The Contest (2)
The tightly shut doors of the audience chamber opened.
The room the Imperial Household had prepared for them, insisting they rest at ease, was far too vast and ornate for a handful of people to sit in—yet considering who occupied it, the excess hardly seemed excessive at all. It was, if anything, far too cramped to contain three transcendents.
The moment the doors parted, Caron let out a dry laugh and muttered, "So he finally deigns to make an appearance," while Yuel turned without a word. Standing there, having just stepped through the doorway, was an old man. An old man, yes—a true elder.
If the world at large regarded the elderly as vessels of the years, wise keepers of ancient insight… then in the world of warriors and mages, "old man" was simply the word for those who had lost to the passage of time. Not objects of reverence, but of mockery and scorn. After all, the moment one reached the realm of a Sword Seeker, one became wholly free of aging.
Freed from senescence. The body fixed at its absolute prime. Lifespan extended by leaps and bounds. In their world, then, an old man was nothing more than a failure who had grown old without ever climbing to Sword Seeker. And yet the world always had its exceptions.
"…"
The old man standing there now was one of them.
His hair had gone pure white. Where Yuel's silver was a cascade of silk, his was dry and brittle as grit rolling across a wasteland. And it was not only the hair. The wrinkles carved deep into his face and skin spoke of every year that had passed through him.
But that was as far as it went.
His back did not stoop. His shoulders did not curl inward. His eyes had not clouded. This was no giant swept away by the current of years, but one who stood his ground inside that current, stubborn and immovable. That was the impression Najin took from him. The man's frame was solid enough to match it, too.
"Clear the seats," said Gerd, Sword Master of the Empire. "Make room, Yuel. Caron."
At the summons Caron rose with a shrug of his shoulders. He had enjoyed himself enough and talked enough. Yuel stood in silence as well. Both of them respected Gerd. This was the Empire, and Gerd was one of its pillars. Transcendents might stand on equal footing in theory, but at the Empire's heart it was convention to honor Gerd first. Conversely, within the Sword Church or the Holy Blood Church's cathedral, Caron and Yuel respectively received that same deference. An agreement struck to keep friction among transcendents to a minimum. By that rule, Yuel and Caron yielded the floor.
"Don't scare the boy too badly, Sir Gerd," Caron muttered as he left.
Once they were gone, Gerd flicked his hand once. That alone banished the liquor-reek that had been thrumming through the room. In an instant the air was clean.
"This place is too small," Gerd murmured.
Before Najin could answer, Gerd raised a foot and stamped the floor. A heavy thud rolled outward—and something was painted over the chamber.
Najin's eyes flew wide. As if someone had flung wet pigment across a finished canvas, a new landscape was layering itself over the audience room. Wind howled though the doors were shut. Najin squinted against the gale; his hair whipped wildly. After the wind came a single flash of light. When he opened his eyes again, the four walls of the chamber were gone.
An open grassland stretched to the horizon and beyond.
A footfall thundered. In its wake, mana erupted from within the audience chamber and shook the building. Those standing outside collapsed one after another, unable to withstand it—yet two alone reacted to the surge.
Sword Saint Caron and the Executioner Yuel.
Both heads snapped around at once. Both swords left their scabbards at once. Not a judgment—an unconscious reflex. The moment they registered that they stood outside the domain's reach, they let out short breaths and lowered their blades.
"That…" Caron scowled. "Throwing his domain around like he owns the place. Miserable old bastard never changes."
"I share the sentiment," Yuel answered flatly. "Unfurling a sword domain at the very heart of the Empire is illegal in the strictest sense. Even if the Empire's First Pillar enjoys certain extralegal privileges, this is an abuse of power. Conduct for which one could, in the proper season, demand accountability."
"Problem is, who in this world is going to hold the Empire's First Pillar accountable?"
"The Empire's Sun could."
"And if the Sun permitted it, that's why the old man moved. That's the kind of man he is."
