A Man's Growth, Astonishing to Behold (4)
For an instant, the air around them turned heavy as iron.
Crrk.
Damn monster.
A single bead of cold sweat formed between Lee Han's brows—the first of the fight.
The air bore down on him until his feet sank into the dirt with a dull, yielding give. Caesar, who had worn an easy smile from start to finish, wiped it from his face and grew serious, as if that smile had never existed. That alone made the pressure around them grow maddeningly heavy. Even the air had begun to thicken with his mood. This was what happened the moment the man called the Mercenary King showed his sincerity.
And yet a question remained.
Why the hell is he doing this all of a sudden?
He hadn't asked the question he was supposed to ask. He'd pried at something strange, and then, out of nowhere, gone dead serious all on his own. Lee Han even found himself wondering whether the old man had hit menopause and his moods were swinging at random.
"Whiiine..."
Nureongi had gone flat to the ground, whimpering, an ugly sight under that weight. Lee Han was more than a little sick of a presence that could do this by force of will alone, but he pulled his feet from the dirt and set his stance. He'd needed his head clear to begin with. Now he needed it sharper still.
"You may use both hands. I, of course, will still use only one."
"......"
"It isn't a taunt. I mean every word."
"...Let me think about it."
"Heh heh. That'll do as well. Then—"
Whoosh.
"—I'm coming."
Caesar closed in on steps so light they hardly seemed to touch the ground. The motion was still smooth, but unmistakably, compared to a moment before—
Shhk!
"!!"
"You react. As expected."
—it was razor-sharp.
Lee Han slipped the fist by a hair, but the instant it grazed him his cheek burned. A heartbeat slower and the flesh would have torn clean open. Dodging, though, was no reason to relax.
Whip! Hwik! Whiiip!
Killing intent came at him without a breath between strikes. Weight and edge rode every one of them, like heavy axes hurled through the air.
Shhk! Shhk!
Cloth split wherever the blows landed, and the skin beneath reddened as if scalded.
"Impressive. You haven't even used that art called Diamond Body, nor Intent, and still you weather every blow of mine. A body worth admiring."
It did not sound like praise.
Not in the slightest.
Sounds like a man who just found a sandbag with a satisfying hit to it. Goddamn it.
He had become a sandbag without meaning to, and he tried, somehow, to answer and strike back.
But—
Thwack.
"!!?"
"Move a little sharper. Dawdle like this and what use are you to anyone?"
His punches came apart in empty air before he could even throw them properly, and the pattern repeated: no attack of his was allowed to land.
He was being toyed with.
A child named Lee Han showing off his little tricks, and a grown man named Caesar laughing indulgently as he played along. It wasn't funny in the least, but this was what a gap in skill looked like. The man had put in hundreds of times the effort Lee Han had. He had lived through thousands of times the real fighting. He felt more complete than any warrior Lee Han had ever faced.
...Aura Users included.
And as if that feeling were no lie at all—
"Let's raise the speed a little."
"!!"
Whoooosh!
A blade-wind swallowed Lee Han in an instant.
Shhk! Shh-shhk!
It was no figure of speech. A wind made of actual edges had fallen on him. It felt as if a razor were being drawn across his arms and shoulders, his brow and cheeks, his flank and belly, all at once, and he barely endured it by shielding his eyes and his heart.
And then—
Thud.
"Hm. Round two appears to be my victory as well."
"Hah. Haaah. Hah..."
"Put a bit more spirit into it. I told you both hands are allowed. Young folk, no flexibility at all."
Round two was over.
No—endured was the better word.
"Goddamn it..."
"Heh heh. I wonder how long you'll last."
"I'm landing one hit. No matter what."
"I'll look forward to it."
...And yet even after they passed the tenth round, Lee Han never once struck back.
KRAAANG!
"...Awoo."
Orthrus turned his eyes away on reflex.
What—what was that!
Kuuung!
...The sight was too cruel, and too wretched.
The man wasn't even kin. What possessed him to thrash someone so without mercy?
The knight was being toyed with, thoroughly, by the human they called the Mercenary King. He couldn't even answer properly. He only took the beating, and took it again. There was no road back in sight. All he could do was endure.
"Srrr..."
"Whiiine..."
Were they losing?
Orthrus's second head and his snake of a tail both crumpled into miserable faces. A hateful human, yes—but the human they had taken as master was being reduced to that, and the sight did not sit well.
Orthrus began, in earnest, to wonder whether it wasn't time to stop the fight.
"Mm. Sir Knight is certainly being pushed back quite a bit."
"...Woo."
"Not pushed back—being beaten to a pulp, you say? Mm, no. Sir Knight is fighting well. So let's cheer for him, shall we?"
"Woo... Woo!?"
Orthrus had been halfway to agreeing, and halfway to snapping back out of sheer spite—Why should I cheer for that damned human?—when he startled so hard he nearly jumped out of his hide.
The maid's face was part of it: he had no idea when she had come so close.
"W-woo?"
The second shock was already landing. How does a mere human understand me? The maid only smiled with her eyes, the way she always did, and answered.
