Opening the Doors, One by One (2)
Whether it was thanks to an exceptional guide, or simply good fortune in every possible way.
No, it was probably both.
"If I'd been dragging an ordinary human around, we'd have wasted at least three times the time it's taken us now? And that's assuming luck was on our side."
So she said.
Even after crossing into the Metran Kingdom, towns and cities remained few and far between, and so the nights spent camping continued on and on.
All the while, something between a spar and a lesson had been taking place—a teaching of sorts, however simple.
"So it's not some kind of black magic or dark sorcery that steals or seizes mana by force, but rather—working according to the law of nature's circulation, you reverse it, or tangle it, or bind it…."
Luirin, who had been muttering like that, turning over everything she'd heard from me again and again, finally concluded:
"…I don't understand a single bit of it."
"You're not defying the river as it flows. To change the flow, you dam up the space it runs through, or to redirect its course, you cut into the existing banks or break through the levees—or build them. Or create them outright."
"I can follow the idea, but how am I supposed to use that with my body? That just confuses me more."
…Honestly, I had no answer for that either.
The only reason I ever came to understand it was years of emptying my mind, over and over, repeating Grandeus's bizarre sword forms and sword strokes until thought itself wore away.
The Demon King said that was precisely how it became possible. Just in case, I had shown Luirin the movements.
"So what are these actually for?"
And so I demonstrated it myself.
The forms were unusable even bent as they were—no, they could be used even with a sword held in both hands.
Even with the sword Elhermina had given me.
"Now I understand it even less?! The forms, the movements—everything's completely different!"
"…But the principle, the underlying truth, is the same."
"With a greatsword, you said trees, or boulders? Fine, I get that. But with a one-handed blade it's water and wind? How is that the same thing? And besides, are those comparisons even accurate?"
"……."
Astonishingly, they were.
But how was I supposed to explain that?
"On this land—on the earth itself—there are trees, water flows, wind rides along the surface. Seen that way, in the end it's all two sides of one coin, or… one thing, whole…."
As I spoke, a realization dawned on me alongside the words.
For one thing, it was a mystery that this expression had come out of my mouth at all.
Which meant—had I known this all along?
Not consciously, but unconsciously?
"Why'd you stop mid-sentence?"
"…The point is, even when things look different, they aren't different. That's all this is."
"Those hand-wavy non-answers are the ones I hate the most."
Well, what could I do when it was the truth?
Still, if I'd learned one thing from saying it aloud, it was this:
…That even with the same intent and the same content, it could sound, feel, and be received in an entirely different way.
In any case, what the Demon King had once told me was beginning, anew, to make sense.
…Though even that was still only scratching the surface.
"……."
Even when taught and shown outright, it wasn't understood, wasn't absorbed.
I paused to consider: to those who strain to hide their various secret arts, Grandeus's must seem downright lamentable—arts that were simply given away.
-Repeating the same act is one thing. How devoutly, how sincerely, how completely you pour yourself into it—that is another matter entirely.
That much was true, I supposed.
After all, the Demon King wouldn't have forced me to take my own life a hundred times, claiming sincerity mattered, out of sheer boredom.
Not even the wind that brushed past was treated carelessly.
And even someone like me—if I let my mind drift, if my concentration slipped, I would lose myself in an instant.
-And besides, if you don't build it on the spirit of knighthood, no matter how faithfully you learn it, none of it will ever truly land.
That was why, though I had taught Luirin the movements separately, I never instructed her to drill them into mastery.
She had a path of her own, I judged—and I could only awaken her to it and encourage her along the way.
For instance…
"You pour yourself into it wholly. Truly, genuinely attempting something, training, striving—about this much, I think even you understand to some degree."
"That's just stating the obvious."
"And yet even so, I can see you're still leaving room to spare."
So if there was something I could offer her—
"…It would be teaching you what that genuineness is, and making it something you can actually use. That much, at least."
Even so, she seemed to grasp things well enough—matured early compared to others her age.
But whether or not one could wield it freely was, I realized anew, difficult to understand alone.
After all, the concept itself had never been properly taught to the world.
Even those who used it held it only vaguely.
"…And that means different people receive it differently, or something? Like that 'true intent' thing of yours?"
"Yes."
Had her mind been slower, I would have had to awaken her by hand.
Fortunately, she was the sort whose mind turned well on these matters, so I decided to attempt an explanation first.
"Sincerity—genuineness—is a kind of expenditure of mental force."
"Mental force?"
"Right. When you think a lot, concentrate, worry over something—you get tired even if you barely move your body, don't you?"
"Oh, that I understand. Exactly. That's why I try to empty my head."
"This is about using that deliberately, controlling it—and extending its reach even into the body itself."
"…It's a bit dense, but I follow."
"For example—your thoughts don't always go the way you intend, do they? Usually they drag you around instead. Isn't that so?"
"That's…."
Luirin tilted her head.
"Maybe? Then again, maybe not?"
