New Days
Quite a while had passed since the war ended.
If you asked me what I'd been doing all that time, I honestly wouldn't have had much of an answer. It wasn't as if I was desperate for money, so at first I simply walked wherever my feet carried me, and whenever I came across a village I liked the look of, I'd linger a few days before moving on. I repeated that cycle for a while.
When money started running low, I'd pick up a suitable request and handle it. Clearing monsters out of mountain passes, escorting merchant caravans — and once in a while, a job asking me to catch mercenaries who'd taken up banditry now that the war was over.
Compared to what I'd done on the battlefield, most of it was nothing. A few days of work earned me enough to live on for a good stretch of time. And once I'd earned it, I went back to doing absolutely nothing. Eating when I was hungry, sleeping when I was tired, drinking when the mood struck.
It wasn't that I'd never thought about what to do next. I had — and no matter how I turned it over, nothing came to mind. Aside from swinging a sword, there wasn't anything I knew how to do properly, and I had no desire to risk my life fighting again in a world at peace. But I didn't have anything I especially wanted to do, either, so I figured drifting along like this was fine.
I didn't want to die. But there wasn't any particular reason to work hard at living, either. Just take it one day at a time, and someday something would come along. That was how I'd been living lately.
"One more."
"Again?"
"I've got the money."
"It's not about the money. This is your how-manyth drink?"
"I'm drumming up business for you. Pour generously."
The innkeeper stared at me with a look of pure disbelief, then finally filled my empty cup.
"That's more like it."
I took the cup and drank about half of it in one go. It was cheap swill — no real taste to speak of — but it wasn't bad.
I couldn't even remember the name of the village I was staying in. A few days ago I'd hitched a ride on a passing carriage, spotted a tavern that suited me, and planted myself down in it. The owner rented out rooms upstairs, so I'd been squatting here ever since. I'd probably leave when my money ran dry.
Where to next, then? Maybe head east. Or maybe see the ocean for once — I'd never laid eyes on it in my life. That didn't sound bad at all.
I was nursing those idle thoughts, lifting the cup to drain the last of it, when the tavern door swung open.
Cling.
The kind of sound you don't need to pay attention to, so at first I didn't even look up. But a moment later, footsteps passed by my side — and without thinking, my cup froze halfway to my lips.
What the hell.
I shifted only my eyes and glanced sideways.
An old man. A beautifully kept, snow-white beard, hair grown white as well, and in one hand a staff as tall as he was. His face was a map of wrinkles, and by appearances alone he looked little different from any old man you'd see anywhere.
And yet something was wrong.
Something about him was off — deeply, dangerously off — and before I knew it, my body had gone taut. Spend long enough on the battlefield and you develop a sense you can't explain in words.
Get close to that one and you're dead.
That one's weaker than he looks.
Something's over there.
The kind of sense your body registers before your brain ever thinks it. And right now, my body was sending me a warning about the old man in front of me — the first one in a long, long time.
Whether the old man noticed me on guard or not, he glanced around the room once, then sat down beside me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"A drink, if you please."
"Pay first."
"I believe I'm one of your customers."
"Then bring him two."
The innkeeper's attitude flipped instantly, and he fished out another cup.
I watched that little exchange, then turned my gaze back to the old man.
"Do you know me, sir?"
"I do."
The old man accepted his cup, took a sip, and smiled with satisfaction. Then, as casually as could be, he spoke.
"The Guide."
My hand stopped.
"You've got the wrong man."
"The Mad Dog."
"……"
"The Fiend."
I set down the cup I was holding.
"Did you come here looking for a fight, old man?"
"Haha. You really do have a temper as bad as they say."
"You're the one who walked up to a stranger and started reciting his nicknames one by one. How many people do you think would take that with a smile?"
"Fair point."
The old man laughed heartily and took another swallow of his drink. Then he looked at me — straight on, this time, with laughter still lingering in his eyes.
"Riven."
