The Sword Moved as My Heart Desired
[Whoosh- Whoooosh-]
This sensation was entirely new, so it felt a bit surprising and unfamiliar. So this is what it feels like to swing a sword properly? The vivid sense of truly slicing through space? The sword's motion, riding the wind, was utterly exhilarating. Even when I cut, it merged back together in an instant; sometimes it split apart before I even swung, anticipating the strike. Riding the wind, slicing it, defying it. Every interaction felt like an exchange of intent between me, the wind, the sword, and the sky—as if the rules of the world were revealing just how far Caliburnus and I could test and push them. The more I swung, the faster it got.
[--! ---!]
Faster, even faster. Harder, stronger, ever more fiercely! This infinite expanse seemed to accept my full power, which I'd never unleashed completely before, and in turn challenged me: Is that all? Got anything more? Under a sky I'd never slice through no matter how long I lived, it felt like unleashing all the pent-up whims I'd held back. And Caliburnus, as if anticipating this, silently followed my will—sometimes moving its tip ahead of my thoughts, sometimes drawn by my hand—unfurling my swordsmanship stroke by stroke. The feeling of releasing everything I'd seen and learned, compressed tight until now, all at once... perhaps for the first time, I truly wielded a sword and felt freedom.
[Hwoong- Thud!]
"Whew."
I'd swung it around in a near-trance, so from the outside, my stance might have looked a bit flashy. I'd fought half humans and half beasts so far, so wolf and bear gaits, forepaw strikes, all mixed in too. Honestly, bouncing around or bullying with brute force... beasts did those better than people anyway. At any rate, after swinging to my heart's content, I felt like I understood this Caliburnus a bit more. And that hand from the dream that placed it in mine—the one Guinevere and I called the Lady of the Lake... that being? Person? Let's say her. This sword she forged. Why it had to be so enormous, violent, even crudely brutish—I knew now after swinging it. From the start, no other weapon could fully withstand my power.
And one more thing I realized for sure after tearing up the empty air to my heart's content: the odds were extremely high I'd never meet an opponent worthy of my full strength, not even in a lifetime. No one could block even a single strike, a single step—more beast than man. A heavy cavalry charge at full gallop would be cleaved in one stroke. Maybe an elephant trained in martial arts could match me... but even then, after two or three exchanges, one of its four limbs would surely fly off. I hadn't known before putting my full power into swings, but now I did.
Invictus. Merlinus was a bit odd, but his insight was razor-sharp. It was the wind-raisers under Londinium's Prefect who first slapped that nickname on me without asking. In those dark times craving a hero, maybe they saw the wild boy who appeared out of nowhere as a new poster child. But Merlinus had been my fiercest supporter since first laying eyes on me—even when false Emperor Constantinus still lingered on this soil. He must've seen something in me.
"You're something else, Caliburnus."
I tapped the upside-down blade, and it felt like the sword was pleased. The greatsword had endured my full-force grips and relentless overloads without deviating an inch, standing proud as ever. Any other blade would've snapped at the hilt or bent on the first strike, but this one had taken my maximum grip strength dozens of times without a single dent. Looking closer, handle to tip was all deep gray metal—and astonishingly, its weight in my hand was like a single feather. This wasn't just heavy cavalry territory; even a sturdy gate might just—
"Dominus. In the past, present, and future, no one will ever suit the title Invictus better than you. Today, I finally beheld the invincible sword."
Beduerus's voice reached my ears as I drummed my fingers on the blade like scratching a colt's neck. Snapping from my reverie, I saw him standing alone, and beyond him, those who'd dodged my strikes from afar now knelt on one knee, heads bowed to me. Beduerus, awaiting my gaze, slowly dropped first one knee, then the other. The one-armed swordsman straightened his back, meeting my eyes calmly with profound depth.
"We took up spear and shield to protect, but those who step onto the path of the sword must see blood. Once bloodied, we can no longer mingle with the unblooded. Though the world is the same, we learn it differs utterly from the beautiful one the priests described."
