Chapter 114 - Fragment (3)

Edan Rhapsody asked what had happened.

“I-I am sorry. I am sorry.”

Edan Rhapsody asked again. He was not asking who was at fault. Answer him again. What had happened?

“The young master confessed to a lie.”

“...”

“H-he suddenly looked up at the sky and said that his oath was false. That he had sworn falsely in the names of the n-nine goddesses and the seven chief gods...”

The explanation was long-winded, but Edan quickly understood what had happened. Standing motionless, he closed his eye.

“I see.”

His little brother had told the family a lie. The great Rhapsody had acted without cross-checking it, without even questioning whether it was true.

And what had come of it?

Innocent people had died.

People who deserved respect had been humiliated, and the faithful had been made to answer for crimes they had never committed. The weak had trembled before violence, and the good had cried out against the injustice of an unreasonable world. Everyone had believed Toma alone. No one had listened to the pleas of the powerless.

Only a single fighter had stood against the immense wave.

Like the hero of an epic.

“...”

The fighter from that humble land had been right.

The great Rhapsody had been wrong.

The response of the nine goddesses and the seven chief gods had proved it.

Faced with that outcome, Edan Rhapsody merely stood with his eye closed. Looking at his silent master, the knight apologized once more. He was sorry. He had failed to protect the young master.

“Raise your head, knight.”

Edan Rhapsody opened his eye.

“You have done nothing wrong.”

“...”

“It was Toma who sinned. It was Rhapsody, your masters, who sinned. You merely followed our orders faithfully. And so your masters will also bear responsibility for those sins.”

Edan Rhapsody turned his head and looked at his brother, suspended in the air, motionless as though time had stopped. The furious seven chief gods and nine goddesses had severed his brother from the world. Watching him gaze up at the sky, Edan murmured.

“Countless people commit sins. Only some reflect on their sins, and only some of those who reflect confess them. And only some of those who confess shoulder responsibility for what they have done.”

“...”

“That was worthy of a Rhapsody. Admirably so.”

The sky was a vivid blue. The sun shone upon the world.

“You grew into a man before I knew it, Toma.”

Despite his injuries, Edan Rhapsody stood before his brother.

“... But why on earth did you do it?”

For ordinary people, an oath was a promise that could be broken at any time. A promise whose breach invited moral condemnation but no actual punishment. For a member of a Great Family, however, an oath was never a promise to take lightly. Especially one guaranteed by the gods.

“Why did you do it, Toma?”

Great power came with great responsibility.

And the responsibility borne by the continent’s five most powerful families surpassed the imagination of ordinary people. All the more so when the nine goddesses and seven chief gods were the ones who judged failures to uphold it.

Edan Rhapsody looked at his brother.

“Were you not taught how heavy our responsibilities are? However much trouble you caused, you never crossed the line before.”

“...”

“I wonder, little brother.”

One of Edan Rhapsody’s eyes had lost its light. The blood flowing from it was hot.

Now he would have to live seeing only half the world. Treatment from a priest in the family’s service might heal him in an instant. But the stubborn second son had no intention of seeking it. This wound bore witness to an error he must never forget, a scar he must endure for the rest of his life. Looking with his remaining eye, Edan Rhapsody spoke.

“... Was it truly nothing more than a boy’s rash impulse?”

He did not ask in expectation of an answer. The question was directed at himself.

At that moment, Edan Rhapsody recalled countless laws and rules. He recalled how his brother had behaved at home. Even their great father had not considered Toma’s words a lie. That should have been impossible. The absolute perception of a swordmaster possessing seven swords could not have failed to see through a mere boy’s lie. Toma had firmly believed it was the truth. Because, in his memories at the time, it had been the truth.

Edan Rhapsody’s suspicions were keen. He was both a powerful swordsman and the second son of a Great Family.

A noble of the highest standing, born of noble blood, needed mental strength as well as physical strength. And even without his sword, Edan Rhapsody was a strong man.

Edan Rhapsody considered it.

