Chapter 64 - < The Little Elf >

Kyle tilted his head and drew his left foot half a step back. At first, he had leaped well backward to avoid her sword, but now he no longer needed to move so much. A sword without killing intent was this easy to deal with.

“Hmm.”

Kyle murmured to himself. Apparently, his inner old curmudgeon had grown too powerful. He was seeing nothing but flaws because he was concentrating on them; Xenafelt’s swordsmanship did have its merits. For one thing, incorporating eleven swords into a single sword form was easier said than done. Xenafelt must have worked hard at her swordsmanship, too.

‘It’s easy to read now, but that might change someday.’

Being weak now did not guarantee that she would remain weak in the distant future. Kyle sensed potential in Xenafelt’s swordsmanship.

‘I won’t dismiss your swordsmanship as completely wrong. But I will give you something to think about. Now, how should I do this?’

Dodging until she could no longer swing her sword would make for a dull, tedious victory. Besides, there were so many spectators.

Kyle watched Xenafelt. Her eyes were wavering faintly as she swung without pause. Her initial certainty of victory had already begun to fade.

To reflect on her own swordsmanship, she needed to suffer a crushing defeat and experience despair. Just as the Sword Demon had so many times in his previous life.

Kyle had already read every trajectory of Xenafelt’s sword. Even before she swung, he could predict its course the moment she decided to strike and sent strength into her arm.

The mana of the Primordial Unity Sword Scripture, which he had been circulating continuously, began accelerating in earnest. This body, forged over four years in the Mudflats and the sea, accelerated his mana exactly as he wished and propelled him forward with explosive force.

Not quite dazzling, seemingly unorthodox yet actually straightforward. Kyle stepped toward that endearing little swordplay.

“...!”

Xenafelt’s eyes flew wide. Kyle was plainly right in front of her, yet he felt like a ghost that did not truly exist. She had trapped him within the domain of Ten Swords. Her strikes should have cut him; evasion should have been impossible. Yet this absurd boy was slipping smoothly past every slash.

And now Kyle stepped forward to approach her. Xenafelt saw an enormous opportunity. She still could not understand how on earth he had been dodging so effortlessly all this time...

But if he was going to stop dodging and come to attack, all the better.

SHWAAASH!

Ten slashes meshed like cogwheels, seeking to tear Kyle’s entire body apart.

It was an unmistakable death trap. Screams erupted from the stands, but Kyle walked into the heart of those slashes as leisurely as if he were taking a stroll.

There seemed to be no room to evade them. Yet with every step Kyle took, the sharp blades of sword aura passed him by as though they had never meant to cut him. This was certainly not Xenafelt’s intention. Having read her sword’s trajectories, Kyle was simply slipping into places the sword aura could not reach.

There were momentary gaps as one blade of sword aura meshed with another. His body, accelerated by the Primordial Unity Sword Scripture, seized those instants with ease. Before Xenafelt could twist her sword to alter its course, Kyle had already moved into the next gap.

One step. Sword aura grazed past his left shoulder and cut the floor. Two steps. Sword aura sliced empty air. Three steps. Kyle passed through the domain of Ten Swords and reached Xenafelt.

Xenafelt’s thoughts stopped. Her certainty of victory crumbled. The Ten Swords she took such pride in had failed to cut even the hem of the boy’s clothes. As she stood captive to that shock, Kyle’s hand slowly extended into her field of vision.

There was no sword in that hand. Beyond it, she could see Kyle’s face. His brows were furrowed, but there was no irritation or hostility in his eyes. Some other... emotion. Where had she seen that look before? Yes, she remembered.

As a child, Xenafelt had liked drawing.

She had not been good at it. She had simply enjoyed doing it.

Once, she had drawn a portrait of a nun at the convent. When she handed over that... ugly portrait, which could not have been called a likeness even out of politeness...

The nun’s eyes had looked just like that. She did not like it, but she could hardly get angry. Unwilling to trample on a child’s innocent goodwill, she had struggled to squeeze out some sort of praise.

Eyes filled with that agonizing dilemma.

“You...!”

Seeing that look in Kyle’s eyes now, Xenafelt could only feel profoundly insulted. Her reason snapped. Her thoughts, frozen in shock, melted in the heat of her fury. Sword aura sharpened with killing intent enveloped her blade.

Ten Swords vanished. A single sword hurtled toward Kyle in a simple, direct strike.

THUMP!

Kyle caught her killing blow with ridiculous ease. Xenafelt’s eyes trembled as she saw the dark violet aura covering his hand.

A sword wrapped in sword aura, stopped by a hand clad in aura? That alone was astonishing... but what shocked Xenafelt even more was that she had not even been able to complete her swing. Though the strike had been spontaneous and unexpected, that hand had been waiting for her sword as if he had known it was coming.

