A Sword Clan Without the Commander
Spirals... spirals... How...? "..." Why...? "...! ...!" No, perhaps... Flash!
"Vice-Captain Roën. Are... are you alright?"
Ah. Again... I'd been standing there blankly.
"My apologies. Could you repeat that?"
"Ah, yes. A few captains dissatisfied with the Commander's recent aggressive reforms are scheduled to arrive at headquarters this afternoon."
"...I see."
Roën recalled the version of himself who would normally prepare vigorously for such a meeting. He'd confirm the attendee list, adjust the agenda order, and pre-analyze the temperaments of those most likely to rebel. Sword Clan meetings were generally like that. When superhumans wielding swords gathered to clash with words, it was sometimes safer to just borrow the training grounds.
But the current Roën couldn't sort through any of it right away. His body still hadn't shaken off the shock.
'The Commander's absence.'
He'd never even considered it. No matter how many dozens of variables he accounted for in any scenario, this was one he'd never factored in.
The Western Fortress supply lines getting cut. Disaster entities numbering three or more appearing simultaneously on the eastern front. The church refusing to release the holy sword records to the end. The magic tower using observation data as an excuse to probe the Sword Clan's internal spell network. The royal family questioning the clan's independent command authority. The Demon King's army analyzing the Commander's style over a hundred battles and perfecting countermeasures.
Roën had contemplated every one of those possibilities. That was an aide's job. Anticipate the worst and lay out something even a touch worse on paper.
And yet.
'A Sword Clan without the Commander.'
That one item was missing.
It wasn't that he'd deliberately omitted it. Or turned away in fear. It had never even brushed the edges of his thoughts.
Like not including the sky falling in tactical briefings. Like not factoring a sunless dawn into supply plans.
Ena's absence felt not like a hypothesis, but something outside the world itself. She was there. Always had been.
In front of dawn reports. On battlefields where blood hadn't yet cooled. In meeting rooms where words had run dry. In the silence just before an enemy disaster lifted its head.
Ena was always in her place. Sometimes so quiet that even the fact of her presence faded from notice. But when crisis struck, everyone knew. Deepest in the Sword Clan headquarters, the Commander-in-Chief stood firm.
So to Roën, the Sword Clan was an organization defined by Ena's existence. A collective of swords operating on the premise of her presence. It was so fundamental that he'd never once questioned its shape.
"Vice-Captain?"
The young administrator's voice pulled him back again. Roën slowly raised his eyes.
He stood in the middle of the hallway. The long corridor linking the Commander's office to the meeting rooms. Faint footprints from swordsmen fresh from dawn training lingered on the black stone floor. Gray light from the not-yet-risen sun filtered between the pillars outside the windows.
The administrator clutched his bundle of documents, staring with a lost expression. The usual Roën would have noticed that face first. Anxiety. Hesitation. Confirmation of his superior's oddity, uncertainty about voicing it. He never missed such subtle tremors.
But now, he was the one unsteady. Pathetic.
Roën silently reprimanded himself. He was the 1st Unit's vice-captain. The one who handled paperwork, battlefields, and silences all at once from right beside the Commander. And here he was, rooted in the middle of a hallway by a single thought. In front of a subordinate, no less.
Not good. Very not good.
"I'm fine," Roën said in his usual voice. He made sure it sounded that way. "The afternoon meeting attendees."
Only then did the administrator hurriedly flip through his documents.
"2nd Unit Captain Arthur is confirmed."
As expected. Roën took the papers. Their weight felt familiar in his hand. Paper at least had form. Unfold it, content emerges; read it, classify it; classify it, and processing order follows.
Compared to that, the words the Commander had just left behind had no shape.
A Sword Clan without me.
The declaration that that was the Sword Clan's anomaly.
Roën still didn't know where to place them. If that... departure... meant death?
"Prepare Meeting Room 1," Roën said, scanning the documents. "2nd Unit Captain at the front seat."
"Facing the Commander?"
"Yes."
"Won't that be uncomfortable?"
"It's the seat he wants."
He wasn't one for circumlocution. He faced both sword and words head-on. Seating a man like that to the side only hardened his dissatisfaction into ice. Better to face him directly. A sharpened blade rusts less in its sheath than forgotten on the table. Though it tired the one doing the maintenance.
"Assign two recorders."
"Two?"
"One for official minutes." Roën folded the documents. "The other to note speech order and reactions separately."
The administrator's face tensed. "Reactions too?"
"Dissatisfaction with the reforms shows in expressions before words." Roën paused. "Especially silence."
The words were aimed at himself too. Moments ago, he'd been silent. Before the Commander's vision. Missing his subordinate's call twice over.
Roën recalled the fact, pressing the documents harder. Paper crinkled lowly. The administrator flinched.
"Vice-Captain?"
"No issue." Roën smoothed the crumpled edge with his fingertip. "Prepare tea and water separately."
"Yes."
"No alcohol."
"Yes."
"And only a teacup at the Commander's seat."
"As usual?"
"Lighter than usual."
The administrator tilted his head. "Lighter?"
"She pulled an all-nighter."
Roën's reply was brief. The Commander had been up all night. He recalled their conversation.
'What do you think is the most ideal form of the Sword Clan?'
When asked, Roën had answered naturally. A Sword Clan where everyone wielded power like the Commander.
He hadn't thought it wrong. A gathering of such strength would crumble the Demon King's army. The frontlines wouldn't yield, and the church, royals, and magic tower couldn't meddle.
But the Commander had smiled. A breath like someone long harboring another answer finally exhaling it.
'The opposite of what I think.'
And then: 'A Sword Clan without me.'