Looking thoroughly displeased, Caron flicked the tip of his sword; the landscape that had clung to the edge dissolved into the air. Yuel shook a similar residue from her own blade. Had the space tried to swallow them as well, they would have cut without hesitation—it would have been open provocation, a first strike. But the domain was confined to the room beyond the door. Still offensive, yet not quite grounds for a formal protest. Caron sheathed his sword with a long exhale. There was only one reason Gerd would pull a stunt like this.
He wants to scrape the bottom of the boy's talent.
Caron had been on the receiving end once himself. The old man could not rest until he had dug to the floor of any gifted soul he met and seen it with his own eyes. Which was exactly why Caron had warned him not to push too hard.
"Didn't listen to a single damn word, of course." Caron clicked his tongue. The old man's pure devotion to the sword was worthy of respect; his personality was not. A madman who knew nothing but Empire and blade. Confirming an old assessment of his, Caron shook his head.
"No wonder people call me the only sane one of the three."
"Pardon? What did you say?"
"…"
Caron looked at Yuel in silence. One a blood-mad killer, the other a lunatic who knew only Empire and steel. Being lumped in with them suddenly felt deeply unfair.
"Nothing."
"I see."
Caron sighed and trudged away. Mid-step he glanced back over his shoulder and allowed himself a thin smile.
So you mean to strip the boy bare, do you…
He thought of Najin—his unofficial disciple, the one he had taught a few lessons of the sword—and snorted.
It won't be that easy.
That brat was not about to let himself be fleeced without a fight. Underestimate him and you were the one who would catch a counterpunch. With that thought, Caron left. The boy did not look as if he needed help.
When Najin blinked, a boundless grassland filled his vision. He drew a long breath. Even the air was different from a moment ago—proof this was no mere illusion. Or perhaps an extraordinarily sophisticated hallucination spell…
It isn't.
Merlin would have seen through any such trick. That left only one possibility: the exclusive privilege of those who had reached Sword Master—the sword domain, known by a dozen names. Caron had spoken of it once. The act of painting one's mindscape over the world itself, and standing upright inside a realm of one's own making.
Najin exhaled the breath he had taken and looked ahead. The master of this world stood there. Gerd regarded him with eyes gone cold and still.
"You do not seem surprised."
"I've had more than my share of surprises," Najin answered at once. Somehow he felt that yielding even an inch of pressure would be a mistake. He settled his breathing and planted his feet. An exit? A means of escape? With his current strength, almost certainly impossible.
He doesn't mean to kill me.
The Empire's First Pillar was the Emperor's sword. He would never act against the Emperor's will. And the Emperor of the Empire was not the sort to nod in open court only to arrange something like this behind the curtain. There would have been no need for such theater in the first place.
Which left only one question.
"May I ask the reason?" Najin met Gerd's gaze squarely.
"His Majesty said the Empire would watch you," Gerd replied, holding the look.
"I remember. He did say that."
"And I am the Empire's first pillar. When His Majesty spoke of the Empire, I was included."
Not wrong. Not entirely right, either. Najin frowned. Going hard against the Empire's Sword Master would gain him nothing—yet bowing his head did not sit well either.
"What exactly have I done? I haven't done anything yet. Aren't you jumping the gun?"
"Better early than late."
"What is it you want to see in me?"
"What you are hiding." The old man pointed at him. "You did not lay everything bare before the Emperor. I sense it—you are concealing something. I intend to see it."
In short: he meant to strip Najin of every last card. Hearing someone state it so baldly, Najin almost laughed despite himself. Why did every person he met seem desperate to loot his reserves?
A genius, as a rule, draws the envy and jealousy of others—
"You did the same thing, Merlin."
I… was different. That wasn't jealousy. I had to verify it, and I apologized afterward…! Wait—are you seriously going to hold that against me?
"I'm joking. You know that."
While Merlin grumbled in an injured tone, Najin narrowed his eyes. Something he was hiding? Of course there was. But it was nothing he could ever show.
Is this someone I can reason with?
At a glance he seemed more functional than Yuel, at least. Najin carefully selected each word.
"Everyone lives with at least one secret. Hidden strength only has value because it stays hidden."
"A fair point."
"So I cannot show you."
"You do not deny that you are hiding something?"
"Would denying it change anything?"
