Second Life, I’m Dying Soon Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 

The debutante season marked the official start of the social season. Nobles hosted parties and balls almost daily.

In contrast, the atmosphere within the imperial palace was heavier than usual. This was not a time for revelry—there was a critical matter at hand: selecting the new knights. The process demanded the utmost caution.

Cecil had dressed simply for the first time in a while. He was in high spirits, having promised to begin swordsmanship lessons today.

As instructed, he waited in front of Saint’s Palace. The moment the clock struck the hour, the palace gates swung open, and an unexpected figure emerged.

Claude approached him and offered a short bow. If he had simply greeted him and moved on, there would have been nothing strange about it. But the fact that he stood firm, blocking his way, gave Cecil a bad feeling.

Cecil looked up at Claude with a skeptical expression.

“We meet again, Sir Vandell.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have something to say? I’m rather busy.”

Waving him off in hopes he would leave, Cecil was met with unexpected persistence. Hands clasped behind his back, Claude spoke.

“I hear you’ll be starting swordsmanship training today.”

“That’s right.”

“Follow me. It’s His Highness’s order.”

Claude turned on his heel and walked ahead with precise, disciplined strides befitting a knight commander.

“…Hah.”

With a sigh of resignation, Cecil followed. If it was Alexis’s order, he had no choice but to comply.

Their destination was the training grounds. The vast open space was already packed with men.

The recruits, fresh from their selection, were undergoing rigorous training. With disciplined voices, they shouted their chants and commands.

Cecil stood there momentarily dazed, unable to comprehend the situation. Where was Alexis, the one who had promised to teach him? Why had he been thrown into this training ground instead?

Just then, Claude handed him a blunt wooden stick.

“Take it.”

“What is this?”

“Can’t you tell? It’s a practice sword for beginners.”

“You’re giving me a training sword meant for children?”

“One should wield a weapon suited to their skill level.”

Holding the wooden sword in his hand, Cecil blinked in disbelief.

“…You’re not seriously telling me that you’re the one teaching me, are you?”

“His Highness is busy. Before you can learn from him, you need to establish a foundation. I’ll handle your basics, so follow my lead.”

“That wasn’t the deal!”

“I’m not exactly a man with free time, either. I’m simply carrying out His Highness’s orders. If you’re dissatisfied, shall I assign you another knight instead?”

God, he really can’t stand this guy. Clenching his eyes shut, Cecil swallowed back the curse that had almost escaped his lips.

He tightened his grip on the rough wooden hilt. When he opened his eyes again, they glinted with fierce determination.

“If you’re going to teach me, do it properly.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be giving you any special treatment.”

Claude scoffed before taking a deep breath. Then, in his usual commanding tone, he barked out orders.

“We begin with straw-cutting practice! Start!”

Strike, thrust, slash—over and over again. Every time he struck the human-shaped straw dummy, bits of yellow straw scattered into the air.

Cecil had been at it for two hours now.

His palms throbbed, his shoulder joints felt like they would pop out, and his movements were growing increasingly stiff. Wiping the sweat that stung his eyes, he turned his gaze slightly.

A short distance away, the new recruits were still training. They, too, were drenched in sweat.

Still, they had it better than he did. At least they weren’t stuck hacking away at straw dummies.

The moment he smirked, a wooden stick came flying at him. A sharp smack landed on the crown of his head, courtesy of Claude, who glared at him with piercing eyes.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re looking?”

“You dare strike a royal?”

“There is no distinction of rank for trainees. Even His Highness took beatings while learning.”

Damn you, Claude. When I finally learn to wield a sword, you’ll be the first one I stab.

Grinding his teeth, Cecil adjusted his stance. With renewed fury, his strikes tore into the straw figure.

When the grueling basic training finally ended, Cecil threw down the practice sword and collapsed onto the dirt. He burned with frustration—he had to endure this torment before he could train under Alexis? It was infuriating.

“You should maintain your dignity. There are many eyes on you.”

“…Dignity, my ass.”

Be grateful I’m not cursing you out right now. 

Cecil muttered under his breath and wiped his sweat-soaked face.

Damn it, his arms were shaking so badly he barely had the strength to wipe himself off.

“Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Claude shot a glance at the limp Cecil before turning away. Not that he particularly enjoyed this babysitting duty either.

With irritation fueling his strides, he headed straight for Saint’s Palace.

Once again, he ignored the attendants’ protests and stormed into the crown prince’s office.

“Our knight commander walks quite fast, doesn’t he?”

Alexis greeted him casually. His elbow rested on the window sill, as if he had been watching the scene outside just moments ago.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“It wasn’t bad.”

“Can’t I just quit?”

“Is it so lousy?”

“May I be honest? Worse than Yuria.”

Hearing the blunt assessment, Alexis burst into laughter. He had seen it for himself.

Cecil’s shoulders were as weak as a woman’s, and he had no real talent for wielding a sword. It was only natural—he had been coddled and adored in the imperial palace all his life.

“You were the one who taught Yuria how to use a sword. I thought you had a knack for handling kids.”

“That depends on the student.”

