Understandable (3)
“Go to where the White Jade Knight stood—now!”
“Yes…!”
“And you! From this moment you are the centurion! Take command!”
“Yes!”
Gunter hastily chose replacements for the fallen officers. He was fortunate to have overheard the soldiers’ talk in quieter days; a few names rose at once—men unlikely to be fragged, men who still had ability—and they became his provisional promotions.
“Our goal is to hold! Hold until the other cities send reinforcements! Do you understand?!”
Even while he appointed them he kept roaring encouragement. His throat was a desert and hunger twisted his gut like a fist, yet he endured with grim stubbornness.
No one else present could take his place.
“M-my throat…”
“I’m hungry…”
“Thirst and hunger are nothing but illusions! Illusions that will vanish the moment that monster leaves! Endure! You can overcome this!”
There was no one else. Only he could do it.
“We will overcome—!”
He thought, even as his voice swelled in inverse proportion to their morale: Is this the right way to speak? Does it even work?
Is this… this… this act…
‘Of all the heirs, that you are the best is hard to believe.’
…Can I really do this?
“…We will overcome!!”
He clenched his trembling hands into tight fists. The sudden burden of command was so crushing he could not leave his fingers open; he had to lock them. Breath would not come.
“Do not drop your weapons. Hold them properly!”
“We can win!”
That bastard of an old man. If you’re going to rant about being disappointed, why die first? Why croak alone when you always said someone like me was worthless? You were so much better than me—than the likes of me.
“We have no rear! Even if we die, we die here! For your families, for friends and lovers—grip your weapons!”
He forced his crushed shoulders back and straightened a spine that wanted to fold under fear. “Uh—!” A cry close to a scream burst from one side.
It came from the place where the traitor faced the soldiers.
“What is it?!”
Had Topaz already fallen to the traitor?
A foul premonition seized him; he abandoned his orders mid-sentence and sprinted. If even Topaz fell, no one remaining could handle the traitor. He had no choice.
Should he summon Sapphire now? Or a couple of knights at least? But if he pulled them away, who would command…?
Gunter’s mind spun as the wall where the traitor had stood finally came into view.
“What in the…?”
Topaz was alone.
“Sir, what happened?!”
“Th-that is…”
Sir Topaz’s lips quivered; he pointed beyond the battlements.
“They fell, sir. That… that unknown youth, together with the traitor.”
“…What?”
Gunter flung himself against the crenellations. While he had been assigning men, the demon army had closed the distance; two figures now clashed on the ground far below the wall.
Even after a drop of dozens of meters they traded blows as though unharmed.
Fluttering brown hair carried a fragrance so piercing it almost hurt.
“Young Lord, that one is…”
Someone approached. A face the Young Lord of Munmunt could not fail to recognize.
“Bishop?”
Though every second was worth gold, the bishop chewed his lip twice. His furrowed eyes held contempt, bewilderment, and more.
“That brown-haired man… harbors demon energy equal to the Plague Beast—perhaps greater.”
At last the bishop’s mouth opened.
“What?”
“If this news spreads it will only crush morale, so I ordered the priests to silence. Still… you must remain wary.”
“What do you mean…?”
The bishop glanced at the advancing demons and quietly pressed the rest into Gunter’s ear.
He had been racing this way after sensing a burst of demon energy from inside the city; on the way he had witnessed Emerald’s betrayal. Seeing the source of that energy clash with the traitor, he had chosen first to gag the priests rather than brand the newcomer an enemy.
“…Understood for now. I thank Your Excellency for your wisdom.”
“I merely did what was necessary. We will prepare for every contingency.”
“Please do.”
Gunter felt the new weight settle on his shoulders and barely smothered the urge to scream. Demon energy equal—or superior—to the Plague Beast. That meant the brown-haired man was, in the end, a Great Demon, did it not?
“Y-Young Lord.”
“…You stay silent as well, Topaz.”
An already splitting headache had just gained a new variable. The sole mercy was that the variable was, for the moment, working in their favor.
“…The one who murdered the Lord and poisoned the knights, wrecking the city, is a Chief Knight who radiates not a speck of demon energy, while the man we suspect of being a Great Demon is actually fighting for us. The world does turn in amusing ways.”
Gunter slipped a hand into the folds of his cloak as if the absurd fact made him dizzy.
“It’s Sir Amber…”
“Sir Amber has returned.”
The soldiers’ murmurs only deepened the reeling in his skull.
“…Damn it.”
