Flawless

On the training grounds reserved for the Imperial Palace knights, I stood facing Sir Brand.

Now that the day's training schedule was over and no particular duties had been assigned to him, it seemed he had time to spare.

"You'd like me to teach you the sword, Your Highness? Very well."

"I know my body is still far too young to handle a weapon properly."

Even so, I wanted to confirm the effect of Seamless Perfection for myself.

"Understood. Then take your stance, if you will."

As I gripped a wooden sword—no iron core fitted inside—and set my stance, Sir Brand held back a laugh at the hopelessly awkward posture I'd assumed. The other knights, idle with no duties of their own, were watching me from around the grounds, wearing the fond smiles of fathers looking upon their sons.

"Seamless Perfection."

I rather liked how loosely Seamless Perfection defined its time constraint. In a word, if the time I spent trading blows with Sir Brand were effectively infinite, then the skill's effect would apply for just as long.

That said, in actual combat it looked difficult to extract its full value. In a battle of one against many, the effect would lapse the moment my duel with a single opponent ended.

Not that it matters—I'll acquire Absolute Perfection eventually anyway.

Clearing my mind of stray thoughts, I readjusted my stance toward Sir Brand, who held out a branch in my direction.

"Was that the power of the Dragon Tongue?"

Sir Brand looked at me with wide eyes. "Your openings have vanished all at once—it's become a remarkably clean stance."

Though he pointed it out, I had no real knowledge of swordsmanship to speak of, so it was hard to accept the change in myself so readily.

"Come at me, then."

At his words, I nodded and dashed toward Sir Brand. But every one of my attacks crumbled miserably before him.

Only then did I come to understand what flaw Seamless Perfection carried. Sir Brand, too, seemed to have roughly guessed the weakness of the Dragon Tongue I had just used.

"Your fundamentals regarding the sword were solid, and the technique born of them was of a high caliber indeed."

"The problem is that it ends there."

"Even so, I was honestly surprised. Beyond swordsmanship—handling any other weapon at that level would require overwhelming real combat experience. Weapon mastery is something that comes only from cutting down a great many enemies, after all."

Thanks to Seamless Perfection, there had been no flaw in my swordplay. But my physical strength and agility held me back, and Sir Brand had shattered my form to pieces.

In a word, Seamless Perfection only raised the 'technical skill' of the words stored in its entries to their absolute limit. It offered no compensation to let me draw that skill out in full.

"As you grow, that weakness will improve to some degree. But if your aim is to become a knight, I'm afraid that will be difficult—you have no talent for mana. You see, when we knights wrap our bodies in mana, the mana seeps into the flesh, so to speak." Scratching his head, Sir Brand continued. "That's why our strength and agility far exceed what an ordinary person could earn through effort alone."

"My goal is to enroll in the Academy's Knight Department and, if at all possible, skip straight into the graduating class."

"I'd say that's unlikely."

At Sir Brand's firm words, I turned the wooden sword over in my hands. If the problem were physical, I could supplement it as much as I liked—through Acceleration, through Swiftness, through compound words of strength enhancement.

That left only one problem: how someone like me, without talent for mana, could gain the upper hand against knights who wielded it.

"Would you coat that branch in mana for me?"

"You mean like this?"

A deep blue hue came smoldering up along the branch, taking the shape of a blade.

"Overwhelm."

By conventional theory, my wooden sword should have been sliced away like paper the instant it touched that mana-wreathed branch. Instead, the single strike I unleashed shattered Sir Brand's mana outright and smashed the branch to splinters.

The knights who had been lounging around watching scrambled to their feet, looking as though they could hardly believe what they had just witnessed.

"...At this level, perhaps it might just be possible."

Sir Brand, too, seemed slightly shaken, and a long silence followed.

"A power that unconditionally shatters an opponent's attacks and defenses?"

"No. It's relative, always. It only works once, mind you."

Overwhelm merely set my first action—or the word that followed—stronger than my opponent's. It was never an absolute value, only a relative one. For instance, the power of Overwhelm I'd used to subdue Aria before had been strong ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only relative to Aria, not relative to Sir Brand.

Having secured, for now, the possibility of skipping into the graduating class upon enrollment, I set the wooden sword down. The gazes fixed on me from every direction stung considerably.

But reactions ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like these were not bad for me. Of course, to an ordinary person, it would simply build a wall of distance—people naturally shy away from anyone too exceptional.

Yet go one step further and reach a realm beyond approach, and people begin to feel awe instead. And that awe would work in my favor once I became Crown Prince. Because I intended, in due time, to found a religion and take the seat of Pope for myself.

Leaving the Demonic Tree unattended is an act of madness.

Justifications were endless. As far as I had worked out in my head, the logic held firm.

First of all, through words, I could surely obtain permanence. That would resolve the greatest obstacle—the problem of artifacts being consumable. But whether the other kingdoms would easily agree with me was another matter entirely.

Because the two kingdoms that currently occupied this continent were founded by fallen royals who had fled when the Third Emperor began his campaigns of conquest. The emotional rift between us ran deep.

And that was precisely why I intended to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠use religion.

A wielder of the Dragon Tongue—vanished since the First Emperor—appearing by chance after several hundred years, right around the time the Demonic Tree was due to bloom again... wasn't that more plausible than one might think? I would wrap that narrative in the mantle of divine revelation. My power wasn't truly the Dragon Tongue, of course, but everyone believed it was.

