Settling Into Their Positions (3)
Even after returning to his tribe, the scene Rabaul witnessed that day remained burned into his mind like a brand of fire, tormenting him without end. The boy who had proudly dragged back the largest prey and declared that not even the adults could match him was gone. The young warrior who had overwhelmed his peers, proving his dominance against every challenger, had vanished as well.
Rabaul tried to convince his people that they too needed to seize that overwhelming, awe-inspiring power. No one listened. As tribesfolk whispered that he had grown strange, he swallowed the urge to shout that they were the ones who had changed. Instead, he made a solemn vow to himself. First, he would master the power of magic—the wisdom of civilization. Only then would his people acknowledge his words. Only then could they abandon their primal pursuit of violence and raw strength.
From that day forward, Rabaul never touched a weapon again. He studied letters with desperate intensity, turning pages with hands still clumsy and unaccustomed to such work. Without a proper teacher or guide, barely understanding the phrases or the countless allusions on the page, he simply read. And read. And read again. If he lacked knowledge, he would fill the void. Magic was difficult, but the Empire would soon establish the Academy—the greatest educational institution in the land. He believed that once he reached it, this problem too would be solved.
“What a pathetic face you’re making.”
The voice that stopped Rabaul in his aimless wandering belonged to a massive man with his upper body bare, every inch of muscle covered in scars that told the brutal story of his life.
“Grendel, was it?”
One of the members from Alphons Betuart’s team—the one who had clashed with him during the group battle. They were not exactly strangers, yet not close enough to call acquaintances. Rabaul tilted his head at the sudden address.
Grendel spoke bluntly. “Eyes as dull as a dead beast. It shames me to think I was even temporarily held back by someone like you.”
“...Those words are harsh. It is not proper to suddenly insult someone.”
Rabaul, dressed in neat scholar’s robes that seemed intended to hide his origins, spoke with the refined tone of a respected academic. Grendel looked at him with open disdain.
“You. You’re Tornyacha.”
Tornyacha. It meant descendants of lightning. It was also what the northern barbarians—those the Empire called savages—called themselves.
“...What of it?”
“I suspected from your skin and features that we might be kin. If I had known you were such a fool, I would have preferred to remain ignorant.”
“Listen, why do you keep insulting me from the moment—”
The moment Rabaul’s already frayed nerves began to show, Grendel cut him off with a voice thick with fury far greater than his own.
“Why aren’t you fighting seriously?”
Rabaul instinctively held his breath at the enormous rage contained in both that gaze and that voice.
“During our last match, when you grabbed me to buy time, I felt it. The power hidden inside your body was in no way inferior to mine. Yet that pathetic state, that disgraceful performance. After hearing the full story later, do you have any idea how angry I was?”
“That’s a misunderstanding! I was simply trying to walk a new path! Though I am still immature and the results may seem lacking, someday—”
“Will you spout the same nonsense outside these walls?”
“What do you mean?”
The answer came not in words, but in action.
BOOM!
Grendel stamped the ground, and his massive frame shot forward until he was right in Rabaul’s face. Rabaul reflexively moved to counter, but the book clutched in his hand made him hesitate. Grendel’s fist sent him flying backward.
The impact felt like being struck in the chest by a massive log. Rabaul coughed dryly and shouted, “Have you lost your mind?! To suddenly resort to violence against a fellow student—this is—”
“Annoyingly lucid, I see.” Grendel frowned openly, his expression a strange mix of disbelief and grim expectation. “If anyone else had taken that hit without defending themselves, they wouldn’t be standing here babbling like you. Not Alphons. Not even that girl Ligret, who is far stronger than you.”
But you are different, his glare seemed to say.
“You wanted to walk a new path? You’re still immature? Fine. What you aim for is your own business. But do you intend to keep spouting that excuse out there as well?”
“What are you—”
“Even if you fail to pull your own weight, you won’t suffer greatly. Even if you sustain a serious injury, as long as you survive, you can recover easily. Because that’s possible, you indulge in whining about how you’re still immature, how you’re doing your best and that should be enough. But while you play at being a novice, the people around you die. Or do you still think this place is some warm nursery that gently teaches children how to walk?”
Rabaul could not deny it. Hadn’t the professor said as much? The students here were swords that would one day be wielded for humanity. Many studied with vague dreams of success or turning their lives around, but they would eventually realize this was merely preparation before being thrown onto the real battlefield.
“For now we’re still playing with blades while keeping insurance. But the further we go, the more situations will demand we truly risk our lives. And when that time comes, your indecisiveness will get your comrades killed. If you don’t want that, then either build the strength to fight properly, or get out. Stop tarnishing the name of Tornyacha any further.”
