Could Still Remain (2)
Clang!
Berserk unconsciously curled her fingers as she watched the two clashing blades.
Could she win? The question rose from pure instinct.
"There must be a reason the temple lord is acting like that…"
"Mm. But, uh. Is he really? From where I'm standing, no matter how you look at it…"
"You think he's holding back?"
"So it wasn't just me who felt that way."
Of course, it had never been an easy question to answer in the first place. The Demon Knight was a man so strong that comparison itself felt presumptuous.
"Didn't he say… demon?"
"Did he? He doesn't really look like one."
"Maybe that other adventurer just said something rude to the Inquisitor?"
But had she ever felt defeated by the gap between them? If asked that, the answer was no.
In her eyes, the Demon Knight's overwhelming strength came less from combat sense or formal martial training and more from the sheer scale of the magic power he carried.
"That's probably it, but… still hard to call him just some ordinary adventurer, isn't it? The clothes look noble, and the way he fights…"
"Like a knight."
"That's what I'm saying."
Ah—that wasn't to say the Demon Knight fought on magic alone, or that he'd be nothing without it.
From what she had seen, even stripped of magic he could probably outmatch most strong fighters.
"If that isn't a knight, what is? Even the Inquisitor they call the Deathbringer can't keep up. There's a reason Munmunt is still standing even after things got this bad, you know?"
What she really meant was this:
What made the Demon Knight an anomaly was the singularity of his magic power. If it came down to pure skill alone, without that power, she might win.
No—she would win.
"Scary… I am never getting close."
"But why are the knight and the Inquisitor even fighting?"
"No idea. Don't tell me the knight's a demon worshiper or… nah."
"…No way."
But what about now?
Could she still win even now?
A genius was a genius. One inhale and the stance shifted; one exhale and the sword path corrected itself.
"……"
Had his swordsmanship stagnated until now simply because magic made everything too convenient?
Could 'Berserk' win?
"…Out of the way."
"Huh…? H-yessir."
"Move. Make way."
"Ah, why're you shoving—just wait a second. I'm moving."
Berserk swallowed hard, listening to the voice ringing through her skull while her blade grew freer and lighter with every passing second.
You can't win anymore.
"Move!"
"Hwaaagh!"
"Is that a Slend?"
"Th-that's a giant."
And when that blade finally settled into ease, when it severed the opponent's sword as if there were no further point in holding back—
She stepped into the space people had vacated, now empty.
"That's enough. You've lost."
Defeat.
Hers.
'Berserk's.'
"Damn it, Sister! Why aren't you moving?!"
"I—I have no idea what you're talking about, Brother!"
"There's a demon contractor right th—!"
She stepped in, and the Inquisitor stepped in.
Once the Inquisitor was restrained, the Demon Knight turned away without a shred of lingering interest. As if what had just happened had left not the slightest mark on him.
Fair enough. To him it would have been a common enough hiccup, a ruckus not even worth engaging.
"……"
It wasn't wrong. No—beyond "not wrong," it was simply correct.
Language without the power to deliver anything was nothing but a meaningless echo.
"Demon contractor? You mean the Demon Knight?"
"What else would I mean?! Don't tell me you, Sister, can't feel that demon energy—!"
For that reason alone, Berserk simply slammed the still-raving man flat. "Guh!" He wore armor only on his upper body rather than full plate, so getting up would be quite the ordeal.
Not that she had any reason to go easy.
"Berserk?"
"I'm leaving, Priest."
Courage and reckless folly were only a hair's breadth apart. The resolve to fight to the end and the thrashing refusal to admit defeat were the same.
They differed by the finest margin, and that difference was decisive. A gulf that could never be closed.
And that was why… she hated the latter with every fiber of her being. They were simply too foolish.
"Y-yes."
"Hold on, you look like an accomplice yourself—where do you think you're—"
"Mm, Brother. Why don't you and I talk first…"
"What is there to talk about?! Evil is walking right out in the open!"
Exactly like the her of the past.
You probably think what you're doing right now is right. You probably believe this is the best you can do.
Berserk stopped walking without meaning to.
Wrong. What you're doing now is one of the most foolish things you are capable of.
Then the teaching of the one she hated most and was most grateful for rang from a corner of her mind. Or perhaps the teaching from that time was what halted her steps.
Remember this. The reason you failed to protect is your own weakness, and the reason you are still alive despite that is because I—the strong—showed you mercy.
