Chapter 62 - < To Whom >

Lucia and Bruno were waiting outside the workshop. Kyle abruptly addressed Bruno, who stood with his arms crossed.

“What about the uniforms?”

“I found an artisan, but we need to go in person to have our measurements taken.”

“Well, of course.”

Kyle had already heard that even purebloods needed commission permits to use the First Workshop. Before entering its smithy, he had therefore asked Bruno to find a tailor.

“Thanks to you, I’ve used up all my commission permits too.”

“So you regret spending them?”

“You insufferable little brat.”

Bruno grumbled under his breath but offered no further complaints.

“Huh.”

Jade, who had come out with Kyle, looked at Lucia and Bruno in surprise.

“Another pureblood young master. And... a young lady of mixed Demon blood as well?”

Before Kyle emerged from the Floor of Asceticism, Bruno and Lucia had both displayed their swordsmanship in the exchange gathering’s sparring matches, so Jade knew the two well. Kyle poked him in the side.

“Sounds like you’ve already seen their swordsmanship. What did you think?”

“Do you want my honest opinion on that too?”

“Of course.”

“To be honest, that pureblood young master’s swordsmanship fell short of my expectations. I wondered if I’d expected too much of the Alastor name.”

Bruno’s face twisted. He gave Jade a murderous glare, but Jade met his eyes without flinching.

“That young lady of mixed Demon blood, though... her swordsmanship was astounding. Before I saw yours, Young Master, hers shocked me more than anything else at the gathering.”

“As I thought.”

Kyle nodded and unfolded the list.

“Honestly, I think the four of us are enough to make a proper knightly order. But since my uncle gave me this list, I intend to meet everyone on it. Anyone here worth a look?”

“Hmm.”

Jade was better suited to answer that than Lucia or Bruno. He stroked his chin as he scanned the list.

“What sort of people do you prefer?”

“People who wield a sword well. People who love swords. People with fighting spirit and a desire to win.”

“Not concerned about loyalty?”

“I’ll judge that for myself when I meet them.”

“Young Master, do you have any prejudices against the Sword Cult?”

Jade glanced up to gauge Kyle’s expression.

“Their followers are exactly the sort you’re looking for.”

Pursue the sword, Love the sword, Be mad for the sword. Those were the Sword Cult’s doctrines, as recounted by Evan, one of its seven Apostles, whom Kyle had met four years ago.

“No Sword Cult.”

Bruno scowled as he spat out the words.

“They’ve stood against House Alastor for five hundred years.”

“Now that’s a gross exaggeration. Stood against you? In five hundred years, the Sword Cult has never launched a proper invasion of Gladiheim.”

Jade snorted and shrugged.

“The Sword Cult’s leader visits Gladiheim roughly once every fifty years... and the Apostles and followers poke around a little more often. Isn’t that all?”

“Do you know how many followers’ swords are planted along the Road of Vanquished Swords?” Bruno growled. “And why are you speaking to me so casually?”

“Listen, Young Master, I’m twenty-three. How old are you?”

“...”

Kyle answered for Bruno, who had clamped his mouth shut.

“He’s thirty.”

“Wh-what the hell are you talking about? I’m twenty!” Bruno shouted.

Jade blinked.

“Twenty... Younger than you look. Honestly, thirty sounds more plausible.”

“Shut up...!”

“Anyway, I’m older, so you don’t mind if I dispense with the formalities, do you?”

Grinning, Jade patted Bruno on the shoulder.

“Besides, I know of five followers who came to this exchange gathering. If even I know about them, there’s no way Gladiheim’s Shadowflight Corps missed them.”

“...”

“The magnanimous head of House Alastor let them in instead of screening them out. Are you rejecting them, Young Master?”

“You... Why are you defending them so much? Are you a follower too?”

At Bruno’s wide-eyed question, Jade clutched his belly and laughed.

“I’m not. Though they’ve tried to convert me a few times.”

“Then why keep defending them?”

“They’ve helped me out a few times in this rough world. You know, if you show up at one of their branches with a sword, they’ll give you free food and a room. Well, they do insist that eating their food means you’re joining...”

