The Sword Without a Swing
Oh hot blood, oh hot blood.
Clang! Kaion's beloved sword fell onto the parched, hardened ground where every drop of moisture had evaporated.
No.
"……"
Perhaps it wasn't just the sword that had fallen.
She didn't even swing it.
His reflexes—praised even by the other captains—had caught a single frame amid that explosion of light.
The Supreme Commander drawing her sword, then instantly sheathing it again.
That was all.
Ena hadn't swung her arm wide. She hadn't opened her shoulders. She hadn't pointed her blade to cleave the battlefield. She hadn't planted her foot to propel her body forward.
Every sword strike Kaion had ever witnessed in his life had a beginning and an end. The toes pressing into the ground, knees bending, waist twisting, shoulders opening, elbow following, wrist locking the final angle. All those motions converging to send the sword forward.
That was what a sword was.
That was the sword Kaion Belkrad knew.
But Ena's sword just now hadn't followed that sequence.
Click. The sound of it leaving the sheath.
Shing. The blade emerging into the world.
And then again.
Snick. Returning to the sheath.
In that interval, the valley had died.
Hundreds of monsters vanished.
Spatial rifts dried up before they could even close.
The magic circles hovering in the sky lost their form.
The Demon King's army executive collapsed, stripped of blood, screams, and resistance.
Yet there had been no sword strike. No trajectory left by the passing blade. Kaion couldn't see who the edge had cut, where it began or ended, the angle of entry or depth of the slice.
No. To be precise, it wasn't that he couldn't know.
There was nothing to know.
It wasn't that Kaion's eyes had failed to see—it was that there was nothing to see.
Ena hadn't swung.
And yet the battlefield was over.
Kaion forgot to breathe before that fact.
His fingers were empty.
Only then did he realize he'd dropped his sword.
The beloved blade that had been in his hand moments ago. Trained with endlessly, weathered countless battles, soaked in blood, sweat, and the heat of his palms.
That sword lay on the ground.
A captain dropping his sword on the battlefield was shame enough in itself.
But Kaion couldn't pick it up right away.
His hand wouldn't move.
His eyes were still fixed on Ena.
Kaion parted his lips.
No words came.
His throat had dried up.
Not just from the valley's heat.
His insides had dried too.
All the things he'd believed made him strong. The reactions he'd prided himself on. The confidence that he could charge into danger first. The instinct where his body moved before his mind at the sight of enemies.
All of it had halted in a single instant.
A swordsman's moment of dropping his sword is usually predetermined. When the wrist snaps. When strength fails. When death approaches. Or when he sees his sword means nothing.
Kaion was close to the last.
His body had admitted it first.
The realm before his eyes was beyond what his sword could reach.
"Captain!"
Someone called from behind.
Kaion couldn't respond.
The 10th Squad's members were alive. He had to confirm that. Issue orders. Check the wounded. Reform the scattered ranks.
His mind knew all that.
But his body lagged a beat behind.
Even after Ena's Illyun returned to its sheath, Kaion's time was still frozen at that moment of unsheathing.
Click. That tiny sound wouldn't leave his ears.
Kaion slowly bent at the waist.
Reached out.
Grasped the hilt of the sword on the ground.
The hardened soil was still hot, the blade retained its heat. His palm stung.
But he didn't let go.
He picked up the sword.
Shing. As he lifted it, his fingertips trembled.
Kaion didn't sheath it. He gazed down at the blade for a moment.
His sword. The one he'd trusted for so long.
Yet it felt strangely unfamiliar.
What had he meant to do with this sword?
Charge the vanguard. Rush back if the rear faltered. Seal a breached flank. Slash enemies in sight, carve paths where none existed, crush those who held firm.
That was his sword.
"……"
Kaion gripped the hilt tighter. The leather wrapping bit into his palm.
Then Ena moved.
Clack. A small footstep.
Kaion looked up.
Ena was approaching.
The surrounding squad members naturally parted for her. No one ordered it.
There was no black blood on her. No monster flesh.
Kaion thought of the reason as he beheld that pristine state.
Not because blood hadn't splashed. Not because dust hadn't touched.
They'd vanished before reaching her.
Anything filthy approaching Illyun's vicinity would have withered away first.
That thought chilled Kaion's spine.
Ena stopped before him.
Kaion was far larger. Broader shoulders, heavier armor, rougher hands gripping the sword.
But right now, he felt not a shred of being above her.
Ena didn't crane her neck high. Didn't speak with intimidation.
She simply looked at him.
Her eyes were calm. Not angry, not praising.
He bowed his head.
"Supreme Commander."