The man fighting outside was not Sir Amber. Sir Amber was dead; that thing was a demon swollen with demon energy—nothing more than a demon who happened to resemble Amber.
“Sir Amber! Grant Munmunt victory!”
“Grant us salvation!”
And yet—
And yet.
Gunter watched the blades crash together and silently prayed.
Even if he has become a demon, please—let the real Sir Amber have returned.
Clang, chaaang!
Perhaps because the space to plant our feet had widened and the soldiers no longer cluttered the field, our sword-strokes rang with even fiercer force.
Kaaang!
In pure skill, of course, I still stood no chance. I was clumsy; she, by every report, had never lost a knightly duel.
“You are not entirely a fool.”
But if skill had been my obsession I would never have taken a shoulder wound just to change the battlefield. I answered her polished swordsmanship with my sole advantage: overwhelming mana.
Kwang!
Mana-laced earth cracked and bucked, shaking her blade. Lances of mana erupted from every direction, closing so that whatever move she chose would be hard to evade.
“Yet you remain unskilled.”
Still, once a certain height is reached, it seems even a line can weave a plane. Her blade and whip, which had seemed to drift in slow motion, blossomed with gem-like light.
If anyone had watched from the sky, would they have seen an emerald rose unfold? A rippling veil—an aurora—sliced every mana lance in a single instant and slid across my sword.
A blade as cunning as a serpent, as radiant as moonlight, struck my weapon aside along a treacherous arc and grazed my hand. Chwaak! My leather glove split, leaving a shallow red line across the back of my hand.
Seogeok!
But I already carried too many wounds to flinch at one more scratch. Instead of fretting over a nick I pressed the attack.
Spears rained from the sky while the shuddering ground turned the earth into a fireworks display. Pitch-black sparks scattered like ash.
Kaaang!
Even then the blades met. The black whip, drunk on mana, twisted geometrically and ripped the air; distorted wind shattered my lances, yet steel still rang against steel without end.
Kang! Fingers armored in mana slapped the rapier’s edge aside and lunged for the open chest. Kaaang! It failed. She bent the rebounding blade with liquid ease, adding speed, and returned it in a heartbeat. Rapier and longsword locked, then whirled apart again.
“How pitiful.”
Would I ever be able to move like that? At the vanishing edge of a technique I could see yet not grasp, her sword carved a circle and etched a veil of mana. Pssshhh. Several lances I had fired head-on shattered; the earth I had not shaken took the same shape under a single kick of her foot.
“To possess such fierce mana and yet use it so poorly.”
Charuruk. The whip that had somehow closed in tore the space to her left, twisted, and with a bizarre kink wound itself tightly around my longsword. At the same moment the rapier that had slipped right swept her right side, her back, and the air above her head—angles from which she could never dodge the swarm of threats racing in.
Chaaang!
When had they met again? I felt the swords lace together and the edge, warped by some uncanny torsion, kiss my elbow. Saaak. Fabric and a strip of flesh were carved away together. The fluttering scrap of shirt spinning off with the blood looked almost comic.
“One question, if I may.”
I ignored the black arm now fully revealed to the open air and stamped my foot. Mana bursting from my body gently unbound the whip and instead flung the lashing cord aside. Interest flickered across her face.
“Are you one of the 72 Demon Knights, or a Great Demon?”
The next question earned the same cool stare. Her porcelain-perfect face regarded me without a shred of killing intent, hostility, or even irritation—yet the gaze still pressed down on me.
Kaaang!
Our blades crashed once more. When I abandoned the barrage of lances and simply met steel with steel, the wound on my elbow multiplied in an instant.
“I am not defined by such words.”
A graceful way of saying she was neither. I shoved her sword away, launched fresh mana lances, and tried to deduce what she truly was. Not a Great Demon, not even one of their underlings—then what?
“A demon worshiper, then?”
Saak. With a snap so elegant it seemed a work of art she spun her blade and erased the lances; her lips moved.
“Foolish human. Is that the limit of your guesswork?”
“So you are not.”
Not a demon, not an underling, not even an underling’s underling—then what? A partner cooperating for mutual gain? Simply a hired hand in a transaction?
But if she truly stood in so ordinary a place, how had she recognized my nature at a glance?
“Still, it’s curious. Anyone not bound to demons usually cannot define what lives inside me so easily.”
The temple folk had sensed that I carried demon energy and roughly how much of it; they could not name the precise thing within. Ordinary knights or mages who merely wielded mana never noticed at all unless I openly manipulated the energy before their eyes.
