Chapter 59 - < Because We're Family >

Dinner was over, the spar was over, Kyle had proved himself, and he had received permission to establish his order. Yet no one left the banquet hall.

“It has been so long since we all gathered like this. Why don't we stay and talk a little longer?”

Cartan spoke up, perhaps still exhilarated from crossing swords with his young nephew.

“A fine idea.”

Julius looked a little surprised, then nodded. Teacups were promptly set out on the cleared table.

“It isn't often that our family gathers like this. And today is a particularly joyous occasion. Kyle has finally emerged from the Floor of Asceticism after four whole years.”

“Were you worried about me?”

“Of course I was. No one had ever entered the Floor of Asceticism at your age. Nor had anyone spent as long there as you and returned alive. Kyle, how did you spend your time there?”

“Catching and eating the monsters in the Mudflats and the sea.”

Cartan's fingers froze as he lifted his teacup, and the others stared at Kyle with wide eyes. Even Julius looked astonished, his beard twisting this way and that in Kaya's playful hands.

“Y-you ate the monsters?” Varkas asked, staring at Kyle.

“How... could you eat those things? No, were they even safe to eat in the first place?”

Katarina, too, sounded dazed. Since there was no particular reason to hide it, Kyle answered honestly.

“The goblin I met in the Sword Tower blessed me so I could eat them. Oh, apparently that was possible because my spiritual root is special.”

He wanted to explain just how atrocious all the shit he had eaten over those four years had tasted, but decided against it. They had only just finished dinner. That story would have everyone grimacing.

“The sea... Do you mean at high tide? Surely you weren't wandering around at high tide? How?”

“I requested equipment that would let me move around at high tide as a reward. I received boots and a cloak.”

He had carefully put away the cloak and boots he had worn until leaving the Floor of Asceticism in his room. They were quite worn, but they might prove useful again someday.

“So that was an option...”

Gerard stroked his chin. That prompted the other relatives to begin asking Kyle, one by one, how he had spent the past four years.

“How many times did your lifeline break?”

“Once. I pushed myself a little too hard during my first low tide.”

He answered Dante's question.

“The mana... it hardens terribly there. I heard your spiritual root was special. Did that make the hardening affect you less?”

“No. I struggled with the mana hardening just like everyone else. My spiritual root actually made things more uncomfortable. There was so much I could sense.”

He answered his youngest uncle Seros's question, too.

“What did the thing on the horizon look like to you?”

“A hand... Something pretending to be a hand.”

He also answered Isaac, who was not a relative but had joined them for dinner as a guest.

“Do you really have to eat nothing but dried-out bread in there?”

“It's edible enough.”

“You... Why are you talking to me so casually?”

“Just because.”

And he answered his cousin Vecius's question.

Cartan watched these exchanges with a quiet smile. That expression gave Kyle some inkling of why his uncle had steered them into this conversation.

The conversation did not last very long. That was inevitable among people who rarely gathered or spoke to one another. When they ran out of things to say, Julius rose first, and the other relatives began getting up one by one.

Kaya was already nodding off in Arian's arms. At that age, even Kyle's body had refused to obey him, his eyes drifting shut after the slightest exertion. Kaya, who had not even reincarnated, could hardly resist the urge to sleep.

“Kyle.”

Cartan called to him as he was about to leave with his family. Approaching with steady steps, he asked with a gentle smile,

“Could you spare me a moment? If you don't mind, let's take a walk together.”

“Of course.”

There was no reason to refuse. After sending his bewildered-looking wife and children ahead, Cartan left the Sword Tower with Kyle.

The sun had long since set, and night had fallen outside. Cartan gazed up at the star-filled sky for a moment before leading the way at a leisurely pace. As he had called it a walk, he seemed to have no particular destination in mind.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

The walk was plainly an excuse to talk. At Kyle's blunt question, Cartan chuckled softly and reached inside his clothes.

“Take this.”

He held out a small envelope. Kyle tilted his head at the unexpected offering, and Cartan explained.

“It's a list of the young warriors attending this exchange gathering who have been judged to show noteworthy promise.”

“Wow.”

Kyle's eyes widened despite himself. He had never imagined Cartan would personally give him information.

'There wasn't a trace of hostility when we crossed swords earlier, either.'

