The Essence of Three Hundred Years (2)
As he plummeted from the cliff, Najin thought.
Fight that thing without using aura? With nothing but the longsword in his hand? He glanced down at the Outer Land golem roaring below.
It looked disgustingly solid.
A longsword, of course, was never meant for splitting hard things. Plenty of swordsmen—Sword Experts among them—carved through rock and steel with aura as if it were nothing, so people could be forgiven for the misconception. But a longsword had been forged to thrust into the gaps of armor or slice flesh. It was not, at the very least, a tool for cleaving stone.
Granted, Najin’s transcendent strength and a rare-metal blade might have let him split ordinary rock even without aura. The stone that formed this Outer Land golem’s body, however, was a far cry from ordinary rock.
Rock steeped in starlight until it turned hideously hard. In Najin’s estimation, cutting that golem without aura was an unreasonable demand. He looked toward the Helmeted Knight.
That man could probably do it, though.
The Helmeted Knight’s strike. Recalling that single blow that had split the earth and cleanly parted stone without a scrap of aura, Najin was certain the knight could carve the golem apart bare-handed, aura or no.
The same went for Caron, Yuel, and Gerd.
They had casually turned aside Najin’s aura-wrapped blade without ever drawing their own. Things Sword Masters could do and he could not. Najin let out a short breath and adjusted his grip. Whatever else, he had to try.
GUOOOOOOOOOOOH!
He raised his sword toward the bellowing golem. Drawing aura came as naturally as breathing, so he had to fight the impulse as he swung.
Swish.
The tip sliced air. Not as sharp as usual, but more than enough to take a man’s head. Unfortunately, what stood before him was not a man—it was a golem of meteoric stone.
CLANG!
The golem’s thrusting stone fist met Najin’s blade. Aura would have let him part the rock smoothly, or at least shove the hand aside with repulsive force…
Ting.
Now it did neither.
His sword bounced off uselessly. As the golem’s fist drove forward, shoving his own edge aside, Najin felt the urge to grab the back of his neck in frustration.
Can I even cut this thing?
He twisted aside, dodged the fist, then ran up the golem’s arm while resetting his grip. There was an old saying: no tree falls after only ten strikes. If one blow failed, he would try a hundred.
Both hands clamped on the hilt, he brought the sword down like a pickaxe. Recalling the miners he used to talk with in the underground city, he swung. For a while he delivered perfect pickaxe blows—ones that would have drawn applause even from men who had spent decades in the mines.
Ten minutes passed.
In those ten minutes Najin learned something: the saying “no tree falls after only ten strikes” only worked because the target was a tree. Rocks that refused to break after ten strikes were more common than expected. One was standing right in front of him.
For fuck’s sake…
He swallowed the groan that rose to his throat and rubbed his stinging palms. The golem howled and tried to shake him off; every time, Najin simply shifted position and kept hammering its body with the sword.
Another ten minutes crawled by.
Around the time his pickaxe swings hit three digits—
“Ah, shit.”
Najin hurled the sword away.
Fortunately the blade was rare metal; a little rock-bashing had not dulled the edge. No wonder the Sword Church ranked it among their finest. A masterpiece bestowed by the Sword Saint himself…
Of course, even that masterpiece could not cut starlight-soaked stone, which left Najin more than a little disappointed. From the Church’s perspective it was an unfair complaint. Who in their right mind tried to smash rock with a sword and no aura?
“Tsk.”
Najin clicked his tongue.
Still racing across the golem’s body, he kept experimenting—swinging like a pickaxe, then pounding like a hammer.
Had he gained any insight? Not really. But it was not entirely wasted either. After about an hour of hammering rock, he started to get a feel for it.
Tik!
The instant the sword came down, the rock split. A tiny nick compared to the golem’s bulk, yet meaningful—because the tip had bitten into the stone. Najin replayed that strike in his mind and kept swinging.
This might actually be useful after all.
—Really? From where I’m sitting it looks pretty—
He shot a sidelong glance at Merlin, who was yawning with supreme indifference. What would a mage know? Naturally the thought reached her, and Merlin squawked in outrage. Najin used the noise as work song and kept swinging.
Wielding a sword without aura, he realized how heavily he had been leaning on it.
Aura was far too convenient. Even a Sword Expert’s aura possessed cutting power that outstripped most masterpieces a blacksmith might call the work of a lifetime; by Sword Seeker level, further explanation was just a waste of breath.
Cutting force that parted steel with almost no effort, heat that melted rock, repulsive power that could fling a great beast or snap bone with shock alone.
Add mindscape on top of that… and aura became something close to omnipotent. Breathing it out so casually, Najin had come to depend on it for far too much.
Every single motion is calibrated for the moment aura is drawn.
How he applied force, the angle of the swing, the arc the tip traced—all of it optimized for aura. He began correcting those motions one by one.
Ten minutes, then another ten.
The intervals stacked until more than an hour had gone by. Small nicks covered the golem’s entire body; its thrashing had slowed noticeably from exhaustion.
Najin had not.
He had swung without rest, yet far from tiring he only moved faster. Perched on the golem’s shoulder, he raised the sword high. He steadied his breath; the instant it aligned, he brought the blade down.
Just as when he had first learned the sword, he focused on every microscopic part of his body, every single motion. The sound of steel parting wind reached his ears.