“Then... then you are a follower!”

“Eating a free meal makes me a follower? I don’t particularly agree with their ideology. Not that they have much of one to begin with...”

Listening to their exchange, Kyle checked the list. Sure enough, two names were marked as followers of the Sword Cult.

“Will you go to meet them?” Lucia asked. “I saw their swordsmanship the day before yesterday too. They were all very skilled.”

“Stronger than you?”

“I would have to fight them to know, but nothing they showed in their matches struck me as particularly difficult to handle.”

She answered calmly. Kyle folded the papers.

“Let’s at least see their faces. I can introduce myself while I’m at it.”

“Introduce yourself?”

“They say the Sword Cult’s leader has been talking about reclaiming Fenris for five hundred years, right?”

Kyle chuckled and tapped Fenris.

“They may have recognized it yesterday. So I’ll ask them... to pass my greetings on to their Leader.”

Bruno’s jaw dropped. He trembled all over, then stammered,

“H-hey! Is there really any need to go out of your way to greet them? Maybe they haven’t realized your sword is Fenris...!”

“Then I’ll tell them myself. I’ll say this is Fenris, things just turned out this way, and ask them to be sure to tell their Leader.”

“You lunatic! What will you do if the Sword Cult’s leader tries to kill you and take Fenris?!”

“I doubt she’s that sort of person.”

Five hundred years was a long time.

Kyle remembered the Sword Cult’s leader. Helenas. The little girl he had rescued from a slave market five hundred years ago. An elf without a shred of talent for the sword, who had nonetheless chosen it as her destiny and swung it for five centuries.

‘You had no talent for the sword. The sword never loved you at all.’

Bruno was shouting something behind him, but Kyle ignored him and strode on.

‘But if you’ve wielded it for five hundred years, surely that unrequited love must have achieved something.’

Humans were frail compared with elves.

Could every head of House Alastor over the past five hundred years have been weaker than Helenas? Kyle could not believe that.

‘If you’d set your mind to it, you could have reclaimed Fenris long ago. The fact that you didn’t... must mean you want to earn the right to the destiny you chose, Helenas.’

Of course, perhaps that was all in Kyle’s head, and Helenas might fly into a rage and try to kill him and seize Fenris.

‘If that happens, I won’t have a choice. I’ll have to tell her I’m Raikal and ask her to go easy on me.’

The Sword Demon did not fret over dignity in matters like these. Kyle chuckled and tapped Fenris.

‘Hey, mutt. You heard that, right? That little brat Helenas apparently puts on airs as the Sword Cult’s leader now.’

A wolf’s cry rose from Fenris at his snickering words.

Somehow, it sounded like laughter.

* * *

Honestly, when Kyle first heard of the Sword Cult, he had wondered if they were some secret society that concealed its identity.

“Huh.”

Seeing them now, he realized that had been his own misconception. Five people sat together in the communal dining hall of Hilt, the lower district. All wore matching black cloaks fitted with metal pauldrons.

He looked around the hall, wondering if it was a modern fashion, but they were the only five dressed that way.

‘Evan wore a cloak like that too.’

Evan, an Apostle of the Sword Cult, had worn silver pauldrons. Three of these followers wore green, and two wore yellow. Evidently the cloaks were the Cult’s ceremonial attire, while the pauldrons indicated rank.

In other words, those wearing yellow were stronger than those wearing green. Kyle recalled the list he had read earlier. Of the five followers attending the gathering, only two had made the list. He approached the ones with yellow pauldrons.

“Xenafelt and Kroll, correct?”

People had stopped eating the moment Kyle’s party entered the dining hall. He was the beloved grandson who had induced even the Thunder Emperor, Julius Alastor, to venture outside. After remaining secluded in the Sword Tower for four years, that grandson had suddenly barged into the sparring grounds yesterday and defeated Jade the Rending Fang with a single stroke.

Now the very person responsible for those extraordinary feats had appeared in the communal dining hall. The murmurs around them swelled, and the followers seated at the table rose.

“Yes.”

