Log Horizon - Volume 10 - Chapter 3.3

3 
In early summer of Iselus’s eighth year, an event occurred that would later be known as the Catastrophe. 
There had been no explosions or flashes of light, and the earth hadn’t rumbled, but it had definitely been a major incident. It had begun with the sudden disappearance of Adventurers from the city of Maihama. 
For the first few days, the adults had thought it was probably just a coincidence or accident. Gradually, though, they realized it was not just temporary confusion, but some sort of serious incident. 
At that point, all sorts of rumors began to fly. Many of them were critical ones, to the effect that the Adventurers had suddenly grown lazy or were plotting a revolt, but even in the beginning, Iselus had thought those accusations were false and misdirected. 
This was because he adored tales of chivalry, and to him, the Adventurers had been legendary beings. 
Before long, slowly, new information began to trickle into the city: 
People said the Adventurers had gathered in Akiba and held a meeting. Iselus had heard from his mother, Saraliya, that the Adventurers had come up against some sort of big problem as well and that, having no idea how to resolve it, they were at their wits’ end. 
On learning this, the adults had begun to argue energetically over whether they should negotiate with them or make them part of the Lords’ Council instead, but Iselus knew what they should do. 
If the heroic Adventurers were up against a problem that had them confounded, it meant this was a worldwide emergency!! 
Under such perilous circumstances, it was a mistake to discuss things like who was superior, or what to do about rank, while the other party wasn’t present. Iselus told them as much, but the adults were getting dragged around by their own situations, and they didn’t seem to hear him. 
It hadn’t been the adults’ fault, of course. Iselus hadn’t been able to explain himself properly. Now, after a year had passed, he understood that. 
Iselus was the grandson of the lord, so the knights of the Glass Greaves and the territory’s wealthy merchants bowed their heads to him politely. It did make him feel proud, but at the same time, it made him feel terribly uncomfortable. 
When they complimented him, the words sometimes rang false. That was sad. When they yielded to Iselus, he sometimes felt it was because they wanted to get into his grandfather’s good graces, not because Iselus himself was right. It made him feel as if his existence was trivial, and he’d flown into a temper a few times. 
In short, the people around Iselus listened to what he said when it was convenient and didn’t listen when it wasn’t. Since he was still a child, there was probably was no help for that, and it still hurt him. 
It was his big sister Raynesia who had changed the situation. 
Raynesia had participated in the Lords’ Council, simultaneously making her debut, and he’d been told that, after many twists and turns, she’d been granted a post in Akiba. After the council had ended, she had departed for Akiba on orders from their grandfather, Duke Sergiad, and had been given the mission of helping their subjects there. Iselus wanted to see Adventurers, and he’d been terribly jealous. 
It had also been a great shock to him. 
He loved Raynesia as a pretty, gentle family member who had to be protected, but at the same time, Iselus had been given a boy’s upbringing, and he’d unconsciously assumed that he—not Raynesia—would be the one who would help his family (in other words, the duke) in its work someday. 
Even with the age difference, the fact that his older sister had been the one to be given a job had shocked him. 
He’d heard that his sister had ridden off with her guardian knight Krusty and fought against the goblin forces. However, it hadn’t been out of adoration for the Adventurers; she’d done it as the sacred duty of the ruling family. 
Yet, his sister didn’t dream of tales of chivalry. As her little brother, he knew this. When she’d joined hands with the Adventurers, then used that friendship to rescue the people, she probably hadn’t felt giddy, the way Iselus would have. 
Iselus, who’d wanted to catch a glimpse of the Adventurers and see them fight, really was still just a child. He thought his sister was not merely beautiful, but a proud, splendid woman. Compared with her, he was only a fledgling. He wasn’t even qualified to complain about how people treated him yet. 
And once he’d realized that, there were mountains of things he needed to do. 
In order to work with the Adventurers, Iselus had to have sufficiently complete knowledge of his family’s work, and he had to grow as a noble. His big sister was able to work with the Adventurers precisely because she was the most beautiful noblewoman in Eastal, the intelligent lady known as the “Winter Rose Princess.” Iselus was half his sister’s age, and there were countless things he had to learn. 
