Eventually (2)
On the night the moon hung caught upon the high tower roof and the tavern lamps kindled the darkness, a boy set his foot upon the street.
Flutter. With every step the boy took, the hem of his shabby cloak stirred, and blood streamed without end from his bare, unshod feet.
“What the hell is this!” a man cried out at the trail of blood etched into the street. “What’s wrong?” his companion started, lifting a lantern high. Its light rounded the night street into a pale circle.
“What kind of marks are these?” The man and his friend followed the traces. Before long they found the boy walking alone.
Filthy ash-gray hair, and the scrawny limbs visible beneath the cloak.
“A-a person?” Those who discovered the boy drew the lantern closer still, fear-stricken. Half the boy’s face, hidden till then by darkness, was revealed.
Drip. From brow to chin, a wound that split the half-turned face on a diagonal never ceased to spill blood.
“The wound’s terrible!” the friend shouted, stepping nearer. The moment he approached, the shadow that had clung to part of the boy’s body rippled.
No—it was not shadow. The darkness that had only pretended to be shadow bared its teeth from between the folds of the cloak, from behind his heels, from beyond the reach of the light.
It was as if half the boy himself were fashioned of darkness. The hair that stood up on his head looked exactly like a horn.
“A-a demon!” The man drew his sword in frantic haste to save his friend. The boy flinched and recoiled from the lantern’s light. Once he stepped into the domain of darkness, his eyes blazed fiercely.
“I—I am—” The boy seemed about to speak. “Over there!” Yet the instant other voices rang out—voices that had found the blood trail—the boy…
—From Broken Horn by Herto Linzer.
Berserk settled into a cross-legged seat before the fight. It was the posture Norda warriors took whenever they meditated.
“In… out…….”
In that position she repeated the cycle of breath. With every exhalation distracting thoughts vanished; with every inhalation fighting spirit swelled.
A battle-will pure as snow piled upon a spirit-peak, and cold beneath it as a thousand-year ice crystal.
You’ll lose.
“…….”
Yet there is no such thing as perfect detachment. At least not for her.
You know. He cut the thing you cannot cut.
“…The quantity of mana does not decide victory or defeat.”
A voice seeped into the mind she had tried to keep cold. Berserk bit her lip.
Hahaha. A voice identical to her own rang from one corner of her mind.
Usually that’s true. But is mana all he has? No, it isn’t. You can’t beat him.
“It does not matter.”
Why? How can challenging an opponent you cannot defeat not matter?
“There are fights in which even defeat holds meaning.”
I don’t know… Your words aren’t wrong, but does that saying even apply to the fight you’re about to start?
“Meaning is—”
You have no intention of learning anything from him, no will to rank yourselves and follow, and you haven’t staked anything either, have you?
It was a voice that pierced only the bone-deep truth.
Or do you simply want your inadequacy acknowledged anew? Why? They’re things you already know and have turned away from. If you’re going to turn away again this time, what value does this act even hold?
“…I—Berserk—”
If you’re going to pretend ignorance, then just pretend. Or else steel yourself to face it head-on.
She did not want to hear it. Berserk wanted to cover her ears.
If only she could banish that voice that carved her flesh, tore her muscle, and laid bare every shame she had wanted to hide—she would have done anything.
Thirty years is enough time to wander with the answer at your back, don’t you think?
“Stop!”
…No. She could not. If she could have, she would have done so long ago.
“Stop it.”
Drip.
Berserk let tears fall in heavy drops as she hung her head. Her chest, her heart, hurt as though it were being ripped out. It felt exactly as if she had lost half of herself.
“Please… just stop…….”
She fixed her gaze on the one who remained frozen in that time and would grow no further. She faced the one who, dried and withered, painted the pure-white snow mountains red with blood.
“You were the same, so don’t you dare blame me.”
As expected, she did not want to see this.
“You chose to fight knowing you would lose, and you wouldn’t listen to anyone who tried to stop you—so don’t you tell me not to go.”
She still did not want to face it yet.
…That was to keep you alive.
“Berserk never asked for that.”
Then was it for yourself?
“It was not for Berserk either.”
Absolutely not.
“If you had truly cared for me, you should have gone together.”
She would not admit it.
3:40 a.m. I liked leaving ten or twenty minutes early for appointments, so I had gone out ahead of time.
“Hmm.”
And found myself facing a closed city gate. The final fate of a human who had forgotten that the gates open only after sunrise.
