Chapter One:
The Story Starts to Come off the Rails
MY NAME IS ALFRED DEEG.
I once served as vice-captain of the Royal Knights, but that’s all in the past now. I retired long ago and now work under Marquis Gilbert as his family butler. With each passing day, it only becomes clearer to me: I made a terrible decision when I took this job. I should have quit years ago.
I hate these damn nobles. I’m fundamentally not cut out for this type of work.
So why am I doing it in the first place? Well, I guess you could say I’ve got a debt of gratitude. There’s another terrible mistake I made—a much worse one, on the battlefield. I gave an order that sent a great many men to their deaths. I still see them when I close my eyes… The faces of my dead comrades haunt my dreams. After the battle, my captain told me it wasn’t my fault, that there was nothing I could have done. Regardless, I could never forgive myself. That’s why I quit.
I was then asked to work as an instructor for the Royal Knights, but I balked at the idea. An incompetent fool who lets his men die has no right to be training more.
Because I refused to take that job, I was without any means of supporting myself until the previous head of the Gilbert house took me in. He was an eccentric. I was born a commoner and spoke brashly with no hint of the formality required, but he taught me how to behave among the upper class. I hated nobles and aristocrats even then, and he softened those views just a little. He was a good man, but he was the exception to the rule. The current generation of Gilberts sneers and looks down upon their fellow man, deeming them worthless simply due to the circumstances of their birth. Quite a normal outlook on life for a family of aristocrats, I suppose.
To be fair, the Gilberts are at least marginally better than the other houses. They’ve managed to keep their hands cleaner. For both better and worse, they see themselves as being above the evil deeds perpetrated by many of their peers.
I’m not well suited to this work, but I have learned the trick to it. The secret is to completely disconnect your mind from your body—to be indifferent. Prevent yourself from caring about any of it. That’s all. That’s how I’ve done it all this time. That’s how I planned to continue to do it indefinitely, until…
“Teaaa…”
Luke Witharia Gilbert, young heir to the house of Gilbert, stood before me. I watched in complete bafflement as he struggled to scream his way through a sentence.
From what the maids say, this one can do whatever he puts his mind to without breaking a sweat. He’s unusually sharp, I’ll grant him that. I can’t bring myself to like the kid. I don’t like the way he looks at people… The disdain he’s got for everything in the world around him. There’s something about the look in his eyes today. It’s different somehow. He’s fighting some internal struggle, clearly. I can’t help feeling like I should at least try to understand him. I might hate aristocrats, but I’ll never forget the debt of gratitude I owe this family. Besides, something strange is going on here, and I can’t just shrug that off. I had to respond.
“What is the matter, Master Luke? Ah, are you feeling unwell?”
“No!”
No? Then what’s the matter with him? The previous head prepared me to deal with most situations as a butler, but he could not have anticipated this one. What’s wrong with this boy? He’s never once even looked me in the eyes to speak with me before. He doesn’t even consider me human. This brat’s the epitome of all the things I hate about aristocrats.
Still, at this moment, watching him try his hardest to convey something besides contempt, I can’t help but feel some small amount of affection. That’s not saying much, I suppose, but that’s just how incredibly low my opinion of the boy has been up until this point.
“I…order you t-to…t-teach me the…sword!”
What did he just say to me?
The boy must be joking. These aristocrats typically despise the art of sword fighting unless they themselves are descended from a knightly lineage. The house of Gilbert is no exception. He should consider it to be a foolish game played by incompetents who are unable to use magic… And yet he wants me to teach him?
“…Excuse me? What did you say, Master Luke?”
The words came almost reflexively. My brain tried to reject what I heard on account of how ridiculous it was. For just a moment, though, I could have sworn I saw the kid pull a face as if the whole world was coming to an end.
But that can’t be right, can it?
“T-teach me….the s-sword…!”
“My apologies. I am old and doubted my own hearing for a moment.”
“Hoo… Right.”
Apparently, my ears did not deceive me, but this still doesn’t make any sense. He’s exhausted and breathing heavily. Why’s he screaming every word as if it hurts him to speak? I took a moment to consider his request.
He must be underestimating the sword. It ain’t the kind of thing you can pick up in a day, kid.
It’s not like studying magic; you don’t get to sit at a fancy desk and flip through your little textbooks. To learn what I have to teach you, you’re gonna have to get outside and physically train. You’re gonna come home caked in mud, day after day. Your parents won’t ever allow that to happen. They’ll say the training regimen is too brutal, and I’ll be the one that gets blamed when it goes wrong.
There’s no way he’s serious about this. This is one of those passing fancies rich folks have. He’ll give up the moment he starts to tire of it or it gets too hard.
I had reached a conclusion.
“Understood. If you consider me worthy of the task, then I will serve as your instructor, Master Luke.”
Back then, that’s really all I thought of his demand.