179 Weiss and Belk ①

After crashing at Belk’s place for a few days, I realized that everyone’s skills were sharpening—mostly thanks to Carta. I wouldn’t call her a mentor, exactly, but she certainly got results.

I also hated to admit it, but the place was actually quite comfortable. It was frustrating, but I had to give it to the guy—his talent for being a doting junior was top-tier.

Carta was apparently taking it easy over at Meryl’s house nearby, looking as happy as could be. Word was they were feeding her nothing but the finest feasts.

Unfortunately, I couldn't afford a good night's sleep tonight. It was a hassle, but a necessary one.

Besides, this was originally supposed to be Allen’s job.

I couldn't believe that idiot had gone off to train at a time like this. Who on earth was he with, anyway?

I slipped out of my room and glanced toward the courtyard. Sure enough, there he was, being as desperate as ever.

"Same as always," I muttered.

"——Hah! Haa!"

Out in the sprawling courtyard, Belk was shirtless, swinging his sword with single-minded focus. He was practicing forms so basic they were almost laughable. Honestly, I doubted any other student at Noblesse would be caught dead doing something so mundane.

But the guy just kept at it—the same grounded, repetitive grind, every single day and night, drenched in sweat.

When we first fought, his swordsmanship looked like nothing more than the product of a good bloodline. It was all solid forms mixed with the occasional nonsensical strike. But that was intentional. In a serious match, his blade was more graceful than anyone’s.

A self-taught style always leaves openings. No matter how much you train, you can never quite match the refined movements of a knight or someone serving directly under the Royal Family.

Belk understood that. But he also understood that being "graceful" would only get him so far.

Teacher Milk, Zebis, and Eva—they all had their own unique, personal techniques they had polished themselves. Belk was trying to forge his own through sheer, dogged repetition. He knew what he was doing, and he understood that failure was just a part of the process.

To most of the crowd at Noblesse, Belk probably looked like a natural genius—just another brat coasting on his innate lineage. But he wasn't that shallow. He could have lived a life far happier than the average person just by existing, yet here he was, hell-bent on becoming truly strong.

Belk had decided to enroll in Noblesse after watching the exchange between Allen and me at the tournament. That meant I had to take at least a little bit of responsibility for the way his life was turning out.