Chapter 1057 — Thaw

"Yes, thanks to the breath of life here, I feel I have fully recovered," An Luo said, then glanced down at the branch in her hand and shook her head with a touch of helplessness. "But conditions are limited, after all—I can only practice with a branch here... I doubt General Margarita would allow me to touch a sword in this place."

"Trust me, her keeping you from swords is more for the sake of your health—anyone who has survived an aerial bombing would do well not to be too confident in their own body," Bad said as he took half a step back and likewise picked up a branch from the ground. "If you feel this sort of practice is not effective enough, I can keep you company for a few minutes."

An Luo was taken aback, looking at the branch in his hand with some surprise, and only after a moment did she speak: "Father, are you really going to..."

"Does this require such deliberation?" Bad flexed his wrist, getting used to the weight and length of the branch. "Do you think that because you see me in a long robe, I have forgotten how to swing a sword?"

"No, that is not what I meant," An Luo shook her head, then her eyes quickly grew serious. She adjusted her footing, took her stance in the courtesy of a duel, and gave a slight nod. "Then it would be my honor."

Bad stepped forward.

In that moment, a faded scene seemed to rise before his eyes—he saw the family estate from his memory, saw the courtyard where pale yellow blossoms bloomed, saw his young daughter come tumbling clumsily toward him; and what she clutched in her hand then was also a branch.

That was the only time in Bad's memory that he had "practiced swordplay" with his daughter in the role of a father.

The courtyard filled with the rushing sound of air being cut and the rhythmic tapping of feet upon the ground. The brief contest lasted less than ten minutes in the end, and with a crisp crack An Luo's branch was finally struck to the ground—fighting without any transcendent power, with pure swordsmanship alone, she had in the end still failed to overcome the former Wolf General.

She vaguely recalled that many years ago she seemed to have lived through this very scene.

"You win," An Luo stared blankly at the branch on the ground for a moment, then shook her head with a sigh. "It seems I really have let a great deal go to waste during this convalescence..."

"You performed quite well," Bad shook his head, pulling himself free of the distant memory, and tossed away the branch in his hand. "My experience and skill have always exceeded yours. In fact, years ago I once matched blades with His Majesty Gaoyang in pure swordsmanship alone, and against a legendary figure like him I held out a long while and in the end withdrew unscathed—so losing to your own father is nothing to be ashamed of."

His tone was calm, but in the end he could not entirely keep a touch of pride from it—after all, though there were many details of that affair better left unexamined, to cross blades briefly with a legendary hero like Gaoyang Cecil and come away unscathed was in the end a remarkable feat, one that probably no one else in the whole world could repeat. Anyone with a normal sense of honor could dine out on such a thing for the rest of his life.

But Bad was, after all, a reserved and well-bred man, so he decided to dine out on it for only half his life—a testament to the former Wolf General's formidable self-restraint.

An Luo was plainly astonished by her father's words, astonished enough even to grow a little doubtful: "Truly? You... actually crossed blades with that Pioneer? And came away unscathed?"

Bad reflected briefly. Details flitted swiftly through his mind—being struck through a wall, catching a grenade with his face, sprinting with a severed arm, and the like—and then he gave a light cough: "Ahem. Truly."

After all, it was Byron who threw that grenade afterward. When I evacuated from the castle, I still had all my limbs intact—analyzed from a strictly mathematical standpoint, you could say I got out whole.

"Let us drop this subject," Bard said, shaking his head, his gaze falling on An Luo's face. Her hair hung loose beside her cheeks, and beneath the stray locks at her temple, a grey-white eye patch showed. "More than your rustiness with the sword, what truly troubles you is this eye... Lady Beiyila and I have already discussed a course of treatment between us. With the new flesh-regeneration technique, it may be possible to heal your eye."

An Luo instinctively touched the eye she had lost in the fires of war. There was no pain there anymore, yet as her fingers brushed over it, she could still feel a phantom burning and stinging.

After a brief silence, she smiled. "Very well, then I shall look forward to it."

"I thought you would refuse, like last time." Bard glanced at An Luo, somewhat surprised. "You no longer mind the flesh-regeneration technique, nor the tangled, inseparable ties with Cecil that would come of it?"

"As you said, these are mere trifles," An Luo said, shaking her head. "Times have changed, and many things with them. Stubbornness is no virtue—I ought to learn some flexibility, I suppose."

Bard gazed into his daughter's eyes. At last he breathed a sigh of relief, and a smile rose from the bottom of his heart. "That is considerable growth."

"I came of age long ago, Father, yet your tone sounds as though you were facing a child who has not yet passed the coming-of-age rite," An Luo said with a look of helplessness at Bard. Then she suddenly fell silent, as if something had occurred to her, and only after two or three seconds did she speak in a low voice. "The peace negotiations are coming up soon, aren't they?"

Bard was somewhat startled. "How did you know?"

"...Father, there are newspapers and magic-net broadcasts everywhere here," An Luo said, even more helplessly. "Where do you think I ordinarily live? A cave sealed off from the world?"

"Oh, right." Bard rubbed his nose awkwardly, then cleared his throat. "Ahem—yes, the negotiations are indeed imminent, though strictly speaking, it will be a 'conference' to redraw the order of things. The armistice agreement and the initial peace talks were already concluded last month by the generals at the border. What we are preparing now is an international conference to be held at Elf Outpost No. 112."

"The distinction means little to me," An Luo said. "Father, I won't be staying here much longer, will I?"