A blond woman wearing yellow pauldrons smiled faintly and laid a hand over her chest.

“My name is indeed Xenafelt.”

“And I am Kroll.”

A bald young man likewise placed a hand over his chest and introduced himself. The other three followers then gave their names.

“You are... Lord Kyle Alastor, correct? What brings you to us?”

“I came to say hello.”

“Say hello?”

Xenafelt tilted her head with an amiable smile.

“I had thought House Alastor wasn’t particularly friendly toward followers of the Sword Cult. It seems I was rather prejudiced.”

“Oh, whatever do you mean? If our house truly bore ill will toward the Sword Cult, would you be enjoying a leisurely meal here?”

Kyle returned her smile.

“Ah, I don’t mean that sarcastically. I can’t speak for everyone in the family, but I have no prejudice against the Sword Cult whatsoever. Whatever your circumstances, you’re all swordsmen who love the sword and have devoted your lives to it, aren’t you?”

Perhaps suspecting some hidden meaning in his words, the followers watched Kyle with sharp eyes. Under their scrutiny, he spread his arms as though he harbored neither hostility nor ulterior motives.

“Since we’re all that sort of swordsman, you could say we’re friends, in the broader sense. Couldn’t you?”

“May I understand that to mean... you wish to join the Sword Cult, Young Master?”

Xenafelt’s eyes shone, but Kyle immediately drew the line.

“No, not that.”

“...”

“I’m favorably disposed toward your religion, and curious about it, but I have no intention of joining.”

“Young Master, I apologize in advance, as you may find this question rude.”

Xenafelt bowed her head before asking,

“What... did you come here to tell us?”

“I told you. I came to offer my greetings. But your question has given me something else I’d like to say.”

Kyle dropped into an empty chair at the table.

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

Bruno’s face crumpled as Kyle crossed his legs and asked his question as though he were in his own sitting room. In truth, although this was no sitting room, Kyle had every right to make himself comfortable here.

This was Gladiheim. Aside from certain parts of the Sword Tower, there was nowhere in Gladiheim a pureblood could not freely enter. And this was merely the communal dining hall normally used by cadets.

‘Even so, isn’t he afraid of anything...?’

Bruno’s opinion had not changed. He saw no reason for Kyle to approach the followers first.

‘And what’s that question supposed to mean? Why didn’t they come to him...?’

He had no idea what Kyle was thinking, and neither did Jade or Lucia.

“Young Master.”

Xenafelt tilted her head. At some point, the conversation with the followers had become a conversation between Kyle and Xenafelt alone. Despite their matching pauldrons, she seemed to have more authority than Kroll.

Kyle sensed it too. Xenafelt was stronger than Kroll.

“I cannot imagine... what reason we would have to seek you out.”

“When I entered the dining hall...”

Kyle smiled and looked around.

“Everyone looked at my face first.”

“...”

“But you two, Xenafelt and Kroll, looked at something else.”

TAP.

Kyle tapped Fenris at his waist.

“You looked at this sword. Be honest, Xenafelt. You know what it is, don’t you?”

“...”

“Or have I got the wrong idea? Well, it did suddenly fly down from the sky yesterday. Perhaps you looked because the sword interested you more than my face. If that’s the case—what I just said is terribly embarrassing.”

Chuckling, Kyle drew Fenris. Xenafelt and Kroll flinched back. After examining the blade, Kyle’s expression turned icy.

“A mere sword dares embarrass me. I can’t tolerate that. Lucia.”

“Yes, Lord Kyle.”

“Break this thing with your sword.”

“Yes.”

Bruno or Jade would have hesitated in bewilderment at that order, but not Lucia. Of course, she was not devoid of human emotion, so she was bewildered too. But she placed Kyle’s words above that feeling.

SHING!

Blood Fang left its sheath. Lucia strode toward him, her eyes fixed on Fenris. Blood-red aura swirled around Blood Fang with a soft hiss. Its equally red blade mingled with the color of her aura, radiating an utterly ominous bloody glow.

