Knight of One (1)
The world beyond the fence that greeted Kallen was an unending procession of war and chaos.
Strange mana beasts and alien races prowled the empire's borders without rest, and the greatest threat of all were the demons that poured across the Dimensional Rifts from the Illusion Realm—along with the witches and corrupted humans who worshipped them, an old and festering thorn in the empire's side. The northern reaches, all craggy mountains and barren soil, crawled with every manner of wicked thing. And yet it was precisely in such a world that mercenaries shone.
Whenever the famed Lenart Mercenary Corps passed through the region, the local lords would come running barefoot, desperately turning the corps' horses by the reins and heaping commission after commission upon them.
"Hey, Kallen. How's your side?"
He heard the familiar presence behind him as he sat on a boulder, catching his breath. Ellie was trudging toward him, her face lined with fatigue and plainly marked by a rough bout of combat.
"All done over here."
He answered as if it were nothing. At his feet, the corpses of several dozen monsters lay churned into a pulpy paste of blood and mud.
Ellie's brow knotted at the sight. "Are you actually a monster? You killed all of these alone? You were just supposed to hold the line until the main force arrived."
…
Ellie's particular brand of coarse speech had long since stopped bothering him. Kallen answered with a light shrug of his shoulders.
The mercenary life that awaited him was an endless cycle of wandering and battle. There wasn't a single easy day—but in exchange, he settled into that life faster than anyone could have expected.
His raw, unpolished talent sharpened with every battle he survived. It had grown keen enough now that Lenart entrusted him with solo missions—cutting off an enemy's retreat, for instance.
Just like the one he'd just finished.
"I came because I thought you might be lying around moping like a useless lump… turns out I wore my legs out for nothing."
Ellie grumbled, then stole a glance at his body and asked, not quite casually, "…You hurt anywhere? You tired?"
"Feeling light as a feather."
It was not merely an empty boast.
They had been on forced marches for days now, his commissions eating away at his sleep—and yet his body felt lighter than it ever had.
Barely a few months since he'd fled the dukedom, and somehow his stamina had improved far beyond what it had been then. His head felt clear. The gloomy thoughts that used to gnaw at him no longer weighed on his mind.
Kallen himself found it strange, though he couldn't come up with any particular reason for it. He could only guess, vaguely, that the burden that had always pressed down on his heart had simply grown a little lighter.
"Gloating, are we?"
Ellie snorted at him, closed the distance, and drew out a rag to scrub the splattered blood from his cheek. Only after fussing over his face for a good long while did she nod, satisfied.
"If you're going to say things like that, at least wash your face first. Looking like a beggar, no one's going to find you cool."
"It's not gloating—"
"Quiet. Don't talk back to your master."
Having dismissed his protest, Ellie flopped backward and laid her head across his thigh. She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled around as if he were the most comfortable bed in the world, and Kallen said, exasperated, "I'm filthy."
"Don't care. I'm washing up when we get back anyway. What's it matter?"
"Still…"
"Haaam… ugh, you're loud. This is the best spot, I'm telling you. Seriously… best pillow ever… wake me in ten… min…"
Ellie never finished the sentence.
Her breathing soon slowed into the soft rhythm of sleep, and Kallen couldn't help but let out a rueful little laugh.
This was a habit of hers that had started, naturally enough, at some point. She'd said his body was firm and cool to the touch, and for some reason that made it pleasant.
She'd done it so many times now that Kallen had grown used to it too. He simply shifted his position slightly so she could lie a little more comfortably.
He brushed back the bangs that had fallen across her face, revealing the thick lashes and fine-cut features beneath. Kallen gazed down at them for a long moment.
Awake, Ellie was nothing short of an ill-tempered guard dog. She dragged him about wherever she pleased and made endless outrageous demands of him. Running her errands was one thing, but when she'd asked him to stand watch outside while she bathed, he hadn't known where to put himself.
And yet asleep, she was a harmless creature beyond compare. Kallen still could not fathom what Ellie felt toward him.
He watched her for a while—and then, quietly, began to stroke her hair.
Time was tempering Kallen into a mercenary true and proper, but it did not always flow by in peaceful calm.
For the corps, life and death were two faces of the same coin. In any major commission, it was all but inevitable that members would be wounded or killed.
Kallen and Ellie were no exception. Facing down every manner of monster and wicked thing, they crossed the line between life and death together, again and again.
