Good News (2)
Sien returned to her room and eased herself down onto the bed.
A month of nonstop engagements in the Imperial Capital, and on top of that, nearly half the day spent in combat. Of course her body was exhausted. Of course her heart was, too.
"Nnh..."
She lay there in a daze, and the events of just a little while ago came drifting back.
What on earth had that meant?
Watch over her — what had he intended by those words? Why would he want to watch over her at all? Was there some other meaning hidden inside them? What had Adel been thinking when he said such a thing?
Question after question chased itself through her mind, each one spawning the next. She had run to him wanting certainty, wanting an answer she could hold onto. All she had come back with was a greater mystery than before.
What in the world did you mean by that, Adel?
Had he truly meant that he wanted her near — that he wanted to look at her? Or was there something else entirely, something he had dressed in roundabout words?
Sien's head felt ready to burst.
Still... he said he was all right. That's something, at least.
She had asked the question she'd meant to ask, and she had received an answer. That was enough. The rest could wait. Forget it for now. Forget it, and get some sleep.
Whispering that to herself, she wriggled down beneath the covers.
But as the minutes passed, Sien's eyes only grew more wide-awake.
...I should have asked more.
That thing he'd said — I wish to watch over you. What did it mean? If she had only asked him that, she wouldn't be lying here in this tangled mess. But standing in front of Adel, her mind had gone completely blank, and she had simply fled. By the time the regret set in, she was already at her own door.
You idiot.
It was the first time anyone had ever looked at her with eyes like that — so calm, so unadorned. Everyone else had been in such a hurry to keep their distance. Half-demon. Coward. Weakling. That was all they ever said. Or else their eyes would light up, wondering if she might be useful after all. Or they would get drunk on her beauty and try, by any means they could, to get their hands on her. That had been the whole of it.
Which was precisely why Adel's manner sat so heavily on her.
She was weak. She was a coward. She was a crybaby, a green girl with no experience to speak of. Why would anyone look at someone like that with such unshakable eyes? They barely knew each other. He was neither a vassal of Lichtenauer nor one of its knights.
The questions rose and vanished, rose and vanished — until, all at once, they simply disappeared, and something else took their place.
Could it be? Surely not. No. Impossible. ...But there isn't any other explanation, is there? Don't be stupid. How long has it even been? Who develops feelings that fast? ...Is that really it, though? Because other than that, there's nothing that quite... If you're going to keep talking nonsense, just go to sleep. You're wasting time.
She was confused. Truly, thoroughly confused.
And yet that confusion... wasn't entirely a bad feeling.
Tucked beneath her blankets, Sien fidgeted with her fingers and lay there worrying for a very long time.
The sun sank, and the moon rose.
For anyone who did not have to keep the night watch, it was the hour of rest. Adel was still in the training grounds, swinging a wooden sword.
The force behind each stroke, the speed — both defied belief. The air itself screamed around the blade, a savage howl no practice sword had any business making. At a glance, one might have thought he was doing it out of rage. Had any of his old comrades seen him like this, they would have clicked their tongues and asked what new worry had gotten into him this time.
The answer he had given Sien a short while ago. He had spoken without ornament, without a single thing held back. The plain and honest truth.
I want to watch over you, from your side. And so even if a little blood is spilled, even if we have to fight — it doesn't matter to me. I'm fine.
If someone asked him why he had answered that way, Adel would have said this:
There's no need for her to trouble her heart over the likes of me.
He was no one of consequence. If anything, he was nothing at all. Just a monster that existed to fight and to kill.
Sien was different. She was someone who fought in order to protect. She was someone who shone. Demon blood might run in her veins, but she was more human than anyone he had ever known. She might be called weak — and it was precisely because of that weakness that she could become stronger than anyone.
He had met a great many people in his life. None of them had held his gaze the way she did. Even in the deepest dark, she had refused to lose her way. If he could have seen the Emperor in his youth, he suspected the man would have been exactly like that.
"Hah."
At last Adel lowered his sword and drew a deep breath. Ordinarily, a bout of this — swinging a blade like a madman — was enough to burn every stray thought out of him. Tonight, it wasn't working. He had answered her with nothing held back, the truth as it was. So why did a corner of his chest keep itching like this?
...Am I out of breath?
He hadn't pushed his body this hard in a while, true. Even so, a little sword work shouldn't be enough to make his heart pound. Adel cocked his head, frowning, and was just lifting the sword again when a man's voice reached him from up ahead.
"Still not turning in, I see."
White-haired, but with the quiet presence of a true master rolling off him. Adel lowered his wooden sword and inclined his head slightly.
"Captain."
"I heard you fought a battle on your own. You must be exhausted, yet here you are instead of resting."
"I'm fine. It won't interfere with tomorrow's escort duties."
He assumed Rascal was worried that today's fatigue might compromise his ability to protect Sien tomorrow.
