The Ideal Sponger Life: Volume 13 [Parts 1 to 5] by Tsunehiko Watanabe

Author:Tsunehiko Watanabe
Language: eng
Format: epub

Intermission — Prince Eric’s Visit to Capua

While Zenjirou was struggling with his rite, the first prince of Uppasala was dripping with sweat in a training area.

“Phew!”

Standing in front of him, wearing flexible leather armor and with a rounded-off wooden spear in his hands, was Marshal Pujol. He was even bigger than Eric and was calmly facing the prince, who held the same weapon. His broad smile spoke louder than any words. “Come at me however you like,” it said.

Eric understood the expression and let out a yell as he attacked.

“Hah!”

He thrust with the spear. A quick, short thrust meant that even a blunted spear could kill and injure. Still, as soon as it touched Pujol’s spear, its trajectory warped like magic, being diverted down.

“I think not!”

Eric pulled his spear back in an arc from under Pujol’s. He then swung again, in an arch toward the marshal’s right flank.

That was well within the man’s expectations, though. He simply pulled back his hands and sent the prince’s spear into the air instead.

“Hah! Hahhh! Hahhhhh!”

Eric had thrown away all composure and attacked with abandon. Their bout lasted for a long time, and his expression changed as it continued. It started at irritation, then progressed to anger before eventually warping to joy.

The irritation was simply explained. The prince was confident in his strength and was irritated that his attacks were having no effect. Eventually, that became anger as he realized that Pujol was better than him and simply “playing” with him by merely defending. His anger had finally become joy when he realized that Pujol was even stronger than he had imagined.

The marshal wasn’t playing with him; he was giving him guidance. The proof was that whenever Eric tried to attack with poor timing, his opponent wouldn’t let him attack at all, whereas if his attempt was well timed, Pujolwould defend against it. Additionally, whenever the prince put too much strength behind his attack and ruined his balance, the marshal would strike just harshly enough that it wouldn’t injure him.

This wasn’t a duel, it was instruction. While Eric was part of the royal family, he was also one of the best warriors in the country. There were several people who could beat him in a bout with spears, but not one of them could teach him like this while he was going all out. His tendency to show almost unconditional respect to any skilled warrior could at times be a detriment.

“Hah! Hrah! Hmph!”

Even his strongest attacks were being warded off and used as teaching aids. He had forgotten what that felt like and found himself just concentrating solely on his spearwork, his mind blank.

“Let us leave things there,” Pujol said. While he was drenched in sweat, he was breathing evenly.

Eric, on the other hand, barely managed an agreement through gasps of breath. The prince was visibly exhausted to anyone who cared to look—so much so that the very fact that he was still on his feet could be attributed to pride more than anything else.

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