The Knight Leaves the Stage (1)

The banquet ended in pandemonium.

It could hardly have ended any other way.

The king had been beaten—and the beaten king, it had been revealed, was the very man who had not merely backed a seditious faction, but revived it. There was even the suspicion that he might have had a hand in every act of terror throughout the past year. For that banquet to have closed on a pleasant note would have been the thing that made no sense.

A fair number, of course, took the crisis for an opportunity and set about weaving sly little schemes.

"You'd do better to stop."

"And why should I!"

"I understand how you feel, and I'll grant that this is a fine moment to set the board. But... I haven't the nerve to bear what comes of it."

"Bear what!"

"That knight..."

"......"

"I'm afraid of that knight. What am I to do if he comes looking for me?"

"Th-that's..."

Even those deep in their plotting began to shudder at the thought of that knight.

He had declared, flatly, that he was no hero—only a man who went too far and kept going. For the people who had actually lived through him, it was different. And well it might be.

"It felt as if John Ray Albert had come back..."

John Ray Albert, the heresy inquisitor.

Those of the old generation who remembered him shook where they stood. They recalled the noble houses the inquisitor had wiped out, and those who remembered the manner of his executions were near to nightmares, and to the first symptoms of madness besides. It was a story decades old, and Albert himself was half retired, so they had thought they might at last be free of the dream. The knight they had seen in the banquet hall gave them the terror of John Ray Albert returned to the world.

...Him.

"I remember. The man who slaughtered seventeen noble houses that had dirtied their hands with crime—all of them, in a single morning..."

"S-stop..."

"You know what makes it worse? That knight's air, his face, the way he thought—they were like the Executioner's. Beginning with the fact that he does not take himself for justice, and then those unhesitating, cruel hands! If that knight, already terrifying in his strength, were to learn the executioner's arts on top of it, then—!"

"Aaaah!"

"A second Executioner, following after him, might be born."

?!"

Nobles convulsed at the mere imagining, and those who had meant to scheme hunched themselves small in a hurry. The fear that their own acts might bring that terrifying knight smashing out of prison to find them; the burden of knowing that they themselves might give birth to a second Executioner...

Before a collective trauma, the nobles of the old generation struggled, as one, for breath.

...And the knight who had newly shown the makings of an Executioner—

"M-Master! Y-you can't! If you stay in a place this dark and damp and filthy, you'll fall ill...!"

"Levi. Calm down."

"Hnnn...!"

"Please. Don't cry."

...was not inspiring terror at all. He was floundering, helpless, before a small girl's tears.

The girl's tears were strong.

...And elsewhere:

"......"

"...Lady Irene."

"......"

"Please set the staff down and settle your mana. At this rate the whole place comes down."

"...And is that wrong?"

"...Yes. I imagine it is very wrong."

"Hm. Then I only have to commit a crime and ask to be put in the same cell as the instructor! Bringing down the royal castle ought to do it, yes?"

"...Calm down. I am begging you."

The students broke into a cold sweat, trying to stop an archmage girl bent on causing a disaster of an entirely different kind.

Contrary to the girls' fussing, Lee Han was in what he considered a reasonably decent situation.

A cell was dark, of course, and it stank; that much was only natural. Everything else was fine. A little sunlight came in, and they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fed him. The menu was nothing but carrots and celery without a drop of dressing, and rye bread hard as stone, but Lee Han rather liked it. When he had been broke, meals like this had been plentiful. The lack of protein and fat was a flaw, but expecting that much would have made him a man without a conscience. There was even a moderately worn bed to sleep on. He was getting by well enough.

...However.

"How can you sleep in a place like this!"

"She's right!"

"What did the instructor even do wrong!!"

"No, he did do something wrong..."

His disciples, come for a visit, were horrified. The chicks especially. For noble young ladies, an environment like this would of course be unbearably awful. The young masters weren't letting it show, but their silent agreement amounted to the same thing.

Rich kids...

"Whoa. This is harsh."

"It's worse than our warehouse."

"Instructor, do you actually sleep here?"

......What? Was it really that bad?

When even the bald bears said so, Lee Han registered that a cell of scarcely four square yards was, in fact, a somewhat serious environment, and fell to wondering why he had judged the place acceptable.

Ah. Because it's better than the studio I used to live in.

Realizing he had been so generous only because the cell was far kinder than the room of his previous life, a bleak relief rose in him together with the gloom. Somehow, not one of his memories from that life seemed to be a proper one.

He was just about to sink into the misery of it when—

"M-Master, come out. Even now. If it's you, you can walk out easily, can't you..."

Levi, eyes still wet, pleaded with him. Don't do this. Come out.

