Interlude
“Mrgh...”
On a day like any other, a girl stood in the order’s training hall. She gripped a large weapon, one that was a complete mismatch for her petite stature, and she groaned as she quietly performed practice swings.
This was Kewlny Crucielle, a knight of the Liberion Order.
It was almost time for the sun to set, so not many knights were left in the training hall. The commander, the lieutenant commander, and the recently appointed special instructor had already left. The only ones who remained were those who felt inadequate, those who were simply nocturnal by nature, or those who had more free time than they knew what to do with. In other words, they were mostly newer and younger knights. But by now, the hall was truly emptying out, and even these remaining knights were getting dressed and preparing to leave.
Kewlny remained, holding up her zweihander and groaning.
“Like this? No, maybe...this?” Kewlny muttered to herself as she launched a couple of strikes with her sword. Her expression, which was usually full of enthusiasm, seemed to lack energy.
The zweihander had been recommended to her by her instructor, Beryl. Buying it had marked a new beginning for Kewlny and a farewell to the shortsword that had served her for so long. The zweihander was, of course, far larger than a shortsword and somewhat broader. There was no point in even comparing the weight. But because Kewlny had raw strength to spare, the heft of the weapon was just about right for her. She knew this, despite her inexperience. Her weapon definitely didn’t feel too heavy. It felt pleasant in her hands, and the sensation of slicing through the air was satisfying.
Unfortunately, just because she was a trained knight didn’t mean she could automatically use the weapon properly. Knights were creatures of routine that usually stuck to a single weapon, barring extreme circumstances. Switching to something else cost both time and money. What’s more, knights would need to complete their training all over again just to achieve the same level of prowess they’d had with their old weapon. When you trained with two weapons in the same class—swords, for example—there were some commonalities. But a shortsword was still vastly different from a zweihander. Kewlny felt like she was slowly improving, but honestly, she didn’t know when that progress might bloom into proper skill.
And that was why she was still here training, alone, even after the other knights were gone. Beryl had told her not to tire herself out too much, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been in the middle of developing her skills with a shortsword, and now, she was having to take steps back and retrain herself on a new weapon. Despite her natural optimism, this situation made her feel like she had to rush to learn. She knew that the path to swordsmanship couldn’t be completed in such a short time—from an instructor’s perspective, swordplay was an accumulation of many years of diligent training. Yes, she knew this, but the thought wasn’t enough to drown out the impatience that fluttered within her.
How long did she spend groaning to herself? She swung her sword for quite a while, worrying endlessly about something the entire time.
“Kewlny. Thought you’d be here.”
A familiar voice echoed from the training hall’s entrance, and Kewlny whipped around to face it. This wasn’t a voice she’d expected to hear in the order’s training hall.
“Fice...?” Kewlny asked. She’d been caught off guard by this unexpected visitor, and her own voice sounded rather shrill.
This was Ficelle Habeler—Fice for short—a talented woman who served as the magic corps’s young ace. She was also Kewlny’s old friend.
Ficelle stared at Kewlny, her eyes full of exasperation. “Dinner. We agreed to go today.”
“Hm? Ah... Aaaaah!” Kewlny suddenly screamed hysterically. Ficelle was right—Kewlny had promised to join her for dinner since they hadn’t been out in a while. “S-Sorry! I totally forgot!”
“It’s fine. You’ve always been a scatterbrain.”
“Mrgh... I can’t even refute it this time.” Kewlny didn’t like to be teased, but she had, in fact, neglected a promise she’d made to her friend.
“That a greatsword?” Ficelle asked. She seemed to put the broken dinner promise on hold as she focused on the weapon in Kewlny’s hands.
“Ah, this? It’s a zweihander. I switched to it just the other day.” For some reason, Kewlny gave the weapon’s specific name. “Oh right! I want you to take a look at this. I can’t, like, get a feel for it.”
“Waah...” Ficelle’s expression darkened. Her emotions didn’t tend to show much on her face, but right now, she was clearly discontent. “I’m hungry.”
“Please! It’ll only take a sec!”
“Haah...”
Kewlny continued to insist, and Ficelle sighed in resignation. She knew this petite knight very well—Kewlny was an innocent tomboy, but once she suggested something, it was hard to get her to back down. For better or worse, Kewlny was very honest with herself, and she had a steadfast dedication to her sword too. Now that she’d set her sights on having Ficelle check out her swordplay, Kewlny wouldn’t back down, and there was no arguing with her. Ficelle quickly gave up. It seemed dinner would have to wait. Her stomach wasn’t rumbling quite yet, but she was worried that it wouldn’t hold out for long.
“I suppose,” said Ficelle. “I don’t know as much as Master Beryl, though.”
“That’s fine. A third person’s perspective is important! Probably!”
