As the sky over Arcadia began to lighten and the morning sun illuminated the garden of Sylvia's mansion.

Christophe was already sweating, holding a wooden sword in his hand.

(...and I'm also chasing a little bit of a dream.)

Once, he couldn't achieve greatness as an adventurer. Now, he was aiming for that again, just a little bit.

There's probably not much he can do from here on out.

(...Since I was hoping Sylvia and the others would live, I should first show them, as their senior in life, how I am living with all my might, right?)

The remaining time in life that could be called the rest of one's life.

It's more of an activity, like a hobby, rather than aiming for ability or a higher level.

However, of course, he had no intention of cutting corners.

Before Christophe's eyes was the figure of Fana.

She has a wooden sword resting on her shoulder and is wearing a relaxed expression.

Right now, Christophe was asking them to teach him and give him practice. Today, it was Fana's turn to be his opponent.

Fana's usual weapon was a battle axe, but she was also reasonably skilled with a sword. She was originally from the Ascali tribe, a race known for using whatever was at hand as a weapon and charging through countless battlefields.

They were a race with incredibly high pain tolerance, not just combat ability, and they could even turn pain into strength, making them perfectly suited for combat.

The next moment, Fana stomped hard on the ground with a sharp exhale. With a dull thud, her feet sank slightly into the garden soil, which should have been hard.

If Sylvia excels in swordsmanship that utilizes her lightning-fast speed, Fana's is the complete opposite. It's not about speed, but about overwhelming, crushing swordsmanship that prioritizes power.

Each time the wooden swords clashed fiercely, Christophe's body trembled from the core, and his arms went numb from the weight of the blows.

The impact was like being hit by a boulder, and though he stumbled several times, he desperately blocked it with his wooden sword, struggling to somehow deflect its immense power.

Christophe understood that Fana was attacking him just to the point where he could still endure it.

For the past few days, Christophe has been able to learn swordsmanship from different people: Sylvia, Ester, and Fana. He's aware that this is a very fortunate environment.

Christophe remembers Ester's sword. Although she usually uses a hammer, she used a sword during their training. Her fighting style emphasizes counterattacks. That should have worked perfectly against Fana right now, but Christophe wasn't as skilled as Ester.

"Master, your footwork is still too weak. That will give your opponent an opening to get close."

Fana's warm yet sharp voice rings out. Her guidance is practical and precise, never missing even the slightest quirk in Christophe's movements.

Fana's powerful swordplay is not simply brute force. Despite being a wooden sword, each swing, as if wielding a battle axe, is backed by precise weight shifting and body movement.

At the moment of impact, Fana skillfully uses the flat of her wooden sword to deflect Christophe's blade, sometimes even trying to forcefully knock it away. The impact is tremendous, and Christophe, enduring the numbness in his arm, desperately adjusts the angle of his sword, trying to somehow absorb the shock with his footwork and hip rotation.

Christophe was constantly aware of Fana's unique spacing, desperately trying to regain his footing while looking for an opportunity to counterattack.

Even though Fana and Christophe's wooden swords were the same length and weight, Fana's was incredibly versatile. She would misjudge the distance with her footwork or swing with her arm fully extended. These subtle techniques made the same weapon appear completely different.

This wasn't just about Fana. All three of them moved with absolutely no waste, utilizing their opponents' strength and achieving maximum effect with minimal movement. Their fighting style was exactly the level I aspired to reach.

The training continued for a while, but it would end for the morning when Christophe reached his limit.

Christophe fought the urge to collapse on the spot and let his heavy, leaden arms hang limply. Sweat was pouring off his entire body like a waterfall, and his breathing was still uneven.

Sylvia approaches Christophe with a towel.

"Christophe-san, you must be tired… Are you okay?"

"I would like to say I'm okay... but I'm completely exhausted... It's even too much effort to lift my arm."

As Christophe said that, half jokingly, Sylvia stopped her hands completely.

Then, as if she had just come up with something brilliant, her eyes suddenly lit up.

"That's... if you would like, shall I wipe your sweat? You know... Christophe-san looks like you are having a hard time, don't you?"

Sylvia looked at Christophe with eyes full of anticipation and said in a somewhat excited tone. Her eyes seemed to overflow with the feeling, "I want to take care of you...!"

"No, it's okay. I can handle this myself. Thank you."

Christophe chuckled wryly, finally accepting the towel from Sylvia this time and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He was genuinely pleased by her thoughtfulness, but he also thought it wouldn't be right for a forty-year-old man to have a beautiful S-rank adventurer wipe his sweat so solicitously.

"S-so... for now, let's leave that towel for later..."

Sylvia mumbled something under her breath, but then she quickly smiled.

Chapter 27