A Light That Must Not Be Held (2)
Only when early morning arrived did the battle finally end.
They had succeeded in cutting down Horce after breaking through the countless addicts Hakan had prepared and the labyrinth of traps and tunnels he had set, but they had delayed far too long.
"We're screwed."
Oppen groaned. He rolled his aching arms in wide circles—he had swung his sword so relentlessly that they felt like lead—and shot Ivan a sidelong glance. Ivan's face was set in a hard, frozen mask.
Well, that was only natural.
In the middle of the fighting both men had seen it: a star rising in the sky of the underground city. They could not know the full story, but they knew Najin had done something, and that whatever it was had more than enough force to draw the surface world's attention.
In other words, everything had gone wrong in the worst possible way.
In silence the two of them returned to the heart of the underground city. The central district was littered with the corpses of addicts; the reek of blood and drugs hung thick in the air. Even by the most generous measure, the atmosphere was anything but peaceful.
Organization members stood with nerves drawn tight as bowstrings. Residents whispered behind shuttered walls. When Ivan returned their eyes flicked toward him for a moment, then moved on. Ivan followed their gaze. At the center of the plaza stood a single figure who looked as though he had been sent from the surface.
The man was not dressed like an ordinary soldier. Dark leather covered his face and body completely.
"…A shadow agent of the Church," Oppen muttered under his breath.
Ivan's expression tightened further. He took one step forward. The agent lifted his head. The moment their eyes met, the man spoke.
"Hear me, criminal Ivan."
It was a formal proclamation.
"Sir Berlo, knight of the Holy Light Church, desires an audience with you. Criminal Ivan, answer the summons."
Knight. Berlo.
At that name Ivan's face went rigid as stone.
"Follow."
Ivan departed in the agent's wake. Oppen watched until the man was out of sight, then let out a long, heavy sigh. He could feel in his bones how thoroughly the situation had twisted itself into knots.
…Oppen was a mercenary.
To survive as a mercenary one always had to judge quickly. Oppen assessed the present moment and made his decision—the decision he had postponed for far too long.
"So it comes to this after all."
He sighed again and set off somewhere of his own.
An alley where even the dim glow of the ore-lamps did not reach.
Najin sat with his back against the wall of the deserted side street, slowly catching his breath. He had only just begun to grow used to mana, yet he had drawn sword aura and fought with it; the backlash was crashing over him now.
A draining exhaustion that dragged at every limb. On top of that, the wounds from the fight with Hakan made even remaining upright a kind of penance.
At least one thing's fortunate…
Najin glanced at his own arm. The arm that had taken the explosion head-on, the one that had hung limp and useless, had recovered enough that he could move it again. Swinging a sword would still be hard, but it no longer hindered ordinary motion.
Abnormal recovery.
Guessing where it came from was not difficult. It had to be the blessing carried by Excalibur. In the old hero-tales King Arthur would charge the enemy again even with a broken arm and holes punched through her body, healing in an instant.
Najin did not yet possess that transcendent regeneration, but the holy sword's restorative power was still a great help. The fact that he could move at all right now was thanks to it.
"…"
Silently he looked down at his right wrist. When he narrowed his eyes and focused on the flow of power, a pattern in the shape of a constellation surfaced on the skin. The change had occurred the moment he decided he needed to hide Excalibur.
The star-sword that had turned into starlight and settled into his body. If he focused on the current and closed his hand on empty air, he could draw the blade again. Najin stared at the constellation etched into his wrist for a long while, then let out a dry, humorless laugh.
Still can't believe it.
It still did not feel real. Yet he knew he would now have to pay the price for drawing the sword. Ivan had said it was all right to cross the line, but even that had limits.
This had crossed the line by far too much.
Far too many people had witnessed the moment he pulled the holy sword free. Among them were soldiers sent from the surface; the news would already have reached those above.
How would they respond?
They'll probably…
Try to bury him.
Najin always assumed the worst. He never counted on the slim chance that things might work out. The world had always been cruel to the boy.
The odds that Ivan and Oppen would turn against him were high. They were people, after all, and to people their own safety always came first. Until he understood the situation clearly, escape had to be the priority.
