There Are No Excuses in My Life (4)

Vale, vice-captain of the Crimson Eagle Knight Order, was born to a collateral branch of House Tristan.

That did not make him a man lifted into the vice-captaincy by blood. Quite the opposite. Because he was of a side branch, he had driven himself all the harder, and even the marquis acknowledged how brutal the years had been while he clawed his way to the post by his own strength alone.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠vice-captaincy of the Crimson Eagles was not a seat one could hold by lineage or patronage. It belonged wholly to the strength and honor of the individual who occupied it. In that sense Vale took pride in his skill, and the world called him Tristan's Red Owl, judging that he would become a knight fit to represent not merely a generation, but an age.

…Well. Counting him, there were seven such representatives.

People who loved to rank such things said that when one spoke of the young knights who represented the present age, these seven could not be left out. Vale knew it was all nonsense. He had met the White Lion, the Swan, and the Wild Horse himself, and come away with nothing but disappointment: arrogant fools who amounted to nothing more than pretty faces. That was his verdict.

If there was anyone he acknowledged—or acknowledged as standing above him—it was the Dire Wolf and the Black Lion, and those two, he was certain, possessed talent that would represent the age. The overwhelming skill he had felt on meeting them the day before, and the power that could not be written off as talent alone, was something no other knight could ever overtake.

Even so, Vale did not bend. He lagged behind the pair for now, but he believed without wavering that his own talent was fully their equal, and that one day he would reach them. In a sense, what surpassed talent itself may have been that unbreaking spirit, and his confidence.

…And yet. That same man.

What… what is that?

In a single instant he was overwhelmed, past even shock.

"H-he broke the Fighting-Energy Net?!"

The Fighting-Energy Net. A net of fighting energy that could be woven only when thirty or more knights gathered, one of the secret arts held solely by renowned orders. It bound the body, crushed it down, and poured out a force from which there was no escape, until at last it cut the prey's breath. The pressure alone was an art that could keep an ordinary monster from drawing air until it died where it stood. And when a hundred men deployed such a net, it was said, in theory, to become a snare capable of crushing even thousands of soldiers.

And yet.

"The Fighting-Energy Net broke?!"

"This is insane!"

"Do not break formation! Throw your spears!!"

He had shattered the net by his own strength alone. A shock that buckled the knights' knees swept the order, but it was only a moment's confusion. The Crimson Eagles swallowed their bewilderment and hurled their spears in desperation. The net might be broken, but they were still the ones holding the advantage.

And yet—

Thwack!

"…??"

"……?"

"…Am I dreaming?"

How many times were they meant to be astonished in a single day? The knights stared blankly upward—not at the sky, but at empty air.

A sage had once spoken the line, and it was steeped in no small philosophy, for it carried the warning that a human must not dare defy the order of great nature.

And yet.

"So you didn't have to fly. You only had to… walk."

Vale knew, even as the words left him, that he was muttering like a fool. In this moment he had no other choice.

Thwack! Thwack!!

A man was walking on empty air. Before that impossible sight, Vale felt something close to awe for the first time. It was the instant he witnessed a great spectacle: a challenge hurled at the impossible, and the impossible made real.

"Damn it!"

Shame and blank disbelief struck him together—that he should feel such awe for anyone other than the marquis—and he drew his sword. A thought came with the draw.

Ha. If this weren't the situation it is, he's a man I'd genuinely want to talk to.

What stirred in his chest was not the wondrous talent he had felt in the Dire Wolf and the Black Lion, but a strangeness thick with a turn of thought and a freshness he had never seen. He could not help thinking this was a man he wanted to learn from.

Of course.

Now isn't the time to say it.

Steel flashed. Vale's blade swept toward the man walking the air.

Whoosh!! A cut. A flash of steel.

Blades coming for him. Spears and daggers in flight. What rose in that instant was the Sword Forest of Dosan, that old vision of edges pouring down without end. Watching the savage steel fall to kill him, the comparison came of its own accord.

But he had not the slightest intention of dying easily.

Thwack!

