Chapter 23 – The Weight of a Sword

Chapter 23 – The Weight of a Sword

The training grounds had gone eerily silent.

The noble Tobias had challenged—Adrien du Cressac, son of a Viscount, Earth mage—stood stiffly across from him, his jaw clenched tight. His fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword.

He had clearly never expected the provocation to go this far.

Tobias, however, looked bored.

"You can use magic if you want," Tobias said, rolling his shoulders. "I won't."

That made the watching nobles tense. Even Lucien's red eyes flickered with something unreadable.

Jessica, standing at the edge of the courtyard, said nothing.

She had no intention of stopping this.

Tobias reached behind him, gripping the hilt of the Moran family sword.

And in a single motion, he lifted it with one hand.

The air shifted.

For a moment, there was no sound except the faint creak of the leather grip under Tobias's fingers.

The Moran sword was a monster of a weapon.

Nearly as long as a man was tall.

Thicker and heavier than any proper dueling blade.

A knight's longsword was meant to be an extension of the body. This was not.

This was a crusher.

A breaker.

A weapon that existed to end things.

And Tobias was holding it like a rapier.

No strain. No struggle.

One-handed.

A few watching nobles involuntarily swallowed.

Jessica didn't flinch, but when Tobias lifted the blade, he met her gaze.

It wasn't hostility.

It wasn't challenge.

But it wasn't nothing either.

His green eyes, so similar to hers, were shadowed with something deeper—resentment, frustration, maybe even hurt.

Jessica knew what he was thinking.

You couldn't bear the weight of it.

You gave it up.

I never will.

The moment passed as quickly as it came.

Tobias exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip. The veins in his arm flexed, tightening beneath his sleeveless uniform.

He turned away from her.

And then, as if nothing had happened, he looked at Adrien.

"Let's get this over with."

_

The Battle Begins

Adrien moved first.

A wall of earth erupted between them, reinforced with layers of compacted stone—a barrier that should have been unbreakable without magic.

Tobias didn't stop.

His breath came out slow. Controlled.

Then he swung.

The impact wasn't a clang of metal.

It was a detonation.

CRACK—

The entire barrier exploded.

The shockwave sent dust and debris flying into the crowd, making some students instinctively stumble backward.

Adrien barely had time to react.

Chunks of shattered earth struck him first.

A jagged shard sliced across his cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood. Another tore through his uniform, ripping fabric open along his shoulder.

The noble staggered back, stunned.

But Tobias wasn't done.

The moment the barrier shattered, Adrien lunged forward, sword raised. He aimed for Tobias's open stance, trying to take advantage of the fact that the heavy blade should have slowed him down.

Should have.

But it didn't.

Tobias pivoted.

Instead of lifting the massive sword for a downward strike—he turned.

A sharp, seamless 360-degree rotation, using the sheer weight and momentum of the sword itself to build force.

Adrien's long noble-styled hair, loosened from the force of the impact, flowed freely around his face as he leapt forward.

For half a second, his vision was clear.

Then—

The blade swung upward.

SHATTER.

Adrien's sword exploded into fragments.

The shards floated midair, glistening like shattered glass, suspended for a breath of time—

Then—Tobias's sword kept going.

The sheer reach of the weapon carried forward—the flat of the blade catching the strands of hair that had loosened and floated around Adrien's face.

FWOOOM—

The force alone tore through the air.

Adrien flinched violently.

Then—half of his noble-styled hair drifted to the dirt.

His breath hitched.

His hands trembled.

And then—he lost his grip.

His fingers, slick with sweat, failed him—his remaining grip on the ruined hilt slipped.

The shattered remains of his sword dropped to the ground.

The moment the steel left his fingers, the watching students gasped audibly.

Because to a knight—losing grip on one's blade wasn't just weakness.

It was disgrace.

He had lost his sword, his stance, his breath—everything in a single exchange.

His uniform was torn from flying debris, his sword shattered, his body kneeling in the dirt, his hair cut away like an afterthought.

The last of his pride fell with it.

He was still kneeling.

He hadn't moved.

Because he couldn't.

Tobias let the sword's momentum settle. The veins in his arms flexed beneath his sleeveless uniform as he rested the massive blade against his shoulder.

Then, with a smirk just shy of cruel, he tilted his head.

"Go get a haircut."

His voice was casual. Bored, almost.

Then he lifted his sword back onto his back as if it weighed nothing, turned, and walked away.

Jessica let out a slow exhale.

Tobias had never been elegant.

And he never needed to be.

Because when you wielded a weapon like the Moran blade...