"The way to notice it is simple. Your body's tired, so sleep should come easily—but the moment you actually think 'I have to sleep now,' a thousand thoughts come flooding in. Don't they?"
"I… guess? Though even then, if I think about tomorrow's schedule, I can manage it to some extent."
"That only means your capacity for control is that excellent."
"A compliment, here?"
…I seem to remember praising you at every turn, actually.
"And when you concentrate on something—if you're interested, if you feel its necessity, if you yearn for it—focus comes easily. But with things that aren't? You can't focus, can barely be bothered to give them a passing thought, they're tiresome and troublesome and—well, you know."
"That's just natural, isn't it?"
"But suppressing the resistance you feel when you force yourself through something you hate—that too, in a way, is using your own will, isn't it?"
"I… suppose so?"
"Say that willpower is money. The things you want to do are cheap, and the things you hate are expensive. To pay for the costly goods, you have to spend more money—yes?"
"That went somewhere strange all of a sudden. But I get it."
"Thinking, exerting your will, concentrating—all of it consumes mental force. Even stirring an emotion, or pressing it down."
"Oh, that one I know. When I want to eat something but can't, sometimes I can hold out, and sometimes some switch flips and I just pounce on it—even when the coin purse is running thin."
"Right. When you can endure it, and when you can't. What was the difference?"
"…Ran out of mental force?"
Somehow, I had led her there cleanly.
Once understanding took hold, everything after came fast.
A person only develops the drive—the will—to work hard at something once they grasp its necessity.
If you spoke vaguely of thought and mind and whatnot, it became like grasping at clouds: hard to draw out the answer of why one should do it, must do it.
Likewise, without felt necessity, the grounds for diligence simply fall away.
And if you had no will to pursue something yet had to pursue it anyway, then that too became an expenditure of mental force—borrowing willpower, or overextending it, wasting it on credit.
"…So it's like—when you feel a thing is necessary, you work hard at it even if you hate it?"
"Just so."
Human or beast, there were no exceptions here.
What they wanted, they threw themselves into without being told.
What they hated, they despised unto death—and if you kept ordering and commanding it all the same, they would eventually give up everything else just to accomplish it.
Thought, emotion—even the act of carrying these within them grew too heavy, until they were working with open eyes and empty eyes both, a corpse assigned to its duties.
"……."
Slaves, laboring while emptying their minds, soothing themselves with don't even think about how hard this is—that, too, was probably for the same reason.
And yet—they endured because they could endure.
To put it another way:
Up to a certain point, they endured by force.
But from a certain point on, a time comes when they can no longer endure. And then…
"So if I learn that sincerity, that genuineness you keep talking about, Master—will I be able to control all of that?"
"…Part of it."
"Huh? Part of it?"
"A tree has its way of living, and boulders, water, wind—and fire, each has its own manner of life, its own way of pursuing things."
To wish for water to blaze like fire.
That was pure coercion.
And even then, it would only boil, vaporize, and become smoke.
"Your innate nature, the nature you pursue—each is its own. Understand yourself, and… just as fire understands it can never touch water, you understand what you are. And then you avoid calamity. Pain and discomfort fall away as well."
"…Um, then what if I want to be fire instead of water?"
"Then you die."
"I'm sorry—what?"
"…You kill yourself, over and over, until your nature changes. Though even then, whether it truly changes is anyone's guess."
The reason the Demon King had forced me to take my own life.
…So that was what it had been for.
Only after the words left my mouth did it strike me.
"……."
I shot a glance at the creature, resting its chin on its hand in the empty air, looking thoroughly entertained.
I see.
So this is what the way of Wisdom looks like.
Knowledge and wisdom are different things.
When I had once asked the Demon King about knowledge—
The Demon King had promised to teach me only briefly, and offered a certain example.
"……."
Of course, that definition of knowledge was not absolute—he admitted as much later.
That, too, was merely one subjective measure for weighing knowledge, he'd said.
And so—
The Demon King does not trust knowledge.
It is a kind of tool, a means.
Nothing absolute.
And yet.
Those who do not know the essence of knowledge are like fledglings taking food from their mother's beak.
They believe in it blindly, without question.
That is ignorance. That is the darkness of unknowing.
And I, having heard all of it, had once asked:
Then what is wisdom?
The Demon King sneered.
And now, returning to the present—
…I still had not reached the answer to that question.
Though perhaps I had reached part of the answer to what came before it.
"By the way—that dying thing you said. That wasn't a metaphor, was it?"
"……No."
It was not a metaphor.
One must truly die—or layer upon layer, come to viscerally know shocks and agonies enough to rival it.
And that, I imagine, would be harder by dozens of times over than dying for real.
"Then I'll just… live in the way that suits me, whether it's water or fire."
"And in return, you cultivate that unique thing of yours, carefully and well. That's all there is to it."
"That's exactly what I've been saying!"
Do not cling to the useless or the absurd; do not carry regrets for them.
Perhaps that, too, was a fragment of wisdom.
Looking at Luirin, I turned that question over quietly in my mind once more.