Without the slightest change in expression, Kyle held Fenris out to one side so Lucia could swing freely. As she came within range, she brought Blood Fang down toward it.

“Huh.”

Lucia had intended to strike with all her strength, but she could not complete the swing. Because of Kyle’s order.

He had ordered her to break Fenris, not cut someone’s head off.

“What would you have done if she hadn’t stopped?”

Kyle gave a disbelieving laugh.

White-faced, Xenafelt had thrust her head between Fenris and Blood Fang. Behind her, Kroll stood awkwardly with his drawn sword pointed toward Blood Fang.

Kroll had tried to intercept it with his sword; Xenafelt had tried to stop it by offering her neck.

“Y-Young Master.”

Her voice faltered. Her pale face was filled with fear, but Kyle could tell she was not afraid of being beheaded. Her fear was purely that Fenris might break.

“Y-you must not treat this sword so carelessly.”

“Why not? It’s my sword. If it dares make me feel humiliated, I’m free to break it.”

“This... sword is not... yours, Young Master.”

“Whose is it, then?”

Kyle smiled mischievously as he asked. Xenafelt swallowed, yet gazed down at Fenris, so close to her neck, with eyes brimming with adoration.

“This sword... is the one our Leader so desperately desires.”

“So you did know.”

What if Kyle had been mistaken about Xenafelt and Kroll recognizing Fenris? Then he would have had no choice. He could hardly stand by and watch Fenris snap in two after their reunion five hundred years later, so he would have intervened before Lucia’s sword fell.

‘Perhaps Fenris would have withstood it even without my intervention.’

[GRRR...]

An angry wolf’s growl seeped from Fenris. It seemed furious that he had tried to break it merely to test them.

‘Hey, do you really think I’d have let you break? I would have handled it. Sure, that would have made me look even more ridiculous, but for you, I’d gladly swallow my pride in front of all these people.’

The wolf’s growls subsided at his soothing words. Kyle raised Fenris slightly, bringing its edge close to Xenafelt’s neck.

“You know the name of this sword your Leader wants so desperately, too, don’t you?”

“...”

“It would be ridiculous to play ignorant now. Go on, tell me. Perhaps you’ve mistaken it for something else. Unlike you, I don’t lie about this sort of thing, so give me a name and I’ll tell you whether you’re right.”

Even Kyle thought his own slyly smiling whisper sounded insufferable. Xenafelt gave a short sigh.

“The Sword Demon’s beloved blade five hundred years ago. Taken as a trophy by Ruin Alastor and sealed deep within the Sword Tower for ages. Fenris is its name.”

“Wrong.”

“...?”

“Just kidding. Correct.”

Kyle grinned and withdrew Fenris. Although the terrifying blade had been touching her very throat, Xenafelt looked strangely disappointed to see it go.

“You never answered my earlier question. What would you have done if Lucia hadn’t stopped?”

“What else? I would have died. With my head cut off.”

Xenafelt straightened from her bent posture, rubbing the spot on her neck Fenris had touched.

“That’s all? You didn’t think she would stop, or that I was bluffing?”

“There was no time to think that far ahead. If you feel sorry for me, you needn’t. To give my life for Fenris would be a joy and an honor.”

Xenafelt gazed at Fenris with dreamy eyes. Her flushed cheeks made her look like a girl in love. Kyle gave a hollow laugh at her expression.

“You’re a lunatic.”

It was his honest assessment. Showing no offense, Xenafelt glanced at Kroll, who still stood awkwardly with his sword drawn. He startled under her gaze, sheathed his sword, and bowed.

“M-my apologies, Lady Xenafelt...”

“I am not the one you should apologize to, Kroll. You owe the young masters of House Alastor an apology. You dared draw your sword in their presence.”

She wore a faint smile, but her eyes were icy as she looked at Kroll. They softened, however, when she turned back to Kyle.

“I apologize on Kroll’s behalf for his rudeness. Please forgive him.”

“Yes, I will.”

Kyle spun Fenris in his hand and ostentatiously planted it in the floor.

“There’s something I’m curious about. Why did you come to Gladiheim?”