Her nemesis.
Why mercy? Obviously because I'm kind, first of all, and because you still have use, second.
Her master.
What? You can't believe it? Then what are you going to do about it? You think reality will change just because you refuse to believe? Cut the stupid talk. My mercy is proven by the simple fact that I am putting up with you.
And now dead.
Got it? A strong person's patience is, by itself, proof of something! Whether it's natural kindness, some hidden agenda, whatever!
The teaching of the person she herself had killed.
So drop that ridiculous act already and put your effort into getting stronger. Before my patience runs out and I kill you—get strong enough to kill me instead.
Yet recalling that teaching raised one question.
She still remembered every word of that person's teaching, so why—why on earth was Berserk still nothing but weak?
She had killed her nemesis and master, even taken on the honor of the name Berserk, and yet why did she still exist only as the endless weakling she had been back then?
Because you never accepted the contradiction.
"…I—"
You never forgot the rage, but you forgot the root of that rage. That's why you're weak.
"Berserk is not weak."
Really? Do you mean that?
Truth always hurt. Worse than a blade severing the guts, worse than scraping the bone away.
"Berserk… is not weak."
…How long are you going to—
"So if you have a complaint, Sister can step up herself. Berserk will not move."
Thus Berserk pressed her fingers to the corner of her eye.
"I will not move. Not ever."
Once more, she closed her eyes.
A familiar turning-away.
After wandering for quite a while I finally found an inn that kept a stable. It was the kind merchants favored.
"Mind taking a look at the horse…"
"Whoa… that doesn't look like ordinary bloodstock…"
"…If I asked you to breed him with the mare I've got, that would be a no, right?"
"Of course not. It's not even breeding season."
Still, with so many people coming and going, and Frederick being such a conspicuous mount, I couldn't help worrying someone might try to steal him.
Pruurrrh.
"…Pointless worry, then."
No. Anyone who tried to kidnap him would get kicked for their trouble. I could probably set the worry down.
"If any human other than me or the stablehand approaches, ram them. Kicking with the hind legs is fine too."
Puhiihing.
Still, just in case, I offered apples, carrots, and blueberries while drilling the point home.
Getting kicked by a horse meant fractured ribs at minimum and death at worst, but there was no help for it. Security here was far too shaky, and the means of recovering a stolen horse were far too flimsy.
"Right."
I tipped the young stablehand generously as well and made sure the instructions stuck.
Before leaving I added that if Frederick looked satisfied I'd match the amount again, and the boy's eyes lit up as he promised to take care of everything.
For some reason he seemed more reliable than an adult.
"That's right. And you know a cheap place that still serves decent food?"
"…Feels a little weird saying it when it's our own inn, but…"
Well, of course… the room rates alone were already steep…
"Mm, there's a place only I know…"
Fortunately, the young stablehand understood the weight of the coins sitting in his palm. He also knew exactly where the food was good and where it was cheap.
"Thanks."
I gladly added another tip for that information. The earlier money had been flattery to look after the horse well; this was payment for intel.
"Hah, again…! I-if there's anything else you want to know about the city, just ask! I'll find everything out for you!"
The stablehand looked ready to die of happiness. Money really was king.
"Have a good day!!"
Then all was well.
The most urgent matter handled, time to wash up and go eat. Better to order a packed lunch early if they offered it.
"The fruit and vegetables have been unusually fresh the last few days. The dry season isn't even over yet."
"Yeah? Looks the same to me."
"How do you even live with eyes like that?"
"A guy can not notice, why're you on my case…"
"You said with your own mouth you were going to marry the greengrocer's daughter, you idiot!!"
And then—hang on. On the way back to the inn I spotted a woman landing a perfect flying kick and a man catching it dead-on.
Siblings or friends, I couldn't tell, but they looked close.
"Ugh, for the first time I actually feel sorry for that girl Sasha."
"No… why are we talking about Sasha all of a sudden…"
"Isn't it obvious? The only vegetable shops with girls our age are our place and Sasha's."
"…No, I mean, haah."
"Hah, or is it Marlene-unnie? If that's it, rethink. She's not a bad person, but… her personality is a little…"
"I'm losing it, seriously…"
Ah—I should correct that to friends. Though one of them clearly wanted something more than friendship.
"Whatever, come on. I'll teach you how to pick vegetables and fruit. Whether it's Sasha or Marlene-unnie, you think greengrocer people want to marry a guy who doesn't even know this stuff?"
