Butler Bill's diary: February 19, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. This afternoon, I took the young master to enroll at Dawnlight Academy. Instructor Locke said that if the young master didn't lose weight, he wouldn't have many years left to live. The Great Swordsman who visited our home two months ago said the same thing. I asked the master to come, and he decided to entrust the young master to Instructor Locke for weight loss and training. He even signed a written guarantee. The master told me to stay at the academy, follow Instructor Locke's orders, and keep my distance from the young master. I agreed, but I had a terrible feeling about what lay ahead for him.
Sure enough, after the meeting, Instructor Locke sent me to buy a cartload of lettuce, carrots, and celery, then took the young master away. When I returned, he led me into a bluestone building and told me to dump everything on the floor. It looked like a quiet room for sword practice. Then I saw the young master huddled in a corner, crying. I wasn't allowed to speak to him or ask what had happened, so I asked Instructor Locke what the young master was doing there.
Instructor Locke gave me a sinister smile. He said this was where the young master would live from now on. Good heavens! There was no bed, no couch, not even a stove. How was the young master supposed to sleep?
Locke didn't care in the least. He said there was a straw mat and a blanket, and that was enough. There was no need for a stove. If the young master got cold at night, he could get up and exercise until he worked up a sweat. The main reason for keeping him here was that the stone walls blocked sound, so no matter how loudly he shouted, he wouldn't disturb the other students' sleep.
I asked what the young master would eat for dinner. He pointed to the vegetables I had bought and said that was all the young master would eat for the next three days. I was shocked. Was he raising the young master like a rabbit? I tactfully told him that the young master disliked vegetables, especially uncooked ones. But he just smiled and patted my shoulder. He said that when people were hungry enough, they would even gnaw on a corpse, let alone vegetables.
Instructor Locke said the most disgusting things. He was cold-blooded, hard-hearted—a devil. The young master had fallen into his hands. Oh, the poor young master! I must write all this down and report it to the master. Locke must not be let off lightly.
Butler Bill's diary: February 20, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. The young master cried and howled for most of last night, but no one paid him any attention. I wanted to go to him, but the instructor's assistant on night duty stopped me and warned me not to approach the stone building without permission. All I could do was listen to the young master's cries from afar, helpless.
The young master cried for most of the night. Then I heard him eating those vegetables. The crunching was loud. He would eat a little, cry for a while, then eat a little more. This went on until dawn, when he finally fell asleep.
Instructor Locke came in the afternoon with several people. They tidied the room, bathed the young master, dressed him in coarse linen, and had him hold out his hand for something called a pulse examination. The young master kept crying and cursing, but Locke and the others ignored him. They even talked about making some kind of whip that would hurt terribly without damaging his bones. Heavens! Were they treating the young master like a slave?
Then Instructor Locke called me over and gave me a set of plans. He told me to build them a large bathhouse at the academy, saying it was needed for the young master's weight-loss regimen. I strongly suspect they were using the young master as an excuse to build something for themselves. I've never seen a bathhouse with such a tiny room made entirely of wood. They called it a steam bath. Who were they trying to fool?
Butler Bill's diary: February 21, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. The young master spent another night chewing vegetables, though he didn't cry and make a fuss as he had the night before.
Instructor Locke came again this afternoon. As yesterday, he bathed the young master, checked his pulse, and tidied the room. He also sent me to buy another cartload of vegetables. I secretly slipped in a few tomatoes. I'm sure the young master will be delighted.
The estimate for the bathhouse in Instructor Locke's plans came back today. It will cost over a hundred gold coins to build. After I submitted it, the master approved the expense and sent family craftsmen to the academy to do the work.
Butler Bill's diary: February 22, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. The young master chewed carrots all night. I seem to have bought too many this time.
Instructor Locke checked the young master's pulse, had someone bathe him, and gave me a list of medicinal ingredients to buy. He said they were for a potion the young master would drink.
Butler Bill's diary: February 23, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Overcast. The young master spent last night chewing celery. The carrots are gone.
