The 2nd Knight Order (2)
Before the regression.
The words Elaine had spoken as she force-fed him the Regression Stone pierce straight through the North.
The same goes for the vague word strength.
Not physical might, nor aura — strength. And within that strength lies magic itself.
And if the one who ruled over that strength was Serzila — then, naturally.
"I hear Tusten got beaten."
"Marvin and Grubin went down with him."
As if the two orders' rivalry were some old grudge, the knights made no attempt to hide their curiosity.
However much the 2nd Order Commander's influence weighed on them, they were knights all the same.
Northerners — born in the North, worshipping Serzila as their idol.
And no Northerner could escape the words of Elaine from the past life.
Elaine had been the master of the North.
"I heard you use a sword. If you want it, I'll lend you mine."
Horn said.
Unlike in his duel with the 1st Knight Order, Harad's hands were empty.
"Seems to me you'd do fine without one."
"...I have killed two fourth-tier magicians at once, you know."
Horn, certain he'd been mocked, shot back.
A vice commander of Serzila was a powerhouse who, in the capital, would be received as second only to a Sword Master.
"You?"
But Harad only tilted his head.
It wasn't that he doubted Horn — Harad remembered every member of the 2nd Knight Order. Vice Commander Horn was, indeed, a strong knight.
"Have you ever seen a Projection?"
But he was not at the level of killing two fourth-tier magicians simultaneously. In this era, least of all.
"Projection?"
"The exceptionally powerful kind of magic."
"Everything about them was tricky."
"So you haven't seen one."
It was an answer he could not have given had he witnessed a Projection.
"You were lucky, that's all."
"What?"
"It means the two you killed were half-baked fourth tiers."
The 2nd Knight Order had killed more Outer Realm magicians than any other.
Yet Horn — vice commander of that very order — seemed not to know the concept of Projection at all.
"...Just what tier are you, bastard?"
A third tier like a fourth.
That was how Harad had always introduced himself.
"Today, I'll be a fourth tier."
Today, and today alone, was the exception.
In his past life, the knight he'd been closest to was Gulen.
But the knights who left the deepest mark on Harad were the 2nd Knight Order.
The ones who had shoved him into that tunnel.
Harad had never once forgotten their faces.
It was a future that no longer existed, yet he still remembered the exact date. It had happened when he was twenty-two.
The 2nd Knight Order had not been in its rest rotation at the time.
They had come down to the territory anyway, briefly — on Grand Duke Aratus's order. Perhaps the old man had sensed something through his own information network.
Whatever the case, the measure came too late.
The Outer Realm magicians raided the plaza, and Cassion back-traced their trail to the tunnel hidden beneath Flowerbed's Flesh.
Of that tunnel, Grand Duke Aratus had given one command: leave it alone.
Cassion did no such thing. He hauled Harad along by force and shoved him inside.
The knights' mockery from that day remained vivid still.
Harad remembered exactly which knight had said what — all of it. Even now.
"Get in now, or I'll hang you from a cross."
That was what Horn had said.
Grand Duke Aratus never punished his knights for such things.
Revenge was Harad's to take, and years later, he took it. He brought every last member of the 2nd Knight Order to the brink of death.
Exactly forty-nine of them, though the order's full complement was fifty.
Which meant he had never managed to take his revenge on Cassion.
It was not that Harad's ability had been lacking.
"I'll kill you." Horn growled, his proudest record denied.
He meant to prove that record by killing the man who had introduced himself as a fourth tier.
"I don't intend to kill you."
At that, Horn came at him like a man who had lost his reason.
The speed was considerable. But familiar. The Horn before his eyes was the Horn of his past life — just as fast, just as strong, and just as set on the right shoulder with his opening move.
His tempered body answered amply. Harad evaded Horn's sword with nothing more than a few idle steps, and Horn's pupils chased that form of his as it flowed like water.
Thrum. Muscle wrenched the blade's arc back on line by sheer force. Horn's right arm stretched to its full length, and the sword that had raked through empty air, all but brushing the ground, shot toward Harad.
And through it all, Horn's aura stayed concentrated in the sword.
The purpose of the aura dwelling in a body is to reinforce that body. ...Not to protect it.
As expected.
That gave Harad his certainty.
So it isn't only Projection he doesn't know.
And this from the order that had killed more magicians than any other. Their knowledge of magicians was hardly different from the 1st Knight Order's.
"That's not how it works."
Tak. Harad's tongue cracked against the roof of his mouth. The tongue was fire; the palate, Horn. All at once, the ground flared scarlet.
