The Red-Eyed Mercenaries (6)
By the time they reached Cambria, the sun had already set.
The Central Guild had closed its doors for the night, so the Red-Eyed Mercenaries postponed reporting on the commission until morning and headed straight for a tavern. After a job well done, a round of drinks was tradition among mercenaries.
Najin was with them, of course.
He would have preferred to return to the inn and collapse into a proper sleep—but the captain of the Red-Eyed Mercenaries, Roselyn Ascalo, had her arm locked around his neck and showed no intention of letting him go.
"The liquor at this place is unreal. I'm a regular here. A regular."
Humming under her breath, Roselyn shoved the tavern door open. The place was empty. She had reserved the whole floor in advance. One by one, the members of the Red-Eyed Mercenaries took their seats at the vacant tables.
At the very center of the room—surrounded by countless tables—Roselyn dropped into a chair and planted Najin right beside her. Dozens of eyes fixed on him at once; the weight of their attention made it hard to breathe.
"Heh. Captain really took a shine to him, huh?"
"Duel with a Blood Troll? Damn. Kid's got style, I'll give him that. What's your name?"
"I heard he even pulled aura."
"Talent like that doesn't belong rotting in the Black District."
Murmurs rose around them. Mercenaries drifted closer, swinging beer mugs, circling Najin with open curiosity. He checked their rank tags out of the corner of his eye.
Lowest among them is green.
Most wore red-grade tags, and the pressure rolling off them felt close to that of a Sword Expert. Najin clicked his tongue inwardly.
They say the Red-Eyed Mercenaries can stand toe-to-toe with a proper knight order… looks like the rumors are true.
-Their level really is high. That captain especially.
Roselyn Ascalo. The mercenary band built around her was every bit as strong as the stories claimed—top-tier fighters of this city, gathered under one banner.
"Out of the way, you meatheads!"
While Najin was still taking the measure of them, Roselyn waved the clustered members off with a sweep of her hand. Chuckling, they returned to their seats. She propped her chin on one hand and stared straight at him.
"Ivan, was it?"
"Yes, that's right."
"And you're twenty-eight."
Najin nodded. Roselyn grinned.
"Twenty-eight with that face? Bullshit. You look twenty at most."
"…I'm twenty-eight."
"Sure, whatever. Has to be, or your realm doesn't make sense."
She tossed the words out casually.
"You're a Sword Expert."
"…"
"You can pull full aura. You're just not doing it. Fragments of aura don't come out that polished if you can't form the real thing."
Her eyes narrowed.
She might fool ordinary adventurers, but she couldn't fool eyes like hers. For all her careless manner, Roselyn was a genuine Sword Seeker—a powerhouse standing on the line between human and something beyond. Someone who had walked deep into the way of the sword.
"A kid who looks twenty at most, already a Sword Expert… and using both Sword Church technique and Atanga swordsmanship at the same time?"
It felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. Najin steadied his breath and met her gaze. Roselyn's narrowed eyes glittered a deep, wet red.
"Heh."
Seeing him tense, she laughed under her breath and knocked back her drink. She exhaled a long, satisfied "Haaah," then slapped him hard between the shoulder blades with an open palm.
"Why so jumpy? Who's gonna eat you?"
The sting was sharp enough that Najin rubbed his back.
"I'm just saying. Who in this city doesn't have a story? You've got yours. I'm not digging. Too much trouble."
If we're talking stories, mine's worse than most.
Muttering to herself, Roselyn pointed at her own eyes. "Red Eyes" Roselyn. Before she had named her mercenary band after them, that moniker had been little more than a slur. Kamran—the land where the Witch of the Abyss was born. Red irises marked you as one of its people.
"I'm not threatening you. I dragged you here to drink and talk. Loosen up. Want a drink?"
"I've never had one."
"What kind of brat— tch. You don't know what liquor tastes like?"
Roselyn sighed.
"If you're going to pass yourself off as twenty-eight, you at least need to know how to drink. Knock one back."
"Like I said, I've never—"
"When an adult hands you something, you take it, dumbass."
She forced a mug into his hands. Najin made a small, helpless sound. Imperial law said he was old enough, but nothing about it appealed to him.
Clink.
Half against his will he touched mugs with her and tipped the drink back. It went down clean and cold, but it didn't taste like much—just cold.
"That's it. Good boy."
Grinning, Roselyn refilled his mug. The clean finish made it easy to drink like water. After several rounds the faces of the other mercenaries and Roselyn herself had gone flushed and slack with drink—yet Najin remained completely clear-eyed.
"What the hell is with this kid… he doesn't even get tipsy…"
Hiccuping, Roselyn stared at him in disbelief. She had planned to get him a little drunk and then talk. Instead his complexion hadn't shifted at all.
Najin found it strange himself. People said alcohol brought a warm haze. He felt none of it.
-Oh. Right.
Merlin's voice brushed his ear.
-You can't get drunk. Ever.
What? Why?
