Asura Field
"Asura field, asura field."
Crossing the threshold into the meeting room, I first noticed the teacups arrayed on the long blackwood table. One. Two. Three. Four. Including the one before my seat, that made five. And with the extra one beside Roën's place, it was complete.
This could pass for a parlor where nobles had gathered to sip tea demurely. Of course, the ones actually assembling here were far less refined than nobles... and preferred clashes over pleasantries.
...Hah.
The Sword Clan's captains. Those who cleaved mountains with their blades, scraped at people's innards with words, and could drop the room's temperature several degrees with silence alone. Truly splendid guests.
If one could call them guests.
I walked slowly alongside the table. The cups were spaced at precise intervals—Roën's handiwork. He accounted for everything: the angle of each chair, the position of the cups, the recorder's seat, even the path nearest the door.
"...This many are coming?"
My voice wasn't raised. Roën understood immediately.
"Four captains have confirmed their attendance."
Four. I let out the tiniest breath inside. Four wasn't a small number. It meant four of the Sword Clan's ten captains gathered in one place. And this wasn't a celebration, nor a victory report—it was a meeting to voice dissent over the commander's reorganization.
Good. Very good. Things had escalated.
"Their names."
"Captain of the 4th Unit, Priscilla."
Roën spoke first. Priscilla of healing. Of course. The moment I elevated casualty retrieval to a tactical priority, the 4th wouldn't stay silent. Healing units always seemed relegated to the rear. But in truth, they faced blood until the very end. Slashing an enemy took an instant. Saving a life demanded enduring all the time after.
Priscilla knew that weight. If she came today, it wouldn't be mere complaint.
"Captain of the 6th Unit, Erigallum."
Erigallum of the twin blades. I glanced at his seat. The cup before it matched the others. But the man who sat there would never speak in the same rhythm. He was always half a beat off-kilter. Like his left and right hands harboring different thoughts yet cleaving the same foe, his words began lightly... then stabbed into the throat unawares.
Unit coordination mandates. Restrictions on solo captain decisions. Vice-commander handover drills. Such notions would chafe Erigallum. He already had two hands. And with them alone, he'd torn battlefields apart.
"Captain of the 8th Unit, Yu."
I looked at Roën for a moment.
"Yu confirmed attendance?"
"According to the documents."
According to the documents. A fine phrase. Less a declaration from Yu than confirmation he'd arrive through some channel. Captain of the 8th Unit, Yu. Shadow of assassination. He wasn't one who came. He was already there. Not one who spoke first. He listened, then left a single line when needed.
His participation meant my directives touched not just visible battlefields, but the unseen ones. Return protocols. Survival rates. Sword recovery. Unit reunions. Desirable on the front lines. But in assassination and infiltration? Different. Some missions completed by not returning. Some deaths gained meaning only in anonymity.
I couldn't pretend ignorance.
"And?"
I eyed the last cup. Roën's reply came a beat late.
"Captain of the 2nd Unit, Arthur."
Of course, last was that name. I stopped before my seat. The tea was still warm. Faint steam rose from the cup.
For now.
"Arthur will arrive last."
"Likely."
"He always does."
I murmured low, gazing at my cup.
"Enters latest, yet claims the air first."
Captain of the 2nd Unit, Arthur. The swordsman rumored unbeatable even in a two-on-one, balanced only by three. The orthodoxy of the sword. Orthodoxy could sound dull, but not for Arthur. He pushed it to monstrous extremes. Impartial, ruthless, excessively precise. His blade didn't rampage. Nor spout nonsense. It sealed the field in an icy circle, erasing paths one by one. Foes were already late before the slash.
And he opposed my reorganization.
"A tough lineup."
I said lightly. Roën didn't deny it. His silence was answer enough.
He bowed his head quietly. No more explanation needed. He'd already prepared anticipated statements, speech order, reaction logs, even separate recorders.
I had no desire to probe such minutiae. Asking would just spawn more documents. I knew that structure too well now.
"Don't mention Kaion."
I said. Roën's gaze flickered briefly.
"Understood."
Short reply. Sufficient.
Kaion. Lancea. That name mustn't enter this room yet. Few knew. Kaion himself. Roën. Me. Even the 10th Unit didn't grasp its full nature. The Demon King's army mustn't either.
But I'd seen it. The swordsman whose body led the blade, now sending it ahead while the body stayed. Piercing hearts without stepping near. The sword departing, then returning to resume breath.
Not mere sword opening. Proof a tardy door could open on time. Proof a sealed door could open before death.
Seeing that potential, staying idle was hard. Exasperatingly so. A tremendous hassle.
But if it reduced deaths, worth the bother. So I'd judged.
And the Sword Clan's captains came, each with sword in hand, to challenge that judgment.
"Commander."
Roën called softly.
"Today's meeting will run long."
"Likely."
"I've prepared more tea."
Of course. No need to ask Roën if prepared. Like asking if a sword had an edge.
I sat. The cup was still warm. Feeling that heat at my fingertips, I slowly surveyed the room. Empty chairs. Neat cups. Recorders' stern faces. The Sword Clan's crest on the wall.
No one seated yet, but the meeting felt begun. Each empty seat already held its owner's defiance. The healer's. The twin-blade's. The shadow's. And the last to enter: frozen orthodoxy's.
"Good."
I murmured very low.
"Better hear what must be said today."
Creeeak...
The door opened first. Not cold wind. A heavy scent preceded: dried herbs. Clean bandages. Antiseptic. Blood's lingering memory, unwashed away.