Fortunately, Iselus was the prime candidate for heir to Sergiad’s duchy, and he had no shortage of tutors. He learned about history and geography both inside and outside of Eastal from his mother, Saraliya, and his father, Phenel, told him about the territory’s industry and terrain in detail. It was still too soon for him to join the knights in their training, but at this point, everyone—even the gardeners and grooms—seemed to Iselus to have expert knowledge and techniques, and to be teachers he should learn from. 
About a year had passed since then, and Iselus had almost reached his ninth birthday. He had (as far as he was concerned) grown a lot taller (he thought), and he was being trained by Isaac, an Adventurer whose byname was “Black Sword.” 
A dry, high-pitched sound echoed in the small courtyard. 
The wooden sword had been made to suit Iselus’s height, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t even touch Isaac’s clothes with it. 
“Isaac the Young… Is this…not going to work?” Iselus asked, hiding his rough breathing. 
“I dunno. Move around more and swing that sword all over the place.” 
“Yes, sir!” 
He unleashed a two-handed diagonal downward slash, then a sideways sweep, and then he inverted his wrists and thrust. 
For an eight-year-old, Iselus’s swordsmanship wasn’t bad, but naturally, that was with the qualifier “for a Person of the Earth child.” Isaac held a great sword in one hand as if it were a stick, even though it had to weigh ten times what Iselus’s wooden sword did, and whenever he moved it, he deflected Iselus’s attacks. 
Training with Isaac was different from what it had been with his other instructors. 
There were no practice swings or forms. All they did was fight mock battles. There were no pauses, and no set time limits. If Iselus got out of breath, Isaac started prodding him with his sheathed great sword. 
Iselus knew quite well that this wasn’t an attack or anything like it: He was just pushing his body with the scabbard of his sword. He wasn’t able to parry the thrusts, though, and if he took them, he couldn’t keep himself from rolling away like a billiard ball. These fights continued for as long as his strength held out, and when he finally started to have trouble breathing, he fell down right where he was and rested. 
Since there were no explanations of forms or technical theory, he didn’t even know how he should swing his sword. Of course there was a skill difference, but even before that, Iselus was an eight-year-old Person of the Earth, while Isaac had fought in scores of raids. Since there was such a huge difference between their fundamental physical capabilities, it wasn’t even possible to tell whether that difference had shrunk or grown. He didn’t know whether he was better or worse today than he’d been yesterday. 
Of the training Iselus had experienced, Isaac’s variety was far and away the strictest. However—and this startled Iselus—it didn’t bother him at all. 
“Hup.” 
“Oh!” 
Before he noticed it, Isaac’s sheathed great sword had moved, and the sensation of the object Iselus held in his hands had disappeared. Behind him, there was a whistling sound as something spun through the air: His sword had been knocked flying. 
When he tried to look up, Iselus lost his balance, fell down, and gazed up at the sky. 
He was breathing hard, and he couldn’t get to his feet. 
“Isaac the Young, you’re—hff! Haahff!” 
“Yeah, break time. That’s fine; just lie there and catch your breath.” 
“Yes, sir. Hff, hff.” 

“You sure are weak.” 
“Yes…” 
As you’d expect, hearing it said straight-out like that made him sad. He was so tired he couldn’t even move, but the words he got out sounded disconsolate. 
“Well, uh, you know. Don’t let it get you down. You People of the Earth are all weak, so you’re not that different.” 
“Is that right.” 
His thoughtfulness made Iselus laugh a little. The wind felt soft, and the sunlight was warm. Pansies swayed in this courtyard, too. Feeling gentle, Iselus said, “Do the members of the chivalric order also seem weak to you, Isaac the Young?” 
“Yeah. They’re weak. They’ve still got a long ways to go.” 
“Hmm. How can I become stronger?” 
“I dunno if you really need to get all that strong, do you?” 
That’s irresponsible, Iselus protested. He might be the lord someday, and he had to polish both his sword skills and his horsemanship. 
“Having guts is more important. The strength’ll follow, bit by bit.” 