-Excalibur's basic blessings are purification and healing. Those must answer to intoxication, too. Arthur never got drunk either, no matter what.
Lancelot threw night-long drinking parties trying to get Arthur even a little tipsy. Failed every time. Merlin murmured. Najin huffed a quiet laugh. It sounded like something out of an old tale.
"Tch. Hic."
Roselyn propped her chin again and eyed him sidelong.
"Where'd you learn Atanga swordsmanship?"
"I knew a knight of Atanga."
"Yeah? He teach you the blade?"
"He never taught me the sword properly."
Najin smiled faintly.
"But he taught me plenty of other things. Gave me more than I could ever repay."
"Sounds like a decent master."
"He was an excellent one."
Ivan and Oppen. Without those two, he would never have been sitting here. Najin let out a long breath.
"That Atanga knight of yours must've thought pretty highly of you."
"Pardon?"
"The technique you almost used. In Atanga they call it a precept-bound sword. That's why I stopped you from using it on the troll. It's not a technique you throw around."
Roselyn rested her chin on her hand and spoke half to herself.
"You use it when you're punishing a villain who's cast aside honor and pride and dirtied the name of knighthood… or when you're crashing head-on against a proud opponent who can match you at full strength."
In other words—
"It's a technique you only show a rival you've recognized. Guess he never explained that part."
"…Is that so?"
"That's so. They almost never show it. I've only seen it three, maybe four times myself."
Najin fell silent.
The technique he had nearly unleashed against the troll—the same one Ivan had used in the final gate out of the underground city, catching Excalibur head-on and driving it back. The Atanga swordsmanship that had shattered Najin's full-powered strike face-to-face. Even now, when he thought of "the strongest blow," that was the technique that rose first. Ivan's sword had been that heavy, that fierce.
A technique used only after acknowledging the other as a true rival.
It must have been the latter meaning. Najin found himself smiling bitterly. In that last, last moment, Ivan had recognized him.
"Enough small talk."
Roselyn stretched.
"Ivan."
She exhaled and called his name.
"Any interest in joining the Red-Eyed Mercenaries?"
2.
The instant she made the offer, the tavern went still. Mercenaries mid-drink fell silent and looked at Najin. The air settled in a heartbeat. Najin met the flash of Roselyn's red eyes head-on.
The Red-Eyed Mercenaries.
Not a bad choice—but the answer he would give was the same as always. Ignoring the weight of every stare, he answered shortly.
"I have no intention of belonging anywhere yet."
"Whoa. Fast rejection. Most people at least pretend they'll think about it."
Roselyn laughed under her breath. The watching members burst out laughing too—"Captain just got turned down"—as if they had half expected it.
To the city's adventurers the Red-Eyed Mercenaries were an attractive company. To someone aiming for the absolute peak, they were less so.
And the young man in front of them was exactly that kind of ambitious climber. The members had already sensed it. The stubbornness in the youth who had faced a Blood Troll and claimed an overwhelming first place was nothing like ordinary adventurers.
"Well, if you change your mind later, come find me."
The offer would still stand. Roselyn shrugged.
"Anyway, first-place prize was supposed to be a chance to join the Red-Eyed Mercenaries… so I guess we swap it out. Keep it simple. Bargor? Get over here."
"What now."
"You know. That thing. The one with my name on it."
Vice-captain Bargor sighed and handed Roselyn a sheet of paper. A certificate bearing her name. She passed it to Najin.
"One chance to borrow my name. Think of it as one free favor you can call in with me."
Similar to what Dieta had given him, yet different. In any situation, he could invoke Roselyn's name once.
"Borrowing the name of one of this city's peaks? That's a hell of an opportunity. Use it when you really need it."
That was everything she had decided she needed to say. Roselyn finished and let out a short breath.
"Come to think of it, I've been the only one asking questions. Anything you want to know? Ask. I'll answer one or two cleanly."
"There is one thing."
Najin's gaze dropped.
It settled on her waist—two hilts jutting up along the small of her back.
"Those weapons. What exactly are they?"
"Oh, these guys?"
She tapped the protruding hilts with a fingertip, then—ching—drew them free.
And drove them down.
She planted both blades shallowly into the tabletop. The edges sank into the wood as if it were soft. Under the tavern keeper's sour glare, Roselyn waved an apologetic hand—"Sorry, sorry"—and turned back.
"Curious about the weapons?"
"…Captain."
"It's fine, Bargor. My Masterpiece is already well-known, and it all comes down to how you use it."
She brushed off her vice-captain's protest and spoke.
"Brat. You know what a Masterpiece is?"
"A weapon that holds a Mystery. That much I know."
"Good. Normally the Mystery of a Masterpiece is more useful the more you keep it hidden—but mine's different. The previous owner was too famous. The Mystery's already fully exposed."
Originally, the Masterpiece Echo had been wielded by a hero of the Allied Kingdoms centuries ago.
"So I'll tell you."
Roselyn smiled.
