Youngest Sword Seeker (4)

Under the Arhevtz Act, the particulars of any Sword Seeker who voluntarily registered were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠published across the Empire. It was both a check upon the individual and an advertisement.

I wield such-and-such arms.

I possess such-and-such skill.

The mere act of declaring it was a form of publicity. At the level of Sword Seeker there was no place that would not make use of you; every faction lit up with greed and scrambled to claim such elite manpower. Public disclosure alone meant letters poured in from every quarter. Please, join us.

…Of course, as anyone would expect, none of it happened overnight. No one vaulted to the realm of Sword Seeker in a single morning. Anyone who approached that height inevitably had rumors swirling about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them for months before they actually crossed the threshold. That was the usual pattern.

So for those few months every faction, noble house, and knightly order prepared its scouting offer—after enough quiet investigation to craft a proposal the target would find irresistible. When the rolls of Sword Seeker-class powerhouses were finally updated, the groups would simply think, Ah, so he finally made it, and present the offers they had already prepared.

This time was different.

A list updated out of nowhere. And the name on it… someone people had heard of in passing but never paid real attention to. Known as Expert-rank, active for less than half a year; everyone had judged it too early to make contact.

And then, suddenly, Sword Seeker?

Had he been hiding his true strength?

Information on the man was thin. No one knew what to offer him. Hidden masters from the wilderness sometimes made sudden appearances like this, but even that was rare. Each faction opened the file with a dazed sort of feeling…

And then, reading the number written at the very end of the entry—

—the entire Empire turned upside down.

2.

Those who possessed talent with the sword and who had received proper support—when one averaged only such people, the mean age of a Sword Expert fell somewhere between the late twenties and early thirties. The mean age of a Sword Seeker was measured in the late fifties. That had been common knowledge for more than a thousand years, ever since the founding of the Empire.

Of course prodigies who rewrote the records appeared from time to time, yet never by any great margin.

It was only natural. Raising one’s realm was the act of elevating the grade of one’s very soul. Only long years of polishing the self could scour away the grime that clung to the spirit and achieve sublimation… so quite apart from talent, the ascent demanded time.

—And that was precisely why Sword Saint Caron had been so alien.

He had climbed with impossible speed. He had advanced without the slightest obstruction. He had shattered every youngest-ever record in succession. The gazes that once brimmed with jealousy, suspicion, and doubt had, by the time he reached the realm of Master, transformed into pure admiration and longing.

A genius without peer.

A genius who would not appear again for a thousand years.

Those praises had been heaped upon Caron less than a decade ago. And now the Empire was struck by another seismic shock.

A boy of barely eighteen had reached the realm of Sword Seeker. He had shortened the record of the peerless genius Caron by a full twelve years, and sliced nearly forty years off the average.

“Impossible!”

“Something is wrong!”

Countless voices rose in outrage. Loudest among them were the imperial historians who chronicled the Empire’s history. The same men who had raised their voices in Caron’s day—men who believed themselves the living history of the Empire.

They would have to tear open and rewrite the chronicles again. Having already been forced to revise countless volumes for the Sword Saint, they were ready to climb the walls.

“The result is flawed! It defies all principle—this is an anomaly!”

“We must investigate possible cultist influence.”

“The examination was in error. A re-examination is required…”

Their language was extreme, yet it found ready sympathy among the public. By any ordinary measure the thing was absurd. Even if a record was to be broken, who broke it like this?

“Even the Sword Saint—yes, the peerless genius himself—grew with the full support of the Sword Church. He had a solid foundation. But that boy? He has none. He simply appeared out of nowhere. Even his place of origin is unclear!”

“Everything about him is suspicious!”

“He’s been active only half a year. Is he some homunculus the Mage Towers cooked up?”

Many insisted something had to be wrong.

When the clamor grew too loud, the Empire released the full examination record and the identity of the examiner. Those who had been shouting leapt at the chance to tear the invigilator apart—until they saw the name.

The instant they confirmed the invigilator’s name, every mouth snapped shut. Those who had questioned her competence went deathly pale for good measure.

No one failed to understand what it meant to cast doubt on her skill. Nor did anyone forget that if she expressed displeasure, most organizations simply ceased to exist. In the end the Empire fell silent.

So it was genuine, without a single falsehood?

Truly—had someone reached the realm of Sword Seeker at a mere eighteen years of age? Was such a thing even conceivable?

While the world reeled, the finishing blow landed. The Emperor summoned the Sword Masters. The stated purpose was to commemorate a historic moment. The moment the Emperor himself intervened, everything became truth.

