Chapter 12 - What Do You Want? (1)

In a back alley street turned to a muddy mess, a grubby-looking child was glaring at someone.

In this street where everyone only blackened and died away, the child had a color that did not belong.

“That little shit...”

“Leave him be. He must be hungry.”

The man who had been tearing into a skewer sold from a street stall flicked his hand and called over the boy glaring at him.

“Come here. Yeah, you there, blue eyes.”

“...”

Following the man’s gesture, the boy came closer, and sure enough, he was a complete mess, just like a child who survived by begging in the back alleys.

“Where’d you get beaten up?”

As if he had just been hit by someone somewhere, one eye was bruised blue, and the shabby clothes that barely covered his body were torn all over.

“Nice. Those eyes.”

Though he looked wretched, the light in the child’s eyes had not died.

The man liked that.

“Give me one more skewer here.”

The huge man took another skewer from the owner and held it out to the beggar-looking brat.

“Eat.”

It had only been simple pity.

But the fact that he could draw pity from someone who lived in this alley meant he had at least earned his meal.

“What are you doing? Take it.”

“...”

At the smell of meat wafting over, the beggar boy’s mouth visibly filled with saliva.

“I said take it.”

The child was hesitating.

And it seemed he had made his decision.

Instead of taking the skewer, the child spoke to the man.

“I can do a good job.”

“At what?”

“Anything.”

The child was looking.

Not at the skewer the man held out.

“I can do anything well. As long as you tell me to.”

But at the person handing him the skewer.

In the boy’s eyes, that person was like a star shining in the back alley.

“... What’s your name?”

Watching the child, the man suddenly grew curious.

Curious who this brat was, a back alley beggar’s kid who, instead of grabbing the food that would let him endure another day, spoke to him so boldly.

Curious about the name of this boy who looked as if he had rolled through the mud and had not one sound place on him, yet still kept a light in his eyes.

“Vlad.”

The boy’s eyes, finally met head-on, were blue.

The man liked that color too.

“You want to come to our place?”

So he decided to pick him up.

Because it was a color that reminded him of someone who had left long ago.

The child’s blue eyes resembled stars.

※※※※

“Haa, haa.”

In the dead of night, when everyone was asleep, Vlad woke from his sleep, panting.

“... Guess I’m done sleeping.”

It was a dream from long ago.

From a time when surviving each day had been burden enough.

Awake now, Vlad looked around.

It was a tent filled with the stale smell and snores of unfamiliar men.

“At least Rose’s Smiles smelled like powder.”

Knowing sleep would not come easily, Vlad picked up his sword and went outside.

[Keeping yourself in the best condition at all times is also a basic quality of a swordsman, Vlad.]

“...”

Vlad did not answer the voice.

“Who goes there?”

“Rhimann.”

“Where are you going at this hour?”

“To pray.”

“... You’d suit being a priest more than a mercenary, Rhimann.”

After telling the men on night watch where he was going, Vlad headed toward a hill shining under the moonlight.

Then he gripped his sword and closed his eyes.

[You lived a hard life.]

“You saw it?”

The voice said it had peered into Vlad’s dream.

[Dreams are the manifestation of powerful wishes.]

“What did I wish for?”

The voice did not answer.

“I do miss him.”

There was a man praying beneath the moonlight, where no one else was around.

He was a sorrowful-looking man, his blond hair scattering in the cold winter wind.

“... But how long do I have to keep talking to myself like a lunatic?”

[Until you create your own world within your soul.]

“Create a world? What am I, some god?”

[The very act of communicating your will through thought alone is something like that. Only a firm will can make your world express itself outward.]

Or so the man pretended to look.

“Guess I’ll have to keep doing this crazy shit for a long time.”

[That depends on you.]

Praying Rhimann.

Since he could not mutter to himself in front of others, it was the stopgap method he had thought of.

“Are all knights like that? They have worlds inside their souls and everything?”

[Those who wield aura do.]

“When you put it that way, I’ve got nothing to say.”

