[Claude POV]
Damn it, Paul just mastered a new move?!
Well, if he's getting stronger, that's ultimately good. Knowing him, he'll probably create an entirely new style from what he's learned. I've already done my part—I just need to advance and crystallize what I've discovered through my experiments.
It's not that I want to establish my own dojo or anything, but I need to accelerate my growth. Knowing about the growing organization behind me, it will happen sooner or later. However, Paul being powered up is a great thing overall. Then, we can have better "after calamity service"?
Oh well, leaving that aside, I still need to increase my own capability. These memories that are coming out of nowhere are my pathway to further improvement.
Unfortunately, progressing even faster seems impossible in the short run.
For now, I'll focus on increasing my dexterity since it'll benefit me in the long term. If I can further refine my enchantment and smithing skills, I'll be able to craft more magical tools for the emergencies that are coming. Tools that might save lives.
Still, I'm painfully aware of my limitations. I can't save everyone perfectly because I'm not perfect myself.
I can only plan while my fate ultimately rests in God's hands...
"Sigh... I wonder how many deaths there will be..." The words escape my lips as I stare toward the horizon, the weight of foreknowledge pressing down on my shoulders like a physical burden.
[NARRATOR POV]
The world continued its indifferent rotation as Claude sank deeper into depression over his perceived incompetence.
Although in others eyes, he's already monstrous enough, seeing how the other claude in his memories done in the same span of time make his growing confidence diminished.
Currently, he was consumed by pessimism regarding the inevitable deaths that would occur during the teleportation incident.
Anyone could die—parents, neighbors, children. No one was guaranteed safety in the catastrophe he knew was coming.
Without fully realizing it, Claude had grown deeply attached to the villagers of Buena. Their safety had become his primary concern, superseding even his own well-being.
Perhaps this attachment stemmed from the memories of the original Claude, who had witnessed countless villagers perish during the teleportation incident.
Those who survived often met fates worse than death—sold into slavery or suffering traumas that left permanent scars on the child's psyche.
Despite his capacity for rational thought, Claude rarely examined his own complex personality or reflected on his mistakes.
He consistently prioritized others above himself, which drove his relentless pursuit of swordsmanship and magical prowess. Not for glory or power, but as tools to protect.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Rudeus was preoccupied with his teaching responsibilities.
Through the windows of the Boreas mansion, one could observe him being punched and kicked by a furious Eris as another lesson deteriorated into chaos.
"Hoooow! How, how dare you! Stupid Rudeus!" the red-haired noble girl shouted, her face nearly matching her hair color as she launched another attack.
"Ah, ah, ah, please stop it, my lady!" Rudeus pleaded dramatically. "If you continue doing this, a new fetish will be created. Ah, ah! Nooo!"
It took considerable time for the beating—or rather, the lesson—to conclude.
Later that day, Rudeus received information about a letter that had arrived from Buena Village. It was Claude's regular report, but this time there was something extra hidden within the envelope.
"Oh, is that your sister, Rudeus?" Eris asked, peering over his shoulder at the paintings Claude had enclosed.
The pictures depicted two young girls—Aisha and Norn—smiling cheerfully and waving. There were also paintings of Lilia, Sylphiette, and Claude himself, each rendered with surprising skill.
The accompanying letter read: "You better send them paintings of yourself too, since the kids barely remember you. Be aware that you might not have the chance to see them in normal circumstances again. I know you'll definitely impregnate a girl or two before you come back to Buena Village... lol."
"Well, you're Paul's son. There's nothing weird about that," Ghislaine commented matter-of-factly.
Eris just stared dumbfounded while Rudeus sweated nervously under her intense glare.
"Damn it, this bastard dares to mock me..." Rudeus muttered under his breath.
The letter continued: "Anyway, there are a few things I'd like to send you. But you better provide me with some quality materials to craft better magical tools. You could probably make something yourself, but it won't be as good as mine. No sense wasting materials—just send them to me."
"This person sure is cocky. I'd smack him if he were standing in front of me right now," Eris declared, crossing her arms.
"He was when we met. I almost killed him on the spot that day," Ghislaine recalled, her expression distant with memory. "It's been two years since then. Rudeus, you've grown significantly too, but this Claude's body appears to have become even sturdier than before."