“That last strike was your best.”

He had found something to praise.

With a smile that was not entirely forced, Kyle lowered Xenafelt’s sword.

Humiliation mingled with fury, and an emotion she could not name stained Xenafelt’s face bright red. Trembling, she tried to move her sword again, but no matter how much strength she exerted, the blade in Kyle’s hand would not budge.

‘Could I have caught it barehanded?’

Kyle glanced down at his aura-covered hand. He had built this body by devouring residue and byproducts on the Floor of Asceticism. Perhaps his unprotected flesh could withstand sword aura, too.

‘...’

He did not bother testing it now. Losing a finger to pointless bravado would be a disaster. Kyle circulated the Primordial Unity Sword Scripture with greater force. His aura deepened and began completely crushing Xenafelt’s sword aura.

“Urgh...”

Xenafelt trembled. Her sword aura was being crushed, her aura pulverized. The resulting backflow of mana sent pain through her.

“Would you like to continue?”

Kyle asked. Feeling the heat of her scarlet face, Xenafelt glared at him.

It did not occur to her to refuse to acknowledge him. The movements she had just witnessed were too wondrous for that. Instead, she asked something else.

“How... did you evade my sword?”

“It was slow.”

“Slow...? M-my sword was slow?”

“Yes.”

“That’s absurd... E-even if it was slow, how could you evade so many swords...”

“There weren’t that many. It only looked that way. And they were easy to read.”

“Easy to read? What do you...”

“Eleven swords or not, it’s ultimately a single sword form. They look as if they move simultaneously, but each follows a sequence, don’t they? Can you think eleven entirely different thoughts at once, Xenafelt?”

“...”

“It’s hard enough to move your right hand, left hand, right foot, and left foot simultaneously according to a fixed pattern. How could you swing eleven swords in completely different ways at once?”

She would have to open her mind wide to manage that.

“Well, your swordsmanship isn’t wrong or mistaken. It does have strengths, but its weaknesses stood out rather more to me.”

Kyle looked into Xenafelt’s trembling eyes and asked,

“So, will you continue?”

Xenafelt’s lips moved soundlessly before she squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’ve lost...”

There was nothing else she could say.

The moment Xenafelt conceded defeat, silence settled over the stands.

Gladiheim’s soldiers. Cadets aspiring to knighthood. Apprentice knights. Young people attending the exchange gathering. Even most of the full knights could not believe what they had just witnessed.

“Impossible...”

Someone’s dazed murmur broke the silence. With that, the stands erupted in an explosive clamor.

“Ten Swords suffered such an overwhelming defeat against an unarmed opponent, without so much as a sword in his hand?”

“D-did you see the young master move just now? He was right in the middle of those slashes, but it was as if they were avoiding him.”

“Catching sword aura barehanded? How is that possible?”

Those who could neither believe nor understand what they had seen clamored in shock. Those who understood what Kyle had done sat in stunned silence, eyes wide and mouths agape.

‘He read every trajectory of Ten Swords perfectly.’

‘He was barehanded, without a sword. He wasn’t even protecting his body with aura. The only instant he manifested aura was when he caught Ten Swords’ blade.’

‘Does Young Master Kyle have no sense of fear? Even if he could read his opponent’s sword... unless he can see the future, he couldn’t be certain his predictions were infallible. How could he charge in so boldly?’

‘Those movements, evading the trajectories he’d read by a hair’s breadth... He did that deliberately. He gave Ten Swords false confidence to prevent her from altering her sword’s course mid-swing. The Thunder Emperor’s beloved grandson... No wonder he adores him.’

‘Alastor is raising a monster.’

Shock, admiration, curiosity, wariness.

Countless emotions swirled through the stands.

“Good heavens...”

Cartan groaned from the seats of honor above the stands.

“Well, now... After a display like that, we can hardly reprimand him for this.”

“No, we certainly should. He may have resolved it brilliantly, but...”

Gerard paused to recover from inadvertently revealing his true feelings.

“He may have resolved it, but he wagered Alastor’s authority. What would have happened had he lost? Just as he declared, he would have knelt naked before a Sword Cult follower and apologized in front of all these people. Fenris, which our house has kept for five hundred years, would have gone to the Sword Cult as well.”

“Had he lost.”

Varkas muttered with a frown.

“He won. That settles it, doesn’t it? In fact, a victory like that will only raise our house’s renown.”

“O-our nephew’s renown, you mean.”

Roel muttered, dripping cold sweat. Varkas’s brow furrowed further as he glared at him.

“And what is wrong with our nephew gaining renown? This is Gladiheim, and his name is Kyle Alastor. He is a pureblood, just like us.”

