Chapter 6 - Drops of Blood on the Sword (1)

A man in armor sat on a rock, wiping down his sword.

As if he had killed some passing monster, his blade was smeared with bright red blood.

"You can't fool age. These days, the winter wind sinks all the way into my bones."

He could not be called old, but the scars and wrinkles carved into his face were enough to suggest the years he had lived and the environment he had survived.

"Hm?"

The man, who had been silently wiping the blood from his sword, stilled his head and focused on the sound reaching his ears.

White breath spilled from the man's mouth and scattered in every direction.

"That's fairly convincing."

A tiny sound came from far away.

It was the cry of a cuckoo.

Beyond the man-made road, among the gaunt, withered trees, a cuckoo was calling.

"Either he's an idiot, or he's doing it on purpose."

The middle-aged man clicked his tongue, checked that no one was around, and stepped off the road toward the place where the cuckoo's cry was coming from.

Cuckoo—cuckoo—

Even as a person approached, the cuckoo did not move from its place and continued to cry out.

As if it were announcing that it was there.

"Whoever you are, that's enough. I'm here now."

In the empty forest, the man in armor spoke quietly.

"... Are you Sir Stanga?"

Then, from the forest that had seemed empty, a hooded person walked out.

"Yes. I am Stanga, I suppose."

The man called Stanga looked at the person before him with a displeased expression.

"Then you're the brat called Vlad?"

"Yes."

When Vlad took off the hood he had been wearing, Stanga looked at him with interested eyes.

"I heard the guide was from the back alleys, but look at you, blond hair and blue eyes despite yourself. Anyone would think you were born a noble."

"... Here's the letter the boss sent."

Vlad's face twisted as he listened to Stanga.

"Let's see..."

As Stanga slowly read the letter, his scars twisted in a strange way.

Vlad could not easily read Stanga's expression.

Depending on how one looked at it, he seemed to be smiling, but from another angle he seemed to be angry.

"Good. My proud senior is telling me to follow the brat in front of me."

"That's right."

He was an unpredictable man.

Born in the back alleys, Vlad had had no choice but to develop a keen sense for reading people, and that was his assessment of Stanga.

"Follow me."

While Vlad was assessing Stanga, Stanga was also assessing the greenhorn before him.

A blond greenhorn who let his words roll off him as if they were nothing, even though Stanga had deliberately created a menacing atmosphere.

'He's the sort Jorge would like.'

He did not know what the boy's skills were like, but at the very least, he looked like a greenhorn worth polishing.

But right now, Stanga was not a knight, merely a traveler who wanted to reach his destination early.

'I'll have to land a blow here.'

To make the road ahead comfortable, he needed to suitably knead the head of this young brat who was pointlessly putting on airs before him.

"Ha... Looks like the one in front of me is an idiot, so I don't know if he'll be able to guide me properly."

"I can guide you well enough."

"I don't think so."

Watching Vlad express his dissatisfaction in a sulky voice, Stanga gave a deep smile.

"No one making the sound of a summer migratory bird in the middle of winter could possibly be smart."

"... Ah."

Vlad listened to Stanga and looked as if he had been caught out.

"If you say on the way that maybe this isn't the place, I'll kill you. Idiot."

Seeing Vlad flustered, Stanga smiled, feeling that his blow had landed.

※※※※

Knight.

A word even a boy from the back alleys could feel resonate.

A being who had once possessed the name of knight, a qualification and an honor that only those who had proven their existence could bear, was right beside him.

"Why do you keep glancing at me?"

"... Will you wear out if I look?"

"Just don't get us lost."

"Don't worry. I know this road even with my eyes closed."

"Then close your eyes."

"... I mean I know it that well."

Even though he had just been scolded, Vlad could not help but keep looking at Stanga.

He had long known that Jorge was a former knight, but by now the air of an organization boss suited him more naturally than that of a knight.

But Stanga, who was beside him now, still retained the image of the knight Vlad had dreamed of.

A long sword, a breastplate reinforced with leather, gauntlets tied tight, and the clanking sound of armor.

"First time seeing a retired knight? Why do you keep staring so much?"

"From this close, yes."

"What a bumpkin."

"Where are you from?"

"Dacia."

"That's a complete backwater."

"..."

Even though he had just landed a blow on him, Stanga gave a ferocious smile as he watched Vlad refuse to lose to him in even a single word.

"I'd rather you actually got lost. Then I could cut you down in one stroke."

"We'll camp here today."

"Are city brats always this damn rude?"

Stanga grumbled, but he agreed with the boy's decision to camp now.

The two of them had been wandering through the forest to avoid people's eyes, and the sun always set faster inside the woods.

"You're good at this, for a city brat."

"I've never really had a proper home."

Watching the boy briskly move about and make a campsite, Stanga smiled.

"How admirable. Are you even making a spot for me?"

"You're Jorge's guest."

"Hmm."

Before he knew it, Vlad had laid out a spot, somehow gathered firewood, and even started a fire.

"Got anything to eat?"

"I have mine."

"What about mine?"

"They didn't pack that much for me."

"..."

With a sigh, Stanga had no choice but to take out the jerky he had brought with him.

It looked too meager to belong to someone wearing gleaming armor.

Once the campfire was lit, Vlad hung the jerky over it.

"You said we're moving in secret, so is it all right to light a fire?"

"That's why we took the long way around. Even if they find out someone is here, it's fine as long as they don't find out I'm bringing a sir knight."