Horn's boots of magical beast leather melted away in a heartbeat. The heat was one thing — but the speed at which it climbed there defied belief. That was why his response came late.
Horn's eyes bulged. Pillars of fire erupted from the melting training ground.
Horn's arm stopped short mid-extension, and the sword gripped at its end was abruptly withdrawn. His body coiled up like a caterpillar, blade shielding his chest.
A swift reaction, befitting a seasoned vice commander. To Harad, it looked slow.
Because he wasn't guarding his body with aura. In a magician's terms, he simply hadn't prepared — and that was why his response lagged.
Had he only been properly mindful of it in advance, he could have blocked it without much difficulty.
A hiss. Smoke curled up from between Horn's clenched teeth. The chest the sword had guarded was unharmed; everything else was ruined. Below the chest, his body was raw red, skin and leather melted into one.
And still Horn moved. He pressed in to close the distance, and his speed was the same as at the start. It hadn't diminished in the slightest.
"What magician would ever allow that?"
Hoo. Harad exhaled a small sigh, and the breath spread into fire — vast and dense enough to swallow Horn's entire field of vision.
Horn gritted his teeth and broke through, shielding his eyes with his left arm. By then, Harad was already standing before the wall at the far end of the training ground.
And Horn's vision held more than Harad. Fire rippled on every side, high enough to screen the knights who had gathered to watch. Dead ahead, between Harad and Horn, there was fire as well — dozens of lances hanging in the air, forged of flame, their tips trained on Horn.
"Call it third tier, with mana to spare."
That spectacle, Harad said, was the work of a mere third tier.
Grrk. Horn's hand clamped down on the hilt as if to crush it. The azure aura streaming along the edge deepened, and beyond it, still more aura sheathed Horn's aura like armor.
The right call. Then again, this was the order that had killed the most magicians.
"Should have done that from the start."
Horn answered by charging — closing the distance with the dozens of fire lances breaking against his body.
The corner of Horn's mouth split slightly.
Harad was right in front of him. The sword raised to the sky came down — straight from the crown, meaning to cleave Harad in two.
...That was when the sword vanished.
"And this — this is fourth tier."
Precisely speaking, only the hilt remained. A black orb was the culprit — born above Harad's crown, it had melted the sword away without a trace before anyone could blink.
Horn wrenched his head far back, pure reflex. The black orb grazed past his face by a hair, and that alone was enough to lightly melt it. Steam rose from his eyes.
Even with aura shielding him. Had the orb risen a touch slower, his eyes would have evaporated.
With his head thrown so far back, the sky filled Horn's vision, sharp and clear. The sky was dark — and yet, strangely, bright. Because of the black orb.
The orb that had been no bigger than a fingernail had swollen to the size of a building.
...An orb?
Horn could no longer bring himself to call the thing an orb. The sun has fallen this close suited it better — no, laughably, that seemed to be exactly right.
The fire that had rippled on all sides was gone before he knew it, yet a heat beyond it beat down upon the training ground. The ground had turned to mush; the melted wall ran across it like lava, and half the common building slumped down like a sandcastle.
"Aagh!"
"Get away! Get clear!"
Screams burst from the knights who stood gaping with open mouths. The knight who looked up at the sky clutched at his eyes; the knights leaning against the wall felt their backs melt. They lost their boots, and patches of flesh melted from their feet.
The black sun dropped something. It was an exceptionally red flame, and Horn instinctively hurled himself clear — the molten, lava-sticky ground scorching him from head to toe.
Horn felt no pain.
Because he had seen where the sun's dropped fire had gone. It bored straight through the molten ground, melting the earth as it sank.
Horn could not begin to fathom the depth of that pit. The lava-like ground, the wall, the ruins of the building — all of it poured into that pit. On and on and on... until every last trace of debris was gone.
"Fifth tier..." Horn murmured, despite himself.
"Fourth tier. The two you killed."
"...The magicians I killed were never like this."
"Which is precisely why I corrected you."
Harad smiled gently. His complexion didn't look good at all — and that made Horn shudder all the more. Because of that human face, the magic from moments ago struck home far harder.
The fourth tier was not the end. It meant magicians stronger than Harad existed in the Outer Realm — didn't it?
"Of course, not every fourth tier is like this. I'm the special one," Harad added.
That was a small comfort to the now-grave Horn. And if the word special pleased him — well, it did. Harad was, after all, a magician who had entered Serzila.
