Chapter 4
This Situation Calls for a “Who Is That Guy?!”
Rose can hear rain falling.
The sound of the droplets striking outside pulls her attention away.
She steadies her breathing, then lowers her practice rapier.
After using her hand to wipe away the sweat trickling down her face, she fixes her hair.
Only the rain breaks the silence in the dim training facility.
For a little while, Rose merely closes her eyes and focuses on its noise. The damp air causes a lump to form in her throat, but she swallows it down.
She’s always found the sound of water to be beautiful.
Rose was born in the Oriana Kingdom, a land of art and culture. She’d been exposed to countless art forms in her childhood, and her aesthetic sensibilities were superb. Over the course of their lives, every member of Oriana royalty chose a single art form in which to excel. It could be painting, or music, or acting. Each was free to choose as they pleased.
Although the young Rose expressed great interest in the arts, she was never able to settle on one. In her eyes, all forms of art were beautiful and unique.
Painting, music, acting, fashion design, sculpture, and the rest were all so wonderful—it was impossible for her to pick just one. Consequently, she dabbled in them all and received high praise for her work in each.
Every artist in the Oriana Kingdom waited with bated breath to see which artistic path Rose would choose to continue down.
But she chose the art of the blade.
One day, out of the blue, she cast aside all the mediums and began training with the sword.
“Why the sword?” they all asked her.
She said little on the subject.
Only that she had seen beauty in swordsmanship.
However, the people of the Oriana Kingdom looked down on it as the purview of brutes and savages. Few were willing to acknowledge it as a legitimate art form.
Ignoring her family’s objections, Rose enrolled in the Midgar Academy for Dark Knights.
A certain beautiful sword work is etched deep in her heart.
She’s never told anyone about it, but it’s a memory she holds dear. The sole reason she’s embarked on this path is out of quiet admiration for a single swordsman.
She knows she’ll never forget the beauty of the swordplay she saw that day.
Her life’s work is to someday emulate that beauty.
Nobody back in her own country will acknowledge it, but she doesn’t care. She isn’t pursuing this out of a desire for praise.
She’s determined to walk this path, even if no one else deems it worthy.
She’s been fine with that.
A few days ago, though, she received a letter.
“Father will be attending the Bushin Festival…,” she mutters, her lips the color of cherry blossoms. It’s a rarity for the king, a man who holds swordplay in contempt, to come watch the event. Rose is certain he’s coming to drag her back home.
There is a lot of speculation, but one rumor in particular that catches Rose’s attention.
Word is that a man has been unofficially chosen as her fiancé.
As soon as she heard that, she immediately sent a letter off to her family asking if this was true. However, she hasn’t gotten a response yet.
But she’s already decided on another man. That man, who doesn’t fear death and whose soul is fiery and pure, is the one she’s chosen as her life partner.
That’s why she needs to force her father to see her abilities at the Bushin Festival…with her sword.
Then, she prays, he just might… Rose slaps her cheeks.
“Focus,” she mutters, flinging off her sweat-soaked tunic.
Her skin, glistening with sweat, is laid bare. The only thing hiding her sizable breasts is her sports bra from Mitsugoshi.
It’s a little immodest of her, but she knows nobody else is going to come, so she chooses not to worry about it.
She readies her practice rapier, then summons an image to her mind.
She envisions her finest performance…back when the academy was under attack.
The Bushin Festival is going to start soon. She has to re-create that feeling before it does.
Rose’s rapier flashes through the air, and beads of sweat go flying. Her elegant honey hair comes unraveled.
She brushes aside the strands that have fallen in her face, then continues swinging.
The whole time, she can hear the rain falling outside.
The feeling refuses to return.
The Bushin Festival season is upon us.
I walk down the bustling roads of the capital. The makeup of the crowd is different than usual.
The people passing me on the street all have different races, nationalities, and jobs, but they share the common goal of wanting to enjoy the event. They’ve never talked to one another before and probably never will again, but they nonetheless share a strange sense of unity.
That’s just how festivals work.
I don’t hate this kind of vibe. After all, it’s necessary for one thing: When everyone is collectively focused on something, it makes for the greatest stage imaginable.
The Bushin Festival.
“There’s a big wave coming through, and I’ll be damned if I don’t ride it.”
I’m gonna check off the top item on my bucket list.
It’s that trope where a mysterious badass joins a big tournament, and everyone goes from Hold up, that guy’s gonna get himself killed! to Wait, he’s superstrong! to Just who is that guy?!
To do that, I’m gonna need everyone’s cooperation.
After pushing my way through the crowd, I eventually end up at the royal capital branch of Mitsugoshi.
Ignoring the line of people patiently waiting their turn, I stroll right in. I’m friends with the owner, so it’s fine, right?
