THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL
Final Stanza
1
Days passed. Then months. Then two years.
Many people counted those two years as beginning from the day of the Sword Saint’s first battle. Only a very few who had been involved knew that the actual beginning dated to several weeks prior to that.
The Sword Devil had disappeared and, as if in his place, the star of the Sword Saint began to rise. One girl, beloved of the sword god, accomplished what an entire army had not been able to: She ended the Demi-human War that the royal forces had wasted themselves on for close to ten years, and brought peace to the kingdom.
The Demi-human Alliance had continued a grassroots resistance, but the blade of the Sword Saint was able to uproot even the desire to avenge Valga Cromwell. In the end, perhaps the demi-humans found that they had raised their fist but no longer had anywhere to bring it down.
The Demi-human Alliance had lost those who had led it at the beginning of the war; they had continued to resist through the inertia of those leaders’ ideas. The Sword Saint simply removed any reason they had to continue with that inertia.
Talks between Jionis Lugunica, the present king, and Cragrel, the representative of the demi-human faction, ensued. Thus, the Demi-human War, which had afflicted the kingdom for nine long years, ended shockingly peacefully.
“You look stunning, Lady Theresia.”
Theresia van Astrea had changed into a formal outfit, and Carol could not help exclaiming. Theresia’s red hair now reached down to her hips. Her eyes were still blue as a cloudless sky, and her skin was almost translucently pale. She was the picture of irresistible beauty, which was only fitting for Carol’s master.
“Thank you, Carol. Your dress suits you perfectly, as well.” There was that thin smile again. Carol was dressed up much the way Theresia was, and as grateful as she was for the younger woman’s words of praise, there was a loneliness in her heart that separated her from her master.
Today there was to be a ceremony to mark the end of the war, with Theresia as the guest of honor. She had ended the endless conflict between humans and demi-humans. The whole world would be introduced to Theresia, the Sword Saint, the embodiment of humanity’s hope.
It was a day that left Carol with a flurry of emotions. She was also proud, of course—there could have been no greater honor than to serve at Theresia’s side as her attendant.
The common people were immensely enamored of Theresia. It seemed as if everyone who could get to the capital had packed into the castle to try to get a glance at her. It was unmistakable proof that Carol’s master had truly been acknowledged and embraced by the world.
“—”
And yet in profile, Theresia’s face, so beautifully made up, suggested only how fragile that world was. Carol knew the reason, and that was why her emotions were so confused. She knew why, and for whom, Theresia had really fought. She knew how long her master had been tormented by her gift and how she had pushed aside all that pain to take up her weapon and fight as the Sword Saint before the man she had loved. And Carol knew how Theresia’s heart had broken after that, when they parted.
How wonderful it had been to see Theresia relax among those flowers and fall in love. Carol was aware of all this. And it only increased her pain.
“I envy you, Trias.”
He had a place deep in the hearts of both her precious master and the man she herself cared for. The fact that he wasn’t here today made her immeasurably sad.
2
Perhaps Theresia stopped in her tracks because the woman’s sheer presence was so strong. They had been going from the changing room to the ceremony hall, and a woman with indigo hair and mismatched eyes had been waiting.
The woman smiled and walked easily toward Theresia. “So this is the hero everyone’s talking about, the one who brought an end to the civil war… I see. You are indeeeed the very picture of a flowering beauty. But I’m quite afraid you seeeem to be missing something.”
“—”
“The wooorld is about to meet the Sword Saint. Surely she should be carrying a blade?” She almost sounded like she was teasing, but she held out a sword—a ceremonial blade in a white scabbard.
“You’re…”
“One who need not be introduced at this time. Although I confess, I do know a greeeat deal about you. And on that basis, I advise you to take this.”
“—”
“Don’t worry about whether it will go well with your dress. There are more important things in the world. And anyway…I should think you of all people will always look best carrying a sword.”
One of the two differently colored eyes winked. Theresia hesitated for a moment, then took the proffered weapon.
“That’s good,” the woman said. “Come now. I’m just a biiit of a busybody.”
