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Goblin Chapter 248: Learning Sword with Adèle
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 11:18:21 +0000 UTC“Vives… the Whitewave family…”
Gauss searched his memory and quickly placed where he’d heard the name: on the road from Grayrock to Lincrown, that talkative cavalry captain had mentioned local powers in passing—and the Vives, a.k.a. the Whitewave family, were a viscount house with deep influence across the “Coral Tri-Cities.” The clan was large and wealthy, and their roots—their home base—were right here in Sena.
Seeing Gauss’s pensive look, Adèle smiled faintly, unsurprised he’d heard of them. She lifted the fragrant tea the server had brought, took a small sip, and went on in an even tone.
“So you’ve heard of my family,” she said, setting the cup down and idly tracing an irregular circle on the tabletop. “In this port, nearly thirty percent of the taxes and fees from daily merchant traffic ultimately flow into Vives coffers. You could say most of the big shipyards and trading houses have a Vives shadow behind them. Even this training chamber under our feet relies on our materials and magical engineering.”
Her voice was calm—more statement than brag.
“Even so, I’m a direct-line scion who spent over a decade on the road after becoming an adventurer. I’ve fought tempests and sea beasts, manned island watchposts, stared down murloc raids and tsunamis—until, blade in hand, I earned the name ‘Sword Falcon’ and rose to master rank. Only then did the family call me back to take this post.
“Even now, they don’t meddle much.”
There was a thread of pride in it. If she’d been a parasite living off the family, life would’ve been easier—servants at every turn, smooth roads everywhere—but she wouldn’t be steering her own fate. She’d more likely have been traded off in a marriage, sent to some stranger’s manor as a link in a chain of interests.
Her independence came from a choice she’d made years ago.
She drifted for a moment, then noticed Gauss watching her. Patting her forehead, she remembered what she’d meant to say; after a brief hesitation, she parted her lips.
“What I’m about to say isn’t personal—it’s an invitation from the Vives, delivered through me. We hope to build a friendship with you.”
Adèle turned a hand over and produced a scroll.
Recruiting me? Gauss met her gaze, thinking.
“Consider it an ally or ‘guest-retainer’ arrangement,” she said. “If you accept the goodwill, the Vives will make your path as an adventurer a bit smoother.
“That includes—but isn’t limited to—intel support; a tilt in resources, not as handouts but access: supplies that are scarce on the open market, available from our caravans at preferential prices; introductions when you need to enter higher circles or untangle problems using the Whitewave network; and several skills per year appropriate to your current level—though not too many.”
Gauss listened in silence to the formulaic pitch and helped himself to the snacks on the table. Thinking of what she’d said earlier—her own story included—he couldn’t help asking:
“And the price?”
Adèle nodded almost imperceptibly. “That you agree to a marriage contract with a direct-line member of the Vives—and that your first child will be raised by the family.”
Gauss’s thoughts clicked. Of course. Nothing’s free—least of all with nobles; their math runs deeper. For some, that price would be a reward: entry into a noble network in exchange for your firstborn, essentially fostered by the Vives.
A bit of early investment for the bloodline of a talent they’ve approved. And once tied by marriage—even if you’re not formally absorbed and keep some autonomy—if catastrophe hits the Vives, could you really stand aside?
He fell silent. Adèle didn’t press. She quietly sipped her tea.
“Sorry,” Gauss said at last, eyes clear and steady as he met hers. “I appreciate the Vives’ regard, but I can’t accept conditions about marriage and children.”
“Understood. Then we drop it.”
Huh? No extra persuasion?
To his surprise, Adèle only nodded lightly, making no attempt to lobby further. He’d refused cleanly; she accepted just as cleanly—almost with a sense of relief at finishing an errand.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m just the messenger,” she said with a wry little wave, tucking the scroll away. “The old fossils are overeager. They see talents like you and can’t help themselves—treat you like collectibles and want your blood woven into the family.
“You’re not the first they’ve invited.”
“Did others accept?” Gauss asked.
“A few. As for the rest, it wasn’t all about the strings—some just wanted to pair with even stronger houses. And plenty simply won’t be bound. Every gift,” she added, “already has its price tag printed in invisible ink.”
Gauss nodded. Sounded like a big net cast wide to see what they could haul up.
“Alright, that’s the business done. Let’s rest a bit more and start sword lessons in a moment. I’m not hungry—help me with these too.” She’d noticed he’d been eating the whole time and had cleaned his own plate. She naturally slid her nearly untouched tray of dainty pastries across to him.
“Thanks,” Gauss said, and dug in.
Watching him eat straightforwardly, she didn’t find it rude; if anything, it made her approve of him more. She was noble-born, but she didn’t fuss over etiquette. People who got stiff and affected around her made her dislike it.
Real strength has a self to it. Gauss might be only Level 4, but to her eye he already had a strong person’s core—steady inside, neither arrogant nor self-effacing, guided by his own will. As long as he didn’t die, he was bound to make it.
A smile tugged at her lips. A wicked little thought: years from now the old fossils might kick themselves for not showing up in person and putting more on the table.
A short while later, Gauss was full and bright-eyed again. Since his Energy Storage Gland had evolved into a Special Stomach—and after leveling up—it worked even better. Before, this spread wouldn’t have touched his sides; now, his digestion was more efficient.
