A Vow Carved in Shadow
My training with Edwin had wrought many changes in my swordsmanship. First and foremost, I had finally settled on a definitive style. Previously, I had relied on technique and speed rather than brute strength. It was only recently that my style had begun to shift toward the aggressive. I was in a transitional phase, after all. I was still just a boy. To clash blades with fully grown, seasoned knights, I'd had no choice but to rely on finesse over raw power.
But things were different now. My Sword Qi was far too destructive to be bound by mere finesse. It was a force that consumed not only my enemies, but myself as well.
Once I learned how to properly channel it, even Edwin couldn't easily deflect my Sword Qi. It was an aura forged from absolute, unadulterated killing intent. Hostile and ravenous as a starving beast, it brooked no match in simple contests of destructive power or raw strength.
"If your power places too much strain on your body, then simply do not use it for long," Edwin advised. "Practice shrouding your blade in Sword Qi only at the decisive moment. Otherwise, you must aim for a swift end to every battle."
"It's not exactly a well-behaved pet I can turn on and off at will," I replied. "I'll try, but it probably won't work."
"Then a swift end is your only option."
A swift end. Just like the Rajen in the novel, my swordsmanship gradually evolved to maximize pure aggression. It was a style that traded defense for lethality, forcing the opponent to pay in blood.
I also changed my weapon. It was a straight-bladed sword, far larger than the one I had used before. The blade was nearly half again as long, and its width was just under a span. Calling it a greatsword would barely be an exaggeration, yet I could still manage to swing it with one hand. Because I had to engage my shoulder and back muscles, my movements became broader. In return, the larger blade provided a greater conduit for my Sword Qi, doubling its destructive force.
"If we're going this route, wouldn't it be better to just use a proper greatsword?" I asked. "I don't see why I have to keep one hand free."
"If you grip your sword with both hands, do you plan to drop it every time you cast a holy art?" Edwin countered dryly. "You'll have to find some very polite enemies, then. They would have to wait patiently while you weave your hand signs."
"A holy knight with this kind of Sword Qi... it's a bit ridiculous. I can't really picture it."
"That is of no concern. What matters is that you accepted divinity even after becoming a Sword Master. While it is not unheard of for a holy knight to become a Sword Master, the reverse is exceedingly rare. Since you have been blessed with such a body, it would be a waste not to use it."
Just as true magic swordsmen were rare in this world, so too were holy knights who wielded Sword Qi. Most Sword Masters possessed bodies incapable of channeling magic or divinity; even if they could, it was usually at a pathetic level. While some holy knights did reach the level of Sword Master through rigorous training, their mastery as pure swordsmen often felt lacking compared to those who walked the path of the blade alone.
But I had attained the rank of Sword Master first, and only then received the baptism to channel divinity. Even if I was currently half-baked, it was an achievement so rare one would have to scour the history books to find a precedent. This meant my potential for growth was fundamentally different from other holy knights.
"I can assure you, to my knowledge, this is entirely unprecedented," Edwin said. "As long as you do not grow complacent, the world will soon look upon you with awe."
"Flattery won't get you anything, you know. I don't have anything to give you."
"I want nothing. As I have told you time and again, your only duty is to serve the Saintess well. And while you are at it, help expand the church's influence."
"You don't need to tell me twice."
For me, Edwin was the perfect sparring partner. A partner against whom I could unleash my full strength without reservation was a rare treasure indeed. In ordinary spars, combatants had to hold back out of fear of injuring one another. With Edwin, there was no such worry. He was a powerhouse whose level was leagues above mine—so strong, in fact, that I wondered where on earth such a man had been hiding. I could go all out without fearing for his safety, and he, in turn, guided my growth. Thanks to him, my skills were skyrocketing.
With every full-force clash, I constantly refined my blade's trajectory. I tried mimicking Edwin's gray Sword Qi, and at times, attempted to aggressively overwhelm it with my own.
"You would do well to abandon any thoughts of copying me," Edwin warned. "It is not something easily mimicked."
"I feel like I could pull it off if I practice enough."
"It will not be easy."
"Difficult doesn't mean impossible."
I drew a clear line between what was feasible and what was not. Deciding not to rely on finesse did not mean abandoning it entirely. Choosing not to use a skill was vastly different from being unable to use it. And so, day after day, I swung my sword with Edwin for hours on end. Surprisingly, he humored me for as long as I wished.
Melissa bowed politely.
"There is still a little time before the ritual, Saintess," she said. "Please, take this moment to say your farewells."
"Thank you, Melissa. I'll be right there," Sirien replied.
