Sword Master, Yuel Razian (2)
The Seven-Ring black mage, Kepalon.
Roughly sixty years ago, he had used the city of Regenoff as a base in a bid to overthrow the state. The scheme failed, but it had come close enough to shaking the Empire’s thousand-year history that anything connected to Kepalon still made imperial officials shudder with loathing.
The “Transcendence Ritual” he attempted beneath Regenoff had been the decisive blow, yet even before that Kepalon had been a worm gnawing at the Empire’s flesh—responsible for massacre after massacre.
So when a workshop of Kepalon’s was discovered, intact, in the sewers beneath Regenoff, both the Empire and the Holy Blood Church snapped to attention.
Didn’t you say you burned everything on your own authority?
It is written right here: “Erasure of all records and traces, carried out under the command of Red Tower Master Adrion.” Unless Our memory is at fault…
What are you still doing?
Bring the man responsible.
The young Emperor himself summoned the Red Tower Master. The former master—who had retired some thirteen years earlier and was living a quiet life farming on his estate—was dragged to the palace for a dressing-down that left him with bruised shins. A loyalty review came as a bonus.
While the Emperor personally flayed the previous Red Tower Master, the Holy Blood Church dispatched its Executioner to Regenoff to close the matter for good.
And that was how the situation reached its present point.
As both witness to the events and the one who first discovered the workshop, Najin was deeply entangled in the affair. The Church’s Executioner had therefore requested an interview when she came to Regenoff. Najin was under no obligation to accept—he was only a person of interest, after all.
But the lack of obligation did not mean he could refuse. When the Church’s Executioner, a Sword Master, singled you out for an interview, turning her down was the sort of thing that invited consequences no one wanted to imagine.
If I were imperial household or a ducal house, maybe…
An ordinary adventurer could not refuse. So Najin had stayed in Regenoff, waiting for the Church’s Executioner.
And when he finally met her, his first impression was pure dread.
Skin so pale it was almost bloodless. Hair white as snow. At a glance she looked to be in her early-to-mid twenties, yet Najin reminded himself that she had lived at least a hundred and fifty years.
Hard to judge age by looks alone.
—Of course. Reach Sword Seeker and your appearance locks in at its prime. At Master, you’re free of lifespan altogether.
Merlin answered with lazy indifference.
—A hundred and fifty? That’s the prime of life.
A hundred and fifty as the prime of life? Najin decided to let the words of a mage who had lived more than a thousand years slide. Her sense of time was clearly nothing like his own.
Click.
Yuel Razian began walking from a distance. There was none of the stiff formality of someone who occupied a high seat. Her stride was light, almost loose, as if the strength had gone out of her legs.
Ah… this is—
The direction of those steps, and the place those crimson eyes were fixed upon, was exactly where he stood. Najin let out a low sound of recognition.
Looks like I’ve been marked.
—Seems that way, doesn’t it?
Leaving the city’s lord, the heretic inquisitors, and Hite—who had commanded the recent Paube suppression—standing where they were, Yuel walked straight toward Najin.
Then she stopped in front of him with a soft tak.
Her face was still expressionless, still empty of feeling. Even the slight lift of her mouth he thought he had seen earlier now seemed a trick of the light. Standing this close, Yuel felt like a perfectly crafted doll.
She tilted her head. White hair spilled with the motion in soft waves, and through that curtain of snow she looked at him.
“What is your name?”
The question came without preamble. For a moment Najin did not even register that the sound belonged to the person in front of him; he only cocked his head. Her voice was that alien.
Thinner than he had imagined, almost childlike—a high, delicate tone that did not suit a butcher who had ground tens of thousands of people into meat. Najin collected himself and answered.
“Ivan.”
“Ah. You are the person of interest in this matter. I have heard the account. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Yuel continued to use polite speech. No one around them seemed to find it remarkable. Belatedly, Najin recalled one of the facts he had learned about her.
Yuel Razian addressed everyone with formal courtesy.
Because to her, everything was the same.
She used the same polite speech with the Emperor—the sun of the Empire—as she did with a beggar rolling in the street. A few people had pointed out the impropriety…
And no one who pointed it out still has a head attached to their neck.