As if to announce that her work was done, she said no more and walked off, away from the ceremony hall. Theresia thought about calling after her, but at length she only watched her depart. The hall was packed with people who had flocked from all over the country to get a glimpse of the Sword Saint. She could hardly disappoint all those people on a mere personal whim.
“That’s quite virtuous but also a bad habit. Every once in a while, it wouldn’t hurt to do something selfish like he did.”
Theresia thought she heard the woman’s voice, even though that was impossible. Then she started walking. She came to the end of the corridor, where the hall came into view. A great heat pressed upon her.
“So I gave my romantic rival a bit of help. I can practically see him frowning about it riiight now.”
Theresia thought she heard the woman’s voice again, sounding somehow both amused and sad at the same time.
3
The ceremony went as smoothly as anyone could have hoped. At first, there was a murmur in the crowd when the Sword Saint appeared bearing her ceremonial blade. But as Theresia strode through the hall, the surprise vanished, replaced by complete adoration for the twin presence of the girl and her sword. Even the king himself was taken by the lithe girl concealing exceptional power, so much so that he practically forgot he was there to give an award, and only stood transfixed.
As the evening went on, everyone reflected that every move she made held the beauty and elegance of a flower. They saw how precious she was and how the base and martial steel was unsuited to her. This girl shouldn’t be made to wield it. Her face in profile seemed to suggest her soft and gentle nature, and that all she wanted was to admire beautiful flowers.
“—”
Then Theresia looked up. She had knelt to receive her commendation from the king, but now she rose and turned around.
A dark figure walked slowly into the hall, slicing through the fevered enthusiasm of the crowd. Others in the room followed Theresia’s gaze and were struck mute when they saw him. He was dressed from head to toe in a muddy brown overgarment, a pathetic sight to behold. The dirt and blood clinging to his skin made it seem he had not so much as bathed recently. His appearance was practically calculated to provoke the contempt of those who saw him.
But this was not what drove the people to silence. Rather, it was the bare steel in his hand, and the overpowering aura of battle he exuded.
“—”
The guards stationed in the hall began to move, but Theresia herself stopped them. As the shrouded figure walked toward her, Theresia began to close the distance herself. Finally, she was watching him from the dais permitted only to the ceremony’s participants, and he was staring at her from the foot of the platform.
“—”
A beautiful, white sacred blade came up. In parallel, a rusted and blunt sword rose. And then, as if on a signal and without a sound, they leaped at each other.
Many in the audience felt that both of the fighters turned invisible at that moment. But the ringing of steel on steel held their attention.
This sword dance was being played out at a speed the average person’s eye could never follow. The flashes of the blades became indistinguishable, their clash-like music, and eventually people began to weep. They could not see the fight and could barely hear it; they were simply overwhelmed.
Thereupon, each of those in attendance renounced what they had felt before, that the sword was unsuited to Theresia van Astrea. In that battle, they saw the beauty of steel, that it was fit to be reverenced, how devotion to it made a person shine. Who could have known that the sword could teach others about beauty?
“—”
As for those few who could follow what was going on, what they saw astonished them. Thrust and parry, swords locked together, stances switching—both Theresia and her assailant were at the peak of swordsmanship.
It made sense that the Sword Saint should be thus. Many of them had participated in the civil war and seen her abilities with their own eyes. But who was this who attacked her on nearly equal terms?
The Sword Saint had ordered the soldiers to stay back, and the king likewise instructed them not to intervene. They obeyed, watching silently, but wondered if they should not be doing more. Who was this enemy? Some demi-human extremist who opposed the end of the war? Then again, the humans were not monolithic. Perhaps this was someone dissatisfied with the conclusion of hostilities.
If so, they had to stop this. But was it even possible? None of the soldiers could have involved themselves in such profoundly high-level combat.
“—”
They could see the Sword Saint’s face as she worked her ceremonial blade ceaselessly, her attacks falling like a storm. Let us be completely clear: No one could stop this girl in love. Her eyes were wet, her cheeks red, and each exchange brought the Sword Saint happiness as she fought.
Her hair was like a flickering flame, her eyes like a cloudless sky; the beautiful and gentle beloved of the sword god was shimmering with joy. This battle with the demonic swordsman before her shone as nothing else had in this world. It was the most dangerous meeting in history, and she was enjoying it to the full.
