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Swordsmanship was a basic accomplishment for nobles. They might neglect to learn their letters, but they all learned the sword.

Nor was it confined to nobles. Many commoners learned swordsmanship for self-defense, so they could at least protect themselves when traveling or attending to important business.

Besides, a sword was convenient to wear and served as a mark of status in its own right, making it a much-loved weapon.

One misconception about swords was that they were useless in battle. Supposedly, they broke or bent too easily. That was only half true.

Close formations armed with swords and shields were more mobile than spear formations, making them highly versatile tactically. Indeed, this formation of swords and shields, commonly called a shield wall, had long been the Nords' mainstay, from before the War of Conquest to the present day. Of course, they did not necessarily use swords; axes, short spears, and other close-combat weapons also saw use.

Moreover, the quality of iron goods varied, and a sword made from good iron by a skilled smith could easily split most helmets. The renowned Ulfberht blades and dwarven steel swords were famous for cutting through iron like cheese.

Of course, not every sword was made by an outstanding craftsman from quality iron. Ordinary swords could easily break or bend if used improperly. But learning the proper methods and honing the techniques to compensate for those shortcomings was precisely what swordsmanship was about.

Spears, axes, and hammers were powerful weapons too, but they had limitations depending on the place and circumstances. Spears were at a disadvantage in confined spaces and difficult to use against multiple opponents. Axes and hammers could deliver powerful blows, but their lack of a thrust limited their uses.

In the end, a weapon could prove devastating or expose its weaknesses depending on where, when, and how it was used. Once swordsmanship had been learned to a certain standard, it could be employed in many places and situations. In other words, the sword was more versatile than other weapons.

Those who devoted themselves to the specialized study of swordsmanship were called swordsmen.

Knights constantly trained their bodies and learned a variety of weapons and combat techniques to fight on actual battlefields. Swordsmen, by contrast, concentrated solely on the sword itself and had something of the scholar about them. Some did actively take part in battles, of course, but generally that was not the case.

Geir, the envoy Duke Sven had sent, was not a man who fought in battles. He had earned his reputation working for a merchant company, teaching its fighting men as a sword instructor, or guarding important people.

Apparently, he had cut down ten bandits somewhere. Depending on how one looked at it, that was either impressive or nothing special. Still, he seemed to take great pride in such things, judging by his stiffly upright bearing.

Geir stood in the training yard as straight as a fir tree, one hand behind his back and the other holding a practice sword.

Opposite him stood Gidwin with a practice sword and shield. He was about Geir's height, but much more heavily built.

Several people watched their confrontation from the edge of the yard: Earl Æthelred, two knights, Valeri, Harald, Tommy, and Hakon. Even the servants peered over from a distance, watching wide-eyed.

Then Gidwin cast aside his shield. Seeing this, Geir asked,

"What is the meaning of that?"

"You have no shield. Surely this makes it fair."

Geir gave a derisive little laugh.

"Suit yourself."

At that, Gidwin leaned slightly forward, taking a stance that almost suggested he meant to charge in barehanded. His sword had a one-handed grip, so he held it in one hand.

Gidwin was the first to close the distance. Rather than rush within reach, he advanced cautiously, almost hesitantly, measuring the gap. Then he feinted a step to the left before circling right. Since Geir held his sword in his right hand, it was Gidwin's attempt to exploit a blind spot.

Gidwin swung his sword from right to left. Geir leaned back slightly to evade it. As Gidwin drew his sword back, he simply hurled his body forward. Given the difference in their builds, it looked as though Gidwin would win if he could turn this into a grapple.

But Geir was not about to let that happen. He stepped just far enough aside and jabbed his practice sword into Gidwin's flank.

"Guh!"

The pain seemed to drain all the strength from his legs, but Gidwin reached out to seize Geir's arm. His hand only swept uselessly through empty air.

Having failed, he had to pay the price. Geir's sword swept hard across Gidwin's neck.

It was a practice sword with no cutting edge, but it was still made of metal. It scraped his neck so fiercely that it almost burned.

"Ugh!"

Gidwin squeezed his eyes shut against the dizzying pain. When he opened them again, however, they blazed with a readiness to throw himself at Geir, come what may.

"Enough."

His father Norman's voice rang out. He spoke bluntly.

"You have lost, Gidwin."