However carefully someone concealed their true feelings, those feelings would reveal themselves at the tip of their sword. Kyle was skilled at reading the emotions a blade carried. Yet Cartan's sword had held neither hostility nor any other unpleasant sentiment toward him.

All he had felt was pure admiration—admiration and pride at the absurdly high level of the young nephew crossing swords with him. Kyle stared at Cartan's softly smiling face.

“Don't you consider me a threat, Uncle?”

Kyle threw the question directly at his kindly-looking uncle, but Cartan's smile did not waver.

“You pose no threat to the house. Quite the opposite. You are a tremendous asset.”

“That isn't what I meant. You're the eldest son, and you're strong. You're currently the closest to becoming the next head.”

“No, you're mistaken there. None of us is close to becoming the next head.”

Cartan slowly shook his head.

“Because our head remains in excellent health, and he is stronger than any of us. The head of House Alastor is not chosen by seniority within the family. The position belongs to the strongest person bearing the Alastor name.”

“...”

“Even if that person comes from a branch family. We are called purebloods simply because my father—your grandfather—is the current head. But if someone from a branch family, someone who does not even live in the Sword Tower... should become stronger than him, that person will become the head, and their descendants will become the purebloods.”

That was how Alastor's main family was determined. Such cases had been exceedingly rare in the house's five-hundred-year history, but they were not unheard of. If someone possessed the qualifications and proved them, House Alastor had to acknowledge that person. Such had been its law for five hundred years.

“Of course, I have ambitions of becoming the next head myself. But schemes are not what it takes to attain that position.”

“Then what does it take?”

“You ask when you already know the answer. Are you that determined to ascertain my true intentions?”

Cartan smiled wryly.

“The head sometimes calls you a little rascal. And quite a rascal you are. Ah, but to answer your question: what I need to become the head is to prove my sword.”

His gaze dropped to Fenris at Kyle's waist.

“Just as you must prove your sword if you wish to become the head.”

“...”

“My younger siblings refuse to accept this simple, clear truth and keep plotting, but it's all meaningless. Our house's knights serve only the strongest. If someone who wasn't the strongest became the head, who would truly serve them?”

Chuckling, Cartan stepped closer and tucked the envelope he was still holding inside Kyle's clothes.

“That is why I'm not wary of you. Both your sword and mine still fall far short of the head's... And if your sword should surpass mine, that will simply mean I was lacking. Even if you do become the head, it won't mean I have no chance left. I need only surpass your sword.”

Cartan's words described the very principle that had sustained the house for five hundred years. Becoming its head did not mean one could lay down one's sword. To keep the position from being seized, one had to train ceaselessly.

“Perhaps there's an easier way.”

Kyle looked up at Cartan as he spoke. Understanding his meaning, Cartan's eyes turned cold.

“No. There is no easier way. There must not be. Kyle, why did the continent's Dark Age begin five hundred years ago?”

“Because the empire's emperor died suddenly, sparking a struggle for the throne.”

“It was our founder who ended that Dark Age and restored light to the continent. Of the seven imperial princes fighting against their own flesh and blood, he personally beheaded six. That was the beginning of our house, Alastor.”

Cartan ruffled Kyle's hair.

“For those bearing that house's name to fight their own blood for the headship would be a bitter contradiction, wouldn't it? If such a thing happened, Alastor would no longer be Alastor. Everyone who had sworn loyalty to that name would turn their backs on us.”

Kyle could not help admiring him. Cartan's reasoning was utterly upright and sound.

'If Cartan had truly coveted the headship and wanted to hold me back, he'd have had plenty of opportunities.'

That was not true of Cartan alone. Any of Julius's children who genuinely wanted to become the head should have worked hard to check Kyle, who had appeared out of nowhere and won such favor.

But Kyle had never faced opposition that strong. At most, Varkas had tried to put him in his place through Bruno.

'That hardly counted as keeping me in check. He just wanted to take me down a peg.'

It had even failed miserably, and afterward Varkas had made no further attempts. Was that because Kyle stayed inside the Sword Tower? Because he feared Julius's scrutiny? Perhaps those were factors, but Kyle had never sensed any great malice from Varkas.

The same went for Gerard, who had suggested he become a squire today. The relatives who had tried to check him had been wary of him, had wanted to knock him down once and put a leash on him, but none had tried to cut him off at the root.

As Cartan had just explained, the house's very ethos abhorred strife between blood relatives.