Of course, his appetite was still bigger than most; absorbing more cleanly also meant his energy burn kept rising. He only hoped the two would balance out so he didn’t turn into an endless pit.
Propping her chin on her hand, Adèle watched him set down his utensils and stand.
“Don’t need a bit more time after eating?”
“Already digested,” Gauss said.
“Then let’s begin?” She arched a brow; since he said so, she wouldn’t waste time. She stepped onto the polished floor, back to the center where they’d fought.
“Lesson one of the White Falcon sword art: perceive and guide your ‘breath.’”
“Not forms—or that vibration trick?”
Adèle smiled and shook her head. “Forms are just the surface. Your fundamentals are excellent, though—that’s very good.”
He’d deliberately shown a stretch of basic swordwork during the bout, and it had stunned her. For a caster—and even compared to many professional swordsmen—his basics were outstanding.
“But beyond the basics lies something deeper. Breath—some call it qi. Without it, no matter how refined, a form is a rootless tree: the shape without the force.” She held two fingers like a blade and tapped a few points on the mail over her torso. “For the White Falcon—or almost any sword art—the core is breath, or the inner rhythm that guides energy through the body. Some warriors call it ‘battle-qi’ or ‘rage,’ some swordsmen call it ‘sword-qi,’ but it all comes down to using breath to steer the power of your rank. It’s the fusion of life force, will, and bodily strength.
“In fact, some casters learn parts of this too. Whether you’re melee or not, you need a more coordinated body. All the more so in your case.”
She blinked at him. From that fight she’d seen enough to read his general toolkit and approach. She wouldn’t treat him like a normal mage.
“The dragon-blood in your body has huge potential—enough to form a vast qi. Learning a professional sword art is the right move. The way you’ve been using it is like riding an unbroken stallion—pure instinct and brute force. Once you master this, new possibilities open.”
A flicker of expectation crossed her eyes; she knew why he wanted sword art, and she was curious where she could guide him.
Shaking off the thought, she waved him to the center, facing her. She took out a yellowed scroll and set it in his palm.
“Close your eyes. Clear your mind. Feel the energy pulsing off the scroll. Relax your body. Sense it in your blood and your heartbeat. You need to see your ‘breath’—then adjust it.”
Gauss obeyed, sinking his awareness inward. Soon a faint coolness seeped from the rough vellum. Gentle energy flowed along the meridians of his arm, with a calm, rhythmic wave. Wherever it passed, it mapped a route inside him, warming him slightly and turning his whole body into a sensitive “sensor.”
He suddenly felt outside himself, looking in. Inner sight sharpened. Not just the familiar traces of dragon blood—a golden sea—but other points of light like stars. Strength, endurance, the special stomach, the ancient ghost-clan blood… Was this what she meant by life energy and bodily power?
“Feel it?” Adèle’s soft voice came.
“Mm.” He briefly described what he sensed.
“Good. Sink your breath here.” Her fingertip tapped between his chest and abdomen. “Too tight. Loosen.” He adjusted quickly. “That’s it,” she said, feeling the change.
“Now keep going. Feel how your body changes as you breathe—the expansion, the easing in. Then keep tuning the breath. Don’t chase speed—chase flow.”
Time slipped by in her steady guidance. Dusk fell outside before he realized it.
“We’ll stop here today,” Adèle said at last. Gauss blinked—late already. So he’d spent a whole day and only just got the White Falcon’s companion breathing to take?
“Am I… slow?” he asked, unsure. He knew his talent for magic was exceptional, but sword talent might not translate.
“Huh?” Half-dressed again to head out, Adèle looked up, head tilted: what are you even talking about? “Why would you think that?”
“Well, it’s just breathing, and it took me all day to get somewhere.”
“‘Just breathing’…” She laughed, shoulders shaking—half exasperated, half amused. “Say that in front of other swordsmen and they’ll want to slug you.”
He blinked. She was speechless for a beat. Ten times during the lesson she’d been surprised. Breathing sounds simple, but it’s hard to change; everyone’s been doing it forever—it’s the most frequent semi-voluntary act of a lifetime.
What’s etched into instinct is hardest to correct—harder than magic. Magic starts at zero; nobody’s casting in the womb. You only have to learn. Breathing requires learning plus overcoming massive inertia.
All lesson long she’d felt equal parts envy and regret. She’d been proud of her own talent; now, after teaching Gauss, hers felt dim. If he’d started with the sword instead of magic, he’d already be frighteningly accomplished.
“Your pace is scary fast,” Adèle said plainly. No false modesty, no trimming him down out of jealousy.
“How long do others take to reach this point?” he asked.
“I can only speak for myself,” she thought aloud. “It took me five days to get where you are now—and I’m faster than most. And I wasn’t starting from nothing; I was already level 3.”
She sighed. She’d thought herself gifted; next to Gauss, she’d call him a prodigy.
“Do you have time tomorrow?” she asked.
“I should,” Gauss said after a moment. Nothing urgent was on his plate. As for the two Level 3 spells he’d just acquired—he could squeeze in nightly practice. He’d actually tried last night: hard, but not impossible; it would just take time to grind. No need to rush that. The swordwork, though, needed heat—practice daily, consolidate, and keep pushing to win it in one go.