Rascal didn't answer. He only looked at Adel with a peculiar expression.
"Adel."
"Yes."
Without warning, something heavy came flying at him. Adel snatched it out of the air in one fluid motion before his eyes had even identified what it was — and only then looked down.
"...Captain?"
"Draw it."
What Rascal had thrown him was a sword. A real one. Adel stared at him, caught off guard.
"Ah, don't misunderstand. You don't think this old man means to pick a fight with a young fellow in his prime, do you? And one who just finished putting a Fiore knight in his place, no less."
"Then..."
"I heard from the junior knights. That you and the family head have been crossing blades now and then."
"It's nothing more than casual sparring. There's no need for concern—"
"Concern? Why would I be concerned? I'm grateful, if anything. If a swordsman of your caliber is the one pulling her up, the family head will bloom into her full power as a member of Lichtenauer soon enough."
Adel regarded him in silence. If it wasn't a challenge and it wasn't concern, then why hand him a live blade? Why tell him to draw it? The questions sat plain on his face.
"I mean to show you. The sword of Lichtenauer. If you're going to lead the family head, you ought to know which way to point her — and how to get there."
Adel was not teaching Sien swordsmanship. He was showing her how to use what she already had — how to move, how to stand, which path to walk. Rascal had seen through that, and he meant to help the two of them. Adel was a member of Lichtenauer now, after all. He had more than enough right to know the sword arts of this great house.
"Then I would be grateful for the lesson."
"I believe that's my line."
Smiling, Rascal drew his own blade. This was no duel fought for honor, nor a sparring match meant to extract instruction. It was a method — a way of showing a sword, and of passing it on.
"If you see an opening, do me the courtesy of holding back. This old man is even more decrepit than that knight from Fiore."
"If anything, you look stronger than he was, Captain."
"Kind of you to say so, even as flattery. Well then — shall we?"
Rascal loosened his wrists with a few light rolls and stepped forward. He would not be able to display the sword art in its completeness on his own, so Adel met him at a measured pace, blending their blades together.
Steel rang. Moonlight glanced off the flats of their swords and scattered in every direction. Adel and Rascal traded blows as if they were dancing a sword-dance.
...This is a sword that doesn't suit me at all.
His own blade had always been a thing of killing intent — venomous, built for nothing but slaughter. This was nothing like that. The sword of Lichtenauer was supple and flowing, and at the same time unyielding and strong. The instant an opening appeared, it drove in like lightning — and just as swiftly it fell back, wrapping itself around whatever it had to protect.
What unfolded before him was only a single school of swordsmanship. And yet everything that Lichtenauer was lived inside it. The life they had lived, the heart they carried, the resolve they had sworn — he could read it all at a glance.
Is this how it is with people who shine? Were they simply born this different?
Perhaps he had made a foolish promise. What if her sword went astray because of him? A woman who inherited a sword art this noble... and a man who wielded a blade this vicious. He could hardly think of anything more absurd.
Steel rang.
The moment the worry took root, his sword slowed. That disruption triggered his body's wariness on instinct — and that wariness came screaming toward Rascal like a thunderbolt.
Blades shrieked. Rascal, mid-form, was driven back. There had been no killing intent in it. It had been dangerous enough all the same. Adel had sensed the fleeting gap between one technique and the next, and his sword had punched through it like lightning.
...Is that a height a young man his age can actually reach?
Talent alone could not account for this. It had been built on blood-soaked effort and experience no ordinary person could even imagine. It wasn't a formalized art like Lichtenauer's, either. This was a sword whose entire foundation was live combat — and the dread that came off it sent a dry swallow down Rascal's throat. They hadn't even properly clashed, and already a cold sweat was starting.
"That was a mistake. My apologies."
"Not at all. I was the one swinging away to my heart's content. A reaction like that was only natural."
A small part of him was worried, true. But a man like this in Lichtenauer would bring far more gain than harm. Sien seemed uncomfortable, as if she were using him — but Lichtenauer was in no position to be picky about such things.
This is a young man who brought down a knight of Fiore. I can't afford to let him go now. Adel... I'm sorry. But I hope you'll stay with Lichtenauer.
Rascal lowered his sword, and a question occurred to him. If the young man was this formidable with swordsmanship alone — what happened when he added chakra to it? Just how far did this youth's martial power actually reach?
"Adel. There's something I'd like to ask you."
"Please do."
"How many bands does your Chakra Disk have?"
The measure of a chakra user's mastery. Count the bands circling the disk near the heart, and you had your answer. A knight at the threshold formed a single faint band. Those with experience carried two. Those who had reached true maturity wore three.
For the record, the greatest number of bands in recorded history was five.
At his current level, it has to be three at the very least.
Rascal waited for the answer with that thought in mind.
"One."
"...What?"