Rogero chewed some taffy and went towards the tethered horse and unsheathed his sword. He always carried two swords, and the one he brought with him was the longer one.
“You always carry two swords with you. What is the reason?”
Bartholomew asked, taking off his gloves with distracting tassels and replacing them with plain leather gloves. Rogero glanced at the short sword strapped to the other side of his horse and laughed mischievously.
“A long sword has a different use as a long sword, and a short sword has a different purpose as a short sword.”
It was a story that anyone who had learned even a little bit of swordsmanship would know, but there was a part of Rogero's words that sounded a bit strange.
“So you’re going to use a long sword this time?”
"Yes. You are tall. And...”
Rogero, who moved his palm and swung his sword once, laughed briefly. Bartholomew blinked his eyes, waiting for his next words. Rogero said.
“If I use a short sword, I’ll be much faster.”
Rogero narrowed one eye and strode in the opposite direction. Franz leaned against a tree a little far away so that he could clearly see the two people moving.
“Both of you, be careful. Because it’s not a sparring sword.”
Franz said, raising his voice. Bartholomew drew out his sword first. Rogero whistled skillfully like a gangster when he saw the thick sword body coming out of his scabbard.
“It’s a good sword.”
“It’s an heirloom.”
“I want to visit the Duke of Vergy’s residence sometime and take a leisurely look around it. Is it okay?”
“You are welcome to come as much as you like.”
Heh, a low laugh was heard. As Bartholomew took his stance, Rogero only then untied the strap of the sword sheath. The sword came out with a smooth sound. As if he had not neglected his regular maintenance, the blade of the sword reflected in the sunlight had a sharp edge.
“How long have you learned how to use a sword?”
Bartholomew's eyes narrowed slightly.
“The first time I held a wooden sword was when I was four years old.”
“Then, let’s say I laid the foundation for these two years, and if you count it since I was six... Um, you were the same age as Franz, right? It’s been almost twenty years.”
“Why are you asking that? Your Highness the Prince?”
“To figure it out.”
Does that mean he believes that his skills are superior to Bartholomew? Or maybe the opposite?
Before Bartholomew even crossed swords, he felt like he was being caught up in Rogero's speaking skills. Since it wasn't a dull sword for sparring, he was nervous and had more thoughts.
Rogero, holding the handle with one hand, extended the sword forward. Rather than being in a ready position, it seemed as if he was trying to estimate how long the sword was. Bartholomew suddenly suppressed his laughter. The sword seemed too long compared to Rogero's height.
“Can we begin?”
“I have been preparing since a while ago, Your Highness the Prince.”
“Oh, I see. Well, it was. It’s been so long since I last used a sword with someone who received formal military training that I’ve forgotten.”
For a moment, a look of puzzlement appeared on Bartholomew's expression. He was taking the same posture he had learned from the Combler, of course.
However, the general preparation posture and the preparation posture learned in the military were not significantly different. There were only very subtle differences in the height of the blade, the angle at which the tip was pointed, and the central point of weight. It was a difference that was difficult to notice at a glance, not only for those who had not received military training but even for those who had received training, unless they had experienced it for a long time.
But Rogero understood the difference right away. And that too from afar.
'Do the Prince of Delacca train in swordsmanship with the soldiers?'
Before Bartholomew could finish his thoughts, Rogero's body suddenly leaned forward. At first glance, the gesture looked like someone with a calf cramp.
“Tsk... !”
Rogero, holding the handle with one hand, extended the sword forward. Rather than being in a ready position, it seemed as if he was trying to estimate how long the sword was. Bartholomew suddenly suppressed his laughter. The sword seemed too long compared to Rogero's height.
“Can we begin?”
“I have been preparing since a while ago, Your Highness the Prince.”
“Oh, I see. Well, it was. It’s been so long since I last used a sword with someone who received formal military training that I’ve forgotten.”
For a moment, a look of puzzlement appeared on Bartholomew's expression. He was taking the same posture he had learned from the Combler, of course.
