Virgin Knight Who Is the Frontier Lord in the Gender Switched World

After lunch, I conducted a training session designed for digestion—not for myself, but as instruction for the knight apprentice, Martina.

Honestly, this was something I had been eagerly anticipating.

Martina clearly possesses exceptional talent.

Her intelligence far surpasses that of a typical 9-year-old. She understands a hundred things from one, and a thousand from a hundred, demonstrating a voracious curiosity to learn more based on what she already knows.

Duchess Astarte is likely aware of this as well.

However, it’s not just about intelligence.

Dressed in everyday attire, I faced Martina bare-handed, and about an hour had passed.

—

“Is this all? I tried much harder when I was your age.”

“Why does Lord Faust, a superhuman in martial arts, compare himself to me?”

—

The comparison is justified because a martial talent akin to mine lies dormant within her.

It’s clear now why Martina’s mother, Caroline, prioritized knowledge first.

When she started sword training in the royal capital, she couldn’t even hold a wooden sword properly.

That was indeed a wise decision, aligning with her developmental needs.

I, too, believe this child should not solely live by the sword but ascend in society through her intellect.

Princess Anastasia and Duchess Astarte will surely make the most of this intelligence.

Martina, now a noble deprived of her lands, must be equipped with the means to survive.

That was my thought.

But what about this abnormal speed of growth in martial arts?

—

“Next, won’t you jump?”

—

I chuckled.

“I will not jump. I thought I could catch you off guard.”

—

Martina, with her petite body, had just tried to strike my head, over two meters tall, like a bird soaring gracefully with unusual jumping power.

She is superhuman.

The potential for superhuman talent in Martina is obvious to anyone.

In the Holy Gusten Empire, the term “superhuman” generally refers to exceptionally talented individuals.

It’s common among knights to flatteringly refer to others as superhuman.

However, there are genuinely few who can truly be called superhumans.

Like Martina’s mother, Caroline, barely a handful can reach that level.

Perhaps it’s one in ten thousand among magicians, or even fewer.

Close to home, individuals like myself are solely focused on martial prowess.

Types like Princess Anastasia and Duchess Astarte, who can foresee the future of strategy and tactics.

There are various types, but regardless, it’s evident when bodily strength is far above the average.

In a world where gender roles seem reversed, women who can easily wield a halberd or a zweihänder, regardless of their appearance, are commonplace.

But if one could perform like a movie action star, according to a movie’s script, then that would indeed make one a superhuman.

And then—I close my eyes.

The focus is on the legs.

—

“Naive.”

—

Taking advantage of her small stature for a low cut.

Not bad.

She presses down the wooden sword with the sole of her shoe, twists it, and kicks it away.

Floating in the air, the wooden sword is pinched between my thumb and index finger, delivering a blow to Martina’s shoulder.

Of course, I’m holding back.

—

Against this strike, Martina does not even scream.

She grits her teeth, enduring the pain.

While some knights express anger through pain, one can’t say whether this is good or bad.

But not flinching from pain is good.

Whether they scream or stay silent, the most crucial thing is not to fear pain.

—

“Today, you have died 30 times.”

“No, really, this is unreasonable, Lord Faust. I’m just a 9-year-old.”

—

Against Helga, the captain of my knights, a superhuman who can win one in ten times speaks.

Ultimately, this training isn’t about winning.

It’s about seeing how far Martina von Bösel’s superhuman capabilities can be drawn out.

No matter what is done, it’s obvious what this girl will ultimately become.

Ah, yes.

I remember the name Reckenber.

The super genius Claudia von Reckenber of Virendorf, a true superhuman who had reached the pinnacle in every way.

Such individuals are truly deserving of being called superhumans.

Before such a perfect model, I was merely specialized in one art.

I grind my teeth.

Because of the battlefield circumstances, I had no choice but to kill, but now I wish she had lived.

Now that I know we are exposed to the threat of nomadic equestrian nations akin to Mongolia, I even feel regret.

But thinking this way is pointless.

Even in this bizarre, mismatched world, where the proof of gods is casually demonstrated through geas,

No dead come back to life, except for the “Daughter of God.”

I return to my thoughts.

I expect that Martina might reach a superhuman completion like that of Reckenber.

No, perhaps even surpass her.

If given the correct educational environment, she might even exceed it.

I believe this is not just my favoritism towards my knight apprentice.

“Next. Adjust your posture.”

“I’m tired. Dying 30 times is enough, isn’t it?”

—

Martina’s declaration.

If this intelligent child says so, she must truly be tired.

I nod in agreement and allow her to rest.

— How shall I nurture this child?

“Ah…”

Did her mother, Marianne, also struggle like this?

Indeed, whatever happens, this child will become a superhuman.

However, the extent of her talents will undoubtedly be influenced by her environment.

To be honest, even now, I wonder if I should plead with Duchess Astarte to take her under her wing for education.

Such thoughts do cross my mind.

— But I too have desires.

I want to raise Martina myself.