His voice was hoarse. Partly from shouting orders, but that alone didn't explain it.
Ena asked, "Any injuries?"
Kaion paused. Realizing belatedly it was directed at him.
"None."
"You dropped your sword."
Kaion's hand stiffened.
The air around them seemed to drop a notch.
He didn't lie. "Yes."
"Why did you drop it?"
Kaion couldn't answer.
The reason he'd dropped it. Shock. Overwhelm. His own sword feeling too small. Because he'd seen the Supreme Commander's blade.
Many words swirled in his mind. None easy to voice.
Kaion chose the closest one. "I couldn't endure what I saw."
Ena regarded him for a moment. "What did you see?"
Kaion looked up. Her face was serene.
"You didn't even swing it."
As the words left him, Kaion's voice trembled ever so slightly. He clenched his teeth immediately. Too late to hide it.
"That's what I saw."
The 10th Squad members around held their breath.
Most probably hadn't seen it clearly. To them, only light, heat, and ash remained.
But Kaion had seen. Because of his superior reflexes. Because he had a swordsman's eyes. Because he'd lived gripping a sword.
And for exactly those reasons, he'd shattered deeper.
Ena said, "Seeing it is enough."
Kaion lifted his eyes. "Pardon?"
"Those who don't see carry only fear."
Ena's voice was low.
She glanced at his sword. "Your sword is fast."
Kaion held his breath.
"Strong and straight. Accustomed to reaching perilous places first."
It resembled the praises he'd heard before.
But Ena's words didn't stop at praise. "That is your strength."
A short silence fell.
Kaion bowed his head. He couldn't refute it.
His sword was fast. But a fast sword goes to one place. Miss that place, and others die.
Today's valley had shown that cruelly.
Ena asked, "Without my order, where would you have gone?"
Kaion knew the answer. "The vanguard."
"The rear would have been overrun."
"Yes."
"If you'd seen the rear?"
"The flank would have opened."
"If you'd sealed the flank?"
"The vanguard would have protruded."
"Finally, the retreat path?"
Kaion said lowly, "I'd have seen it too late."
"You know."
Those words pressed on Kaion's chest again.
Ena said, "What you must learn isn't how to hide in the back."
Kaion looked up.
"You are not a sword that stands behind."
Ena met his gaze. "Learn the Sword's Opening first."
Kaion bowed his head. "I haven't reached it yet."
"I know."
"My apologies."
"No need for apology."
Ena's tone didn't change. "If needed, learn it. I'm not rebuking what's absent in you—I'm commanding what must be in you."
Kaion swallowed those words.
What must be in you.
"Master the Sword's Opening."
Ena continued, "We'll have the next exchange after that."
Kaion bowed deeply. "I shall obey."
Without fully grasping the weight of those words.
"Hm. How long will it take, I wonder..."
I murmured lowly, gazing in the direction Kaion had gone. Not meant for anyone to hear.
The scene before me wasn't particularly pleasant. Nor one to linger on.
What I needed to see wasn't the battle that had passed, but the people left after it.
I recalled Kaion picking up his sword again. His fingertips had trembled. He'd tried to hide it, but I saw.
Young captain's pride, shock at his own limits. Anger mixed in too—not at others, but at himself.
He charges first into danger. Breaks through blocked paths. Strikes the enemy's center when they mass.
That judgment had kept him alive, elevated him to captain.
Not bad in itself.
A fast sword. A straight sword. A sword without hesitation.
Such blades are needed on the battlefield.
He's strong.
But war isn't a solo endeavor.
Not a sword for coordination.
I muttered inwardly.
If I ordered him to the rear, he'd do it. Grit his teeth and endure with responsibility. He wouldn't abandon his men.
But that way, Kaion's sword won't open.
He's not a fortress wall like Roën. Nor a massive shield like Rusheka.
Standing firm, embracing others—that doesn't suit his essence.
Kaion is a sword that advances.
However, for him to master the Sword's Opening...
He has talent, but...
I trailed off.
Talent? Undeniable.
Good eye for swords, body keeps up. Above all, that temperament refusing to retreat from danger.
Hard to instill such a trait. Training can mimic it somewhat, but innate sword and forced sword differ on the field.
Kaion's is innate.
But the Sword's Opening doesn't open on talent alone.
It's a realm beyond what talent reaches.
Fast hands. Keen eyes. Strong body. Courage charging into peril.
Those shorten the path to the door a bit. Less wandering than others, quicker recovery from falls.
That's it.
Opening the door is another matter.
Even rushing, it takes years. Properly, a decade.
That's natural.
...I did hint at it a tad earlier than in the original.
Should be fine.