"Twenty-first Masterpiece: Echo."
She flicked a fingernail against the spine of one short sword. A bright, ringing note rolled through the tavern like a true echo—layered, overlapping, the same sound he had heard in the forest.
"Just like the name, Echo makes anything resonate. Sound, impact—even mana."
"Then the technique in the forest was—"
"Yeah. I made my aura resonate through the colliding echoes. A technique that uses sound as a medium to spread aura… but the details are a secret art, so I'm not handing those over. You get me?"
Najin nodded.
Even as he did, his eyes stayed fixed on the pitch-black blades driven into the table. They were fascinating.
"Interested in Masterpieces?"
"They're strange. I've never seen anything like them."
"Fair. Not something you run into every day. Since you look curious, a little more about Masterpieces…"
Roselyn pointed at the blades.
"These things are thousands—tens of thousands—of years old, and not a single nick on the edge. That's one of their traits."
"Traits?"
"They're damn near unbreakable. They'd shrug off a Sword Master's aura just fine. Almost indestructible."
Almost. Meaning not completely.
"They can break?"
"Rare cases, yeah. They can break."
Roselyn nodded.
"They say if Masterpieces clash against each other long enough, one of them can shatter. But most of the historical records of broken Masterpieces involve them meeting weapons of a higher concept."
…Weapons of a higher concept?
Najin tilted his head. In his ear, Merlin's laughter rang—confident, almost smug.
"What are higher-concept weapons?"
"You'll go 'ah' when you hear it. Two famous ones, mostly."
Roselyn grinned.
"One is Gram—the demonic holy sword the first Sword Saint was said to carry. The other… well. The most famous one of all."
The most famous sword in history.
"The Star Sword, Excalibur."
The apex of every weapon. The sword that had stepped outside the laws of the world to deliver true death to undying demons. The moment the name left her mouth, Najin sucked in a sharp breath.
"Masterpieces, Star Relics of the constellations—in front of Excalibur they're just lumps of metal. Historically, Excalibur's broken at least five Masterpieces."
Najin asked Merlin silently if that was true.
-Five? It was seven. But yes, it's true. There were cases where demons or fallen constellations were holding Masterpieces.
When I used it, it couldn't even cut a regular longsword.
-Because you don't have any stars yet.
Merlin answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
-You need stars to draw out Excalibur's true functions. What you're swinging right now is just a holy sword with demon-slaying, healing, and purification effects attached.
Even that seemed more than enough.
"Oh, right."
As if something had just occurred to her, Roselyn snapped her fingers.
"Bargor—someone pulled Excalibur recently, didn't they? Any word on who?"
"Still unknown. If it had come out, the whole continent would be upside down."
"True. Still… probably one of the Sword Masters, right? Feels like someone's sitting on it."
"I think so too. Most likely Sir Gerd, the Empire's Sword Master."
Najin half-listened to the exchange between Bargor and Roselyn while absently rubbing his wrist. The constellation mark there was visible only to him, yet he covered it with his palm for no good reason.
3.
Early morning.
To the sound of chirping birds, Najin blinked bleary eyes. The mercenaries had drunk through the night, and he was the only one still fully conscious among them.
"Uuuugh…"
Roselyn, moaning from her hangover, was draped across his back. The price of trying all night to get him drunk without ever stopping her own drinking.
"Please wake up."
"The Guild… just get me to the Guild. I have to stamp the completion seal myself…"
Najin sighed.
He was carrying her toward the Central Guild when a wet, miserable sound rose from behind him.
"Urgh… hey. Put me down. Uuuurgh."
Roselyn slapped rapidly at his shoulder. The moment he set her down she crouched in a corner of the alley and began dry-heaving.
"Pat my back. Urgh…"
Najin sighed again and patted her back. Crouched in the alley, holding her cascading hair out of the way with one hand while she retched—Roselyn looked thoroughly miserable.
This is… one of the peaks of the adventurer city?
He had imagined the white-rank he was aiming for would look a little more impressive. A vague sense of emptiness settled over him.
"Oh?"
A voice sounded behind him.
Najin stopped patting Roselyn's back and turned. A familiar girl stood there.
The Gold-Swallowing Snake, Dieta.
She was dressed differently from usual—in formal attire befitting the head of the Dieta Trading Company—on her way to the Central Guild. She recognized Najin and raised a hand to wave.
"We meet again he—…?"
But her cheerful voice thinned and died. She had taken in the woman whose back Najin had been patting: a woman who looked mid-twenties but was easily twice that age, a slippery old fox if there ever was one.
Long black hair falling to the small of her back.
Loose, careless clothes without a scrap of formality.
Skin still white and smooth despite being twice Dieta's age.
And those unpleasant red eyes on top of it all.
The instant Dieta was certain the woman with Najin was "that woman," her eyes narrowed to slits.
"…Roselyn Ascalo?"
The moment Dieta murmured the name—
"What? Who's calling m— BLEEEEARGH!"