Outside Story (3): Madame Anne
Whether it was when I played the game or after I obtained the Scouter, I had never once seen an SS-Rank.
Not from anyone.
I could only conclude it was a protagonist buff—a number only the protagonist could reach, a wall only the protagonist could surpass. Beyond S-Rank, and higher still.
Three years until Laward graduated. That three-year stretch had been the long-range goal I had set, and now we had closed the distance by one step—no, by two. For now it was only his Divine Power stat, but that alone bought me time to invest in everything else.
"Well, it's good, but…"
They could have thrown in at least one point of Intelligence…
With his Divine Power at SS-Rank, every Holy Knight skill he had displayed today would have jumped a full tier in power. If he faced Hakan again right this moment, the difference would be glaring.
"Still…"
I glanced sideways at Laward. He was soaking up the praise of Academy students and instructors with a blissfully vacant grin. Somehow the expression made him look even denser than usual.
"Still, I can't just leave him like that…"
Bam-pa-bam—!
As the awards ceremony drew to a close, the Military Academy's cheering squad struck up a fanfare. Students turned in startled surprise. From among the squad, Principal Simena approached, a rectangular case resting across both arms.
An additional prize. She had brought the case that held the magic sword.
Originally the whole performance and music should have been for Hakan, the Military Academy's pre-selected champion. Instead Simena walked straight toward Laward. With every step she took, the drums rolled and my heart thudded in answer. I could not know exactly how she felt, but if it had been me I would have hated every second of this.
She climbed to the highest level of the dais and held the case out to him.
"The prize for the champion of the Dowon Festival."
The words were clipped. She thrust the case at him with a little shove. Laward accepted it in a flustered daze. The weight made his arms dip slightly. From the start Simena's face had made it plain she loathed the entire situation, yet the music never stopped.
Now then—how was I supposed to claim that magic sword? If I simply asked Laward for it he would hand it over without a word of protest, but it would feel like snatching a prize out of a child's hands. Not a pleasant picture. Tell him he was not ready yet and that he could have it back at graduation? That felt even worse. It was not exactly New Year's money.
"Thank you!"
Laward boomed.
"Yes. Be grateful. This is a treasure of the Military Acad—"
"Thank you, Master!"
"…Pardon?"
Huh?
Simena and I reacted at almost the same instant. Laward, meanwhile, had already hopped down from the dais and come straight to me.
"Thanks to you, Master, I actually got to receive a prize for once in my life. I offer this glory… to the teacher who raised me."
Ah.
So that was it.
The real champion's reward was the rank-up, but that was invisible to Laward's eyes. The only visible prize was the case Simena had just handed him. Laward had never possessed the greed to keep anything for himself in the first place.
Did it really have to be right now, though?
Students, the cheering squad, and of course Simena herself all stared at me with blank faces.
"…Right."
And so I closed the Dowon Festival with the image of an innocent boy helping me walk off with a treasure of the Military Academy.
Clunk—
The moment we returned to the high-class inn in the marquisate, I opened the case. Inside lay the same sword I had seen at the Military Academy, resting quietly as before—a longsword dyed entirely red, its cross-guard absurdly long, a magic blade that could not be drawn from its scabbard. The only difference was that the barrier once sealing it had vanished. Reach out and I could touch it.
Looking at the crimson sword now, thoughts crowded in. In my previous life, Hakan would have received it exactly as Simena planned. Yet years later the Sword Saint had been the one holding it. Ownership had changed at least once. Whether Hakan discarded it, died, or fled, the master of the magic sword had changed. And after the Sword Saint took it up, her speech and manner had grown subtly off—in short, she had begun to go mad.
Had she known it was a cursed blade when she gripped it? Or had she never realized the curse at all? I would have to ask. But in this life I did not even know where the Sword Saint was—or whether she was still alive. So I could only question the person who remained inside my memories.
I closed my eyes slowly. Just a little. Only a little. Let me draw out the old memory.
The first thing that rose was the melody of a piano. I gently lifted my fingers from the keys.
Clap, clap, clap—
The Sword Saint, perched on a heap of rubble in the ruins, applauded.
"No matter how many times I hear it, you're amazing."
When the piece ended she let out a short cry of effort and leapt down from the rubble. Even in a world turned to ash by war, her hair alone still shone, swaying with the motion—pure white with a single drop of blue mixed in. She blinked sky-blue eyes as she came closer. Each blink brushed white lashes across her gaze, like clouds drifting over a clear sky.
"It's not that amazing."
"I know, I know. If the piano weren't wrecked the sound would be better. You've said it a hundred times already."
Thok—
She gave the half-destroyed grand piano a light tap. Moss might have lent it a certain atmosphere, but only ash lay thick on the old instrument. Somehow the half-collapsed piano still produced sound—only the low notes. Heavy, melancholy tones that harmonized perfectly with the war.
"Not quite a hundred."
"Where did you learn?"
"Academy, school… a few places, since I was little."
"When you were little… I don't remember my childhood at all. Yet you still remember how to play."
"Well. That can happen."
I looked around the ruined chapel as I answered.
"You don't seem in a good mood, Daywin. Extra snippy today."
"How could I be in a good mood on a day like this?"
"Isn't it a good day? You're becoming Knight Commander."
