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"Professor, why do you have a sword?"
Layton grabbed the brim of his hat and brought it down lower to hide his eyes, fighting the urge to make a swift exit as his cheeks betrayed him by colouring. He was not going to miss another lecture, especially after having been gone for months. He was honestly quite surprised Dean Delmona put up with it, yet equally thankful.
Now, how to answer? It would not do to lie and he could not just say that "my brother who I did not know I had until a few days ago forced it on me because he seems to be of the opinion that I get into too much trouble and I forgot to leave it in my office." Perhaps he should just start the lesson.
"Archeology is a much more dangerous pursuit than one may think."
Or he could just blurt that out, why not.
"But, a sword?" one of the students asked. He looked vaguely familiar.
Alright, this was Desmond's fault and he would have to face consequences.
"Professor Sycamore has been carrying one for years and has assured me it is quite effective. Now, any more questions or can I start?"
He did not wait longer than a few seconds, enough to avoid being ungentlemanly, and then steamrolled through the lecture before the confusion and disbelief on the faces before him could solidify into more questions.
Still, a few whispers such as "did Professor Sycamore stab someone?!", "is this even legal?" and "how can archeology be dangerous?" reached his ears. He was lucky that years of maintaining a poker face throughout dangerous situations allowed him to continue on without any hint of a stutter.
It was not, in fact, legal, as he later found out. By being thrown into a jail cell. Because of course he was. There had been no new adventures lately, no letters from acquaintances asking for help or mysterious curses, so of course the universe decided his life was too calm.
So when offered the chance to make a phone call, there was really only one person he could think to call.
"I would advise you to find a way to fix this. Promptly." He barely restrained himself from hissing, but his tone still came out clipped and he was sure his eyes were so narrowed they almost disappeared completely, as the policeman watching him jumped when his eyes landed on him.
"Oh?" he could almost hear the smirk on his brother's face. "And what will you do if I don't?"
The phone creaked as Layton's grip tightened. He forced himself to relax.
"My dear brother, a gentleman does not give away secrets, even his own." He responded, which was code for 'I will not talk about this in public, especially next to a policeman'. "However, you might just find out what Randall and I got up to in our youth. The citizens of Stansbury learned we were not to be crossed."
"Hmph," Desmond scoffed, "I know you're just making stuff up now. I pity whoever you fool into thinking you know what a gentleman does. But very well. I shall fix it."
And fix it he did. Somehow, Layton was now the owner of a shiny new certificate proclaiming him the owner of a sword and allowing him to carry it with him.
Goodness, is that why England was so dangerous? It should not be this easy to get a licence to carry weapons. Or to build giant machines. Or to make an opera house into a giant boat.
…Maybe Desmond had a point about the sword. Who knows what other adventures await him, with how lax the authorities were on such matters.
Still, a little payback would not be amiss. After all, it was only polite to return the favour.
Desmond had no idea what was going on. People kept staring at him and trading whispered comments. Being the leading expert on the Azran (and the one to discover their horrifying legacy) often meant being recognized and treated as a celebrity, but it was never this intense. Especially not from his own students.
Something had happened. Now the question was: what?
He did his best to ignore the stares while keeping an ear out for hushed conversations. The rooms he taught in carried sound better than people expected, and people were often more candid when they thought nobody else could hear.
It proved fruitful in the end, though what he heard did not make much sense. “Do you think he really stabbed someone?” a girl whispered.
Her friend replied much louder, “Have you seen him? No way!”
He nearly dropped the pen he was holding. Surely, they could not be talking about him, could they? It’s not like he actually stabbed anyone (though not for a lack of trying). Besides, how would they have found out? His escapades as Jean Descole were only known to a few and even then, there were usually next to no witnesses to the sword fights. Only Layton had been present for most of them, and his brother seemed unlikely to let it slip. Strange as it was, he did not appear to want him arrested. As for anybody else…
…Luke and his family have (probably) not had the opportunity to interact with his students, his sad excuse for a father was in jail, and any other witnesses were still in their respective towns. Plus, as far as he knew, Emmy had been sent to America to report on the crazy things some lawyer named Felix Trite or whatever the name was had gotten involved in. It was likely a coincidence. Perhaps the betting pool concerning the faculty’s lives had restarted again. He’d have to look into it, and perhaps put his money on the bet that Jack and Olivia were together again.
Deciding to dismiss the strange conversation, Desmond kept lecturing but did not stop eavesdropping. There was still more he could learn and the students did not seem like they would stop gossiping anytime soon.
