Chapter 92
It's been about eighteen years since I met Win.
His actual age is twenty-four, which in human terms puts his physical development at about that of a twelve-year-old.
Thinking about it now, Win does seem to be growing a little quickly—even for a half-elf.
Compared with living in the forest, he probably eats properly and enjoys good nutrition, while also getting plenty of exercise from sword training and smithing, so that's probably why he's growing so quickly.
He hasn't been learning smithing for very long yet, but Azvardo—that damn dwarf master of his—says he has enthusiasm, learns quickly, and has a good feel for it.
Apparently, he's particularly skilled at handling the furnace, thanks to the aid of a fire spirit.
But Win never tells me any of this himself, which makes me a little lonely.
I don't expect him to tell me about being scolded or failing at something, but he could at least tell me about the times he was praised.
But Azvardo says that it's only natural for a boy not to report every little thing to his guardian, and that if I want Win to grow, I should quietly watch over him for now. So I don't press him.
It was a little galling, almost as if Azvardo understood Win better than I did.
No, actually, I really didn't understand what Win had been feeling lately—or rather... ah, no.
If I reflected on my own past, I would know exactly what it was. I was only trying not to think about it because I felt lonely and found it hard to accept.
That's right. By keeping his distance from me, his guardian, Win had begun cultivating his independence and preparing himself to become an adult.
I, too, was treated as an adult at the age of one hundred and fifty—fifteen in human terms—and left the deep forest of my homeland.
The difference in growth rates between High Elves and half-elves is considerable.
If Win had reached the age of about twelve in human terms, then the time for him to become an adult probably isn't all that far away.
Even so, Win still spends time with me.
That includes mealtimes, but the longest stretch is spent training with our swords.
Since Win had learned the Yosogi style from Kaeha just as I had, we continued practicing it together even here in the dwarven nation.
After all, even when going through the forms, two people were better than one at noticing when something was off, and we could also spar with wooden swords.
Ever since the incident in the Fodor Empire, I felt that my feelings toward sparring had changed a little.
In the past, I had been unable to see sparring as anything other than a comparison of techniques.
I had always focused on how to use my honed skills without letting them falter amid movements unlike my usual ones.
In short, perhaps I had been interested only in asserting myself.
Of course, sparring was something both sides contributed to, so I did make sure to receive my opponent's techniques properly, but my mindset was the problem.
Now, though, I found the back-and-forth before unleashing a technique fairly enjoyable, and I had begun taking an interest in my opponent.
Precisely because I wanted to become stronger, I started watching my opponent more closely, and by watching them, I could tell when I should press forward aggressively.
This wasn't only true when Win was my opponent. The same was true when a dwarf warrior occasionally joined our training to spar with me.
Ideally, I would like to relearn the Yosogi style from Kaeha with my current outlook, but that would probably have to wait a little longer.
At the very least, I planned to remain in the dwarven nation until Win finished learning the fundamentals of smithing from Azvardo.
Well, I had gotten off track, but the share of sparring in Win's and my training had increased a little.
"Yaaaaah!!!"
Win drove his wooden sword at me with a shout and fighting spirit that made the air tremble. I caught it with my own wooden sword and turned it aside.
But Win's momentum didn't stop.
I couldn't say whether "reckless abandon," "headlong charge," or "fearless aggression" best described it, but he was trying to overwhelm me through sheer momentum, a flurry of blows, and fighting spirit.
His momentum was tremendous.
He seemed to have learned something from a dwarf warrior recently and incorporated it into his own style.
A dwarf warrior's finishing blow, which made use of physical strength and weight, was difficult for Win and me to reproduce with our physiques.
If anything, we—and the Yosogi style—excelled in sharpness and speed.
Thus, what Win had taken from the dwarf warrior was momentum and fighting spirit. Since he lacked weight behind a single blow, he was trying to make up for it with a flurry of attacks.
His sword was far too sharp to dismiss merely as a child's sword.
After all, Win had been practicing the Yosogi style for more than ten years already.
Even while adjusting his techniques to suit his limbs as they lengthened little by little, he had accumulated all those years of experience.
So I met his sword without giving an inch.
If I gave ground, it would be easier to parry his swings.
But if I retreated even one step, Win's momentum would grow stronger still, and he'd eventually overwhelm me.
He really had grown.
I could no longer easily treat him as a child.
Win surely had the potential to become a far better swordsman than I was.
Yet precisely because of that, I stepped forward.
Even an unbroken barrage had moments when the sword had to be drawn back.
Just as even waves that keep surging onto shore have a moment to recede, Win had a moment to draw back his wooden sword before launching the next attack.
In that instant, I swung my wooden sword, slipping into the narrow opening.
It wasn't that I refused to acknowledge Win's growth, but... even after acknowledging it, I wanted him to remain in my care just a little longer.
I couldn't keep a fledgling from leaving the nest, but still—just a few more years.
When our wooden swords collided, mine had greater force thanks to the step I had taken forward, and I drove the off-balance Win back.
After our sparring ended, we faced each other and bowed, but Win couldn't hide his frustration, leaving me with mixed feelings of relief and guilt.
Ah, why did relationships between people have to be so difficult?
I'm sure that, looking back later, even the time spent agonizing over things like this will probably be a happy memory.