Who Am I? (2)
"Hah..."
Demonic exhaled, forcing the sour mood out of his chest as he sheathed his sword. Ever since he had been asked to take on the role of examiner, he had spent weeks weeding out challengers who fell short of the mark.
Even as examiner, he did not set the bar unreasonably high. If a challenger could block or dodge a single strike delivered with carefully restrained force, they passed. Those who could not manage even that were cut without mercy.
It was decent work, all things considered. Not particularly tiring—just stand still and swing a sword.
The real reason for Demonic's foul temper had nothing to do with the examiner's post. It was something far closer to home.
His one and only daughter. Kenis.
That freeloading bastard Hans...!
The black-haired face of Hans flashed through his mind. He had disliked the man from the moment Hans had butted into his conversation with Kenis on the training grounds. To make matters worse, the mountain-village assignment seemed to have drawn the two of them even closer. When Demonic heard that Hans, Kenis, and that little girl who always hung around Hans were going out together today, something hot and ugly had surged up inside him before he could stop it.
It was not as though he had any prior arrangement with Kenis. He had not even suggested they do something together. And yet every time he saw Hans hovering around her, heat boiled up from somewhere deep in his gut.
...How ridiculous. Do I even have the right to play the father like this?
A self-mocking smile tugged at Demonic's lips. How long had it been since he had revealed himself as her father, and already he was trying to insert himself into her life? The sight of himself was almost laughable.
All those long years he had only watched from afar—why had he never approached her first? Why had he never been able to tell her he was her father? Everything had been for the child's sake, and yet even now he had never managed a real conversation with Kenis on the subject. Perhaps he had been deliberately avoiding it.
Would she even understand him...?
Demonic's endless spiral of thought was cut short by the next challenger.
"I'll take the challenge next."
"...Block a single strike and you pass."
Demonic narrowed his eyes and studied the man. A truly massive frame, a helmet that completely hid the face, and a strangely resonant voice. In his hand he held a longsword that glowed with a subtle golden light. The worn, tattered robe fluttering at his back suggested a wandering knight or a free-roaming warrior.
I feel like I've seen him somewhere before.
Men of that size were rare enough that Demonic would have remembered if he had met one. Odd.
He pushed the stray thoughts aside and settled into his stance. He had been conducting the examinations with a touch more irritability than usual, letting private feelings color his work. It was time to set those feelings down.
"I will cut vertically. Block it or dodge it."
"Mm. Understood."
The giant of a man drew his sword and raised it to meet him. Demonic's blade rose slowly, then swept down in a sharp arc—fast enough to demand real skill, yet still visible to the eye. The power was carefully moderated; even a failed block would only knock a man unconscious.
In the split second Demonic's sword carved through the air toward the giant, a warrior of Demonic's caliber could slice that instant into countless smaller pieces and use them.
For example...
That is—?
In the middle of the swing, Demonic's eyes caught a familiar flash of red hair far in the distance.
Red hair was common enough, but hair that burned with that particular, brilliant scarlet belonged to only one person in the entire Holy City.
His daughter. Kenis.
And beside her...
That thoroughly detestable black hair. It was Hans, the freeloading parasite, without a doubt.
Grind—
His teeth clenched of their own accord, producing a vicious, grating sound. Strength flooded into his hands. Demonic's pupils contracted to pinpricks, and his gaze locked solely on Hans.
That hand! Hans's hand was twitching, reaching toward Kenis's.
Look at those fingers, writhing with filthy desire as they stretched toward her hand! The sight was nothing less than a beast in heat, desperate to slake its base lust!
You—you freeloading bastard!!
Crunch—
The sound of grinding teeth filled Demonic's mouth without pause. A thick vein bulged at his temple. Power surged through his entire body, and the sword swung far faster and harder than he had intended.
He realized it far too late.
Damn it—!
He desperately tried to rein the blade in with sheer muscle, but by then the sword was already at the giant's throat.
The massive man simply stood there, watching Demonic with perfect calm. Had he not even noticed the blade coming for him?
If so, the man would be badly hurt by Demonic's strike.
This is bad...!
Demonic twisted his waist so hard his arm joints nearly snapped, trying to alter the sword's path. That way the giant would escape with only a minor wound.
"Hup!"
CLANG—!
The instant before Demonic finished the twist, the giant let out a short shout and swung his own blade—from below, upward. A strong, precise counter that met the descending sword head-on.
