2 – A Warm Spring Day

Having fed the living things around me, I returned directly to the manor.

Normally, venturing out like this would be cause for scrutiny and concerned inquiries.

But branded an outsider, and the Northern Duke regarding me as little more than a pawn in his southern political schemes…

Most saw me as a walking calamity, and tended to avoid me.

Consequently, whatever I did, whatever mischief I might brew, drew little notice, and thus, no real restrictions came my way.

Thanks to this, I was quite free to do as I pleased.

‘In any case, what I need to do is train in close combat until the elixir arrives.’

The reason for this, by the way, was firstly because Damian’s family was renowned for its swordsmanship.

And furthermore, in order to survive in the North, close-quarters combat was an essential skill.

‘For now, I’m safe enough.’

But thinking of the rifts that would one day open, it was best to prepare in advance.

Besides, to help Elysia, it was preferable to possess basic combat abilities, so I resolved to dedicate all my time to training.

‘And for that, I shared tea with my knight escort.’

Of course, he probably would have helped me train even if I hadn’t shared, but I figured having received something might encourage him to put even more effort in, so I spoke.

“Lorraine, train me.”

“Huh? … Ah, yes. Yes?”

The knight escort looked surprised, as if he never expected me to ask such a thing, and stared at me with a bewildered expression.

Ignoring him, I set about gathering what I would need for the training grounds.

‘Tea, potions, bandages.’

With just these three, infinite training was theoretically possible.

I decided to take as much as I could, gathering them together when Lorraine smacked her lips and asked me.

“Um, young master, by any chance is there any of that tea left?”

The tea must suit her palate quite well.

Since it wasn’t difficult to make more, I gave a light nod. Lorraine’s lips curled into a wide smile as she declared.

“I will make a man out of you, young master, without fail!”

“… A man?”

“Ah, nothing at all!”

Lorraine averted her gaze, and I shook my head, finishing all preparations.

*

Approaching the training grounds, I noticed a considerable number of people in practice.

Scanning the area, I made my way to a relatively quiet spot and relayed my request to Lorraine.

“I want to learn close-quarters combat.”

Lorraine was the youngest son of a family famed for their swordsmanship, but the reason I specifically said close-quarters combat, rather than swordsmanship, was this.

In the North, unlike the South, battles tended to be protracted, so it was common to use not just swords, but other melee weapons as well.

‘If I wanted to be recognized by the family, or become the strongest swordsman, perhaps I would have devoted myself solely to the sword.’

But the reason I was learning close-quarters combat in the first place wasn’t for personal growth, but to be of assistance to Elyssia.

As long as I could improve enough to be helpful, it didn’t matter much what I learned.

Upon hearing my words, Lorraine seemed to consider it for a moment, then posed a question.

“You’re certain you want to learn close-quarters combat, and not swordsmanship?”

I nodded, and Lorraine, with a serious expression, asked me the reason why.

After I briefly explained, Lorraine pondered for a moment before speaking tersely.

“If you’re training with prolonged battles in mind, blunt weapons might be better. The performance of a sword drops dramatically the moment its blade dulls.”

However, blunt weapons consumed a lot of stamina, so if I couldn’t build up my endurance, they could tire me out even more than a sword, he added.

“Of course, all of that can be compensated for with mana. But in your case, little master, since you can’t use mana yet, let’s try a variety of weapons and see what fits you best.”

Hearing those words, I glanced over the weapons laid out, picking up a wooden sword, a wooden mallet, and a wooden mace, placing them nearby.

The moment I chose the wooden practice weapons, the gazes of the Northern soldiers momentarily focused on me.

But after seeing Damian’s frail physique, they sneered and turned away.

Those looks were meaningless anyway, so I ignored them and told Lorraine that I was ready. Lorraine picked up a wooden sword nearby and spoke.

“So, for now, give it your all. I’ll point out any mistakes.”

I brushed back my hair and nodded.

*

In modern times, the common knowledge was that the body was a consumable, and overexertion was bad.

But in this world, such common sense didn’t exist, and there were even items that restored the body to its original state, so I was pushing myself without reservation.

“Alright, little master, that’s enough for now.”

If my skin tore, I could apply a potion. If my fingers broke, I could drink a potion.

Of course, potions weren’t a panacea, so they couldn’t completely erase injuries.

But ‘high-value potions’ contained divine power, allowing me to easily gloss over such minor issues.

“A potion, and you’ll be fine.”

“It’s not *that* that’s the problem. It’s my heart that isn’t fine.”

The surroundings were not just covered in blood; my clothes were completely dyed crimson. I suppose, from a guard’s perspective, there was no terror like this terror.