The store is hectic since it’s the busy season and all, but it isn’t long before an attractive saleswoman spots me and drags me off.
“I know it totally sounds like I’m lying, but I’m friends with the owner. I swear.”
“I’m aware.”
I was a little concerned whether she really knew me or not, but it turns out to be the former.
She takes me to that room from last time with the awesome chair. I take my seat atop it.
Damn! Sitting on this thing really makes you feel like a king.
They even bring me a glass of iced apple juice. Not from concentrate.
Good catch on their part, knowing I prefer apple juice to orange. It’s nice and crisp, so it really hits the spot on these hot summer days.
The summer wind comes through the room. Ting, ting, something rings.
“Wind chimes, eh…?”
I look at the window and see them hanging against a backdrop of blue skies and big summer clouds.
“Please wait here a moment.”
I nod. The shop lady goes to find Gamma, and another one comes in to fan me. Her summer dress leaves a lot of her skin exposed.
“Y’know, I’m feeling kinda peckish.”
“I’ll have something prepared immediately.”
As I gaze at the clouds, I decide I’ll definitely come mooch off this place whenever I’m short on food.
Hearing that her beloved master has arrived, Gamma immediately leaves the rest of her work to her subordinates and hurries over to the Hall of Shadows.
She wears a thin, black knee-length dress, and she’s paired it with a summery white set of high heels. After applying a fragrant perfume, she steps into the hall.
“I’m here, my lord.”
Her master sits atop the Shadow throne, gazing at the sky with his arms crossed. Is that piercing gaze of his directed at the clouds or something deeper?
Gamma can’t tell.
“I have a request.” Her master turns his sight on her as he speaks.
When she meets his ever-dignified gaze, Gamma’s heart flutters. It’s a little inappropriate of her to hope in this way, but she wonders if he notices she changed her hairstyle.
“Ask, and I will make it happen.”
“I want to disguise myself and enter the Bushin Festival,” her master says.
The instant the words leave his mouth, Gamma’s considerable intellect is already at work.
She thinks fervently, trying to suss out not only her master’s intent but also his true goal, the one that lies beyond it.
However…she comes up blank.
Why is it necessary for him to take this action?
No matter how hard she tries, she can’t unravel that mystery. She’s forced to shamefully ask.
“Why?”
Her master averts his eyes from Gamma and looks back up at the sky.
And when his gaze leaves her, Gamma feels almost as though his interest has been stolen. Her eyes dart around.
“Would you mind…not asking me that question?” he requests, a distant look in his eyes.
Gamma casts her gaze down and bites her lip.
When she heard he’d fought Aurora the Calamity Witch, a thought had crossed Gamma’s mind. If she’d been there, would she really have been able to figure out his plan?
She had no faith she would have succeeded.
None of the members of the Shadow Garden who were on-site had been able to fathom it. In the end, his choice turned out to be optimal, but no one had been able to get on the same page as him. If Gamma had been there, she’d have had no choice but to determine her master’s intentions.
Gamma is the brains of the Shadow Garden. That’s her raison d’être.
If she can’t do that, then she is worthless to the organization
And even though she knows that, she’s messed up again.
“Forgive me… It must be something you can’t tell anyone about.”
Gamma hasn’t been able to deduce so much as a shred of her master’s motives or emotions.
She’s an utter failure.
It would be far better if she just stopped trying to be clever and did as she was told.
“I won’t ask any more, but it will be done.”
Gamma kneels, hiding her face to conceal the tears of chagrin welling up in the corners of her eyes.
After wiping them away, she issues swift instructions to her subordinates. They go and fetch something.
“What is that?” her master asks as he eyes what they’ve brought.
“Slime—modified based on your Shadow Wisdom. By running magic through it, it takes on the exact same feeling as skin.”
“Oh…?”
Gamma offers the flesh-colored slime to her master.
“So I just put it on my face?”
“Correct.”
Her master stretches the slime over his face.
“It looks like I’m wearing clay,” he observes as he looks in a mirror.
“This is where Nu comes in.”
“Pardon me.” Nu steps in front of their master and pulls out a small chisel-like knife. “I’ll carve the slime.”
“Ah, I see.”
“What kind of face would you like?”
“Good question… One that looks kinda weak.”
“Weak, huh…?” Nu thinks for a minute.
“What about this man?” Gamma opens a folder and shows Nu a young man’s census data.
“Mundane Mann. A member of the aristocracy in the Altena Empire. Twenty-two years old. He’s lazy, weak by dark knight standards, and was disowned five years ago. Afterward, he worked in a variety of places as a mercenary and guard. His final job was protecting a carriage full of the possessed.”
The man had been lazy, but that was hardly a sin. He’d been guarding the carriage, unaware of what lay within. That was when his luck ran out.