I want to see how far her talents can go.

I earlier compared superhumans to action stars, and indeed, that’s just what they are.

Superhumans can be terrifyingly captivating at times.

“Lord Faust?”

—

With a questioning look, yet with the purity of a 9-year-old’s eyes, Martina gazes at my face.

Although standing, she is clearly exhausted.

“Go to your room and take a nap. You have free time until dinner.”

A nap is good for recovering from fatigue.

Ah, those words were not from a past life but from my mother, Marianne.

Was it learned from generations past, or was it out of concern for my well-being?

Probably both.

Martina obediently returns to her room, following my words.

I wanted some time to think alone.

After confirming that Martina had completely left, I mutter to myself.

“What was her mother, Caroline, thinking?”

I feel pity.

At first, I didn’t like her.

Just a foolish woman, I thought I would at least fulfill her last wish.

Seeing how excellent Martina is, I feel deeply sorry for her.

That woman must have been utterly despairing of the world.

She was merely a spare as the second daughter, likely unable to bring Martina’s talents to light.

Despite such talents, not only was a rise in status unlikely, but she couldn’t even become the lord of a domain with 1000 people.

I must never tell Martina, nor must she realize this.

Caroline’s drastic actions, perhaps even causing the family usurpation, may have stemmed from the fear that Martina’s talents would not be recognized.

Whether it was the future of the servants and peasants who followed her, or her own desire to become a lord, Caroline indeed had such desires.

If only—yes, if someone like Lord Robert, who could act as a lubricant within the kingdom and provide a position for an excellent law-noble, had been connected to her, perhaps she wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures.

But, Lord Robert has been dead for five years.

No use.

From Caroline’s narrow world view, Martina’s future was doomed from the moment she was born.

If only she had kept quiet and endured everything, Martina could have become the feudal lord of the 1000-people Bösel domain.

If Martina’s aunt had planned to renounce her inheritance rights in advance, that future might have been certain.

But now, all is lost.

No matter what, there was no future for Martina to regain her once royal domain.

“Will Martina’s future be bright?”

Not very likely.

No longer of blue blood, even happiness as a commoner may be beyond her reach.

Being pointed at while living is certain going forward.

Words once spoken by Queen Liesenlotte haunt me.

Princess Anastasia, the next queen, is wise.

She is not foolish enough to ignore public opinion that the sins of the parents are the sins of the children.

Duchess Astarte doesn’t care about such things.

As long as there is talent, whether from a commoner background, a former enemy national, or even the daughter of a murderer, she will utilize them.

If there’s someone to rely on, it would be Duchess Astarte.

For the sake of that child’s salvation, having pleaded with the world, I must promise a future, staking my knight’s pride.

But, Duchess Astarte…

“…”

“Honestly, I’ve been finding it hard to understand that person lately.”

I don’t dislike them, and their eccentric nature would even be acceptable in the gender norms of my previous life.

No, even by the standards of my past life, Duchess Astarte is sadly eccentric.

Yet, if I think of it as a sign of their affection for me, well, it’s fine.

I truly believe they love me, but I can’t entirely trust their purity.

The reason I refuse her advances is not only because of my position but also because I wonder if she might be distracted by other men.

Is there no chance she would want a child with another man to be the lord of Polydoro?

Such doubts are hard to dismiss.

Yet, I feel that Martina needs the power of Duchess Astarte.

Without opportunities, she cannot recover her honor by proving herself.

Participation in wars, as well as working as a royal official, both require some form of support.

But what can a poor knight lord with barely 300 subjects do?

Lately, my purse has been warm, but that money is not just for me; it’s for my people, and I can’t spend it all on Martina.

“Should I sell myself to Duchess Astarte?”

I mutter quietly.

I’m genuinely concerned about Martina’s future.

At this point, clinging to Duchess Astarte seems to be the only option.

But the only thing I could sell in exchange is my body.

It seemed possible to plead with my future fiancée, Lord Valiere, out of desperation.

Lord Valiere is remarkably indulgent towards her relatives.

This was evident from their attitude towards the insane Sabine.

Essentially, the important thing is the public facade; sharing a man among nobles is not unusual in this world.

As long as there is no public scandal affecting my land and people, it would be fine to become Duchess Astarte’s lover, whether it stays a secret or becomes public under some circumstances.

“It seems I can’t rely on Princess Anastasia…”

That woman, rumored to eat human flesh behind closed doors, has such frightening eyes it almost makes one believe the rumors.

She has the eyes of a reptile, so much so that it would be an insult to reptiles.

Yet, Princess Anastasia is of stunning beauty.

I consider her a comrade-in-arms, and I believe she thinks the same of me.

She gives me a fair assessment as a knight.

But considering the aesthetic norms of this world, I don’t think she would fall for me.

Selling myself seemed unlikely.

I had no other options.

“Selling myself…”

These two words sum it up.

What troubles me is the slight thrill I feel when I think of selling myself to Duchess Astarte.