That was why no one looked uncomfortable. Satisfied with the explanation, Najin accepted her courtesy without protest.
“There is no need to waste time.”
Yuel spoke evenly. Setting aside the near-childish pitch, the voice itself had no rise or fall. Flat and foreign, she continued.
“Please guide me.”
She pointed at Najin. What she had originally requested was an interview, and a proper guide had already been assigned—but she indicated him as if none of that mattered.
“I will take this person as my guide. The rest of you, attend to your duties. It should not take long.”
The heretic inquisitors bowed as if long accustomed to this and dispersed. Only the lord and Hite remained, staring blankly at Yuel.
“Is there something you wish to say?”
“Well, that is…”
The lord shot Hite a look; Hite spoke.
“Would you require any accompanying personnel—knights, for instance…?”
Yuel tilted her head at the question. The expressionless face cocked to one side, and she opened her mouth.
“Pardon?”
Genuine puzzlement. Why would anyone ask such a thing? Hite realized his blunder a beat too late, bowed, called it a slip of the tongue, and cleared the way.
From the start, Yuel Razian needed no escort.
She had no use for knights or extra hands.
Like any superhuman who had stepped into the realm of transcendence, she stood outside ordinary human categories. Trying to measure her by common sense was a mistake.
If every force stationed in this city—every knight, every mage, every remaining mercenary and soldier—charged her at once, they would not draw a single drop of her blood.
That was what a Sword Master was.
Yuel tilted her head once more, then set off toward the underground waterways with Najin in tow.
“This is the place.”
Guiding her, Najin revised his impression of Yuel. From Merlin’s stories he had pictured a blood-mad lunatic who might lash out at any moment. The woman walking behind him now felt more like an emotionless doll. The thick killing intent he had felt when she stepped down from the carriage was gone without a trace, as if that earlier sensation had been pure imagination.
How long did they walk?
He arrived at the deep stretch of the waterway where he had once pursued Paube. Turning his head, he saw the passage that led to Kepalon’s workshop—the seal already lifted by the heretic inquisitors.
“That would be it.”
Yuel’s footsteps clicked as she moved past him. Now Najin followed in her wake. As they descended the passage toward the workshop, she spoke.
“You said your name was Ivan.”
“Yes.”
“Your age?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“I do not care for lies.”
Still that voice without pitch. It made emotion and intent almost impossible to read.
“On paper, twenty-eight is correct.”
“A false identity, then. Under imperial law, identity fraud is no light offense—but that is a matter for imperial officials, not my jurisdiction. I mean that I have no interest in it.”
Yuel stopped walking. She turned to look at him, and even in the dark her eyes gleamed a wet, vivid red.
“I asked for your age. This is personal curiosity. I have no intention of harming you.”
Najin understood at once. It was a warning. What would happen if he lied again was anyone’s guess. Even so, he took another step forward.
“If you will swear or vow not to speak of it elsewhere, I will give you my age.”
“Do you understand that I possess both the authority and the power to force your identity into the open? I also have more than enough means to pry your mouth open by force.”
“I understand.”
“And you still want a vow from me?”
“Yes.”
Yuel studied him. Those blood-bright eyes looked into sunset-colored irises that did not so much as flicker under her gaze. Several seconds passed.
Then the corner of her mouth twitched—just slightly.
“Very well. I will swear. In the name of the Holy Blood Church’s patron, the Martyr of the Bramble, I swear. Nothing spoken here will leave this place.”
Will that do?
Najin nodded at the question in her tone.
“Your age?”
“Eighteen.”
“Young.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes. Not merely young—childishly so. Given your realm, astonishingly young. I am surprised.”
With the same blank face, Yuel began to clap.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Dry applause echoed off the stone. Najin stared at her with a dubious look; she stopped and tilted her head.
“You do not enjoy receiving applause?”
“I have no idea what you are trying to say, so I am simply at a loss. I also do not understand your intent.”
“Applause is how I express surprise. There is no other meaning. Please smile.”
Yuel took both hands and pushed the corners of her own mouth upward.
“A Sword Master’s applause is a rare thing. My surprise is rarer still. So please be glad.”
Najin forced a smile.
Apparently satisfied, Yuel turned and walked on. She’s a little strange…
—You expected a butcher who’s ground tens of thousands of people to be right in the head?