His low voice continued. Normally I'd chide the mood and haul them up, but these kneelers didn't gaze at me like some... god, as at the lake yesterday. Similar, yet different—like warriors' awe for one at the path's end. Faith mingled with primal human emotion, but distinct. If anything, like wolves bowing to their alpha.
"What lies at this path's end? My life was the search for that answer. Britannia's priests retreat to deep monasteries to chase God's word. Once we tread the bloody path, we can't drop the sword—not until we see that red world's end. For most, it's death. Mine or the foe's... But today, I glimpsed our path's end in you, Dominus."
"Too emotional, Beduerus. Just a few swings."
Not his style, and it felt like too much hype, so I cut in—but he just smiled. A smile of true confirmation.
"Farmers head to fields at dawn knowing their toil yields grain. How many pursuits hold more meaning? Serving parents, feeding children. Ours? Not so. Even reaching the end brings only death—a necessary evil that wears down all who step onto it. Until today, beholding your sword, I believed that was our entirety."
Slowly, Beduerus bowed; the warriors lifted heads to confirm me, then bowed again. Avalonia's first snowflake fell atop them. Come to think of it, my breath, Beduerus's, and theirs steamed white in the air. Winter had truly arrived.
"Until now, by your leave, Dominus, I've taught swordplay to Britannia's soldiers with my meager skill—swinging with legs, waist, arms; fighting with eyes, ears, mind—asking myself endlessly: if a farmer's harvest is grain, what do we warriors reap with sword, spear, bow, shield as our tools? Every veteran has lost comrades. For those who've seen close blood, honor, wealth end in vanity. Today, you showed the answer to my lifelong question. What we reap at the end is that sword you revealed—reaching before thought, moving before intent."
My trance-swing must've looked that way to the one-armed master. Absurdly, Caliburnus quivered faintly under my grip, as if meeting its true appreciator.
"The mens—mind—is immortal with anima—breath—and spiritus—soul. Today I know: beyond death's veil at our path's end lies eternity."
With that final line, a teardrop fell beneath Beduerus's deep bow. A hurrying snowflake soon covered it.
"..."
"..."
Beduerus voiced it, but those kneeling in ranks behind shared the sentiment. Romans to the core, aligning in perfect rows and columns unconsciously.
"Truly, we are your Cniht. Your servants..."
Wolfmaer's trembling voice rose amid swirling snowflakes. Cniht. Servants? The familiar sound sparked knight in my mind. Before the wedding, I'd wanted a bond-strengthening device. Why not dub them all knights? Here were at least a hundred centurions—comrades who'd bled with me to forge Romano-Britannia. Thinking on it, beyond any 'device,' maybe I hadn't properly honored their due.
I don't know when 'knight' originated in the original world. Most Western history's a blank. Rome fell someday, so my old Europe's 21st century had Germany, France, Britain, Spain atop ancient names—like Korea facing North atop Gojoseon, Silla, Goryeo, Joseon. So why not create it now? An honorary title for those meriting a seat at my round table, sharing wine. Pretty cool idea, right?
[Shhk-]
[Thud- thud-]
Slinging the greatsword over my shoulder, I crossed the now-snow-blanketed ground to Beduerus. He slowly raised his head, eyes barely reaching my chin. The warriors behind lifted theirs to my waist. Slowly, I moved the blade: once over each shoulder, then touched and lifted from his crown. The ritual Hereward taught, in the corner—blood and steel? Wolfmaer, Hereward, and their kin's centurions shuddered, recognizing it.
"All here have bled with me—and will again. Eternity or whatever Beduerus said? Beyond me. What I know: I won't let your ends be mere vanity and death. We—from me on—are servants (cniht) for a greater mission. Cavalarii. You, me, all of us. From today, we are Britannia's Knights."
"..."
"..."
Eyeing the unfamiliar word? They lifted heads one by one, eyes uniformly changed. If anything, like those confirming clear purpose—like farmers at summer's end seeing grains form, certain of golden autumn. Duty-laden... fateful gazes.
It was winter's earliest onset, first pure snow falling.