'Because we're family.'

In his previous life, Kyle had commanded the Crow Mercenaries and carried out all manner of commissions. The era known as the Dark Age had been rife with dirty conflicts, and mercenary blades were always employed in them.

He had seen it countless times: the ugly spectacle of siblings poisoning siblings for power, children plunging knives into their parents' backs. Those family feuds had always paid handsomely.

Kyle looked up at the night sky for a moment. He had been born in that age and lived in it as a mercenary. As such, he had never refused those commissions on the grounds that they were dirty.

He had enjoyed the battles they brought, but their substance disgusted him. And it made him wary. He had learned all too well that even family bound by blood could turn their blades on one another for money and power.

He had not wanted one of those blades turned on him. Relationships forged with money ended when the money ran out. Bonds forged through fear came back as blades the moment one showed an opening. So he had tried, in his own way, to take care of those around him. Perhaps that was why his previous life had not ended in betrayal.

The envelope inside his clothes felt heavy. It was a kindness freely offered by Cartan, the eldest son, to a nephew who might become his rival. There was no price attached, no sinister scheme. Cartan was acting solely for the future of the house.

'Family...'

Warmth seemed to spread through the depths of his chest. The relatives he had met since entering the Sword Tower competed with one another and sometimes snarled at each other. Some were openly jealous, and some tried to keep others in check. But none swung a sharpened blade to kill.

'It isn't only because of the house's rules. Pride in the blood flowing through their veins. Honor. Trust in one another...'

Kyle chuckled. Today, more than ever, he felt that the entire house was bound by ties of blood—something he had never possessed in his previous life, something money could not buy and a sword could not seize.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Kyle bowed to Cartan with heartfelt sincerity.

“If you're grateful, may I ask a small favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I'd like you to get along with my sons, too.”

When Kyle raised his head, he found a sheepish smile on Cartan's face.

“Cassius is far too conscious of you. He'll be even more so after today. And Vecius is afraid of you.”

“I know.”

“Just as I approached you with goodwill, I hope... you might do the same for them.”

“Yes, I'll make an effort. But Uncle, if I approach them and they get uppity, may I beat them up a little?”

“What? Haha! Within reason. I don't mind if it's within reason.”

“Like how you kept things within reason with me today?”

“Haha... I wasn't holding back quite that much.”

Cartan shook his head, looking awkward.

'So he isn't completely incapable of lying.'

Kyle smiled back at him.

He knew perfectly well just how carefully Cartan had held back his sword today.

* * *

Before returning to the manor, Kyle stopped by the grand library.

He had a gift to deliver to Nelia, its librarian. He had chosen a jeweled ring to hang on her staff.

“Oh my...!”

Nelia accepted the jeweled ring in surprise. She looked between the gift and Kyle's face, speechless for a moment, before letting out a long sigh.

“Looking at you makes me regret never marrying and having children and grandchildren of my own.”

“I'll come play your grandson whenever I can.”

“Hehe... How do you always know such lovely things to say?”

Nelia smiled warmly and stroked Kyle's hair. He had been five when they first met and was fifteen now, yet she apparently still saw him as a little boy.

“How should I repay you for this gift...?”

“I didn't give it to you expecting anything in return.”

“Your sweet nature only makes me want to repay you all the more.”

Nelia toyed with the jeweled ring, considering for a moment before speaking.

“Among the tens of thousands of volumes on these shelves are carefully transcribed copies made to preserve the originals. Sometimes, however, a work reveals its true worth only when one encounters the original that bears its author's breath. With your unique innate ability, you will have all the more to gain from seeing those originals.”

Smiling gently, she stroked his hair again.

“If a book you choose in the future is a copy untouched by that breath, I will use my discretion to bring out the real thing. This is a privilege I grant to you alone.”

“Isn't that far too great a privilege compared with the gift I gave you?”

“The originals are kept separately to prevent damage—and because successive librarians have been avid collectors. This is within the librarian's authority, outside the library's rules. In other words, I may do as I please.”

Her hand withdrew from his hair. Summoning her magic staff, Nelia attached the jeweled ring and whispered,

“You're a good boy. You won't damage those old books, will you?”

“Of course not.”

There was no reason to refuse a privilege Nelia was so thoughtfully offering him.