"…Does that include you?"
"Obviously! I will never allow it!"
"Fine. I'll do it, okay, I'll do it."
Separately, I judged that following those two might yield good fruit and vegetables. If they practiced picking fruit, they would surely sort the good from the bad. I could simply note the good ones and buy those later.
I set the unease aside—honestly, for someone like me it wasn't even that dirty. People around here were really…—and tailed the man and woman.
The goal was snacks for Frederick.
"Ugh, how do you even plan to live without me."
"Dunno. Just die, I guess."
"Is that even something you say out loud? Are you kidding? You're supposed to think about standing on your own, not jump straight to death!"
"Why are you on my case again…"
But listening in on their conversation against my will made someone suddenly surface in my mind. My parents.
"Ugh. Ughhh. When am I ever going to get you independent."
"Can't you just not make me independent?"
"You want me to spend my whole life cleaning up after you? No thanks. I want to date already."
"…Date?"
"Yeah, date! Someone handsome! Sturdy! Someone who can at least tell vegetables apart!"
The reason they came to mind was nothing special. Just that the guy whined and the girl threw up unintentional iron walls exactly the way my parents did.
To me my father was strict and a little blunt… yet in front of Mother he became the clumsiest romantic of anyone.
"…I've got a good body too."
"You? As if. I… want a guy who's at least bigger than my own brother. Build like Uncle Jean would be nice."
"Uncle Jean is a Shagi…!"
"So? You need at least that much bulk to haul cargo properly."
And Mother? The woman who noticed the second Father forgot a single scarf was also the woman who never understood roundabout speech and so always became an iron wall without meaning to.
Whenever Father looked ready to sulk she would prepare a surprise and soothe him before he could even pout.
The most amazing part was that none of it was calculated—it just happened to line up perfectly. Anyway.
"…I guess I don't have a chance."
"What, did what I said kill your confidence? Don't worry! Your build is pretty scrawny by my standards, but… you're still the best-looking guy in our neighborhood. Have some confidence!"
"…Really?"
"Really-really! And you know my standards are high, right?"
"I know. Then…"
I caught a thick waft of cologne from the young people passing by and finally stopped walking. I no longer had the heart to follow them.
"…Maybe I should just confess."
"Huh? Confess?"
"If you still don't get it after I've been this roundabout, the only option left is to say it straight into your ear…"
"When? When did you say anything???"
"…I'm seriously going crazy."
"Ah, what! Tell me!!"
I… no longer had the heart to follow.
Just from what I had already seen, I wanted to see them badly enough.
"Schutz! You play only in front of Dad's shop! You are not allowed to go far!"
"Yeees!!"
"Luise! Don't go anywhere—help with the shop! How old are you to still be living like a bum!!"
"Ah, Mommmm. Pleeease. I already promised to meet Leni."
No—truthfully I had always wanted to see my parents.
In the moment a small child received a family's send-off, in the moment a grown youth still acted spoiled simply because he was a child, and in every single glimpse of such things.
These days, even more so.
"Um… mister. Are you crying?"
"……!"
Just then a child who had been racing down the street came up to me. Unexpected—both the approach and the question.
"Why are you crying? Did something sad happen?"
"I…"
I'm not crying. The moment I tried to say it, something pattered down. Tears.
"Don't cry. Mom said if you cry your luck runs away. And if your luck runs away you can't eat tasty things, and, um, you can't get presents, and, um…"
"Schutz? Schutz?"
"Ah, Dad!!"
"What are you doing!! That's not in front of the shop—hah!"
Humiliating. Character break.
I looked at the tears that had fallen onto my palm and slowly bent my knees. That brought my gaze level with the child's. He glanced back at his father for a second, then turned his head to me again. Grayish-brown hair swayed.
"Dad, this mister was crying so… um, mister, the tears got even more. That's not good…"
Soft little fingers touched my cheek. Behind him the child's father, sprinting over, had gone pale at the thought his son might come to harm.
"Don't cry."
"…Yeah."
Truly, far too soft and warm.
"Wait, wait. D-did my child make some kind of mistake…"
"No. I didn't make a mistake. Right, mister?"
And because of that… I wanted to cry even harder.
"…You didn't make any mistake."
"See! Dad's dumb!"
"I-is that so? Then that's a relief…"
I wished I still had parents who would come running for me.
At thirty years old, still.