However, the general preparation posture and the preparation posture learned in the military were not significantly different. There were only very subtle differences in the height of the blade, the angle at which the tip was pointed, and the central point of weight. It was a difference that was difficult to notice at a glance, not only for those who had not received military training but even for those who had received training, unless they had experienced it for a long time.
But Rogero understood the difference right away. And that too from afar.
'Do the Prince of Delacca train in swordsmanship with the soldiers?'
Before Bartholomew could finish his thoughts, Rogero's body suddenly leaned forward. At first glance, the gesture looked like someone with a calf cramp.
“Tsk... !”
Bang!
There was a sound. It was not a clash of swords, but an explosion as if an iron cart had suddenly exploded. Franz, who was watching, stood up from his leisurely leaning position. He couldn't even see Rogero move, but their swords were already clashing so violently that they were trembling.
“What is this...?!”
But the person who was most surprised was Bartholomew. Even though he only blocked one attack, his wrists and elbows were tingling. No matter how fast Rogero ran, he never expected that he would push him down with such terrifying force, despite the difference in his physique.
Rogero grinned behind the swords that clashed at an angle. Basolomew felt a chill creeping up the back of his neck at the sight of his lips being pulled up to his cheekbones. He wasn't doing it to show off, he was genuinely smiling and Bartholomew could tell right away that he was smiling.
Bartholomew's body fell backward first. Rogero followed closely behind him, freely swinging a sword that was much longer than his upper body. If Bartholomew had been a little less skilled or less powerful, he would have already dropped his sword, and his wrist was blown off.
Kang! Kang!
“What is this...?!”
But the person who was most surprised was Bartholomew. Even though he only blocked one attack, his wrists and elbows were tingling. No matter how fast Rogero ran, he never expected that he would push him down with such terrifying force, despite the difference in his physique.
Rogero grinned behind the swords that clashed at an angle. Basolomew felt a chill creeping up the back of his neck at the sight of his lips being pulled up to his cheekbones. He wasn't doing it to show off, he was genuinely smiling and Bartholomew could tell right away that he was smiling.
Bartholomew's body fell backward first. Rogero followed closely behind him, freely swinging a sword that was much longer than his upper body. If Bartholomew had been a little less skilled or less powerful, he would have already dropped his sword, and his wrist was blown off.
Kang! Kang!
The crashing sound became more frequent. As Rogero turned his body around, Bartholomew's eyes widened. He almost missed it, but his sword, which he had already swung, gained momentum and went straight for Rogero's shoulder.
“Bartholomew!”
Franz screamed in astonishment. However, the next moment, Rogero's arm was bent strangely sharply. Just before he reached Bartholomew's shoulder, he pushed it away with his entire body weight and, conversely, thrust the tip of his sword near Bartholomew's temple.
“Rogero!”
Franz's voice, running towards him, did not reach Bartholomew's ears. There was a tingling sensation under his skin and cold sweat broke out on his back. When Bartholomew, who was catching his breath, glanced at his eyes, Rogero suddenly burst out laughing and withdrew his sword.
“As expected, it’s a skill too good to be kicked out.”
After saying a lively word, Rogero jumped up as if imitating a deer and retrieved the sword sheath. Even as he sheathed his sword and tied it with his string, Bartholomew just stared down at Rogero blankly with his hands hanging down.
“Isn’t the strength great? After all, people are tall and it’s something to see.”
Rogero patted Bartholomew on the back. Franz looked at the two people back and forth with a puzzled look on his face, then frowned with concern.
“I told you to be careful. Even if it was a sparring sword, it would have been dangerous if it had been used squarely.”
“Hey, nagging. Do you think I would have even dared to put a scratch on Duke's son’s body?”
Rogero pouted his lips and ran towards the horse to tie his sword. Bartholomew, who had been blinking, looked at Franz this time.
“Franz, you said you sparred with His Highness the Prince. What was it like then?”
"What? How was it... It was just normal. Rogero is good at using a sword. Aren’t you in a bad mood today?”
A laugh burst out of Bartholomew's mouth.
“I’m not feeling well? If my condition wasn’t good, I would be a corpse by now.”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you mean?”
