Episode 3 – Princess Isis Is Not the Heroine
Whoosh. Whoooosh.
A vicious sound of air being torn apart. An iron ball of some fifty kilograms had been fixed to the end of an iron bar, and when he swung the thing exactly as he would a sword, the noise that followed was heavy and murderous. Catch a wild boar with that, and it would probably drop dead in a single blow.
And yet this training, so impressive at a glance, had one enormous flaw.
Creak. Crrrack.
Wrists, elbows, shoulders, waist — it was a method that left no part of the body intact. An ordinary sword weighed one to one and a half kilograms. A few heavy blades ran past five, but aside from those, people generally refused to use a weapon that was too heavy. The reason was simple. Use one carelessly, and your whole body was wrecked. Swing it, and you could be left a cripple on the spot. No matter how slowly you moved, one slip and the odds of crippling yourself ran past ninety percent. It was one of the extreme regimens Lee Han had named, in his own words, Diamond Indestructible Body training.
"Huuuuh."
The first time he put the method into practice, he had very nearly ended up half a cripple for real. The weight shocked him once, and then he understood just how insane it was to swing the thing. Even so, Lee Han did not quit. He started at five kilograms, raised the load little by little, and slowly adapted to both the weight and the work. By now he had reached the point of handling a combined sixty kilograms of iron bar and iron ball. It was nothing short of a triumph of human grit.
...Well.
Crack.
"Ah. Snapped again."
Every so often an elbow or a wrist got pulverized like this. A full-body destruction workout — that was the other name Lee Han had stuck on this brainless training.
He immediately stuffed himself with nutrients, rested, and at last his body recovered to some degree. Bone and muscle healed fast, but once a tendon or a joint was damaged, even a troll's regeneration took more than two hours to mend it. The only person who had ever seen this training was Jake, his one and only acquaintance in the knight order, and Jake had put it like this.
"You trying to kill yourself? What kind of insane training is this...?"
The words had come with gestures fit to wound a man, and a face full of naked horror. Was it really that bad? ...Yeah. It probably was. Even by his own reckoning, there were times this method felt like too much. Trusting a troll's regeneration alone, it was still the sort of training that could leave you a cripple.
But there was a reason he accepted the risk anyway. Through this training, the quality of his muscle, the frame of his skeleton, and the rest grew stronger in ways he could see. Take that bastard Jord, the one he'd fought the day before. To face a man who freely wielded flashy, lightning-fast Sword Ki, you needed the skill to slip or deflect an attack with the blade, and Lee Han had no talent that refined. He only watched, and blocked, brute and stupid. Even so, taking the blows head-on, he suffered no damage at all, and his hands did not so much as tremble. Why was that?
Because this training actually helps.
No matter how heavy a strike came in, his muscle and bone had grown elastic and hard enough to shed the whole of the impact. A body that might as well have been bulletproof from head to toe. In his recent spars with Baltar, blows he once could not endure even ten of, he could now withstand twenty. A breakthrough if ever there was one—
"Breakthrough, my ass. I'm still getting the shit beaten out of me."
Loosening a body that had more or less recovered, Lee Han's face twisted hard. Just picturing Baltar, who still outclassed him by an overwhelming margin, was enough to set his temper alight. What had the man said again?
"Hoho. You've become a juicier sandbag. What a good boy. Are you doing all this so I can enjoy the feel of it in my hands? Heh heh."
If that wasn't mockery, what was? That monstrous old man...!
"Maybe it's time I raised the weight."
Raise the weight of the iron bar — or else put more hours into some other method? The question dug in deep. He still could not picture a future in which he beat that old man. Still, if he could get ahead of him in even one thing, there was a chance of landing a real blow. Toughness. If a hide that had always been thick grew thicker still — if he could take the hits without the strength draining out of his whole body, and keep charging to the very end — then maybe, just maybe, one strike—!
"Aigoo!"
Thud.
"......"
"Hnn, I'm sorry. I was trying not to get in the way, but I fell."
"...And you, miss — are your knees, no, is your face all right?"
"Hehe, yes, I'm fine, Sir Knight. Luckily this body's pretty sturdy. I got hit with an iron mace once before, and I was perfectly all right, heehee."
"...Ah. Is that so."
...Where was he even supposed to start? Should he be worrying about the part of her that had taken a mace, or should he be asking for the secret of surviving the hit? Lee Han looked at the uninvited lodger he had taken in against his will, his expression thoroughly sour.
The day before, Crown Princess Isis had said she had a favor to ask. A favor in name only. In truth, it was no different from an order.
Lee Han, however, was another matter.
"I refuse. You have any idea how hard I've worked not to get tangled up with nobles like you? Why should I have to get tangled up with you, big sister?"
"...How cold. There are plenty who would offer even their lives if it were my request."
"Then ask those people. I'm not offering mine."
Cold past the point of cold — insolent. But Lee Han was firm, and for once both hard and icy.
"Using a man once ought to be enough. It's not like I'm actually your hunting dog."
This was a warning. A warning that even if she was the heir of a kingdom, and even if experts swarmed beyond these walls, she was not to take him lightly. Why did Lee Han want to grow strong? So that he would not bend. So that he would not live as he had in his previous life.