…Najin was summoned to the Imperial Palace.

Until the palace released further news, no one could know anything. Countless people held their breath and waited for word. And even while they waited, the news itself raced across the Empire—spreading the arrival of the youngest Sword Seeker in history.

The lord of Trevache, Marquis Edelmar, took one look at the enormous letters on the dispatch—“Youngest Sword Seeker, Najin”—and burst into a standing ovation.

“Bravo! Bravo!”

See? The young man I marked from the start! Were my eyes not exact? Did I not say he would cause a magnificent disaster? Having shouted as much, the marquis upended a bottle of his finest reserved wine and issued orders to every theatrical troupe he sponsored.

Turn it into a play at once.

Make a stage production of the tales of Najin and Dieta.

This was Trevache’s chance to rise as a tourist destination.

For once even his household knights did not try to stop him. After all, House Trevache had been the first noble house to make contact with Najin, and now the world’s gaze was fixed upon them. Marquis Edelmar had no intention of missing the chance to be celebrated as a visionary investor who had seen the future.

Sword Seeker Roselyn Ascalo already knew Najin had reached that realm, so while the adventurer city seethed she wore a rather relaxed expression.

“Boss, you see that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. This big sister can tell just by looking, got it? I said that bastard was gonna pull something huge…”

“You saw all the way to this from back then?”

“Obviously, dumbass. Not just anyone gets to be a party leader.”

“Even that the kid called Ivan was… eighteen?”

“Of course—wait. What’d you just say?”

Roselyn snatched the newspaper her subordinate had been reading. The moment she saw the banner headline—“At the age of eighteen he has become a Sword Seeker…”—her eyes flew wide open.

Eighteen? Eighteen years old?

Hell, she’d figured he was at least mid-twenties.

Roselyn blinked with a vacant look on her face. Even she was thrown into confusion, and the adventurer city spent a noisy stretch of time simply waiting for Najin’s return.

The Serpent That Swallows Gold Coins.

Dieta, master of the Dieta Trading Company, hummed a little tune as she entered the meeting hall. Of course she was in high spirits. Her company’s stock was skyrocketing in real time.

Everyone knew that Najin and Dieta shared an extremely close relationship, both public and private. Because of that, people came seeking information from her not only inside the adventurer city but from beyond its walls as well. She was a merchant; she understood perfectly that formless information could sometimes be worth a fortune. With her purse growing fat, the smile never left her lips.

Well, that’s one thing.

The mere fact that the man she had marked was rising so splendidly was pleasure enough. Watching the attention pour in from every direction made her a little sour, but so what?

The first seat is mine.

First investor, first friend. Wherever one went, the value of the first seat was immense. And she fully intended to claim every other first seat one by one. Dreaming such dreams, Dieta snapped open the newspaper she had brought and spread it across her office desk.

Come to think of it, he never did tell me his age, did he?

This time she would finally confirm it. Heart fluttering, Dieta looked down at the paper…

“Huh?”

She choked on her own breath. A dry cough escaped her. After several more coughs she thumped her chest and checked the newspaper again.

Eighteen. An unchanging number.

Dieta was twenty. Which meant Najin was two years younger than she was.

“He’s younger? For real?”

Dieta’s eyes went round. Beside her, her guardian knight Pasion also went round-eyed—for two reasons. One was Najin’s age. The other was the discovery that his master’s eyes could open that wide.

Both of them stared at the newspaper with perfectly circular eyes.

Master of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sword Church, Sword Saint Caron, dressed for the first time in a long while in the formal uniform of the order and carefully adjusted his attire. Ordinarily he would simply throw on a loose robe and wander off, but the occasion this time forbade it.

The Emperor had issued a summons of the Sword Lords.

Sword Masters buried in the Field of Stars or the Magic Frontiers were exempt, but those who still operated inland—Caron among them—were obliged to answer. Of course, even without obligation he would have gone with a glad heart.

“So the brat’s name was Najin.”

Caron gave a short laugh.

Sword Seeker at eighteen—he had expected youth, but this surpassed imagination. The fact that his own record had been broken only made him laugh harder.

He was, after all, the boy’s unofficial teacher.

He ought to celebrate his disciple’s debut.

“Can’t go empty-handed.”

Caron flicked a finger. The high priest waiting nearby brought forth a single sword—this year’s masterpiece, forged by a master smith of the Sword Church. It would make a suitable gift.

Executioner of the Holy Blood Church, Yuel Razian, had been single-handedly storming a den of demon contractors near the Magic Frontier when she checked the urgent telegram that had just arrived. A smile touched her lips.