“To spread our faith,” Xenafelt answered proudly.

“The proclamation of the Thunder Emperor, Julius Alastor, has brought many young warriors from across the continent to Gladiheim. Not every young warrior has gathered here, and not everyone here is a swordsman, but most of them are.”

“Well, yes. The overwhelming majority of our house’s knights are swordsmen.”

“Precisely. That makes this an ideal place for the Sword Cult to proselytize. We came to demonstrate the excellence of our swordsmanship, increase interest in the Sword Cult, and convert warriors.”

“So you never intended to swear allegiance to House Alastor and be knighted?”

“Unfortunately, our loyalty is already pledged to the sword, the Sword Cult, and our Leader. If you understand that and will accept fourth place in our loyalties, we are willing to become Alastor knights.”

She made it sound as though she would readily agree. Kyle rather enjoyed that answer. Whatever else he might be, he was fundamentally a swordsman rather than a knight.

“Ah, then that won’t work.”

“What won’t?”

“I’m founding a new knightly order. If your swordsmanship was good enough, I was going to try tempting you into becoming knights... but fourth place is awfully far down, isn’t it?”

Whatever his true nature, he had decided to establish an order this time. Kyle propped his chin on his hand and smiled.

“Hmm, not even fourth. First the sword, second the Sword Cult, third the Sword Cult’s leader? If you swore to be knighted, House Alastor would come fourth, leaving me, your commander, fifth? That’s even worse.”

“You have the order wrong. I, Xenafelt, serve our Leader first, the sword second, and the Sword Cult third.”

Her voice was a fanatical whisper as she gazed yearningly at Fenris.

“I never imagined... I would be granted an audience with Fenris like this. Young Master Kyle, you said you came to greet us. Does that mean... you came to announce yourself as Fenris’s current master?”

“That too, but...”

TAP.

Kyle nudged Fenris’s blade lightly with his foot. Xenafelt’s eyes trembled, as though she could not forgive him for daring to touch Fenris with his foot.

“I came to ask you to convey my greetings to the Sword Cult’s leader.”

“To... our Leader?”

“Yes. I hear she’s wanted Fenris for five hundred years?”

“...”

“Then tell her this. I am Fenris’s master now. For the past five hundred years, it has sat quietly on display deep within the Sword Tower, but now that it’s in my hands, it won’t be treated so delicately.”

Xenafelt’s eyes quivered as he continued.

“This fellow wasn’t made for decoration. It never was, and five hundred years ago it served its intended purpose very well. So I’ll use it for what it was made for too. I’ll swing it to my heart’s content to make up for the five hundred years it spent unused...”

TAP.

Kyle nudged Fenris with his toe again.

“And I’ll wield it better than it was wielded five hundred years ago. So be sure to tell your Leader: you’re a long-lived elf, so stay in good health as you always have for another hundred years or so. And someday, when I’m dead—she can negotiate with my house for Fenris herself.”

“...”

“Though I can’t say whether Fenris will still be the sword she remembers in a hundred years. You know how swords come to resemble their masters.”

Kyle smiled mischievously.

It was an extraordinarily provocative statement. Kroll’s eyes shook, and the smile vanished from Xenafelt’s lips.

“Young Master Kyle. I find your words difficult to understand,” she said.

“Particularly your claim that you will wield it better than it was wielded five hundred years ago. It sounds almost as though... you intend to wield Fenris better... than its former master, the Sword Demon.”

“You heard me correctly.”

Kyle burst out laughing.

“If someone born five hundred years later can’t surpass someone from five hundred years ago, that’s pretty damn embarrassing. And it’s not as though I was born out on the streets. I was born with every advantage, in both upbringing and talent. Of course I should surpass the Sword Demon.”

“Young Master Kyle.”

Xenafelt’s voice grew colder still.

“Do you believe you possess the qualifications to be Fenris’s master in this age?”

“Yes.”

Kyle answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“The head of my house acknowledges me. Fenris acknowledges me. And, well... I acknowledge myself. Isn’t that enough?”

He slowly rose from his chair.

“Who else must acknowledge my right?”