Instructor Locke had several people hold the young master down while he poured a test tube of potion down his throat. It must have been bitter. The young master cried again.
Then the young master developed diarrhea.
Butler Bill's diary: February 31, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. The young master slept soundly last night. He didn't snore or mutter in his sleep, and he didn't wake until well after dawn.
He has been drinking that diarrhea-inducing potion for days, but today he seemed to have fewer episodes. He looked more alert, too. A couple of days ago, the diarrhea had left him pale and unsteady on his feet.
Instructor Locke weighed the young master this afternoon. He had lost seventeen jin. In so few days! There's hope for his weight loss after all. I'm delighted. Instructor Locke said he would have to lose at least another hundred and seventy jin to reach a normal weight, though. Is that possible? It's hard to imagine the young master weighing only a hundred and fifty or sixty jin, like me.
Instructor Locke gave me another list of medicinal ingredients. He said the young master no longer needed the potion that caused diarrhea, since most of the grease in his belly had been expelled. Physical training would begin tomorrow, and Locke would make him a new potion.
Butler Bill's diary: February 32, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. The young master slept well last night.
Instructor Locke arrived early this morning and told the young master to run three laps around the training field. The young master refused. Locke took out two fist-sized loaves of bread and said he could have them if he ran. After more than ten days of chewing vegetables, the young master's eyes reddened at the sight of bread. He lunged to snatch it, but Locke knocked him to the ground. Locke said that if he didn't run, the bread would go into the toilet and he would keep eating vegetables.
For those two loaves of coarse black bread, the young master ran three laps around the training field. He had nothing left for the last lap and practically crawled across the finish. Instructor Locke had someone support him as he walked more than half a lap before he caught his breath. Watching the young master desperately stuff bread into his mouth made my heart ache. I wanted to cry.
The young master's meals changed today. Breakfast is a bowl of thin porridge and two loaves of bread. Lunch and dinner are still vegetables. From now on, he must train every day: three laps in the morning, other exercises in the afternoon, and another three laps at night. After every session, he has to drink a large bowl of salt water to replace the salt his body loses. Before bed, he must drink a test tube of potion.
The young master refused to train this afternoon because Instructor Locke wanted him to do things called bunny hops and push-ups. Locke really did take out a whip and lash him. The young master screamed, and a red welt appeared on his body. He had never been beaten in his life! I wanted to stop them, but an instructor's assistant grabbed me and warned me that, under the guarantee the master had signed, they could send the young master home and wash their hands of him if I interfered. I couldn't bear that responsibility. I could only hold back my tears and watch the young master finish his training under the whip.
Butler Bill's diary: February 33, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. The young master moaned all night from his beating. Instructor Locke had someone apply medicine after training, but he was still in too much pain to sleep well. They dragged him up for more physical training this morning.
Today's good news is that the family craftsmen finished the academy bathhouse. After the young master drank his potion tonight, Instructor Locke took him there for a steam bath. I was allowed in to attend to him.
It turned out that a steam bath meant sitting in that tiny wooden room. We heated large cobblestones in the stove until they glowed red, carried them inside in a basin, and poured water over them. The room soon filled with steam. It was so hot it was hard to breathe. Everyone stripped naked. Instructor Locke had a splendid physique, while the young master was covered in fat. I kept carrying in hot cobblestones and pouring water over them until I was drenched in sweat. The young master lay motionless on a wooden platform, oily sweat streaming off him. After about twenty minutes, he passed out. Instructor Locke said it was nothing serious. The heat had left him unable to breathe properly; once we carried him somewhere airy, he would gradually wake up. Then we could rinse him off and put him to bed.
Butler Bill's diary: March 1, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. The young master slept well last night. He has been doing physical training these past few days, always with instructor's assistants following him with whips. If he slacks off, they lash him hard. Every evening, he takes a steam bath. He seems much more energetic now. He no longer gets so winded when he walks or runs, and he seems a little stronger. While I was attending to him in the steam bath tonight, he suddenly grabbed my hand so tightly it hurt. He said he was desperate for meat and begged me to find him some roast meat to taste.