If Toma had lied deliberately, punishment should have descended immediately. Even a single word from a descendant of a Great Family carried immense responsibility. Yet the gods had not punished Toma’s lie. Because he had truly believed it was the truth. Mere self-suggestion could not accomplish that. Nor could a defense mechanism triggered by severe mental trauma. Such was a swordmaster’s absolute perception: it penetrated everything to uncover the truth. If his father had failed to see through it, there was only one possible conclusion.

Someone had deliberately altered Toma’s memories.

Who could that someone be? There was only one answer.

A swordmaster.

Since the continent’s birth, only another swordmaster had ever been able to kill a swordmaster, deceive a swordmaster, or evade a swordmaster’s blade.

The moment he reached that conclusion, Edan Rhapsody’s deductions sharpened to a keen edge.

‘A swordmaster superior to Father. A swordmaster who has forged more than seven swords. A swordmaster staying near the Iron Kingdom. A swordmaster who stands to gain materially from this business, or exploit it politically. Or... a swordmaster connected to someone who stands to gain.’

Only one person met every condition.

The only living swordmaster who served a sovereign.

The Iron Prince’s executioner.

The greatest swordsman on the continent.

“... Swordmaster Carlos.”

From the situation before him alone, Edan Rhapsody had reached that conclusion: who had stirred up the vortex that had engulfed his brother. But he still did not know why it had happened. As his thoughts churned, the knights approached him.

“Let us treat your wound first. Unless we act quickly, you may lose the use of that eye forever. To lose an eye to a wound inflicted by some lowly fighter—what a...”

The knights lacked the insight to read the situation. They had spent their lives as pieces on a game board, not as the people moving those pieces.

And so Edan Rhapsody did not rebuke them.

“It is fine. More importantly—”

And then, at that moment:

“First, we must contact Father...”

THUNK!

A snow-white sword appeared between Edan Rhapsody and Toma Rhapsody. A flawless blade of pure white, without a single dark patch. It was a beautiful object that looked more like a work of art than a weapon for taking lives. The moment Edan saw it, his gaze wavered.

“Keep your distance, great one.”

A deep, dignified voice rang out.

The next moment, dozens of swords plunged into the ground without a sound. A flag appeared with them, bearing a beautiful snow-white design that seemed to capture a winter landscape. As the flag fluttered, a frigid silence settled. Within that silence, figures clad in pure white appeared.

“You have violated the continent’s strict laws. You made a wrongful declaration of war, invoked a wrongful cause, and committed dishonorable acts. Rather than respecting the small things you were bound to protect, you trampled them with contempt.”

Everyone present knew what that flag meant. They also knew the identity of the white-clad figures who had descended into the heart of the legion. Across the entire continent, only one group wielded such swords and dressed in such attire. Pure-white swords, pure-white helmets and armor. Beings who symbolized flawless justice. Righteous watchers, and guardians of order.

“Under the laws of the beginning, you must be punished for your sins and bear responsibility for them. The watchers of the beginning hereby declare: from this moment onward, no one may make contact with Toma Rhapsody. Until the seven chief gods and nine goddesses deliver punishment, Toma Rhapsody will remain in our custody. In accordance with the duty inherited by 「White」.”

One of the Five Great Families.

「White」 had intervened.

Some of those present froze at the icy chill of winter flowing through the air. But others, raised entirely within the six free cities, knew little of 「White」.

One knight whose experience extended no farther than his own little world spoke.

“Get out of here at once. This is our affair. To thrust your blades before the young master and us—you must have lost all sense of fear...”

The knight was visibly furious.

And then:

“Enough.”

It was Edan Rhapsody who stopped him.

“Nothing they have said is wrong. Nor will opposing them do us any good, so we should withdraw for now. Once the watchers have intervened, there is nothing more we can do. Everything will unfold according to the gods’ will.”

“But...”

“But what?”

Edan Rhapsody spoke with an impassive face.

“Shall we fight them?”

“...”

“We have no just cause. We committed dishonorable acts on the basis of false information, and people have actually died. If we act wrongly now, even the remaining five families may enter the war. Or the Heavenly Empire may make a move.”

“...”

“Besides, even setting all of that aside, making enemies of them is not a good idea.”

