant to hold it is so terribly small and fragile."
Of course.
Just as I'd expected. I nodded to myself.
Yes, that was exactly the kind of man Oden Craig was.
A man who placed the sword above humanity itself.
A man who, before the sword, spoke of human beings as barely, or "merely," worth mentioning.
"And that vessel is born from will. Why did I take up the sword? Why did I seek to learn it? That is something no one can hide. Even my own great-grandson, a mere nine years old, shows it plainly."
"I see."
"And yet, regrettably, I cannot see it in this young man. I cannot even guess what feeling moves his hand when he swings a blade."
"You mean to say...."
Cassdia's lips trembled as she pressed for an answer, and Oden replied gently.
"It's a matter that precedes any discussion of talent, so I'm afraid I can't give you an answer. Once this child becomes a proper swordsman in his own right, I'll tell you then."
He phrased it that way, but Oden surely already knew.
That Abel would never reach the level of "swordsman" he spoke of.
To Abel, the sword was nothing more than a weapon and a form of power he'd stumbled upon at a young age.
There was no deep insight in wielding it, none in learning it.
But he didn't voice that truth aloud.
Whether it was out of consideration for Abel, or for Cassdia, one thing was certain—it was this man's own peculiar brand of kindness, from someone who was normally honest to an almost excessive fault.
***
After finishing that conversation—which had felt like walking on thin ice, though in my own way, I'd rather enjoyed it—
I led Oden toward Lyriette's room.
"Is this the room the child uses? It's rather isolated, off on its own."
"So it is."
Had Oden sensed the same unease I had?
His eyes, scanning the surroundings, were full of suspicion.
Well, of course. Who was this old man, after all.
Just from the attitude that mother and son had shown back in the parlor, or the location of the room alone, he'd probably already guessed roughly where Lyriette stood within the family.
But there was no benefit to me spelling it out with my own mouth right now.
It might only stir up trouble needlessly, so I decided to hold my tongue for the time being.
Surely Lyriette had at least heard that Oden and I were visiting, hadn't she?
I supposed I'd call out to her first.
Knock, knock.
"Niece, are you in there?"
"Uncle...!?"
Ah, wait, that wasn't quite right.
There was a note of shock in her voice, as though she hadn't expected me to come at all.
"Uncle! It's been so long since I've seen—oh?"
There came a crashing sound from inside, and then the door swung open almost immediately, revealing Lyriette.
She'd been about to offer a warm greeting, but she froze, her gaze shifting to Oden standing beside me.
"It's been a while, my dear niece. Have you been well?"
"Y-yes...! I've been well. But, Uncle, who is this?"
"This is Lord Oden Craig, the man you've been so eager to meet."
"Wh-what!?"
Judging by Lyriette's reaction, it seemed no one in the household had told her a single word about the two of us coming today.
Not that it was surprising anymore, but honestly, how childish could they get.
It was almost too absurd to laugh at.
"A pleasure, child. This old bag of bones is Oden Craig. You're Lyriette Argent, aren't you?"
"Y-yes, that's right. Ah, n-no, it's a pleasure to meet you. No, I mean, I'm honored to meet you...!"
She was so flustered she'd forgotten even the proper etiquette for a greeting, stumbling over her words.
The sight of it was so endearing that I couldn't help but burst out laughing.
It seemed even old man Oden wasn't much different.
Judging by the deeply satisfied smile spreading across his face.
"There's no need to be so flustered. Though, hearing you'd taken up the sword, I half expected some fierce, formidable young lady to be standing here. I'm rather surprised to find such a pretty, delicate little princess instead."
"P-pretty? That's far too generous a compliment."
Our dear niece, as always, seemed utterly unaware of just how pretty she truly was, and simply took the praise as empty flattery.
It was a rather heartbreaking sight, honestly.
There's no sadder thing than a person who doesn't know their own worth.
I'd have to see about educating her on that matter separately, someday.
"See? Didn't I tell you? That if the chance ever came, I'd bring the Sword Saint himself to visit my dear niece."
"I really didn't think you'd actually keep that promise."
"Ha, don't tell me you doubted me. That's rather hurtful, you know."
"N-no, that's not it! It's not that I didn't trust you, Uncle, it's just that I thought you'd be far too busy and important a person to actually—"
I'd been attempting some rather half-baked acting, but it worked perfectly on Lyriette.
Watching her wave her hands about like she was performing some kind of mime show was too much fun to tease.
*Ah, so this is why uncles get so addicted to teasing their nieces?*
Still, I ought to try not to become too wicked an uncle.
I'd only tease her occasionally, I decided.
"Hmph. Just as I'd heard, it seems you've held a sword for some time now. Still unrefined, but your balance while walking is quite well set."
"Y-you can tell that just from watching me walk?"
"This old man has devoted his entire life to nothing but this one thing. It would be a sorry state of affairs if I couldn't even tell that much."
"Wow...!"
Perhaps because she'd just been praised by none other than the Sword Saint himself, Lyriette's eyes lit up, and she bowed her head over and over in gratitude.
At this rate, our delicate little niece's back was going to snap in two.
"How long have you been swinging a sword?"
"About two years. I started when I was eight."
"Oh, quite fast progress. Was it due to the family's teachings?"
"Ah, n-no. Mother said it was fine, but really I just wanted to learn, so I did it on my own...."
*It wasn't that she said it was "fine"—more like she'd simply never been allowed to hold a sword in the first place.*
Unable to speak that thread of truth aloud, Lyriette offered a rather awkward excuse instead.
"Then does that mean you have no one teaching you?"
"A teacher comes by, but only very rarely."
A teacher did come, that much was true.
Only to teach Abel, and then leave.
And Lyriette would watch from a distance, or from her room, before practicing alone afterward, reviewing what little she'd managed to glimpse.
That was the whole of it.
"Since it's come up, why don't you take a look at her yourself, Lord Craig?"
Setting aside that pitiful truth for the moment,
I swiftly seized the opportunity to bring it up.
Oden, too, seemed to have some thought of his own, nodding as he asked Lyriette in a kindly tone.
"Not a bad idea. Well then, child. Would you care to receive a lesson from this old man, just this once?"
"What? M-me? A lesson... from the Sword Saint?"
*Pfft, she's broken.*
Well, I probably would've reacted the same way.
"Does that mean I'd be becoming the Sword Saint's disciple?"
"A disciple, hmm...."
Yes, Lyriette!
That's exactly the question I wanted you to ask!
Well done, my dear niece!
I glanced sideways at Oden, my own eyes perhaps even more nervous than Lyriette's.
Surely Oden would say yes.
Even though Lyriette's Sword's Yearning hadn't yet awakened—
Her talent alone had been acknowledged even in the original story as the genuine article.
Besides, this old man wasn't the type to ask whether someone wanted to learn from him if he had no intention of taking them on as a disciple in the first place.
*Hm? Wait, why is he looking at me?*
As I waited for his answer, Oden—who had been staring intently at Lyriette—suddenly turned his gaze toward me.
Then he looked back at Lyriette again, glanced at me once more,
and even let out a low grunt, furrowing his brow.
What was this? Was something wrong?
My heart pounded with unease as I waited anxiously for his answer, when—
"I'm sorry, child. I don't think I can take you on as this old man's disciple."
The reply shattered the faint hope I'd dared to harbor, and my mind went cold.
...Give me back my drink money right now, you old geezer.