But I don't dare. When the young master spoke to me, he didn't know the instructor bathing with him was standing right behind him. That instructor gave me a fierce glare. It was a warning.
Instructor Locke didn't come today. I heard he has an academy duel tomorrow, followed by the challenger days. I can't imagine anyone arrogant enough to face the Silver Rank instructors of twenty-seven academies alone and call himself "Invincible at Silver Rank." I heard the instructors say that more than sixteen hundred outside Silver Rank challengers have arrived. I refuse to believe neither they nor the academies' Silver Rank instructors can beat Instructor Locke. He's only an Iron Rank swordsman. The Beauty and the Sword tavern in the Academy District is taking bets. I heard that if you bet on Instructor Locke to lose, one small silver coin pays one gold coin. I'll wager one gold coin tonight. If I win, that's a hundred Gold Fudes! I hope Instructor Locke loses tomorrow.
March 2. The weather was clear.
Lorist strolled leisurely through the academy, seemingly unconcerned about the academy duel about to begin.
Lorist had received the academy's duel schedule the night before, though it covered only the interacademy matches. The outside challengers were scheduled to begin on March 3—tomorrow—but there was no list of opponents. Fatty Shi had forgotten it, or perhaps omitted it deliberately. He figured a list of challengers made no difference to Lorist. He was busy enough as it was; who had time to copy out a list of losers? By contrast, the information he gave El was extremely detailed. It heaped praise on the challengers, as though every one of them could easily cut Lorist down.
"Can't attract bettors otherwise. There's money at stake, so details matter," Fatty Shi said, spreading his hands with an innocent look.
Lorist couldn't be bothered to argue. Violet Academy was here to duel today. It ranked twenty-first and didn't seem to have any notable Silver Rank instructors. Lorist was having trouble working up any enthusiasm.
Fatty Shi was directing members of the academy's Enforcement Department to set up a cordon. He had even drafted more than half the Swordsmanship Club's elite members. Seeing Lorist looking around in boredom, he said, "Don't leave yet. There'll be a good show in a moment."
The show Fatty Shi had promised soon began. A dark mass of people appeared at the academy gates. At the front marched a group of Silver Rank instructors wearing Violet Academy badges, every one of them strutting with an air of supreme importance. Most of the people behind them had come from other academies to watch.
Headmaster Levens stood with his cane before the academy's indoor training hall, which had undergone a month of hurried expansion, to greet the other headmasters. After a lively round of greetings and insincere smiles, he courteously welcomed the Violet Academy delegation and the headmasters inside. But the instructors and students who had come to watch behind them were stopped at the door.
"What's the meaning of this, you old cripple?" Headmaster Weston of Saint Maso Academy demanded, his expression dark.
Headmaster Levens had suffered a serious illness as a child, something like polio, and his legs had never worked properly since.
Headmaster Levens smiled faintly and replied calmly, "You old bastard, Violet Academy is here to duel. You headmasters are honored guests of our academy, so I came to welcome you personally. I didn't invite the people behind you. If they want to go in, they can use that door."
Headmaster Weston looked where Levens pointed. Four large words were written over the nearby entrance: "Admission by ticket only." Beside it was a little window marked "Ticket Office."
"Tickets are cheap. Just one small silver coin per person," Headmaster Levens said.
"You old cripple, all you can think about is money. You won't even let a few coins go. Can't you be generous for once? I'll cover everyone's tickets today. Go count how many people there are." With a grand flourish, Headmaster Weston pulled out a fine money pouch and tossed it to a Silver Rank instructor from Saint Maso Academy.
"Headmaster Weston, you're magnificent!" "Thank you, Headmaster Weston!" Cheers rose from the crowd outside.
Headmaster Levens acted as if he hadn't noticed Weston's smug expression. He calmly gestured ahead. "This way, everyone."