Though he had delivered his gift, Kyle stayed to chat with Nelia rather than leaving at once. It was too short a time to fill a four-year absence, but their conversation was warm. Not as the mistress of the grand library, but as an affectionate great-aunt, Nelia asked whether life on the Floor of Asceticism had been difficult and whether he was hurting anywhere.

“I should be going now.”

“Yes, you must be tired. Hurry home and rest.”

With Nelia seeing him off, Kyle left the grand library and returned to Rose Manor in the residential district.

* * *

After gazing for a long while at Kaya's peacefully sleeping face, Kyle entered his own room for the first time in four years.

Nothing had changed since he left for the Floor of Asceticism. He looked around the immaculately maintained room, then shut the door and stepped farther inside.

[“Ooh...”]

The moment he shut the door, he heard sobbing. Before he could ask why, Jorm emerged from his middle energy center without being summoned, coiled up in a corner, and shoved Jorm's head into the center of the coils.

“What? What's wrong with you?”

“Ooooh...”

Jorm trembled and sobbed. Was the spirit sulking because Kyle had worked Jorm too hard as soon as he learned the Primordial Unity Sword Scripture? Just as that occurred to him, Jorm mumbled,

“Why... Why wolves?”

“What?”

“Why wolves...? I'm a snake...”

“What are you talking about?”

“For four years... I was the one with you, Master... fighting in those horrible Mudflats and that sea... tasting things that tasted like shit... growing stronger with you... Me, a snake...”

Sniffles mingled with the mumbling.

“So why did you... call it the Wolf Knights... instead of the Snake Knights...? That... that one... didn't suffer with you the way I did...”

Only then did Kyle understand. Jorm felt jealous and betrayed because he had named his order after wolves.

“I'm sorry.”

Before making excuses, Kyle apologized. Now that he had heard it, Jorm was right. His bond with Fenris belonged to his previous life. In this life, he had spent far more time with Jorm.

“I'll change it to the Snake Knights instead of the Wolf Knights.”

“No... It's too late... Besides, Snake Knights sounds like a bunch of bad guys...”

“What's wrong with snakes? You're a snake, too.”

“I still don't want it...”

“Then how about this? We'll keep the name Wolf Knights, but make the emblem a snake.”

Only then did Jorm cautiously raise Jorm's head.

“Promise?”

“Your master doesn't lie about things like this.”

Jorm slowly uncoiled and slithered toward Kyle. The approach of a giant snake might have been chilling, but Jorm's face still wore the same silly look the spirit had adopted earlier for Kaya.

Kyle sat down with Jorm as his backrest and drew Fenris.

“Mutt,” he whispered, looking at the jet-black blade. “It's about time we talked.”

Black mist rose as though it had been waiting for those words. A wolf's howl came from beyond it, and Kyle's heart pounded.

Kyle closed his eyes once and opened them again. He was already in the heart of a mental world created by his resonance with the goblin. He could feel Jorm's scales against his back. A spirit bound to Kyle by contract, Jorm was present in this world as well.

'The Fragment can't overhear us here.'

Kyle still had no desire to tell the Fragment anything about his previous life. He glared at the thick black mist spread before him.

“Are you coming over here or not?”

He spat the words at the red eyes shining beyond the mist.

WHINE...

With a dejected whimper, a pitch-black wolf crept toward him. It had been ten years since Kyle had gotten a proper look at that form. After their first meeting when he was five, Fenris had tried many times to resonate with him when he visited the Hall of Sword Pinnacles. Kyle had rejected it every time.

He had resented the mutt for daring to bite its master.

WHIIINE...

Seeing Kyle's icy expression, the wolf stopped. The black fur covering its body—no, the bristling blades—and its long tail drooped.

“I said come here. Why aren't you coming?”

At Kyle's threatening tone, the wolf began creeping closer again.

WHINE... WHIMPER...

“Can't you talk?”

WHINE...

“Even Jorm can talk, and Jorm's an infant spirit. You're telling me you can't?”

Having crept up to him, Fenris cautiously extended its head and began licking his hand. Despite being little more than blades in the shape of a wolf, its tongue was as wet and soft as a real dog's.

“You're not pretending you can't talk because you're afraid I'll scold you, are you?”

Kyle found it suspicious enough to ask. Fenris promptly flopped onto its back and exposed its belly.

Even if it could not speak, it apparently understood him perfectly well.