The Adventures of an Overpowered Knight in Another World Chapter 550- Under the Shade of the Gazebo

Clad in an elegant deep green gown that fitted snugly to her shape, the material embracing her midsection. The plunging cut of the attire highlighted her ample and curvaceous bust, while her golden tresses flowed down her back akin to a cascading stream.

Simply by standing in place, she radiated an enchanting allure and aristocratic dignity that seized everyone's focus.

The companion figure was Arthur, his younger sibling. The young lad who had been just six years old upon leaving the city had now matured, casting off much of his youthful naivety.

"Welcome home, Master Reinhardt."

As soon as Reinhardt descended from the carriage, the household staff chorused their greeting.

He responded with a mere nod of recognition, then directed his gaze toward Verdia.

For a short instant, the mother and son duo, along with the solitary man and woman, exchanged looks laden with complex emotions.

Shortly after, Verdia's expression gentled, and she quickly averted her eyes.

Her focus then turned to the ladies who alighted behind him. She recognized each of the three women.

Karina, the personal assassin of her son. Anastasia, the former chief maid of their estate, and Zerina, the demi-human recently named as the new Holy Knight of the order.

Though familiar with all three, their intimate proximity to Reinhardt and the effortless way they positioned themselves by his side stirred an uneasy feeling in her heart. She pushed it aside without dwelling and proceeded to greet him warmly.

"Welcome, brother."

Arthur, his younger brother, approached and walked alongside as they made their way into the palace.

The boy had truly developed. He no longer resembled the persistent youngster who would endlessly beg for training sessions.

"Where is father?"

"He has gone to the headquarters of the order, he’ll be back soon."

"I see."

"Why don’t you head to your room and rest. I’ll ask a servant to bring something for you to eat."

"Alright."

Reinhardt inclined his head and proceeded to his quarters.

Once he had settled in his chamber, Reinhardt had scarcely removed his cloak when a loud metallic clash resounded from outdoors, trailed by an exuberant cry.

"...Hah! Take that!"

Reinhardt halted, and then another exclamation rang out, followed by more in quick succession.

Curious, he moved to the window and peered below. In the estate's garden, Arthur was brandishing a wooden sword with abundant zeal but scant skill.

His footing was broad, his hold excessively firm, shoulders rigid, and each swing bore the clear fervor of one striving to appear formidable more than to strike accurately.

Reinhardt offered a rueful smile and shook his head.

.

Hah! Hah!

Arthur kept swinging vigorously, accompanied by spirited yells.

"Good. Your form isn’t bad."

Arthur spun around hastily.

From the tree's shadow, Reinhardt's outline appeared as he stepped forward.

"B-Brother?!" He hadn't detected Reinhardt's presence until the voice addressed him directly.

The elder brother had approached silently, evaluating his form and scrutinizing his moves.

Arthur instinctively stood taller, clutching his wooden sword more firmly.

"I-I was just practicing!"

"I can see that," Reinhardt answered calmly. "You’re putting strength into your swings. That’s good. However, if you only focus on strength, you will lose flexibility. What makes a sword sharp isn’t just its edge, it’s how a swordsman wields it."

Arthur absorbed the counsel attentively and applied it right away. As the duke's second son, Arthur undoubtedly possessed genius equal to the young Reinhardt of old.

"Too wide. Narrow your stance."

"Thumb here. Don’t strangle the hilt, guide it."

He kept offering directives from nearby, steering him and highlighting his errors.

Arthur swiftly adapted, eagerly absorbing every lesson.

"Better, now relax your shoulders. You’re locking them. A sword’s strength is in its powerful strike and flexibility. Now focus."

"Basic stance. Again."

Reinhardt extended his hand, adjusting the boy's hold with expert finesse.

Arthur drew in a deep breath, his eyes gleaming as he replicated each correction. This was precisely what he craved—his elder brother instructing him in the art of the blade.

With Reinhardt's direction and Arthur's keen uptake, moments flew by unnoticed.

