“H-hello, Young Master.”
Lionel lifted his head, pulling his gaze away from the book he had been reading.
A child with a scrawny, unremarkable frame stood fidgeting, stealing cautious glances at him.
She had a worthless mop of wheat-colored hair, yet her two eyes, resembling peridots, shone as clear and transparent as glass beads.
The way she rolled her eyes and fidgeted made her look like a tiny puppy.
If Jes, the dog kept at the summer villa, were to have puppies, they might look exactly like that child.
When their eyes met, the startled child flinched and looked away, muttering something with her lips.
Her exposed cheeks were flushed pink.
She must have fallen for me again. Well, it was hardly surprising.
Though Lionel was only twelve, he knew well the charm his appearance held.
Girls his age would blush furiously the moment they met his eyes and go to great lengths just to exchange a single word with him.
This child was just another one of those girls blinded by his looks. How boring.
“What brings you here?”
“I-I was told to be the Young Master’s playmate……”
The child fidgeted with her fingertips, seemingly nervous.
Just then, Lionel’s gaze caught the loose sleeve ends that did not fit her arm length and clothes so worn that even a beggar would not wear them.
It was an outfit no noble would ever be caught in.
Lionel subtly furrowed his brow without letting it show and forced an awkward smile.
“Hmm, are you by any chance a commoner?”
“Y-yes……”
“And my father told you to be my playmate?”
“Yes……”
Many children had passed through as Lionel’s playmates, but not a single one of them had been a commoner.
For some time now, his father had drilled into him until his ears rang that to become the head of a ducal house someday, forming connections was of the utmost importance.
Only the children of those who had reached the very top of their fields—bank presidents, newspaper owners, the head of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, professors, and the like—could become Lionel’s playmates.
Even if they were commoners, they had to be at least the children of a trading company’s owner to be allowed as playmates.
‘But suddenly a commoner? What on earth is Father scheming?’
While Lionel was lost in thought, the child before him stood perfectly still, holding her breath.
Lionel crafted a suitably kind voice.
“Hmm, I like reading. If you don’t mind, why don’t you sit over there and read a book too?”
Well, it did not matter. Commoner or noble, children who fell for him at first sight were all the same.
Most of them would just blush and stammer, repeating the same words like parrots.
They would spout useless things like “I like you, my lord,” “Please go out with me,” “Please spend time with me during the holiday,” and cling to him annoyingly.
Lionel hated them.
He felt that the time spent on such pointless conversations was meaningless.
This child, too, was already one who harbored feelings for him.
He figured he could just be moderately kind and keep his distance. Then he would not have to endure tiresome conversations.
“Y-yes, Young Master.”
At Lionel’s suggestion, the child quietly moved and sat on the sofa in the corner of the room.
Lionel immediately turned his gaze away from her.
After that, the child came faithfully once a week to spend time with Lionel.
They shared the same space and each did what they wanted to do.
Lionel could not figure out his father’s intentions at all.
‘Is he really telling me to become friends with that commoner?’
Still, the time spent with the child was not all that bad.
Because the child did not bother him.
Sometimes he felt her gaze on his face, but that was all.
The child sat like a statue, clinging to her book. In the quiet space, only the occasional sound of pages turning broke the silence.
No matter how much she had read, the corners of the book she held were visibly worn and tattered even from a distance.
Suddenly, curiosity stirred. Lionel approached the sofa where the child sat and held out his hand.
“May I take a look?”
He spoke as if suggesting, but it was effectively a command.
In the green eyes looking up at Lionel, a faint fear welled up.
The child hesitated for a moment, seemingly unwilling to hand over the book.
But soon she resigned herself and carefully held out the book she had been reading to Lionel.
Her movements were very slow. As if he were a thug coveting her tattered book.
The book the child was reading was an intermediate rune textbook.
The blank spaces of the textbook were packed with rune formulas, so densely that no white space could be found. The letters, pressed firmly with a pencil, were crooked.
Flipping through a few pages, Lionel spoke.
“You know how to apply intermediate runes?”
“Y-yes. A l-little.”
She looked about five or six. The child appeared much younger than him, yet she was saying she could apply intermediate runes.
“How old are you?”
“T-ten.”
Even as her face turned pink, the child answered Lionel’s questions diligently.
She was much older than Lionel had estimated. Her small, scrawny frame made her look far younger than her actual age.
Regardless, applying intermediate runes is a rather difficult discipline. It was not something a mere ten-year-old child could easily handle.
Only then did Lionel’s question resolve itself.
So this child, too, was exceptional, and his father had arranged for them to meet in advance.
His interest plummeting, Lionel held out the tattered book to the child.
He stretched his lips, crafting the kindest tone he could, but his golden eyes, devoid of any hint of a smile, were sunk cold as ice.
“Thank you. I enjoyed it.”
The fidgeting child hid the book in her arms as if concealing something precious.
‘Trembling over a single rag of a book like that.’
Swallowing a sneer, Lionel returned to his seat and dropped his gaze to the book he had been reading.
***
Lionel drove his sword deep into the chest of the knight standing before him. But it was not enough.
The immature tip of his blade did not reach the point Lionel wanted.
His sparring partner lightly deflected Lionel’s thrust upward and swung his greatsword wide horizontally.
The heavy greatsword cut through the air with a whoosh and came straight for Lionel’s shoulder.
Lionel quickly leaned his upper body back to avoid the blade. His fine black hair scattered through the air, and at the same time, beads of sweat on his forehead sprayed into the air, reflecting the sunlight.
The knight’s blade grazed past Lionel’s upper body by the width of a single sheet of paper.
Gritting his teeth, Lionel righted himself and used the recoil to slash his sword diagonally.
The knight spun once, lightly evaded Lionel’s strike, and brought his sword to Lionel’s neck.
All of this happened in the blink of an eye.
The veteran knight, who had lived a life many times longer than Lionel’s, handled Lionel as easily as a toy.
Looking down at the greatsword hovering just before his neck, Lionel spoke.
“I owe you my life again today.”
The middle-aged knight lowered his sword from Lionel’s neck with a benevolent face. The proof of grueling training streamed down Lionel’s neck.
“Let us end today’s guidance here, Young Master.”
“Yes. Good work.”
Lionel sheathed the sword in his hand and took the towel a servant handed him to wipe away his sweat.
The knight commander’s sword was heavy but flawless. He was not an easy opponent by any means.
“Your skills improve by leaps and bounds with each passing day.”
“What good is that? I’m still far lacking to face Doyle.”
“I am the knight commander of the Eduard family, after all. I am not an opponent the Young Master can easily defeat. At your age, this level of achievement is truly excellent. Even the current Duke did not display such skill at your age.”
“Really? Would Father be pleased?”
“Of course. He would be proud.”
“I hope so.”
“Why not go up to the capital while you are at it? If you plan to enter the Academy later, it might not be a bad idea to go up to the capital beforehand and learn the sword.”
“Is there any need to? Learning from Doyle here is enough.”
“The Young Master possesses mana, so you will surely become a magic swordsman. I cannot handle mana, so receiving instruction from a teacher suited to your talents would be more helpful for your improvement.”
“Right. I should bring it up with Father.”
Nodding slowly, Lionel handed the sweat towel to the servant.
As he turned his head, he caught a familiar wheat-colored blur in the corner of his vision.
In a corner outside the training grounds, the child with stiff wheat-colored hair was watching him.
The child, who had been holding a book in her arms, flinched the moment their eyes met and hurried away.
Come to think of it, today was the day he met with the child.
