"He picked Soldier A." "Of all people, why him..."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, they say an unlucky bastard can't catch a break no matter what he does."
The soldiers of the House of Schneider wore expressions of disbelief. In fact, the moment they saw the knight Viscount Balson had pointed out step forward, some of the soldiers from the House of Schneider had frowned. 'He's pretty good.'
'Is he about three-star?' 'He might be an even match... but to win...?' The knight designated by Viscount Balson did not seem to lack skill.
They only needed to fight on equal footing to prove that the soldiers of the House of Schneider were no less than knights, but it was still a burden to fight an opponent whose defeat could not be guaranteed.
Among the soldiers of the Schneider Fief, there were only about two men who could guarantee victory against that knight named Miranda. They were the guard captain, Sanson, and the vice-captain, Soldier A, no, Oliver. It wasn't that Oliver had always been stronger than the other soldiers or that he was particularly talented.
Oliver was just an ordinary Soldier A, with ordinary talent and ordinary abilities. However, in the past five years, the intensity of Oliver's training was much higher than that of the other soldiers.
Why?
Let me tell you a truth about group life. It's not good to be singled out. If you're singled out...
[This bastard, why does he ask so many questions instead of just doing as he's told?]
[Are you defying me? Is that what you're doing?]
[Soldier A, you again? Again?]
[Die, die, you bastard. Just die already!]
For the simple reasons that he was a bit more curious, a little more defiant, slightly less tactful, and terribly unlucky compared to the other soldiers, Oliver was singled out by Patrick. He would annoy him by asking questions constantly during training, twist the exercise methods in his own way to the point of near energy deviation, and even...
[From today on, I'm using the triple sword style.]
After spouting such nonsense, he had once appeared wearing a bandana on his head with a sword in his mouth. Across both his past and present lives, it was the first time Patrick had ever met such a hopeless case. Naturally, he was placed under special supervision, and Patrick's special supervision meant nothing less than hell.
[Your feet are stopping, aren't they? Go ahead and stop. This Giant Wolf seems hungry anyway, it's not like you'll die if it takes just one bite, right?]
[Aaaaaaaargh... you crazy young master bastard!]
While Patrick gave Oliver his special supervision, the other soldiers were relatively, sliiiiiightly more comfortable. And every time, the soldiers felt a deep gratitude for Oliver welling up from the bottom of their hearts. But there was a reward for having gone through so much more hell.
When discussing the martial power rankings in the Schneider Barony, first was Patrick, second was April, and third was Sanson. And the one who came next was fourth place, Oliver. That same Oliver now stepped forward for the duel and drew two swords.
"Oliver of the Schneider Fief."
"Miranda Belson, knight commander of the House of Viscount Balson."
"Then, I ask for a bout."
"... How absurd."
Is a mere soldier really trying to fight me? Miranda was dumbfounded. Watching the fool take a stance with a longsword in each hand, he wondered why he had to deal with such a clown show.
But it couldn't be helped. A duel is a duel...
"Begin!"
As soon as Count Parmas gave the signal, Miranda stepped forward, thinking. 'Let's end this quickly.' There's no need to worry about offense or defense.
If I just close the distance and strike once, there's no way a soldier like that can block my sword...
Thwack!
"Keuk!"
In that instant, Miranda was sent flying backward with the sensation of his face being crushed. And Oliver, who had thrown a punch at his opponent's face, spoke.
"Huh? What are you doing getting hit by that? You're supposed to dodge."
"Kh... khhhh..."
"You have to dodge this so I can follow up with a flashy combo and win stylishly like 'papapat,' but if you get hit, it messes up my plan, doesn't it?"
"You... you son of a bitch."
"That's right. Get up. You can still do it. If you give up, the match ends there."
"I'll kill you!"
Miranda let out a monstrous scream, got up, and charged. The sight of him charging with blood streaming down his face was less like a dignified knight and more like a crazed berserker.
Clang! Clang clang!
