The Sword That Opened in the Dead of Night
A deep, restless night. Lonely, with a fine atmosphere... the hours just before dawn. In the chill of the predawn air, there was only one thing poised to disrupt my sleep.
'Suddenly acquiring such tremendous firepower.'
Kaion's abnormal growth.
Seated at the desk in the Commander's Office, I replayed the events from the training ground moments ago. The lantern flickered low. The predawn air seeping through the door crack slowly stole the warmth from my fingertips, while stacks of unread reports sat quietly on the desk.
Normally, I'd start with the Western Fortress supply request. Next, the 5th Unit's mana anomaly observation log. Then, the church's query on the Holy Sword—clearly designed to shave years off the reader's life. And finally, the magic tower's observation-sharing proposal, which made me feel defeated just from opening the seal.
What a splendid night. So many reasons to keep me from sleep, yet the documents weren't what gripped my mind.
It was Kaion.
Captain of the 10th Unit, Kaion Belkrad. The swordsman who'd been smashing targets in the center of the training ground like he was pounding on a wall. The young captain swinging his blade with nothing but rage and stubbornness, not even knowing where his sword should go.
And in that short time, he'd opened his sword.
I lightly tapped the desk with my fingertips. Tap. A small sound echoed softly in the Commander's Office. It was different from the noise at the training ground. That one had been sharper. The sound of a sword slicing air, piercing the barrier, running through the target's heart, and returning. Shrieeek. Clink.
I could still hear it precisely. I couldn't forget it. It had come far faster than I'd anticipated.
Sword Opening isn't a door unlocked by talent alone. Many race to stand before it. Many pound on the wall believing it to be a door until their hands shatter. Some reach it but turn away, unable to find the handle.
Even the Sword Clan's captains are no different. The stronger they are, the later they sometimes realize it—because they believe themselves already strong enough, that their methods were never wrong, that the sword that kept them alive so far will do so forever.
Kaion was, of course, strong. The weak don't become captains of the 10th Unit. The Sword Clan isn't that forgiving.
But Kaion's strength was too tethered to his body. Where he went, his sword went. Where he couldn't reach, neither could his blade. That's fatal on the battlefield.
Kaion might have realized that limit someday. After a few failures. After losing someone. Only after seeing people die where his sword couldn't reach.
By then, it would be too late. War doesn't wait for late-blooming flowers. No matter how prettily you phrase it, late growth usually blossoms on someone's grave.
I hate that kind of growth. Many call it beautiful. Many call it tragic. But the dead say nothing.
That always bothered me.
Yet Kaion opened the door without a single death. It wasn't even the battlefield yet. Just the training ground. Shattered targets. Bloodied palms. And a few words from me.
I hadn't told him to throw it. Or to send the sword. Much less to make it return.
Yet Kaion had walked to opening on his own.
If my body doesn't have to go.
If the sword can reach instead.
One blade leaves, but two remain.
If the departed blade pierces the heart and returns.
In that instant, Kaion understood his three-sword style in an entirely new way.
Lancea. The spear that always pierces the heart.
When that name rang out in the training ground, even I was momentarily speechless.
I leaned back against the chair. The wood creaked faintly. The Commander's Office chair was sturdily built beyond reason. No matter how many times I leaned back, pulled all-nighters, or questioned the limits of humanity and civilization before these paperwork mountains, it never broke.
Impressive loyalty. Better than people.
No. Can't say that about people. Roën might hear and cut the chair maintenance budget.
'Good thing.'
Of course, about Kaion. Undeniably.
Kaion had grown stronger. The 10th Unit had grown stronger. His sword was no longer bound to his body alone. Before charging into danger, he could now find the heart of the battlefield.
Now the 10th Unit could fight in entirely new ways. When Kaion pierced the enemy's core while guarding the main force, the rear wouldn't be exposed. His subordinates wouldn't need to recklessly follow. They wouldn't disrupt formation calculating where he'd leap next.
As Kaion grew stronger, the 10th Unit's survival odds rose.