And though it had not been intentional, this method was quite effective.

The act of praying not only gave him time alone, when no one would disturb him, but also helped stage Vlad as something different from other mercenaries.

Something special, unlike the rest.

That was another way of expressing that something was precious.

“But earlier, I did it exactly how you told me, and it didn’t work properly.”

[Why would it not work?]

Yet right now, the boy was regretting it.

[You hold the sword just so and tilt your body, and then the opponent goes whoosh, you see. That is when you swish. Why do you not understand no matter how many times I tell you?]

“... Does that sound like words to you? Right now?”

Because the very thing he had wanted to gain by staging himself through prayer was failing.

There was a saying.

That no matter how excellent a swordsman might be, not all of them could become excellent teachers.

That saying was correct.

Though he did not even know whether the voice had been an excellent swordsman.

“I’m asking if that’s something you expect a human being to understand.”

[... No, I am telling you, when they wobble, you swish-swish—]

“God, please take away this trash demon who can’t even speak properly.”

A vein rose on Vlad’s forehead as he listened to the absurd explanation.

“Should I kill this thing or let it live?”

[I can hear all of that.]

Perhaps aware that its explanations were truly awful, the voice answered in a strangely shrunken tone.

“Just show me once right now.”

[You will be completely exhausted. Will that be all right?]

“They said we’re not going out on a subjugation tomorrow anyway.”

The one fortunate thing was that the boy and the voice had another way to exchange lessons.

[Good. Close your right eye.]

Following the voice’s instruction, Vlad closed his right eye.

“Mm...”

Then, for a moment, he felt as if his field of vision had grown distant.

It was a sensation like viewing the world after taking one step back.

[Feel it carefully.]

“...”

With his right eye closed, Vlad quietly drew his sword beneath the moonlight.

A different force than before, a different air.

At this moment, as if he had become another person, Vlad was overwhelming everything around him.

The wind that blew and even the earth beneath his feet.

[Seize possibility first with an unexpected movement.]

There was a sensation of ruling the world.

[Control the battlefield with insight that is one step ahead.]

And then, a swing.

[That is the principle of killing in a single blow.]

Beneath the moonlight, where it alone should have shone, there was a flashing gleam.

It was a slash that could not even be seen.

But Vlad could feel it.

The flow of air splitting for an instant.

The scream of wind shrieking as it was torn apart.

[Open your eye, Vlad.]

Opening his right eye again, Vlad staggered and collapsed on the spot.

“Ugh. That’s damn rough.”

Holding his spasming calf, Vlad grimaced.

Though it had lasted only a very brief moment, sharp pain came from the muscles that had exceeded their limits and been overloaded.

[Did you feel it?]

But even through the pain, Vlad was smiling.

“More or less.”

Because he had seen it, felt it, and even glimpsed it.

The unidentified voice had driven vivid experience into Vlad’s borrowed body for a moment.

And the clever boy could learn by tracing the marks left within him.

“I think I can do it next time.”

[You said that last time too.]

It was instruction on a completely different level from teaching through words and demonstrations.

To experience it directly.

There was no lesson in the world that would remain more powerfully than that.

Through innate talent and vivid teaching, Vlad was growing at a rapid pace.

As if it had been decided from the start that he would become this.

“The moon is very bright tonight.”

Holding his twitching leg, Vlad looked up at the night sky.

“Now, just seeing the moon makes me think of that bastard.”

[...]

There had been a knight who resembled the blue moonlight.

He was the first other world the boy had ever seen, and the one who had destroyed Jorge, who had been his own world.

“... One day, I’m going to break the moon.”

[You will be able to.]

Vlad had always been a boy who looked up at shining stars.

Even before he looked at the star made by the old blacksmith.

“Might as well avenge Jorge while I’m at it.”

That star had been the proudest and largest star in the back alley.

The boy held the broken star he had admired in his heart.

“Let’s call it here for today.”

[Good.]

And he slung over his shoulder the star bought with a girl’s tears.