There was no particular disappointment in his words. Only a plain truth that hurt more than disappointment would have.

It was his father's command, so Gidwin had no choice but to swallow his frustration. Geir, however, fanned the flames.

"There is nothing wrong with an offensive that relies on strength. But it means nothing if it can be evaded. Strength alone cannot overcome technique, while technique alone cannot overcome superior strength. In turn, superior strength cannot defeat refined technique, and refined technique is helpless before overwhelming strength. Ultimately, you must develop both strength and technique in equal measure."

None of that was exactly wrong, but the way he prattled on as though he were their teacher was thoroughly irritating. Of course, this was an instructional match, so he was entitled to say a few words. Still, there were times in life when even the truth was unwelcome.

"Next."

Geir swished his sword through the air twice as he spoke.

Tommy stepped forward next. Unfortunately, after Gidwin had been beaten so easily, there was little reason to expect anything from Tommy.

Sure enough, he was beaten so ignominiously that it was almost embarrassing to describe. The knight Tommy served did not seem particularly disappointed or angry. He appeared not to have expected much in the first place.

Geir glanced toward Harald, then looked at Earl Æthelred as though seeking permission.

This was meant to be a test of talent. In truth, it would be meaningless if he could not test the earl's son.

Earl Æthelred turned to his son. Outwardly, his gaze was indifferent. As though everything could pass between them without a word, it seemed to say that whether Harald stepped forward or withdrew was his own choice.

Surprisingly, Harald stepped forward without hesitation. Watching his friends suffer such a beating should have cowed him, but he showed no sign of it. Instead, he glared at Geir in what looked like quiet anger.

Harald might be somewhat childish and innocent, but he was no coward.

Deep down, Earl Æthelred felt pleased and proud of his son. His skill could be somewhat lacking. But he must not be a coward.

Yet by Geir's dispassionate assessment, Harald looked even less capable than the previous two. His stance alone made that clear.

"I shall grant you the first attack, young lord," Geir said.

Holding a practice greatsword in both hands, Harald swiftly closed the distance.

He seemed about to stop at a suitable distance, then spun the sword over his head and cut diagonally, letting centrifugal force pull the blade through. Using centrifugal force was fundamental to handling large weapons, and Harald was at least proficient in that much.

His attack was not particularly fast, however, so Geir evaded it easily with a single step back.

As though he had expected as much, Harald continued with smooth footwork, striking from the opposite side, then immediately crossing his arms to attack from the other side again.

But before he could put proper force behind the sword, Geir eased forward and deliberately took the blow.

"Oh dear. What a mistake."

It was a perfect opportunity for Harald to gain the advantage. Had he been a little bigger, he could have grappled, or he could have moved into a blind spot.

Instead, Geir pressed closer and drove down on the base of Harald's blade with a sudden burst of force. Harald lost his grip on the sword.

CLATTER.

It had nothing to do with willpower; Geir had exploited leverage with precise timing. In all honesty, his swordsmanship was impressive.

He gently steadied Harald as he began to lose his balance and said,

"Splendid, young lord. I feel I have learned a lesson myself. However, distance is important when wielding a greatsword. I suggest you always be prepared for an opponent coming in close."

It almost seemed like a sparring match arranged to flatter a guest. But on reflection, there was a reason he was deliberately praising Harald. Harald needed to possess exceptional talent for Geir to have grounds to take him away.

He might not be able to take him today, but he could report to Duke Sven that Harald's talent was outstanding. That was how he would build his justification, piece by piece.

Ultimately, their actual abilities did not matter. Everything depended on how the evaluator assessed them. That was Geir's aim.

"Thank you. I have lost."

Harald shook off his hand as though uncomfortable with the touch, but still observed the courtesy expected of a noble. He felt humiliated—so much so that even Gidwin and Tommy, who had suffered actual injuries, watched him with concern.

Geir remained in the training yard with a satisfied smile. Everyone from House Winslow wore a sour expression.

Whatever schemes lurked beneath the surface, they had failed to give a decent account of themselves. Put simply, their pride had taken a blow.

"I hear this household's bastard has quite a martial reputation," Geir said.

Everyone turned to Valeri.

Valeri, however, stood still with his head slightly lowered, as though absorbed in his own thoughts.

Just as it seemed someone ought to rouse him, he picked up the practice greatsword Harald had used and stepped forward.

