"You see Rudy, there are three schools of swordsmanship most handy." His father explained with a serious face during their time in the yard, "The Sword God Style. The Water God Style. And lastly, the North God Style."
Humans in this world have grown addicted to tying 'god' with everything, haven't they? Merlin mused to himself, listening to the lecture. "Which one is Father's favorite, I wonder?"
"Not now," Paul cut him off, "First of all, let me explain the main points of these styles. It'll make it easier for you to understand later, okay Rudy?"
Seeing his son nod, Paul continued, "The North God Style is mainly used to stay alive while tricking the opponent. Yeah, I know how that sounds. It focuses on conserving energy with calculated movements. When facing a practitioner of this style, you must stay focused on both them and your surroundings." Paul pointed his sword toward the trees, his voice turning serious.
"That's because they use everything around them to gain an advantage. They run, jump, even sneak. Being prepared for your opponent to be stronger or faster than you is fundamental. They'll try to wear you down."
"Meanwhile, the Water God Style is all about smooth, precise parries. It's designed to deflect attacks while keeping balance and focus. It's the ultimate defense, allowing you to read your opponent's movements."
"Hmm. Father uses primarily the last one, doesn't he? The Sword God Style?"
"Huh." Paul blinked, eyes widening in surprise. "How do you know?"
"Well," Merlin smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Whenever I came home with Mother, I could see you through the window. Your strikes were strong and fast, and since the first two styles don't emphasize such power, it had to be the Sword God Style, right? That style focuses on ending the fight quickly."
"That's right." Paul sounded proud. "The Sword God Style is aggressive and agile. It's popular because it's easy to overwhelm amateurs and low-rank adventurers. For anyone who can't handle close combat, it's a death sentence."
"So, Father wields it best?"
"Not just that. I use the Water God and North God Styles, too, when necessary. A good attack is nothing without defense, and knowing the terrain helps. My party often had to fend off bandits in dangerous areas. Monsters are one thing, but a human opponent? That's where it gets tricky."
He tossed Merlin a wooden sword. Merlin picked it up reluctantly, the unfamiliar weight reminding him of how much he preferred magic. Still, he gave it a few experimental swings, getting a feel for the balance.
Yesterday's magic training was far more satisfying than this would ever be. The boy was the most talented magus in his era, after all.
"Rudy, ready? Let's start!" Paul grinned, excitement in his eyes.
This was supposed to be a father-son bonding moment—a light spar to teach Merlin some sword basics. Or at least, that's what Merlin had assumed.
But as Paul rushed toward him, closing the distance in a blink, the wind from his charge nearly knocked Merlin off balance. There was no restraint, no holding back because his opponent was a child. The wooden sword came down hard, and Merlin barely managed to parry it in time, aligning his blade vertically to catch the strike. The impact rattled his arms, and he breathed sharply, the sheer force of it overwhelming.
What in the—! His father didn't even consider the strength needed!
Time slowed for Merlin as he ducked under the next swing, the sun momentarily blinding him with its intense glare. Does Father even know what self-preservation means!?
The next blow came faster, and Merlin gritted his teeth, redirecting it with a quick shift of his sword. But his body wasn't built for this kind of punishment. He could feel his underdeveloped muscles straining under the effort. Parrying was his only option; blocking the attacks outright would break bones, even with wooden swords.
Paul didn't seem to care. His strikes were relentless, the force behind each one making it clear that he didn't intend to hold back. The only thing Merlin had on his side was experience, but even that was hard to apply when every move was a desperate attempt to avoid getting mercilessly crushed.
Paul's blade swung toward Merlin's neck, only to meet empty air as the boy used wind magic to launch himself backward, skidding across the ground to put some distance between them.
"Magic!?" Paul's voice boomed, his expression a mix of surprise and disappointment. "You're using tricks, Rudy? You're better than that!" The words hit harder than the sword strikes, a sting of frustration blooming in Merlin's chest.
"It helps in battle," Merlin defended, his voice tight.
"Is that all you've been learning in secret? How to puff up wind!?" Paul's disdain for magic was palpable, and his growing frustration turned him from a sparring partner into an opponent. One who had no intention of letting up.