It was not until a few days later that things came to a head. He was heading towards his office when he became aware of someone following him. Or rather, two someones. Years of fighting Targent had taught him to be careful and those very instincts that saved his life multiple times had yet to fade.
It did not take him long to realise that he was being followed by two students, though whether they were his own or not he could not tell. There were too many people to remember all of them, and they often changed. The fact that one of them was wearing heels that made a sound every time she moved made it obvious they were seizing an opportunity and had not planned to stalk him in advance, though why they were doing it was not something he knew. Perhaps they wanted to ask a question but were still gathering the courage to approach him? Some people had trouble approaching others, and his pseudo-celebrity status likely did not help.
He strained his ears when he heard faint whispers and slowed his pace a tad to attempt to make out what was being said. It helped that the conversation was slowly growing more heated and the two students seemed to have forgotten he was even there.
“I’m telling you, it could be there!”
“No it can’t!”
“Yes it can, look at him! There’s enough space.”
“So what, you think Professor Sycamore just walks around with a sword strapped to his back?”
The world seemed to tilt for a moment and only his extensive experience in pushing away all of his feelings until they withered and died allowed him to keep walking somewhat normally. Everything was suddenly making sense, while at the same time making even less sense. So they did know he had a sword. But how?
The conversation continued so he did his best to squash down the panic and keep listening. Perhaps the whole thing could still turn out to be a misunderstanding.
“Well, where else would it be?!”
“I don’t know, maybe nowhere?! Why do you even think he has one?”
“Professor Layton said so and he would never lie to us!”
Layton! Of course it was him! His brother seemed set on making life difficult for him, whether he knew it or not. Was this karma for all his sins? Maybe he should have prevented Layton’s arrest…
…But in his defence it was really funny.
“Look, I know you have faith in him, but there’s no way all of what he claims can be true. An ancient plesiosaur helped discover the mythical Golden Garden? Suuuure. And then there was all that nonsense about inserting a dead person’s memories into a living person…”
“Okay, that part does sound crazy, but it’s true! I swear. I have an uncle working at the police station and he was one of the ones called in to deal with the aftermath!”
“Fine. But a sword? I’ll be the first to admit that Professor Sycamore might have a thing for dramatics, but I just don’t see it.”
“I get it, I really do. Didn’t see Professor Layton having one either, and yet he’s been carrying his around for the past few weeks. And out of the two of them, Professor Sycamore seems more like that kind of guy.”
“True enough. Still, I don’t know. And I don’t think tailing him will amount to anything.”
“Want me to ask him? Because I can.”
“Nononono. No!” The voice grew shrill and urgent and Desmond could imagine its owner shrinking in on herself. Perhaps the universe decided to be merciful for once. He didn’t know what he’d do if they actually walked up to him and asked.
“Geez, calm down. I won’t do it.”
There was a moment of silence, except for the rhythmic click-clacking of the heels.
“Wanna get something to eat?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Blessed silence. Desmond kept walking, his steps measured and precise, a facet of his life he could control. There weren't many things he could control nowadays.
Desmond arrived at his office and locked himself inside. There was much he needed to think about.
“As some of you have undoubtedly become aware, I am in possession of a sword. Yes, it is true that I carry it with me and yes, I have in fact used it. I will permit you three questions and then I do not want to hear this brought up again.”
“How did Professor Layton find out about it?” Of course someone would ask that. He would have also been curious, had he been in their place.
Well, saying “he found out because I tried to stab him on top of a giant machine when he stole my discovery and foiled my plans” would likely get him arrested, so that was out. Surely, there was a way to phrase things so that Layton would have to deal with the fallout.
“He was present when a group of people tried to prevent me from discovering what I believed to be an Azran city. I had been in quite the danger that day.” Danger which he himself invited, going through with that crazy scheme and then finding a swordfight to be a good idea when next to the control panel of a giant machine. Really, he was begging to be thrown off. But the students did not need to know that.
“Did you actually stab someone?” another student asked. Ah, a fun question.
“No,” Desmond smirked, “though not for a lack of trying.”
And then, because he was not currently Jean Descole and consequences were a very real thing, he added. “For legal purposes, that’s a joke.” But he just couldn’t help himself. “He tried to stab back. I was justified.”
Desmond could see the students reeling at the answer and some even cracked a smile. But before they could gather themselves and ask him to elaborate, he picked someone who did not look like he had prepared a new question.
“When else have you used it?”
