The First Letter (60)

When I drew my sword, Celin merely stared at me with a bewildered expression. She had every reason to. She had probably never been suddenly challenged to a duel with live blades before.

To make matters worse, the two of us had just had a major falling-out. There were even tear tracks around Celin’s eyes. And judging by her tearful voice, she too had apparently been suffering in her own way.

In the past, whenever I got angry, Celin would come to me first and soothe me. She seemed to have intended to do the same today, but that would accomplish nothing.

In any case, Celin and Seria’s relationship was practically a time bomb waiting to go off. The fact that their quarrel had escalated all the way to a swordfight, rather than remaining a verbal argument, said it all. Their conflict could not be resolved simply by getting angry and apologizing a few times.

Then there was only one answer.

I had to give her a reason she could not help but accept defeat—and there was only one thing that could make a swordsman submit.

A duel with live blades.

Neither eloquence nor social grace, nor anything else, was necessary. Only a battle fought blade against blade could settle things cleanly, without leaving room for further complaints.

Celin still looked utterly dumbfounded. She opened her mouth haltingly.

“W-well, S-Senior Ian… W-what is this?”...