When the Moonlit Night Ends (4)
"Do you really need to come at me one at a time?"
"If you all came at once, it might even the odds a little."
What Najin said was a blatant provocation.
The one who answered it was the knight who had already taken a step forward—Phileon. He was the same knight Najin had once kicked into a wall.
The humiliation he had been forced to endure before his master. Phileon had not forgotten it.
That had been a blow allowed by his own carelessness. If they faced each other again, the result would be different. With a sword in hand, in a proper place, meeting head-on—he would never go down so emptily. He truly believed that.
Not enduring defeat, but denying it. Protecting his pride by denying it. That was the path Phileon had chosen. And, of course, it was the wrong answer among wrong answers. Plenty of clues had been given to him to grasp the situation properly.
One: the speed of Najin's mana control was unnatural.
Two: his physical ability was bizarre.
Three: rumors were circulating that Najin had clashed with Arvenia's knight commander and still lived.
Yet Phileon denied what he had seen with his own eyes, dismissed the rumors as empty talk, and turned away from every piece of information he could have examined. It was a blunder born of a knight's pride and stubbornness.
"You arrogant little—"
Phileon scowled and closed in on Najin.
From the start he held his sword, drew out his aura, and circulated mana through his body. Leaving behind his comrades—who were staring wide-eyed at Najin's insolent taunt—he took the lead.
"An Arvenia knight looks like water to you, does he—"
"You talk too much."
Cutting Phileon off, Najin tossed his sword into the air. The absurdity of discarding a blade before an opponent who had already drawn aura. Before Phileon could even guess the meaning of the act, Najin stepped forward.
A longsword spinning in midair.
Najin advancing.
Phileon thrusting his sword toward him.
Rather than trying to understand the stunt, Phileon made attacking the approaching Najin his sole goal. He swung. It was a duel, so he would not kill—but no one would fault him for drawing blood.
Whish!
Phileon swung. Imperial swordsmanship. The longsword carved a clean arc, aiming for Najin's shoulder. Against an unguarded opponent who approached without even raising a blade, it was more than enough to cut him open.
Or so Phileon thought.
Not endurance, but denial. Not acceptance, but refusal. The wrong answer he had chosen. The wrongest of wrong answers. Naturally, the price for picking the wrong answer in a duel was never light.
Thud.
The cleanly arcing blade stopped dead.
Because Najin's lightly extended left hand had seized both of Phileon's hands where they gripped the hilt. Phileon's eyes flew wide; he tried to move his arms and could not so much as twitch them.
What kind of strength—!
His trapped hands screamed. Phileon's brow furrowed. The instant he thought to lift a foot and kick Najin away for distance, Najin was already moving.
Crunch.
Najin kicked Phileon's knee.
With a sickening crack, the knee bent the wrong way. Sparks burst in Phileon's vision; no longer able to stand, he sank to his knees. His posture dropped, and naturally he found himself looking up at Najin.
Hands seized. Knees forced down.
The one left unguarded now was not Najin, but himself. The moment Phileon realized it, sparks flared again—this time not in his knee, but in his face.
"Guh…?"
A questioning groan. Blood sprayed. It came from his nose. A sharp pain bloomed across the bridge as Phileon scowled. Only belatedly did he understand what was happening.
With his left hand pinning both of Phileon's, Najin was driving his right fist into the man's face.
Crack. Crunch. Crack… Phileon's vision flickered over and over. His head snapped back, then forward, again and again. Every time Najin's fist connected, blood flew from Phileon's face.
The watching knights' eyes went round. Agesio, Phileon's master, sucked in a sharp breath.
What Najin was doing was no duel. It was not even a sword fight. It was one-sided battery. At some point Najin released the hands he had been holding, yet Phileon never even thought of swinging his sword.
His eyes had already gone dull and vacant.
Only then did Najin stop the punches, seize Phileon by the hair, and force their gazes to meet. The longsword he had thrown earlier finished its spin, fell, and drove into the earth with a solid thunk.
"Want to keep going?"
This was a duel. Until one side admitted defeat, it did not end. The moment Phileon met those cold eyes, he finally understood.
There had been no special meaning in tossing the sword skyward at the start. Najin had simply been saying:
I don't even need a sword against you.
Humiliation washed over Phileon. But worse than humiliation was fear. In the eyes looking down at him he felt a chill. Phileon answered by bowing his head.
Najin let Agesio's attendants drag Phileon away and simply stood there, gazing at the remaining escort knights. His eyes asked the question for him. Who's next? If you're still coming one by one, I won't stop you.