To grow in a short amount of time, it was better to push myself, even if it was a bit reckless, because ordinary wouldn’t do.

‘Demian’s unique talent, combined with the potion, means no side effects other than the pain.’

I couldn’t think of anything better as I gripped the warhammer and grinned.

‘Speaking of which, this blunt weapon feels perfect in my hand.’

Maybe it’s the weight, but I feel the impact with every swing, and it feels great.

Of course, I haven’t tasted the true sensation yet, since I’m hitting Lorraine’s weapon, not a person’s body.

Just the clash of weapons alone is satisfying enough that I’m enjoying it. Lorraine speaks urgently.

“Young Master, you’re overflowing with talent! You can grow quickly if you just do it steadily without forcing yourself like this, you know?”

“……”

“Why are you pushing yourself so hard? I don’t understand training like this, even for your betrothed.”

Of course, I’ve never explained the reason, so it’s natural that she wouldn’t know.

Instead of answering, I brought the hammer down and said,

“There’s a reason.”

If someone becomes a guide in a reality filled with nothing but despair, giving you a reason to live, anyone would have no choice but to cherish them. With that thought, I pushed Lorraine harder.

* * * * *

– “Elysia, ‘best effort’ is a phrase used only by the worthless when trying to prove themselves.”

– “The world will only remember the result, not your process. It will remember only your failures.”

– “So please, do not fail. Those are the last words this mother can give you.”

Elysia Wintraven.

The daughter of the Northern Grand Duke, notorious for its harsh and unforgiving land.

Having grown up in a place where a minor mistake could lead to someone’s death, she was taught to choose reason over emotion from a young age.

An education that was far too cruel for a child to bear.

But so much weighed on her shoulders that she couldn’t even afford a minor tantrum, and she had no choice but to become an adult.

Having learned and grown up with only reason, she was assigned the task of reading someone’s death as a number.

[Deceased Report]

A lovely child who grew up loved by her parents.

A wise elder who led everyone.

The kindly woman who shared food with the hungry.

The soldiers who sacrificed everything for all.

In the reports, all of it was omitted, replaced with the number ‘1’.

Judging worth, not people, repeating mechanical calculations.

– Grand Duchess, my children are starving. Please, just this once, help!

That’s how she grew numb to death.

– My… my son is dead. He gave his portion to his younger sibling…

She knew that the moment she swayed to emotion, more would die, the situation reaching its worst, so she feigned numbness, even when she wasn’t.

– My wife and daughter are dead. All because they had a worthless father.

Otherwise, she couldn’t have endured any of this.

[Casualty Report]

– Adult Male, presumed suicide.

“Ah.”

Reason must be prioritized over emotion.

In the harsh north, it was the only way for everyone to survive.

That’s why… that is… in order to make rational judgements, everyone can live…

“……”

Hallucinations as if seeing ghosts before her eyes.

Auditory hallucinations of everyone blaming her.

From the moment she accepted numbers as death, she couldn’t close her eyes for even a moment.

Each moment was agonizing, but it was better than seeing the hallucinations and hearing the auditory hallucinations of those she had killed by her choice… to wake up from her sleep a little bit, she closed her eyes and drank the beverage.

“……?”

The tea she usually drank tasted different.

As if evoking a spring day after winter, a taste that imparted a cozy and warm sensation, unable to know what it was, she opened her eyes.

Damian’s tea that he left for her was in her hand.

She knew.

Logically, not just any noble, but the Grand Duchess herself would not be given a drink mixed with something strange.

Even so, the reason she refused was to make him tired of her and leave.

And so, once more, he set down the teacup, intending to clear it away.

Yet the tea’s effect was almost too potent, making it difficult to part with.

He knew not what sort of tea it was, but beyond clearing his head, it had banished the exhaustion that felt like being carved up by knives.

Furthermore, it even dulled the hallucinations and auditory whispers that plagued him so, causing his gaze to repeatedly drift back to the tea Damian had offered.

‘… I mustn’t drink it.’

He mustn’t accept Damian’s goodwill in any form.

For if he were to grow close to him, his own standing would be reduced to a discarded pawn in the pursuit of advancement within the central political arena.

And in that instant, all he had promised to those who were dying would become meaningless. He couldn’t afford to make emotional choices, only rational ones.

But his body, worn down to its very limits, utterly refused the commands of his mind, forcing him to lift the teacup again and again to his lips.

A taste akin to a warm spring day.

It was akin to a feeling of comfort, a sensation he hadn’t known since the passing of his mother.