“So it has come.”

Yuel already knew Najin’s age and realm. He had been close to Sword Seeker even then, and in a single month he had crossed the threshold. Remarkable. Murmuring as much, she swung her sword.

With every stroke blood sprayed. The carefully wrought magic of the demon contractors shredded like paper, and their bodies were finely deconstructed.

She tied a reply—“I shall answer the summons”—to a messenger bird and sent it flying, then tipped a bottle to her lips. Savoring the mild heat of the liquor, she reset her grip on the sword. Cutting down heretics was enjoyable, yet meeting that boy again promised to be still more so.

The screams of the demon contractors echoed. Through those echoing screams Yuel’s blade flashed.

First Horn of the Empire, Gerd.

Having dispatched the letters to the Sword Masters in accordance with the Emperor’s will, he returned to the grassland reserved for him alone. And he swung his sword. Even while the entire Empire turned upside down, the old man’s daily routine did not change by so much as a hair.

The old man simply swung his sword—silently, as he always had.

3.

Najin was led somewhere while wearing a blindfold. The blindfold was inscribed with every manner of formula; even when he blinked behind it, the world remained only a blur.

I can almost see…

If he forced strength into his eyes the scenery grew clearer, but the formulas etched into the cloth then screeched with a noisy chiiiiik!, so Najin simply closed them again.

How long did he walk?

The royal guard walking ahead of him stopped. Then came a heavy gooong as a great door swung open. Once they stepped inside, the guard removed Najin’s blindfold. Najin blinked several times, adjusting to the dazzling light.

Only then did he open his eyes fully and look around.

The space was structured like a courtroom and an arena at once. Najin stood in the center of a circular chamber. Looking up, he found people gazing down upon him.

Sword Saint Caron.

The killer Yuel Razian.

First Horn of the Empire, Gerd.

Three Sword Masters entered his sight. Caron shrugged toward him. Yuel waved openly in greeting—though her face remained expressionless, making the gesture somewhat awkward.

And Gerd—

The old man who was the First Horn of the Empire watched Najin through narrowed eyes. It was a colorless gaze that held even less emotion than Yuel’s.

Then…

Najin lifted his head a little higher, toward the figure seated one tier above the Sword Masters. A man with platinum hair the color of starlight cascading down. There was no need to ask who he was. In the entire Empire only one person could sit above the Sword Masters.

“I present myself before the Sun of the Empire.”

Najin dropped to one knee and bowed his head. The instant he began to lower it still further, a voice said that was enough. Only after permission was granted did he raise his face.

“You know why you have been summoned.”

The Emperor of the Empire smiled.

“You have proven that you rose to the realm by the grade of your soul. Yet you are a seeker of the sword—a swordsman.”

He swept his arm. Fabric fluttered and a wash of light unfurled.

“A swordsman is one who takes the blade as a single brush and tells his own story. One who proves himself at the tip of the sword.”

The unfurled light illuminated Najin.

“Before the proud Sword Lords of the Empire, prove yourself.”

In short: show the evidence of a Sword Seeker.

So that was why they had not confiscated his sword even for an audience with the Emperor. Najin straightened the knee he had bent and rose to his feet.

“Gladly.”

Najin drew his blade.

With three Sword Masters watching, he concentrated on every motion more carefully than ever before. The tip of the sword rose in a clean arc until it pointed at the ceiling—a single blade set in a straight line with the sky.

With the sword he half-covered his face.

The sword salutation he had learned from Ivan.

Eyes closed, Najin focused upon his inner world.

What he drew with the tip of the sword was a star—the star he had dreamed of in a place where no stars could be seen. Opening his eyes, he gave the blade a light sweep.

Shhhhssss!

Along the path of the tip, gold and white light bloomed and scattered. The gold gathered into small circles; the white became the lines that linked circle to circle. What took shape was a constellation wrought of white and gold.

The light that had been illuminating Najin was drowned out by the light he himself created and could no longer be seen. Only the radiance born of Najin’s sword-aura filled the chamber.

And the three Sword Masters and the Emperor who watched that sight all went wide-eyed. They could not help it.

White and gold.

The two colors that formed the stars coexisted, and the sword-aura itself took the shape of a constellation.

The two colors had not blended into platinum; yet what the boy had drawn was a sword-aura that approached starlight ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠itself. No one present failed to understand what that meant. Nowhere in the Empire would one find a person who did not know.

The boy’s sword-aura resembled the sword-aura of King Arthur.