“What am I supposed to do about this…….”
Honestly. There wouldn’t be open space inside the city—more precisely, no clearing wide enough that we could fight to our hearts’ content without collateral damage—so I had deliberately set the meeting outside the walls. Yet to think the gate itself would bar my way. Is this what they mean by knowing one thing and missing the second?
“Waiting here… doesn’t feel right either.”
Even so, I couldn’t just squat and wait, then meet Berserk only to ask if we could postpone.
Come to think of it, leaving the city would probably still be difficult even after daybreak. After all, something like that had happened on the very first day we arrived.
“No choice, then…….”
Either endure the inspections that had grown stricter because of the demon-worshippers, or simply slip out in secret, fight, and slip back in again.
After a fierce consultation between conscience and self-interest, I chose the latter. Part of me had wanted to wait, but the temperament of the concept left me no other option.
The concept was a person who was conscious of morality, yet prioritized his own standards over law and rule.
“Haaawn. When’s the shift change…….”
In that regard, I’m sorry, and please, absolutely do not notice me. If I’m caught, both you and I are finished.
Whoosh.
“Wha—a gust…?”
I wrapped my body in mana and ran vertically up the wall. Then I leapt as high as I could, avoiding the sentries’ eyes.
Whether because my mana was black or because the moon was hidden behind clouds, not a single guard spotted me floating in the air.
There was one whose hat nearly flew off from the wind I raised when I kicked off the wall, but that was all.
Whooooosh.
In the meantime my body, dozens of meters up, began to fall. Because I had jumped straight up, the landing point would not be far from the wall.
Thud.
“Huh, thought something just fell…….”
“You dozing off? What are you talking about.”
At least I had left the space reached by light.
Listening to the guards’ voices, I gave silent thanks that my mana was black.
Then I slipped like a shadow into the forest. That was 3:47.
“Whew. Success.”
I’ve always thought leaving early is an excellent habit. It lets you handle variables like this.
…Well, from here on Berserk herself is the problem.
But what am I really supposed to do? I don’t have to worry about her circumstances… yet what if she gets caught coming out? That would put me in a tight spot too.
“…Maybe I should have just used the temple.”
Oh, of course I know that’s an impossible wish. The whole reason I’m doing this at dawn is so the Inquisitor, Deathbringer, and Archmage won’t catch on.
And then do it at the temple? That would just be thrashing around to leave an opening.
Hoot-hoot-hoot.
While I stood still, an owl’s cry drifted through the forest where I had stopped. 3:57 a.m. The appointed time was right upon us.
Thump!
Just as the thought struck me that Berserk might not be able to come after all, I sensed a presence—large, yet furtive.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Exactly four o’clock. On the dot.
“We doing it here?”
“No.”
I had only been standing here because I didn’t know whether she would show; I had no intention of fighting in this spot. If we did, the sentries would notice us for certain.
“We go farther.”
With that in mind I meant to put more distance between us and the wall. Berserk agreed.
The two of us ran side by side through the night forest.
“From Berserk’s view, this looks good enough. At this distance the city won’t know.”
After about twenty minutes of running, Berserk spoke first.
“Any farther and returning to the city will become difficult as well.”
The fact that she was already considering the aftermath of the fight was a bonus.
“…Here, then.”
Of course it was merely unexpected that Berserk had thought ahead; her words themselves held not a single error.
So I agreed and stopped my feet.
Sunrise, as I recalled, was around six; as long as the fight didn’t stretch an hour or more, we should be able to slip back under cover of darkness. The thought itself reeked of flag-planting.
“…….”
“…….”
At any rate, all that remained between us now was the duel we had promised.
Silence settled between Berserk and me as though we had arranged it in advance. For me it was because this was my first formal duel; for Berserk, because something complicated seemed to be turning inside her.
Shff.
Still, the wait was not long. Berserk moved first.
“In my homeland, the honor I carry is Berserk—she who proves valor with blood.”
Thud.
She set an oil lamp on the ground, then gripped the black-hued halberd with both empty hands.
Her sturdy legs spread to a proper stance, supporting her weight.
“With the weight of that name, I challenge you now.”
It was a formalized rite, yet it did not look like a salute to an opponent. If anything, it was closer to the posture one takes an instant before charging.
“This challenge shall be sharp as the tip of a blade, yet none shall be buried beneath the falling snow.”
Even so, it was respect.
Unadorned and therefore most primal; free of the frippery of etiquette and therefore all the clearer.