You didn't win fights.

You ended them.

_

Lucien and Hannelore Begin the Investigation

Hannelore Eisendreich did not resist as Lucien von Hohenfeld dragged her out of the training grounds. She could walk just fine on her own, but apparently, that wasn't relevant.

Her cold blue eyes flicked to his hand gripping her wrist.

"You're manhandling me," she stated, voice flat.

Lucien scoffed but loosened his grip slightly. "And yet you're still coming along."

Hannelore didn't argue. She had already assessed the situation. Lucien had decided she was going to be involved, and dragging her like a sack of grain was more about annoying her into participation than actual necessity.

She could dig her heels in, force him to release her, and continue training.

Or—she could endure this mild inconvenience, let him talk himself in circles, and eventually have something useful over him.

She allowed herself to be led. For now.

When Lucien finally stopped, he turned to face her, arms crossing over his chest. His red eyes glinted with something sharp.

"I need you for the investigation."

Hannelore blinked. "No."

Lucien sighed, rubbing his temple. "I haven't even explained why yet."

"You will anyway," she replied evenly.

Lucien's smirk twitched. He enjoyed their verbal sparring more than he let on.

"This whole thing—" he gestured vaguely, "—is connected to the mana surge. Jessica's acting weird. She knows something. I don't like it when she knows things before I do."

Hannelore tilted her head slightly. "That sounds like a personal problem."

Lucien ignored that. "I need someone who actually has a brain to help sort through the mess at the site. Everyone else is either avoiding it or too busy pretending they weren't helpless without magic."

Hannelore exhaled slowly, as if considering it. Then—

"No."

Lucien rolled his eyes. "And why not?"

Hannelore gave him an unimpressed glance. "Because I don't care."

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You should."

"Why?"

"Because something is off."

"That is vague."

Lucien exhaled sharply. "Jessica noticed something."

Hannelore's brow twitched slightly. "And?"

Lucien's smirk sharpened. "You don't think that's interesting?"

There was a pause. A flicker of something unreadable in Hannelore's expression.

Then, smoothly—"I think Jessica has a screw loose."

Lucien chuckled. "She does."

Hannelore continued, unbothered. "And yet, you trust her 'nonsense' enough to drag me into an investigation?"

Lucien tapped his fingers against his forearm. "Jessica's nonsense isn't normal nonsense."

Hannelore gave him a slow, assessing look.

"...You're taking her words too seriously."

Lucien shrugged. "She's survived too much to ignore."

Hannelore stared at him for a long moment.

"...You trust her that much?"

Lucien shrugged again. "I trust that her nonsense isn't nonsense."

Hannelore's expression remained unreadable.

Then, after a brief pause—

She sighed.

"Fine."

Lucien's smirk returned in full force.

Hannelore raised a hand before he could gloat. "But if we find nothing, you will admit that you dragged me into this for no reason."

Lucien chuckled. "Done."

Hannelore exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Jessica Moran, you absolute maniac. What have you gotten me into this time?

_

The Plan & The Problem

Lucien shifted gears before she could push further. "The site is swarming with people, but they're not looking for what we need."

Hannelore crossed her arms. "And what exactly are we looking for?"

Lucien grinned, eyes sharp with mischief. "Something with runes on it. Some kind of device. Probably broken."

Hannelore gave him a blank stare.

"Oh," she said dryly. "That's not vague at all."

Lucien shrugged. "We don't need specifics—we just need to find what doesn't belong."

Hannelore tilted her head slightly. "Why don't you just ask Jessica?"

Lucien exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to take her too seriously while she's injured and breaking things."

Hannelore raised a single eyebrow. The first true sign of her amusement.

"So, you don't want to waste her time," she mused. "But you're perfectly fine wasting mine?"

Lucien smirked. "Obviously."

Hannelore let out a slow breath, pressing her fingers together as if debating whether or not she could kill him and get away with it.

"...You are exhausting."

Lucien grinned. "Yet here you are."

Hannelore gave him a long, unblinking stare. Then, after exactly three seconds of silence—

"Fine."

Lucien smirked. "Fine?"

"I will go," she said, voice cool, controlled. "But if you waste my time—"

She tilted her head slightly, a sharp, almost delicate movement. The perfect imitation of noble condescension.

"—I will make sure Jessica hears about your little fixation."

Lucien's smirk vanished.

Hannelore turned, already walking ahead.

"I assume you can keep up?" she called, voice smooth.

Lucien muttered something under his breath. Then, with a smirk—he followed.

The investigation had begun.