“His bone structure is similar, so it should work out. We also already have his identification papers.”
“Good. That’ll be safer than forging them. Is this acceptable, my lord?”
“Yeah, let’s go with this Mundane guy.”
“Then without further ado.” Nu takes her knife and begins shaving away at the slime.
She’s excellent with makeup. In fact, when it comes to cosmetics, she’s their go-to girl.
She finishes carving in no time, and a plain man’s face is etched atop their master’s.
He lets out an impressed grunt as he looks in the mirror. “Ooh, this is nice…”
“Will this do?”
“Yeah, this is great. I look so weak.”
The face lacks any notable traits but gives off a plain impression. It sports sickly bags under its eyes, a pathetic five-o’clock shadow, a sagging mouth, and dull skin. The man looks thoroughly unreliable.
It warms Gamma’s heart seeing her master so pleased.
“The face will harden once you run magic through it, so afterward, you can take it off and put it on as you please.”
“Sweet.”
“As far as its weaknesses, it’s less elastic than the slime bodysuits, and it offers almost no physical protection.”
“Got it, so it’s for cosmetic use only. It wouldn’t make sense to make a full bodysuit out of this stuff.”
“Correct. Also…”
After Nu finishes her brief explanation, their master stands.
“I’d probably look the part more if I hunched my back.”
He tries walking around with his back twisted a little.
“Bravo,” commends Gamma, smiling as she claps.
It’s possible to tell how physically adept someone is just by assessing their posture and gait. Strength largely comes from the feet. People who are good at manipulating their bodies carry themselves in a way to transfer as much strength throughout themselves as possible. Of course, that isn’t the end-all be-all of gauging someone, but it’s a useful point of reference.
Gamma’s master once taught her that, and she understands it perfectly. However, that perfection doesn’t extend to her ability to put it into practice. Her posture is elegant but nothing more. She’s a textbook example of how this rule doesn’t apply to everyone.
“I should drop my shoulders, too… Yeah. And I want to be careful not to misalign my pelvis. It’d be a pain if it got stuck that way.”
Gamma is filled with pleasant feelings as she watches her master practice walking in a way to give the impression of weakness. She gives instructions to her subordinates.
“Prepare clothes and a cheap sword.”
“Ah, good thinking.”
Hearing those three words, Gamma’s heart is filled to the brim.
“Yeah, those look good. I’m gonna go register for the Bushin Festival.”
Her master must have been messing with his vocal cords, as his voice comes out low and husky.
“Here are his papers. Take care out there.”
Gamma lowers her head and watches her master recede.
“Thanks. Oh yeah, one other thing.”
Her master stops in front of the door.
“That hairstyle looks nice on you.”
Gamma’s brain freezes.
The door clicks shut.
“Plergh!”
And Gamma’s heel snaps.
“Gamma?!”
Her face plants straight into the floor, but despite the blood gushing from her nose, her expression is one of absolute bliss.
Registration for the Bushin Festival is handled at the arena’s reception desk.
I get in line, glancing at the other dark knights around me.
The guy in front of me, being tall and brawny, comes off strong at first glance, but his center of balance is garbage.
Hmm. It’s a close call, but I think I just barely look weaker than him.
More warriors line up behind me.
One guy has a solid center of mass, but he’s kinda tubby. Hell, that’s probably why his balance is so good. That’s what you get when you drink too much, man.
But I think I’m good. He’s got an intimidating expression, so I still look weaker.
I continue looking around and judging people. It’s like I’m holding my own little tournament of who looks weakest.
After all, I wanna go from Hold up, that guy’s gonna get himself killed to Just who is that guy?! so I have to start out looking like the puniest dude around.
That guy’s a nobody; that dude over there’s no big deal; the guy across from him is a runt; this chump’s less than nobody… Damn, there’s just too many shitters.
But I’ll be fine. Right now, I’m Mundane Mann.
After conducting my fair and impartial assessment, I determine I’m still probably the least impressive of the lot.
As I nod in satisfaction, someone calls out to me.
“Hey, kid. You’d best give up now.”
“Hmm?”
“If you don’t, you’ll die.”
I turn and find a female dark knight standing behind me.
My heart pounds. Could it be that classic cliché?
“Who are you?”
“I’m Annerose. If you’re planning on entering without thinking it through, you’d be better off leaving now.”
Annerose casts a stern glare at me.
When she does, I pump my fist internally.
I knew it… This is the scene that always happens when a weakling tries to enter a big tournament.
“You’re an amateur. I can tell just by looking at you.”
Annerose walks toward me, then stops an arm’s length away.
Her pale-blue eyes give off a stubborn vibe, and they match the color of her shoulder-length hair.
“Your sword is cheap, and your body is frail.”
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