It was not the sort of thing the usually quiet, clever girl would say. Feeling that her eyes had clouded because she was worried for him, Lee Han let out a small breath of a laugh. Not a sneer. Only a pleased smile, born of a feeling made new.

A lot of them.

Many had come. Disciples, worried enough to visit him in a cell. And not only them—just yesterday, Offen and Mordred had sent people as well.

...No. Those ones hadn't moved him so much as terrified him. Because it really seemed they would do something.

Even so, he did not feel, looking back, that he had lived wrong. If he had, people like these would never have come to see him.

......And yet.

"Don't say strange things. And you can stop worrying."

"Master..."

"And don't come visit for a while. No—pretend you don't know me at all."

"!!"

"That goes for the rest of you, too."

"...Instructor..."

"It's a mess out there right now, isn't it? They're sure to be cursing me, and they've probably already made me into a man who deserves to die."

"......"

...They did not deny it.

Five days had passed since Lee Han, their instructor, had been locked away, and in those five days the kingdom had gone mad. Of course it had. A king beaten—an outrage without precedent—and the crown princess herself testifying that the king had betrayed the kingdom. To be confused past the point of dizziness was only natural.

And yet, for all that the truth had come out, the only one the people of the kingdom praised was the crown princess.

As for the instructor...

The papers, as if they had planned it together, began to curse the instructor and paint him as a villain.

"...It's the Noble Council. Edmund's crimes are already exposed, but they're using Master to spread the shock thin. Filthy people..."

Levi ground her teeth and spat her loathing at the Noble Council.

"I figured."

Lee Han only nodded, as if he had expected nothing else. Even in his past life, when politicians or the great conglomerates caused a scandal, didn't they seize on some famous celebrity and swing the public eye that way?

In short—

"Rather than the king committing a crime, they're pinning every eye on the act of beating him, clutching however they can at the royal house's collapsing trust."

"Yes. Exactly."

"Hm. It won't last, though. The matter is what it is."

"Yes. Anyone who would know already knows. However they thrash, the people will find out. It won't be long before everyone knows the truth. No—I'll make certain they learn what the truth is!"

"...What's gotten into you? This isn't like you."

However much a politician's gift might be fabrication and agitation, there was no covering a truth this naked.

Well. If—

"If even one of the great houses stood with the royal family—Galahad, or Lionel, or Tristan—then fabrication and agitation might actually work."

Those were people who could cover even the truth.

"That will never happen. Not with Tristan."

"Not with Galahad, either!"

"...I'm grateful. Even so, be careful about everything. All of you—do your best not to let your connection to me show. Don't go bringing trouble down on your houses for nothing."

"Instructor..."

"......"

Seeing Lee Han, whose first thought to the very end was worry for them, the students wore gloomy looks and were about to speak again when—

"—Spare yourselves the needless worry. As that child said, there is absolutely no chance we will stand with Pendragon."

"Quite so. What an odd thing to fret over. Heh heh."

...Two men showed themselves, and the students' faces hardened at once. They knew who those two giants were.

"Forgive me. I had no wish to interrupt a conversation with your master. But I fear I must ask you to indulge me a little further, if you would..."

...If there existed anyone who dared refuse an order—no, a request—from the Duke of Galahad and Marquis Jenimia, the students would very much have liked to see them.

"Hahahaha! Madman!"

Once the students had withdrawn and only the three of them remained, that was the first thing out of Jenimia, who had been gazing at Lee Han in silence. Whatever he found so funny, he laughed until tears nearly stood in his eyes.

"I genuinely wonder whether anything like this has ever happened in the history of the kingdom—no, in the history of the continent! Beating the king, and in the middle of a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠banquet hall, no less?! I really—puhahaha!"

"Is it that funny?"

"Of course it is. Hilarious. Haha!"

"...Strange. I thought you'd be angry."

"And why would I be?"

"I thought I'd heard the marquis and the king were on friendly terms."

He had vaguely heard that the Marquis of Tristan and the king were friends. And yet the man was laughing this hard after his friend had been thrashed, which struck Lee Han as odd.

"Ha. Friends? We haven't met in private in over forty years. We kept some company when we were young, but the tie was cut long ago, after the late king passed. If there is anyone I could still call a friend, it would only be the Sword Duke, or that rigid old man who runs the Academy."

"Is that so?"

"It is. So rest easy. I am not angry in the least."

"That's a relief, then... And the duke? Which side are you on?"

"......"

"Same blood and all. I suppose you're a little angry?"

"......Don't be ridiculous."

Duke Blake snorted.