"Fine," Merlin's grip tightened on his sword. "Let's make a bet, then."
Paul raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A bet, huh? What's the prize?"
"If I land a single hit on you, you admit magic is better than swordsmanship and help me train. If you win, I'll focus solely on sword training from now on."
Paul laughed loudly. "Alright, you're on! No way I'm passing this up! Get ready to lose, Rudy!"
"Let it be magic versus sword, then," Merlin replied, his tone humorless. He infused his body with mana, strengthening his muscles and quickening his reflexes. The air around him hummed with magical energy as he prepared several spells in his mind, setting the stage for the duel.
Paul wasted no time, lunging forward with terrifying speed. Merlin barely dodged, rolling to the side just in time. As Paul turned to follow up with another attack, Merlin thrust his arm forward, causing the ground beneath Paul's feet to erupt in chunks of earth.
Whatever Paul expected, it wasn't a massive ball of fire racing toward him. His eyes narrowed, and in a swift motion, his sword sliced through the fireball, cutting it in half before the flames fizzled out harmlessly to the sides.
He's faster than I anticipated... Merlin's thoughts raced as he tried to regain control of the situation. Paul was already rushing toward him again, sword raised high, but Merlin was ready this time.
Gathering water between his hands, Merlin formed a swirling vortex and infused it with wind, sending the spell hurtling toward his father. The vortex screamed as it cut through the air, gaining speed.
Paul's movements were a blur, and Merlin's heart skipped a beat as his father sidestepped the spell, narrowly dodging it. The vortex drilled into the ground behind him, leaving a smoking crater.
Paul's eyes gleamed with pride, but Merlin could tell he was taking this more seriously now. Sweat dripped down the magus's brow as he prepared another spell, mana crackling around his fingertips like static. He gathered it into a ball, its dark energy pulsating in his hand like a miniature star.
But before he could release it, Paul was already in front of him, his sword cutting through the air with precise, practiced movements. Merlin barely managed to parry, but the force of the blow knocked him back, sending him stumbling. His legs buckled, his vision swam, and his arms felt numb from the impact.
Paul's voice was stern as he caught his son mid-fall. "That's enough, Rudy."
"But the bet—"
"I'm breaking the bet." Paul's grip was steady, though Merlin could feel the tremor in his father's hands. "You're barely standing. I got carried away. You did well, but we're done here."
Merlin took a shaky breath, realizing just how drained he was. His small body wasn't made for such intense fighting, and Paul had known that from the start.
"Can you... heal yourself?" Paul asked hesitantly, clearly not wanting to face Zenith's wrath.
"I can try," Merlin responded, summoning a soft pink light to his fingers. He applied the magic to his limbs, feeling the pain go away as the healing process began.
"Aaand healed~," Merlin declared with a small grin, though his legs still trembled as he tried to stand.
Paul sighed, sitting beside him. "Let's rest here a while."
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"I'm sorry Rudy had to go through that. It's my fault for overlooking."
"Nah, as I said, it's fine! You don't have to apologize. When I agreed to this, I was already prepared for something like that."
"What, you expected it?" Paul's voice hinted at surprise.
"Well, not exactly. Father just seemed like the sort of person who might lose himself in the thrill of battle."
Paul's expression faltered as he let out a sigh, the weight of his own ignorance settling in. "That's... not right," he admitted quietly.
Merlin stood, brushing off the dust, a playful grin on his lips. "It's not a big deal. I had fun, and you were really strong back there. No way I could keep up!"
"Somehow, I feel like a bad parent while Rudy ends up being the good kid."
"Father's not a villain at all," Merlin joked, though he watched as Paul's face grew somber.
"I... It's difficult being a father," Paul suddenly admitted, his green eyes clouded with memories Merlin couldn't see. The silence that followed spoke of his struggle to find the right words. "I'm trying, but still..."
"Just because you're older doesn't make it any easier," Merlin offered gently. Paul smiled sadly, his features softening at the boy's understanding.
"But we can't worry too much," Merlin continued, trying to lift the mood. "Times change, and things move forward. The world wouldn't be much of a challenge otherwise, right?"
