Skáviðr kept dodging until his posture suddenly crumbled. It wasn’t because he’d been hit—he’d slipped on a fallen leaf. Naturally, Jörgen didn’t let that opportunity slip by.
“Gotcha!” With all his might, Jörgen sent his wooden sword downward. Skáviðr tried to block with his own wooden sword, but with his posture compromised, he was unable to.
“This is it! You’re done for!” Jörgen thought. But in the next instant, he was proven wrong. Suddenly, his sword began to move in a direction he hadn’t intended to take it. The weight of Jörgen’s own attack dragged him along with it, sending him off-balance. “What the hell?!”
In the height of his confusion, he saw Skáviðr rear up to strike from the corner of his eye. “Shit!” It was already too late to react. A searing pain shot across his left flank, and he fell to one knee.
“Yes!” Skáviðr pumped his fist. He’d never been one to show much emotion, so it was often hard to tell what he was thinking. This was the first time Jörgen had ever seen him exhibit something resembling elation. Perhaps after losing so many times over the past year, he was just happy to finally clinch a victory.
“Tch. You finally got one over on me, huh? What was that last thing you did, anyway? It was like my sword was moving on its own,” Jörgen asked him. He almost added, “Don’t get so carried away over a mere fluke,” but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to sound like a sore loser, and he was genuinely curious what could’ve possibly compromised his posture like that.
“Instead of taking the strength of your blow head-on, I simply diverted it in another direction. Of course, that doesn’t work with just any attack, so I lured you into taking a big downward swing,” Skáviðr explained.
“What?! You mean you slipped on that leaf on purpose?!”
“Yes.”
“Huh. I see.” Jörgen scratched his head. In other words, he’d taken the bait Skáviðr had laid out. The straightforward Skáviðr of last year never would’ve attempted something like that. Of course, Jörgen wouldn’t let that work on him next time, but in actual combat, there were no “next times.” Begrudgingly, he had to admit that the boy had beaten him not through sheer luck or random happenstance, but on his own merit. Jörgen had lost.
“Hmph, not bad, Einherjar.”
“It’s all thanks to you, Big Brother Jörgen. After so many battles against someone I couldn’t win against with sheer strength alone, I started strategizing and finally had a revelation. If I’d continued to only fight people my own age, I might’ve been so stuck in my own ways that I’d never have improved,” he said with a grin.
At this point, Skáviðr was still green and had much more growing to do, but in the distant future, this meeting would inspire the boy to create the “Willow Technique” and one day pass it down to a pupil of his named Sigrún, who would in turn pass it down to a pupil of hers named Hildegard. That secret technique of Skáviðr’s would later go on to be the thread that always kept the girls alive in the face of certain death.
“By the way, my name’s not ‘Einherjar.’ It’s Skáviðr.”
“Ah, right.” Jörgen belatedly realized that up until now, he hadn’t once called Skáviðr by his proper name, probably something he’d unconsciously done in petty retaliation against the boy for earning a rune quicker than he had. However, now that Jörgen had fought him, he could sense a toughness and dogged determination to win, a strength completely independent from what his rune had granted him.
“You’ve gotten strong, Skáviðr.” With a small smirk, Jörgen finally called the boy by his name. Reluctant as he was to do so, he acknowledged Skáviðr as a fellow warrior. Suddenly, he heard applause from behind. Jörgen turned around—and immediately bent his knee.
“F-Father?! My apologies for showing you such a pathetic display.” He greeted Bruno by kneeling before him. Beside Jörgen, Skáviðr did the same.
“Pathetic? That was one of the finest battles I’ve ever witnessed. I came to praise you, not berate you,” Bruno said.
“I-I am not worthy of your words. Thank you.” Jörgen bowed his head.
“And you, Skáviðr.” Bruno then turned to face Skáviðr. “To claim victory against the strongest member of our family is quite the accomplishment, especially at such a young age.”
“Thank you, Father,” Skáviðr replied.
“However, you can’t get by in this world on strength alone. Be sure to listen to your brothers and treat them with respect as you learn more and more. Remember, diligence is key,” Bruno explained.
“Yes, Father. I understand.” Skáviðr nodded.
“Now then, Jörgen, I have another matter to discuss with you. Come with me.” Gesturing with his chin for Jörgen to follow, Bruno walked away. His demeanor and tone had seemed a bit more stern just now. “What’s with him? Did I mess up somehow without realizing it?” However, Bruno was his sworn father, and his father’s word was absolute. Silently, he trailed after Bruno.
“How many years has it been since you came here?” Once they’d reached the pond in the corner of the garden, Bruno spoke. He did not turn around to face Jörgen.
“As of last month, it’s been four years, I believe,” Jörgen replied.
“That long, huh? Well, I suppose given that much time, even a boorish monkey like you would learn some manners.”
“That’s all thanks to your thorough discipline, Father.” Jörgen bowed his head, returning the insult with ready wit. He was being sarcastic, but it was also true—over the past four years, etiquette had been thoroughly drilled into him. Acting improperly would result in no dinner or even corporal punishment. Bruno had put it aptly—under that environment, even a monkey would’ve learned.
“Seems like you’ve also excelled at the work I’ve given you. Everyone always talks about your attention to detail.”
“It’s an honor to hear that.” In truth, however, he felt no joy at being praised. After completing his three-year etiquette course, Jörgen had spent the last year doing work for Bruno’s faction—although his share involved boring behind-the-scenes work like collecting the annual taxes from the townsfolk, overseeing the transportation of weapons and rations to the front lines, and managing the upkeep of the town. Of course, he approached all these duties with diligence and care, but hearing his work praised in these areas did nothing for him. To a warrior, such things were trivial.