“...”

“Roel. Be wary of your nephew if you like, but don’t display your jealousy. It’s ugly.”

“Y-yes, Brother...”

Roel’s voice dwindled to a whisper. He felt as though he were sitting on pins and needles. Even his stern, terrifying elder brother Varkas, who coveted the throne of the house head, was speaking as if he acknowledged their nephew.

‘Damn it...’

Roel swallowed a rising sigh. He had returned after years of wandering to find some sort of monster in the family. Worse, he was supposed to establish a knightly order from the young warriors gathered for this exchange, which meant competing directly with Kyle. At least the boy had said he would keep his order small...

Roel glanced at Julius. Right now, Julius was wearing a smile of such satisfaction that Roel had never seen its like in his life. The sight brought another sigh welling up from the depths of his chest.

If Kyle changed his mind and decided to establish a large order, Julius would undoubtedly give him every bit of support he could. Roel’s own order would be pushed aside. No, perhaps he would even be told to serve under Kyle...

“Have you arranged a marriage for the boy, old friend?”

Eyes wide, Isaac shook Julius’s shoulder.

“Well? Have you? You said he was fifteen, didn’t you? Fifteen is old enough to start arranging a match. Don’t you think?”

“You don’t even have a daughter. Why all the fuss?”

“I may not, but plenty of people I know do.”

True to his epithet, the Wandering Sword Master, Isaac had connections with houses all across the continent.

“What about Vandemion? Their daughter is probably sixteen this year. As for Izelon... Hmm, no girls of marriageable age there. Or how about the princess of Ransel?”

Vandemion and Izelon were counted alongside Alastor as the Three Great Martial Houses, while Ransel was known as the kingdom of knights. As Isaac listed those names, Julius propped up his chin.

“Are you hoping to squeeze a matchmaking fee out of Vandemion and Ransel?”

“A matchmaking fee? Do I look short of money? I’m curious to see how Vandemion and the Kingdom of Ransel would treat that ridiculous boy.”

“He’s the son of Arian, who fell in love without so much as telling me. I’m sure he can find his own match without my bringing him one.”

“Hmm... Then how about this? Lend me your grandson for a year or so.”

“My grandson? Why?”

“Why else? I want to take him along and teach him swordsmanship. As you know, I have no children of my own.”

Everyone in the seats of honor turned to Isaac in surprise. He had earned the epithet Wandering Sword Master by roaming the continent wherever his heart led him, never tying himself to any one place.

A Sword Master. Though he did not rank among the Ten Greats, Isaac’s swordsmanship approached their level. And a swordsman of that caliber was saying he wanted to teach Kyle.

“Have you already forgotten what was said yesterday? That boy refused even my swordsmanship.”

“Ah... Right, he did. His standards are as high as his natural talent...”

While Isaac heaved a deep sigh, Kyle released Xenafelt’s sword. Yet she did not sheath the freed blade. Her face still flushed red, she continued staring at Kyle.

“Why are you staring at me? It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“...”

“Surely you don’t resent me for humiliating you in this duel? You heard all the terms before agreeing, Xenafelt.”

“I... know.”

Xenafelt stumbled over the words.

“I don’t feel... humiliated. No, not now.”

“So you did earlier. When was that?”

“When you reached toward me, Young Master. The look in your eyes... made me feel insulted.”

“Huh? I wasn’t looking at you like that.”

“No. Your eyes were very merciful then. So merciful... that you were struggling to squeeze out some praise for my swordsmanship.”

Kyle could not immediately answer that.

‘Was it that obvious in my eyes?’

He felt a little sorry. Xenafelt took pride in the epithet Ten Swords. Discovering that praise for her swordsmanship was so hard to find that he had to squeeze it out must have been deeply humiliating.

“I will... keep my promise.”

Xenafelt forced out the words.

“On my life, I will personally report to the Cult Leader... what sort of person you are, Young Master. Everything I felt, without a single lie.”

“I won’t ask what you think of me just yet.”

Looking apologetic would only insult Xenafelt further. So Kyle smiled shamelessly.

“What you feel now isn’t everything. The more you reflect on what happened, the more you’ll feel, even a little later. Tomorrow will bring something new, and the day after will bring more.”

“Are you telling me to keep dwelling on this humiliation?”

“Yes, exactly. Keep dwelling on your crushing defeat. On the humiliation of that moment. Nurture your desire to kill me. Swing your sword with the determination to utterly trample the mercy you saw in my eyes, and come to kill me someday.”

“Did you say... to come and kill you?”

“Yes.”

Kyle answered with a radiant smile.

“I wish someone would come to kill me. Then I could kill them without any qualms.”

