Brad's POV

I had tagged along on one of Olivia's tutoring sessions when I heard that she was doing an exploration. While going into the dungeons wasn't something I particularly wished to do, it was the most opportune time for me to gain some headway into Olivia's heart. None of the others except Greg moved to join the expeditions. The others were too busy trying to win Olivia's heart on other fronts, and Bartfort would never jeopardize our safety by bringing Greg. It was just Bartfort, Olivia, and me.

I had planned on swaying Olivia away from her tutor using my proficiency in magic. It should have been easy to draw her attention. Bartfort had mentioned that Olivia specialized in my forte, so much so that Bartfort admitted Olivia had surpassed what he could teach her. The boy had nothing left to teach her when it came to magic. I was the top male student when it came to magic. It should have been easy to entice Olivia to choose my tutelage.

I had never thought that Olivia was beyond my capabilities.

Instead of showing my good points, I learned how small I was. My magic work was flawless, but it still proved to be lacking. Olivia's magic was overwhelmingly powerful and fast. I could not cast fast enough to match Olivia.

This was a fact that Bartfort threw in my face after each and every encounter in the dungeon. He always noted how many monsters were slain by each of us. Every single time, he praised Olivia for her work. Every single time he praised her, Olivia's face lit up. Every single time, Olivia asked him for advice on magic.

No matter how fantastic of a display my magic showed, or how advanced the spell was, Olivia never looked my way. She didn't see it as anything other than average, but compared to hers, it was. I could accept that with grace. But no, my work was overlooked for Bartfort's advice.

He didn't have to make any grandiose demonstrations for Olivia to notice him. The man never fought. He was always ready to fight, but he made us do all the work. Bartfort said that he was busy observing us. Despite his lack of effort, Olivia sought him out for ideas on how to improve her magic. Him, not me.

The worst part was that I tried incorporating some of his advice into my spellwork. I noticed an immediate improvement in my performance.

It still wasn't enough for me to close the gap.

When we found the entrance to the seventeenth floor, I fell to my knees. We had long passed what I could manage, but I had trudged forward so as not to look weak. Olivia barely looked winded. She fretted over me and used her magic to heal me. It would relieve me of my aches, but it wouldn't heal the sting of my failure.

The thing that made the situation worse was his attitude towards me. When he glanced at me to say we were going to head back, I knew he didn't see me as anything more than a prop. There was no disdain in his eyes for me taking up Olivia's attention. There was no snide tone to drag my stature down in Olivia's eyes. His tone didn't indicate disappointment over my performance. It was a statement of fact. He knew I never amounted to much, and I had met his expectation to the letter.

When we made it to the entrance, Olivia left with her tutor to compile her new notes. I was left to go back to my room and rest alone.

Olivia would show up a few hours later with a large notebook in her hands. It was a copy of all her tutoring notes from Angelica, independent studying, and Bartfort. She offered to study them together with me and wanted to see my opinion on some of the more advanced concepts. I eagerly accepted to spend more time with the girl that I loved.

Studying and watching Olivia's face light up in joy whenever we made progress soothed my bruised ego. I just wished she wouldn't compliment Bartfort so much no matter how much his advice worked.

Though correcting one of Bartfort's mistakes had been one of the most satisfying experiences. Olivia's shocked expression shifting to unadulterated excitement was worth the hours I had spent referencing more advanced papers.

Chris's POV

I found myself on my knees in front of my father. We just finished our bimonthly spar. Like always, I kept fighting until I couldn't stand up anymore. And like always, my skills were found wanting.

"How did you improve so much?"

That was new. My father always found my skills lacking.

"What do you mean? I still didn't land a clean blow," I said heavily.

"You've still grown by leaps and bounds. I had to put in some real effort today."

"It still wasn't enough."

"No, it wasn't. It was a much better attempt than any prior."

"I see..."

Normally any praise from my father would have made my day. My father was not one to hand out compliments so it was something that I had thought was special. It had also become increasingly rare as of late. So why was I not happy. Today, it just felt hollow.

