I Have A Damn Family Again - Chapter 62

Chapter 62: Broken Wings (7)

▶A certain character has witnessed the events at the training grounds!◀
▶Affinity level has been adjusted!◀
[ Flora Bagrand ]
[ ???: 71% ]

I smirked, glancing at the status window. By now, my pouch would be ripped to shreds. It wouldn’t be easy to identify the owner amidst the chaos, unless you were a knight. But Flora would recognize it instantly. I had made sure of that.

─Alright, gather around!

The break after the morning run was over. Not wanting to give them any more ammunition, I changed into the training clothes Claire had given me and rejoined the other knights as they started assembling.

Something was different. The knights were each collecting a bundle of items from a pile.

“Here you go, Carsein.”

“What’s this?”

“A gift from Lady Claire. Support for the knights.”

Ah, so that's how it was. And here I was wondering why he sounded so smug. They had been meticulously prepared.

Imperial custom or not, with the other knights receiving provisions too, no one could accuse me of receiving special treatment.

Just then, a senior knight clapped twice, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Listen up! As you all know, yesterday’s incident was… regrettable. I trust everyone understands what transpired?”

All eyes turned to Bruce and me. What more was there to say? The accusations of cheating, the spectacle of an apprentice knight picking a fight with a trainee and losing… It was the talk of the training ground.

“Therefore, we’ll be changing things up today. We’ll be holding a sparring tournament! It seems the First Lady has expressed concerns about the quality of our knights. We need to show Lady Claire, here to observe, that we’re at the top of our game! Am I clear?”

─Sir, yes, sir!

The mention of a tournament elicited a mix of reactions. Some cowered, while others, eager to prove themselves, patted their juniors on the back.

And then there were those who…

“As a special exception, today’s tournament will include our trainee. As you know, trainees aren't usually allowed to participate in sparring matches, but Lady Arina has given her special permission.”

They must be ecstatic, seeing this as an opportunity.

The fact that it was a swordsmanship tournament was no coincidence. No matter which route you chose, once Arina stepped foot in the training ground, she would ensure Carsein had a chance to wield a sword.

In any case, this match was something I had anticipated.

“Oh, dear. Stuck with a senior knight, huh? Tough luck.”

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll make sure to go easy on you.”

The pairings would be decided by drawing lots. Those with matching symbols would spar, following the order predetermined on a list.

However…

“Huh? You’re up against Bruce, Carsein.”

“Well, isn’t that interesting.”

“Indeed. How peculiar.”

My opponent had been decided long ago.

Ding!

▶Your match against Bruce has been confirmed!◀
▶Rewards vary depending on your achievement level!◀
▶Due to the influence of the "Broken Wings" episode, the penalty for losing has been intensified!◀
[ Losing to Bruce will result in a severe injury to your left arm and automatic expulsion from the training ground. ]

Originally, failing to achieve the required level in this mini-game just meant getting beaten up a bit and suffering a blow to your reputation. But now, a severe injury? While a minor injury wouldn't necessarily lead to expulsion, a severe one would undoubtedly end my training.

Then again, Bruce had a lot to lose this time. After the humiliation he suffered, his resentment towards Carsein would be festering.

I glanced at him. He was practically radiating smugness.

‘That’s the spirit. Just assume you’ve already won.’

He was probably imagining me lying defeated at his feet, begging for mercy. He might even be plotting more ways to make me suffer.

Too bad for him, things wouldn't go his way. I might not be Carsein, but I knew my way around a sword.

“Alright, has everyone drawn their lots? Now, find your designated opponents and…”

Mark, who had been checking the lots, suddenly trailed off, his eyes glued to the match-up sheet.

“…”

“Mark? What’s wrong?”

“Vice-Captain, did we miscount the lots or something?”

“…No, nothing like that.”

Composing himself, Mark cleared his throat and continued, urging everyone to prepare for the tournament.

But he couldn't hide his unease. He kept glancing at me, his eyes betraying his bewilderment.

I mouthed the words to him:

‘Told you so.’

I told him Bruce would be my opponent.

Mark swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.

Of course, from his perspective, it was unbelievable. He was already on edge after what Radiel had told him, and now this… rigged matches within the Knight Squadron?

He could have intervened, demanded an investigation, put a stop to this whole tournament.

Yet, he remained calm. He knew he couldn’t act rashly. Radiel must have chosen her words carefully.

‘This is enough, for now.’