"I simply understand."
Understand how?
"Hm? Rather well, I'd say."
Orthrus went rigid.
"Ah, I'm not reading your heart. It's just plain to see."
"......"
"Hehe. Mister Puppy is a little like Sir Knight, I think. Perhaps a beast takes after its master?"
"...Woo."
Don't you insult me. Orthrus bristled as if he had just been dealt the worst slight imaginable, and yet he could not bring himself to go for the maid.
...Somehow, it felt like something he must not do.
"Ohoho."
She stroked his back, gentle as if he were the most adorable thing in the world. The warmth of it, pleasant despite himself, loosened his guard on its own, so he turned his head away with prim dignity, hiding the fact. The maid only smiled, still finding Orthrus cute, and lifted her gaze to the front.
To watch him, still giving everything he had.
"Sir Knight, hold on."
She whispered it like a cheer meant for him alone, her trust in the knight absolute.
Drip. Drip.
"......"
"Hah. Not only is the body sturdy, the stamina is absurd. Ordinarily a man would have collapsed from exhaustion long before this."
"......"
"Not even a retort now? Dull."
"Hmph. What's there to enjoy about nothing but getting hit?"
"There, an answer! I thought you'd lost consciousness on your feet. Well, well—khahaha!"
"...Cut the crap and put your fists up."
"Still mean to go on? Vicious, you are."
"You're the vicious one."
Lee Han had every right to say it.
Round twenty-five.
This meaningless fight had already seen him beaten down twenty-five times, and in all that while Caesar had not once asked him anything worth calling a question. Rather—
"Try a little harder."
"Thinking of giving up soon?"
"Admitting defeat is an important virtue for a warrior, too. Heh heh."
He kept trying to talk him down, almost in pity, and every time Lee Han felt a sickness of pure rage gathering in his chest.
...But a loser has no tongue for excuses. You may have a mouth, and still be granted no right to protest.
He could have said he hadn't fallen yet, so how was he the loser?
Twenty-five rounds and I haven't landed a single clean hit. If that isn't losing, what is?
In truth, if the other man had only decided to end it, Lee Han would have lost at any—
"No. That isn't right."
"?"
"Same as you, I fought with nothing but pure skill. No Fighting Art, no other means. In that sense I threw every punch sincerely meaning to knock you down. But you never fell. So you have not lost yet, and I have not beaten you yet. ...Of course, if one looks only at the shape of the match, I am overwhelming you. That much is certain."
"...Son of a bitch. Who asked you to read my mind?"
"Your face reads easily. Has no one close to you ever told you your thoughts show plain as day?"
"......"
"Often, then."
"...Guess I ought to take up acting."
Lee Han spat the words, sullen, and reset his stance.
"You're going to keep going?"
"Of course I am. The question doesn't matter anymore. I've got my pride up. I'm landing one hit."
"Persistent. And the gap in skill this extreme."
Caesar said it as if he were sick of the whole thing, and yet he looked pleased. Few people kept him company this long anymore.
"Most who fight me either despair or give up. One or the other."
"......"
"I hope you don't become one of them."
Thud!
They no longer needed an hourglass, or a signal from Orthrus. They could rest for exactly one minute and spar for exactly three. Two men whose inner clocks ran truer than sand. They set their stances again, and Caesar made up his mind.
Time to end this.
It was enjoyable, but past this point it was meaningless. Nothing but toying with him. Nothing in it for either of them.
And besides—
A quiet shift.
It is courtesy, toward a warrior.
He could not keep breaking an excellent warrior any further. Could he?
BANG!
Caesar's body surged, and his fist shot out.
Whoooong!
Scattering a fist like a blade-wind was the same as before, but this time the blow carried a decisive force, meant to run the man through, until it looked like a spear driving straight for the chest.
A thrust concealed inside the edge. Endure the blade, and still this spear cannot be endured.
It's been a while since I enjoyed myself.
Fwoooosh!
Out of respect for his opponent, Caesar threw a blow worthy of him.
—Thwack.
"—So that's how it's done."
"......"
"Damn it. No wonder I couldn't get off the sandbag."
"You..."
"I couldn't win because I was thinking, and only then moving."
"......"
"Hah. Now we can have something that actually resembles a spar."
He let out a sigh, irritable to the last, and Caesar blinked at the man who had lightly parried a blow like that spear-thrust.
Wondering if he had imagined it.
So—
Flash!
He threw another strike, and at once—
Thwack.
...His fist was stopped again.
"...It wasn't chance."
"I told you. I get it now."
"Ha... Ahaha!"
Caesar laughed again, as if he no longer knew how many times he had laughed today alone.
This damned bastard!
Baltar, you rotten wretch. You've been playing with a fellow this entertaining all by yourself?
Caesar heaped blame on the man who was his rival and his ill friend both, as if the fellow were nothing but trouble. But he decided to rejoice in the present rather than curse the ill friend who had once been his comrade.
And well he might.
For this was the moment to congratulate a junior who had, in the truest sense, begun to transcend humanity.