I refuse to be misunderstood because of the likes of you.
Leaving only those words, Grendel turned and walked away.
Rabaul, left behind, trembled. Not from humiliation, but from shame. If Grendel had called him incompetent, he would have excused himself as immature. If Grendel had spoken of tribal pride, he would have claimed it was for his people’s advancement. But he could not refute the accusation that he was acting complacent because he knew, deep down, that he would be fine either way.
He closed his eyes. Now that he had faced the truth he had unconsciously avoided, it was time to choose.
“This won’t end like last time!”
With a confident declaration, Crow Vein’s twin blades began tracing dazzling, intricate arcs. The longsword in his right hand, infused with a blazing technique, warped the air with ferocious heat. The dagger in his left constantly harassed his opponent, preventing any inward approach while waiting for the slightest opening to forcibly create one for the longsword to exploit.
Ligret swung the Ancient Guardian’s Greatsword to block, but each clash sent scorching gusts straight into her face. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she swept the greatsword in a wide arc to drive Crow back, then drew a throwing knife from her thigh and hurled it with her left hand.
Crow deflected it as if it were expected and tried to press forward—only to pale as a short spear flew straight at his face. He frantically swung his blades to knock it aside. A heavy impact rang out as the spear failed to pierce its target and bounced high into the air.
But Ligret had already drawn her next weapon.
It was not the Impact Amplification Hammer she had used before. This was new equipment Chrome had pulled from a Cube. A beautiful cross spear, entirely pure white from the butt of the shaft to the cross-shaped tip of the blade. It measured a full four meters in length, and an endless chill radiated from it—so cold that breath fogged in its presence.
When Ligret spun the Ice-White Cross Spear using centrifugal force, a ring of frost formed along its trajectory. Faced with the domain of cold that now separated them, Crow’s response was simple.
“I haven’t been sitting on my hands either!”
He leaped over the frozen territory. The move looked reckless at first glance, but something astonishing happened next.
Pop!
Just before Ligret’s cross spear could pierce him mid-air, Crow’s body shot forward as if he had kicked off an invisible platform.
“The result of my special training! Take it!”
Ligret’s attack sliced through empty air while Crow descended toward her with a strike of his own. The cross spear’s length gave her an advantage at mid-range, but it was slow in close quarters. Convinced of victory now that she had no time to switch weapons, Crow grinned—until Ligret responded with a lazy, “So?”
As if to say what of it?, she rested one shoulder on the spear’s shaft and pushed off with her remaining foot. The spear spun violently around her shoulder as the axis. Crow, caught completely off guard, took the unexpected blow to the back of his head.
“Gahk!”
His vision flashed white. The dual-blade combo he had been so proud of sliced uselessly through empty air. Ligret grabbed the falling Crow by the collar and slammed him headfirst into the ground.
CRACK!
The sound that rang out was definitely not one a human head should make. Crow embedded himself upside-down in the dirt.
“That’s enough.”
Fiore, who had been watching from the side, declared the mock battle over and walked toward Crow. He was twitching with minor convulsions—certainly looked dangerous—but he was a sturdy one. He probably wouldn’t die. Besides, more serious injuries actually made for better healing practice.
Using a White Light healing technique, Fiore asked, “By the way, how did Crow move in mid-air at the end?”
Ligret tilted her head for a moment, then answered as if it had just occurred to her. “Probably expelled magic power from his back or the soles of his feet. Red Light loses power rapidly once it leaves the body, but a short burst for movement shouldn’t be too difficult.”
I’ll have to try that later. The casual remark—something that would have made Crow shed tears of blood if he heard it—was interrupted when Ligret noticed a man approaching them with a grave expression.
“Rabaul?”
“Oh? What brings you here?”
In response to their questions, Rabaul bowed deeply and spoke.
“I will not stop accumulating knowledge of magic. Even if the conclusion was reached after much hesitation, it is still a path I have chosen. However, I will no longer turn my back on what I am capable of doing. I wish to walk both paths. Will you help me?”
Ligret and Fiore exchanged glances. They had no idea what had happened, but it seemed good news had arrived.
Meanwhile, at that same moment, Chrome was grumbling.
“Damn it, business is going too well. Maybe bundling other items with the Cubes was a mistake. Hey, Loto. Any chance you could help out?”
“Uh, well… I have classes to attend, so—”
“How about I pay your part-time wages with a Midas Cube call?”
“Should I start by wiping down the display stands?”
He had acquired a slave to capitalism. Through gambling, no less.
It was a time when everyone was finally settling into their proper positions.