After experimenting with his nebulous power, he ventured outside into the courtyard.
Beautiful hedges lined the gardens that spanned behind the home, trimmed in the shapes of animals—from horses to dragons.
"I was wondering when you'd show up. I've been waiting."
"Ah—?"
As he was admiring one of the hedges, he found himself greeted by a masculine voice. Standing in the courtyard by the fountain of an ancestor of the Schoeller family was a man of golden hair.
From the snow-white armor he wore and the sky-blue cape descending from his back, there was no doubt—
["Sir Charlemagne"] [CLASS: Paladin] [Designated Lv: 25]
'Twenty-five? This guy is a boss,' he observed.
The swordsman had a confident smirk on his princely face, gesturing for the young lord to come over, "Come, Leon. I'm sure you're not intending on skipping your lessons today."
"Well, I mean—I'm not feeling myself today, so—" He tried to excuse himself.
Interrupting his half-baked words, he found the golden-haired man already in front of him. The scabbard on his right was empty, discovering one of the blades being swung at his head—
It felt as if it all went to slow-motion, witnessing the sword coming to his right as he ducked down. As it passed over his hair, producing a gust that rustled the hedges, he gasped.
"What the hell was that for—?!" Leon sharply asked.
Charlemagne laughed, "Your senses are sharp. Don't worry—this is a dull blade. It would've just rung your head a bit."
As the swordsman explained himself, he tossed over a scabbard to the estate lord. Leon caught the silver sheathe, drawing the sword from it.
The handle was bejeweled with emerald gems, with a blade as immaculate as a fine diamond.
"The Schoeller Heirloom blade…"Dragon's Claw", a beautiful sword," Charlemagne remarked. "I'm quite jealous."
As his blade was complimented, the sword at the paladin's hip caught his eye; a golden scabbard and a matching handle.
"Looks like you've got a fine blade yourself. Talk about greedy," Leon joked.
Interacting with the Paladin, he felt as though he spoke to a lifelong friend. Though he was the age of a teenager—fifteen in this life, he recalled, Charlemagne seemed the age he was in his past life.
"Oh? Joyeuse—my partner," Charlemagne said, unsheathing the blade at his left side. "It seems you're wanting to have a dance with her. I'm reasoned to incline."
"Ah—did I say that?" Leon chuckled nervously.
As much as he wanted to avoid engaging in a duel, even if just a spar, it seemed it was becoming impossible to avoid. Somehow, he sensed it in the wind—the glistening spirit of the swordsman.
'My instincts are different…higher; I can feel it in the air—this guy wants to fight,' he thought.
A breath escaped his lips as he indulged the man's challenge, fully unsheathing his blade. Passing through the spring courtyard, a soft breeze whispered between the two.
Charlemagne readied himself, gesturing for him to come at him, "Whenever you're ready. Let's see how you've improved, young lord."!
As he accepted, he stepped forward, intending to take a small step, though finding himself instantly crossing meters of distance.
'I'm fast—this is beyond human!' He realized.
It took him by surprise, experiencing the swiftness of his own body as he met the instructor within an instant. He swung the sword in a sideways arch, making the action as if it were natural.
CLANG
—The blades clashed with red-hot sparks fluttering in the clear air. An excited smile was worn on the paladin's lips as he pulled back, following up with consecutive strikes:
Left, right, left, left.
Leon perfectly read the inhuman slashes, deflecting each with his own blade. The four slashes were performed nearly instantaneously, as if performed by multiple swordsmen.
'How the hell am I doing this—? It's natural to me, even his movements—if I just trust my muscle memory, it's amazing,' he experienced.
His eyes followed as Charlemagne spun around, going for a slash towards his left thigh; he countered quickly as their blades met.
"Impressive, Leon! Mind if I go at a higher gear?!" Charlemagne excitedly remarked, slipping back.
"Wait, what—?" Leon reacted.
There was no time for consideration as he witnessed the paladin vanish. It wasn't as though he disappeared; the walls of hedges shook as leaves vibrated in the air—
He saw blurs of the man; he was running circles around the courtyard, at a speed that pierced the sound barrier.
'Hold on…What's up with this world? My sword instructor—is a guy this monstrous?!' He questioned.
As he strained his vision to find the swift swordsman, a warm sensation enveloped his retinas.
["Eyes of The Schoeller"]
"Woah—"
He found himself staring at himself from behind, viewing his body in a third-person perspective. The air was filled with traces of golden dust, following the speeding swordsman.
A step ahead of Charlemagne, the particles took his shape, signaling where he would be in the next moment.
'I can see it—the pathways of his movements—where he's going,' he observed.
As he stepped away from the center fountain, the gold dust arrived to his right side.
'There,' he found.
It was odd, piloting his own body from a parted view. As he held his blade to his right, the impact collided against the steel.
'Left,' he watched.
Again, he predicted the inhuman swiftness of the swordsman.
'Behind,' he observed.
Without turning his body, he defended the strike, countering it as the fountain water rippled from the clash.