Bartholomew sheathed his sword with a groaning sound, took out the canteen he was wearing at his waist, and took a few sips of water. He then glanced back at Rogero, who was stroking his horse.
“If you felt ordinary when sparring with His Highness the Prince, it was all just his insidious pretense.”
“Was it that bad?”
At the first moment, Franz was startled by a sound so loud that he couldn't believe his ears, but it was also difficult to believe what Bartholomew said. He thought his movements were faster than what he saw during swordsmanship lessons, but he thought that was because Rogero's body was lighter today. Besides, he was also Bartholomew, and even though he seemed to be a bit pushed back, didn't he do a great job anyway?
However, Bartholomew's impressions of the swords directly clashed were different. He closed and opened his still trembling hands several times and blinked his eyes.
When Rogero first jumped out at him, he felt for a moment that Rogero had disappeared from sight. When Bartholomew's eyes became accustomed to his first posture, he cleverly lowered his posture for a moment, thereby clouding his judgment. Then he thrust his sword forward with incredible force. He was in sparring, so he was devastated. If it had been a battlefield, his head might have been cut off with that one blow.
“Even if you use a long sword, you can still get faster than this?”
Bartholomew muttered to himself. Rogero said himself that he could move faster if he used a short sword. He had ignored it until he heard it, but he couldn't do it anymore. If it moves faster, will it even be visible?
“I don’t know what they teach the Princes at Delacca. Are you planning on creating an assassin?”
“His Majesty the Emperor was strangely weak to Rogero. Maybe he did that because he had talent.”
That's too dangerous to be just a talent. Bartholomew stared at Rogero in the clear sunlight and was caught up in a suspicious mood, but he had no way of knowing the truth.
Rogero, who must have gotten bored petting the horse, soon returned to where the two were. Franz glanced up at Bartholomew. Bartholomew said.
“Your Highness the Prince has broadened my knowledge, so if you visit the Duke’s residence at any time, I will treat you with great hospitality.”
“I also learned a lot, so let’s assume it’s a draw.”
“If you don’t mind, could I ask you to spar again next time?”
“That’s as much as you want. I get sore if I stay still anyway.”
Rogero giggled and took out another piece of taffy left in his pocket and put it in his mouth. Seeing this, Franz felt even more strange.
Bartholomew was not a person to judge anyone vainly. Franz knew better than anyone else that his opponent, a Prince, was a person who would not be able to pretend to show off his skill.
Are Rogero's skills really that good?
“Bartholomew!”
Franz screamed in astonishment. However, the next moment, Rogero's arm was bent strangely sharply. Just before he reached Bartholomew's shoulder, he pushed it away with his entire body weight and, conversely, thrust the tip of his sword near Bartholomew's temple.
“Rogero!”
Franz's voice, running towards him, did not reach Bartholomew's ears. There was a tingling sensation under his skin and cold sweat broke out on his back. When Bartholomew, who was catching his breath, glanced at his eyes, Rogero suddenly burst out laughing and withdrew his sword.
“As expected, it’s a skill too good to be kicked out.”
After saying a lively word, Rogero jumped up as if imitating a deer and retrieved the sword sheath. Even as he sheathed his sword and tied it with his string, Bartholomew just stared down at Rogero blankly with his hands hanging down.
“Isn’t the strength great? After all, people are tall and it’s something to see.”
Rogero patted Bartholomew on the back. Franz looked at the two people back and forth with a puzzled look on his face, then frowned with concern.
“I told you to be careful. Even if it was a sparring sword, it would have been dangerous if it had been used squarely.”
“Hey, nagging. Do you think I would have even dared to put a scratch on Duke's son’s body?”
Rogero pouted his lips and ran towards the horse to tie his sword. Bartholomew, who had been blinking, looked at Franz this time.
“Franz, you said you sparred with His Highness the Prince. What was it like then?”
"What? How was it... It was just normal. Rogero is good at using a sword. Aren’t you in a bad mood today?”
A laugh burst out of Bartholomew's mouth.
“I’m not feeling well? If my condition wasn’t good, I would be a corpse by now.”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you mean?”