…The knights weighed their options.
Personal pride versus retaliation to restore Arvenia's name. Which mattered more? Those who had sworn loyalty to Arvenia chose the latter. The remaining four knights stepped forward as one. Only then did Najin pull the sword from the ground.
Pure white aura bloomed along the blade.
2.
Some people say it.
The difference between a martial artist who has awakened even a fragment of their mindscape and one who has not is stark. And it is not limited to aura alone. To awaken a mindscape is to solidify the soul itself.
One's own landscape. One's own color. One's own mana.
Over long ages humanity has piled up a great deal. Every martial art is ultimately an imitation of something; the age of wholly new creations has grown rare. Yet a mindscape remains forever new, unique, and original.
Because it is something that imitates nothing—something that belongs only to the self.
Only those who have true confidence in themselves can possess it. That unshakable belief affects the body and the very flow of mana. Color is painted onto the soul; mana takes on special form and nature.
Again: the difference between a martial artist who has merely brushed against a fragment of mindscape and one who has not is stark. Najin had already been unmatched among Sword Experts. And if, in that state, he had also awakened a fragment of mindscape…
"Ghk— gah…"
"Urgh— bleeeaagh!"
Terrain, special conditions, first strike, dirty tricks—none of it applied. Even in a head-on duel, Najin could overwhelm multiple Experts. The proof lay spread before his eyes.
Knights clutching their stomachs and sprawled on the ground. Broken fingers. Shattered knees.
Injuries a priest could mend, but not injuries that allowed them to continue fighting right then. Unlike the fallen knights, only a few minor scrapes marked Najin's body.
…How?
Agesio Arvenia's eyes shook as he watched the entire process. He could not believe what he had seen. He had never even heard of an Expert who could simultaneously suppress four knights.
Was the man already at Sword Seeker level?
What circled in Agesio's ears were the baseless rumors lately making the rounds—that the adventurer before him had held his own against the Arvenia Ducal House's knight commander. Agesio had dismissed them as exaggerated nonsense.
Of course he had. If the formidable Sir Griffin had been serious, a fight would never have been possible. Agesio had assumed Griffin arrived late, or that the knights of Trebache had joined from the start.
But…
Five knights down. One of them subdued bare-handed. Looking at such a wretched sight… he could no longer simply write the rumors off as empty talk.
Agesio stared at the adventurer in front of him.
Najin was staring right back.
In those eyes Agesio felt a chill. He flinched and stepped back. Najin took a step toward him. Goosebumps rose all over Agesio's body.
"S-stop."
What he felt was fear.
With every escort knight fallen, Agesio realized there was no one left to protect him. And he could expect no aristocratic courtesy from the adventurer before him.
"I ordered you to stop!"
He shouted, yet Najin did not stop. Retreating, Agesio finally caught his heel on a stone and sat hard on the ground. Unable to flee any farther, he looked up. His eyes were trembling.
"D-do you know who I—"
"I have no interest in who you are."
Najin crouched so their eyes met.
"But I will give you one warning."
Those sunset-colored eyes glittered—like a beast's.
"Do not speak lightly of honor and pride. They are not so cheap that the likes of you may put them in your mouth."
With that, Najin rose. He left the fallen knights and Agesio behind and walked away. When the sound of his footsteps faded, Agesio gasped for breath and hung his head.
Relief that the ordeal was over. Humiliation that he had felt fear before a mere adventurer. The two emotions coexisted, and Agesio clenched his teeth. He had no choice but to accept that he had been thoroughly defeated—and that he had failed.
Click.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Agesio raised his head. Dieta was walking toward him. She stopped before him, expressionless.
"You look a mess."
Dieta looked down at Agesio. Looking down, she smiled.
"Young Master Agesio."
"Do not look down on me. The abandoned—"
"Young Master, I am no longer a member of House Arvenia. That means I have no reason to endure insults of that sort."
Dieta cut him off.
She had finished the work of changing her family name at the Trebache Margraviate. She was no longer Dieta Arvenia, but Dieta, the great merchant of Cambria.
"You challenged my escort, and me, to a duel—and you lost. So many people witnessed this scene that we hardly need separate witnesses, do we?"
She smiled, and as she smiled she gestured around them. The place Agesio had originally chosen to humiliate Najin and Dieta had now become a stage that piled still greater humiliation upon him.
"To the victor, the rights."
She whispered.
"To the loser, the price."
Snake eyes glittered. Those bright golden serpentine eyes half-lidded.