And at some point, Kallen found himself standing with his back to Ellie, shielding her from every threat that came.
Ellie's magic, in turn, always held firm at his back.
Rain or snow, the two of them spent their days side by side. They split a single slice of bread as naturally as breathing, and in winter they huddled beneath the same blanket, sharing their warmth against the cold.
With every hardship they overcame, their bond only grew firmer, and deeper still.
Ellie still treated Kallen with her usual brusque tongue, but day by day she grew fonder of him—it was a fact the entire corps acknowledged, everyone but Kallen himself.
And then, time flowed faster still.
—Chang!
A sharp ring of steel, and a sword went flying through the air. It spun end over end before burying itself in the floor of the training ground, and only then did it stop moving.
"…Hah."
Lenart, sprawled on the ground, opened dazed eyes and let out a low groan. Towering over her stood a strikingly handsome young man, his blade poised at her throat, his stance proud and unshaken. Kallen broke into a wide grin.
"Finally won one, huh?"
"…Impossible."
Lenart could only laugh in disbelief.
She had recognized Kallen's talent from the start, but his rate of growth had far outstripped even her expectations. She'd never imagined that in just a few short years he would defeat her this completely.
Even the legendary Sword Saints of old, whose heroic tales filled every song, had been nothing more than promising young swordsmen at his age.
"No… really…? Hah, honestly…"
"Len, is it old age sapping your strength? Want me to carry you?"
Kallen teased, extending a hand to her. The growing boy had slipped, without anyone noticing, into the threshold of young manhood. He already stood a full hand-span taller than she did, and his upper body and arms, solid with hard-won muscle, radiated a strength that was plain to see.
The abandoned puppy had become a wolf unshackled at last, striding boldly through the world.
"Watch your mouth! Who are you calling a senile old woman?!"
Even as she pulled herself up leaning on his shoulder, Lenart shouted her protest, pride thoroughly wounded. A corps member passing nearby spotted the pair and came over, eyes going wide.
"What?! Is the Captain finally getting married?"
"Oh, Ayli. You're here. What are you talking about?"
At Kallen's baffled question, a sly smile crept across the vice-captain's lips. She giggled to herself for a moment, then slung an arm around his shoulder and spoke as if confiding a secret.
"Our dear Captain, you see. She once swore a vow—that she'd marry any man who could beat her in a fight."
"Hey! Hold on—!"
Despite Lenart's frantic warning looks, the mischievous Ayli paid her no mind whatsoever. She was far too delighted with herself to stop.
"You've heard of Lord Sibilic, right? The Captain was so popular back in the day. Not just the famous knights—even princes from the Eastern Kingdom came flocking. There was literally a line outside her quarters just for a glimpse of her face…"
"What…?"
"And then the Captain beat every last one of them in duels! The rumors said one of the men she knocked down was an imperial royal in disguise…"
"That can't be true. Even for her—"
"It's true, I'm telling you! And now that marriage has suddenly gotten urgent in her old age, she's throwing her fights in front of a boy young enough to be her nephew. Shameless, isn't it—ow!"
"I said shut up! Get lost!!"
Lenart's palm flew through the air and smacked Ayli across the backside—and with that, the memory ended. But sometime during the commotion, the rest of the corps had caught wind of it and gathered round in a thick crowd.
Hess and Rosie, Kallen's squadmates as always, wrapped their arms tightly around his and murmured their sly proposals.
"Len's too old for you, is she? Then how about me?"
"Feels like only yesterday you were blushing at the sight of our laundry… when did you get so big, hmm?"
"Hold on a second—"
Amid the cackling of the corps members, who were having far too much fun teasing him, Kallen met Lenart's eyes. For once she looked flustered, staring at him blankly, her lips opening and closing without a sound.
"…Ahem. Don't pay too much attention to what the girls say."
Only then did she collect herself, attempting to salvage the situation with an awkward cough.
"That vow was just some childish joke from back in the day. And more than anything, Kallen—you're like a little brother to me…"
"What kind of lunatic makes that face at her own little brother?"
And then a sharp voice cut in, an uninvited guest.
The atmosphere plummeted in an instant, and the whole group stiffly turned their heads. Ellie had appeared from out of nowhere, her eyes narrowed into blades, glaring at Lenart with murder in her gaze.