“Honor to the victor.”
Golden eyes shone, not a scrap of lightness in them, bright and cold.
“Enlightenment to the vanquished.”
And when that gaze met mine, words left my mouth before I knew it.
“…Fairness to the duel.”
Was it only my imagination? Berserk’s eyes, looking at me, seemed to curve ever so slightly.
Though before I could confirm it, the halberd in her hands was already thrust forward.
“It is an honor to fight.”
The tip of the halberd—the spear-like blade—aimed for the vicinity of my heart.
And so it began. Instinct rather than ear recognized the starting signal of the duel.
Clang!
Berserk gripped the halberd wide and charged. The instant her feet kicked the earth, a sound rang out as though a thin metal plate had been struck by something hard.
The oil lamp’s crimson light clothed the black halberd in unmoving lava.
Ting.
I, on the other hand, did not rush her; I simply raised my sword properly from where I stood.
The two-hander I had already drawn and held so that its tip touched the ground rebounded upward when it struck the toe of my shoe.
Kaaang.
My two-hander slid precisely between the spear blade and axe blade of the halberd, stopping its advance cold.
The weapons, locked at an angle, shuddered violently from the impact. Even prepared, my wrists tingled.
Yet we could not stop here.
Our wrists flexed fluidly, spinning halberd and two-hander in circles to free the locked blades—only to discover we had made the same decision, so the weapons merely traced a half-circle in the air.
Screeeech.
Then we stepped back. Our feet retreated in tandem, disentangling the crossed weapons. Metal scraped metal, raising an eerie shriek.
Whoom!
Attack followed at once. Berserk seized the butt and midsection of the shaft and charged straight in. Had it been a path any ordinary person could see and dodge if told to dodge.
But if she were to make such an obvious attack, how could she be called Berserk?
The spear blade that had been driven forward was yanked back in an instant and thrust along a different path.
My two-hander moved similarly.
Huge though it was, it still weighed only five kilograms. The smoothly rotating blade met the spear tip. Thung! A heavy sound, and both halberd and two-hander were driven aside.
Whoosh!
If I couldn’t use that momentum, I might as well hand back my “action-game veteran” title.
I twisted my ankle as if wrenching it and spun my body. At the same time the blade, whirling like a windmill with me, accelerated and aimed at Berserk once more.
Kaaang! Halberd and two-hander collided again. If the previous clash had been nearly a perfect cross, this one slanted like an X.
The angle between the crossed sword and halberd was too wide, and too narrow. They slid.
Whoom!
The blade that had struck the shaft lost the contest of strength and slipped downward with a long shhhk. Naturally the halberd rose.
“Tahat!”
The problem was the halberd’s reach.
My two-hander measured roughly 1.6 meters. Berserk’s halberd, about 2.5 meters.
If she thrust from this position I would be run through cleanly, while I could not reach her.
And Berserk knew that as well.
Survival Instinct. The skill I urgently activated presented evasion routes. Retreat, or block with the sword.
“……!”
Of those I chose the latter.
Drawing on system correction, I poured strength into my arms. The sword that had been planted in the ground was hauled up so that it barred my front on a diagonal. My right hand gripped the ricasso of the true two-hander, bracing for the coming impact.
Of course, doing this meant Berserk could withdraw the halberd and thrust along another path, yet……
Skreeeek!
As if I would allow that.
Following the trajectory shown to me, I once again locked the sword between the spear blade and axe blade of the halberd.
Grind. From that position I twisted my wrist, changing the angle of the blade; the edge of the two-hander seated itself perfectly into the inverted-omega-shaped groove.
Now Berserk could not withdraw the halberd until I released it, or until she abandoned the thrust and twisted it free.
Nor could that blade reach me.
So then—what will you do?
How will you answer?
“As expected… you……!”
At the wordless question I sent, Berserk let out a sharp laugh. She chose the latter.
Then what of me? How should I respond?
I observed Berserk and imagined the next problem. It was exactly like solving a brilliant chess puzzle.
Fierce, yet no need to consider death; bold, yet fair and upright; and when solved, it left only the pleasant sort of stress that rewards you with pleasure.
That kind of puzzle.
“Berserk will give her all!”
Kaaang!
In the meantime the weapons crashed together once more, and Berserk’s cry drove into my ear.
It was as if she were sternly commanding me not to look away.
“So you give your all as well!”
It didn’t feel bad at all.