Edan Rhapsody spoke dryly.

“In all the continent’s history, the Winter Citadel has never fallen. Not once.”

Nothing on this continent was more foolish than opposing 「White」 while it fulfilled its duty. No one recorded in history had ever evaded their blades. No one.

Edan Rhapsody knew the old saying about White.

None can defy winter.

No one.

* * *

I was born in war.

Swords, spears, and shields. Children returned from the battlefield as corpses, parents screaming in anguish, graves multiplying by the day and headstones planted upon them. Dented helmets and broken swords, love and hatred, lives that no longer breathed and a sky that gave no answer.

The nameless one said that the life of every living thing was a war, and this harsh world a battlefield with no right answers.

I agree with the nameless one. My life can be explained as a war.

My inexperienced mother described giving birth to me as a battle. A half-breed child, half dwarf and half human. My body was far too large for my dwarven mother to deliver. I was large in a way no dwarf should be, and after giving birth to me, Mother suffered many wounds. Wounds too grave for the midwives of that crude, humble settlement in the Sky Mountains to treat.

Mother died.

Her headstone was a paltry lump of iron that Father, a blacksmith, had forged, honed, and shaped with his hammer. Upon that paltry lump of iron, a paltry life was recorded in a single line. Mother was a life lost in a war of her own.

The half-dwarf born by burning his mother away was accepted nowhere. Not even by his father. To him, his son was a hateful creature who had murdered his wife the moment he was born. The year I turned seven, Father threw himself into the furnace and ended his life. For a long time, I stared at the furnace into which he had thrown himself.

Swords, spears, and shields.

Flames and blood, parents and children. Hope and screams, the ballads of bards. Young men dying, old people grieving, newborns who knew nothing. The shape of a harsh world, kindness that went unrewarded, incomprehensible trials and unreasonable violence.

Not one dwarf in the settlement made a headstone for my human father. Before the furnace into which his father had leaped, the unloved seven-year-old son made a headstone for his last blood relative himself. Just as Father had made Mother’s headstone.

I gripped a hammer in my small hand and clumsily struck iron that had not yet hardened. With insufficient strength, enduring the heat, I struck it again and again. My face flushed red, I looked at the hateful sky. It was clear, and the sun shone dazzlingly down. Gazing at that ever-so-cheerful sky, I asked:

Did the gods truly exist?

No matter how desperately I asked, no one answered. To seek an answer, I had to earn the right. I had to rise to a place so high that every living thing would look up to me, the whole world would take notice, and even the seven chief gods and nine goddesses could not ignore me. For only a great being who had earned that right could seek an answer to a blasphemous question.

The nameless one said:

A phoenix rises from the ashes.

That day, I pulled up Mother’s headstone. I stopped making Father’s. Instead, I began melting down the headstones of my departed family to make a blade. Still gripping the hammer in my small hand, I began striking the thoroughly heated iron as though I meant to shatter it. To make a single object.

A weapon with a long blade.

A weapon with a short grip and a long blade, used to cut or pierce an opponent. An object the world called a sword.

At the end of that crude, humble, paltry object, I engraved a mark in crooked letters. Hoping that one day the name would resound beyond the continent and reach the gods.

There, I wrote:

Liam Caravan.

.

.

.

“Hah!”

I opened my eyes with a strange feeling. The moment I sat up, I first looked down at my hands. They were trembling, as though I had been gripping a hammer and striking a lump of iron over and over until just now.

‘So vivid. Insanely vivid.’

What I had just glimpsed was a memory contained in the fragment.

Liam Caravan.

A memory of the life my Master had lived. It was more real, more intense, and sharper than anything I had ever seen. So much so that I could not tell dream from reality.

「Have you finally come to your senses, young descendant?」

As I brought my breathing under control, Liam spoke. Looking down at me, he murmured:

「For now, focus on recovering.」

Having looked down at me without expression, Liam slowly turned his gaze. Away from me, toward somewhere outside.

「You have a long way to go.」

“...”

「This is not the end. It has only just begun, young descendant.」

There was a strange emotion in Liam’s voice.