Contrary to his excitement, the sword he wielded was that of a proper three-star knight. The blade flew true without wavering, attacking Oliver from above, below, left, and right.
But...
"Slow."
The longswords in Oliver's hands cut down every one of those attacks. When Oliver, who was taller and had longer limbs than others, used twin swords, it was easy for him to dominate the distance. Extending one arm is much longer than extending two, and on top of that, Oliver's limbs were naturally longer than others.
When you add to that the agile footwork of the Five Elements Steps, taught to him personally by Patrick...
"Kk... ugh..."
It was Oliver's pace, absolutely overwhelming. Miranda, who had charged in a frenzy at first, was now starting to backpedal and retreat, while Oliver took small steps, relentlessly swinging his swords from various angles.
"G... good heavens?"
"Is he really a soldier?"
"He didn't even look particularly strong..."
The other Eastern nobles watching the duel couldn't close their gaping mouths. In their eyes, that knight named Miranda was the real deal. In any fief in the eastern territory, a knight of his caliber would be treated well.
And such a knight was being pushed back by a mere soldier. No, it was more than just being pushed back...
"Low, middle, low again, don't crouch, keep your head up. Don't doze off, watch your opponent's sword. The sword..."
The nobles clicked their tongues at the sight of Oliver moving his mouth as relentlessly as his sword, giving advice.
"He's toying with him."
"Hahaha. A soldier... a knight..."
"Unbelievable."
That unbelievable reality was unfolding right before their eyes.
Screeeech...
Oliver was in a contest of strength, using a longsword held in one hand against Miranda's longsword held with two. He let the sword in his other hand hang loose, facing him with just one hand in a power struggle. Common sense would suggest that Miranda, pushing with all his might with two hands, should be winning, but...
"You have to lower your center of gravity and put power into your lower body. Do you think you can push me back by just pushing blindly?"
"Shut uuuuup!"
"Tsk, a novice should listen to a master's advice."
Then, Oliver lightly leaned his weight forward and stomped his pivotal front foot onto the ground.
Kooong!
A powerful shockwave erupted at point-blank range, simultaneous with the intense foot stomp...
"Kuaaaargh!"
Unable to withstand it, Miranda staggered backward and then tumbled over disgracefully. And Oliver leisurely aimed his sword and said.
"Now. Get back into your stance, let's do this properly. Yes?"
"This... this bastard..."
Miranda's face flushed with anger, and seeing that expression, Oliver thought to himself. 'Ah, I'm strong, I'm damn strong.' He had sparred with fellow soldiers in the fief and achieved quite a few victories.
But this situation was different from back then. In an official duel watched by all the other Eastern nobles, he was overwhelming a knight. The hellish training with that devil... no, it was no different from hell... perhaps in terms of physical pain, it might have been even worse than the real hell, but that insane training had paid off.
The pain, humiliation, and fear from that time were all being rewarded right now, in this moment. In the form of victory and a sense of superiority. Oliver smiled at his comrades behind him and thought.
'Are you watching? I'm saving all of your faces right now. You should be grateful.'
"He's having the time of his life, isn't he."
"Aah, what an eyesore."
"The opponent is weaker than I thought?"
"I know, right? Is he really three-star?"
"From what I can see, he's about 2.5-star. You have to round up to call him three-star."
"I could've taken him. Me too."
"Why isn't he finishing it quickly."
Of course, the soldiers of the Schneider Fief were not grateful at all. Seeing him deliberately drag out a duel he could easily win just to act cool and put on airs...
"He's dead when he gets back."
A vein popped on Sanson's forehead. He was furious with Oliver for just showing off and toying with his opponent in the duel he finally got to participate in.
"We believe in you, captain."
"That guy, that guy needs to be beaten to within an inch of his life."
"Will beating him even fix that?"
"They say most of the world's problems can be solved with a good beating."
"You think the young master hasn't beaten him?"
"Aaaah..."
"He's the one who's taken the most beatings from the young master in the fief. And yet, he's not fixed. What does that tell you?"