“—”
Among those who were close to the Sword Saint, the ones who also knew the Sword Devil felt their souls tremble. All that they had wanted to see, all that they had wanted to know, was here in this moment. The man who had struggled to be a sword, who had been called a devil—what had he found at the end of his path? What had he now resolved himself to?
“—”
Their swords flashed until the flashes ran together; many strikes became a single strike, creating a sound that left the world behind. It was almost like music—a song of swords created when the utmost technique met the most polished steel, a song that produced limitless emotions. Everyone was held captive as the love song of this shy boy and girl played out without shame before them.
“—”
But even the most beautiful voice must eventually take a breath, and an end came. The battle was over, even though one might have wished for it to go on forever.
“—”
The sound of shattering steel, no longer able to withstand the intense blows, cracked like thunder in the hall. The reddish-brown blade snapped in half, the tip spiraling through the air. Here at the end of their battle, the end of the two sword fighters’ meeting, the Sword Saint’s sacred blade—
“I—”
“—”
“I win.”
The Sword Saint came quickly down from the dais, her footsteps audible. The only remaining sword was the superb, half-broken dull blade in the demon’s hand. Its shattered edge was at the Sword Saint’s pale throat, and everyone in attendance understood.
The Sword Saint had lost.
She had been irrefutably pulled down from the summit of the sword.
It took them a moment to notice something else. The girl who was still standing there, having dropped her sword. She was nothing more and nothing less than a beautiful young woman in love.
“You’re weaker than me. There’s no more reason for you to wield the sword.”
Who could say such a thing to the Sword Saint, the girl who had scaled the highest heights of the sword?
Only someone who could show her a greater love than the sword god.
How diligently must he have worked to reach that point?
“If I am not to wield the sword…then who?”
“I will inherit your reason for bearing the sword. You will become why I do so.”
How many hundreds, how many thousands or ten thousands, how many countless setbacks and failures must that swordsman have endured? How many battles must he have fought to earn that claim?
This most awkward speaker let his hood fall back. The young man who appeared had a serious countenance, but his hair was unkempt, his face covered in mud, and his eyes were stern.
“You’re terrible. Putting a person’s decisions and resolution all to waste…”
“All these things that you think I’m putting to waste, I will take up from you. As for you, forget that you ever held the sword, and live a life of peace. You could… Ah, yes. Perhaps you could grow some flowers. But only in peace, under my protection.”
“Protected by your sword?”
“That’s right.”
“And you would be so kind as to protect me?”
“I would.”
His declaration was without compromise or hesitation. He would not be moved, even if the sword god himself stood against him. His resolution had pulled this lovely young woman from the throne of the Sword Saint through nothing but his own strength.
“—”
Wordlessly, Theresia placed a hand on the flat of the outstretched blade and took a step forward. They were close enough to touch, to feel each other’s breath. Theresia’s eyes welled from emotion, and she began to smile and cry at the same time. And then, through her smile and her tears, she said what she always did at their meetings.
“Do you like flowers?”
“I’ve learned I don’t hate them.”
Because you’re there with them. Because that field of flowers is where I met you.
Because they are the world you love, the beauty you wish for.
“Why do you wield your sword?”
“To protect you.”
And because you are the seed of my world.
Slowly, they drew closer to each other, the distance between them shrinking until it was nothing at all.
They could feel the fire of each other, and the heat of their kiss was enough to melt solid steel.
The first question she asked him when their lips parted made him so intensely shy that he could barely answer.
“Do you love me?”
“Can’t you tell?”
4
The dance, the meeting, and finally the kiss, ended.
Carol, absorbed by the dance, seeing the meeting, and watching the kiss, wept openly. Before her she saw Theresia’s true face, the one she had given up hope of ever seeing again.
Look, she wanted to exclaim. Look at that, she wanted to shout. She wanted the world to know how kind this person was, to know that when she took up the sword she was stronger than anyone, and yet she was kind. Carol wanted everyone to see that in the presence of the man she loved, Theresia was only a sweet and caring girl.