"Yeah, he's only two years older than me but always insisted I call him 'big brother,'" Rudeus sighed. "He's strong... stronger than I was back then, and I believe he's grown even more powerful since."
"Stronger than you, Rudeus?" Eris asked, her eyes widening slightly.
"In the past, yes, but I'm stronger now!" Rudeus asserted with a smug smile.
Ghislaine watched their childish exchange with amusement, her mind drifting back to her first encounter with Claude.
The memory remained vivid—particularly the scent that had lingered around the boy. It was a smell she knew intimately: the blood of monsters and beasts.
Claude had clearly been hunting and killing monsters since before she had first arrived to collect Rudeus.
While Rudeus had been dividing his attention between teaching and learning, Claude had been able to focus entirely on training.
It was entirely possible that he had already surpassed the standard knights of noble households. Just the fact that he can do the sword of light alone is certainly a point where he's already an elite among the elite knights.
No, considering how formidable Paul Greyrat was, even an elite household knight would struggle against these prodigious children.
While Claude might theoretically lose against such opponents due to their greater experience, knights with truly vast experience rarely served as household guards.
"Can I beat him, Ghislaine?" Rudeus asked, recognizing the Sword King's judgment as authoritative.
"I don't think so," she answered honestly. "His physique is unbelievable for someone under fifteen... No, even among S-rank adventurers, it would be difficult to find that kind of compact musculature." Her assessment was based on the picture of Claude that revealed his surprisingly developed physique.
"Pssh, you're both exaggerating," Rudeus scoffed. "I mean, this is clearly a forgery. Look at those biceps—they must be at least thirty centimeters! That body resembles a professional bodybuilder. Something like this is impossible without specialized equipment. He must be exaggerating—there's no way he could become such a muscle-bound figure. He's around Eris's age! Human skeletal muscle can't develop to that extent at that age..."
As Rudeus rationalized away the seemingly impossible physical development, a question nagged at the back of his mind: 'Is this guy someone from the same place as me, or has he simply developed an overactive imagination?'
He recalled feeling doubt when Claude had suddenly approached Paul for training those years ago.
However, since he hadn't been particularly close with the other villagers or Claude himself, he could only speculate.
These doubts had faded with time, but now they resurfaced with newfound intensity. Still, Rudeus pushed them aside once more. 'Well, there's no use dwelling on it... It's not like Claude's some evil villain or harem lord trying to steal everyone's partners. From what I've observed, he's just a kid...'
Unlike Rudeus and Paul, who tended to view women through a lens of lust, Claude interacted with everyone with apparent sanity and restraint.
The boy maintained an almost unnervingly pure demeanor—so much so that even seeing Zenith in her underwear had elicited no reaction beyond disgust, which had actually hurt Zenith's feelings.
There was also his peculiar aversion to Sylphiette's green hair. No matter how he tried to conceal it, his fear and revulsion were apparent to everyone, especially Sylphiette, who grew sad whenever these feelings manifested.
Only later would Rudeus learn about Laplace's curse and how to counter the hex. By then, Sylphy's hair would already have turned white.
As Rudeus read the letter miles away, night had fallen over Buena Village.
At the terminus of the pathway before the asphalt road began, a dark figure moved silently through the shadows.
"Who's there?!" a voice called out—a slave trader who had sensed something amiss.
Slash!
Splat!
A single precise thrust to the back of the neck was all it took. The slaver died instantly as Claude's blade punctured the vital point with surgical accuracy.
With chilling composure, Claude flicked his knife to clean off the blood before moving forward silently. Under the cover of darkness, he claimed another life without hesitation or remorse.
The boy who showed such concern for the villagers' future safety had developed a coldly efficient approach to eliminating threats. The contradiction was stark—the same hands that crafted tools to protect could just as easily bring swift death when deemed necessary.
"Charles, get it all done in a jiffy and ask the others to clean up the area..." Claude instructed as he wiped the blade clean. In the background, several figures moved efficiently through the darkness—some pursuing fleeing slavers, others guiding rescued captives toward safety.
"Will work on it," Charles replied, his voice carrying the respectful tone of someone addressing a superior despite Claude's youth. He hesitated before adding, "Should we do the same with the captured slaves?"
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