▶You have successfully prevented a commotion at the training ground.◀
▶However, a certain individual still harbors animosity towards you.◀
▶Failing to completely neutralize this threat may result in decreased affinity with other characters!◀

Without concrete evidence, there was no way to expose them. So, I would have to provide it. Irrefutable proof.

And they would be the ones to hand it to me.

“Next match! Carsein versus Bruce!”

Bruce swaggered towards the sparring area, a triumphant smirk on his face. He subtly drew a finger across his throat, a gesture meant for my eyes only.

His confidence was almost tangible. It reeked of arrogance, of looking down on his opponent.

“Ready yourselves.”

At the instructor’s signal, Bruce took his stance.

His upper body leaned forward, shifting his weight to the front. His lowered stance, a deliberate imbalance, would allow him to charge forward with explosive speed.

He gripped the wooden sword with one hand, as if planning a powerful swing, ready to overwhelm me from the very start.

This world was different. The rules here were unfamiliar, unlike anything I knew.

But one thing was clear:

He was a typical bully. All bark and no bite, just like the ones I had encountered countless times before.

In reality, he was nothing special. He relied on his position, on the power of those above him, to maintain his facade. Just another pathetic insect who preyed on the weak, puffing himself up by pushing others down.

And that was how I knew I could beat him.

Bullies were predictable. They underestimated, mocked, and boasted, all while relying on their meager strength and the illusion of superiority.

Clink!

The coin tossed into the air landed with a sharp ring. The duel had begun.

“Haaaaaargh!”

Bruce charged, a guttural roar ripping through the air.

He was certain of my defeat.

Carsein hadn't touched a sword in years. Years, not months. He was weak, his small frame barely able to keep up with the morning drills. And his swordsmanship? Nonexistent, as far as Bruce was concerned. Just another easy target.

And that was why I would win.

Clang!

“!!!”

“Did he just…?”

“He blocked Bruce’s attack?”

Bruce’s eyes widened in disbelief. The spectators, who had been anticipating my swift defeat, stared in stunned silence.

Bullies like him always assumed they could win with brute force as long as their opponent appeared weak.

They were all bluster and empty threats. Hollow shells with nothing but bravado to their name.

***

‘…How is this even possible?’

Mark hadn't taken Carsein’s words from yesterday seriously. He had interpreted the "offering my arm" comment as a figure of speech, a sign of Carsein's resolve.

But after uncovering the truth, his certainty wavered.

The old letter, Radiel’s confession… It had shaken him to his core. He had needed time to process it all before he could face Carsein again.

He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t affected. As much as he wanted to dismiss it as a fabrication, a small part of him wished it were true.

“Huh? You’re up against Bruce, Carsein.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting.”
“Indeed. How peculiar.”

Carsein had spoken with such conviction yesterday, stating that Bruce would be his opponent.

Mark had dismissed it. How could anyone predict the outcome of a random draw? He admired Carsein's spirit, but this was simply too far-fetched.

Yet, the impossible was happening right before his eyes.

Carsein had called it, predicting his opponent with uncanny accuracy, as if he had seen the future.

And not just on the day itself. He had known yesterday.

After yesterday's conversation, Mark, unable to shake off his unease, had checked the lots himself. They had been completely ordinary, with no markings or tampering whatsoever.

‘…But the person who prepared them…’

Theo Ramstear. The apprentice knight Radiel suspected of framing Carsein.

Mark clenched his fists.

“Captain, we need to stop this.”

If the match-up itself was rigged, there was no telling what other tricks they might pull.

“We don’t know what they might do to the young master! We need to call off the tournament and resume regular training.”

“…But Mark, we haven’t received any such orders.”

“Did the young master agree to this? To face someone who has been training for months when he’s barely had five days of basic drills?”

The odds were stacked overwhelmingly against Carsein. Radiel knew that better than anyone.

And yet…

“No. I don’t think the young master accepted this match blindly.”

“Captain…?”

“Look at him. He’s holding the sword properly.”

Carsein had been so confident, so sure of himself yesterday. He had said it would be different this time.

“This… This could all be part of his plan. Perhaps…”

“He anticipated that Bruce would target him and prepared for it?”

“Exactly.”

Radiel nodded in agreement.

She was right. For Carsein to willingly enter this match, knowing the odds, it meant he wasn’t planning to simply accept defeat. He had something up his sleeve.

And it was showing.

“The young master’s stance is… unusual, wouldn’t you say? Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“…No. Can’t say I have.”