This time I didn't deny it.
A lot of people knew me. I'd spent years on the battlefield and risen to command the Vanguard, so plenty of soldiers would remember my face. But while some of them might know me as the Guide, or the Mad Dog, or the Fiend, it was rare for anyone to know my actual name.
And above all, I had no memory of ever seeing this old man on the frontlines.
"Who are you, exactly?"
"Now you ask."
The old man drew a small badge from inside his coat and placed it on the table. Ornately worked, with an elegant inscription engraved at its center.
"I'm the one who runs the Academy as its Headmaster."
"…The Academy?"
"You've never heard of it?"
"I've heard the name, at least."
From what I'd heard, it was where the children of nobles and wealthy merchants went to study. Swordsmanship, magic, scholarship — whatever it was, it was a place where money and talent gathered. It had nothing to do with someone like me, not in this lifetime, so I'd never bothered to look into it.
"What business does the headmaster of such a place have with a mercenary like me?"
"I've come to bring you in."
"No."
"I haven't even told you what the job is yet."
"It sounds like a pain in the ass, so no."
The old man's eyebrows twitched. Then he burst out laughing.
"Teach the students."
"Even more no."
"Quick on the draw, aren't you."
"What exactly would I be teaching?"
"The way you've survived. That's what."
"My swordsmanship is gutter fighting scraped together from the bottom-rung mercenary world. Your hoity-toity Academy students would find it beneath them, I'd wager."
"Do you really believe that?"
I didn't answer. I just drank.
The old man studied me for a moment, then set down his cup.
"The man who slew a Legion Commander of the Demon King's army. The man who stood at the vanguard countless times and led soldiers through. The man who carved the road the Hero's Party walked. And he thinks he can't teach anyone because of the name of his sword style?"
"……"
"What I want from you isn't pretty swordplay. The Academy has more than enough people to teach that."
"Then what do you want me to teach?"
The old man smiled.
"How to survive."
My hand, halfway to my mouth with the cup, stopped for a beat.
"The war is over, but fighting hasn't vanished from this world."
The old man took a sip, wet his throat, and went on.
"There will be children who have to stake their lives on something — knights, adventurers, mercenaries, soldiers. And what those children need is not the chivalrous experience of some knight of noble breeding."
He pointed a finger at me.
"It's the experience of a man who survived hell for eleven years."
"You make it sound very grand."
"Isn't it the truth?"
"Not interested."
"I'll provide lodging. The pay is generous."
"……"
I mulled it over for a moment, then shook my head.
"Still no."
"It would cover plenty of bar tabs."
"I'll earn money when I need it."
This time the old man looked genuinely stumped, stroking his beard.
"Less ambitious than I expected."
"Got nothing to spend it on."
"Then what you need right now isn't money, is it."
The old man looked at me for a while. The mischief that had been in his eyes until now settled into something more serious.
"I'll give you a place to be."
"……"
Those words left me unable to answer.
A place to be.
It wasn't something I'd thought about even once since the war ended. No — maybe it was something I'd been avoiding thinking about.
I'd believed my place was the battlefield. I'd entered the war to reach Arien, and after I came to believe she'd forgotten me, I'd stayed in it to die for her sake.
And then the war ended.
The reason to stay by her side vanished. The reason to remain on the battlefield vanished with it.
So I'd simply left. Without knowing where I was going.
"…A place for me to be."
"That's right."
I stared at my cup for a long moment. It wasn't as if I had anything I wanted to do. No destination, no goal, no plan for tomorrow even. If that was the case, going to take a look wouldn't hurt.
And if I didn't like it, I could always walk back out.
"Am I allowed to drink outside of class hours?"
The corner of the old man's mouth curled up.
"Do as you please."
"Well, then."
I drained what was left of my drink in one swallow.
"Fine. Let's give it a shot."
"Good."
The old man tapped his staff lightly against the floor, as if he'd been waiting for exactly that.
Thud.