Demonic's sword tore free of his grip, spun through the air, and clattered to the ground.
It was a clean, economical parry. The man had read the force in the blade exactly, applied precisely the right amount of power, and struck at the perfect moment.
"Hah..."
Demonic let out an involuntary breath of admiration. Had this man just deflected his strike? Not the restrained examiner's blow he had meant to deliver, but a blow that carried a fair measure of a Paladin's true power?
An extraordinary fighter.
Unless something unexpected intervened, this man would be a formidable favorite to win the entire tournament.
The giant strode forward and casually offered his hand.
"A fine strike. Your breathing faltered a little in the middle, but not bad overall."
"Ha."
Bold and arrogant—yet he had the skill to back it up. Why on earth was a warrior of this caliber living as a wanderer?
Demonic gave a short laugh and clasped the offered hand. The enormous palm completely engulfed his own.
A rough, massive hand. And the distance between them had closed.
Demonic looked up into the eye-slits of the man's helmet. The gap was absurdly narrow, yet he could still see.
The man's left eye was filled with a dull gray light.
A giant of a man. Suspiciously powerful. Blind in the left eye...?
The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, and the man's identity became clear. At this point it would have been stranger not to know.
Demonic looked at him with a knowing smile. The giant hesitated, then leaned in and whispered quietly.
"...Was it that obvious?"
"Were you actually trying to hide it?"
"Damn. I even switched weapons, thinking that would be enough."
The man sounded genuinely troubled. He leaned in again.
"So, uh... is Tony pretty angry?"
Demonic nodded silently.
"Of the three Paladins, I am the only one still in the Holy City. It would be stranger if he were not angry."
"Ugh..."
The giant swallowed a low groan. Now that things had come to this, he would have to hide his identity no matter what.
As the man scratched at his helmet in clear irritation, Demonic spoke.
"I assume you are not using your real name. What should I call you?"
"Leon. Call me Leon."
"Leon... understood."
Demonic nodded, then drew in a deep breath—and bellowed at the top of his lungs, loud enough for every soul in the vicinity to hear.
"An absolutely magnificent strike! I declare without hesitation that you are the most outstanding fighter among every challenger I have faced so far!"
"Hey—hey!"
Every eye in the area snapped toward Leon. He nearly jumped out of his skin and hissed at Demonic under his breath.
He needed to keep a low profile just to stay hidden—and now the man was drawing every gaze in the place?
Demonic answered with a thoroughly mischievous smile. Leon felt as though he had been struck over the head with a hammer.
Was this the same Demonic who had always seemed barely human, devoid of emotion? Was he actually teasing him right now?
"Outstanding warrior, your name is Leon!! I shall remember it. You are the strongest fighter among all the challengers to date!!"
"..."
"Leon!! May you become a glorious warrior through honorable combat! May the gods' blessing go before you, Leon!"
"..."
Demonic kept repeating the name, as if afraid someone nearby might have missed it. Leon's shoulders sagged and his head drooped. He had been thoroughly outplayed.
Of all people, he had never expected Demonic—whom he had trusted—to stab him in the back like this.
When the examiner repeatedly proclaimed him the strongest challenger, the surrounding warriors turned hot, competitive eyes on Leon. Men who made their living by fighting and growing stronger. The moment the examiner named him the strongest, their competitive fire ignited.
"Hoo..."
Leon yanked his robe up over his head and shot Demonic a glare. Demonic only shrugged with shameless innocence.
"Did I say anything that was untrue?"
Leon opened his mouth to retort, then felt the warriors closing in and hastily moved his feet. Stay any longer and he would be forced into spar after spar. The more attention he drew, the more people would start recognizing him.
"Hey! That big guy in the robe over there! That's the strongest challenger!"
"I heard the examiner himself acknowledged him!"
"They say he caught the examiner's strike with his bare fingers!"
"No, I heard he just tilted his head and said, 'Too slow.'"
"Whoa, he must be ridiculously strong. His name's Leon, right?"
Even as Leon pulled the robe tight and hurried across the main thoroughfare, he could hear people who had already recognized him murmuring among themselves.
How in the world did rumors travel this fast? Barely any time had passed since the commotion, yet it felt as though the entire Holy City already knew who Leon was.
Leon suddenly felt a powerful urge to cry.