We stood before the only temple in the Sanctuary of Hybras. A deep, heavy night hung over the structure. Several lanterns were suspended in front of the gray stone temple, their amber glow rippling like waves over Sirien's silver hair. Beneath that dreamlike light, her hair was styled far more elegantly than usual. The sides were neatly braided and pinned back, while the rest of her finely combed locks cascaded down to her waist.
Melissa draped a black veil over Sirien's head. The translucent fabric fell broadly over her back, the dark mesh obscuring half of her delicate face. From where I stood, only her lips were faintly visible.
A smile played on Sirien's lips. Having watched that face for so long, I knew instantly—it was fake. She was forcing it to mask her trembling emotions.
"They say the ritual will take quite a while," Sirien said. "About a month."
"I'll be waiting out here," I replied. "If it gets too hard, you can always give up."
"I'm not giving up. Who do you think I am?"
Sirien smirked. Fortunately, this time, her smile was genuine.
Unlike the shabby clothes she had worn since fleeing the castle, Sirien was now dressed in proper vestments fitting a Saintess. Jet-black silk, looking as though it had been spun from the night sky itself, wrapped elegantly around her body. Beneath her wide sleeves, she wore evening gloves that looped over her middle fingers. When she took my hand, I felt the contrasting textures of smooth silk and warm skin.
She let out a soft, steadying sigh.
"Rajen. It might sound strange for me to bring this up out of nowhere, but... do you remember our cousins back at the castle?"
"Of course I do," I replied. "You were worried about them even when we fled to the Cabin."
Several cadet branches of the Ilencia family had resided in Leheim Castle. Sirien had been quite fond of her younger cousins. She had never cared about status when it came to affection, and she had worried for them even when her own life was in mortal danger.
Sirien squeezed my hand tightly. There was a desperate urgency in her grip, like someone clinging to a branch at the edge of a cliff. I wondered what she was hesitating to say, but the words that finally left her lips were entirely unexpected.
"Those children... if I asked you to kill them, could you do it?"
"Even those who aren't Count Roxen's children?"
"Yes. All of them. There might even be some you were close with. If I told you to kill them too, could you?"
I couldn't answer immediately. A few familiar faces flashed through my mind, and I needed a moment. But in the end, there was only one conclusion I could ever reach.
"If that is what you wish."
"...Thank you. I needed to ask you that."
"Why so suddenly?"
"While you were asleep, I sent some people to gather news from the outside. They returned today."
Sirien gestured toward the side of the temple. Two heavily built priests bowed their heads. Their faces were obscured, but their massive builds were unfamiliar. It seemed they were the scouts she had sent out.
Sirien bit her lower lip. She looked as though she was forcing herself to speak of things she wished she didn't have to. She let out a quiet sigh.
"Count Roxen must be highly capable," she murmured. "I sent one of them to the Grand Duchy, and they said everything seemed peaceful, as if nothing had happened. At least on the surface. But in my eyes... it means the bloodbath has already come and gone."
"It means he prepared for this for a long time," I said. "He knew this would happen, and he planned the aftermath meticulously."
"Yes. I don't think we can expect to find any allies left within the family."
The people of this forest couldn't possibly have gathered highly classified internal family secrets so quickly. They had likely only brought back what was visible on the surface. Yet, some things were obvious just from hearing that much. Count Roxen had already consolidated his grip on the Grand Duchy. Considering the time we spent hiding in the Cabin and wandering through this forest, it was only natural. He was efficient. He would have planned everything perfectly, from the coup itself to the cleanup afterward. Even if we returned to the Grand Duchy now, there would be no allies left for us. If any remained, they would be too few, or already cold corpses. Which meant that if our beloved cousins were still alive, they were likely our enemies now. Perhaps they had even been accomplices from the very beginning. In fact, Sirien seemed to lean toward the belief that they had betrayed us all along.
"And something has come up before we head to the Eloran Marquisate," Sirien continued. "The old Marquis Eloran died of illness. Now, the Young Marquis is waiting to inherit the title."
"Are you changing our destination entirely?" I asked.
"For a while, yes. We will go there eventually, and we'll keep heading northeast. But I have business to attend to near there first."
"What kind of business?"
Sirien stepped closer, right up to my nose. She stood on her tiptoes, and I bent one knee to match her height. Soon, our foreheads touched. Her voice was a soft, conspiratorial whisper.
"This church alone is not enough. Let us gather people who will become our strength."
"People cast out onto the streets, abandoned and scarred just like us. Beasts driven to blind devotion by the horrific pain they have suffered."
A month later, Sirien emerged safely from the ritual.
And then, four years passed.