At those words, the other soldiers nodded in agreement.
"So there are some things that can't be fixed even with a beating."
"Come to think of it, he did say most, not all."
"If even the young master's beatings can't fix him, then no one can. Not even the Divine Physician Saintess could do it."
Thus, the soldiers were sending their sympathy and condolences not for Oliver's dazzlingly improved skills, but for his hopeless personality. Whether he knew that or not...
"Hahaha. You have to move a little more sharply. Is it okay to be tired already?"
Oliver was excitedly swinging his sword playfully against the three-star knight Miranda.
'I'll...
I'll kill him.' Miranda felt like he would lose his reason to the rage that soared to the top of his head. He no longer cared about a knight's honor or pride.
No, things like that had been torn to shreds and thrown into the gutter long ago. What pride could be left for him, who was treated like a toy and mocked by a mere soldier? If there was anything left, it was just...
Ppddeuk.
'I will kill you!' A single purpose. Miranda kicked the dirt at his feet up toward Oliver's face.
It was a petty and cowardly act. It was a method that could cause a knight to lose his honor even if used in a real battle, let alone a duel. At this, Oliver stepped back in surprise.
It wasn't that the dirt-kicking technique itself was threatening, but he was surprised that a knight, of all people, would use such a method. And in the moment Oliver briefly stepped back and the distance between them widened...
Wuuuuuuung!
Aura blossomed on Miranda's longsword. Having bought a moment of time to summon his aura, Miranda swung his sword.
"Die!"
At that moment, numerous Eastern nobles shot up from their seats in alarm.
Danger? Cowardice?
They didn't know which word to utter first. But before they could even speak, Miranda's sword, heavily laden with aura, fell toward the crown of Oliver's head. And just before that sword reached Oliver's head...
Kwaaaaaang!
With a brilliant explosion, a shockwave accompanied by aura scattered in all directions. Miranda's sword, which had fallen to split open Oliver's head, was blocked by Oliver's longsword. And on Oliver's sword, an aura far clearer and denser than Miranda's had formed.
"Hahaha..."
"It was true."
"He really had the skills of a knight."
Now, there was no room for doubt. As the Eastern nobles expressed their admiration, Miranda stared at Oliver with a look of disbelief.
And Oliver...
"So you have no knight's honor or anything, is that it?"
"You bastard."
"Then..."
"Go die, you son of a bitch!"
Kwajik!
Oliver smashed Miranda's jaw with the pommel of his sword. With the sound of a jaw breaking, his body lifted slightly into the air.
And then...
"Haaaaap!"
Oliver's twin swords drew a dozen streaks of light in the air. Those attacks, flying toward the helpless opponent suspended in mid-air, mercilessly left deep wounds all over his body. Arms, thighs, shoulders, torso, and so on.
Covered from head to toe in wounds that were not quite fatal, Miranda collapsed onto the ground. And he could not get up. Standing over the fallen Miranda, Oliver raised his sword high.
Then he looked to the sky and roared loudly.
"Uwooooooaaaaargh!"
Hearing that valiant roar, the Eastern nobles were both impressed and thrilled. And the soldiers of Baron Schneider...
"What's wrong with him?"
"Last time he said it was cool, so he went to the Orcs to learn it."
"Let's just tell him to go live there."
"Wouldn't that be a cruel thing to do to the Orcs?"
"Haaah... if only they weren't our allies..."
Sometimes, there are people who get cursed at even when they win.
"This... this is ridiculous."
Viscount Balson wanted to deny reality. His knight had lost. He lost to a soldier.
No, to say he lost was not enough. It was a crushing defeat, to the point where you could say he was simply demolished. An overwhelming difference in skill was revealed, and on top of that, he resorted to a cowardly trick at the end only to have it turned back on him.
The plan to prove Baron Schneider's claims false and furthermore to diminish Count Parmas's authority was shattered to pieces. The current situation was, on the contrary...