Pink hair tied back haphazardly. Captain of the 4th Unit, Priscilla, entered. White coat over combat gear, prim but sleeves faintly worn from washings. Sword at her waist. Beside it, vials neatly arrayed.
Captain of healing. Yet no sword forsaken. In the Sword Clan, saving lives detached not from slaying foes. Priscilla had learned that long ago.
Her eyes were serene. Too much seen for mere kindness, too many names recalled for chill.
She bowed before me.
"Captain of the 4th Unit, Priscilla."
Her voice steady.
"I come at your summons."
"You've traveled far."
I said gently.
"Sit."
"Yes."
Priscilla sat without fuss. Yet her presence weighted the air warmly. Not light. Saving hands always warm, bearing names of those they couldn't hold.
The second came offbeat. Footsteps doubled before the door opened. Left. Right. Mismatched yet syncing oddly. One man walking, yet like two minds converging.
Captain of the 6th Unit, Erigallum entered. Twin blades at hips. He swept the room: Priscilla. Roën. Recorders. Me. Empty seats.
Saw all, yet his smile lingered loose.
"Pretty tame vibe in here."
No one replied. Erigallum shrugged it off. His swords swayed faintly with him. Left: thin, long. Right: heavier, deeper. Each held distinct silence.
Erigallum was ever thus. Enter smiling, hands already at differing conclusions.
He bowed. Politely. Lightly so.
"Captain of the 6th Unit, Erigallum."
"Here at your call~."
"Sit."
"Yessir~."
Before sitting, he eyed Priscilla's herbal tea, then mine.
"Be better if it was booze."
Priscilla ignored. Roën flicked eyes to the recorders—don't write. Wise. Meeting minutes turning comedic would be trouble.
The third didn't arrive. Or rather, arrival went unnoticed. Door shut. No footsteps. Air still.
Then, shadow before the 8th's seat. Man in empty chair. A recorder's pen halted. Erigallum's smile widened faintly. Priscilla glanced sideways. Roën unsurprised. Me, barely.
Captain of the 8th Unit, Yu. Dark cloak. Black hair low-tied. Face unremarkably plain. Hard to recall. Impression faded post-gaze. No flaw. Assassin's gift showed first in evasion of eyes.
Yu left no gaze-trace.
"Captain of the 8th Unit, Yu."
Quietly. Voice low. Clear on hearing, then seeped into room's shadows.
"Attending."
I regarded him.
"When did you enter?"
"Just now."
"Through the door?"
Yu silent. Answer enough.
I asked no more. Querying the 8th's path was as futile as ordering a mage tower to write concise.
Three seated. Priscilla. Erigallum. Yu. Their temperatures, weights, shadows settled.
But the coldest seat empty. Dead ahead. 2nd Unit's. Steam still rose faintly from its cup. Fleeting warmth.
And indeed, fleeting. Before door opened, steam before me cut off. Tea stilled. Transparent line edged the surface. Spread circularly. Flawlessly. Precisely. Closed in a ring.
Frost rim.
Room's air caught on belatedly. Recorder pens paused. Erigallum's grin thinned. Priscilla lowered eyes. Yu unmoved. Roën eyed not my cup, but the empty seat ahead.
Door still shut. He hadn't entered. Merely neared.
Door opened. Chill skimmed the long table. Captain of the 2nd Unit, Arthur entered.
Unobtrusive. Steps soft. Armor hushed. Gait exact. Pale gold hair impeccably ordered. Blue eyes serene as frozen lake. Sword sheath bore thin frost. No ornament. No boast.
Strongest captain save commander. Sword Clan's orthodoxy. Sealed fields in frozen circles, pruning paths needed.
His entry didn't erase others' presences. It aligned them. Priscilla's weight. Erigallum's sway. Yu's shadow.
Arthur stood before his seat opposite me. Bow superfluous-free.
"Captain of the 2nd Unit, Arthur."
Voice not cold. Overly calm.
"At your summons, Commander."
I eyed the frost circle veiling my tea. Pure Arthur.
Fingertip tapped cup's rim lightly.
Crack.
Fissure split the ring. Line cleaved circle, vanished from surface. Less melted than retreated in defeat.
Arthur's eyes shifted microscopically. Roën saw. Recorders too. Best omit from minutes. Future historians loved such scenes—tiresome prose.
I disliked such.
"You've traveled far, Arthur."
My voice soft.
"Sit."
"Yes."
Arthur sat. Precisely opposite. No deviation. As if his seat from birth.
Now all four gathered. Healing's Priscilla. Twinblade Erigallum. Assassin's Yu.
...And Arthur.
Sword Clan's faces arrayed on table. I lifted my cup slowly. Tea cooled. Arthur's doing, probably.
Set down unsipped.
"All for today's talk assembled."
Voice quiet. Eyes converged. Priscilla's cautious yet firm. Erigallum smiled, eyes not. Yu's gaze uncertain. Arthur's straight, cold.
Roën at my right rear. Recorder pens met paper.
"You've come with words weighing your hearts."
Slowly.
"Good."
Sword Clan's captains were strong. The strong harbored words even in silence. Today, hear them. Heed. Cleave. If needed, redirect.
"What the Sword Clan's blades point toward."
I eyed the four cups in turn.
"That, we'll discuss today."
Faint chill beaded Arthur's fingertips. Herbal scent wafted Priscilla's cup. Erigallum's blades twitched minutely at differing angles. Yu's shadow stilled beneath chair.
Meeting not yet begun.
Yet four blades lay upon the table.
I regarded them.
Good. Speak your grievances.
"Let the meeting begin."
The Sword Clan changed not by silence alone.