He had come prepared. As if the thought of being mercilessly beaten by Bruce had never crossed his mind.

“Both participants, ready yourselves.”

A knight stepped forward, signaling the start of the match.

The two opponents faced each other, their wooden swords raised. The coin soared through the air.

And then…

Clang!

Carsein effortlessly blocked Bruce’s opening attack.

“His stance… it’s flawless.”

“As expected…!”

All doubt vanished.

Bruce, flustered by the unexpected resistance, lost his composure. He grew increasingly agitated, his attacks becoming wilder, sloppier.

His movements were erratic, fueled by frustration rather than skill. His gaze, instead of focusing on the sword, was fixated on Carsein's face, his anger clouding his judgment. His form crumbled, his breathing ragged, his attacks predictable and exhausting.

Carsein, however, was the picture of composure. His movements were fluid, controlled, his mind sharp.

Despite his physical disadvantages, his eyes never left his opponent's sword. His stance, though unorthodox, remained solid. His breathing was steady, his movements economical, his parries efficient and precise.

Two opponents, on completely opposite ends of the spectrum, yet…

“Mark, I know it’s been a while since I’ve seen a proper spar, but… could it be…?”

“I think you’re right. The young master is actually winning. It shouldn’t be possible, but…”

In terms of physique, experience, training… Bruce had the clear advantage. But as the match unfolded, it was Carsein who seemed to dominate.

They both knew how this would end.

Bruce’s attacks grew weaker, slower, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to land a blow.

Carsein seized the opportunity.

Whack!

“Gah…!”

***

Thwack! Clang!

After that first blocked attack, Bruce’s wooden sword had become a blur of fury.

While the swordsmanship here was different from what I was used to, the emotions behind each strike were universal. Bruce's rage practically vibrated through the wood, each blow fueled by resentment and humiliation.

But his anger was his undoing. His attacks were wild, undisciplined, a far cry from the precision expected of a trained knight.

And within those frantic, desperate swings, an opening appeared.

As he shifted his weight, overcommitting to a powerful right-handed swing…

I seized my chance. Slipping past his defenses, I thrust the hilt of my sword into his solar plexus.

“Gah…!”

Bruce stumbled backward, clutching his stomach, his eyes blazing with fury. He had underestimated me.

“You little… You’ll pay for that!”

Blinded by rage, Bruce charged again, a guttural roar escaping his lips.

But his focus was gone, his technique nonexistent. He was a flailing mess, fueled by pure emotion. It was almost too easy to predict his next move.

“Oof!”

A swift strike to his ribs.

“Ugh! Agh!”

Another to his thigh, followed by a sharp jab to his shoulder.

And then…

Crack!

A precise hit to his wrist. That was it.

Clatter.

Bruce’s wooden sword clattered to the ground. In this world, in this duel, losing your grip on your weapon meant defeat.

But Bruce refused to yield. In a moment of sheer recklessness…

“Die, you filthy peasant!”

…he channeled his mana into the blade, his rage threatening to spill over.

“Bruce, stop!”

“That… that maniac!”

Several knights rushed forward, attempting to restrain Bruce. Even a small amount of mana channeled through a sword could be deadly to an ordinary person.

But their intervention wasn’t necessary.

Thwack!

A projectile soared through the air, accompanied by a sharp crack. It landed a good distance away, far beyond the sparring area. And the owner of that projectile…

“Gah…”

…collapsed to the ground, his body hitting the dirt with a dull thud.

“Damn, Bruce might be incompetent, but that was still a mana-infused blade…”

“I know, right? And to think he had the presence of mind to aim for the wrist…”

“That was no lucky shot. Disarming him instead of trying to block… that took incredible precision and judgment.”

“…Especially with a wooden sword. He completely outmatched him.”

A wave of applause erupted from the spectators. Most of them, now sporting significantly lighter gray boxes above their heads, were genuinely impressed.

‘One down.’

The knights who had rushed to intervene quickly regained their composure and dragged the unconscious Bruce away.

The atmosphere had shifted. The suspicion, the doubt that had clouded their gazes… it was gone, replaced with admiration and respect.

But I wasn’t interested in their approval. My eyes searched for a particular individual among the crowd.

Someone who wouldn't be pleased with this outcome.

▶This individual is showing hostility towards you!◀
▶Be careful! This could trigger a death flag!◀

‘As expected.’

Theo Ramstear. The one who had undoubtedly ordered Bruce to get rid of me.

‘Don’t worry. You’re next.’