"That is what a duel is. I am quite certain that even a mere merchant knows this common sense—and that the great young master of Arvenia would not be ignorant of it."
So then.
"Let us discuss the price you must pay."
Knights fight the duel; merchants collect the results and the price. Dieta had no intention of simply letting the easy mark before her walk away. Held upside down and shaken, the fat money pouch would pour out gold coins.
The gold-swallowing snake smiled.
3.
"…What is all this?"
"Your share, of course. What else would it be?"
In the Dieta Merchant Group's office, Najin pointed at the fat coin purse and the pile of certificates laid out before him. Dieta smiled at the way he tilted his head.
"The price of the duel. Honestly, I only scratched a little and he coughed up everything. How kind of him."
The things she had wrung from Agesio. Saying so, Dieta let out a soft, chuckling laugh. She looked completely back to her merchant self.
"Anyway."
Dieta looked around the office that was once more hers—the place she had missed, even if only a little—and let out a long breath.
"We're back here again."
It already felt like home.
The merchant company's staff had all sighed in relief once Agesio left and Dieta returned. As for Pasion, who had been guarding the office, he had outright wailed.
Thank goodness, truly thank goodness…
Recalling how long it had taken to calm the sobbing Pasion and send him off to wash his face, Dieta gave a bitter smile.
"Give me that coat. I'll have it all repaired."
She pointed at the outer coat Najin was wearing. Armor made from the hide of a blood troll would not tear easily under normal circumstances… but considering the opponents he had fought, it was only natural it had been left in tatters.
"I'll pay the debt slowly, so look forward to it. You're going to receive a mountain of things you never even expected."
"I didn't do it expecting anything in return."
"I know. You did it to keep a promise. If it feels awkward to accept, just think of it as an investment."
"If that's how you see it, then fine."
The moment Najin answered that way, Dieta fell briefly silent. Before she realized it, the form of address had returned to "Guildmaster." Somehow… it felt a little lonely. Of course she was the guildmaster again, but it felt as if a line was being drawn.
Come to think of it…
Has he ever called me by name?
She thought carefully; she was fairly sure he never had. Najin was the type who spoke respectfully to others by nature, and he never casually used people's names.
She didn't dislike that personality. She truly didn't.
Even so, the thought that she wanted this man to call her by name slipped into her mind. The idea of saying it out loud was too embarrassing, so Dieta tried to invent a clever workaround.
"Um, you know."
In the office where only the two of them remained, Dieta looked at Najin and spoke carefully.
"Shall we drop the formal speech?"
"…Pardon?"
"Let's talk casually. We don't seem that far apart in age."
"There's an eight-year gap."
"That's a fake age, isn't it."
"…"
"See? It is a fake age."
At the way Najin casually averted his gaze, Dieta lightly patted the table with her palm.
"Don't tell me you're younger than me?"
"…"
"Wait—are you actually younger than me?"
Najin kept sliding his eyes away. Dieta let out a long whoa of a breath. Strictly speaking Najin was eighteen and Dieta twenty, but there was no way she could know that.
"You're not… right?"
"Just think of us as about the same. Eight years isn't really that much of a gap."
"You're really not dropping that setting, are you."
Dieta sighed and opened her mouth again.
"Anyway, try speaking casually."
"…Do I have to?"
"Yes. And calling me by name would be even better."
After a short hesitation, Najin sighed and spoke.
"Dieta."
Dieta's shoulders gave a little jolt.
"You told me to drop the formal speech, so I am… is this how you do it?"
"Y-yeah. Uh… um…"
Dieta chewed her lip. Her face had flushed bright red; her eyes spun, finding nowhere to look.
"M-maybe we should drop the speech next time."
"…Suddenly?"
"J-just hearing you say my name is enough, I think."
"If that's what you want…"
"G-go carefully. I have a lot of work, so…"
Head bowed low, Dieta mumbled in a tiny voice. Najin tilted his head, took hold of the office door handle, and opened it. The moment he did, he nearly collided with Pasion, who had just returned.
"Oh—leaving already? We could talk a little more—"
Pasion's face lit up as he started to speak. Then his gaze caught his master, head deeply bowed, ears dyed scarlet.
…Pasion silently looked back and forth between Dieta and Najin.
The strange air between them. The strange atmosphere. Cold sweat beaded on Pasion's brow. He was not a knight without intuition. A certain "surely not" thought flashed through his mind.
"…We can talk later. Go carefully."
Pasion stepped aside to clear the path for Najin.
His master looked as though she had completely lost her composure; she would need a moment alone.