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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Eve of the Festival
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Please take good care of me.
A few weeks after the expedition, Arsen, whose leg had fully healed, returned to the training grounds and threw himself back into his usual regimen.
What they were doing now was sparring, and his opponent was still Palato, whose arm hadn't fully recovered.
Originally, the gap between them was so wide that Arsen wielded a practice sword while Palato went bare-handed, but lately that difference had narrowed considerably, to the point where both now used practice swords.
Part of it was that Palato's skills were diminished by not being able to use one arm, but Arsen's own abilities had also risen noticeably.
"Here I come!"
With a simple declaration of his intent to attack, Palato thrust his sword toward Arsen's chest.
The moment Arsen focused on the attack, the world slowed down, and the strike came flying at a sluggish pace.
Matching the flow of the attack and the slowed sensation of his own body, Arsen parried Palato's sword at the precise timing.
True to his experience as a seasoned knight, Palato didn't panic in the slightest and extended his leg to check Arsen.
Due to their height difference, it was a mid kick for Palato, but from Arsen's perspective, it felt like a high kick.
It was a strike that had him perfectly in range, one that would normally be impossible to dodge.
But with his special ability activated, Arsen could perceive it accurately, so he narrowly twisted his neck to evade the incoming kick.
"Urk!"
It was held back since a full-force kick could be dangerous, but even so, it packed a lethal amount of power.
Gritting his teeth at the sharp wind that grazed his cheek, Arsen—still in his ducked posture—swung his sword toward Palato's supporting foot.
Palato, with one foot off the ground, sprang backward to dodge the attack.
After exchanging that one clash, Arsen met Palato's downward slash with his sword.
More precisely, he feigned a blade lock, then at the exact moment, twisted diagonally to aim for the torso.
Their swords nearly touched each other's bodies at the same time.
Fortunately, they were using practice swords and wearing training clothes, so no injuries occurred.
"A draw!"
Palato said in a cheerful voice, brushing off the spot where their swords had met.
"No, I lost. Sir Palato, you're using your off-hand, and not even your dominant one at that."
If it had been his fully recovered right hand, Palato probably wouldn't have just traded thrusts—he would've twisted the blades once more to bind Arsen's attack.
Arsen felt anew the gap between himself and a proper knight.
Even using his special ability to perceive time as incredibly slow, he often found his predictions read or his bladework overpowered, preventing him from gaining the advantages he expected.
Even now, despite clearly reading the movement and calculating his response, all he'd managed was a draw.
On the flip side, seeing Arsen admit defeat after drawing with his left hand left Palato impressed.
At such a young age, having awakened as a knight and earned military honors, he could've become arrogant, but this young knight's steady drive for improvement was sometimes worthy of respect.
Considering their age difference, pulling off even a single draw under these conditions was impressive in itself.
"Your special ability seems much more proficient now. Honestly, I thought you wouldn't dodge that kick."
"I only activate it at the exact moment of clash. Holding it too long tires me out."
It would've been great if he could use his time-slowing perception indefinitely, but regrettably, prolonged use during combat caused ongoing mental fatigue.
The maximum he could endure was about a minute; the most efficient way was to trigger it just before each exchange.
It had the drawback of breaking the flow of combat, but it dramatically extended his usable time.
"Anyway, you're doing well. At this rate, you'll surely become an excellent knight."
In the past, Palato had assessed that if Arsen maximized his potential, he could reach the level of Ramun Knight, the estate's finest.
It was an evaluation factoring in his young age, innate mana, and the grit to walk alone from the fortress to the estate.
But now his thinking had changed.
With his outstanding martial talent, drive for self-improvement, and powerful special ability, if properly tempered and grown, he could become a great knight without equal in all the neighboring estates—that was Palato's new assessment.
He never voiced it aloud, lest it inflate the boy's ego.
After that, the two crossed swords several more times.
Palato won most bouts, but Arsen claimed victory in one or two.
"Alright, that's enough for today. By the way, do you know tomorrow's the harvest festival?"
"I've heard about it."
From what he'd gathered, it was a straightforward medieval-style celebration: dancing, eating, and drinking heartily to mark the year's harvest.
The usual curfew was lifted that day, so people partied from night until dawn.
And ten months later, plenty of babies would be born—such useless trivia was tacked on.
"It's the biggest event in our estate. Go enjoy yourself."
* * *
"I've made up my mind. I'll propose at tomorrow's festival."
During a pleasant lunch, Zenovia clenched her fist and declared it with resolute determination.
Only two knights were eating at that hour, so the only one who heard was Arsen.
Arsen tore off a piece of bread and replied.
"Why haven't you done it until now?"
"Well..."
Zenovia whipped her head side to side to check, then spoke in a quieter voice.
"Kamin has no sense of self whatsoever. He just follows whatever I tell him to do. So I've been holding out, hoping he'd propose first."
With that answer, Zenovia suddenly lost her temper and slammed the table—thud, thud.
If she'd hit with full sincerity, the wooden table would've shattered, but since it remained intact, she still had some restraint left.
"If I say let's get married and we do, how would I know if Kamin actually wants to? What if he has no real feelings and is just marrying me because I said so?"
He wanted to say she was borrowing trouble, but since Arsen wasn't close to Kamin, it was a tricky topic to advise on.