Aha, a perfect opportunity for revenge. “Well, there was that time another renowned archeologist came at me with a metal pipe and I had to defend myself. I’m sure you could ask Professor Layton about it. Now, can I get back to the topic at hand? The Azran really are quite interesting and I think you’ll find that it’s relevant to the current discussion.”
“Professor, did you know that Professor Sycamore claimed you attacked him with a pipe?”
A dark look crossed Professor Layton’s face. “He did what now?” he murmured, so quiet only the students in the front row heard him.
“Excuse me, I need to go. Class is cancelled for today.” He put on his coat in a hurry and rushed towards the door, his students watching him.
Right before he crossed the threshold, a brave soul called out, “What are you going to do, Professor?”
“Clearly, one hit with a metal pipe was not enough,” came the calm reply. The students reeled back in shock. The silence stretched on for a minute after he left, and then the room burst into chatter.
“10 pounds he’s going to fight Professor Sycamore!” someone exclaimed.
“I’ll take you up on that!”
“He’s gonna murder him!”
“He’s sooo dead.”
“Everyone, calm down! Layton would never do that!”
“Maybe he’s got some blackmail.”
“What about our lesson?”
“Who’s gonna tell Dean Delmona?”
Immediately, there was a chorus of voices shouting, “Not it!”
Desmond was going to stab his dear brother for real this time. While Layton hadn’t exactly left a calling card, the culprit was plainly evident. Nobody else would even think to do this. Nobody else would even be able to do this. He didn’t even know how Layton had done half of it.
After all, everything in his precious Bostonius had been converted into those infernal puzzles! Every single time he needed to open a door, he had to solve a unique puzzle (which somehow changed every time) or he'd get nowhere. Even the sink (the sink!) refused to work unless he presented the correct solution! Every. Single. Device. A puzzle. Because of course. He could solve them, of course he could, but he was not a puzzle fanatic like his brother. They still took time, and brought limited pleasure.
Raymond, when questioned how it happened, claimed to have been at a garden centre to make use of the coupon he won in a raffle a few days before. He was no help in getting the puzzles removed, claiming he “would not take sides in a fight between brothers” and “Master, I would never suggest you ‘had it coming’ as the youth like to say, however…”.
Desmond had never heard such blatant lies from him before. He could practically feel the older man’s amusement any time they were in a room together and he stumbled across another puzzle. Fine, he would just dismantle them himself.
At least Layton left his bathroom door intact. That had the potential to end badly.
“Professor, why did you rush out like that last time?”
“Ah. That. I… er…“ Layton looked down in shame, covering his eyes with his treasured hat. “I had a talk with Desmond about exaggeration and spreading rumours. Rest assured, it is solved now. I apologise for my abrupt leave, my personal issues should not impact your education.”
Some of the students perked up at that, an excited glint entering their eyes. They were like sharks that had scented blood.
“Oh? Does that mean there’s some truth in what he said? But why would you attack him with a metal pipe?” A student that Layton was slowly learning was called Emine asked.
“Well,” said Layton slowly, choosing his words carefully. He did not want to completely lie, but neither could he tell the whole truth. “Professor Sycamore thought it was a good time to get into ‘Phantom of the Opera’ cosplay and ran off with an artefact I was not yet done with whilst cackling maniacally. I simply showed him how supportive I am by joining in on the roleplay.” Have fun dealing with that, Desmond.
Someone in the back of the room choked and a whisper of “He knows what cosplay is?! He does roleplay?!” reached Layton’s ears. Ah, the joy of messing with students. It was turning out to be surprisingly fun. Perhaps he should do it more often.
While Layton’s students may have been the first to notice (and therefore enquire) about the sword hanging at his waist, they were far from the only ones. In the months following the day his students found out, Layton had to field questions from Luke, Emmy and even strangers he’d never met before. And even ask some of his own.
“Er… Professor?” Luke’s voice sounded much more hesitant than usual.
“Yes, my boy?”
“Why do you have a sword?”
Layton closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, counting down from five. “It was… a gift.”
“But why do you have it with you?” Luke pressed on.
“... A gentleman never refuses a gift.” And Desmond would never let him hear the end of it if he got stabbed because there was no convenient pipe laying around.
For the record, Layton tried to defend himself. He really did. But there wasn't much a sword could do against a giant ferris wheel hurtling towards him. Or a helicopter flying through the air to ram into the tower he was in…
Though the look on Don Paolo's face when he realised the gentlemanly archeology professor had a sword with him was priceless. Hm… perhaps the sword wasn't so bad after all.
