Chapter 60: Cool Old Man
Moonlight lay clear across the courtyard, spreading a layer of silver frost over the stone paving.
Lucian looked at Sebas's earnest face and ran through the situation quickly.
If this was simply Ainz miscalibrating the strength of Martial Arts, there was no reason not to keep up the performance.
A man regarded as the foremost fighter among the Kingdom's nobles couldn't just fold against an "elderly Empire merchant's butler" the moment he failed to draw blood. That would raise questions.
No matter how large the gap in actual strength, he at least needed to look like he was giving everything he had.
Lucian drew a slow breath.
"In that case."
He dropped his center of gravity, shifted his weight forward, and tightened his grip on the hilt, his gaze settling back on Sebas.
"Mr. Sebas, I'm going to use my strongest Martial Art."
"By all means."
Sebas raised both hands and settled back into his fighting posture. The hem of his tailcoat swayed with the motion, tracing a clean arc in the moonlight.
Lucian didn't move immediately.
He looked at those calm eyes and added one more thing.
"One decisive strike, Mr. Sebas. That's how it should be."
His voice carried a note of genuine seriousness.
"If I can't take you down in a single move, then the match is already mine to lose."
It came out sounding principled — the clear-eyed self-assessment of a true martial practitioner.
The actual thinking behind it was considerably simpler: he was afraid Sebas would reflexively follow up with a combination and reduce him to a fine mist.
One decisive strike kept things manageable.
Sebas gave a slight nod of agreement.
Lucian squared his stance, both hands on the hilt, the sword-tip angled toward the ground.
He said it silently.
[Ability Binding.]
The Martial Art activated. A surge of heat moved through him — muscle fibers expanding and contracting as though something were pulling them open and drawing them tight again, physical ability rising.
[Super Ability Binding.]
A more intense heat flooded in. Fine crackling sounds from the bones, like gears being wound tighter.
[Perception Enhancement.]
A third Martial Art followed immediately. The world sharpened. The creases in Sebas's white gloves stood out in clear detail. The path of moonlight became distinct, each thread of silver-white light individually traceable to the eye.
Lucian's breathing steadied and lengthened. His heartbeat pressed against his eardrums like a drum beaten before battle.
Then he stepped forward.
[Four-Light Combo Slash.]
Four high-speed strikes tore through the air in almost the same instant.
First: down from upper right to lower left.
Second: down from upper left to lower right.
Third: a level sweep, directly at Sebas's wrist.
Fourth: a reverse upward draw, targeting the same fist.
Four trails of silver-white swordlight wove together in the moonlight into a close, dense pattern, each one carrying force enough to split plate armor.
Sebas looked at those four trails of light.
He threw a single punch.
The fist met the convergence point of all four strikes with precision that looked measured to the millimeter.
A sharp crack split the courtyard.
Lucian's electroplated mithril longsword — from the tip of the blade to the base — broke into more than a dozen irregular fragments that scattered in every direction.
The pieces caught the moonlight as they flew, glittering like a smashed mirror.
Lucian sat down on the stone paving, the bare sword hilt still in his hand.
He looked at Sebas's fist.
The white glove was intact.
Not one new scratch.
The corner of Lucian's mouth twitched slightly.
He was beginning to understand Brain Unglaus's obsession with clipping Shalltear's fingernails.
Sebas was looking down at his own fist.
His brow had shifted slightly. The puzzlement in his eyes was considerably deeper than last time.
This supposedly powerful Martial Art... seems quite weak after all.
Sebas looked at the glove, as though working through a difficult problem.
But Lord Ainz cannot be wrong.
He raised his head and looked at the blade fragments scattered across the stone.
It seems that truly powerful Martial Arts that would meet Lord Ainz's standards must be very difficult to find.
His expression settled back into calm. Those warm eyes turned toward Lucian.
Lucian was, at this moment, sitting on the ground.
Both legs slightly apart, both hands braced on the stone behind him, the bare sword hilt lying at his side. His gold hair had fallen across his forehead and was covering half his face.
The whole picture was one of someone who had been thoroughly deflated.
Sebas's brow shifted slightly.
Has this hit him too hard?
He thought this to himself and stepped toward Lucian.
As Nazarick's head butler, Sebas considered it important — for the sake of executing Lord Ainz's future tasks effectively — not to let Mr. Lucian remain in low spirits.
Sebas walked to where Lucian sat, bent forward, and extended a hand.
"Mr. Lucian..."
The sentence didn't finish.
Lucian was already back on his feet.
He rose cleanly, without a trace of unsteadiness, as though it hadn't been him sitting on the ground a moment before.
He pushed his gold hair back with one hand, and the face it revealed was clear and easy.
Then Lucian smiled.
The smile was bright enough to look like it had been left out in the sun — not a shadow at the corners of his eyes, the curve at the corners of his mouth carrying that particular energy that belongs to the young.
"Mr. Sebas is far more formidable than anyone could have guessed."
Lucian's voice was light, nothing in it to suggest he had just lost badly.
"And here I was, saying I could protect you." He lowered his head slightly; the tips of his ears had reddened. He looked genuinely embarrassed about his earlier presumption. "That was overconfidence talking."
Sebas looked at that smiling face, his extended hand still suspended in the air.
Sebas's expression didn't change. But something was moving, very faintly, deep in those eyes.
This young man... accepts defeat this openly. In the face of someone far beyond his own strength, there is no fear in him — he meets it with the ease of someone who has simply lost a fair game of chess.
A character like this would earn respect even in Nazarick.
Lord Ainz told me to value Mr. Lucian — surely because he had already seen these qualities in him. As expected, Lord Ainz's perception reaches far.
Sebas lowered his hand and straightened.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke.
"No, Mr. Lucian."
His voice was steady, but it carried more weight than before.
"I believe that at any point in life, having a heart that wants to protect those who are weaker is not something to be ashamed of."
The night wind moved through the courtyard, stirring the hems of both their coats.
Sebas said it without looking down at Lucian, without the pity of someone above speaking to someone below. No elder's lecture in his voice.
He simply stated, with perfect calm, something he considered too obvious to require any particular emphasis.
Moonlight fell.
Lucian looked at that deeply lined old face.
Ah.
He said it to himself.
That's... actually kind of cool.
Nazarick's legendary lady-killer. The reputation held up.
Lucian blinked.
Can't let Lakyus anywhere near him.
He had some genuine concerns about his airheaded little sister being swept away by the white-haired old charmer.
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