Ficelle had agreed to take a look at Kewlny’s swordplay, but actually providing pertinent advice was a whole different matter. Ficelle considered herself to be pretty strong, though she tried to be low-key about that fact. She probably wouldn’t lose a sword duel against the average knight, and she could also use high-level sword magic.
However, that was simply her self-assessment. Critiquing someone else’s swordsmanship was an entirely different matter. She didn’t have enough experience, and she couldn’t guide people, not like her instructor could. Ficelle did try to inform Kewlny of this, but Kewlny didn’t mind, so Ficelle resigned herself to the task. She sighed, shifting her focus to try and provide what advice she could.
“Haah! Haah! Hyah!”
“Hmm...”
Kewlny started swinging her zweihander, and her spirited shouts rang out in the hall. Ficelle didn’t really enjoy staring at other people’s swordplay—teaching wasn’t really in her nature. Still, she continued watching Kewlny.
At first, Ficelle didn’t observe anything useful. She couldn’t really tell what technique was good or bad. So, she pivoted her thoughts and considered how she might swing that sword if she were Kewlny.
“Ah...”
Suddenly, Ficelle let out a quiet gasp. She’d realized something—Kewlny was doing something in a way that Ficelle wouldn’t.
Ficelle cleared her throat. “Kewlny.”
“Hoh!” The knight stopped swinging and turned around. “What is it?”
Kewlny didn’t appear to be slacking off with her training. She was a serious girl who was around the same age as Ficelle. When Ficelle considered what was off about her swordplay, only one thing came to mind.
“You’re not swinging with an opponent in mind,” Ficelle said.
“A-An opponent?”
“Practice swings aren’t just for throwing your sword around blindly,” Ficelle elaborated. “Though, I suppose, in order to visualize striking an opponent, you first have to get used to the weapon.”
“An opponent? Well, now that you mention it...”
Kewlny’s issue was merely a difference in practical experience. Practice swings for learning a weapon’s form were naturally conducted alone—that was a given. But weapons didn’t exist to merely cut straw or air. No, a blade’s purpose was to be used in combat, to oppress an opponent. That was the very nature of weapons. The tip of a blade needed to be pointed at an enemy.
Kewlny wasn’t picturing that. Ficelle could tell that there was no imaginary opponent standing in front of Kewlny’s zweihander. This made sense—if you never faced an actual opponent, it was hard for that visualization to take root.
There were countless sword styles in the world. Some focused on practical combat, while others focused on performative arts. The way you moved for each style was very different. Beryl was, of course, aware of this fact. But he was proceeding in a certain order with Kewlny’s training, just like any instructor would. He’d started by teaching the basic forms and techniques for handling a zweihander—things Kewlny could practice alone without a problem.
Ficelle had observed all of this and seen straight through to the problem.
“As far as I can tell, you’re not doing anything weird with your technique,” Ficelle said. “It’s a problem of focus.”
“I see... Okay, I get it!”
Kewlny took a deep breath. It was like she’d received a divine revelation. Thinking back, it had felt like she’d been doing nothing except swinging her sword around, and she hadn’t given any thought to the opponent on the other end. How would they move? How should she deliver a solid strike against them? Everything was starting to click into place. She lacked awareness of her opponent—she lacked the fighting spirit that accompanied the thrill of being in battle. Kewlny felt like something inside of her had burst open.
“Okay!” Kewlny exclaimed, maintaining this new momentum. “Fice! Be my opponent!”
“Waaah...”
As expected, Ficelle sighed. Her expression made it obvious that she was starving. However, Kewlny was a bit too young to pick up on that.
“Fine,” Ficelle conceded. “Just for a little while. If we go too late, we won’t get to have dinner.”
“I’m hungry too, so just a li’l more!”
Kewlny wasn’t going to stop once she got started, and frankly, Ficelle couldn’t bring herself to make fun of her. So Ficelle just stood there in the training hall, sighing for the umpteenth time. The order and the magic corps did have friendly relations, though it was questionable whether a wizard should be using the order’s training hall without asking. Ultimately, there was no real point in worrying about that—Kewlny and Ficelle were the only ones left, so nobody was going to see them anyway.
“Use that wooden sword,” said Ficelle. “Swinging a real blade is probably a bad idea.”
“Ah, righto.” Kewlny nodded at Ficelle’s suggestion—it was best to treat this like proper training. If Kewlny put all her strength behind her zweihander, the ensuing strike would be no laughing matter.
“Here I go!”
“Mm.”
Kewlny held up a wooden weapon about the size of a greatsword and gave the start signal. She took Ficelle’s short response as an acknowledgment, then kicked off the ground. The sound of swords clattering echoed slightly through the training hall.
In the end, Ficelle and Kewlny didn’t get around to dinner until it was completely dark out. Ficelle was extremely pouty about having been forced to accompany Kewlny for so long, so to cheer her up, Kewlny forced her wallet into its own difficult situation.
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