“Laaaytooooo- why do you have a sword?! You’ve never had a sword!” The man with the strange hairstyle had cut himself off mid-yell to screech at him. Layton had no idea what he was talking about, given that he’d never met this “Don Paolo” in his life.
“I got it from my brother.” He said blandly.
“You have a brother?!” the wannabe-villain screeched. Hm… maybe he did know him. Strangers generally did not seem surprised at the fact. Well, not too surprised. Perhaps he had been a former student of his. Layton thought he would have recognized him, but then again, he had had a lot of students, and people changed. With his skills of disguise, he could have been anyone. Now, what could his grievance be?
“Are you perhaps mad that I missed so many of my lectures? I assure you, I had valid reasons and a substitute should have been provided,” He chanced.
The man began ripping his hair out. So that probably wasn’t it.
“Was it something I said?” he inquired politely. Don Paolo made an incoherent noise between a whine and a hiss, then promptly jumped out the nearest available window.
Well, nevermind. The man’s identity probably wasn’t too important.
Labyrinthia was an interesting experience. The sword was sadly not very effective against witches, though it did prove a deterrent for anyone trying to breach his personal space. Unfortunately, he managed to get kidnapped despite that (he blamed it on the drugs). When he woke up, the sword was gone. Desmond would never let him hear the end of it. If he heard about it. Layton would just have to make sure he wouldn’t, which meant solving this as quickly as possible.
First order of business was locating his sword. Or, barring that, find a (hopefully) temporary replacement. There was no way Desmond would not find out if he suddenly showed up wearing a different blade. He would surely want to know what happened to the one he was gifted, so it was important that he located it.
Regrettably, they got rather derailed by the mysteries of the town. There were some spare swords in the knights’ barracks and the blacksmith had plenty, though the former were too well-guarded and the latter required money which Layton did not have. (Maybe next time, he could politely ask his kidnappers to wait for him to grab his wallet before they abscond with him. Hm… that bears some thought). He was not yet at a point where he would feel justified stealing from an honest worker. A gentleman should never ruin someone’s day without a reason.
Fortunately for him, the knights’ barracks proved to be empty during the commotion of the trial. Everyone was at the courthouse or patrolling town and the place was practically deserted. He simply slipped inside, grabbed a decent-seeming blade, and hurried to join the strange baker (and potential lawyer).
Wright's face paled as he noticed the sword the professor had procured. "Oh God. It's not just prosecutors."
"Don't worry, Nick!" Maya patted him on his back. "You don't need a weapon, you have your invincibility!"
This did not seem to make the defence attorney feel any better as he slumped and buried his face in his hands. Layton thought he heard him mutter, "At least it's not a whip" but surely, that could not be right.
(It turned out to be quite a handy acquisition later as well, when the Storyteller saw fit to target him. That, and it accidentally got caught on some of the invisible black cloths, thus revealing their presence before he could deduce they were there.)
(If only violence could solve all of his problems.)
By a strange twist of fate, Emmy happened to be in London when Layton returned from the whole Labyrinthia debacle. Last he’d heard, she was in America, though he was not particularly up to date on what she was doing. Clearly, she had returned as she was in his office, examining a figurine he had left on his desk when he walked inside, sipping his nutritious smoothie. Something Flora had insisted he do more often, since apparently he was “too old” to survive off a few sandwiches and apples that Rosa would leave lying around.
(Layton wasn’t really sure how old Flora thought he was, but he obliged nonetheless.)
“Hello, Emmy,” he greeted. “I thought you were still in America?”
“I was supposed to be, but the guy I’ve been following for the newspaper flew to London a couple of days ago so I decided to return. His name is Phoenix Wright, he’s a lawyer but weird so you two would probably get along well,” she said, without glancing back, still engrossed with the contents of his desk.
Phoenix Wright, what a funny coincidence. He was just going to remark upon it when Emmy turned around, opening her mouth — to greet him more politely no doubt — before closing it again as she actually caught sight of him.
“Why do you have that?” she demanded, eyes wide.
Hershel tilted his head. “Why, Emmy, it is important to get all the necessary vitamins. This smoothie contai-”
“No, the sword!” she burst out, pointing at his hip.
“Ah. That.” What to say, what to say.
Aha!
“My brother gave it to me. You see, he was quite worried about my safety.”
Emmy’s mouth fell open. “You have a brother?! Since when?”
“Since always.” He said. It was technically the truth, even if he hadn’t always remembered it.
