2
It almost brings a tear to the eye how well this sword fits my hand. It is enough to make it feel as if I have been chosen by the sword.
Not that there is any reason for me to feel so arrogant right now.
“Shing!”
It feels ever so slightly thicker than my sword, and the tip is heavier. But if I attack with that in mind, I can compensate to some extent.
It’s not always possible to fight with a familiar weapon in hand. I am confident in the training I have put in considering all sorts of situations to be able to fight to the greatest extent possible, even without being able to choose my weapon.
“You’re boring.”
The man leaped backward with a yawn, easily avoiding the confident, sharp thrust.
There was more distance between them now, but he followed with a lunge and confident footwork.
In combat, commenting on swordsmanship as a whole, what was important was not just control of the sword, but also balance and footwork, as well as the ability to know the perfect moment to close in with the greatest speed and form.
Therefore, when I began training in the sword, the very first thing ingrained in me was footwork.
I am confident I was blessed with a good master. There are many ways in which my master’s swordsmanship pales in comparison to mine as it is now, but that is merely the result of the difference in our ages.
He was more skilled at nurturing the talents of others than at increasing his own. He was the sort of person who loved to talk about the history of the techniques, their development and inheritance, as much as he liked to practice them.
And naturally, I also enjoyed listening to him and thought it an honor to be able to put them into practice.
“ ”
He performed an attack aimed exactly where the man would land.
There were perturbations in various directions, but the true goal was a slash straight upward from below.
“Right out of the manual, aren’t you?”
It was a deadly arc, but the man easily nudged it to change its path with the sticks in his hand. It was an exchange that lasted not even one second. The man accomplished a feat as delicate as threading a needle, displaying an ability far beyond normal comprehension.
“—Ngh.”
With a stunned grunt from Julius, the slash passed over the man’s head with great speed. To defend the opening this created, Julius spun his body and focused on summoning a Blade of Wind—except there was no support from spirits. There was simply an unguarded opening.
“Kah!”
The outthrust front kick directly struck Julius’s side. The toenails of his bare foot thrust into the gap between organs, sending a piercing pain lancing throughout his body.
He went flying. He immediately leaped in the direction of the impact to avoid taking the brunt of the blow.
However, he could not stop the penetrating force of the kick. His world spun, and the shock hit his brain with both pain and nausea as he slammed his leg down onto the onrushing floor, raising his head to not lose sight of the enemy.
Straining his lungs painfully, he exhaled every last bit of breath still inside him. Completely emptying himself, he forced his burning lungs to remember what calm breathing was like.
“ ”
He exhaled, letting the breath completely drain out of him. With this, I can still fight. I should still be able to fight.
The red-haired man was smiling at him about ten yards away.
Leap in again. Chase him down, hit him with my sword. At least wipe that easygoing smile off his face. Then the real fight…
“Don’t get cocky. You think there are fake fights and real fights? You think this is some kid’s story?”
“…Ah…”
He was dumbfounded as the space between them vanished in the blink of an eye.
More precisely, right after he blinked. The man covered ten yards in one instant, thrusting the sticks right at Julius’s nose. When he carelessly moved to knock them aside, they arced, delivering two attacks that landed at his chest and head.
It was a visceral shock. The sharpness of the attack more than the pain itself drew his focus. Gritting his teeth, Julius desperately clung to the consciousness that was threatening to escape him and forcefully stepped down onto the floor.
“Oooo, ahh!”
Roaring deeply, he unleashed a semicircular slash at the man. He gracefully evaded it, almost as if dancing, before slamming an elbow into the side of Julius’s head. Again, his consciousness wavered.
And so he chose the attack that was most ingrained in his body.
A simultaneous casting of fire and water, combined with a slash for a three-pronged attack—but it failed.
His contract with the spirits was severed. So there was no support from fire or water, leaving only the flash of a sword that had been polished through so much training it had reached the level of art worthy of the title Finest. If the opponent were just a normal fighter, that would still have been enough to finish the job.
“Bah.”
The pinnacle of knightly swordsmanship was easily deflected by a simple stick swung as a mere amusement.
A knee swung upward, hitting Julius in the solar plexus, drawing a groan and vomit. As his body was on the verge of collapsing, a series of attacks slammed into him from the front, preventing him from falling.
“Ho?”
The shock of the attacks almost sent him falling backward, but he immediately reached out with his hand to support himself. And then, taking advantage of the backward momentum, he turned it into a spinning kick, which the man avoided with a bit of a surprised sound.
Using that, Julius took some distance. He wiped the blood from his nose with his white sleeve. His uniform was dirtied by an unpleasantly vibrant red color.
It doesn’t matter. Exhaling sharply, he poured all his spirit into the sword in his right hand.
This must hit. I must be strong.
“Talk about lame. How long have you held a sword? It’s only been three months since I first picked up a sword. I can cut light, but what can you cut?”
“Right here and now, you…”
“Good joke. You think you can manage that? Not a chance. You won’t swing your sword enough to reach me. You haven’t swung it enough. You can’t swing enough. You aren’t swinging enough. You haven’t done everything you can do yet, so don’t go spoutin’ off about what you want to do.”
Julius’s only reply was to unleash a strong, powerful attack.