"You don't seem happy despite your improvement. Why is that?"

"I'm not at the level I need to be."

"Had you said that a month ago, I would have agreed. However, you're on track to becoming the youngest Sword Saint in history, and you don't think you are where you need to be. Why is that?"

"It's not enough to beat him."

"Him? Ah, Leon Fou Bartfort. Is this about how he 'dishonored' you?"

"You've heard?"

"Of course. Bartfort certainly made an entrance with that stunt. He wasn't wrong though."

"I know, but I still can't let his actions slide."

"So you've been sparring with him?"

"No."

"Dueling then? I had not thought the lad to be proficient in the way of the sword."

"We didn't duel. We fought."

"Fought?"

"He claims that dueling or sparring would never restore my honor because I would be fighting a novice. He claims that the only way I can restore my honor is on the battlefield, to survive against him. I have to show that I am a survivor."

"I take it that you've never based on your comments."

"I can't even get close to him. He always manages to pick me off from afar. I perfect my ability to parry bullets, he shoots a relentless stream until my arm gives out. I use a lighter sword to preserve my stamina, he uses heavier rounds to shatter my blades. I even learned how to concentrate mana into blades and he completely ignores my efforts by throwing explosives at me. I learn to turn my blade into a whip to prematurely detonate the grenades, he takes a potshot at me. No matter what I do it isn't good enough," I said angrily as hot tears began to fill my eyes.

No matter how hard I worked, it was never enough. Bartfort always had a counter. It got to the point that Olivia pitied me. The girl I loved pitied me and offered to teach me magic that wouldn't 'violate' my oath. I had even swallowed my pride and accepted her help, but I knew that I wasn't a true swordsman the moment I had allowed her. I had thrown away my sword in favor of winning. Even then, it hadn't come close to what I needed.

"Sounds like an interesting lad. He's done you a lot of good."

"Good? Father, he stained my honor, and he made me throw away my pride as a swordsman. I threw away my sword in favor of magic because I wasn't good enough. I'm a sword saint candidate who doesn't even use a sword."

"Son, you were never going to be a sword saint. You had already plateaued, and nothing we did seemed to help."

"I know," I grumbled. I remembered how much it pained me to see the disappointment in my father's eyes. How he grew colder with me as I grew older. How he would forgo my training in favor of helping my clumsy sister. How he chose another successor.

"Now though? You were able to push me to the point that I wasn't confident that I could win. You pushed Holfort's greatest swordsman in your first year at school. Sure you are using magic, but you are fighting like a swordsman. As long as you continue improving like this, I have a feeling you will be the greatest. Not the next greatest. The greatest. So yeah, I do believe that Bartfort has done you good."

"Father? You approve of what I have done?"

"Of course. Hell, I'm thinking of having you teach me it. It certainly seems worthy of the Arclight name. Should we call it the Arc-ing Blade Technique or the Sword of Light?"

"... Me teach you?"

"Of course. You're the master here. Teach me."

"It's not finished."

"Teach me anyways. We can brainstorm ideas to beat that kid."

I numbly began going through the steps that Olivia and I had developed together. Even though I was stomping on the Arclight name, my father was happily learning what I had to offer. He was not just proud of me, but he was happy with my progress. He was happy that I was growing up my way. I wasn't a disappointment to him. He even was starting to look up to me.

Olivia came by soon after he left and began to heal me. She had seen me teaching my father our technique and was happy that he approved of our work. She was happy that I had such a close relationship with my father. I began to cry tears of joy as it finally hit me that everything was going to be all right. That my father loved me again, and that the woman I loved had helped me earn his love back.

If only she hadn't mentioned that she was excited to see how my matches with Bartfort would go once he started to throw magic into the mix.

Greg's POV

"Dammit, just fit in the damn slot!" I yelled angrily as I was fixing my knight armor.