And come to think of it, wasn't the reason monsters and demonkin released magic stones upon death simply their own means of survival—exploiting human greed so that they themselves would not perish? That, too, would serve as more than enough logic to persuade the people.

Whether a person believes or disbelieves is, in the end, a matter of personal freedom. Even if the other two kingdoms publicly declared that no one should believe in me, hearts cannot be commanded.

So when the people of the Empire—and eventually the subjects of the other kingdoms—came to believe in the religion I founded, I would wield considerable power as Pope. I had no intention of playing a cult leader; the point was to gather legitimate support for the destruction of the Demonic Tree.

Combined with the mantle of Crown Prince, the result would exceed imagination. As Pope, I could influence the other kingdoms; as Emperor, the Empire itself. Looking back through history, kings and emperors of societies where church and state were one were said to have enjoyed extraordinary power.

"Your Highness? What are you pondering so deeply for so long?"

"Oh—nothing. Shall we pick up where we left off?"

"...There won't be anyone there, even if I go back."

Aria was making her way to her chambers, the day's lessons concluded. Just as Rohen had said, in the eyes of the tutors and maids who attended her there was engraved—unspoken but unmistakable—the label of a traitor's daughter. She had thrown herself into her studies hoping to change those looks, but they shifted all too slowly.

Through the window, the sunset bled in—the signal that another day had passed. Watching that crimson light, all the sorrows she had briefly forgotten came flooding back like a veil. This door, once opened, used to reveal Mary greeting her with a smile. Not anymore. Lacking the courage to face that cold reality, Aria stood blankly before it.

The door burst open.

"...!"

Startled, Aria lifted her head. Knowing full well it was impossible, she looked anyway—could it be Mary? But there was no one beyond the door, only a small hand appearing at its edge.

"Welcome back."

"Why are you here again?"

Aria spoke listlessly, as if she no longer had the strength to be angry.

"I told you—when you're alone, I'll stay by your side, didn't I?"

"I'm fine being alone now, so just leave me be. Please."

"Is that so? Someone handling it so well wouldn't have been standing mournfully in front of her own door, would she?"

The words struck true, and Aria averted her gaze, unable to answer.

"Let's go in."

Rohen's hand took hers without asking and drew her inside. She resisted with a flicker of strength—no—but strictly speaking, the intruder here wasn't her, it was Rohen. At the sheer absurdity of it, Aria sighed and stepped into the room.

"You must be tired. Rest. I'll bring dinner."

"Do as you like. Even if I say I don't want to eat, you'll make me eat anyway, won't you?"

"I heard you skipped lunch. You're hungry, aren't you?"

"Are you monitoring my every single move? That's creepy!"

"Think of it as worrying."

With that, Rohen opened the door and left to fetch dinner. When he returned to the room, Aria was nowhere to be found, so he ate alone, quietly scratching his cheek—thinking perhaps she truly needed some time to herself.

But when Aria returned and he saw her, he knew that wasn't it.

"Did you take a bath?"

A faint dampness clung to her; her platinum hair had settled around her snow-white nape. Perhaps unwilling to converse, Aria rolled her crimson eyes aside to dodge his gaze.

"You could just have the maids help you bathe later, couldn't you?"

"I don't need help from the maids. Not one bit."

"Afraid of their eyes? That's why I accompany you, remember?"

"...I'm not afraid. I genuinely don't need help, so stop making a pathetic fuss of it. It's annoying!"

With tiny hands, she swept her hair—untended, uncombed, utterly disordered—out of her face and started on her own share of the meal. Was her habit of holding all human relationships at arm's length a defense mechanism of her own making, her way of protecting herself? Well—she was still a child, after all. That method, however lonely it might leave her, might just spare her the deepest wounds.

So the silent dinner came to an end, and Rohen prepared to sleep beside Aria.

"When will you stop doing this?"

With sleepy eyes—but with an expression that found him repulsive—Aria spoke to Rohen as he lay down beside her.

"Until you can stand on your own. If you find some meaning in living of your own accord, then I'll stop."

"Meaning...?"

Aria bit her lip hard.

"Everything that used to make me happy doesn't exist anymore!"

"..."

"Even sleep—I know it's a lie, and yet I can't sleep unless I cling to the phantom of Mary you conjured up!"

"..."

"And you're telling me to find a meaning for life in this despairing, desiccated reality? You really... you really only ever pick the worst possible things to say."

To her words, Rohen stayed quiet for a moment, then began to write.

"It's not as though I took her from you out of malice, or by force—and so I can't promise to give her back."

"..."

"A meaning for life... if you want one, I'll search for it together with you."

"You're trash."

"Weren't you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the one going to dominate high society? Sleep late and your skin will suffer. You won't grow any taller, either."

"Don't pretend to care about me."

"I won't write anymore. Close your eyes, and pretend Mary is right beside you."

Rohen set the paper aside and closed his eyes. And with that, Aria said nothing more. She simply listened for Mary's voice at her side, felt the warmth and touch of Rohen's hand as if it were hers, and forced herself toward sleep.

And so the night of the two estranged siblings quietly drew to a close once more.