…But where?
There was no exit from the underground city. The only path upward was the single gate at the central district. Even if he forced his way through it, he would only be skewered on the spears and blades of the guards and knights waiting above.
Where to run, how, and how far—he had no idea. He would have to figure that out from this moment on.
Blink.
His eyelids kept drifting shut. Fatigue from forcing mana through his channels, plus the strange draining emptiness left by wielding Excalibur, washed over him. Thinking he would rest his eyes for only a moment, Najin leaned his head back against the alley wall.
How much time passed after that?
Footsteps.
At the sound of approaching steps Najin's eyes snapped open. Footfalls echoed down the alley, accompanied by the scrape of something being dragged. The sounds grew closer.
"…"
He held his breath and smothered every trace of presence. Then, watching the figure that emerged from the darkness, his eyes went wide.
"You think nobody's going to notice if you leave a trail of blood like that, you stupid brat? They've already spotted you, so get out here."
It was Oppen, his sword instructor. Relief surged through Najin and he almost rose at once—then he checked the movement. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, or what choice Oppen had made.
"Tsk. Raise a disciple and he's not worth a damn. First thing he does is get suspicious."
Oppen clicked his tongue. From inside his coat he pulled a bag and tossed it toward the place where Najin was hiding.
"Come out. I'm not planning to kill you."
"…"
Najin carefully pushed himself to his feet. He picked up the bag Oppen had thrown; inside were bandages for treating wounds, a few simple potions, and a thick pile of dried meat.
"Wrap those cuts. Nothing easier to track than a kid leaking blood everywhere."
Muttering, Oppen gestured for him to move aside. When Najin stepped out of the way, Oppen dumped the corpse of an addict he had dragged all this way onto the spot where Najin had just been sitting.
Then—thunk.
He drove a knife into the body, letting the addict's blood cover Najin's own.
"From now on you'd better move without leaving footprints. Trackers will be on you soon."
"…What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? Helping you run, can't you tell?"
Oppen shot him a look. Najin simply stared back in silence. Under that gaze Oppen let out a long sigh and spoke again.
"A knight and a shadow agent came down from the surface. From the looks of it they were sent to put you in the ground for good, and they took Ivan with them. By now they'll have finished talking and made their decision."
He raked a hand through his hair, as if the whole situation irritated him.
"Ivan's a realist. Or rather, he was forced to become one. He knows what's best in this mess. His plan to raise you has already gone to hell, so there's only one card left for him to play."
Oppen drew a finger across his own throat.
"Killing you. If he doesn't, he dies too. In the end, before he's a knight, he's just a man. And to a man his own life comes first—you know that."
"…I know."
"Good. So don't hate him too much for it."
Oppen exhaled slowly.
"But me? I don't particularly want to watch that. It's a filthy thing to do. So I'd rather you run."
He did not want to see the two of them raise swords against each other, each trying to kill the other. Nor did he want to see either of them die.
"But where?" Najin answered. "There's nowhere to run. Eventually I'd have to leave this underground city, and the only way out is the gate…"
"There's one more."
Oppen cut him off and pointed at the bag.
"There's a map inside. The lowest level of the city—the place where they dump the garbage into the landfill. Go a little farther and you'll find a cliff where the water falls."
A place ordinary people could never descend. Even someone of Ivan's or Oppen's caliber would have to stake their life to climb down that sheer drop. A cliff from which no one who went down ever came back up.
"If you go down the cliff and follow the waterway, you can get out of the underground city. You'll have to risk your life, but accept that much. There is no other path."
The only way to leave this city alive.
Najin had no way of knowing, but the bag and the map were things Oppen had prepared long ago. From the very day he confirmed the boy's talent, Oppen had made ready—so that if everything ever went wrong, he could send Najin out of this place.
Oppen was a mercenary, and a famous one who had survived for a very long time. In the days when his name still carried weight on the surface he had been meticulously prepared, always assuming the worst and always finding a brilliant way for himself alone to live. The special skill he had never needed after falling into the underground city, he now used for the boy he had taught.
Looking at Najin, whose eyes wavered as they met his, Oppen shrugged.
"What are you staring at? What, are you moved?"