And as if in response, he was hit with a dozen more attacks.
“It’s not enough. You aren’t enough. You shouldn’t have come. You’re out of your league. This isn’t your stage. You weren’t invited.”
I have to be strong. I have to prove myself with my sword.
I’ve lost my name, my house, my family, my lady, my comrades in arms, my friends, the spirits bound to my soul.
This is all I have left. I am all that remains. What I have amassed here is all that remains.
This is the only proof that I exist…
“Don’t make me sick. Don’t put that pretty mask on. Are you content just copyin’ someone else? Your sword’s as boring as you.”
There was a time I set my sights on the pinnacle of the sword.
That was back when I thought I might be able to chase after it.
But I quickly gave up on it as a goal that was impossibly high.
When I realized with my own eyes the great duty that red-haired boy shouldered.
“No one’s lookin’ at you. No one expects anything of you. Don’t half-ass this thinkin’ I’m just playin’ around. It’s no fun kickin’ you around.”
I admired it. Overflowing, brilliant stories.
I thought I wasn’t adequate to stand among them.
So I grew desperate, struggled, that I might someday reach the dream I gave up on.
“ ”
The one blue eye, the disheveled hair the color of flames—they overlapped with the boy who had been his reason for giving up on his dream and with the many aspirations he had felt afterward.
He believed he had never spared himself any effort out of a wish to someday reach them.
“Not enough. Not nearly enough. Don’t go slackin’ off on life.”
While being spat at by one of the aspirations he had hoped to reach, he was beaten down by a single set of sticks.
The man didn’t even hold a sword. Julius’s sword had failed. All the efforts he had put in were meaningless. He had poured blood, sweat, and tears into the one and only thing that he still believed in, and now it was crumbling around him, trampled underfoot.
Something started to bubble up inside him.
But it was erased by something even greater.
“Kah! Can’t hold it in? You’re getting more and more boring.”
Something hit his torso. His lungs froze. Something grabbed his hair. He started swinging around and then slammed into the ground. As he rolled away, his face got kicked. He was sent spinning across the floor, hurtling out into the endless white space.
He hit the floor again. Raising his body up, he looked in the direction from which he had been kicked. His face was hit directly by the man’s knee that came flying at him. The moment it crashed into him, he lowered his head so that the knee hit his forehead, splitting his skin, but also managing to knock back the man.
That created an opening. He could fix his stance—or at least he should have been able to. But his body didn’t move.
“Hrrgh…”
His entire body cried out. His head in particular had been badly hurt. His consciousness wavered, and he could not focus. If he did not hold on, it felt like the inside of his head would pour out.
Sword. Where is…the sword? As if confirming, he slowly tightened the grip of his right hand. He was met by the familiar touch of a sword’s hilt. He felt a slight relief.
I can’t let go. Not of this. If I lose even this, what will I have lost?
Or am I holding something else that is merely shaped like a sword?
“ ”
I believed I was not mistaken in my way of life. I believed that I was following his own path as I walked it.
That is still how I feel. I never imagined that would ever waver for all my days.
So it slipping from my fingers is a problem well apart from right or wrong.
…Or was I mistaken?
Am I like this now because I failed to follow my way of life, because I was mistaken in the path I chose, because I believed in the wrong thing?
I’ve lost my name, my house, my family, my lady, my comrades in arms, my friends, the spirits bound to my soul.
If even this, the one thing I have left, is insufficient… Is a lie not enough to support me…?
—I shall be strong, to support you. The vow he swore to his lady.
—I remember how strong you are. The words of the one friend he had left.
Even though that strength was the only thing supporting me in a world where I have lost everything. Even though it was the one and only unerasable certainty while I am so weak and fragile.
“Your doubt’s showing in your sword.”
“ ”
How long did I spend lost in thought?
Most likely, it has only been a moment. But that small opening is as good as a thousand chances to kill for him—for the Sword Saint.
There was a piercing sound. Opening his eyes, Julius saw the sword clattering across the floor.
Even the sword has finally slipped from my hands.
I’ve lost my name, my pride, and even my sword, so who is even standing here?
“You don’t have the right to reach the heavenly sword. You aren’t even fit to be my apprentice.”
With that cold announcement, the Sword Saint held the chopsticks in an overhand grip, and lowered his waist.
It was the first time the Sword Saint assumed a proper stance.
The next moment, the chopstick howled—in what was unmistakably a sword slash—sending Julius flying.
It was an attack different from every other violent kick or punch.
It wasn’t savage violence. It was the pinnacle of the sword and the embodiment of true strength.
Swallowed up by light, Julius’s consciousness was blown away.
Is this death? Something that surpasses death? I don’t know.
But in the moment he was blown away, there was a faint voice.
“Julius!!!”
It was ragged, almost tragic.
As if in desperation, it had raced up the long stairs, only to see the final decisive moment.
Hearing that brought a strange smile.
The Finest of Knights. Member of the royal guard of the Kingdom of Lugunica. Eldest son and future head of the Juukulius house. Knight to the royal selection candidate Anastasia Hoshin.
Julius Juukulius.
“Hah.”
Do I really have the right to that name now?
With that final question, Julius’s consciousness was swallowed by the light and faded completely.
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