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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Lord Fourth
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“Ugh…”
Hit directly by the wooden sword, Ophelia landed on her backside, clutching the top of her head and groaning. I had pulled my punches as much as possible, but it was still a clean hit to the head.
Moreover, I had been swinging a sword for nearly six years since arriving in this world. Ophelia’s frail body would struggle to even remain conscious.
As expected, her emerald eyes rolled back in their sockets, as if she were seeing stars.
After stumbling for a moment, she straightened up and stared intently at me and the wooden sword in my hand. It didn’t take long for Ophelia to grasp the situation.
“W-what are you doing?!”
“Oh? I thought you said not to talk to you. Weren’t you observing a vow of silence?”
“Ugh.”
“Don’t tell me, Saintess, that you were lying? You said it yourself yesterday: those who lie should have their tongues cut out. Was that what your vow of silence meant? While others might not, I, your loyal knight Elliot, will wholeheartedly respect even a tongueless Saintess.”
“S-shut up…”
Thwack!
“Ow! You bastard! Stop it!”
Crack! This time, I put a bit more force into it.
“Is that any way to speak to your instructor?”
“You hit me first!”
“I didn’t hit you. I struck you. If this were a real battle, your skull would have been shattered three times over by now.”
I raised the sword higher.
“And this is just training. If you don’t want to be hit, pick up your sword.”
“Why should I use a sword? I’m the Saintess!”
“Do you think the Demon King’s army will refrain from close combat just because you’re the Saintess? How many times do you think I’ve seen newbies with that kind of naive mindset get a sword through their throat and die back when I was a mercenary?”
I’d seen it happen more times than I could count on two hands. Being in a mercenary group meant that newbies were used as cannon fodder on the battlefield for at least the first year.
More than eighty percent of the scars on my body were from those days.
Moreover, there was a valid reason why Ophelia needed to learn swordsmanship.
A memory that only I possessed, a fact I couldn’t explain to her. In other words, information from the game.
In Sword & Magic Chronicle, each character had set aptitude values. There were various types: swordsmanship, archery, axemanship, spearmanship, hand-to-hand combat, faith, magic, horsemanship, and so on. A lot.
While basic stats like HP, strength, and intelligence could be increased, aptitude values were fixed. The game developers had designed it this way to limit each character’s growth path to a certain extent.
And Ophelia’s swordsmanship aptitude in the game was B+. That was among the highest of all characters. Alberich, the Empire’s Sword Saint, hailed as the strongest swordsman in the game, had an aptitude of A+.
This meant Ophelia had the talent to become a skilled swordswoman. In fact, there was even a somewhat meme-worthy build called the “Cockroach Battle Saintess,” which focused on maximizing Ophelia’s swordsmanship, allowing her to fight on the front lines while healing herself.
If the information from the game held true, Ophelia definitely had a talent for swordsmanship.
“Now, you seem to have rested enough. Let’s continue.”
“W-wait, I’m not ready yet.”
“The Demon King’s army won’t wait for you to be ready.”
I took a step forward. Ophelia, her face filled with terror, stumbled backward until her back hit the cold wall of the training grounds.
“….”
Just a few days ago, she was a haughty, foul-mouthed woman. Now, she looked like a frightened kitten trying to squeeze into a mouse hole, pathetic and pitiful. I felt a pang of sympathy. So, I offered her a deal.
“I’ll make you a proposition.”
“A p-proposition?”
“If you can block even one of my attacks, we’ll stop training for today.”
“And if I can’t?”
“No free time this evening.”
I smiled brightly.
—-
Thwack!
A sharp crack echoed through the air. Fortunately, it wasn’t the sound of a wooden sword hitting Ophelia’s head. It was the sound of Ophelia parrying my attack.
“H-huff… D-done… Are you happy now, you bastard?”
Ophelia clamped her hand over her mouth, realizing she had spoken. However, instead of slapping her, I lowered my sword.
“Excellent. Your progress is exceeding my expectations.”
As expected, just like in the game, Ophelia had an aptitude for swordsmanship in this world as well.
I checked my watch; barely three hours had passed. In just three hours, she had managed to parry my attack, even though I was holding back, I was impressed.
She had never even tuched a sword in her life before…
“Huff… huff… Fuck…”
Of course, Ophelia was in no shape to celebrate. Her body was covered in bruises, sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, washing away her makeup, and her silver hair was coated in dust, making her look like a beggar.
Her holy robe was torn and tattered, resembling a discarded rag.
Yet, despite her disheveled appearance, I couldn’t help but admire her beauty. It surpassed that of most models.
Ophelia glanced at me, then slowly lowered her wooden sword and shuffled to the side.
“C-can I go now?”
“Of course.”
Ophelia’s face brightened. She must have thought she was finally free from this hell. I bowed my head, adding,
“Then enjoy your meal. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, same place.”
“…What?”
“What’s wrong? Did you think today would be the first and last time?”