"……?"
Light flared beneath my feet. Instinct screamed at me to leap out of my seat — but it was already too late.
"Hold on—"
My vision flooded white.
And the next moment—
"…Son of a bitch."
The tavern was gone.
Before me stood a spacious room I'd never seen, its walls lined floor to ceiling with books. Unfamiliar buildings showed through the large windows, and in my hand I was still holding the empty cup I'd been drinking from not two seconds ago. Beside me, the old man strolled over without a care in the world and settled into his chair.
I looked around for a while, then fixed my gaze on him.
"…Isn't this kidnapping?"
"You agreed."
"I said I'd come. I never said I'd come right now."
"Quibbling over details, are we."
"My luggage is still at the tavern."
"I'll send someone to fetch it."
"I didn't even pay my tab."
"I'll cover that too."
"……"
I had nothing left to say. Sighing, I set the empty cup down on the desk.
"So. What am I supposed to do now?"
"Nothing, for the moment. I'll arrange your class schedule myself and let you know in due time."
"'In due time'?"
"You've been living 'in due time' yourself, haven't you."
"…Can't argue with that."
"Take today freely. Wander the Academy, rest, whatever suits you. If you need anything, drop my name with the staff."
"Right… understood."
There was nothing more to ask, so I gave a loose bow and turned to go.
"See you around, then."
"Leaving already?"
"You told me to take it freely."
"…Go on, then."
I stepped out of the headmaster's office, and the moment I passed through the doors into the open air, my feet stopped on their own.
"Oh…"
It was nothing like what I'd imagined. I'd figured an Academy would be a few grand buildings with a yard or a training ground attached. What spread out before me was far too vast to call a school.
Beyond sight, a wide avenue stretched on and on, lined with countless buildings. Students in uniforms and staff in livery bustled back and forth among them. In the distance, enormous towers rose one after another, and somewhere nearby came the steady ring of a hammer on steel. Walk a little farther and a food court opened up, thick with cooking smells, and beyond it rows of shops selling every kind of goods imaginable.
It wasn't a school. It was a whole city.
"They've got everything here."
With no particular destination in mind, I started walking. I had nothing to do yet and hadn't even been told where I'd be staying, so sightseeing was as good a use of my time as any.
I paused to watch students with wooden swords sparring in a training yard. Outside one large building, an explosion suddenly went off — I turned to look and saw a handful of students bolt out the door wreathed in black smoke. Someone behind them was screaming at them to put out the fire, and the students ran off laughing.
It was a sight I'd rarely seen on the battlefield. They all had their worries, surely, but these weren't faces of people living each day under the shadow of maybe dying tomorrow.
That struck me as a little strange.
I wandered for a long while, and before I knew it I'd drifted well away from the crowded heart of the Academy. The flashy buildings thinned out one by one, and the surrounding streets grew quiet. I was about to turn back when a weathered old building caught my eye.
"A chapel?"
Compared to the Academy's other buildings, it was conspicuously shabby. Moss had taken root in patches between the bricks, and the old wooden door bore every mark of the years. If not for the cross above it, I might have taken it for an abandoned storeroom.
Staring at that chapel, a certain person came to mind.
The Saintess.
Come to think of it, by now she was probably tucked away in some grand, glittering cathedral herself. And with that thought, the letter I'd left behind surfaced in my memory.
When the chance comes, I will come to find you.
……
Said I'd come find her, and never once did. At first I'd meant to rest a little after the war ended, then pay her a visit. But a day passed, then a week, and as I drifted from place to place, the time had simply slipped away like this.
I felt a little guilty about it. She'd probably chew me out the next time we met.
With that idle thought, and without thinking much of it at all, I pushed open the chapel door.
Creeeak.
The old wooden hinges groaned as the door swung open. The interior was smaller than I'd expected. Rows of worn wooden pews lined either side of the aisle, and at the far end stood a modest altar with a cross hanging on the wall above it. Sunlight slanted in through the windows, dimly illuminating the chapel, and in that light small motes of dust drifted slowly through the air.