Excellent firepower. Too excellent.
And that's the problem.
Good firepower must be hidden. Honed. Tested to its limits. Decided who can know. Decided when to first deploy it on the battlefield.
Reveal it too soon, and the Demon King's army observes. Hide it too long, and a usable blade rusts in its sheath.
Strong swords shouldn't rust in sheaths. But a freshly drawn sword easily cuts its wielder.
These issues usually become paperwork. Operational deployment plans. Classified training records. Barrier stone reinforcement requests. Mana observation restrictions. 10th Unit captain status reports. Injury risk assessments. Training ground usage restrictions.
I hadn't written a single page yet, but the documents were already multiplying in my head. Remarkable proliferation. Paperwork breeds better than most monsters. At least monsters decrease when cut. Documents grow approval lines.
"Haa..."
I let out a low sigh. In that moment, a faint presence stirred outside the door. No need to check. It was Roën.
At this hour, with this presence, without my summons—few would be near the Commander's Office. Actually, just one.
Excellent aide. A bit scary as a person.
"Come in."
Clunk. The door opened. Roën entered with a bundle of documents. Even at this hour, more paperwork. Aides sometimes feel less like humans and more like incarnations of documents.
Roën bowed quietly.
"Commander."
"Speak."
"I've temporarily archived the 10th Unit training ground barrier stone damage report."
Fast. Too fast.
"Already?"
"Yes, Commander."
"Who reported it?"
"Heard the barrier stone explode."
I fell silent for a moment. Not wrong. That noise—half the headquarters must have heard it. They'd pretend not to.
One of the Sword Clan HQ's survival skills.
"Repair costs will rise."
"They will."
"Good news always seems to drag the budget along."
"This is particularly good news."
I looked at Roën. He was serene. He already knew. That Kaion had opened his sword. That Lancea wasn't mere technique but true opening. That it would change the 10th Unit's power. And that my sleeplessness wasn't just the paperwork.
Aides know too much sometimes.
"...Who knows of his opening?"
"Currently confirmed: you, me, and Captain Kaion."
"The 10th Unit."
"Controlled access before training."
"5th Unit observation net."
"Logged as barrier stone anomaly."
"Detailed records."
"None kept."
Of course. I nodded slightly. Roën as expected. Handled what I hadn't ordered yet.
Competent aides are blessings. Except when their competence blocks my escape routes.
"Keep it classified for now."
"Handled as such."
"...Have Kaion keep his mouth shut too."
"Already conveyed."
"Fast."
"Learned from you, Commander."
Hoo. I narrowed my eyes at that. Sounded like praise—or passing the buck. Roën's words often allowed both. That's what made them dangerous.
"Where's Kaion now..."
"Sent to the infirmary."
"He'd go willingly...?"
"Made him go willingly."
Clink. Steel particles gathered at Roën's fingertips, briefly forming gauntlets. Black metal wrapped his hand, thin joints at the knuckles, then dispersed.
Kaion must have given up seeing that. Even a freshly opened captain goes to the infirmary if Roën grabs his wrist and says so. Or gets dragged. Just the difference.
"Block him today."
"Until when?"
"Three days."
Roën's eyes shifted faintly.
"Captain Kaion will complain."
"Tell him it's an order."
"Conveyed as such."
I thought for a moment.
"Blocking training, not refining his senses."
"Record it?"
"Yes."
I pulled a blank sheet across the desk.
"The heart he saw."
"Yes."
"Position of the body left behind."
"Yes."
"Breath at the moment the sword departed."
"Yes."
"Trajectory of return."
"Yes."
"And the gap from receiving the returned sword to the next breath."
Roën bowed briefly.
"Will instruct exactly as such."
Good. What Kaion needed now wasn't training. It was memory. Not pushing the fresh sword sensation further with his body, but capturing it before it faded.
Swordsmen are bad at this. They feel it. Swing. Repeat. Shatter. Then forget what they first grasped.
The Sword Clan has many like that. Mostly strong. Mostly high-maintenance.