Bartholomew sheathed his sword with a groaning sound, took out the canteen he was wearing at his waist, and took a few sips of water. He then glanced back at Rogero, who was stroking his horse.
“If you felt ordinary when sparring with His Highness the Prince, it was all just his insidious pretense.”
“Was it that bad?”
At the first moment, Franz was startled by a sound so loud that he couldn't believe his ears, but it was also difficult to believe what Bartholomew said. He thought his movements were faster than what he saw during swordsmanship lessons, but he thought that was because Rogero's body was lighter today. Besides, he was also Bartholomew, and even though he seemed to be a bit pushed back, didn't he do a great job anyway?
However, Bartholomew's impressions of the swords directly clashed were different. He closed and opened his still trembling hands several times and blinked his eyes.
When Rogero first jumped out at him, he felt for a moment that Rogero had disappeared from sight. When Bartholomew's eyes became accustomed to his first posture, he cleverly lowered his posture for a moment, thereby clouding his judgment. Then he thrust his sword forward with incredible force. He was in sparring, so he was devastated. If it had been a battlefield, his head might have been cut off with that one blow.
“Even if you use a long sword, you can still get faster than this?”
Bartholomew muttered to himself. Rogero said himself that he could move faster if he used a short sword. He had ignored it until he heard it, but he couldn't do it anymore. If it moves faster, will it even be visible?
“I don’t know what they teach the Princes at Delacca. Are you planning on creating an assassin?”
“His Majesty the Emperor was strangely weak to Rogero. Maybe he did that because he had talent.”
That's too dangerous to be just a talent. Bartholomew stared at Rogero in the clear sunlight and was caught up in a suspicious mood, but he had no way of knowing the truth.
Rogero, who must have gotten bored petting the horse, soon returned to where the two were. Franz glanced up at Bartholomew. Bartholomew said.
“Your Highness the Prince has broadened my knowledge, so if you visit the Duke’s residence at any time, I will treat you with great hospitality.”
“I also learned a lot, so let’s assume it’s a draw.”
“If you don’t mind, could I ask you to spar again next time?”
“That’s as much as you want. I get sore if I stay still anyway.”
Rogero giggled and took out another piece of taffy left in his pocket and put it in his mouth. Seeing this, Franz felt even more strange.
Bartholomew was not a person to judge anyone vainly. Franz knew better than anyone else that his opponent, a Prince, was a person who would not be able to pretend to show off his skill.
Are Rogero's skills really that good?
Of course, there was no one who could follow him in swordsmanship classes, but he was quite close to Franz. Although it was rare, there were a few times when he won a sparring match with him.
However, if he were to spar with Bartholomew, Franz was not confident that he would win even with his determination. Even more so now that his physique has become more robust.
“Ah, it’s the first time in a while that I’ve been able to move as much as I want, so it’s a bit refreshing.”
Rogero stretched and said. Not noticing that his shirt is up, exposing his flat stomach, he stretches out his arms and even jumps in place. Franz, who was watching this, laughed heartily.
Even if he hid some of his skills, what's the big deal?
However, if he were to spar with Bartholomew, Franz was not confident that he would win even with his determination. Even more so now that his physique has become more robust.
“Ah, it’s the first time in a while that I’ve been able to move as much as I want, so it’s a bit refreshing.”
Rogero stretched and said. Not noticing that his shirt is up, exposing his flat stomach, he stretches out his arms and even jumps in place. Franz, who was watching this, laughed heartily.
Even if he hid some of his skills, what's the big deal?
It was possible for even Bartholomew to be caught off guard, and it was quite possible that he was so embarrassed that he unknowingly overestimated Rogero's skills. Does this innocent Prince even know what it means to live?
“Shall we go back?”
Bartholomew and Rogero nodded simultaneously at Franz’s words.
The three rode leisurely and returned to the palace.
“Shall we go back?”
Bartholomew and Rogero nodded simultaneously at Franz’s words.
The three rode leisurely and returned to the palace.
As soon as they reached Astel Palace, Nadine came running out.
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