Isaac let the comment slide, ignoring it. Then he rummaged through the bag at his waist, pulled out a straight dagger that was about twenty-five centimeters long, and casually tossed it to Iselus. 
“There, use that.” 
“Huh…?” 
The dagger had spun through a half rotation to land neatly in the palm of his hand. Iselus stared at it, immediately realizing it had cost an incredible sum. 
As a noble, Iselus was more used to seeing different types of weapons and gear than the average native. He’d actually seen things referred to as “famous swords” and “demon swords”—even those had been handed down through his House. 
After the Catastrophe, a variety of Adventurer-made tools had flowed into Maihama, and weapons had been no exception. However, equip items came with their own levels and levels at which you could use them. As a result, items created by top-class Adventurer artisans went for sky-high prices, which only people of his rank could even think to afford. 
“You don’t weigh much, so that wooden sword puts your center of gravity too far out. If you learn to use that well, your sword skills will improve, too.” 
“But this is an Adventurer dagger. It’s really expensive.” 
It was true. 
To him, this dagger must have carried an unbelievable price. 
Isaac was an Adventurer, and an unmannered one with no common sense at that. So he probably didn’t know, but in Maihama, he could have bought a house with a single dagger like this. The knife had a gleam to it that looked obviously strong, and Iselus had very nearly been captivated by it already. Even so, he had managed to force that question out. Because of the economics, he’d had no choice. 
Iselus really liked Isaac. He loved this huge warrior, who was cheerful and rough and didn’t pay any attention to fiddly details. That was why, even though the training was as harsh as it was, he’d never once thought that he didn’t want to do it. 
“I’m not giving it to you just because. I hear it’s your birthday. Unless guys have that sort of thing, they go bad. Like a motorcycle, or armor. If stuff like that stops getting you all worked up, you’re done, y’know?” 
“There’s something wrong with your sense of money, Isaac the Young.” 
Iselus didn’t know what a motorcycle was, but his chest was so hot he thought it might burst. He’d said something blunt to hide his embarrassment, but his face kept trying to smile, and he couldn’t stop it. He was probably wearing a pretty pitiful smile for a boy. 
“What, you don’t want it? Well, fine. Give it back. C’mon.” 
The part about being so worn out from training that he couldn’t move a finger had been a lie. 
Hugging the knife and spinning around, Iselus thanked Isaac: “Waaaaah! No. I’m tremendously happy! It’s an Adventurer Dagger! Thank you very much!” 
What was this crest? When he examined it closely, he found the signature “Tatara” and a small Black Sword mark. 
What’s more, this dagger was custom-made, and it matched the ones Isaac and the others had!! 
The discovery made the boy’s heart overflow. He believed without question that the Knights of the Black Sword were the best chivalric order in Yamato, and their crest was more splendid than a knight’s rank. 
“You should’ve just been honest and said ‘thank you’ to start with. Sheesh.” 
“Heh-heh-heh. Oh!” 
“What?” 
Iselus, who’d spun around several times, jumped and pointed upward. 
There was a shadow there, racing toward them across a sky of light spring clouds. He knew that shape; it was the same as the one Isaac had shown him, and Iselus raised his voice openly. 
“It’s a griffin!” 
“Ah. Somebody from the Round Table? Little Miss Riezé, huh? Maybe she brought the princess back for the reception.” 
“Isaac the Young, we must bathe forthwith.” 
“Maaan, pain in the butt.” 
Come to think of it, tonight was the presentation banquet. 
Iselus, who’d abruptly remembered this, nearly tackled Isaac, pushing his back from behind. The shadow of the griffin was rapidly coming closer. If his big sister was riding it, he might not have much time left to get ready. 
“We have to. Ladies who are looking for husbands are coming to the banquet, too!” 
“Okay. Okay already. Seriously, kid, that’s the only stuff you’re fussy about.” 
Isaac protested, and Iselus scolded him. However, again and again, his eyes went to the dagger he wore at his waist. This was an important treasure. It was also proof that he’d learned swordsmanship from Isaac. 
“You have to wash behind your ears, too.” 
Iselus went into the manor, clinging to his beloved Isaac.