Geir's eyes gleamed for an instant as he looked at Valeri. Killing someone with a practice sword was not easy, but a man of his skill could certainly manage it.

He could even plausibly disguise it as an unavoidable accident. With the excuse that this was an instructional match, and the death made to look accidental, the duke would surely not only defend him but reward him.

After all, this bastard was the reason the kidnapping plot at the horse market had come to nothing. If he was highly skilled, using that pretext to take Harald away would remain a distant prospect.

If the bastard was the most capable of them, crushing him utterly—or killing him outright—would make the plan easier to advance.

As a vision of advancement formed in his mind, Geir found himself smiling in satisfaction.

Valeri watched him quietly, neither glaring nor looking frightened. Yet something about that gaze made Geir inexplicably uneasy. What was this feeling?

Perhaps to shake off that discomfort, Geir turned to Earl Æthelred and made a rather insolent remark.

"It seems beautiful women do flock to heroes. Or perhaps she was simply too much for your self-restraint, my lord."

It was a cheap provocation, prompted by Valeri's handsome face.

Still, since it was couched as a compliment, it was difficult to find fault with it. Fortunately, Earl Æthelred was not a man to rise to such crude bait. He answered by simply ignoring it.

Valeri was no more affected, but unlike the earl, he did not let it pass. Instead, he offered an even more blatant provocation.

"Shall I slice off that cumbersome great nose of yours, or blind those useless eyes?"

Geir regarded Valeri for a moment, then laughed contemptuously. Still a child.

"... Heh. If they are cumbersome and useless, I suppose they ought to go."

"Very well."

"I shall grant you the first attack. Swing to your heart's content."

Valeri immediately closed the distance and swung his sword sharply. The strike was neither particularly fast nor slow.

Geir first retreated, trying to gauge Valeri's swordsmanship. He could not kill him openly; he had to arrange a plausible scene.

But Valeri pressed closer still, until Geir could no longer easily retreat or evade him. He had to respond somehow.

So he lashed out at Valeri's wrist, thinking that even if the blow was blocked, his shorter sword would give him the advantage at this range.

But Valeri seized the blade of his greatsword and used it like a staff to knock Geir's sword aside.

CLANG!

Geir's sword arm flew upward. In that instant, he realized something had gone wrong.

Regardless, Valeri pressed him with a technique known as half-swording, wielding the greatsword like a short spear.

A chilling sensation swept through Geir's chest. At last he abandoned his stiffly upright bearing, spread his feet, and took a proper stance.

He moved sideways to escape the pressure first, but at that moment, inexplicably, Valeri vanished from before his eyes. Huh?

It happened in that very instant. Something swept upward right in front of his face.

Something seemed to drop to the ground with a soft thud. Before Geir even registered being cut, he felt a large amount of liquid running into his mouth.

His heart sank at the thought that it could not possibly be, and his eyes flew wide. He hurriedly cast about for Valeri, only for a sudden flash to fill his vision.

Immediately after that dazzling flash came darkness, along with pain in both eyes as though they were being seared with a red-hot iron.

"Aaaaaaaargh!"

A scream burst from him. He dropped his sword and collapsed to his knees, feeling at his eyes and nose with trembling hands. His nose was gone. Blood mixed with other fluid poured from the gaping hole. He could feel it beneath his fingertips.

"Uuugh..."

He could only tremble at the utter hopelessness of it, while Valeri looked down at him with cold, merciless eyes.

"My thanks for your devoted instruction, to which you have given even your nose and both your eyes."

With that, he tossed the practice greatsword to the ground and simply left the training yard.

CLATTER.

Everyone was too stunned to speak. Even the two knights, who had watched the entire instructional match impassively with folded arms, slowly let their arms fall, their expressions somewhat dazed.

Earl Æthelred had only heard accounts of Valeri until now. Having witnessed his skill with his own eyes, he looked even less able to believe it. That had unmistakably been a blunt practice sword. Surely this went beyond the question of whether the boy had talent?

At first the earl felt surprise and shock, but as time passed, those feelings gradually spread into fear.

Valeri's astonishing skill was part of its source, but it was closer to a fear of the unknown—of something reason could not comprehend.

"Huuugh..."

With everyone at a loss for words, only Geir's sobbing groans filled the training yard.