The black sun was already gone. As if the world had never been hot at all, the North's chill settled back over everything.
"Magician."
Horn glared at Harad with a face gone stiff.
"...What do you think of Serzila?"
"I'd say I'm rather fond of it."
"And the Outer Realm?"
"I detest it thoroughly."
The surroundings were a disaster. The ground was black past black, rotted through; the building more than half destroyed. With the wall gone too, the whole sorry sight lay bare to the world outside.
"What would you have us do?"
Horn felt no shame in asking. Neither did the knights who had scattered and, at some point, regathered. The knights of Serzila are not ashamed of defeat at the hands of the stronger.
"We find the mastermind behind the attempt on the Grand Duke's daughter's life. Under my direction."
"Understood, Harad."
Horn rose to his feet. He looked ready to collapse on the spot, and still he thumped a fist against his own chest.
"But there's something I have to do before that."
"Just say the word."
"Get some rest."
Horn tilted his head.
"You all look to be in terrible shape."
"..."
"Is he a madman?"
Ellen, who had been watching with her fury held tightly in check, finally pounced.
There was a taste of blood in his mouth.
The copper tang wasn't all that severe.
Because he hadn't gone all out.
Suffering aftereffects and all, one might ask what kind of claim that was — but it was the truth.
The Projection from moments ago was a different beast from the one he had manifested against the rabbit. Had it been full power, Horn would have died long before.
The knights who escaped uninjured would have been wounded, and the wounded would have died.
Of course, not every Projection is like that.
It was a result possible only because this was the Sun's Projection. The Sun is an origin that strikes hardest across the many.
And, befitting so vast a concept, uniquely powerful.
Not worth using.
Harad drew his fingers from his pocket, where they had been rolling the orb about.
The orb the rabbit had given him. The healing power stored inside was a consumable — too precious to waste on aftereffects that would fade in a mere two or three days.
Half the silver in the orb remained.
It swayed like water — that silver was mana.
How does it get refilled?
And yet it did not refill.
At least, not with Harad's or Kubel's mana.
No matter how much mana he pushed in, none of it entered the orb.
Either the method is wrong, or the orb is picky about its mana.
The Outer Realm had not built its many towers, one per origin, for nothing.
Origins of the same category resemble one another even in their mana.
Among the artifacts crafted by the Tower of Storms were more than a few that only wind-attribute magicians could use. The other towers were no different.
This orb seemed to be the same.
And the rabbit had been carrying something like that.
He had his guesses, but the orb did not seem to be a mere artifact.
Does it hold only a magical beast's mana? Or the rabbit's?
He couldn't be sure of either.
The orb would have to be spent sparingly.
The door opened without warning, and the maids slipped out in a hush. They were the maids Ellen had called for.
Harad watched until the last of them had gone, then stepped inside.
It was a barracks set up beside the common building — outside the Projection's range, and so unscathed.
Inside, the knights lay as though dead.
Horn was among them, his whole body wrapped in bandages — the maids' handiwork.
"As expected of Serzila's knights."
Harad marveled at the knights, who did not let slip so much as a groan.
Of course, most of them were lightly wounded.
No — in truth, not most. All of them.
Horn had it the worst, but even he looked lightly wounded to Harad's eyes.
"Five days. Horn, you'll need about ten."
"Five for me too."
Horn replied, pushing his torso upright.
The other knights affirmed it with silence.
Knights recover fast.
The finer their aura's quality and quantity, the truer it was — and at Horn's level, wounds like these would heal in ten days, easily.
Which was why what knights feared most was maiming.
Because unless a limb or the neck was severed, nearly everything else would heal.
Suddenly, the back of his head prickled.
He turned — and there was Ellen, having sent the maids off, leaning crookedly against the door.
"You hate the 2nd Knight Order, don't you?"
"If I hated them, I'd have killed them."
"..."
"I have no personal feelings in the matter."
Ellen glared at him as if she meant to kill him.
"Then why did you do it?"
"Because it looked like you needed it."
Harad tilted his head as he answered.
Come to think of it, it had been the same last time.
Elaine had flown into a rage at him for turning three knights of the 1st Knight Order into half-cripples.
At the time, he'd assumed it was because he was a magician who had rolled in from outside — but watching Ellen's reaction now, that didn't seem to be the whole of it.
"Don't you usually run them about that hard?"
"Who does?"
"I could have sworn it used to be worse."
"That's what I'm asking — who?"
"..."
Harad stared straight at Ellen.