“But-... but…” she stuttered and he calmly left his office, still sipping the smoothie, before she could recover. His face was its normal smooth facade, but inwardly, he was grinning. This was fun.
(Weeks later, he had to endure a phone call with an angry Emmy when she finally figured out who exactly his brother was. He wasn’t the least bit surprised. She was working for the World Times, and had been there during the Azran fiasco, even if she missed the initial reveal)
(“You-! You-! I can definitely see the family resemblance right now! Gentleman my ass! You’re both masters of deception and misdirection, pretending to have manners. How could you, professor?! You owe me so much candy for this. So much.”)
(And then, when she had calmed down. “For the record, I’m happy for you. I think he could be good for you. And you for him. Take care.”)
Layton dreaded going home. Well, not quite. He dreaded seeing his parents. He loved them, he really did, and had long since gotten to terms with his adoption. Yet, he was unsure of how they would react to seeing the new addition to his appearance. They were used to him adopting habits and clothing from his friends and loved ones — they knew where the puzzle habit came from, and who had given him his treasured hat — but this was different. This was a weapon. How would they take seeing their darling son, the perfect gentleman and non-violent archeologist wearing a sword? Would they disapprove? Would they be bewildered? Or maybe they would approve, and wonder why he hadn’t gotten one earlier. Layton didn’t know.
And so it was with trepidation that he accepted an invitation to a family dinner.
It was a rather calm affair, much like he was used to. Ma had a puzzle for him as soon as he entered and asked him for his help in the kitchen while Pa finished his crossword. Then they sat down together to enjoy the delicious meal Ma had cooked up, followed by dessert.
Not once did they ask about the sword hanging around his waist. There were no wary glances, no surprised looks. Only happiness at seeing him.
Layton lasted up until they moved to sit by the fire. There was no possible way they could have missed the new addition — especially since it got stuck under the dinner table when he tried to stand up and he almost tripped over it when moving to the sofa. Something was going on. His curiosity was eating at him too much to let it go, as much as his need to be a gentleman wanted him to let it go and pretend nothing was amiss.
"Ma? Pa? I am sure you are aware of a certain… addition of mine…" he trailed off. How should he phrase his question?
He need not have worried as his parents shared amused glances. "Well, son, we think it's about time."
What.
No, really. What.
Out of all the possible responses he expected, this was not one. Or at least not one he was consciously aware of expecting.
"I do not understand." Have they been waiting for their son to show up with a sword?
Ma's eyes crinkled. "Honey, we've known Des for decades. You should have seen how worried he was whenever he heard about what was going on in your life. We were expecting that boy to give you a sword years ago."
"We even helped him pick out the type," Pa chimed in. "Desmond wanted to get you a cane with a hidden blade inside. As funny as that would have been, you are much too young to be walking around with a cane."
"We even made a fun bonding activity out of it. It has been so long since we saw that boy. You should invite him for dinner." Layton's Ma continued, taking advantage of his shocked silence.
"Especially after he helped us pick out our own blades. Did you know they make ones disguised as rolling pins nowadays? And the hair accessories are simply amazing." Pa kept talking but Layton stared in mute horror as his Ma removed what he thought was a hair pin from her bun. It was much longer than he thought and very sharp.
"Your father even got the cane Des planned to gift you. Look at that dear boy, always taking such good care of us. We should invite him for Christmas. Maybe he'll finally accept for once."
Something in Layton's brain unclogged and the fog disappeared. He could think (somewhat coherently) again.
Desmond was corrupting his parents! Something needed to be done.
(Unbeknownst to him, his parents were in fact corrupting Desmond. There was a reason he learned to always walk around with a weapon.)
Desmond unpacked his Christmas present, face unamused as he read the writing on the article of clothing. It was plain, with the word “Cain” in the middle. A note fell out when he unfolded it. It read "I would advise you wear it to Christmas dinner," with a disturbing smiley face at the end.
He was unsurprised to see his brother sporting the “Abel” one the very next day.
"I didn't actually kill you, you know," he grumbled, but he still wore his shirt.
“Every puzzle has an answer,” Layton said as he unsheathed his sword, still smiling the same smile as always, as if he hadn’t just threatened someone. “Sometimes, they even require rather out-of-the-box solutions.”
The goon who’d refused them passage unless they solved a puzzle followed the motion with wide eyes, his hand reaching towards the baton at his waist as he began to tremble. He had no illusion over who would win if it came to blows, and the weapon did not provide much comfort. Layton was supposed to be non-violent!