He kicked off empty air and rose, shifting freely through the space some four and five meters up, giving them no time to measure distance or room.

He cleared the packed obstacle of human bodies in a single leap and was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠already far beyond them. Distance and obstruction felt as if they had vanished altogether. His body cast off every bond the world laid on it and was boundlessly free. For a man to fly was this great a thing.

Unfortunately, it did not look as though he could keep it up for long.

Hell. This eats stamina.

Not quite on the level of the Plum Blossom Sword, but Air Walk was no small drain either. The trick was not simply to release force, but to spray it wide and form a proper foothold. By that knack it looked as if he were walking on air. In truth it was closer to making a foothold from instant to instant and kicking off it at once. A technique he clearly could not unfold for long—and so, soon enough.

From here, I break them!

Lee Han flipped in midair and kicked hard against the empty space. What he wanted was an acceleration his opponent could not even meet, and a split second in which to clench his fist and pack his strength. The knack was the same as a moment ago. Like Air Walk, the principle was to spray force wide, and the only difference was—

I hit!

It had been turned from a means of evasion into a means of attack.

Guoooo…!

Spreading the reach of the Hundred-Pace Divine Fist without limit, Lee Han drove his fist out, and though that fist never touched the ground, it produced an astonishing thing.

Kwaaang!!

"Ghhh?!"

"M-my body…!"

"What is this pressure—?"

In an instant, some twenty men caught beneath the Hundred-Pace Divine Fist lost control of their bodies. A sensation as if shoulder and head were crushed at once. It was as though the Buddha's Palm from some old martial film had been opened as a fist.

But the power was endlessly short of enough. It could not be helped. This was only a blow that had scattered force wide, and because he had not gathered that force to a single point, it was a method that had surrendered destructive power. The present punching was nothing more than a binding strike that froze the knights' movements for about two seconds.

"—You're not dodging?"

"!!!"

Those two seconds, however, were time enough for him to run wild.

With a clack, sword in his right hand and axe in his left, he swung without mercy. A swing closer to nameless butchery. Simple to the point of crudeness—but who, indeed, could block it?

"B-block it!!"

Those struck by sword and axe flew far with a crash. Armor and shield had clearly taken the blow, yet they were hurled as if a great war hammer had taken their bodies, and the men who flew went limp amid the agony of their insides being shaken to pulp.

"Ghhh!"

"Hueegh…."

Some tried to rise, but they could not easily shake the impact off, and the strength of five or more was neutralized at a stroke.

"You bastard—!"

But a knight was a knight. Those who quickly dispelled the shock of the Hundred-Pace Divine Fist played sword and spear without restraint, and neither the blade-work nor the spearcraft was ordinary. Some of the swords bent like snakes. Some of the spears drove with a breakthrough that called a drill to mind. Supreme technique, with the traces of effort everywhere—effort that had not skipped a single day, hands worked until they split.

Lee Han met the techniques of such men head-on.

"Aaaaaaah!"

Roaring with everything in him, he answered them. A prickling numbness ran through the knights who had launched their blows at him. Their whole bodies went numb, and for a brief span they dulled. It was the wondrous spirit he had shown.

Fweeeeng!

Pouring the force of Lion's Roar into the strike, Lee Han swung, and the blow raised a shaft of light as it met, at full power, the swords and spears rushing to cover him. As if the thought of evasion had never existed.

Kuuuung!

A vast ring of force burst where the simultaneous blows of six knights met Lee Han's sword and axe. Strength, technique, and will, all poured in without reserve, crashed together. The ground heaved, and at last a dust like fog lay thick. One could not properly see what was in front, and among the soldiers watching from afar, men whose legs gave out and who collapsed came one after another.

"F-fall back!"

When the dust hid what lay ahead, the order withdrew, afraid they might strike their own, and a silence heavy with stillness rose as if a lull had settled.

Then the dust tore away, faster and faster, and what it revealed was Lee Han and the six knights who had clashed with him. The Crimson Eagles' eyes flew wide. And well they might.

"Kehuk…."