"…What about you and Ivan?"
"No point in us running."
Oppen grinned crookedly.
"Everyone who fell into this city has been branded by the Holy Light Church. The moment we step somewhere starlight can touch us, pursuers will be right on our heels. But not you."
He had not been cast down here for a crime. He had never stood on the Church's judgment platform. He had simply been born in this city; no brand was affixed to him.
"So you can run."
"…Why go this far for me?"
"Who knows."
Oppen smiled bitterly.
"Truth is, unlike Ivan I don't have much attachment left to living. Up on the surface I was the captain of a pretty successful mercenary company, you know?"
A story he had never told before.
"I got the respect, I did everything there was to do, I saw every ugly and beautiful side of life. Pretty much everything a man can enjoy, I enjoyed. But there was exactly one thing I never managed."
He spoke of his life on the surface.
"A star."
Oppen looked at Najin.
"Having a star of my own. The first step toward becoming a constellation in that night sky. Building an achievement the heavens would recognize and carving a star up there. That one thing I never did."
To be precise, he had tried—and then fallen into this city. Muttering that, Oppen grinned again.
"I failed."
He raised a hand.
"But you're different."
You.
"You've got talent. You're not the kind of kid who should rot down here. Letting you waste away in a place like this without even getting a chance to try—it's just too much of a waste."
Najin, you have talent. You carry a light that should not be left to rot in a city like this.
Perhaps, on that day long ago, Oppen had glimpsed in the boy the dream he himself had abandoned.
"Last night—the star that lit up the underground city. That was you, right? The organization boys were yapping that you pulled a holy sword. Is the rumor true?"
Najin nodded without a word. Then he focused on his wrist and closed his hand on empty air. Even though he gripped as lightly as he could, starlight bloomed and softly illuminated the alley.
He had heard the rumors, yet the moment he faced the sword of stars Oppen's eyes flew wide open.
With a dazed look he reached out unthinkingly toward the star held in Najin's hand. The instant his fingers touched it, the starlight scattered—as if declaring he had no right to it.
"…Honestly."
A star that could not be grasped no matter how far one reached, and for that very reason shone all the more brilliantly. Gazing at it, Oppen laughed for the first time in a long while—the same way he had laughed as a young man still chasing dreams.
"What a damn monster."
Hiding the bitterness, Oppen reached to his waist.
"That thing's too bright to use while you're on the run. So…"
The sword sheathed there. Before coming here, old man Hogel had suddenly appeared in the central district and pressed it into Oppen's hands.
Give this to the brat.
Even if he breaks this one I won't fix it, so tell him to use it well.
The blade the old blacksmith had forged for the boy. Oppen held it out to Najin.
"Old man Hogel said so."
That if you break it, he'll kill you.
At those words Najin found himself smiling without meaning to.
"Go."
He had delivered what needed delivering. He had said what needed saying. Oppen slowly rose, turned his back on the boy, and began to walk away. After he had taken several steps, a voice came from behind him.
"Oppen."
He looked back. There stood Najin, slowly bowing his head.
"Thank you, Master."
So at the end he calls me Master, does he. Looking at the boy who had bowed so deeply, Oppen let out a short, quiet snort of laughter.
"I'll be direct."
Berlo, knight of the Holy Light Church.
"Cooperate with the search, Ivan."
He looked down at Ivan, who knelt surrounded by the Church's hunting hounds, and spoke in a low voice.
"Find the boy who pulled the holy sword and kill him. If you fail to bring me his corpse, I will kill you…"
A junior who had once belonged to the same order of knights, long ago. Looking at the man who had lost his honor and could no longer call himself a knight of Atanga, Berlo smiled.
"But if you bring it, I will restore the honor you lost."
He pointed at Ivan's empty eye socket.
"I will write a letter of recommendation in the name of the Holy Light Church so that you may be reinstated as a knight of Atanga."
Unlike Archbishop Orlan, Berlo knew how to compromise with reality and how to handle people. Man or beast, it made no difference. Give them a stick and a carrot and even the wisest sage could be driven like an animal.
"Choose, Ivan."
Berlo offered the proposal—and the threat.