The two of them, along with the indifferent Stein, were less well-known to the public than the Hero, the Saint, and the Witch of Annihilation, one of the greatest mages, so they only had a couple bronze statues of them each. Therefore, they could comfortably tease their friends. However, Sazaki, Max, and Stein had a blind spot. They were also great figures of the war, and even though the details were unclear, their names were recorded in historical textbooks... And a few days from now, they would be visiting a school full of such textbooks.
Later, Derry went home after being forced to join Sazaki for drinks, and even after everyone returned to their rooms, Sazaki kept on drinking.
“He’s grown into a big man,” Sazaki, still drinking in his guest room, said about his son.
“You do remember that you say this every time you see Falke, don’t you?” Lara shrugged; she’d heard him say that countless times.
“Well, he grows bigger every time. He was always tugging at my hair, pestering me to carry him, but before I knew it, his feet were firmly on the ground.”
“Well, that’s how it goes. They grow up in the blink of an eye.”
“Right?”
If Falke were in the room with them, he’d probably beg them to stop their reminiscing, but to Sazaki and Lara, their son really had grown big in no time at all.
“I almost rolled around with laughter when he asked, ‘Dad, why did you suddenly start drinking?’” Sazaki said.
“Heh heh.”
Sazaki and Lara discussed what they’d thought when Falke came to greet them. But this, too, was proof that the world was at peace. During the great war, water quality had deteriorated because of all the battlefields across the lands, so it had often been safer to drink alcohol rather than water. That was why it had been common to see many people, including Sazaki, drinking alcohol instead of water. But after the war, thanks to the efforts of mages and magic tools, water had been returned to a quality suitable for drinking, so the era where alcohol had been the only thing safe to drink had ended. Falke had been born later and Sazaki even tried to abstain from alcohol, but he’d gone back to being a heavy drinker in the end.
“Now then, are you coming?” Sazaki suddenly stood up and addressed Lara.
“I suppose I will.”
The two of them headed to the courtyard behind the mansion, which was a training ground of sorts for Falke. Despite the late hour, the space was bright, thanks to a magical tool. Falke stood in the center, swinging his sword.
“Urgh...” Falke let out a noise of genuine displeasure when he noticed Sazaki approaching with a grin.
“Come on, don’t sound so disgruntled, son.” As usual, Sazaki teased him. “As the founder of the Sazaki School, I want to verify my own son’s ability.”
“Your father just wants to play with his son,” Lara added, wearing a grin just like Sazaki’s.
“And how about you, dear?” asked Sazaki.
“I’ll pass.”
But Falke was over seventy years old, so having his father invite him to play was troubling.
“All right, here I come.” Sazaki’s voice was unusually listless as he slowly walked forward.
“I haven’t agreed yet!”
The way Sazaki walked was extremely peculiar; it was as if he were weaving his way through the gaps in Falke’s consciousness. Sazaki’s experience of surviving the great war meant that he wasn’t just a swordsman of unparalleled speed. Falke lacked the experience gained from abnormal combat, the sort of medley of unusual abilities that were often at play during the war.
“Ugh!” Falke managed to block Sazaki’s sheathed katana. Sazaki was of course the one who had trained him in swordsmanship, so he wouldn’t be defeated that easily.
“Hrm.” Lara took a breather and sat on a bench, watching over the father and son playing. She remembered a young Falke swinging a stick around and whining about wanting to be taught swordsmanship, and Sazaki rubbing his chin as he’d wondered how much it was appropriate to teach his son at the time.
He really has grown up well. Lara couldn’t help but feel nostalgic.
Back in the day, Lara and Sazaki both had been mostly clueless about raising children, so they’d struggled to raise Falke. As the saying went, “It takes a moment to destroy something, but grueling effort to build it up.” The legends who’d destroyed absurdity itself had been very troubled over raising their son.
“Mom! Please stop him!” Falke pleaded.
However, Lara’s once little boy was a grown man in his seventies now, so she ignored his cry for help. “Go play with your lonely father.”
“Yeah, what she said.”
“No one asked you, dad!”
“Okay, here I come again.”
Falke reacted to Sazaki’s listless voice and hurriedly moved his wooden sword into position at his right. The next second, Sazaki’s wooden sword slammed into him.
“Even wooden swords aren’t free, you know!” Falke shouted.
“That’s why I’m swinging it just hard enough so it doesn’t break,” Sazaki replied, ignoring his son’s complaint.
“Well, it’s still going to crack!”
“I’m using the right amount of force.”
“Then I’ll break!”
“Aha ha ha! Bwa ha ha ha! No way would that happen!”
“Those two really get along. I’m rooting for you.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Max and Stein watched the playful father and son with warm smiles, secretly cheering for Falke.
“What was your son like?” Max asked Ferd and Elrica, who were also watching the scene between Sazaki and Falke.
“He was always saying, ‘Duel me, daddy!’” Ferd replied.
“Oho ho ho ho. Naturally, he never said that to me,” Elrica added.
“Asking his mom for a duel would be crazy in a lot of ways.”
Ferd and Elrica’s son was much like Ferd had been in his younger days. He was always challenging Ferd to duels, wooden sword in one hand. The sound of wood striking against each other could often be heard around their house back then.
Their son, of course, also knew that Elrica was strong, but he hadn’t seemed willing to fight his mother, so Ferd had been the one solely responsible for sparring with him. But things were completely different when it came to actual training for survival and not just a child’s game. Their son hadn’t learned how to fight from Ferd, who’d never experienced proper combat training, but from Elrica, who’d mastered a variety of...techniques.
“Well, his fighting style is similar to mine. It seems that he concluded that he’d do fine as long as he could use the power of light and punch or kick. He said something about men needing to fight bare-handed.” Ferd shared his son’s pet theory.
“Huh...” Max unconsciously made a dejected sound. I just remembered something I didn’t need to...
Ferd’s son could strike with overwhelming energy. That in itself wasn’t anything strange; as a matter of fact, few could withstand his punches, since he possessed a power of light that rivaled his father’s. However, Max knew of a technique that shaped a fist from energy of incomprehensible output, and although it didn’t contain the power of light, it could instantly kill even him with just a graze, so he couldn’t help but be reminded of it.