Hunter or Prey (6)
There are things called Masterpieces.
They are the forty-seven arms forged by the primordial blacksmith—relics that produce phenomena akin to miracles. From ages past, opinions had always been divided on whether to classify them as weapons or as artifacts.
It was only natural. Some took the form of spears and blades; others, lanterns, monocles, or ornaments such as watches.
But on one point everyone agreed: Masterpieces were dangerous. For every Masterpiece held a Mystery within it.
Only thousands—tens of thousands—of years after the Masterpieces were made did the concept of Mystery finally receive a definition. It was none other than the great mage Merlin who gave it. According to her, Mystery meant the following:
That which is unbound by rules.
That which lies beyond common sense.
Fire burns, ice is cold, a shadow falls opposite the light—rules so obvious they scarcely need stating. Anything unbound by such rules is a Mystery. Put another way, they are things where common sense does not apply.
A concept outside common sense.
A weapon in which such a concept dwells.
How could objects like that fail to be dangerous?
An extreme example: the Masterpiece known as the Bookmark, held in a child’s hand, once killed a swordsman of the Sword Seeker rank. That alone said enough about the danger.
A Masterpiece ignores disparities in power.
It shatters common sense and overturns the tide of battle.
Unless one understands the Mystery dwelling in that armament, a fight against someone who wields a Masterpiece becomes grindingly hard. That was why most martial artists avoided combat with anyone holding a Masterpiece—especially an obscure one.
It was a rational judgment.
One could prepare for the variables only by knowing the Mystery, and the usual way to learn it was nothing more than “getting hit by it.” Those who took a Masterpiece’s blow generally did not live to tell of it.
The Fourth Masterpiece, the Bookmark. Sixty-eight knights died before its Mystery was finally discerned.
Naturally, no martial artist wished to become the sixty-ninth. Waiting until someone else sacrificed their life to map out a Masterpiece’s Mystery was the wiser choice.
…Of course, needless to say—
It’s a mirage.
—exceptions existed in the world.
There were those who, without being struck again and again, could pierce a Mystery through a single glance of insight. The great mage was one such person.
The Mystery dwelling in that Masterpiece—it’s a mirage.
The great mage who had defined Mystery itself.
Merlin explained it to Najin.
It confuses vision and sensation. But the two never happen at once. If you look straight at the fire, your “vision” wavers. And if you step on the fire-shadow cast on the floor, your senses are thrown into disorder.
Look at it, or tread on the shadow and be swallowed by it.
Unfortunately, you can’t avoid the shadows here.
Merlin clicked her tongue.
There were many reasons the enemy had hidden herself in the underground waterway, but this place was far too advantageous for that Masterpiece’s use.
But it isn’t as if there’s no way.
You remember what I told you before, don’t you?
As he sprinted toward Faube, Najin answered inwardly.
I remember. And I know what you’re about to say.
Najin opened the eyes he had closed. The moment they opened, he became aware of the current flowing through his body.
It was the starlight that had nested in him ever since that day.
Hidden, invisible to anyone else, yet unmistakably present within him. Starlight more brilliant than anything else in the world ran through Najin’s body.
Your body is all but the scabbard of Excalibur.
Back when you were an Expert it was hard to notice, but…
Merlin smiled.
You can feel it now, can’t you?
He had awakened a fragment of his mindscape. He stood at the threshold of Sword Seeker. In that process Najin’s soul and flesh had clearly grown, and growth was also the process of becoming aware of what had been hidden within.
He felt it now—the light nested in his soul.
Something he still could not fully command. Starlight too vast and fierce. Yet he could seize a handful of it, at least. He could not wrap his entire body in that handful; the places where he could use the starlight were limited.
And where to use it had already been decided.
Starlight entered Najin’s eyes.
Pupils dyed platinum-gold stared straight into the flames roaring within the lantern. The moment the cast fire-shadow swallowed him, Najin’s senses lurched—but his vision never wavered.
Excalibur stands above the Masterpieces.
The star-sword is a concept that exists above all things. How could a mere Masterpiece compare itself to Excalibur?
Excalibur was a higher concept than any Masterpiece.
Merlin grinned. Najin ran.
His senses were a mess, yet his sight remained clear. His body moved against his will, but because those movements were visible to his own two eyes, correcting them was not difficult.
Bang.
He kicked off the ground and accelerated.
Watching Najin close the distance at terrifying speed, Faube’s eyes flew wide. Even after staring into the Masterpiece, he was charging head-on?
“This insane—!”
Faube swung her staff.
The circle that rose behind her sparkled and spat out spells. Bone stakes. A bone swamp. Spells meant only to stop that charge and buy time. Instant-cast magic barred Najin’s path, yet Najin did not slow in the slightest.
He could see them.
If he could see them, he only needed to cut them down.