The expanded indoor training hall had been transformed. At its center stood a rectangular platform seven meters long and five meters wide, surrounded by eight tiers of seating. It could probably hold more than two thousand spectators.
Lorist stood lazily on the platform, watching several pretty women in Dawnlight Academy uniforms weave through the stands. In clear, sweet voices, they called, "Place your bets! Anyone want to place a bet? Bet a large silver coin on Instructor Locke to win and receive one small silver coin! Bet a small silver coin on Violet Academy to win and receive one large silver coin!"
Headmaster Weston and Violet Academy's headmaster flew into a rage in the stands. "What's the meaning of this, you old cripple?"
Headmaster Levens said lightly, "Just a few students earning money to pay for their studies. What's the fuss? Perhaps they support Instructor Locke and have more confidence in him, so they set those odds. If you two don't like it, you can place a few bets yourselves. Win, and you'll teach them a lesson."
As if you weren't behind this, you old cripple! Both headmasters glared at Levens. Weston said, "I've still got a dozen or so Gold Fudes in this pouch. Put it all on Violet Academy to win. I'll clean you out, you old cripple!"
Violet Academy's headmaster was rallying his instructors. "Everyone, get your money out and bet on our academy. That brat on the platform hasn't got two extra heads or three hands. He's only Iron Rank! I refuse to believe our twenty Silver Rank instructors can't handle him. We could wear him down just by taking turns!"
The students selling betting slips in the stands could barely keep up. Nearly everyone bet on Violet Academy. Only a few Dawnlight Academy instructors who had come to watch placed bets on Instructor Locke.
Holding a thick stack of betting slips, Violet Academy's headmaster sat beside Weston and spoke in a low voice. "Instructor Wobas may only be a Silver Two-star, but his swordsmanship is exceptionally fierce. I sent him out first to test that Locke brat's true ability. If Locke really is skilled, our strategy will be to drag things out and wear him down by taking turns... Look, Instructor Wobas is on the platform. He's an experienced fighter who's won seventeen of his eighteen duels... Uh..."
Instructor Wobas, in whom the headmaster had placed such high hopes, collapsed at Lorist's feet in a single exchange, his limbs twitching. It had happened so fast that the headmaster hadn't even seen how Wobas fell. Lorist hadn't drawn his sword. The headmaster's stream of words stopped as abruptly as if someone had cut his throat. He pointed at the platform, too stunned to speak.
Fatty Shi strode onto the platform, checked Wobas, and announced loudly, "A heavy blow to the jaw. He's unconscious. Next!"
In less than half an hour, all twenty of Violet Academy's Silver Rank instructors had been carried off the platform. Lorist even yawned during the matches.
The students selling betting slips hugged one another and cheered. The Enforcement Department members guarding the hall raised their swords and chanted, "Instructor Locke! Invincible at Silver Rank!"
Weston sat in the stands with a grim face and said nothing. He tore his betting slips to shreds, stood, and left without so much as a word to Levens. The spectators from the other academies filed out as well, their heads hanging.
Violet Academy's headmaster sat frozen, his face ashen. Betting slips slipped from his hand and scattered across the floor, but he didn't notice. How was this possible? His academy's twenty Silver Rank instructors had lost so easily. Every one had been knocked down in a single exchange. Even the best of them had only lasted three moves against Locke.
Lorist caught Fatty Shi by the arm. "How many challengers did you notify for tomorrow's duels?"
"Twenty," Fatty Shi said. "Same as today."
Lorist smacked his lips. "Too few. Make it fifty next time. The sooner we get through them, the sooner it's done."
Butler Bill's diary: March 2, Year 167 of the Alliance Calendar. Clear. I lost a gold coin today. I never imagined Violet Academy would be so useless. Not one of its twenty Silver Rank instructors could beat Instructor Locke. Tomorrow will be different, though. The challengers are renowned Silver Rank mercenary fighters, nothing like academy instructors who spend all day talking. Fortunately, the odds haven't changed. It looks like I can still win my gold coin back.
The young master was well today. His training and bath went as usual.
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