“...”

“Hmm... Did that sound strange? You don’t have to decide you absolutely must kill me. Just adopt that mindset. As for whether we actually try to kill each other someday, we can negotiate that when the time comes.”

After listening blankly to his explanation, Xenafelt burst out laughing.

“Ha... Haha. You are... a strange person, Young Master.”

“I know.”

“And you are far better suited to the Sword Cult than to a house like this.”

“I know that, too.”

Of course he was. Kyle chuckled as he answered.

“Give the Cult Leader my regards.”

“Yes. I will.”

Xenafelt staggered down from the platform. Her retreating figure conveyed less shame at her defeat than a desperate struggle to grasp the question Kyle had just posed her.

Kyle did not leave the platform immediately. Instead, he stood at its center and surveyed the stands. His eyes gleamed at the conveniently large crowd.

“With the house head’s permission, I’m establishing a new knightly order.”

His mana-infused voice rang through the stands, and Roel’s face turned white. Surely not. Surely not.

“And we’re actively recruiting.”

His ominous premonition became reality. The mention of a new order set the spectators murmuring. It was no secret that a new knightly order was being founded in Gladiheim, but as far as anyone knew, its commander was to be Julius’s fifth son, Roel Alastor, not his grandson Kyle.

“A knight commander at fifteen...?”

“What does age matter? You just saw his skill.”

“Perhaps Young Master Kyle is even more skilled than Young Master Roel...”

Murmurs spread through the audience. The Alastor branch-family members and apprentice knights in particular grew serious. Roel had been away from Gladiheim for eleven years with his younger brother Seros. They had been searching for a way to wake the lady of the house, who had now been asleep for twenty years. During those travels, Roel and Seros had indeed made names for themselves across the continent.

But the reputation Roel had earned in his wanderings was less convincing than the skill Kyle had just displayed before their very eyes. For one thing, Roel had yet to demonstrate his swordsmanship personally at this exchange gathering.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand. Two orders are being formed: Uncle Roel’s and mine. I intend to keep mine small.”

Kyle turned to look below the platform. Bruno, Lucia, and Jade stood there.

“There are currently four of us, including me. I plan to recruit just one more... and the entry requirements are nothing special. I simply have to like your swordsmanship.”

The murmurs subsided. The idea of a small elite force had the power to set hearts racing. Didn’t it sound as though they would undertake special missions?

“If you’re interested, please come to the Fourth Training Ground. Thank you.”

With that, Kyle descended from the platform. Lucia immediately approached and respectfully returned Fenris.

“What did you think?”

“I thought it was extraordinary.”

“Think you could do it, too?”

“It would be impossible for me.”

“Then we’ll have to make it possible.”

Kyle grinned at Bruno and Jade. Imagining the training ahead, Jade gave a hollow laugh, while Bruno clenched his fists.

“Can I do what you do if I train?”

“Who knows? I’ll do my best to train you. If you do your best, too, there’s no telling.”

Kyle had had several aims in provoking Xenafelt and dueling her. By making a firm impression and demonstrating his skill before the audience, he had ensured prospective recruits would flock to him without his having to seek them out.

Already, many spectators were rising from their seats and heading toward the Fourth Training Ground. All Kyle had to do now was separate the gems from the stones among the applicants.

And Xenafelt would return to the Sword Cult and make it abundantly clear to Helenas what sort of person Fenris’s master was.

Fenris had not gained a master after five hundred years on display merely because of Julius’s whim and affection. Kyle Alastor was worthy of being its master.

How would Helenas take that? From his previous life, Kyle knew what elves were like—or rather, what sort of elf Helenas was. As Julius had once complained, elves paid no attention to anything that did not interest them.

[“It would be more accurate to call it fate than interest.”]

Five hundred years ago.

That was what the little elf child had said.

* * *

“You can choose to take an interest in something even if your heart is unmoved. Fate is different. For us elves, fate is not something we choose. At some moment, it simply takes hold of us.”

It was a memory from five hundred years ago.

Helenas had arrived early in the morning carrying a real sword, shaken Raikal awake in his bed, and said those words.

“The moment we encounter it, that meeting ceases to be coincidence for an elf. It is a meeting of fate, not chance. Captivated in that way, an elf devotes the long life they have been given to their fate.”

That was why elves did not band together like other races. Each was captivated by a different fate, so they had no common cause as a people.

Elves were incorrigible individualists. There was a simple reason their population was so small despite their longevity. Most elves had no interest in producing descendants or preserving their race.

“You... damned brat. What the hell are you talking about, waking someone who was sleeping perfectly well?”

“Please teach me swordsmanship.”

The little elf child with green hair and blue eyes abruptly held out her sword as she spoke.