Patriot and Queen – Part 03
“I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while,” Cecily started.
She actually wanted to ask what was bothering him, but she had a feeling he would shut her down, so she refrained from touching the subject.
“Who taught you how to use a sword? I don’t think there are many swordsmen on the continent as skilled as you.”
“That’s quite the compliment. Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?”
“I’m not! It was incredible,” Cecily said eagerly. “I can’t quite put it into words, but it was powerful, beautiful, and all I can say is that it was incredible. You must have trained for years, and I honestly admire you for it. I don’t know how to explain it, but… yeah, I was moved!”
Cecily leaned forward, and Luke pulled back, startled. He blinked a few times, then quickly looked away, scratching the tip of his nose.
“My father,” he muttered.
“What?”
“My swordsmanship—everything I know—I learned from my father. He was pretty stubborn. He used to say, ‘A blacksmith has to be good with a sword.’ He said it so much, I got sick of hearing it. I was just a stupid kid back then, so it annoyed me. I’d slack off, and he’d always give me an earful. But after what happened, I regretted not listening. Now I try to remember the stances he taught me, and… I still practice them.”
Luke avoided eye contact. He was unusually talkative, and he kept scratching at his nose that Cecily feared the skin might peel off.
Is he embarrassed? She wondered. That’s not like him.
Now that she thought about it, it had been a while since they’d had a real conversation. She shivered, feeling oddly awkward.
In her excitement, she’d forgotten that before they left the city, Luke had been holed up in the forge, hardly ever meeting her face-to-face. Even after leaving the Independent Trade City, they were in separate groups—one on horseback and the other in a carriage—so they hadn’t had the chance to sit down and talk like this.
It’s just the two of us.
Once she became aware of it, she found herself unable to string words together.
“…”
“…”
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. It was awkward, yet there was something oddly comforting about it, urging her to stay like this forever.
“Uh…” Cecily mumbled.
Just the two of them. In the night. Under the moon. It reminded her of the ball.
The more she thought about it, the more flustered she became. Without thinking, she brushed her hair behind her ear and buried the lower half of her face in her knees. She couldn’t understand why she was feeling this way. Her chest tightened the longer the silence stretched on.
Luke’s gaze settled on her. “What’s wrong? You’re acting weird.”
“Oh, i-it’s nothing.”
Was she the only one losing her composure? For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Her gaze drifted downward to his waist, falling on the hilt of his katana. Why did it have to be like this? She was so absorbed in his sword dance just moments ago.
“Ah, I get it now,” Luke said. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“What?!”
“Perfect timing. I was thinking of the same thing.”
“Wh-What are you going to do?!” Cecily panicked.
Luke sprang to his feet and strode toward her. Fighting the urge to scoot back, Cecily looked up at him.
“We can’t do it sitting down.”
What’s something you can’t do sitting down?!
Forcing her stiff joints to move, Cecily got to her feet. Luke’s face was suddenly inches from hers. She swallowed hard. He looked unusually serious.
“Dance with me. That’s an order.”
Her mind drifted back to that night when he extended his hand. The current situation was very similar. She struggled to hold back the smile that threatened to tug at her lips.
“Are you ready?”
Cecily nodded awkwardly. In truth, she wasn’t ready at all.
“All right,” Luke said, nodding in return.
“O-Okay.”
“Let’s spar.”
She nearly slugged him.
“Why are you suddenly upset?”
“Upset? Me? That’s ridiculous. Maybe you should see a doctor. You know, get your head checked.”
“Yup, you’re definitely angry.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She was seriously let down by how dense he was. Not that she’d expected anything. No, not even a tiny bit. Not at all!
Either way, the situation had taken a weird turn.
Cecily lifted the wooden sword to her face. Calling it a wooden sword was generous, when in reality it was just a sharpened stick. It was slightly longer than her forearm and much lighter than a rapier. Luke had scrounged it from some forgotten corner of the station. She glanced sideways to see him practicing his swings with a similar one. His lips were pursed in clear dissatisfaction, but she couldn’t care less. His real katana, the one he usually carried at his waist, was sheathed and propped against the inn’s wall.
This has turned strange, she mused again. Luke’s suggestion had caught her off guard, to be sure—again, she wasn’t expecting anything—but it was definitely an intriguing offer. The chance to cross swords with that elegant style of his, not as allies, but as opponents.
“Ready this time?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
But her mind wasn’t fully in it. Something held her back, an emotion she couldn’t quite name. It was almost… discomfort. The idea of sparring with Luke was thrilling, but something else gnawed at her, leaving a sour taste. A subtle dissonance, like an itch she couldn’t scratch.
“All right,” Luke said, easing into a mid-stance. “Try to land a hit on me.”
Cecily raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“If you can hit me even once, you win.”
“Pretty cocky, are we? Best you don’t underestimate me.”
“Go ahead, then.” He grinned. “Give it your best shot.”
That was all it took to dispel her doubts. The atmosphere changed.
Cecily silently readied her wooden sword. Adopting the stance that felt most natural to her, she put her right side forward and raised the sword to her chest. A stance specialized for thrusting.
They locked eyes, neither of them moving. By Cecily’s estimate, the distance between them was about seven paces. And she closed it in two strides.
She lunged forward with her right arm extended, bridging those seven paces in a flash. The tip of her wooden sword zeroed in on Luke’s throat.
Luke didn’t parry. Instead, he simply slid back half a step to evade.
A razor-thin dodge. The tip barely missed his throat, slicing through empty air. But Cecily didn’t falter. The instant she realized she’d miss, she pulled her arm back and pressed in even closer. She glided her feet across the ground, adding force from her lower body, and thrust again. A rapier thrust relied on a twist of the wrist, so when her sword shot past his face, it left a thin cut along his cheek. A red bead of blood dripped down.
Cecily couldn’t believe it. Even at such close range, he managed to dodge by the narrowest of margins.
Luke’s body dipped ever so slightly, and when she saw that, Cecily instantly switched to a two-handed grip, bringing her sword to her shoulder just in time to block the lightning-fast strike aimed at her collar. Her eyes widened in shock. The impact was so strong it felt like her entire arm might be torn off. She held her ground, barely managing to keep herself from being pushed back.
The force behind his strikes was unreal. Cecily didn’t even have time to curse before Luke continued his relentless assault. One second, his figure blurred. The next, a shadow darted to her side. Reflexively, she brought her wooden sword up to block. The impact rattled her weapon like it had been hammered, sending a painful jolt through her arm. But she couldn’t catch a breath. Luke was already pivoting, his feet spinning as he launched into a flurry of powerful, centrifugal strikes.
It was like standing in the path of a whirlwind. The fact that she could still track the blurred tip of his sword with her eyes was a miracle. Desperately, she tried to fend off his blows, but she could barely deflect them. Her arms grew heavier, the numbness spreading until it became impossible to ignore.
Shit, she cursed inwardly. Then, suddenly, the tip of Luke’s sword came slicing down from above, aiming straight for her left hand on the hilt—a blow meant for her knuckles. Realizing his intent, Cecily withdrew her left hand from her sword. She didn’t let go of her weapon, no. She simply removed the left fist that was resting at the base of the hilt, and simultaneously pulled her left side back. Luke’s downward strike sliced through empty space.
By pulling her left side back, Cecily naturally had her right side forward, and with her weapon still in her right hand, she found herself in perfect position for a thrust. Without hesitation, she drove her sword straight toward Luke’s chest, fully confident it would land.
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