And someone was standing before the altar.
A woman with long white hair, her back to me, was tidying the candles arranged on the altar.
A nun?
Wondering if I'd barged in on something, I was quietly looking around for the door when the woman — sensing my presence — turned her head.
"May I help you?"
A familiar voice.
My feet stopped dead.
No way.
She didn't move either, just stared at me, and for a few seconds we stood there in silence, looking at each other. I checked the face in front of me once more. It hadn't changed much from the last time I'd seen it on the battlefield — the only difference, I thought, was that her hair had grown a little longer.
"…Saintess?"
Her eyes went wide.
"Ri…"
Her lips trembled faintly.
"Riven…?"
"Yes."
So miracles of coincidence really did happen. Pleased to see her, I gave a small smile and raised a hand in greeting.
"It's been a while."
"……"
No answer came. The Saintess just stared at me, blank-faced.
"Saintess?"
"……"
"What's the matter?"
Only then did her lips begin to move, slowly, one word at a time.
"Next time…"
"Yes?"
"When the chance comes, I will come to find you."
"…Ah."
Well, I did not see that coming.
"Aren't—"
"That's…"
The rims of her eyes went red in an instant.
I have well and truly screwed up here.
"Do you know how long it's been?!"
I looked up at the ceiling and did some quick arithmetic.
"One… two months?"
"Four months and ten days!"
"…You were counting?"
"Whose fault is it that I was counting?!"
Her voice rang through the whole chapel, and I found myself taking an involuntary step back.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry is supposed to fix it?"
"Then what should I do?"
"Why are you asking me that?!"
"……"
Maybe I really should have visited.
The Saintess was glaring at me like she might devour me on the spot, but her eyes had brimmed over with tears somewhere along the way. Seeing that, I couldn't exactly keep batting her jabs back with a grin.
"I'm truly sorry."
This time I bowed my head for real.
"I meant to rest a little after the war and then come see you, but I kept wandering from place to place, and the time just got away from me."
"Is that really something the man who left a letter and then vanished without a single word gets to say?"
"No excuse."
"Do you have any idea how—"
The Saintess started to say something, then shut her mouth. Instead, she bowed her head low and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, once, twice.
"It's fine."
"Has your anger cooled?"
"No. It hasn't."
"Then I'll keep apologizing."
"Don't do that either."
What am I supposed to do, then?
Whether she'd read my expression or not, the Saintess shot me a sidelong glance. She did seem a little calmer than before, at least.
"So. What brings you here, of all places?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure myself."
"What?"
"I was having a drink when some old codger came looking for me."
"An old codger…?"
"Claimed he was the headmaster here."
Her expression turned peculiar.
"You didn't actually call the Headmaster an old codger to his face?"
"It's not like I was wrong."
"Did you say it like that to him too?"
"Something close to it."
"…You really haven't changed one bit."
The Saintess let out a small sigh.
"So why did the Headmaster come looking for you?"
"Wants me to teach."
"…What?"
The Saintess blinked.
"Says I'm to teach the students here."
"A professor?"
"Yes."
"Here?"
"That's what he says."
The Saintess blinked again. And then, little by little, the face that had looked ready to burst into tears moments ago began to soften.
"Then…"
"Yes?"
"You'll be staying here from now on?"
"Well, so long as they don't fire me, I suppose."
"……"
The corner of the Saintess's mouth twitched upward.
"What are you smiling at?"
"I'm not smiling."
"You just smiled."
"You're seeing things."
"Doesn't look like it to me."
"Quiet."
Even as she said it, that small smile stayed fixed at the corner of her mouth. I didn't know what she found so delightful, but it was a far better sight than the face that had been on the verge of tears a moment ago.
Watching her, a thought occurred to me.
Life here might turn out to be a good deal less boring than I'd expected.
