The day passed by quickly. Dusk approached.
In his room, looking at himself in the mirror, Rylan stood next to Sarah. He was dressed in a specific set of clothing. They were the clothes he used the most in the past. He spoke.
"How do I look? Speak freely."
She watched him carefully, a slight frown on her face.
"…The same as always."
Perfect.
That was exactly what he wanted to convey.
"I'm going to set up a meeting with Evenon."
He could feel her gaze drilling into his back. He continued.
"I need to find out where the staff is and who he sold it to. For that, I'll need to seem like I'm the same old me, so you can't follow me."
"Are you certain that's the best course of action?"
"It's not the only one, but for now, just asking him where it is and if I can buy it back from him will be enough."
By pretending to still be the same, he could acquire valuable information. At the very least, he expected to learn about the staff's location. He was likely the one person who could make Evenon lower his guard the most. The man wouldn't suspect a few innocent questions, especially if Rylan came up with a good reason for them. Of course, Evenon hadn't reached his current position while being stupid. He would notice if Rylan attempted to pry too much. Rylan needed to walk a fine line between being found out and convincing the man that he was the same as always.
In his heart of hearts, Rylan had grown to despise Evenon, who was the type of man who would do anything for profit, even if it meant turning multiple people into hopeless addicts. Evenon did charity work and invested in good causes as a front, while keeping up his criminal activities in the dark; however, because of this front, simply killing him outright was difficult. At the same time, Evenon himself was a more powerful Mage than Rylan.
I've never fought a Mage.
He was intimately familiar with battles against warriors of all levels, but magic was different. It was something he knew almost nothing about, given his lack of interest throughout his life. Before he got a better idea of what a Mage on Evenon's level was capable of, avoiding a fight was the best course of action. That did not mean, however, that he would run away.
If everything goes south, I'll battle him to the death.
His heart thumped within his chest, sending mana throughout his system. Even at this moment, he relentlessly trained to increase his stats and mana capacity. As time passed, his odds would improve massively. So long as he obtained a body capable of following his instincts and memories as Roland, he was confident in becoming a powerful fighter. Naturally, this wouldn't happen overnight; he needed to put the effort in, but it was possible. He fully believed in his abilities. It wasn't arrogance, but instead, the confidence built over decades of reigning as one of the strongest.
Next to him, Sarah spoke.
"Do you understand my position, young master?"
He frowned slightly. It was because he realized it after he listened to her words. Sarah was more than just his attendant; she monitored him. Having him go meet Evenon alone was the same as giving him a free opportunity to acquire drugs or, at least, to coordinate something with the dealer. From her perspective, it was nonsensical. Even if she acknowledged that Rylan was changing, it had only been a couple of days. There was no way for her to believe that he would truly go against Evenon. He had pulled similar tricks too many times before.
"There's no other alternative. I've always met Evenon alone. Bringing you along would be more than just obvious."
"Please pardon my rudeness, but can't you wait for the City Guard's investigation?"
"The City Guard's been after Evenon for years, but never even managed to find him guilty of anything. They lack evidence. I can't rely on them."
Sarah's expression contorted. The two of them stood in silence. After a few seconds, she spoke.
"…I understand. I will inform the Family Head."
"Go right ahead."
Rylan turned to the side. His gaze was drawn to the weapon lying on the table. It was a crude sword that he'd gotten from the soldiers, but it would have to do.
He grabbed the weapon's scabbard, sheathed it, and tied it to his waist with practiced ease.
"Tomorrow, I'll go to Evenon. I won't be leaving my bedroom for the rest of this day."
He omitted the rest of his sentence: right now, he needed to find out the limits of the swordsmanship he could draw out with this body. In case he ended up needing to fight, it was imperative to know his limits and where he stood.
By the door, Sarah nodded.
"Then, I will take my leave."
"Alright. See you later."
She bowed and then left the bedroom, closing the door, likely headed straight to Gerard's office. He took off the clothes and donned more comfortable ones. Rylan took a deep breath and slowly pulled the sword out of its sheath. The blade reflected the candle light, glistening.
"Alright, now let's see exactly how much swordsmanship this useless body can withstand."
He tried to clear as much space in the bedroom as he could, creating an empty square in the middle of the room, in front of the bed. It would have to do. Then, he began.
He analyzed the blade once more before getting into a stance. It was the one Roland had perfected over the years, and it allowed him to transition smoothly into either attack or defense at a moment's notice. When used by the current Rylan, it was only natural for it to be flawed, but he would improve over time. What was important was not sacrificing his form, alongside moving in accordance with Roland's memories.
He grabbed the hilt with both hands and swung the sword. The sound of air being split apart rang out. The slash's ending motion turned into the start of another swing, wasting virtually no time or energy in the transition. In but a few instants, the sword had been swung thrice. They were simple slashes, but each was executed with the utmost efficiency that Rylan could currently manage. Looking good and flowery was irrelevant. What mattered in a sword fight was getting one's weapon to one's enemy in the best way possible.
At the same time, he felt the ache in his muscles. In a split second, he came to a conclusion.
I can't use any of my original Sword Arts yet.
His body was still far too weak to bear the strain of Roland's true swordsmanship. He would need to turn to the swordplay that Roland had learned in the early days, only improved by Roland's judgement and experience. Once again, he realized the weight of the memories he had acquired. They were the furthest possible thing from the person Rylan used to be. A determined expression made its way to his face.
He had changed and would continue to change. Never again would he return to his old habits; he had a family to protect and a world to explore. He would no longer waste away.
Footwork and swordsmanship were put together in a dazzling display that no one else could behold as he moved and swung his weapon. Slashes flowed into stabs, blocks, and counters. Rylan pictured an invisible enemy swordsman; it was surprisingly easy, even if by virtue of the sheer amount of time that Roland had spent training and fighting. He never stopped moving, imagining the enemy's actions and reacting accordingly.
The seconds seemed to be extended as he moved in a whirlwind of swordsmanship. His muscles screamed. Sweat flowed down freely, soaking his clothes. It was unknown just how much time he spent in a dangerous dance, but soon he felt the existence of his limitations. Rylan pushed onward. His whole body stopped responding to his commands. Pain flooded his system. He kept going, forcefully keeping up his speed and force with nothing but his willpower. Then, as suddenly as he had started, he stopped.
This was it. His limit.
If he went any further, he would only end up injuring himself. His Trait had been screaming at him to give up for the entirety of his training, but he had ignored this desire. He would prevail.
This is what I can do.
He had learned much in this short period of time. He learned how fast he could move, how good his sense of balance was in his current body, how much strength and weight he was capable of putting into each attack, and more. They were valuable parameters that he needed to take into account when planning his actions.
Panting, Rylan lay on the floor. His shirt was completely wet, but he barely registered it. His mind was already drawing his future plans based on what he had learned. Continuing to train with the soldiers was a matter of course.
He hadn't survived as Roland only due to his power. He needed to always have a plan. So long as he stuck to that, he knew that he could overcome anything.