「You resemble me.」

“...”

「Prepare for the coming storm. Do not flee. Face it.」

And then came the same words I had heard from the voice within me.

「A phoenix rises from the ashes.」

“...”

「If you remain unbroken, you can take flight.」

Liam’s eyes turned toward me.

「I did it, young descendant.」

His eyes were as keen as blades.

「And so you, too, can do it.」

Without the slightest wavering.

「For the blood of steel flows through your veins.」

* * *

The Blade Palace, built upon steel.

The noblest young man among the distinguished people residing there. The sole heir of the Iron Kingdom of Chervil. The only young man who carried the royal bloodline. Iron Prince Ian Chervil took a leisurely sip of wine.

“Your Highness.”

A man addressed Ian Chervil as he enjoyed his leisure. The man looked out of place in this palace. His hair was unkempt, he wore a shabby scrap of cloth like a rag, and his face was covered in dark stains.

“The boy you ordered me to watch has survived.”

“Has he?”

“He overcame an unjust ordeal, won against an enemy he could not defeat, and proved himself worthy. Just like a scene recorded in forgotten history.”

“Heh, pfft, pffhaha.”

At the man’s words, the Iron Prince set down his glass and burst into laughter. What began as a small laugh soon became uncontrollable, maniacal laughter. It echoed thunderously through the vast palace. After Ian Chervil had laughed for some time, the man spoke.

“Are you satisfied?”

“Satisfied? Yes, of course I am satisfied.”

“... Are you not afraid?”

“Afraid? Unfortunately, not yet. But please! I hope I will be one day. I hope I will be so maddeningly afraid that I tremble and scream, that I shiver and lose sleep at night. I long to feel that. Desperately!”

Meeting the madness in the Iron Prince’s gaze, the man lowered his head. He felt an instinctive revulsion he could not explain. Concealing his fear, he murmured.

“And what will you do if that boy’s blade reaches you?”

“I pray that it does. I hope his blade reaches my throat. If I prove inadequate, it will pierce my neck and kill me. I will die a worthless death and lie sprawled like my brothers. If that moment comes, I will gladly greet it with a smile. It will mean there is someone greater than I.”

“...”

“But you see, that will never happen.”

The Iron Prince’s gaze turned toward the man.

“For I am the greatest being on this continent.”

The man heard the Iron Prince’s arrogant words, utterly unwavering. Confidence bordering on insanity. Complete faith in himself. Looking into the Iron Prince’s uncanny eyes, the man bowed his head.

“... You are entirely correct.”

As the man bowed low, the Iron Prince abruptly stopped laughing. Then, with an utterly flat expression, he spoke in a dry voice devoid of all emotion.

“Now return and do what you must.”

“... And watching the boy?”

“You may stop for the time being.”

Having said that, the Iron Prince lifted his glass again and drank his wine. He looked out the window, into the distance beyond the walls rising like pointed blades.

“... As you wish.”

Seeing that Ian Chervil’s interest had moved elsewhere, the man bowed deeply once more. Then he dispersed where he stood like black smoke. As the man vanished, the Iron Prince’s executioner, who had been waiting outside, entered. Swordmaster Carlos. Looking straight at his master, Carlos asked:

“Your next command?”

Even after hearing the brief question, the Iron Prince kept his gaze fixed outside. The Iron Kingdom was far too small to contain him. This kingdom was not enough for him, the greatest and most superior of all. An empire? Even an empire was not enough. What, then, should he possess? In Ian Chervil’s view, only one thing befitted him.

“The time has come when I need your sword.”

The world.

This continent, created by the seven chief gods and nine goddesses. A vast land divided under such names as kingdoms, empires, archipelagos, and free cities. The seven races living beneath its wide lands and skies. He felt that nothing would satisfy him until he held it all in his grasp. Everything, without leaving a single thing behind.

“Carlos.”

“Yes.”

Now it was time to take the first step in that audacious plan.

“Cut down my father.”

“...”

“The time has come for me to sit upon the Iron Throne.”

At Ian Chervil’s words, his executioner answered calmly.

“... Gladly.”