“Since he’s doing it anyway, don’t go easy on him. Make it clear. He won’t last long anyway, so cutting off the thought of ever learning swordsmanship again might not be a bad idea.”

Claude silently observed the cold-hearted crown prince.

He had thought Alexis had let go of his wariness toward Cecil, but the man was still as sharp as ever. As he reaffirmed the prince’s true intentions, Claude rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly.

“What if he gets stubborn and actually puts in the effort?”

“Then I’ll deal with him myself.”

A faint smile played at the corner of Alexis’s lips. Such a thing would never happen—he was certain of it.

“I have no intention of breaking my promise.”

Alexis turned his body away. The palace grounds were fully visible through the window, including the training grounds. The tiny speck that was Cecil was still lying on the ground, with his attendants flitting around him in panic.

The amusement had faded from Alexis’s face, leaving only a dry expression behind. Then, with an abrupt motion, he shut the window.

 

***

 

After two weeks, the straw bundle had turned into a log. The training routine hadn’t changed. The drills were dull, tedious, and only resulted in more blisters, yet Cecil came to the training grounds every day, swinging his wooden sword hundreds of times.

Claude was starting to look a little fed up. By now, Cecil should have exhausted himself and quit, but against all expectations, Cecil Adrian had not missed a single lesson. His sheer stubbornness was extraordinary.

Though he had no choice but to waste his precious time on Cecil due to the crown prince’s orders, Claude was reaching his limit. He racked his brain for a solution.

“Starting today, you’ll train with the apprentice knights.”

“Why?”

“You need to learn different sword styles.”

“Can’t I learn that from His Highness?”

“You’re not ready yet.”

Cecil silently glared at him. He planted his wooden sword into the ground like a staff, exhaling in frustration. His sweat-drenched bangs were stiff and unmoving.

“Be honest. You’re just trying to mess with me, aren’t you?”

“…Of course not. This is all part of the process. I am simply being thorough in covering the basics.”

“Alexis received personal training from Sir Wellington! If anything, you should be giving me a private training ground, and yet you’re throwing me in with the apprentices? You’re trying to humiliate me.”

“If you dislike my methods, you’re free to quit at any time. Isn’t sipping tea in a well-kept garden more to your liking? No one is forcing you.”

Claude spread his palm, gesturing toward the exit. His intentions were painfully obvious—he was offering the easy way out.

“Who said I was quitting?”

Cecil slung his wooden sword over his shoulder, tilting his head in lazy defiance.

“Lead the way.”

Among the apprentice knights, Cecil stuck out like a swan among ducklings.

His slender frame was painfully noticeable among the burly men, and his pale, untouched skin was even more conspicuous amidst the sunburnt warriors. He naturally drew attention.

The apprentices, on the other hand, were intimidated. They had never expected to see a royal so up close, let alone train with one. The very idea of clashing swords with him was overwhelming—they couldn’t help but shrink back.

“You idiots! Stand properly!”

Claude’s sharp command had them snapping to attention at once. Standing on the podium, he glared down like a hawk.

While everyone else bowed their heads, Cecil alone remained upright, his fair face staring straight ahead. It was the epitome of royal arrogance. Claude let his gaze roam over the group before landing on Cecil, and for a moment, he nearly sighed.

Ah… Your Highness, why did you have to dump this on me?

Resentment toward Alexis simmered inside him, but like the seasoned knight he was, he kept his face impassive. Then, in a firm voice, he announced,

“The basic swordsmanship drill begins now!”

“Yes, sir!”

It was the same training as always. The moment the command was given, the apprentices moved into formation without hesitation. Since no one was going to guide him, Cecil had to figure things out on his own.

With a loud battle cry, they demonstrated the sixteen attack forms. Watching Claude’s movements from the front, Cecil swung his wooden sword. The dull, worn stick merely cut through the air with a crude sound.

“…This is pissing me off.”

Cecil picked up a rock and flung it at the dirt in frustration, finally voicing his true feelings. His limbs felt as heavy as iron weights, yet his eyes burned with determination.

To be fair, Claude’s instruction was flawless. As much as Cecil disliked him, his skills were undeniable.

The problem was that his own body couldn’t keep up. Having spent most of his life like a greenhouse flower, his stamina was abysmal.

He tripped over his own feet constantly and missed steps, making his movements awkward. No one openly criticized him, but every time he disrupted the rhythm, he felt their stares.

For the first time in his life, Cecil experienced humiliation. He knew it was natural to struggle after only two weeks, but he couldn’t stand his own incompetence.

When a short break was finally given, the apprentices shed their sweat-drenched shirts, walking around half-naked. It was simply a way to cool off—after all, the training grounds were full of men who were used to seeing each other shirtless.

They doused themselves with buckets of cold water, shaking off the excess like wet dogs. Under the scorching sun, the muscular men proudly flaunted their well-built physiques.

Yet, whenever they passed Cecil, they suddenly became modest maidens, crossing their arms over their chests as if to shield themselves.

Seeing this, Cecil let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Do they think I like every man just because I’m one myself?”