The six were collapsing. Among them was even Zeon, who contended for third within the order, and that dealt a shock one layer deeper. These were not men meant to fall so easily.

Thud…!

Zeon and the knights swayed and went down. Only Zeon, who had merely bent a knee, refused to let his strength go, and lifted his head with difficulty. And yet, strangely, there was no humiliation on his face.

What showed instead was a question.

"……Why. Why did you not evade?"

He threw it with a host of doubts behind it. Having taken Lee Han's skill with his own body, Zeon understood. The man was not merely strong. He was nimble as well, and he could have avoided a direct clash and picked them off one by one. Even so, in the end, he had met the six of them blow for blow with his whole body.

And because of that, he had shown the foolishness of taking a wound.

A thread of fresh blood slipped from the corner of his mouth. It meant he, too, had failed to shed the whole of the impact they had launched. For this moment Zeon did not think of him as an assailant, nor as a man who had insulted the marquis. He asked only as a knight. Why act so stubbornly?

And then—

"—You're asking the obvious. I said I came to fight. And if a man says let's fight, you don't dodge each other's attacks. Full strength… it only means something if you take it head-on, like a tiger or a lion."

"……"

Lee Han spoke as if scolding him for asking something so obvious, like a fool, and Zeon forgot even the stabbing pain and was struck dumb.

…Struck dumb, and yet.

"Ha, yes, that's it! That is a fight. That is a knight's duel…!!"

Countless phrases that defined a knight's duel, and Zeon had lived under the teaching that a knight's battle must be so. But how many actually kept such a definition? How many, for the sake of victory, did not even scruple at cowardice? The reality was thick with men who had not even honor, the sort that made one frown, who did not spare an assassin's means.

And yet before his eyes stood a man who kept those phrases faithfully. Of a dragon's honor and a wolf's cunning, he could see nothing. The man was only brave, headlong, and relentless. A lion's heart, a bear's straightness, an eagle's spirit—no, he could be nothing but a knight.

And so Zeon spoke.

"…Next time, let us meet one against one. At present, there are too many men."

"Yeah. Till then, put a better edge on that spear. Right now it's too straight."

"Haha! Yes. Then I shall show you a fiercer one. Ahahaha…."

Thud….

Zeon collapsed. But until he lost consciousness he laughed clean and bright, and the smile still had not left his mouth. He had unfolded every bit of strength he possessed. It was nothing if not the refreshing laugh of a fight satisfying beyond anything he could have asked.

"………"

Gulp….

A silence of a different kind from the one that had fallen while the dust lay thick now opened over them. What was this?

Thump! Thump!

The heartbeats of those who had heard the exchange climbed. Along with the boiling pulse, more strength entered the weapons in their hands, and steel gave a sound as if it meant to bend. When had it last been, that they had met an enemy this strong? It had to be the first time they had faced a spirit this brave, one that would not yield. A fairy-tale moment, as if knightly romance, or a lay of martial glory, had become real.

"—What. You're not coming?"

"Ha…."

If a man's chest was not full in this moment, he had no right to call himself a knight, or a man among men. Even with an enemy before their eyes whom they ought to have been unable to stop raging at, the Crimson Eagles felt they could not bring themselves to hate that proud man. A fullness that washed even hatred pale had made them remember that they were knights.

Hwaaaak!

"……?"

The air changed all at once. Lee Han wet his dry lips and opened his eyes to slits. These bastards…. All at once, the carelessness was gone.

What's wrong with these guys all of a sudden?

When they had clashed, he had felt that however angry they were, they were still looking down on him. Of course they were. Did it even make sense for a hundred men to be afraid of one? So he had meant to aim at the gap in that carelessness and take them down, step by careful step.

Now he didn't know. He couldn't tell what had gotten into them, but—

Did someone just pour oil on them?

They had caught fire. He could tell by the heat shimmer rising in their eyes alone. They would no longer be careless against him. At full strength—no, beyond full strength—they would stake everything and swing their blades. To beat him.

Mmm…….

Was it that a comrade had gone down, and the heat had gotten into them?