"Big sister — no. Your Highness the Crown Princess. If you're thinking of me not as your sworn younger brother, but as a dog to use, you've come to the wrong man. I'll say it plain. I'm someone who'd quit being a knight, or anything else, this very moment if I could. I follow you now because your power is frightening, and because there's a bond between us. But cross the line, and power, bonds, all of it — none of that matters. I'll smash every last bit of it. Remember that."
"......"
He meant it. It was a resolve to fight even at the cost of his life. Sensing as much, the fine line of Isis's brow twitched with irritation.
"Impudent wretch. Is there nothing you will not say to your elder sister?"
"Then a sister ought to act like a sister."
"...Does it please you, trying to win against a woman with words?"
"I loathe sexism. Equality between men and women is wonderful. Yes."
"...You mannerless brat."
In the end, the one whose spirit folded first was Isis. Gifted with extraordinary talent from the moment of her birth, she had spent nearly forty years living as one who gathered experience and reigned from above. Few indeed would behave so shamelessly right in front of her.
...Even so.
"Yes. A man ought to have at least that much spirit."
"...?"
Somehow, she seemed to find Lee Han rather admirable.
"From of old it has been said that a knight is one who does not bend to power, who contends with those who rule and walks the righteous path. Truly a splendid bearing, worthy of my sworn younger brother. Hoho."
"...Was this some kind of test?"
"But of course."
"......"
"Do not look at me so. One in my position must always test others, even should the other party be not a sworn brother, but blood kin, or one's own hands and feet."
"...You really do live a hard life."
"It is a sovereign's fate."
Just now, Isis had been testing him. If Lee Han had simply accepted her request — no, her order — she would have been disappointed in him. She would have taken him for a base creature, farting flattery at power. Of course, even branded as base, she would not have discarded him. Just as he himself had said a moment ago, she would have made a hunting dog of him and used him well. A hunting dog to be boiled, later, once the rabbits were dead.
What a vicious beauty.
"Cease speaking ill of me. My ears itch."
"I said a beauty. A beauty. A beautiful woman. It's a compliment."
"I wonder. To my ear, it sounded as though 'crazy bitch' was meant to sit right in the middle."
"You're imagining it. Imagining it."
"How brazen."
He had cursed royalty to her face, yet Isis did not rebuke him. One who meant to live as a sovereign had to let the criticism and contempt of the people pass as lightly as a breath. Even so.
Thwack.
"One who would be a knight must not insult a lady. You brat."
"Nice wrist snap."
A flick of the forehead, to her sworn younger brother, ought to be acceptable. Isis's expression was certainly stern, and yet, somehow, it was the softest face he had seen on her all day.
"Then I shall say it again. This is not an order, but truly no more than a proposal, and I would very much like you to be the one who grants it."
"...I'll at least hear you out."
The request came again. This time, knowing it was not an order, Lee Han decided to listen. For this woman to bend her pride was on the same level as getting an Italian to admit that pineapple pizza was the greatest pizza of all. Hearing her out, to a point, was only reasonable.
"I said the requests were two, but in a sense, every commission I would give shares a similar face."
Tap.
"...Why is a newspaper that isn't supposed to come out until tomorrow sitting here?"
"The power of authority."
"Honestly. You people in power."
Rustle.
Lee Han unfolded the newspaper she had handed him. Opening it and reading on without any further questions suited Isis perfectly. Worse than a dull man was a man with no sense for the room, and in that respect he certainly had sense. He was not dull, either. Before long he paused on a certain page. News that clearly ought to have been splashed across the front in enormous type, yet hung on the tenth page. He jabbed a finger at it — a page where the royal house's hand had plainly been at work.
"...The favor you just mentioned. This is about this young lady, or this cocky-looking young master, isn't it?"
"Why do you think so?"
"Because the only people sitting high enough that even you would have trouble touching them are these two."
"Correct. Though, to amend that — if I set my mind to it, I could take their heads whenever I wished. It would merely become a little troublesome."
"Yes, yes. You're amazing."
Thwack!
The fan struck the crown of his head like a flying spark, but Lee Han was unmoved. Would a fan hurt a man who stayed intact even when struck by an Aura User? Instead he read the paper and murmured their names.
"Irene Windler. Roen Dmitri de Lionel."
Irene Windler was a young mage of nineteen, in the flower of her youth and born of the lower class, yet she had recently entered the Academy's magic faculty as its top entrant, a woman of genuine talent — and, on top of that, the Duke of Galahad had announced his intent to adopt her. The one called Roen, or whatever it was, was the youngest son of the grand ducal House Lionel, hailed as kings of the North, but as an illegitimate son his chances of the succession were exceedingly slim, and he had recently entered the Academy's sword faculty as its top entrant.
The Duke of Galahad and the Grand Duke of Lionel belonged to Pendragon, and yet both maintained relations with the royal house that were vicious in the extreme. And now their adopted daughter and illegitimate son had not only entered the capital, the heart of Pendragon, but enrolled in the Academy. This was big news, the kind that would shake the capital. That it had not claimed the very front page also meant the royal house found the pair irksome. And sure enough—
"If I had my way, I would simply want them dead."
"...As I understand it, Galahad and Lionel both have the royal blood mixed all through them, don't they?"
"They would be my younger cousins. Or my cousins on my mother's side."
"And you want to kill people like that?"
"If I asked, would you grant it?"
"...No."
"Hmph. A shame."
...A beauty.
Thwack.
He slandered her again, and the fan blazed down on the crown of his head.