The next morning, the kid showed up to training as promised. Unfortunately, I thought with some bitterness. I was sure he’d flake out, and I’d be off the hook, but I guess I’ll actually have to teach him something. What a pain in the damn neck. I handed the brat a sword—a replica, of course. I sure as heck couldn’t have him getting injured on my watch. I had spoken to the master about this yesterday, and though he granted his permission, he was clearly displeased.
“Right, then. Let’s begin with form. Follow my lead and swing your sword as I do.”
Few students of the sword enjoyed learning about form because, simply put, form was boring. All must familiarize themselves with the basics of it at some point, but it’s certainly not the fun part. Had I been serious about taking him on as my student, I’d have started with some practical techniques to keep his interest and then worked on refining his form later. I didn’t really care, though. My goal was to prove to this brat how boring training could be and get it over with.
“Th-th-th—ah, I-I mean,” he spluttered. He took a few deep breaths before trying again. “Ha… H-hurry it up.”
What’s the matter with him? He should be listening to my instructions, not ordering me around. Hmph. He’s been pretty emotionally unstable since yesterday.
Well, if I have to do this, I’ll do it right. First things first, I should see what he’s made of, so let’s just get this over with. “Then let’s begin.”
A few strikes later, I could not ignore his potential. As much as it pained me to admit it, that’s all it took for me to realize how exceptional he was.
It’s not as simple as just brandishing a sword around. A good strike is the result of many details: your footwork, the way you shift your weight, your stance, timing, breathing… A seasoned swordsman has acquired all of these skills. An amateur doesn’t realize their importance, and so their attempts are unreliable. But this kid gave me a real, decent swing after watching a single demonstration.
Beginner’s luck, maybe?
I was so instinctively sure of his talents, yet I did everything in my power to deny them…until finally, the moment came that I could no longer pretend not to see his true nature.
Monster.
The word came to me unbidden, creeping in the back of my mind.
“Master Luke. Excuse my asking, but have you practiced with the sword before?”
I knew the answer was surely “no.” There was no way. I attended to him as his butler from dawn until dusk. When would he have gained sword fighting experience? But I had to ask just to be sure. How else could I try to understand the inexplicable?
“…What, I look like I have experience?”
Those words were all I received in answer, delivered with a look of utter disdain. I no longer cared about his demeanor or disrespect, though. “Right, never mind. Continue, Master Luke.” I managed to quell my unsettled emotions and continue the training.
Seems like when humans are confronted by stuff we don’t understand, our natural immediate response is fear, eh? I could never win a single battle against my captain, but I never feared her… Yet I find myself afraid of a boy who first took up the sword mere minutes ago.
His movements continued to grow more refined with each swing, his technique maturing at a frankly terrifying, violent pace. It would take years of dedicated effort for most people to reach this position, and for him, it was simply the starting line. It can’t be. This just ain’t possible. I had intended to train him in his form for several minutes, but we soon approached an hour of practice. It was at that point that I finally witnessed the swing—the one that truly blew me away.
Huh? How? That was even better than one of mine…
It wasn’t as if I’d gotten rusty either. I served as the boy’s butler, yes, but also his bodyguard, and I could scarcely remember the last day I didn’t hold a sword in my hand. What’s this boy’s deal?
That thought triggered a vague memory, something that I’d overheard the maids talking about.
“Master Luke is incredibly talented; he can learn anything in no time at all! He must be a genius.”
No, I thought as I watched him. That ain’t it. Cheap words like “talent” don’t do it justice.
Monster. Freak. Aberration.
Those words suit him better.
“Master Luke, that will be enough for today.”
“What? We’re done already?”
“Today was your first time even holding a sword, Master Luke,” I said. “Let’s take it one step at a time. There is no need to rush things.”
“I see. I suppose that makes sense.”
I escorted Luke back to his room before heading off to meet with his father. I could not help but hurry a little and suppress a smile as I went.
“Two, three years… That’s all it’ll take for him to surpass me…”
I suppose I must have a really unsettling grin on my face, but how can I keep from smiling? Despite everything, I’m the former vice-captain of the Royal Knights. I was the second-best swordsman in the whole kingdom, you know? At his age, I had nothing but my sword in my hand. I’ve held one for as long as I can remember. I already know this kid’s going to surpass me. From seeing just that one swing, I can tell.
“Ha! Freakin’ incredible,” I muttered under my breath.
I can’t even envy him. He’s so overwhelmingly talented, set so far apart from everyone else, that feelings like envy are simply not relevant. This boy was born to wield that blade, and I want to see how far he can go.
Fierce emotions welled up inside of me. I was overwhelmed—no, enchanted. I was utterly entranced by his talents, the very embodiment of devilish irrationality.
I knocked at the door eagerly.
“Master, might I trouble you for a word?”
“Enter.”
I didn’t know where to begin to explain or how to make my request. But it didn’t matter. I was ready to beg on my hands and knees for this opportunity.
Please allow me to instruct Master Luke in the art of sword fighting!