“—”
Grimm had found his way to her side. He, too, was watching the embrace, squinting as if staring at a bright light.
Suddenly, a memory came to Carol. A conversation the two of them had back before Grimm had lost his voice. Somehow the subject of that man had come up, and Carol had been criticizing him fiercely.
“Hmph. A nickname like ‘the Sword Devil’ is dishonorable for a swordsman. If he can be confused for a demon, it means there’s something twisted about the way he lives!”
Grimm laughed. “You’re certainly merciless, Carol. I guess I can’t deny what you’re saying. But…”
“But what?”
He had looked rather weak-willed as he laughed, but he was contradicting her. She looked at Grimm questioningly. His reply came with a pained smile but with real confidence.
“It’s possible that the first person to call Wilhelm the Sword Devil was me. When I saw how he fought the demi-humans at Castour Field, I was so terrified by it that that was what I called him.”
“What’s wrong with that? It certainly describes the way he acts on the battlefield…”
“True, he does look like a devil when he fights. I agree that fits. But…” He scratched his cheek. “He’s a swordsman who fight like a demon, so we call him the Sword Devil. But I think we may just be stating the obvious.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Maybe when you’ve really committed yourself to something, there are times when you have to become a demon… Maybe Wilhelm looks like one to us just because he’s so single-minded. I don’t know anyone else who looks so terrible when they fight. I don’t know anyone else who’s so serious about the way he lives.”
His voice was quiet but impassioned. Carol found herself feeling jealous. Could this be it? Could this be why she resented that man?
“Maybe ‘Sword Devil’ really is the right name for him,” Grimm said. “Wilhelm is absolutely dedicated to the sword, completely serious about how he lives, and that’s why we call him that. And I’m sure it’s because—”
5
“Sword Devil!! Sword Devil Wilhelm Trias!!”
Even as Theresia asked for his heart, even as he looked away from her, someone called his name, a name he hadn’t heard in what seemed like a very long time. Wilhelm turned around.
In that instant, the spell that had been cast over the hall broke, and all the soldiers and military men in attendance came back to themselves.
“Wilhelm, you great, raging idiot!”
“—rrr!”
Among the soldiers who came rushing toward him, he saw a familiar hulking shape and young man, and his shoulders relaxed. He wasn’t going to resist. But the thought of what would come next made him profoundly tired. So much so that he considered simply absconding with Theresia and disappearing into the distance.
“Listen, you!” As he was considering the possibility, Theresia had puffed out her cheeks, still holding on to him. She was a woman who threw herself into whatever she did, be it laughing, or shouting, or pouting, and still very much the same person who had charmed him in that field of flowers. “There are some things a person wants to hear you say out loud!”
“Ahh,” Wilhelm groaned, realizing that she was still trying to continue the conversation from earlier. He was profoundly embarrassed to have to put his true feelings into words. Even if one might question how he could remain so reticent after having just shared a kiss in front of the entire audience hall.
“—”
After a second, he shook his head. He couldn’t refuse her direct request.
Wilhelm took a deep breath and turned back to Theresia, leaning in toward her ear. Her face turned red, her eyes expectant. He caught his breath at her loveliness, and the words stuck in his throat.
Finally he said, “I’ll tell you sometime, when the mood takes me.”
It was the first time in his life the Sword Devil had ever been taken by cowardice.
6
And so the tale comes to an end.
A tale of bonds forged in the midst of the nation’s civil conflict, the Demi-human War.
A tale of the days when one boy, enraptured by the beauty of the sword, dedicated himself to the nobility of steel.
Of how this boy became a young man, how he met a young woman, and found a love he could never have attained with the sword.
Of a Sword Devil, a man who found himself standing before one woman, who once wished to be a sword, who lived with such dedication as to be called a demon, and who, through the heat of living, became human.
Of a girl, too, the Sword Saint beloved of the sword god, who had surpassed all others, and whom the young man returned to what she once was—a young woman in love.
Relating all these things is this humble song of the Sword Devil’s love.
A love story enough to make one dizzy with passion, a romance that blazes in the heart.
People call it “The Love Song of the Sword Devil.”
It is nothing more than this, and nothing less.
<END>
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