Thud.
My side caught fire.
No, saying it caught fire wasn't enough. The feeling of bones digging inward. Did my ribs pierce my lungs? That thought flashed through my mind.
The ground approached. No, I had collapsed.
I tried to breathe. It didn't work. My lungs felt crushed. My mouth just gaped open, but no air came in.
The smell of dirt stung my nose. I could see grains of sand before my eyes. Very close.
"Get up."
A voice came from above.
When I raised my head, a man holding a wooden sword was looking down at me.
Black hair. Deeply carved wrinkles around his eyes. But his gaze alone was as sharp as a young man's.
And in that sharp gaze, there was no expression.
No irritation, no disappointment, no interest. Just nothing.
Karl Ludwigen.
Unlike Father's other 'subordinates' or 'younger brothers' or 'disciples,' he was a man who didn't use honorifics with me, not even as empty words.
This wasn't simply because he was older than Father.
It was because he had the status to warrant it.
The second-in-command of the entire Krustein faction.
At this level, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was among the top ten power holders in the entire Hardenberg Empire.
Of course, that wasn't his official status.
But Father, uncharacteristically, had secured a separate official title for this man.
Count Ludwigen.
While the other 'younger brothers' were those who had given up their titles to continue receiving Father's teachings, this man was on a much higher level.
And my master, personally designated by him.
"Didn't you hear me?"
I had to get up. I knew that. But my body wouldn't obey.
I barely managed to press my palms down. My arms trembled. It took all my strength just to raise my upper body.
I stood up.
And...
Thud.
The same spot. Exactly the same spot.
Back on the ground again.
Logically, I wondered if this could even be called training, but I couldn't complain.
Receiving daily one-on-one tutoring from this man was something not even Ernst was permitted. It had the effect of raising my status, but that was secondary.
In reality, my skills were improving through this.
But why?
Was it as Father said—that humans are like iron, growing stronger when tempered?
It reminded me of a certain baseball manager's philosophy from my past life.
Of course, simply getting beaten up wasn't the whole story.
First of all, this man, whatever else he was doing, was gradually increasing the difficulty in a way that improved my reaction speed.
In other words, it wasn't unconditional torment but rather repetitive training designed to enhance my reaction speed, and that certainly was helping.
On top of that, I was eating drake meat every meal—something even princes couldn't have.
And that wasn't all.
Manticore heart. Soup made from the bone marrow of ancient monsters whose names I didn't even know.
When I first received it, Lise had said something.
'Are you really sure it's okay to eat this? The color is a bit...'
But the effects were definite.
Ribs broken from morning beatings would be healed by evening.
"Don't think that just because you're somewhat clever, somewhat pretty-faced, and can use strange abilities, everything will go your way. Knights are fundamentally a breed that doesn't listen to those weaker than themselves."
What about Müller? I didn't bother with such a rebuttal.
The nobles of the Hardenberg Empire were far from normal, after all.
"What level are you aiming for, Master?"
"There is no set goal at the end of the path of the sword! Only continuous progress!"
Of course you'd say that. But that wasn't the kind of fundamental talk I was curious about.
"Not long-term, but short-term."
"Within three years, you'll surpass Ernst."
Not 'you should surpass' but 'you will surpass.' A definite answer.
Ernst wasn't lacking in talent.
He was actually on the exceptional side. Plus, he was more than ten years older than me.
And yet, I'd surpass him within three years?
"Your blood is better, so it's entirely possible."
Hey now. Both he and I inherited Walther Von Krustein's blood.
But there was no doubt in Karl's eyes.
That was actually more terrifying.
**
Training disguised as assault. Or rather, training wearing the mask of assault.
After two hours of that, I was carried back to my room on a stretcher.
It was a miracle I hadn't passed out.
Right now, Lise was applying ointment.
The hand touching my back was cold. The distinctive fishy smell of medicinal herbs stung my nose.
I didn't know what kind of herb it was, but this too must be expensive.
Lise's fingers traced over the bruised areas. She applied slight pressure.
"Does it hurt?"
"It'd be strange if it didn't."
Her hand stopped, then moved again. This time more carefully.
From beyond my back, I heard the sound of her trying to say something and swallowing it.
"If you have something to say, say it."
"What if I tell Duke Krustein? That it's too harsh?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"This is an opportunity Father is giving me."