Bone stakes were swept into powder by Najin’s sword aura. The bone swamp that blanketed floor, walls, and ceiling fared no better. Najin never stopped in order to swing; the act of swinging and the act of stepping forward were one and the same.
Shhhhk!
With every sweep of the blade, bones were mowed down in clumps. Not even a single second did Faube’s spells manage to snare Najin’s feet. They were simply scoured away. Watching Najin charge at her with eyes wide open, Faube felt a chill crawl up her spine.
What is he?
Just what is he?
2.
Faube felt a chill.
The Masterpiece should have thrown his senses and vision into chaos, yet he was kicking off the ground and running as though it did not work on him at all. He was smashing the spells she had flung as checks and closing the distance at a frightening pace.
What…?
The spells meant to buy time for a three-circle or higher chant had not bought her even a second. By the time she blinked once, the gap was already nose-to-nose.
Kaaaaaaaaang!
The sword Najin swung shattered Faube’s barrier. The moment the barrier broke, the Barrier of Rejection generated repulsive force—yet the situation did not change.
“Ghk!”
He seized her by the collar and, making use even of the delayed repulsion, hurled her away. Faube realized she was being driven farther and farther from the main force, into a dead end.
This fucking…
She cursed inwardly.
The Barrier of Rejection was never a spell one could throw around so freely. Maintaining a protective spell consumed circles, dulling combat capacity, and it also ate into one’s computational power for other magic.
That was why, for most mages, a “protection spell” was nothing more than insurance for the worst case.
Walking around layered in multiple barriers was something only an Archmage of six circles or higher—someone with circles and computation to spare—could manage. The reason Faube could still fire the Barrier of Rejection again and again was the relics she wore on her body.
The relics the seven-circle black mage Kephalon had hidden away.
In Kephalon’s workshop concealed within this waterway, such relics overflowed. Even the handful she had seized in a few days of exploration were of that caliber—the sort only a Mage Tower master’s personal disciple would carry.
Relics of this grade in a matter of days. That was why Faube refused to abandon the workshop.
Deeper still, even greater relics would be waiting in abundance. So she had chosen to intercept the pursuers hunting her. If she could buy time, she believed she could raise her realm right here.
Buy time, elevate her realm, and escape the city.
That had been Faube’s original plan. But that plan was now being shaken to its roots by the mad swordsman charging her from the front.
I shouldn’t lose. Why, then?
Cold sweat ran down Faube’s face.
Her danger level was publicly known as four-circle, so at best a Sword Seeker-class martial artist would come.
And she had been confident she would not lose to a Sword Seeker.
A Masterpiece, a host of relics, the black mages who followed her, and the corpse horde besides. With that much power and that many variables in hand, she had judged a Sword Seeker perfectly manageable. And yet—what was this?
Kaaaaaaaaang!
Again the Barrier of Rejection was stripped away.
“Guhk!”
Again she was flung.
When she came to herself, nearly every relic she had worn was shattered. The price of the Barrier of Rejection and the wreckage of broken relics lay everywhere.
The remaining uses: four, at most.
And even that number was dwindling fast.
Faube ground her teeth and began a chant. Checks were useless. Better to accept that the barrier would break and land one solid blow. Her circle dyed itself blood-red.
Three-circle magic: Blood Ray.
The blood she had drawn from the corpses still remained.
The swirling blood flashed and shot toward Najin. The crimson ray painted the underground waterway scarlet. As a spell of outstanding power even among three-circle magic, its destructive force was incomparable to mere checks.
Chiiiiiiiiisss!
It melted everything in its path.
The surface of the waterway brushed by the Blood Ray seethed and steamed; the walls it touched melted away. A spell that could deal a fatal wound with a mere graze.
Kaufman had neutralized it with a dagger inscribed with magic, but Najin possessed no such means of nullification. Or so Faube thought…
What she had overlooked was Najin’s physical ability, reaction speed, and dynamic vision. The instant Faube’s staff glowed crimson, Najin was already moving. In the end the Blood Ray fired from the tip of the staff.
He predicted the launch path.
He moved his body a beat ahead.
The moment light flared, Najin dropped low and kicked off the ground. Scalding heat and the ray itself skimmed past above his head. Yet Faube did not simply take it. She moved her staff, correcting the ray’s trajectory.
It was meaningless.
Najin’s eyes were locked on the tip of Faube’s staff. Predicting the Blood Ray’s path from the staff’s motion was not difficult. Kicking off the ground, running along the walls, Najin closed the distance once more.
And then—
Kaaaaaaaaang!
One more Barrier of Rejection peeled away.
Only three remained. Faube’s pupils began to tremble. She felt it instinctively. If this continued, she would lose.
He’s a madman.
She was the one who held the variables, yet somehow he was the one creating them.
She was already far from the main force; no one from there could come to help her. The distance from the corpses she used as magical sacrifices had also grown too great to fire another Blood Ray. The advantages she possessed were vanishing one by one.