"Good. That’s the foundation of all swordsmanship. Before flashy techniques, before power, comes balance. Remember this, in a battle, first your feet decide whether you live or die. Second, your posture decides whether your strike lands true."

Arthur bobbed his head enthusiastically, perspiration trickling down his brow; still, a broad smile lingered on his features, unyielding.

"Alright, that will be enough for today. Any more and your body won’t be able to hold up."

After all, Arthur was merely eight, and his level remained at 2. Overdoing the session could prove counterproductive.

Though eager to press on, Arthur consented with a nod as fatigue coursed through him.

"Brother, will you teach me again?"

Reinhardt parted his lips; this journey to Lumiose city advanced a crucial scheme of his, linked to the world's destiny, demanding his full focus.

Yet, after instructing Arthur briefly, he recognized the boy's prodigious talent and saw that mentoring him could forge a heroic destiny.

Thus, after a moment's reflection, he affirmed with a nod.

"Yes." Arthur leaped in joy.

Sometime amid their session, Verdia had arrived, accompanied by several maids carrying folded towels and a tray of light snacks.

They lingered under the garden arch's shelter, quietly observing the brothers at work.

Arthur, breathless and soaked in sweat but steadfast in his pose, with Reinhardt nearby making precise adjustments.

Verdia refrained from interfering; she gazed entranced. Only upon noticing the session's close did she draw near.

"Mother!"

Arthur, still huffing, suddenly rushed to her upon spotting her. Halting abruptly before her, he addressed Verdia with bright eyes.

"Did you see?! Big brother was teaching me! He fixed my stance and my grip and, look, look!"

Without awaiting her reply, Arthur aligned himself, set his feet, and showcased the posture Reinhardt had instilled.

Knees flexed, spine erect, sword held aloft with notable poise for his years. He added a sample cut to display his vigor.

The maids, struck by his progress or perhaps his joy, showered him with approving words.

"Young master is a prodigy."

"You are surely going to become a splendid knight in the future."

"Hehe."

Arthur scratched his nose, basking in the compliments and spotlight.

Verdia regarded him fondly, a tender warmth filling her bosom. Witnessing her son's delight filled her with the same.

She extended her arms and embraced him.

Then, she turned her focus to Reinhardt, who lingered afar, sipping from a water cup handed by a maid.

"Thank you, for taking the time to teach him. It means more than you know." Verdia said earnestly.

With Raymond perpetually occupied overseeing the domain, family time was scarce, let alone sword lessons for Arthur.

The boy, wise beyond his years, comprehended his father's duties. Still, a portion of him yearned for attention from his father or elder brother.

While he did study under various sword masters, his rank and determination often hindered their instruction.

Reinhardt locked eyes with Verdia and offered a subtle nod.

"He has talent. More importantly, he picks up everything extremely quickly. I only guided him on a few aspects, the rest of it was his own achievement."

.

Joyful laughter echoed across the garden, free and lively.

Arthur weaved amid the flower patches, pursued by maids clutching their hems. Whenever they neared, he dashed off anew.

"Try to catch me."

"Young master, don’t be mischievous, you need to drink milk to grow up."

Evidently, they engaged in a playful chase, with Arthur evading while the maids sought to urge him toward his milk.

From the gazebo, Verdia observed with a gentle smile. Opposite her reclined Reinhardt, his gaze tracking his sibling's antics.

For some time, silence held between them.

As the afternoon light slanted in, Verdia broke the quiet.

"How long will you be staying?"

As a leader, she understood his duties wouldn't permit a prolonged absence, marking his stay as brief. Nonetheless, a twinge of regret tugged at her.

Reinhardt breathed out steadily and shook his head. "I don’t know, a few days... perhaps longer. Or shorter." He hesitated, then continued, "I’m not even certain I can accomplish what I came here to do."

During his words, Verdia examined his features. The era of the delicate youth bedridden, reliant on maids and life-sustaining devices to endure, had vanished.

The figure across from her now exuded confidence, might, and the gravity of duty.