The Young Warriors (4)
The sound of a small blade slicing through wood filled the quiet air.
Asmur had been shaping a crutch for Rahan.
“...Hm.”
The rhythmic tapping brought Rahan’s eyes open. He turned his head and saw Asmur’s back.
It was not slender at all.
The prairie elves were all tall, and Asmur ranked among the tallest of them.
Her back was so broad that Rahan would have struggled to wrap his arms around it.
In fact, he had carried her more often than the other way around.
*I wanted to hold and protect her strong back like that.*
*Just like Asmur did for me.*
It was a quiet thought Rahan had kept to himself.
“Asmur. Are you making it again today?”
“Hm? Did I wake you? Sorry. It was too noisy.”
“I just woke up.”
Asmur set the crutch down on the ground and came over to Rahan. She gently touched his forehead with two fingers.
“Your fever has dropped a lot.”
Her tone was as soothing as stroking a heart.
When the fever had risen high from Rahan’s stitched wounds, Asmur had felt almost terrified.
She had worried it might be poison or rabies.
*It was a terrifying time.*
While worrying that Rahan might show other symptoms, she had stayed by his side without leaving.
Fortunately the fever had steadily fallen, and Rahan was recovering without any major aftereffects.
“Almost finished.”
Rahan’s words brought Asmur the finished crutch.
“It turned out well.”
“Hm?”
Rahan praised Asmur’s handiwork. The wood felt smooth even when he ran his palm over it, as if she had carved the surface while shaping the whole thing.
It would probably be usable right away.
“Could you help me stand up?”
Rahan accepted Asmur’s assistance to rise. His left leg had been causing trouble. It refused to take much strength.
He had not lost feeling. Sensation was completely intact.
Rahan leaned on the crutch and took slow steps forward.
When Rahan stopped and exhaled deeply, Asmur looked lost.
Rahan saw her expression and gave a wry smile.
He felt ashamed that he had weakened the iron woman called Asmur.
“Asmur.”
“Mm.”
“Can you… fully recover?”
Asmur could not answer.
*Why did I say that? I should have stayed silent.*
She wanted to swallow the words she had spoken. They had simply dropped from Rahan’s heart.
*I don’t want to burden her.*
Rahan really felt that way. He forced a smile.
“How about we go outside and walk a little? Asmur, can you help me?”
“…Yes. Of course.”
There was still much for the two of them to overcome.
*
“Are you that curious about Arin’s body?”
“You’re saying ridiculous things.”
Vesta jumped and questioned Aruk.
“Arin told you that, didn’t she?”
Bia and Ahor were completely out of the picture. They looked so serious that no one would have suspected anything from them.
Aruk did not deny it.
“I went to visit her myself.”
*This loudmouth really is.*
The problem was Arin’s mouth.
“I feel so unjust.”
“Well, maybe she’s just curious?”
“I don’t know if this excuses it, but I never thought it would bother me. She’s a centaur, after all.”
“Hm. Centaurs are not always easy to understand. Some think they’re fully human, others insist they’re beasts.”
Even the ‘friends’ Vesta had met in the arena had been naturalists.
*[What clothes?]*
*[Oh, then stop acting so casual.]*
“The three of the tribe are just very unique women.”
“Then why did the whole clan still accept me?”
“It’s a bit complicated. The clothes the elders usually wear are already close to robes, you see? They don’t even wear separate undergarments.”
“True.”
“So clothes and cloth are essentially the same thing.”
“…That’s impossible.”
As an imperial person and as a human, the culture was difficult to understand.
Vesta, whose head hurt, decided to finish small talk and get to the point.
He had come to learn swordsmanship from Aruk.
Vesta swung the wooden sword in front of Aruk. It was not the Khan’s blade, but a simple one-handed wooden practice sword.
“I assume you already know this, but you are putting too much force into it. Especially in your hands.”
It was an old habit of Vesta’s.
“I recommend you correct it.”
Aruk spoke firmly. Vesta did not deny her words. She had spoken of the very basics.
“Putting strength into the hands means the wrists are too stiff.”
Aruk thought stiffness was as bad as poison.
“Stiffness makes it difficult to use techniques.”
The two blades met.
“Hands naturally. Wrists flexible.”
While the edges stayed locked, Aruk flipped her blade.
Clink.
With Aruk’s blade locked in place, the reversal left no obstacle to block Vesta’s sword tip.
