A Mentor’s Candid Request

“Young Master Daniel managed to unleash sword qi during your sparring session yesterday. Could you perhaps enlighten me on how you accomplished such a feat?”

From the wooden weapon rack, Ferren selected a pair of unsharpened steel swords, offering one to the young boy.

“It simply happened naturally,” Rhine replied, accepting the sword with an unperturbed air. “Primarily, his skill had already reached the threshold, which is why it progressed so smoothly.”

“Haha,” Ferren chuckled. “You speak of it so lightly, yet what about yourself? In a mere three weeks, your proficiency has already eclipsed that of most sword apprentices.”

This, indeed, was the truth. Even if Rhine had restarted his journey, choosing a different path and a new body, his fundamental proficiency remained immutable. His rapid progress was akin to a university scholar revisiting foundational studies.

“It’s nothing,” Rhine demurred. “Anyone would experience such rapid improvement when sparring with a knight of your esteemed caliber.”

These innocuous pleasantries, however, caused Ferren’s brow to furrow in a subtle frown.

“Child,” Ferren began, his voice laced with a touch of exasperation, “—for now, I shall address you as such. The composure you exhibit, the very mindset you possess, has long transcended the boundaries of what I understand a ‘child’ to be.”

“The span of our acquaintance is neither exceedingly long nor remarkably brief. Yet, from the day I first encountered you beneath the tower until this very moment, be it your demeanor towards me or towards those in our vicinity, this palpable sense of detachment, this unfamiliar distance—whence does it truly spring? I genuinely wish to comprehend.”

Ferren had, in his time, guided numerous apprentices. The majority typically approached him with deference, awed by his formidable reputation. A select few, neither servile nor haughty, would eventually address him as ‘Master’ or ‘Your Excellency.’

Rhine, however, was an anomaly. He harbored no awe for Ferren’s name, nor did he ever regard him as a familiar acquaintance. Regardless of how much time they spent together, their interactions consistently maintained the detached air of strangers.

Was he simply shy or fearful of strangers? His persona among the maids largely suggested as much.

Was he merely taciturn? To most observers, his conduct certainly lent credence to that impression.

Was he perhaps unapproachable? Such was the prevailing sentiment regarding him within the Knight Order.

Yet, without exception, each observation underscored a singular truth: he evinced no desire to open his heart to others, and the relentless march of time seemed powerless to erode the formidable barrier he had erected within.

“I’ve grown accustomed to it,” the boy simply stated.

A sigh escaped Ferren’s lips; he found himself utterly at a loss when it came to Rhine.

The horizon remained, as ever, the most intricate of palettes. The lingering afterglow of the setting sun descended in hues of pale yellow along its contours, then blazed through the clouds, painting the western mountain peaks a vivid crimson as it surveyed the world below.

Sparring beneath the setting sun had, by now, become an ingrained ritual in Rhine’s life within the ducal mansion. The moderate exertion proved immensely beneficial, enhancing the synchronization between his soul and physical form.

Swing, swing, and swing the sword once more. Rhine’s own swordsmanship was profoundly deep and subtly restrained; he never engaged an opponent in a direct, head-on clash. Instead, he would meticulously conceal his edge and sharpness, always aiming for that singular, decisive strike to end the engagement.

To engage the Divine Retribution Knight in combat was, for all intents and purposes, a predetermined defeat. Yet, Rhine consistently proved to be the apprentice who endured the longest against him.

As Ferren delivered a sweeping side-slash, Rhine raised his sword to parry, only for the formidable sword intent to abruptly halt midway through its trajectory.

“You no longer need to remain my apprentice,” Ferren declared. “Never before has an apprentice managed to withstand ten exchanges against me.”

“Oh.”

“Congratulations on your graduation,” Ferren continued. “As your mentor, I find myself with a small request.”

“Please speak.”

“You need not concern yourself with my station, nor shall I dwell upon your origins. Let us simply be friends, merely friends.”

“Merely friends?”

“Merely friends.”

“…”

Rhine met Ferren’s earnest gaze, and, suppressing the twitch that threatened his lips, he ultimately let out a soft laugh.

‘How old are we, truly? To still be discussing ‘friends’ with such heartfelt earnestness—is there no shame?’

‘Furthermore, if you truly consider me a friend, did you spare a thought for my feelings when you struck me with that very blade? Believe it or not, I might just stab your kidney if you displease me!’