In that instant, Roën had lost his words, however briefly. The Commander's absence as the clan's anomaly. He couldn't accept those two in the same sentence.
'Where everyone is strong, everyone wields their own sword.'
'A state where I'm not needed.'
'That's the ideal Sword Clan.'
Roën couldn't claim to understand. Intellectually, yes. It wasn't about death or retirement. Not irresponsible abandonment. A state where the clan didn't lean on one person. An organization that held the frontlines before Ena arrived, guarded its own hearts before she drew her sword, severed foes without her flames.
That was the ideal. His mind grasped it.
His body didn't.
A Sword Clan that didn't need Ena felt to Roën like the air he breathed someday becoming unnecessary. Was that good?
Of course it was. Structurally, piling the frontlines on one person's shoulders was dangerous. Roën knew that better than anyone. Battlefields bred variables. Ena could be late. Tied to another front. Forced to conserve strength.
The clan standing on its own then? Not wrong. Too right, even. So right it choked him briefly.
Right words weren't always comfortable. Like a blade striking true hurt more.
"Vice-Captain. Should we send this list to the Commander first?"
The administrator asked cautiously. Roën blinked. Back to reality. Documents. Meeting. Disgruntled captains.
He looked down at the list in his hand. 2nd Unit Captain Arthur. Cold, ruthless, the embodiment of Sword Clan orthodoxy. He'd struggle with these reforms. To him, the clan was a blade that must never dull. Teaching retreat, valuing survival, prioritizing obedience over talent—it might look like rounding the sword's edge.
He'd say it outright.
'The Sword Clan's blades exist to cut enemies.'
'Teach survival first, and hesitation creeps in when killing is needed.'
'You're weakening strong swords.'
Roën could almost hear the words. That's how Arthur was. Not entirely wrong. That made it tricky. Foolish rebellion could be cut down. Accurate dissent demanded answers.
The Commander would answer. Probably briefly. No need for swords that went to die. She wanted ones that killed, protected, returned. The new standards weren't weakening—they were harder.
Roën could predict even that. So his role in the meeting was clear: Set the board for her words. Open space for dissent without letting it scatter. Record. Classify. Convert to guidelines later.
That was an aide's duty. Assisting a Commander bent on building a clan without her.
How contradictory. Roën let out a brief internal chuckle. His face betrayed nothing. He was well-trained for that.
"Send the list to me first," Roën said. "I'll give her the finalized version right before the meeting."
"Yes."
"Categorize by complaint type."
"By type...?"
"Tactical guideline dissent." Roën tapped a blank on the paper. "Training volume increase dissent." Another. "Aide authority expansion dissent." Another. "Survival rate evaluation introduction dissent." Last. "Dissent with the Commander's intent itself."
The administrator's face hardened slightly. "The last one too...?"
"Especially that one."
Roën's voice was low. "It's the most important."
Sword Clan captains were strong. The strong followed orders while probing their meaning. Not bad. But following misunderstood meaning was dangerous. If some believed the reforms weakened the clan, suppressing that wouldn't end it. Without understanding, guidelines became hollow on the battlefield. Hollow guidelines saved no one.
"Vice-Captain Roën."
The administrator ventured carefully. "Does the Commander really intend to change the clan that much?"
Roën looked at him. The young man bowed his head at once. "Sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"No." Roën folded the documents. "You can ask."
The administrator looked up, surprised. Roën gazed down the hall briefly. At its end stood the Commander's office door. Closed. Inside, Ena was probably still reviewing papers. Or pondering Kaion's sword opening. Or drafting new guidelines already.
'A Sword Clan without me.'
Roën swallowed the words again.
"The Commander has no intent to weaken the Sword Clan," he said slowly. "Nor to strengthen it in the ways we imagine."
"Then...?"
"To make it stand longer."
The administrator didn't grasp it immediately. Roën hadn't fully either. But it was the best he could say now.
A Sword Clan that endured longer. One propping frontlines on each sword, not one flame. Not paving paths with deaths, but chaining battlefields with returns.
That drew closest to the Commander's ideal. Saying it aloud let Roën breathe a little easier. The shock lingered. But form was taking shape atop it. Form meant it could be processed.
Roën was that kind of man. Classify even emotions, and he moved. A strength, and sometimes a tiring habit.
"I'll check the meeting room myself."
Roën stepped forward. The administrator hurried after.
"Yes, Vice-Captain."
The corridor stretched long. The dawn light outside paled gradually. The Sword Clan headquarters would soon fully awaken. First sword cries from the training grounds. Administrators dashing with papers. Captains dragging brewing unrest from their units to HQ.
And by afternoon, the meeting room door would close. Inside, the Commander would break the silence again.
Swords that die easily abound. Few kill, protect, and return. I'll leave the latter.
Roën hadn't heard it yet, but felt as if he had. He was her aide. The one who'd heard her silences closest. Sometimes silence spoke intent first.
'A Sword Clan without me.'
The words still lodged strangely in his chest. But not like before. No longer mere void. A goal. Hard to accept, perhaps taking time. But called a goal by the Commander, Roën couldn't ignore it.
He halted before the meeting room door. Before grasping the handle, he glanced briefly at his hand.
His own hand. The one turning reports, gripping swords, unfolding Manheukcheolhae, receiving her orders first.
It trembled faintly still. The shock of imagining her absence hadn't faded.
Roën clenched and released his fingers slowly. Steel sensation returned to his fingertips.
Good. He could move.
He opened the door. Cool meeting room air greeted him. Stepping inside, Roën thought quietly.
A Sword Clan that needs no Commander.
If that day truly came.
What then would he do?
His answer, as he saw it...
'Fuck that. Might as well disband the goddamn Sword Clan.'
None.