I had lost to Bartfort in a knight armor duel again. It was always to the first malfunction or limb loss, and he would win without fail. If only I could figure out a way to get past the Arroganz's armor. Leon couldn't be considered a real man for using such a broken Lost Item. I'll show him. A real man doesn't need to buy his victories.

Every time I lost, he would send me down to the hangars to personally fix my machine as a penalty game. Until I managed it, I could not challenge him again. Due to the amount of time I spent down here, the staff had gotten used to my presence.

"Why did my armor break so easily?"

"Because you're using shoddy equipment, lad," one of the staff said behind me.

Looking up from my work, I turned around and saw that the man had scars on his face. He must have been a veteran. Judging from his age, he might have fought in one of the earlier skirmishes with the Principality.

"Not a pretty look is it?"

"What's a veteran doing down here? Shouldn't you be enjoying retirement on your land?"

"I'm a commoner."

"But you mentioned shoddy equipment when I was complaining about my knight armor. How did a commoner serve in the knight armor corp? These things a prohibitively expensive."

"The Kingdom had just rolled out the mass production models, and we needed pilots. They didn't care who piloted them at the time since the Black Knight had made his debut. I scored high enough on the assessment exam. They lent me the armor and nothing else. Commoners had to make do with whatever weapon they could scrounge up or pay exorbitant prices for the Kingdom to loan us anything more. The maintenance fees were also a killer. We got real good cobbling together armors. Your frame reminds me of my old war days."

"I see? I guess I should be proud that a veteran is admiring my machine?"

"It's a metal death trap and will get you killed. Use a better machine. You can afford it."

"I refuse. A real man shouldn't need to use expensive equipment to win," I snarled back.

"Kid, my buddies and I used to say the same thing though we mainly said that because we weren't given a choice."

"You survived so obviously my machine isn't a death trap."

"I did, but my buddies didn't. All of them died throughout the war due to the same damn thing. Our machines were outclassed. It didn't matter how well trained we were. A noble knight would show up and pick off one of our guys every time. Our machines never were able to perform on the same level as a noble's personal knight armor."

"..."

I wanted to tell him that I was better than them, but even I wasn't hotheaded enough to talk ill of dead veterans.

"I can see my advice is falling on deaf ears. How about this then? We fight in the simulators. If you win, I'll drop the issue. If you lose, you upgrade one piece of your armor at a time."

"You're strangely obsessed with my machine. Did Bartfort pay you to do this?"

"I don't give two shits about the Bartfort kid. In fact, I hate him. I hate nobles in general. Bastards always looked down on us in the war despite us fighting the good fight for them."

"Then why are you helping me?"

"I've got my reasons, lad."

"And they are?"

"None of your business."

AN:

1) Wanted to make a series of shorts to show how Leon has been correcting each character through their perspective. Some are through direct means and others are through proxies. I also made it a point to show how each character sees a different Leon (usually in a way that represents their insecurities). Brad equates Leon as someone who sees him as worthless. Chris sees Leon as a reminder that his hard work is worthless. Greg views Leon as someone that uses his unfairly acquired wealth to crush people.

2) Had slightly different writing styles for the sections. In Brad's, I had it mostly be written as Brad's thoughts because he's a narcissist. It's all about him. In Chris's, I had it mostly be dialogue with some introspection since he seeks validation from an outside source. Greg's almost entirely dialogues because he is the most confrontational. You need a second person to show this attribute. Greg also does not seem like the type for introspection.

3) Olivia makes an appearance to help Brad and Chris in their training as both a resource and motivation. This is meant to showcase their bonding moment and how interacting with Olivia was originally supposed to make them stronger.

4) Didn't know how to make Greg get upgrades since Leon notes that Greg's main weakness was that he refused to use better equipment. Decided to have a third party involve themselves to both train Greg and upgrade the knight armor.

5) All the characters' core hangups are canonical if I am remembering the light novel correctly. I just added some extra details for Chris.

5) Jilk, Julius, and Olivia are next.