“Are you truly not a demon?”
Therefore—exactly therefore—
She could not be a simple collaborator. Until now, the only ones who had called me Deceit, Falsehood, or Wrath before I revealed myself had been demons.
“…Do not liken me to such base things.”
I checked the mana that had recovered in those few breaths, shaped it into a volley of lances, and fired them on both on- and off-beats. Her rapier, tangled from batting away both my sword and the lances, stabbed sharply at the longsword’s cross-guard—exactly where a slip downward would find the fingers the guard could not protect.
“You call them base, yet you cling to their side rather tightly.”
To keep the tip from sliding into my fingers I shot a mana “bullet” upward from below, knocking it clear.
At the same time I shoved my sword aside and stepped straight in. If the rapier failed to stop me, I could pierce her—with lance or longsword, either would do.
That was the plan.
Her faint smile and pale forearm struck my blade aside.
Saak. Something intervened; the whip severed itself and, riding the air, ripped the skin of my leg. Even in that cramped space it somehow found speed—cloth tore, flesh burst.
A wound visible even from afar became the sixth mark carved into my body.
“Your tongue is long.”
“…Isn’t it the weak who have long tongues?”
Fortunately the muscle was untouched.
I gave half a step back and met the following assault. The storm of lances forced the whip elsewhere, but the sword was another matter. Only after I shook the ground and broke her balance could I barely deflect it.
A groan escaped before I could stop it; I managed an awkward smile.
“Why did you betray them?”
Being driven back was being driven back. If I had already cast aside the silent, high-handed concept, I might as well harvest a little information.
“A knight enjoys every privilege. Why would someone who isn’t even a demon turn traitor?”
Of course I did not ask because I truly needed the answer.
What help would her identity or motives ever give me? The secret of a genuine Demon Knight clasping hands with Wrath was hardly hiding inside her private history.
Yet the fact that a person who looked thoroughly human could pierce my nature at once—that mattered.
Later—once I could again travel this world in a form divorced from the Demon Knight, whether by disguise or other means—I would have to avoid anyone like her if I wished my identity to stay hidden.
“What did they promise you?”
So I detonated the onrushing whip and kept my tongue busy. If breathing became a problem I would shut my mouth, but for now I prattled on.
My mind remained sharp enough not to forget the original purpose while I dug for her secrets.
“Or are you simply a tool they use for free?”
And at last her brows rippled. The movement was faint, yet unmistakable: agitation.
The turquoise haze that had been rising from her body flared deeper, like flame.
“Since ancient times the tongue has invited many calamities.”
“It has also invited much peace. Dialogue and compromise—aren’t they more beautiful than fists?”
I grinned as I contradicted her; her eyes narrowed a fraction. The gentle smile remained, but I could tell her mood had soured.
“You will regret this.”
“Did you know? Getting angry only makes you look more genuine.”
Were you really just a free tool they used? My single jab made her sword wordlessly pour on more force. For all her lofty airs, she still had a sore spot.
I caught the spectacles that kept trying to fly off under the wild motion with my free hand.
Srrk.
They vanished into inventory. No one left who would fixate only on my eyes, and if they broke I alone would suffer the loss—so I chose safety.
“They’re coming!”
At once the ground began to soften like wet clay.
“The demon horde is coming!”
Ghouls that craved rotten flesh, gut-worms that burrowed beneath the earth hunting prey, slimes whose acidic bodies sought anything to dissolve, earth-devouring ghouls that vomited swallowed matter from their navels yet never stilled their hunger, corpse-gluttons that raised moths and maggots inside their meat while searching for carrion—
Hands of demons thrust up through the rancid soil that carried famine, drought, and plague. The moment I had been waiting for, the better to spend mana efficiently.
“Vermin…”
Yet the first thing they seized was, absurdly, not me.
Kyarrarararak
[Hungryhungryhungry.]
[Eat eat eat.]
[Food food food.]
“How dare these lowly things.”
The turquoise knight, ankles snared, froze her expression colder than at any moment since I first struck her.
“Know your place.”
Kwaaang!
Turquoise pressure erupted, blasting mud and demons flat. “Hm.” That was the exact instant my body kicked off the earth and charged her. Every wound carved into me spat blood; the silver blade tore the air.
“I refuse.”
The crescent Chamgyeok I had husbanded until now sheared vertically through the knight, the space behind her, and every lesser demon standing there.