For a dozen of the fast strikes, he defended each and every one until—
"Gah!"
He winced, shutting his eyes as his vision returned to his body, finding his ocular organs feeling as if steeped in magma.
"Leon—? Are you alright?" Charlemagne asked worriedly, stopping the sparring session.
"Yeah, it's just…" He said, struggling to speak as the pain settled in his eyes.
As he sat down on the edge of the fountain, the instructor rested beside him as well. It took a lot of blinking before he could open his eyes, feeling as though he'd been pepper sprayed.
"You used it, didn't you? The eyes you inherited," Charlemagne asked, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword.
"Inherited? Right, yeah," he went along with the man's words, breathing out.
It was a lot to take in, just from a simple sparring session; from his superhuman prowess to the supernatural ability bestowed to his vision.
As he sat there with the fountain running behind him, he looked up to find another maid in front of him.
Compared to Irene, she was petite with a youthful appearance and short, black hair.
["Emilia Blouse"] [CLASS: Maid] [Designated Lv. 3]
"Master…Are you alright?" Emilia asked with a worried look in her amethyst eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine. No need to worry," he assured the maid with a smile.
"I see…I'm glad then. Would you like anything? Perhaps a glass of water?" Emilia offered, fiddling with her fingers.
"No, that's fine," Leon declined.
Charlemagne raised his hand, "I'll take one—"
As the Paladin of golden hair insisted with a chuckle, the short maid shot him a glare as if staring daggers through his soul.
"…Or not," Charlemagne rescinded his hand with a nervous laugh.
As the maid took her leave from the courtyard, the after effects on his eyes dissipated.
"Man, the maids really only listen to you. The Schoeller servants are as loyal as knights to their king," Charlemagne remarked, standing up from the stone seating of the fountain.
Leon did the same, glancing back at the exterior of the mansion, "Maybe they just don't like you."
The remark stirred a laugh from the youthful swordsman as he brushed his fingers through his glistening hair, "A-ha, surely nobody could ever dislike a magnificent paladin such as myself."
"…Sure," Leon said with a raised eyebrow.
Charlemagne smiled, pointing towards the open fields beyond the courtyard, "Anyway…As a reward for the level you've reached, how about I show you a special sword skill?"
"A sword skill?" Leon repeated, intrigued.
"I think you're ready to learn it. At the point you're at, you could kick the ass of most knights…well, the average ones, anyway," Charlemagne complimented before correcting himself with a shrug.
He sighed, following the swordsman to the empty grasslands, "Did you have to take it back?"
"Heh, well, there's a lot of knights out there who are monstrous. Some that can slay dragons with a single slash of their sword," Charlemagne explained, waving his blade as if mimicking such heroic feats.
"Can you?" Leon asked.
"Hmm…" Charlemagne hummed in thought, looking up at the sky. "A single slash? No. I'd make it look just as easy though."
The ego of the paladin seemed immeasurable, though he didn't mind it. From the memories etched into his mind, he knew for sure Charlemagne was a stand-up man.
Far enough away from the premises of the mansion, the paladin came to a stop, holding his blade out.
"Alright, this is enough," Charlemagne claimed. "I'm going to show you now, so—watch closely."
He nodded his head, keeping his eyes on the man of high renown. The more time he spent with the swordsman, the more he remembered—
["Charlemagne…He's not really an instructor. That is, the only reason he became my instructor is because of the Schoeller name. A legendary paladin whose performed countless heroic acts in his young tenure…My father paid top dollar to get him as my instructor."]
The paladin slid his snow-white boot across the blades of grass, leaning his body forward gracefully like an acrobat. In that seamless transition, he suddenly lunged; his blade-holding hand vanished before—
FWOOSH
—The wind howled as a sharp slash of air pressure swept through the field.
By the time he perceived it, Leon found the grass swaying in a parade as the wind brushed through his hair.
"Did you catch that?" Charlemagne asked with a confident smirk, leaning his sword on his shoulder.
"That…You created a vacuum in the wind by swinging your sword. That's what it looked like, but the speed for that—" Leon explained what he observed, though was astonished by the fantastical feat.
"It requires explosive movement through your legs to your shoulders, extending through your blade. It's a fundamental skill of paladins," Charlemagne explained.
Experiencing the mysticism of the fantasy world still felt surreal. Still, he wanted nothing more than to take it in, to learn, to see what he could do—
"I'll give it a shot," he resolved, breathing out through his lips.
As he looked over, the servants of the estate were watching from the courtyard and windows of the mansion. With an audience of his own, he felt he couldn't disappoint—
["Generational Genius"]
The synapses in his brain fired off, taking in and breaking down the skill he witnessed. He set his footing in the exact same way he had observed, bringing his blade up as he flexed his body through a single burst—
With the blade brought down, he watched as the wind extended from the sword, slicing across the field.
"I did it?" Leon remarked.
Charlemagne had a half-baked smirk, "Well, you figured that out much faster than I expected…That kind of hurts."