He meant that even if their trail was discovered, it did not matter as long as their intent was not.

"Looks like Senior is in a rough spot."

And through Vlad's words, Stanga guessed Jorge's circumstances.

"Hiding a sword is only ever for the moment you thrust it."

Vlad said nothing.

He only affirmed it through his silence.

"... He only told me to bring you safely, even if we were found out in the worst case."

For the first time, Vlad felt the sharp instincts of a knight, and inwardly he could not help being surprised.

Stanga's words were right.

He was not someone who needed to sneak into Soara.

But the reason Jorge had gone out of his way to hide a swordsman named Stanga was probably because he, too, intended to end One-Armed Jack's life for certain in this fight.

A knight was a sword.

And an extremely sharp one at that.

A sword flying in from an unexpected place would be nothing less than an excellent weapon.

Though he was retired now, Stanga, who had once been a knight, would be more than capable of fulfilling that role.

"But are you really going to eat that all by yourself?"

Stanga asked, looking back and forth between his own jerky and the jerky Vlad had brought.

"Yes."

"Fuck..."

Vlad answered as if it was not even worth thinking about.

"Tsk."

Stanga smacked his lips as he watched the jerky slowly cook.

"But it's made really ugly."

"The person who made it isn't skilled."

It was strange jerky.

Rather than strips, it looked more like meat clumsily mashed together.

But that made it look all the more appetizing.

'Even the smell is killer.'

The aroma it gave off as it roasted over the fire was hardly different from meat being grilled.

"H-Hmm. Is there anything you want to ask me?"

"All of a sudden?"

"For every piece of jerky you have, I'll answer one question. This isn't an opportunity that comes often."

"..."

Chewing on the jerky Zemina had made him, Vlad quietly looked at Stanga.

What was wrong with this man?

"If you want some, just ask me to give you one."

"A knight has his dignity, you brat. A knight only accepts fair compensation."

"You're retired."

"Even so, all the things I've done until now..."

"Name."

"... Stanga."

"Age."

"Forty-two... Hey, you brat."

"Why did you come all the way here?"

Stanga caught the two pieces of jerky that flew toward him, only to be briefly struck speechless by the sharp question that immediately followed.

Substance within emptiness.

He had thought the boy clever, but he was fairly sharp too.

"Well, you could call it the end of an unsuccessful knight..."

With a bitter expression, Stanga answered while skewering the jerky on a twig.

"Successful?"

"One more piece of jerky."

This time, Vlad handed over the jerky he was holding with a sour look on his face.

"Land is important. It's the foundation you can stand on, and the support that lets you rise on your own."

"Are you talking about a manor?"

"... Something like that."

Vlad knew too.

The final goal of knights could be said to be a manor.

Because a manor was one of the things that made a knight into something other than a commoner.

"You want to become a noble?"

And it was also like a stepping stone that allowed a knight to advance into noble society.

"Do I want to become a noble?"

But at Vlad's question, Stanga gave a hollow laugh and simply put the jerky into the fire.

"I just... wanted to receive my rightful compensation."

The flickering light of the campfire cast a strange shadow over Stanga's face.

"..."

Seeing Stanga's expression subtly harden, Vlad thought that he was now standing on a line he should not cross.

He must not cross the line.

Because everyone had their own world that they did not want invaded.

"All right, then."

To change the mood and ease Stanga's expression, Vlad decided to act like an ordinary boy.

"Do you know how to handle aura?"

"Heh heh. Now that I look at you, you're just a showy little fool."

At Vlad's question, Stanga chuckled and turned his head.

"Not every knight can handle aura. And..."

"And?"

"Even if one can handle it, using it in actual combat is another realm entirely."

"So can you use it? Or not?"

Vlad thought he was acting, but that was a mistake.

The boy was sincere.

Knight. Aura.

The things the boy dreamed of were contained in those two words.

"Take them all."

"What?"

"The jerky."

Afraid Stanga might say something else, Vlad quickly handed over the pouch holding the jerky.

"A knight only takes fair compensation, greenhorn."

"Then should I take some out?"

At Vlad's words, Stanga quickly snatched the pouch.

"Sometimes you need to enjoy the mood."

Seeing Stanga grin, Vlad felt his heart pounding fiercely.

He could really see it.

Aura, the essence of knights.

If it meant seeing that, jerky personally made by Zemina was nothing to regret.

Perhaps burdened by Vlad's sparkling gaze, Stanga cleared his throat and spoke.

"Ahem. Good. Watch carefully."

With bright, eager eyes, Vlad took the jerky Stanga had been roasting.

SHING.

With both hands now free, Stanga drew his sword.

The well-maintained sword was sleek, and it slid out quietly.

Like the shy hand of a modest lady reaching out.

"Why are you closing your left eye?"

"Because I have to draw up my own world within my soul."

"...?"

It was something Vlad could not understand, but he decided to simply watch.

Because Stanga was standing up.

A knight standing under the moonlight, with a campfire before him.

But even before two lights, his presence was not hidden.

Stanga the knight.

Because he was a man who knew how to shine on his own.

"Watch, greenhorn."

Stanga kissed his sword and began murmuring something.

It was a conversation with the sword, and also something like an incantation to draw his own world into reality.

"Wow."

Then, before long, blue light began to ripple from his sword.

It was faint and pale, but it clearly held the moonlight.

Even Vlad, who knew nothing, could tell.

That was Stanga's own world.

And it was also what was called aura.

"That's really amazing."

Something began to ripple in the blue eyes looking upon that world.