Fair enough. Letting Merlin’s remark slide, Najin followed. Even as they descended into the workshop, Yuel kept talking.
“If this fact became public, the Empire would be turned upside down. Sword Saint Caron might come looking for you at once. That man certainly would.”
The flat voice was beginning—only faintly—to gain rise and fall. Najin caught the note of delight seeping into it.
“But the first to meet you, the first to discover you, is none other than me. Remember that. Remember that Yuel Razian was the first Sword Master you ever faced.”
“An honor.”
“It is an honor, is it not?”
Yuel stopped.
They had entered the depths of Kepalon’s workshop. Before the full array of horrors spread out in a single glance, she did not so much as blink. No flicker of distress crossed her face.
“It is also a pity.”
Yuel exhaled. Heat rode the breath. As if she could no longer bear it, she slipped a hand into her uniform and drew out a flask. She twisted the cap free and tipped it back as though dying of thirst.
Najin frowned. The fierce reek of harsh liquor rolled over him. Not water—alcohol. She drained the flask in one go and let out a long breath.
“The fact that I have no justification to raise my sword against you is truly regrettable.”
“…Pardon?”
The remark came from nowhere. While Najin reeled, Yuel continued without pause.
“Under imperial law, identity fraud is a grave crime. However, you are under the patronage of the Cambria Foundation, so an exception applies and I cannot punish you.”
That part was spoken half to herself.
“I hold summary judgment under imperial law, yet I cannot wield it against you. The same is true of the authority I possess as Executioner of the Holy Blood Church. I may question you, but only through conversation, never force. You have committed no crime yet.”
She was also asking herself for a reason she might be allowed to draw her blade.
“On the way down I observed the qi within your body. Abnormal achievement at a young age. I suspected a contract with a demon. If even a trace of demonic energy had been present, I could have raised my sword as the Church’s Executioner. But there is none. You are perfectly clean.”
A long sigh.
“If I raise my sword against you, it would be a clear violation of both law and doctrine. That is regrettable. I had thought this a fine opportunity, but…”
Still sighing, Yuel reached into empty air.
The moment her fingers clenched, the scenery warped. The distortion gathered into a single shape and flowed into her grip.
She had seized nothing—yet a greatsword now rested in her hand.
The instant she closed her fingers around the hilt, Najin reflexively put distance between them. Killing intent flooded the space, denser and heavier than anything he had felt when she stepped from the carriage. It pressed down from above as if it had mass of its own.
Blood vessels stood out in Najin’s eyes. Every sense in his body stood on end; by the time he registered it, his sword was already drawn.
“Mental strength that endures killing intent. Instinct that creates distance. The reflex of a swordsman drawing steel. Excellent. Truly regrettable.”
Sword still in hand, Yuel turned only her head to look at him. She was smiling. Joy and regret mixed in eyes that glittered the color of blood.
“Under imperial law, death in a mutually consented duel is legal. If I request a duel, will you accept?”
A duel with a Sword Master.
If the Sword Saint had asked, Najin would have accepted without hesitation. Caron would naturally hold back; the purpose would be to observe and teach. The person in front of him was different.
Her purpose was singular: a duel where blood was spilled and both sides hunted each other’s lives—a fight to the death that would not end until one of them fell. Accept, and his head would leave his shoulders.
If I draw Excalibur?
No. Even then, he would lose.
The realm was different. The experience was different. The dimension was different. Najin knew that calling Excalibur would not close that gap.
“I refuse.”
“A match against a Sword Master is a valuable experience.”
“Only if you survive long enough for the experience to mean something.”
“That is not wrong.”
Yuel nodded.
“Then we will postpone the duel.”
She let out a breath of pure disappointment and turned her gaze forward. Kepalon’s workshop stretched before them. As Executioner of the Holy Blood Church, she held full authority to cleanse it.
“I suppose I will have to settle for cutting that instead.”
She swung the greatsword one-handed.
And Najin saw it.
Everything before them was sliced out of the world the way scissors cut newspaper. The phenomenon came first; the sound followed after.
Kiiiiiieeeeeeeeeek—!
A sword-cry like a human scream tore through the air.