"Roën."
"Yes, Commander."
"Kaion's growth is abnormal."
Roën didn't answer immediately. Nor did he deny it. I liked that silence.
"It is."
Short affirmation. Precise. No forced optimism. No exaggerated worry.
Roën was useful that way. Very useful.
"It's good."
Roën said.
I looked at him.
"And dangerous at the same time."
"Yes."
He didn't bow. Accepted my words straight.
"Sudden strong firepower surprises allies before enemies."
"True."
"Reveal too soon, Demon King's army observes."
"True."
"Use too late, it's a blade rusting in sheath."
"Yes."
"So choose the first real deployment carefully."
Roën was already there. I almost chuckled shortly. But didn't. My laugh is distinctive.
"You sometimes say what I'm thinking first."
"An aide's duty."
"Scary."
"I'll take it as praise."
"It's not."
"Still taking it."
"...Tch."
If that's an aide's talent, so be it. I set pen to blank paper.
"Roën."
"Yes."
"If Kaion could open this quickly."
Roën waited for the rest.
"Could others too?"
That question wasn't light. Roën's gaze deepened slightly. He'd probably considered it. Likely already had.
"There's potential."
"Choosing words carefully."
"Too soon for certainty."
"True."
"In Captain Kaion's case, your guidance and his deficiency meshed perfectly."
"Deficiency."
"Yes."
Roën continued cautiously.
"He was a body-first swordsman."
"Yes."
"You showed him places reachable without moving."
"I just said aim for the heart."
"That was enough."
I fell silent. Those words carried odd weight. Enough. Really? My words. My teaching. Enough for Kaion?
If so, enough for others?
As far as I knew, the Sword Clan had closed swords. Those with power but no direction. Talent but deaf to their blade's name. Those mistaking death-seeking for strength. Those deeming retreat shame, survival luck, disobedience fine if results good.
If I could change them. Casualty lists shorten. Missing decrease. "Sword unrecovered" blanks fill.
I couldn't hate that potential. Couldn't even if I wanted.
"Roën."
"Yes."
"What do you think is the Sword Clan's ideal form?"
Roën paused. He doesn't answer easily. Especially not to such questions from me. Lightly, anyway.
But this time, quicker than expected.
"...A Sword Clan where all have your strength, Commander. Even the Demon King would flee."
I let out a very small laugh at that.
"Ha."
More breath than laugh.
"Opposite of my thinking."
Roën's eyes shifted faintly.
"Pardon?"
I looked out the window. Dawn was still far. Sword Clan HQ slept in darkness, watchlights moving slowly atop the walls. Somewhere, Kaion sulked in the infirmary getting his hands treated. Somewhere, the 10th Unit training ground's barrier stones cooled their unjust cracks.
And in this room, one freshly opened sword was trying to change the Sword Clan's future.
"A Sword Clan without me."
Roën didn't reply. That silence neared surprise.
I continued slowly.
"Where all know their own swords."
"Hold their positions."
"See not where to die, but where to end it."
"A front line that survives before I arrive."
Roën's gaze lowered slightly. I didn't look at him. Gazed at the darkness outside.
"Where all are strong, all have their swords."
My voice was low.
"A state needing no me."
The Commander-in-Chief position is strange. All need me. They relax when I stand on the field, believe it's over when I draw, think the world holds if I endure.
But that's no good structure. A front relying on one person crumbles eventually. If I'm late. Gone. Fallen.
What then?
Organizations not preparing that answer aren't strong. Just lucky so far.
I don't believe in luck. Those who do on the battlefield don't live long.
"That's the Sword Clan's ideal."
Roën watched me quietly. I brought pen to fresh paper.
First line: short.
Re-review opening candidates.
Second line below.
Add survival contribution metric.
And finally, words not yet for anyone.
My goal.
I didn't stop the pen. Night hadn't ended. Predawn air stayed cold. Documents remained many.
But tonight, they all felt a little lighter.
Because Kaion's sword had opened.
And because that sword showed me.
The Sword Clan could change.