Besides, what was the point of consulting a kid who'd just turned eleven past his birthday? Even if he often got called an old soul.
"Still, from what I've heard around, Sir Kamin seems interested too."
"I know. I hear everything."
Zenovia tapped her own ears as she replied.
"But I don't know Kamin's true feelings. Everyone's just assuming."
It wasn't entirely wrong.
To Arsen's eyes, Kamin always trailed Zenovia with an indifferent expression, never actively courting or showing affection.
Like a shadow, almost.
Society endures because people can't read each other's minds, but that same inability could weary them toward one another.
"Ah... this is frustrating. Maybe I should just get drunk and charge in."
"Impulsive attempts like that usually end in failure."
"Shut it, what does a brat know."
Arsen held back from retorting "Then why ask me?" and instead scooped up some chicken stew.
"At least prepare some memorable proposal lines, don't you think?"
Hearing that, Zenovia furrowed her brow and pondered deeply.
She wasted nearly two or three minutes like that before reciting a few confession lines, but they were all embarrassingly childish.
"Kamin, you're my star. Will you marry me? Kamin... I've loved you, for so long... Ah! I can't do this!"
"Try conveying your true feelings. Don't overdo the flowery words—just be honest."
"Then might as well just say 'Hey, let's get married!'"
Muttering nonsense, Zenovia slurped down her soup.
Arsen half-ignored it.
'No way she'd actually say that.'
* * *
Arsen was probably the person closest to Eloise in this estate.
The girl, raised as an object of hatred and fear by peers, parents, siblings, and everyone else, opened her heart easily to even small kindnesses.
Even Luden, the only one who didn't harbor disgust toward her, never offered soft affection, leaving her starved for love.
In truth, Arsen had been half-pushed into looking after her, but seeing how she lit up at his every word and action made him pay more attention.
It's hard to dislike someone who rejoices and is moved by your slightest gesture.
Becoming close to Eloise had brought him many gains.
Starting with learning to read and write, he'd gained a wealth of information about mages.
As a bonus, her emotional stability from their friendship meant she no longer terrified people or caused chaos like before, which reflexively boosted Arsen's reputation.
He was treated like a beast tamer who'd perfectly domesticated the wild beast named Eloise.
"Did the spell you were working on succeed?"
"Yeah! Luden said my magic is perfect. He called me a genius."
Arsen knew right away it was an exaggeration.
No way would that Luden praise Eloise as a genius.
From their months of interaction, Luden was the type to crush a child's ego with harsh criticism rather than inflate it with praise.
A glance sideways confirmed it: Luden, reading a book, had his lip curled, clearly debating whether to say something.
"Can you show me?"
"Wait a sec, okay..."
Eloise squeezed her eyes shut and focused, and soon a red orb formed between her hands.
Dozens of tiny butterflies emerged from it, dancing dazzlingly above Arsen and Eloise's heads before being sucked back into the orb and vanishing.
"...What do you think? Pretty, right?"
"Yeah, amazing. Looks like you've completely mastered mana control now."
"Right? This was really tough."
Creating such flashy shapes with magic had zero practicality, but as mana control training, it held considerable value.
Praised by Arsen, Eloise stomped her feet in delight, beaming.
'Cute, but a bit overwhelming.'
Perhaps because he'd grown too close to Eloise, talk of betrothing them had even surfaced.
He wanted to protest dragging ten—now eleven-year-olds into marriage talk, but in this world, betrothals at that age weren't a big deal, so he had no grounds to argue.
After showing the magic, Eloise suddenly asked Arsen, who was solving a crossword.
"Don't you want to go to the festival, Sen?"
"Me? Eh, whatever. You? Have you been?"
"Yeah, I have."
Last year's harvest festival had been awful.
Luden dismissed it outright as beneath him, and with no one to go with, she'd taken a single maid to watch.
Wherever she went, drawing dozens of stares was no fun.
No matter where Eloise appeared, the revelers stopped dancing and eyed her uncomfortably.
As if asking why she was there.
That day ended with her returning to her room and sobbing into her pillow.
So even now, hesitant to ask Arsen to go with her—fearing she'd ruin his fun—she held back.
If they went, they'd have to watch from afar to avoid trouble.
As Eloise hemmed and hawed, Luden spoke up abruptly.
"Why don't you two go together."
With that, he opened a chest in the corner and pulled out a black robe.
It looked well-worn, the fabric somewhat frayed.
Honestly, Arsen thought it screamed "evil wizard attire" at first glance.
"It's what I wore traveling. It significantly reduces a mage's distinctive presence. Useless if someone looks directly at you or talks to you, but fine for watching from a distance."
"...You had this? Why not give it last time?"
"You snuck off without saying you were going to the festival."
Unable to argue, Eloise took the robe and draped it on.
Naturally, sized for Luden's sturdy build, it was oversized on her—dragging on the floor.
"That'll still stand out anywhere."
"Beggars can't be choosers."
In the end, they got needle and thread and performed simple alterations right there.
By folding up the hem entirely and sewing it crudely, it looked a bit silly but was wearable.
Luden, being a maker of sorts, had surprisingly deft hands for such work.
"There, done."
"When should we meet tomorrow?"
Imagining the fun, Eloise's eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Her heart already at the festival, she bounced around the messy room, kicking her feet excitedly.
"I'll come pick you up at your room."