Paul chuckled dryly, almost amused by the sage-like words. "Sometimes, I don't feel like Rudy's father at all. He seems... perfect. I find it hard to see where I fit into that."
Merlin's smile faded, recalling similar words from his mother. "Father..." His voice, usually calm, wavered just slightly.
Paul sighed. "But you know, I was happy when I upset you earlier. It made me realize Rudy's still just a kid. A kid I can still annoy, at least." He grinned, his ego bolstered by the thought.
"I'm glad to hear that," Merlin replied, masking his unease with a light-hearted tone. He watched Paul straighten up, sunlight catching the man's form.
"I lied before, though," Paul confessed suddenly, his smile turning more genuine. "I know how important magic is on the battlefield. Using mana to enhance your body or your sword... it's a basic skill. But still, when Rudy managed to do it so effortlessly during our fight, I was shocked. My son's a genius!"
Merlin bit back his thoughts. If only you knew...
"You're right," Paul continued, "magic is crucial in battle, no doubt. And Rudy's talent in magic far exceeds his skills with the sword. Zenith is going to be so proud. She always knew he was special."
Merlin tilted his head, intrigued. "What do you propose?"
Paul's grin widened. "Let's make a deal. I'll help you with Zenith and magic, and in return, you'll keep training with me in swordsmanship. Sound good?"
More than good. Merlin couldn't help but feel a sense of delight at the offer. "Thank you, Father! But there's one thing... we only have one magic book at home. I'll need more than that if I'm going to improve."
"You found that old thing?" Paul scratched his head, thinking. "Hmm, I don't think it's a good idea for you to go into town. It's too dangerous these days. The town is full of frauds and kidnappers. Zenith would kill me if anything happened."
"Then...?"
After some persuasion, Paul finally agreed to speak with Zenith.
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Zenith's eyes sparkled with pride as Merlin effortlessly demonstrated intermediate spells. For a moment, her usual cheer dimmed, a look of quiet contemplation crossing her face. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her usual warmth.
"My son is so talented!" she beamed, bouncing in excitement. Merlin couldn't help but wonder if he should be concerned about rumors of a prodigious young mage spreading. But that thought quickly passed. It felt too good to be recognized.
Proof of his existence, carved out in this world. A new chapter for the Magus of Flowers... Merlin allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Perhaps this time, with a different fate.
"Maybe we should hire a tutor?" Zenith suggested, thinking aloud. "A home tutor would be safest, and we could keep them under watch properly."
Paul nodded. "Rudy's already far ahead of the basics. He's no novice. I saw it today."
Zenith raised an eyebrow, looking suspicious. "Since when are you so taken with magic?"
Paul chuckled nervously under her gaze. "Rudy wants to be as good at magic as he is with the sword. How could I refuse?"
Zenith sighed lightly, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's not like I was going to say no. Rudy's a good boy. I'll help him however I can." She leaned into Paul, and the warmth of the family moment stayed in the air.
With that, it was settled: Merlin would have a tutor, handpicked by Paul and Zenith. Living in the village with an overwatching knight as a father had its perks, after all, and Merlin was grateful for it. However, something gnawed at him.
A presence he hadn't addressed yet.
His amethyst eyes narrowed toward the doorway, where the maid Lilia stood, half-concealed and eavesdropping on their conversation.
Lilia's breath hitched as she pressed herself closer to the wall, her eyes narrowing in the dim light.
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"After I became a king, you shall stay by my side?" An innocent voice asked.
"Of course! Being a king requires someone in the role of a court magus as well! There is no better candidate than me!" In an obvious tone, the man in white declared.
"Very well. I await our time together." His pupil smiled brightly, not understanding the weight she was burdened with. So young and naive.
And yet, he smiled back.
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"Where is Merlin?"
The face, one that was frighteningly alike, stared back with cold eyes.
"Gone."
A sharp inhale was heard, "You! What have you done?!"
"The cunning snake is no more, blinded by his own folly. Trapped in a place he shall not escape."
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Through the veil separating the world, pink petals danced. The wizard watched impassively as his king's face cracked at the realization.
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