Ophelia’s eyes widened. Seeing her devastated expression, I shrugged.
“The Demon King’s army won’t be as lenient as I am. My goal is to have you blocking at least half of my attacks by the end of this month.”
Even Belwin had agreed that this was necessary. In the game, the enemy AI was programmed to prioritize targeting the backline. And the fastest way to improve was to learn by getting hit. That’s how I honed my skills during my mercenary days.
However, our sheltered Saintess, completely oblivious to the harsh realities of the world, seemed to have a different opinion.
“N-no way…”
Ophelia trembled, her fists clenched. Her face was contorted in anger.
“Who are you to torment me?!”
“It’s not torment, it’s train…”
“Shut up! I don’t need it! Who asked you to do this?!”
Ophelia raised her foot and kicked the wooden sword lying on the ground. The sword flew across the training grounds, but Ophelia winced, clutching her toes.
Well, even a wooden sword would hurt if you kicked it barefoot without any protection.
“Self-harm is bad.”
“It’s not self-harm!”
She pointed at me, her eyes blazing.
“Just you wait. You’re dead! I’ll personally burn your corpse!”
After spewing curses unbefitting of a Saintess, Ophelia abruptly turned and ran, as if to prevent me from following her.
However, she soon cried out in pain, limping as she exited the training grounds, her injured foot clearly bothering her. I considered following her and giving her another slap, but decided against it. Too petty.
“Well, she did work hard.”
I didn’t expect her to change overnight. After a year and a half of dealing with Ophelia, I knew she wasn’t the type to easily change her ways. As the saying goes, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
If I continued this training, Ophelia would eventually come to understand her own position.
With that thought, I went to retrieve the wooden sword she had kicked.
“Hm?”
I frowned. Lying in a corner of the training grounds, covered in dust, was an envelope. I picked it up and noticed the Mark of the Heavenly God imprinted on the wax seal.
Only one person in the Holy City could use that seal.
“Ophelia’s letter?”
I considered returning it, but curiosity got the better of me, and I opened it. The contents…
“…Well, well, well.”
It was about me. A hateful account of my supposed misdeeds, detailing all the terrible things I had done. It even claimed that I had badmouthed the Archbishop and harassed the maids, all before the slapping incident.
Of course, unlike someone, I wouldn’t do such things. More than half of what was written was fabricated and slanderous.
I knew how serious false accusations were in this world. I had witnessed a public trial a few months ago. Blinding and cutting out the tongue, if I recall correctly.
“Sigh.”
So, this was why she was at the post office earlier. I felt foolish for thinking she was diligently practicing her swordsmanship.
Of course. Ophelia wouldn’t change her ways just because of a few slaps and some hits with a wooden sword. She was one of the craziest people I had met since coming to this world.
“But this bitch dared to write a letter…”
If she hadn’t been caught, it would have been a different story. But her carelessness in losing it was infuriating. I stood up, my face hardening.
“Ow…”
Her whole body ached. Ophelia limped, dragging her injured foot. She desperately wanted to sit down and rest, but she persevered. This couldn’t continue.
She had somehow managed to endure today, but what about tomorrow? The training would only get more intense. Ophelia refused to imagine such a bleak future.
That’s why, instead of going to the infirmary for healing magic, Ophelia was dragging her aching body to the post office.
“I’ll kill him. I definitely will.”
With that thought, she approached the post office and walked up to the courier’s counter. The courier tilted his head, looking at the beggar-like woman before him, but Ophelia, without a word, reached into her bosom to retrieve the letter. Or rather, she tried to.
“…Huh?”
Ophelia’s face froze. She couldn’t feel the envelope in her inner pocket. Could she have dropped it? Where? Where else?
“Excuse me, miss? What can I…”
“Shut up!”
The startled courier dropped his pen. Ophelia rushed out of the post office and ran towards the training grounds.
She must have dropped it during that so-called training session, which was nothing more than a beating. She reached the training grounds and…
“I’m surprised.”
“…Ugh.”
Elliot was there, waiting for her, a small smile playing on his lips.
“I never imagined you’d be so motivated, Saintess.”
“What?”
“I didn’t know you were so eager to practice swordsmanship that you’d even skip meals. As a knight, I’m deeply moved.”
What nonsense was he spouting? She was just here to retrieve the letter she had dropped.
“No, that’s not it. I just had something to pick up…”
“This, perhaps?”
“….”
Ophelia’s face paled. Elliot was holding an envelope. Or rather, the letter inside it. The accusation against Elliot, meticulously written by her maid, was in his hands.
“Whoever wrote this has quite the imagination, don’t you think? Would you like to read it, Saintess?”
Elliot grinned. It was a wicked smile, one she had never seen before.
“….”
Thud-
The strength holding her up gave way. Ophelia collapsed to the ground.
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Hi Lord Fourth here!
I’m still new to translating as this is my second novel to pick up, so if you find some mistakes or inconsistencies let me know about it on the dedicated channel on discord.
Thanks for the chapter!