Gerd nodded, as if the answer pleased him.
"The oath you cried out before the Emperor was true. Even if your conviction should one day break, for now you will move to keep that oath. The force, the mettle, the resonance of the soul you showed when you spoke those words—I trust them." His tone was almost kindly; his eyes were mild. "But this is a separate matter."
The old man's eyes narrowed. In that instant killing intent crashed over Najin. Not the indiscriminate, unconscious pressure of Yuel's aura—this was a vast, deliberate will aimed at a single target, meant to crush and grind. Veins stood out in Najin's eyes.
Tak.
He stepped back on pure reflex and seized his sword hilt. As if he had been waiting for exactly that, Gerd withdrew the killing intent and pointed at Najin's hands.
"The way you grip the sword. That instantaneous motion of yours. The hand that stretched out as you retreated."
Where Gerd's fingertip indicated was not the left hand clenched on the hilt, but Najin's right—hanging empty in the air, as if ready at any moment to draw something from the void itself.
"It deepens my suspicion."
The Empire's Sword Master drew a long breath. Standing straight on the trembling grassland, the old man asked:
"Are you the master of Excalibur?"
Are you the master of Excalibur?
The question did not rattle Najin. Until now no one had doubted him—but the situation had changed. Anyone might doubt him now. He had built a record that justified it.
The reaction was a slip—but I can still recover.
He steadied his breath and lowered his hand. How should he act? How should he get out of this? His mind raced.
Empire's First Pillar, Gerd. What kind of man was this old man?
A man who threw away everything for the sword and the Empire.
The only values that old man worships are the blade and the Empire. Lover, children, his own life—he discarded them all.
Words he had once heard from Caron. Records he had read of Gerd. A human who believed in nothing but sword and Empire. In other words—the sword.
A man who had devoted his life to the blade. A swordsman.
Using that as his measure, Najin assembled the sentences in his head. Surviving against the strong by reading them had always been his specialty. Interest. Creed. Values. Use them to slip past the moment.
"Sir Gerd."
"I asked a question. Answer it."
"I am nothing beside you, but I am still a swordsman." Najin smiled. "Since when does a swordsman set his blade aside and chatter with his mouth? If you have something to ask, ask with the sword. Is that not a swordsman's proper way?"
Gerd's eyes shifted. He did not speak, yet the corner of his mouth moved. Najin did not miss it.
"Between you and me lies a gulf as wide as heaven and earth—but we are both swordsmen. That much is the same."
Najin drew his sword in a rough, ringing motion.
"I challenge you to a duel."
"Me?"
"Yes. Not the Empire's First Pillar—Sword Master Gerd, who reached transcendence as a single blade."
At that answer Gerd could no longer hold it in; laughter burst from him. The duel Najin had asked for was not aimed at the Empire's First Pillar, who sought to map a variable for the Empire's safety. It was aimed at the swordsman Gerd, who had approached out of pure interest, who simply wanted to cross blades with a gifted soul.
You want to see my floor?
Then ask with the sword. Is that not a swordsman's way? That was what the boy before him had said.
Gerd understood the intent. Understanding made it absurd; absurdity made it interesting; interest cracked a laugh through his lips. Challenging him to a duel? Him? How long had it been since anyone had dared, after he reached transcendence?
"Hah."
Laughter shattered the old man's blank face. The mask he wore splintered. Beneath it stood a madman who had thrown his entire life into the sword.
Facing that madman, Najin smiled.
"But if this is only a one-sided trampling, I can hardly show you my reserves, can I?"
"True. You want me to set limits on myself?"
"If you will refrain from using what is exclusive to Sword Masters, that will be enough."
Gerd laughed.
"Clever little schemes."
"I'd prefer you call it intelligence. I'd be grateful."
The Empire's Sword Master drew his blade. The old man was smiling as if the situation delighted him—yet the instant steel cleared the scabbard, every sense in Najin's body snapped taut. It was chilling. It was hair-raising. Instinct screamed.
If you mean to strip my reserves…
Still, Najin smiled.
…then you'd better be ready to have yours stripped too, Sword Master of the Empire.