[Perhaps even without the two of you, Margaret would eventually have recovered and returned to being the lively, cheerful girl overflowing with a sense of justice that she had always been.
You firmly believe it was only a matter of time.] [But having you and Zofia by her side helps Margaret through the most painful part of that period far more easily.] [The price, however, is that the girls, now entering their teens, genuinely seem to have begun developing their first feelings of love.] [Both of them.] [Margaret recovers.
After receiving the letter of recommendation to the Adeptus Sprawiedliwi from you and Zofia, she throws herself into training with even greater determination.] [Of course, someone else still hasn’t recovered.] “Is Uncle Młynar still arguing with Grandpa?” Margaret poked her head around the courtyard, trying to peek inside the house.
“Still arguing…” Zofia rested her chin on top of Margaret’s head and pouted.
“Uncle Młynar really can’t accept Uncle Schnitz leaving.” “How can anyone go out on a mission and then completely disappear without a word?!” Młynar’s furious roar thundered from inside the house, causing all three little eavesdroppers outside to immediately duck back out of sight.
“…It’s understandable.” Clarus’s grandfather, old Henry, slowly walked over with his hands clasped behind his back.
He even leaned over and took a peek at what was happening inside.
“Put yourselves in his place.
If little Clarus went missing during a mission and might never come back, how would the two of you feel?” “No!
No, no, no!” Just imagining it was enough to drain the color from Margaret and Zofia’s faces.
“Grandpa Henry, take that back!
Say ‘ptui, ptui, ptui’ right now!
Don’t say things like that!” After Schnitz left, responsibility for training Clarus and Margaret had fallen to their newly appointed “special instructor”—old Henry.
Despite his age, Henry had no complaints about taking up the position.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
He was more than happy to teach the children a thing or two.
It was also the first time Clarus learned about his grandfather’s glorious past.
He had suspected there was more to Henry than the old man let on, but when his grandfather personally told him that he had been one of the thirty-nine Silverlance Pegasi rescued by Kirill during that battle…
Clarus’s brain practically shut down.
Grandpa, you’re way too humble.
You’re telling me you were one of the Silverlance Pegasi involved in that battle where three thousand enemies were annihilated, yet every time anyone asks, you just say, “Oh, I was only a campaign knight”?
No wonder he had connections with the genuine legend of Kazimierz, Kirill Nearl.
They’d been old comrades from the war.
“All right, children.
Break time’s over.
Time to continue training.” Old Henry smiled and clapped his hands.
Clarus and Margaret obediently ran back toward the training ground, while Zofia returned inside to refill Kirill and Młynar’s tea so they would have enough energy to continue arguing.
As Clarus and Margaret returned to the training grounds, Clarus was arranging his protective equipment when he unexpectedly spotted a figure peeking over the wall.
“Uncle Toland!” Clarus waved at the man whose entire body was hidden except for his head.
“Ah…
it’s you, brat.” Toland looked mildly exasperated.
There wasn’t any particular reason for it.
He simply always felt as though dealing with Clarus was like dealing with a miniature version of himself.
The kid was too damn crafty.
Toland vaulted over the wall, landed inside the training grounds, and rolled his wrists.
“Could you stop calling me Uncle Toland?
I’m not that old.
How about Brother Toland?” “Then stop calling me brat.” Clarus rolled his eyes.
Toland immediately rolled his own right back.
“…Then what am I supposed to call you?” “Well, well.
Look who’s here, brat.” Old Henry’s chilly voice sounded from directly behind Toland.
“Ah…
Old man.
You’re here too?” Toland stiffly turned around and gave him an awkward smile.
“Come spar with me.
Let’s see how much you’ve improved.” Henry snorted.
“Come on, old man…
let’s not.
Wait!
No!
Don’t!” Toland turned and ran.
“You call my grandson a brat?
Sounds to me like you little brat need another beating!” Old Henry grabbed his large wooden club and charged after him.
The still-young and inexperienced Toland was hardly capable of handling the assault of a veteran Silverlance Pegasus.
He could only use every trick he knew to block roughly eighty percent of Henry’s attacks.
The remaining twenty percent landed directly on him.
Toland ran around screaming like a ghost.
Strictly speaking, someone of Toland’s background shouldn’t have been known to the younger generation.
Unfortunately for him, there had been that one day when he’d secretly snuck into the garage intending to steal Młynar’s motorcycle for a joyride.
And Clarus happened to walk in after training because he needed to use the bathroom.
At the time, Clarus had stared suspiciously at the dark-skinned young man and assumed some petty thief had actually been stupid enough to break into the Nearl estate.
Without another word, he grabbed his rapier and attacked.
Toland had originally planned to pin the little guy down for a moment and then make his escape.
But once they actually started fighting…
Wait.
Something’s wrong.
“Holy shit!
Stop stabbing my ass with your shadow!
AAAAAH!” The two ended up fighting so fiercely that Toland was forced to use his Originium Arts.
The result was obvious.
Młynar’s beloved motorcycle took a direct hit from Toland’s Arts—right in the fuel tank.
By the time everyone came rushing over after hearing the explosion, they discovered a soot-covered Toland holding Clarus down and spanking him while Clarus struggled furiously beneath him and repeatedly punched Toland in the head.
The final outcome?
Margaret, Zofia, and even Kirill all gathered around Clarus, fussing over his injuries.
Meanwhile, old Henry and Młynar surrounded Toland and took turns kicking him.
That day, Młynar uttered the filthiest language he had ever used in his entire life.
Kirill, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have much of a problem with Toland.
According to him, he’d had a friend much like Toland when he was young.
Although…
Afterward, old Henry lent Młynar the old ride he’d treasured for years.
As a result, Młynar had recently been roaming the wilderness aboard an extremely vintage three-wheeled motorcycle.
Margaret removed her boots.
Today she was wearing a pair of plain white cotton socks rather than the old pair embroidered with the “Wendigo.” Her mother had sewn those socks for her.
Margaret had carefully put them away for safekeeping.
“Ah…
there’s a hole.” Margaret pulled off one sock after noticing the small tear.
Clarus had nothing to say.
He was a warrior, not a poet.
“Wait for me!
We’ll train together!” Margaret picked up the little white sock, now damp from a full session of training, tossed it aside, and went patter-patter-patter back inside to change into another pair.
Back on the training ground, Toland was panting heavily.
He turned around and saw old Henry, whose age had finally begun catching up with his stamina, and immediately grew smug.
“Hahaha!
Old man, why don’t you take a break?
At your age, you really shouldn’t be running around so much—” Henry narrowed his eyes.
His arm snapped forward.
Duang!
The wooden club flew with perfect accuracy and smacked Toland directly in the forehead.
“Gah!” Toland instantly collapsed.
Lights out.
Old Henry straightened up in satisfaction, rubbed his aching lower back, then beckoned toward Clarus, whose eyes had been wandering elsewhere.
“Come on, little Clarus.
Let’s continue training.” Clarus answered obediently and picked up the white…
rapier beside him before walking onto the training grounds.
His previous black rapier had been ruined by Toland.
This white one was the replacement Toland had bought in a half-hearted attempt to compensate him.
Clarus didn’t particularly care.
As long as it worked, it was fine.
Zofia, however, had snatched it away and made a few modifications.
Its weight, balance, and every other detail now matched his old rapier almost perfectly.
A pleasant day.