"Edmund and I are worse than strangers. No—it would not be too much to call us enemies. So this is a shame. Had such evidence been in my hands, I would have ended Edmund myself."

"Wow. Were you planning to change the country's name to Galahad?"

"...Not to that extent."

"......"

He had hesitated. Just a little, just now. Maybe there had been a plan, and it had been struck down.

Freshly reminded that this was a frightening man, Lee Han clicked his tongue—and then went straight to the point.

"Well, enough small talk. Why did you come? Busy men like you."

There was a private meaning in it, too. Men who wore a person out merely by meeting his eyes were men he wanted sent off as quickly as possible.

"Haha. It seems we were a nuisance, Your Highness."

"And isn't that what makes it amusing?"

"On that, I agree."

"Hey. You two. I'm not an animal. And this isn't a zoo."

"Heh heh. Understood."

"We shall have to come again tomorrow."

"......"

"Haha. Don't be angry. Yes—for the sake of your rest, I ought to state our true purpose quickly."

A low hum.

Blake suddenly spread his power and stopped the sound around them from escaping. He had made it so no one could listen in, and Lee Han could tell a rather sensitive question was coming.

Sure enough.

"There is much I am curious about. For now, let me ask only this."

"Do I look like I'll answer you nicely?"

"I'll have food sent in. Would ten kilograms of steak be sufficient payment?"

"...Could you add seafood? Shellfish, too?"

"I will."

A proper price had been paid, and so he would answer. Duke Blake shook his head once—where else was one to find a man rude enough to behave this way in front of him?—and then asked, his voice gone serious.

"......Where has the Sword God gone? Where is Baltar?"

Pendragon's guardian. Whatever else he did, he had always protected at least the king, and Blake was asking where that man had vanished.

"That superhuman, for reasons unknown to me, always protected Edmund. Yet five days ago he concealed himself, and on the day he vanished, you and my niece conveniently did what you did. I do not believe this was coincidence."

"......"

"Where did he go? No—how did you make him disappear?"

Blake was sincerely curious. About the scheme that had erased a superhuman—an invincible knight whom even Blake, called the strongest Galahad in all of history, dared not handle lightly.

Before that question—

"...It wasn't really a scheme, though."

"?"

"Mm. To be precise, it wasn't something I did. It was something my sister did."

"Isis? That child?"

"Yeah. She pulled something truly stupid."

"...?"

"Simple ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠logic."

...The only thing that can stop a superhuman—

"is another superhuman. Isn't it?"

"......"

"...Surely not!"

He answered with a shrug. At that answer the two nobles, grasping the truth in an instant, opened their eyes wide.

Step. Step.

The white-haired old man let out a sigh as he walked with a light tread, as if he were truly tired.

"Haa. If I told you I would rather not have fought you, had there been any choice, would you believe me?"

"I feel the same. Honestly, brawling at this age is an ugly business."

"Quite. So how about we leave it here?"

"Mm. Rather than that, couldn't you simply give up and enjoy a leisurely holiday?"

"......I don't want to."

"Heh heh. Dear me. Still as stubborn as ever, Baltar."

"You're hardly one to talk, John."

The two old men's faces were endlessly peaceful. A calm like that of men who had attained the Way showed through them, as if they had not even any greed left for the world.

...In truth, greed was faint in both of them. Not only greed—the appetites and the passions themselves had grown faint. They might almost have been immortals, or bodhisattvas, and it was not merely because they had lived so many years. If one had to say, it was because they had transcended even such desires long ago.

Even so, the two men—

No. If there was an emotion the two superhumans had not forgotten, it was none other than this.

"Still, it will be fun. Aside from you, there is no one who can face me."

"Haha. There is also Sword Duke Felicia."

"Not now. She grew young all of a sudden. It looked as if she, too, would need another ten years before she recovered her original skill."

Fighting spirit.

The one desire they alone had not forgotten. And for the first time in a very long while, they showed a thread of joy at facing an opponent against whom that spirit could be bared.

"Last time, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we fought without rest for a good five years, didn't we?"

"We did."

"I'd like it to end a little faster this time."

"It should. Of course..."

Clack.

"...I have a princess to scold, for playing a cute little trick. So I need to finish quickly."

The Sword God drew his sword. The butler, returned to the heresy inquisitor he had been, took out iron chains and an awl.

And then—

Whooosh!!

With no signal at all, they collided. They were men more accustomed to bending an opponent with strength than to talking.

Baltar and Albert.

Two Aura Users began a war. A war whose end no one could know—but which, if possible, had to be finished quickly.

......Five days later.

Six mountains in the Central Continent vanished, and a vast new river was born.