But then again, everyone hits their snapping point. And they were putting hundreds of lives in danger. What if this was it? Was he really willing to risk it?
Layton raised the sword and pointed it at the trembling guy.
Screw it, they weren’t paying him enough for this. The thug turned and ran.
Meanwhile, Luke was staring at the professor with wide eyes. “Professor…” he whispered.
“Yes, my boy?”
“What was that?”
“Well, I am afraid we simply do not have time for a puzzle, no matter how tempting it sounds. Sometimes, a little performance can go a long way.”
Luke side-eyed him but remained silent, forcing Layton to rethink his words. He pulled the hat down over his eyes. “Oh dear, it would seem I have been spending too much time with my brother. Nonetheless, it proved effective and we must not waste time.”
Normally, when his students graduated, Layton had a hard time identifying them in the crowd of black gowns and similarly-dressed people. He did not teach them long enough to remember every face, and his frequent breaks from teaching made it even more of a challenge. Yet this year, he noticed with growing discomfort, it was proving to be rather easy. It appeared they were all wearing swords, for some unfathomable reason.
When the first sword-wearing student got called up to accept her degree, the silent anticipation fell away to be replaced by hushed murmurs as other students noticed the sword. The murmurs and whispers only grew in intensity and volume as graduate after graduate went up there with a sword. This was a nightmare. Layton wished he could bury his head in his hands or leave the room, but settled for tugging his hat lower to hide his eyes, his face warm.
Layton’s face heated further as a fellow colleague leaned over to him and whispered “they are taking after you, how cute”. Was it too late to claim an emergency and leave? Maybe Targent was causing trouble again and only he could stop them.
No, he was a gentleman, and a gentleman does not leave the graduation of his students early. He would endure. Somehow. Maybe Desmond would agree to a sparring match afterwards. Sparring always made him forget whatever was currently troubling him.
"Oho, what's this I hear about the Gressenheller graduates this year?" was what greeted him when he met up with his brother.
Nope. He was not doing this. Layton almost turned around and walked away. Only years of being a gentleman stopped him abandoning his good manners.
"I am afraid I do not know what you mean." Layton kept his face carefully blank.
Desmond smirked. "I'm sure that's not true. Even you couldn't miss something so obvious. Everyone who took your course showed up with a sword. Everyone. It even spread to some other archeology students. And one or two from other courses."
Layton's cheeks burned. He tilted his hat down but remained silent.
"Following in father dearest's footsteps, building an army of armed archeologists? For shame." Desmond teased.
"I was unaware of this," Layton sighed, taking off his hat. "A group of students cornered me afterwards to let me know they took my teachings about 'archeology being dangerous' to heart. I suspect Dean Delmona was in on this. Perhaps it was his subtle revenge for my many adventures and missed lectures."
"And you did not try to dissuade them from following your example?"
"Of course I did. How could I not? Yet it appears my reputation precedes me. I was unable to provide an example of a safe archeological adventure I was involved in when prompted, and they took it as a sign that procuring a sword was the right decision."
Desmond shook his head with a smile. "Perhaps archeology truly is not as safe as one might think. I would say the outcome is not so bad."
Layton looked up all of a sudden, eyes burning. "I have not forgotten your role in this. Perhaps it will be beneficial, perhaps not. However…" he smiled serenely, the smile that always disturbed people so much "I would walk carefully in your home if I were you".
Layton did not actually do anything. He got enough satisfaction from watching his brother cautiously walk around his home for weeks, awaiting a revenge that was not coming. Besides, he had actually come to terms with the situation once he calmed down and thought through it logically. Archeology really was dangerous. Perhaps he would even teach a side course on self defence next year. Hm… that was a thought. It would have to include improvised weaponry (pipes were excellent), how to build life-saving devices out of whatever was available (particularly a hang glider) and ropes. They were excellent for tying people up, and saving someone from falling. Layton shuddered, thinking of all the times they would have been useful. Definitely adding that.
In any case, the swords weren’t so bad. His students seemed happy. And as he found out months later, the swords even saved their lives when they were researching the Relic Stones. Something about a sect and a cryogenic chamber, if he remembered correctly. Who knows how that would have turned out if his brother hadn’t given him a sword? People could have been vanishing for years, with no one being the wiser. Maybe he would have vanished as well, once the mystery caught his attention. But there was no use thinking of could-have-beens. His name was Hershel Layton. He had a sword, he was alive, his students were alive, his friends were well, and that was all that mattered.