Death was approaching.
The mad swordsman was coming—to take her head.
As she kept being driven backward, she discovered a passage leading to Kephalon’s hidden workshop. Using the passage now would leave traces and eventually expose the facility, but there was no time to weigh such things.
Fleeing, she struck the wall with her staff.
Black mana coiled around the wall; a passage leading underground opened with a heavy clunk. Faube dove into it. The instant she passed through, the door began to close. Najin hurled himself toward it.
Then—
Boom.
The door to the workshop slammed shut.
3.
A place dark, damp, and foul.
The moment he stepped into the workshop, Najin felt his senses prickle. The very aura saturating the space was ominous.
Black mages’ workshops are all like this.
This must be the workshop that Kephalon fellow hid away.
Letting Merlin’s words wash past him, Najin pursued Faube. There was not a single light, yet to Najin’s eyes the fleeing figure of Faube was perfectly clear.
Thud.
Najin kicked off the ground and brought his sword down toward Faube’s retreating back. He had grown used to the repulsion generated by the Barrier of Rejection; instead of throwing her, he simply kicked her in the back.
“Guhk!”
With a scream Faube tumbled across the floor. Something struck and shattered. Immediately after came the crisp sound of a relic breaking.
Two left.
Merlin, who had been counting the relics, spoke.
Najin approached Faube with his sword in hand. The advantage had already tipped; the Masterpiece’s duration had ended and his senses had returned to normal. It was time to end this tiresome chase, Najin decided.
“Kh-kh… kuh-kuk…”
And in that moment a laugh rang out.
Najin’s eyes narrowed. Slowly rising, Faube was laughing. Had she lost her mind? No—it did not seem so.
“You shouldn’t have followed me in.”
It was not bluster either.
Faube laughed and slammed her staff down. Behind her, rings began to rise. One, two, three… and four.
Faube revealed all four of her circles.
Light poured from the rings and the surroundings brightened.
What that light revealed was a landscape of pure horror. Traces of biological experiments. Materials suitable as catalysts for black magic littered the floor as far as the eye could see.
“Haven’t you ever heard that once you set foot in a mage’s workshop, you don’t leave in one piece?”
A mage’s workshop—their stronghold, a place where countless formulas had been prepared in advance. And this one had been built by the seven-circle black mage Kephalon himself.
“It’s over, you mad swordsman.”
Faube smirked and swept her staff.
Mana surged outward from her, and the catalysts strewn across the workshop began to flare. The four rings spun violently, weaving a spell at once.
Sparks leapt from the circles that spun with the aid of catalysts and relics. It was coming—a vast spell of four-circle power or higher.
Yet standing before those spinning circles, Najin’s face remained expressionless. Who would not know that entering a workshop put one at a disadvantage? He had pursued Faube at once precisely because he could win even after accounting for that disadvantage.
Kiiiiiiiiing!
The roar of roiling mana echoed.
But Najin did not listen to that noise. What he listened to was the voice ringing within him.
Drawing Excalibur is a bit much.
A facility of this level can’t hide Excalibur’s light. It would take the authority of a high-ranking demon to veil the light even for a moment.
But, Merlin smiled,
it’s more than enough to hide your sword aura.
Najin exhaled a short breath.
Eyes closed, he raised his sword high. Grasping a fragment of his mindscape, walking through that mindscape, Najin had realized something: his mindscape was a little strange.
The landscape that formed its core.
The intense memory that manifested as sword aura.
Ordinarily there should be only one. In Najin’s mindscape there were two. One was a pure-white star hanging low; the other was a platinum star hanging high.
What I have always called forth until now—
The pure-white star. Pure-white sword aura.
The other one must never be drawn before others; when acting as a knight, the pure-white star was more fitting.
But—
What he was doing now
was cutting down a black mage, severing that which was vile and unholy. He knew that pure-white sword aura was not the most fitting for such a task.
What he called forth now was the star that hung highest of all.
The platinum sword aura he had never before had the chance to summon.
Merlin, within Najin’s inner world, watched. The star floating high in the sky blazed fiercely, then was sucked somewhere. Watching that sight, Merlin closed her eyes. The place the star was drawn into was the single sword in Najin’s hand.
The form of the sword aura changed.
The nature of the sword aura changed.
The sword aura that burned platinum-gold was like a star itself. In a place where stars could not be seen, the sword aura drawn by a boy who had longed for the stars was beautiful and poignant.
“……!”
Poignant starlight filling a black mage’s workshop.
The moment she faced that platinum sword aura, Faube’s eyes flew wide. Even one ignorant of the sword knew what platinum aura meant.
Sword aura permitted to only a single person in all of history.
The sword aura King Arthur had wielded was right there.
What it meant was simple and clear. Before the platinum sword aura, Faube understood.
Hunter and prey had switched places.
From the very beginning, she had been nothing more than the prey.