The foundational cut of Imperial swordsmanship—
and the same motion the Helmeted Knight had shown.
The moment the sword fell—CRAACK!—a sound rang out almost identical to the Helmeted Knight’s. The result was similar too. Najin’s blade did not stick in the rock; it sliced clean through. The golem’s severed arm crashed to the ground.
THUD, THUUUD!
The falling boulder made a tremendous racket. Watching from below, the Helmeted Knight spoke.
“That’s it.”
He had already descended and now faced Najin.
“Aura is convenient, but get too used to it and it starts holding you back. What’s a Sword Master? Someone who has completely mastered the sword as a weapon. What good is being good at drawing aura? That just makes you an Aura Master, not a Sword Master.”
He shrugged.
“Don’t rely on aura. Don’t swing aura—swing the sword. Never forget how a sword is meant to be used.”
The Helmeted Knight flourished his blunted blade.
Najin watched. Earlier he had not understood how that motion produced such a result; now he thought he was beginning to see it, if only a little.
“Don’t waver. Be certain. A Sword Master is someone who can split anything with a single sword. If you dream of becoming one, you ought to be able to split at least rock without aura, no?”
The simplest possible swing.
And precisely because of that, the single motion contained the essence of the sword. The Helmeted Knight’s blade found the exact gap—carved a gap where none should exist into the golem’s body.
Like water following a narrow channel, like light seeping through a tiny hole, the tip forced its way into the seam.
CRAACK.
The Helmeted Knight’s edge took the golem’s leg. The cut surface was flawless—unbelievably so for a strike without aura. He grinned and pointed at the reeling golem.
“Your turn.”
He was never one for long lectures when teaching. Better to show once, better to let someone experience it once—that was his philosophy.
“This time, wrap it in aura.”
Najin did.
He raised the sword.
Sweat beaded on his brow from the concentration required for every motion. So much care went into precision that the whole sequence became painfully slow—utterly useless against a moving enemy in real combat.
Aura flared at the tip.
Even with aura drawn, he swung as if it were not there. The sword lifted high and fell like a guillotine toward the golem’s head.
Then—CRAACK.
A single line ran from the golem’s crown to its toes. The creature split along that line. Even Najin, the one who had swung, widened his eyes. He had never imagined it would cut so easily.
“Exactly that.”
The Helmeted Knight said.
“Remember the sensation. Right now you have to pour everything into every motion and consciously force it, so the strike comes out slow. But…”
He pointed at himself.
“Being able to do it as naturally as breathing—that’s a Sword Master. If you want to become one, you have to reach that level, don’t you? Well? Feel like you’re learning the sword a bit?”
“Yes. At first I had no idea what you were talking about… but this method really does help.”
“Right?” The Helmeted Knight grinned mischievously.
“Then today you’ll cut exactly ten more golems. No more, no less. And of course, without using aura.”
He cheerfully blew a horn he had produced from somewhere, then bolted straight up the cliff. Najin soon understood why he had fled.
THUD, THUUUD!
Drawn by the horn, golems were swarming from the distance. Looking at a number that easily exceeded ten, Najin laughed in disbelief.
“Fine, whatever. Let’s give it a shot.”
He reset his grip on the sword.
Najin swung until his hands went past tingling into numbness, then collapsed onto the ground. He had not counted the hours, but it felt as though he had swung without rest the entire day.
“I’ll take the watch.”
This time, at least, the Helmeted Knight showed consideration and volunteered for the night watch.
“Rest well. Starting tomorrow I’ll teach you my swordsmanship in earnest.”
“I thought you weren’t particularly eager to teach the sword.”
“I wasn’t?”
“You look like you’re enjoying it now.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
The Helmeted Knight chuckled.
“Maybe it’s because teaching you is fun. You pick everything up so fast, and you find the answer with only the smallest clue.”
“I’ve always been a quick study.”
“Honestly it’s closer to theft than learning. With those abnormal eyes of yours.”
He pointed at Najin’s pupils.
“When we first fought, and when you fought that Kruenbel fellow, your eyes never missed a single movement. You don’t just see it—you understand it in an instant and make it yours. That’s why your sword already carries the seasoned cuts of men who’ve swung for decades.”
He was right. While Najin stayed silent, the Helmeted Knight stroked the hilt tied at his waist.
“Steal all you like. Take as much as you can carry. I’ll show you everything I can.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be harder.”
Najin leaned against a rock and closed his eyes.
Having slept just fine in alleyways littered with trash, he drifted off quickly. Yet, rendering the Helmeted Knight’s night watch almost pointless, he woke again after only a few hours.
“······.”
He sat up and reflexively touched his neck. His expression had gone rigid. His heart hammered so loudly it seemed to echo.
“What? Nightmare?”
“Something like that.”
“What kind of dream?”
“A dream of getting my head cut off.”
Najin rubbed his throat as he answered.
Just as he had once experienced the memories of Schlein, captain of the Holy Flame Knights, this time he had become the Silent Knight Kruenbel and lived through his memories.
And the content of that experience had been so intense that it was more than enough to set his heart racing wildly.
In the dream, Najin’s head had been cut off three hundred seventeen times.
By a certain woman called the Revelry Emperor.