The Sword Master’s Son-in-Law

– The Illiterate

It had been Hell Week, the trials before the exam.

Frankly, training with them wasn’t of great assistance to me.

‘Well, I’d been training with the old geezer called the Sword Saint, after all.’

Trained by a Sword Master, how could I be satisfied with a measly Hell Week?

Even the simplest training doesn’t cut it for me.

And yet.

“He’s incredible!”

“That he’s Asia-sama’s betrothed…! Another Sword Saint will emerge from the Messiah family!!!”

“Not betrothed, but a betrothal candidate. Though, it seems he’ll soon be promoted from candidate to official betrothed.”

The results I achieved in Hell Week changed my reputation.

The gazes of the three knightly orders who accompanied me had shifted.

Or rather, the gazes of two of the orders, excluding the perpetually amiable Sir (Soon), had shifted. Their regard had turned favorable.

And of course, their leaders, the commanders, mirrored this, displaying open affability towards me.

“Tch, if only he weren’t a candidate for Asia-nim’s betrothal…” Bertnia muttered, his eyes lingering on me with a disconcerting relish.

“…Finally, has someone appeared within the family to impart wisdom upon me!” Pandert declared, his hunger for growth palpable.

“Ahem, indeed…! Just as I perceived.” Even Retid, suddenly acknowledging my worth.

The general sentiment towards me among the knights of the Messiah County had warmed considerably.

Save for one…

“If two of the commander-level joined forces, perhaps vengeance against Shephelias would be possible…?” Teddy muttered, nonsensical words bubbling from his lips, the only one sending daggers of pure hatred my way.

The grueling training week had concluded, bringing with it these welcome changes in perspective. In my estimation, I’d passed the test set by the Messiah Count with flying colors.

And so, I met the Messiah Count’s gaze without flinching.

‘Er…?’

Correction…

It wasn’t just Teddy.

Someone else still harbored less-than-pleasant feelings towards me.

The Messiah Count. He remained unmoved.

What grievance did he hold? His expression bordering on ire, he glared down at me.

*

The Messiah Count surveyed Arthurs from his seat of honor, Arthurs who dared to look up to him.

‘…Indeed, not an ordinary fellow.’

Like Pandert, the Messiah Count had reached the uppermost echelon of Sword Experts. As such, he had gauged the extent of Arthurs’ capabilities to a degree.

But not to this extent.

‘Never expected the plan to unravel so neatly.’

The gauntlet match—facing both the vice-commander and the commander consecutively. He had presented it to Arthurs for one reason:

His father, being the Sword Saint’s pupil.

Even young, he’d assumed Arthurs would be able to hold his own against the commanders.

But not *this* well.

He hadn’t foreseen Arthurs snatching victory with such overwhelming force.

‘…I was even prepared to step in myself.’

Had the vice-commander and commander fallen, he had intended to intervene personally. The strongest member of the current Messiah County. He would then engage the weakened Arthurs himself, ensuring his failure in the trial.

This, then, was Count Messiah’s plan.

But he understood.

Even he, himself, would be hard-pressed to defeat that one.

‘No choice, then. First test, passed… *ahem*. What should the next test be, I wonder…’

Count Messiah closed his eyes, lost in thought.

The next test.

What to present?

Count Messiah remained with closed eyes for some time.

‘Arthas… Father’s disciple… Hmm…?’

And suddenly, a brilliant scheme flickered into being.

A sly grin—

A smile bloomed unbidden on Count Messiah’s lips.

A fine idea had occurred to him, to weed out this rogue who sought to wed his daughter.

“If he truly learned the sword from Father, then…!”

Arthas, disciple of the Sword Saint.

If he had learned the sword from his father, then he would know his weakness.

.

.

.

The hour for supper arrived.

Count Messiah, together with Asia, summoned Arthas to the dining table.

And once the pair had arrived, they began the meal.

Asia, as befitting a noblewoman, dined with poised grace.

Adhering strictly to the etiquette of the aristocracy.

Arthas, on the other hand, while well-behaved, partook in a manner far removed from noble custom.

One could see at a glance he had received no training in such niceties.

‘Just as I suspected, in all likelihood!’

Observing Arthas throughout the meal, he had realized, with certainty, the weakness of Arthas.

The specific thing which disadvantaged Arthas.

Finishing the meal, Count Messiah focused their gazes upon himself.

“Arthas, your skill is remarkable. Truly, your father would have taken you as a disciple.”

“You flatter me, Count.”

Arthas displayed a humble demeanor.

Which would have been normal, but to Count Messiah’s eye, it was less than pleasing.