She leaned against the piano and quietly studied my eyes. A bench-warmer who had been scheduled for free agency next season had skipped straight past starter and become captain. There was no way I could simply enjoy it.
"Come to think of it, should you even be here with me? Don't tell me you ran away."
"Something like that. They'll find me soon enough."
"If you're going to run, you should go somewhere far. Instead you ran to the chapel right next door. That's very you."
She laughed, teasing. Then her face grew serious.
"…Want to actually run away?"
"What?"
"Not like this. Really far. Somewhere no one can find us."
"What are you talking about all of a sudden?"
"Someone else will stop the apocalypse. There might be a real hero out there. We might be nobodies."
"How can you say something so irresponsible…"
"I'm serious. Daywin, let's leave far away together."
—!
A series of high notes rang out from somewhere. Reflexively I turned toward the piano.
"Did you just press something?"
"Hm? No?"
She exaggeratedly pulled away from the instrument.
"Yeah. Guess not."
Simply put, a clear ding had sounded—the sound of striking the highest key, the seventh octave. This broken piano did not even possess a seventh octave.
"Impossible."
I dismissed it as a hallucination born of stress.
"So? Your answer?"
"……"
"Forget it. If you don't want to go, don't. I'll go alone. A letter came recently from a man who used to adore me. I was popular when I was little, you know. Maybe he's going to propose out of nowhere?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Why? Jealous?"
"No, that's not—"
I stared hard at the red sword hanging across her back.
"You said earlier you had no childhood memories."
"Mmm, did I?"
"You've been strange ever since you brought that thing."
"No matter how strange I get, I'll never match you."
"…It gives me a bad feeling. Throw it away."
"When a better sword appears."
The firm refusal forced my gaze aside. She watched me for a moment, then smiled playfully again.
"Aah, poor someone—such a pretty woman asks him to run away in the night and he'd rather stay behind trading blows with corpses. You'll regret it for-e-ver—."
"Do you know who has killed the most Holy Knights?"
"Hmm? One of the Five Lanterns of the Death God Cult? That man with the helmet?"
"Wrong."
"Then the nine-tailed fox?"
"Wrong."
"Is there even a right answer?"
"It's standing right in front of you."
Before the Sword Saint could speak, her clear eyes widening, I continued.
"I killed the most."
"Get a grip. The Holy Knights you mean were undead, not your brothers. Nothing more, nothing less."
"I killed Blash. Was he undead too?"
"…Daywin."
At that moment Chris shoved open the half-remaining chapel door and strode in. The sun passing over the open ceiling lit him like a spotlight.
"So this is where you were. We must go at once."
Chris carried the Commander's cloak, neatly folded over one arm. I turned my back on him and spoke my final words to her.
"If becoming Knight Commander is penance, then that is what I must do."
Chris unfolded the cloak and settled it across my shoulders. I drew a long breath and slid both arms into the billowing sleeves. "I'll pretend I never heard that earlier talk. Even if I regret it for the rest of my life, it doesn't matter. I probably won't live long anyway. A few years at most."
I followed Chris out.
"I'll gladly bear that much regret."
News of the Sword Saint's death reached me not long after.
Blink. Blink.
When I opened my eyes from the old thoughts, her white hair seemed to shimmer right in front of me. It had definitely been because of this sword. She had startled at nothing, spoken of things that never happened, acted as though her mind were scrambled. The suddenness of her death, too, had almost certainly been this blade throwing her spirit into chaos.
The one mercy was that items appearing in the game automatically displayed their descriptions. In my previous life I could stare forever and learn nothing, but just as with the Ring of Disguise the first time I obtained it, simply looking was enough.
A blunt weapon in the form of a sword, said to have been used by a hero a hundred years ago.
User's attack power increases by 100%.
Enchanted with magic.
Deletes all magic the user has learned (permanent).
User cannot learn magic (permanent).
A 100% increase. Merely possessing the sword doubled one's attack power. I finally understood why the Sword Saint of my previous life had refused to abandon it even as she went mad.
But without risk it would not be a magic sword.
In exchange for doubling attack power, the wielder became completely ignorant of magic. For something called a magic sword, it had nothing to do with the demonic; it was the opposite. From the moment one took it up, only physical attacks remained possible. I was glad I had already killed the older of the twins in advance—this would have been a perfect counter for him.
Now, what to do with the sword?
Laward and I used holy magic too well; we were out. For the same reason Ester was impossible. Veronica was a mage—eliminated. Amelia used magic as well—eliminated. That left Lucia… and Rebecca, who was not even a swordsman yet wanted to become a Swordmaster more than anyone.
Lucia, however, might still learn simple magic later; the permanent "cannot learn magic" clause felt uncomfortably final. She was still young. Possibility should be left open. Future magic sealed, past magic erased—completely severed from the arcane.
Wait.
Hold on…
I had been focusing on the inability to learn magic going forward. The permanent deletion of already-learned magic. Forgetting. Was there not already someone who needed that more than anyone?
Someone who was forgetting herself because the Magic Tower had forced every kind of spell into her head. Rather, it had to be her. The only person who could turn the demerit of forgetting magic and never learning it again into a merit was—
The brightest, and at the same time the darkest, heroine.
Rebecca alone.