Blue moonlight watched the boy’s back as he descended the hill, bearing stars upon himself.

※※※※

“... And so, through my quick thinking, we were able to deal with the hobgoblin.”

Late at night.

Joseph sat back in his chair and looked at the knight reporting to him.

Thick cheeks and an obese body that could not be hidden even by armor.

And eyes that held nothing dignified.

He looked so dubious that Joseph wondered whether he truly was someone who lived by the sword.

“Sir Vordan.”

“Yes, Lord Joseph.”

Swallowing the sigh that was about to leak out, Joseph opened his mouth.

“Do I look like a moron to you?”

“...”

Joseph knew this was a situation where he ought to fly into a rage, but instead of anger, laughter was coming out.

“How much of a joke did I look like to you, for you to make a report like this?”

“L-Lord Joseph...”

The knight before him was insulting him.

Whether it was to protect himself or to inflate his own achievement, Joseph did not know, but either way, he was telling lies before Joseph, the commander of the subjugation force.

“More than twenty mercenaries followed you. Did you think not a single thing they said would reach my ears?”

“...”

There was nothing he could say.

Watching Vordan roll his eyes, Jager, who stood beside Joseph, let out a heavy, sunken breath.

Joseph knew.

That if he only said to kill him here, that hateful face would roll across the floor.

“... Take my words today to heart.”

“Thank you for forgiving me, Lord Joseph!”

However, Joseph could not tell them to kill the knight called Vordan.

Because this incompetent, stupid, and even old bastard was one of the few knights within the family who followed him.

“Trash...”

As soon as Vordan left the tent, Joseph clutched his head and spat the word out like a lament.

Even House Bayezid, which revered martial prowess, did not have only knights of excellent skill.

A knight meant one who wielded a sword, but it also meant a title.

“If only that bastard’s house would just collapse into ruin. Then I would have cut him down without hesitation.”

If one had the money and connections to cross the high threshold of House Bayezid, then a knight like Vordan could come about.

That too could be called power and ability.

“Does Father see me as a trash can? Is that why he only shoves trash my way?”

Only now did anger rise in Joseph, and he stood from his seat, speaking through trembling lips.

“Please calm yourself.”

“... I need a sword. Not a trash sword like that, but an extremely sharp sword.”

In Joseph’s shadowed eyes, a flame-like longing boiled.

“If only I had that, there would be no reason for me to fall behind my brother.”

It was bitter.

He could accept that he lacked skill, but he could not endure having things decided by what he had not been born with.

All the Family Heads who had carried on House Bayezid until now had been knights who stood among the representatives of their era.

His father, Peter Bayezid, had been so, and his brother, Rutiger Bayezid, was also one with the talent to become a knight who would represent the next generation.

“God does not grant everything. Lord Joseph, you possess far more than you lack.”

Jager’s words were right.

Joseph had merely not been born with a healthy body; he held weapons that Rutiger did not possess.

A clever mind, a composed nature, a strong spirit.

And even the support of an excellent maternal family.

Of course, in House Bayezid, which revered martial prowess, all those things were also evaluated as secondary.

“Did you look into it?”

“Yes.”

Joseph thought.

If he could not become a sword himself, then he would become one who held a sword instead.

“Is he a noble?”

“No.”

“Then is he a promising prospect from some swordsmanship guild?”

“He is not tied to anywhere.”

At Jager’s report, the corners of Joseph’s mouth rose.

“So he has no master.”

“That is correct. They say he is from the back alleys of Soara.”

If there was no sword around him for him to wield, he would make one and wield it.

As long as that would allow him to become complete.

“Good. It is late today, so I will see him tomorrow.”

“Understood.”

Watching Jager quietly leave the tent, Joseph sat back down in his chair.

Inside the tent where only he remained, he steadied his breath in silence and thought.

“What do you want, Vlad?”

Joseph did not give up.

“What must I give you so that you cannot refuse me, Vlad?”

He was one who always struggled to survive.

Within the flickering candlelight, eyes filled with a strange longing wavered.