‘Such modesty, from one of that skill, is merely a deceit against his opponents.’

And so, Count Messiah chastised Arthas for this behavior.

“Excessive humility is a poison. With your talent, it is an act of disdain towards others.”

“…Well, if you insist… I suppose I did possess talent which the Sword Saint esteemed.”

This was the very attitude he had hoped for, yet, hearing it spoken, Count Messiah found himself strangely vexed.

To conceal this disquiet, Count Messiah cleared his throat once.

“Ahem!”

Having composed himself, he continued,

“Arthas, congratulations on passing the first trial.”

“Thank you.”

“Then it stands to reason that the next trial awaits, yes?”

“Pardon?”

Another trial already, when the last one had barely concluded?

For a fleeting moment, Arthas betrayed a hint of bewilderment.

Count Messiah was secretly delighted by Arthas’s reaction.

‘That got to him.’

“Indeed, the next trial.”

Asia, who had been listening to their conversation in silence, interjected,

“Father, another trial so soon after the last? Isn’t that rushing things? Surely you should allow some breathing room at least!”

“…Asia?”

Count Messiah was taken aback by his daughter’s defense of Arthas.

His heart turned colder than ever before.

Or rather, he was simply in a foul mood.

He felt an urge to eliminate Arthas from his sight right then and there.

But he restrained himself.

“…It’s hardly rushed. This, at present, is merely notification of the trial to come. I intend to grant sufficient time for preparation.”

“Time to prepare?”

“Yes, um… two months… no, a month should suffice, I think…”

He trailed off, his gaze fixed on Asia’s expression.

Asia quietly nodded at the mention of a month, seemingly satisfied. ‘With that much time…’

Asia’s assent brought a wave of relief to Count Messiah, and he proceeded to decree the trial to Arthas.

“Now, listen closely. The next trial I shall bestow upon you… ahem! Upon *you*… is…!”

Arthas focused intently on Count Messiah’s words.

“Learning! For even the most accomplished swordsman cannot become the son-in-law of the Messiah family by skill with a blade alone!”

The next trial Count Messiah had devised.

It was academics.

“I am aware you are of common birth. Therefore, I have no intention of setting anything overly complex. Basic knowledge… problems bordering on mere common sense.”

Not even advanced scholarship, but fundamental knowledge.

Something any noble would breeze through.

Even a ten-year-old could achieve a perfect score, Count Messiah added.

Asia, too, found it reasonable and nodded in agreement.

‘Hmm… even without prior academic training, a month should be ample time to pass.’

For such basic knowledge was easily grasped.

Asia, in the midst of thinking, ‘If it’s a test like that, that detestable man should definitely…’ when she met Arthas’s gaze.

Asia felt a sudden chill of foreboding.

“N-No way…?”

The man, always wearing that relaxed expression, the one that made her want to pinch him, was clearly flustered.

It was, perhaps, the first time Asia had ever witnessed him so utterly discombobulated.

A dreadful premonition bloomed in Asia’s mind.

It was unthinkable, against all reason.

‘Surely, he didn’t… learn *nothing* but swordsmanship from the Grandmaster…?’

Asia violently shook her head, trying to deny the thought.

But, as if to confirm Asia’s fears, Arthos mumbled.

“I… I can’t read, either.”

All Arthos had learned from the Sword Saint was the way of the blade.

Not even the most basic studies, let alone literacy, were part of his repertoire.

Hearing this earth-shattering revelation, Asia…

“Ehhh?!?!”

…involuntarily shrieked.

Observing their interaction, Count Messiah allowed himself a triumphant smile.

‘Kuh-huh-huh, just as I suspected. Exactly as I suspected.’

This was the Sword Saint as Count Messiah remembered him.

A peculiar man who loved swords, who loved honing his skills, ever climbing.

And someone who disliked using his head, a man of action, to put it kindly,

or, to be blunt, a lazy bum who just couldn’t be bothered to think.

‘I could accept Father teaching someone swordsmanship. But… Father teaching someone academics…?’

Absolutely impossible.

Of course, ten years.

People could change in that time.

But if it was the Father *he* knew….

‘He wouldn’t change.’

And the answer to that was…

Arthos’s flustered expression said it all.

‘Father remains the same, and for that, I am truly grateful.’

Because it meant he could get rid of this loathsome fiancé right before his eyes.

‘…I will never allow such… irrational things as an arranged fiancé for my daughter.’

A flicker of rage sparked within Count Messiah’s mind.

Yet, a trace of sorrow lingered alongside it.