Sir Karl's words weren't wrong.
This world was different from my past life.
The peak of strength humans could reach was much higher.
So there were many who seriously walked that path, and the respect for those who reached the pinnacle was almost fanatical.
Even before the age of guns, in my past life, strength was just one of many resources.
Money, connections, power. Something exchangeable with those. This place was different.
Strength itself swept away everything.
Status, origin, background.
Because those things didn't guarantee strength, paradoxically, the walls of status were lower than in my past life.
It was paradoxical. A more barbaric world was more equal.
The reason Shore knelt was ultimately because Father was strong.
The fact that he knew about abilities only Shore could use was merely secondary.
He too walked the path of martial arts, so he was drawn to that instinctive strength.
To lead the military faction called Krustein, even if not to Father's level, it was right to possess a certain degree of strength.
"In this world, if I'm not strong myself, there's a limit to leading the strong."
"That's true."
Lise nodded as if she had no choice and dipped her hand in the ointment again.
"Soon it'll be time for class with Duke Sylvester."
"Can't you rest a bit?"
"No."
"But your body is in this state."
"I was the one who proposed it first."
Lise let out a deep sigh.
The elf who had lived 1,800 years hadn't returned to the Imperial Capital yet.
It wasn't unprecedented for an academy dean to stay in the provinces.
Even the pretext of recuperation was perfect. The only problem was that he didn't look sick at all. What was he trying to see? What was he waiting for? I couldn't tell.
But that didn't mean I could just let him idle.
Knowledge accumulated over 1,800 years. When such a person wanted to stay nearby, there was no reason to just leave him be.
As I was putting my notebook and fountain pen in my bag, the door opened and Sir Heinrich entered.
"Duke Krustein summons you."
"What's the matter?"
"It would be best if you heard it directly."
Judging by his expression, it wasn't ordinary.
"Lise."
"Yes?"
"Tell Duke Sylvester. Today's class will have to be postponed for a bit."
"Understood."
**
But there was no need to send Lise.
She would have made a wasted trip.
The door opened.
Duke Krustein was there.
There were two of them.
Duke Walther Von Krustein. And Duke Sylvester.
Those two in one place?
Father was standing in front of the desk. Not sitting.
Duke Sylvester was also leaning against the window.
The languidly half-closed eyes were that elf's usual appearance, but not now.
His eyes were fully open. It was the first time I'd seen such an expression since I beat him at chess.
Both dukes. Standing as if shocked.
"You're here."
Father's voice. Different from usual.
So even that man could be flustered.
"What's the matter?"
"Sit down first."
The chair was empty. Naturally. Neither duke was sitting.
Father looked toward the door.
"Close the door. And make sure no one is within 500 paces."
"Understood."
The door closed. Footsteps faded away.
It seemed to be a matter requiring security.
What on earth could it be?
Had some great treasure been discovered in the dungeon exploration?
So they consulted Duke Sylvester, an expert in history?
A magic item or something equivalent that could make money.
Perhaps an enormous amount of First Age historical materials had been found?
With slightly hopeful imagination, I asked.
"What's the matter?"
And the answer that came from Father's mouth completely betrayed my imagination.
"The Emperor has passed away."
It was a short sentence.
But what it contained wasn't short.
Not 'His Majesty.' The Emperor.
And to say such a thing in front of Duke Sylvester, a leader of the pro-Imperial faction nobles.
No, before that... wasn't Father also counted among the pro-Imperial faction nobles?
But there was no time to dwell on that. The shock of the information itself was greater.
How many Imperial Princes were there?
The most likely candidate would have been the First Imperial Prince. But this quickly?
The Emperor was around the same age as Father.
Of course, he wasn't a transcendent Swordmaster, so his lifespan wouldn't be extended as a normal human, but still, he was far from the age of dying of old age.
Moreover, wasn't this a world with many transcendent medicines, even if the humans themselves were slightly less transcendent?
Taking such medicines well, living to 120 wasn't entirely impossible, and in fact, the previous Emperor had died at 110.
Then did he have a chronic illness?
I searched my memory. I'd never heard such talk.
Well, this was the Imperial Family that had hidden even a princess's running away.
Hiding a chronic illness would have been more than possible.
After organizing my thoughts, I opened my mouth as calmly as possible.
"He didn't seem that elderly."
"It was poisoning."