Aruk’s sword point now pointed straight at Vesta’s neck.
Vesta instinctively raised his own blade. Aruk noticed the movement.
“Then like this.”
Aruk’s blade slid backward. Vesta’s sword rose awkwardly into the air.
When Aruk returned the blade to its original position, she could once again target Vesta’s neck exactly as before.
Of course Vesta would respond in another way.
What Aruk meant to convey was that flexibility produced technique.
“May I guess? You dislike fighting while keeping your sword close?”
“That’s right.”
It was because of habits drilled into his body that flexible responses had been difficult.
He should never have formed those habits from the beginning.
*But at the time there was no other choice.*
He had deliberately trained it so the adults’ strength would not make his sword fly away.
At the time it had been unavoidable.
“From what I have seen, Vesta’s greatest strength is your eyes. Because you are so precise at choosing the sword that will kill you and the one that will not.”
It was the most important element Vesta valued.
“You clearly distinguish and immediately cut it open.”
Aruk aimed at Vesta’s neck.
“Successful cut opens the vital point, correct?”
Vesta’s sword had clearly been studied.
“What about opponents who use tricks?”
“Detecting tricks is…”
Her advice leaned more toward research for better methods.
They had sparred for a long time.
*She is an excellent swordsman.*
Vesta admired the depth of Aruk’s swordsmanship.
“Hm. This way… interesting.”
Aruk realized Vesta was a far more experienced fighter than she had thought.
*Should I call this skill? He is already a warrior.*
By the time sweat dripped steadily from Vesta’s body, the two had sheathed their swords.
*Aruk is unharmed.*
Vesta was at a size disadvantage, so Aruk had poured far more strength into the fight.
“For today, let’s stop here. Time has passed and guests have arrived.”
“Hah. You’re right.”
The guests Aruk mentioned were Asmur and Rahan leaning on his crutch.
“A pleasant guest has come.”
*
Vesta gladly accepted Rahan’s grateful words.
Rahan’s expression brightened noticeably.
“I just met Arin earlier.”
“…Really?”
*Was she wearing only a thin cloth?*
He almost asked that.
Instead, while speaking about her recent condition, Rahan suddenly said,
“You seem like an entirely different person from me now.”
“There is no way.”
Rahan’s face looked quite serious.
“I had never seen orcs up close before.”
“I’m not exactly familiar with orcs either.”
“Those sharp teeth and blind eyes… how can anyone fight such monsters?”
*Is that because you’re ‘Baatar’? Did you even come into the world like that?*
Vesta answered after careful thought.
“I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I don’t really like fighting.”
I had felt the thrill every time, but not out of enjoyment.
Rather, it had felt like a terrifying kind of excitement.
“I fought because I had to.”
“…What I wanted to know was how you could do that.”
Vesta gave a wry smile.
“You didn’t really understand what I meant.”
How could you?
That was not an appropriate question.
*That is how he was made.*
Vesta had been born in the arena.
His parents had never been present. The circus performers and prostitutes of the arena had raised him.
As a child he had been part of the circus. As he grew older he had been set up as the beasts’ prey.
He had survived his first fight by luck and kept living as a gladiator.
His name, Vesta, had been nothing more than a shortening of Bestiarius, the beast-slaying gladiator.
*People think I’m Vesta.*
Vesta had not told Rahan about that shameful past.
He had only mentioned it.
“I don’t believe there are people who are born as warriors.”
It was his word as someone born in the arena.
“Then?”
Vesta did not answer Rahan’s question. Instead he looked somewhere else.
There Ahor was training a group of wolf-man youths.
Even though she had bitten deeply from a wolf-man she had trusted with her life, she was still reaching out her hand.
Overcoming wounds. It was another kind of courage both Vesta and Rahan needed.
“I still can’t summon the courage, Vesta.”
“Rahan. Look at this sword.”
It was a sword gifted by the Khan.
“That sword?”
“It is the sword that made me Baatar.”
Baatar. Another name for courage.
“Since that day this sword has not been drawn again.”
“Will it never be used?”
“I don’t know. So I asked the Khan.”
Vesta sheathed the silent sword.
“When the time comes to draw it, I will be able to draw it.”
*When we must fight, and when we decide it is time.*
Vesta called Rahan’s name.
“Rahan. Courage is not like that, is it?”
Vesta left after those words.
“......”
Rahan remained standing in the same spot, staring into empty air.
For a long while.
A long while.