‘Ah, well, ultimately, when it came to the tower incident, he was merely a humble, contracted worker. If the Duke issued the command, any knight would have carried it out. Ferren, however, was among the more principled; when instructed not to disturb anything, he had genuinely refrained.’

‘Never mind. It would feel rather impolite to refuse, especially considering his earnest face. If my earnest request were ever to be rejected, I would most certainly shove an explosion spell directly into their mouth with my wand.’

“Suit yourself.”

‘Hmph, it’s not like I’m being sentimental!’

Ferren nodded with a satisfied air, then gestured for Rhine to join him beneath the shade of an ancient locust tree upon a small hill.

“Lord Marin is a remarkably shrewd man, yet at times, his shrewdness borders on excess, leaving no room for even a speck of dust in his eye.”

“You must pay heed to this: at times, a measured rejection is a perfectly normal response. Undue compliance, paradoxically, can often invite baseless suspicion.”

Rhine had hardly anticipated such words from Ferren. From the perspective of a knight sworn to serve the Cavendish family, such a pronouncement was undeniably akin to turning his back on his own.

“I will keep that in mind.”

“Daniel, as the second young master, is inevitably influenced by Lord Marin due to their constant proximity; his stubborn refusal to admit defeat is thus unavoidable. While the Knight Order cannot, of course, openly criticize the ducal mansion’s upbringing, I am genuinely curious to learn what method you employed to teach him sword qi.”

Ferren had laid his heart bare, and Rhine, for his part, felt it would be rather selfish to continue his evasiveness. It dawned on him that Ferren had, in essence, dug a pit and was simply waiting for him to step into it.

“Simply allow him to lose a few more times,” Rhine advised. “Placing undue emphasis on immediate results is rarely beneficial.”

Rhine understood this principle intimately. The celestial path of a Seven-Ring Sorcerer could only be ascended by the truly courageous. In the countless conflicts, both grand and trivial, those who harbored grudges and obsessed over every win and loss rarely achieved true greatness. Instead, cultivating one’s strength and biding one’s time was the righteous path.

The victories and defeats of the past were long since relegated to memory; otherwise, he would never have uttered the words, ‘You win,’ to Ferren atop the tower.

Pure consequentialism, he knew, was a virulent tumor. To offer a perhaps inappropriate analogy: imagine finally acquiring an epic tome of lore, eager to meticulously follow the story and savor its narrative. Yet, upon opening it, one discovers all the major plot points can be revealed at once, rendering the entire experience utterly flavorless.

Or consider a truly great saga: even if the world were to ultimately face destruction, the resounding declaration of a hero’s final charge would forever remain a guiding beacon of faith.

“Advice from one’s peers is often heeded more readily than the sagacious proverbs of elders, so a more direct approach might indeed prove effective,” Ferren mused. “I only hope that Young Master Daniel does not, in his future, embark upon some irreversible path.”

Ferren’s gaze became laden with meaning as he subtly scrutinized the alluring curves faintly discernible beneath Rhine’s training uniform—a delicate figure indeed.

‘A flat chest is perfectly understandable for ease of sword-wielding, everyone can grasp that; but as for the rear, well, that’s genuinely quite shapely.’

Rhine was confused.

“How fares your position as the Young Lady’s male attendant?”

“I am still within my probationary period. You, of all people, are aware of the Young Lady’s temperament; a mere audience with her is a rare occurrence.”

“Mm.”

Ferren, his fingers stroking the stubble on his chin, pondered earnestly for a moment before abruptly interjecting an unexpected question:

“Do you—do you harbor affections for Audrey?”

“What?! I, I, how could I possibly ‘like’ her?! I warn you, do not slander my good name! Who are you to presume to guess my thoughts! You foul old uncle probably hasn’t even experienced love!”

“I am a married man, and you dare suggest I’ve never experienced love?” Ferren retorted, delivering a hearty slap to Rhine’s back, a blow that nearly sent the boy’s small heart leaping from his chest.

“Oh.” Faced with someone who clearly possessed superior knowledge on the matter, he wisely chose to remain silent.

“When I was your age, I too harbored affections for women older than myself. What is there to be so ashamed of?”

‘Aha! So you, with your seemingly honest face, actually possess such a scandalous past! Who would ever want to be friends with you now!’

“—Elaborate.”