The Broken Sword
At the pavilion on the outskirts of Dawn Castle's training grounds, Shiron sipped his black tea as he gazed toward the center of the yard.
There, Lucia lay beside her broken sword, staring blankly into space. Thanks to the pure white snow, her clothes had stayed free of dirt—but in weather this cold, he couldn't help worrying she might catch a chill lying there like that.
"What are you doing out here?"
Siriel took the seat beside Shiron.
"It's freezing, you know."
"Lucia's broken."
"Broken?"
Unaware of what had happened, Siriel had no idea what her brother was talking about. Instead of explaining, Shiron set his teacup on the table and rose from his seat.
He walked out to the center of the training grounds where Lucia lay. Looking down at her unfocused golden eyes, he heaved a deep sigh.
"You'll catch a cold like that."
"...I don't get colds."
Lucia raised an arm to cover her eyes.
"So just go away."
"Are you that upset about losing to me?"
"...It's not that, so leave me alone."
Lucia recalled a terrible nightmare. Could today have been the day she was fated to stab Shiron through the chest? If so, the prophecy had come true with uncanny precision.
Of course, Lucia wasn't the sort to go on a rampage just because a sword had broken. She had been a little startled during today's spar, but she knew perfectly well how weak a human Shiron was. If anything... shouldn't she be congratulating him on a job well done? The number of people who had ever beaten the hero Kyle in a spar—Siriel included—could be counted on one hand.
But the shock of her cherished black iron sword snapping was not something she could simply ignore.
The black iron sword. Darkie. Black Nebula.
She was too embarrassed to say it out loud, but Lucia had even given the black iron sword nicknames. Five years ago, at the forge she had reached hand-in-hand with Shiron, she had felt destiny.
The way it nestled perfectly into her small hand. The thick blade. And yet a balance so perfect it never tipped too far in any direction...
Lucia could wield any sword with ease, but the black iron sword had always been special to her.
It was the first thing she had ever truly owned. And it was the first and last gift she had ever received from Shiron.
Yet the very person who had given it to her was acting so nonchalant about it. Yohan had been there too, of course, but Lucia couldn't shake the feeling that the memory the two of them shared had somehow been invalidated.
As she lay there feeling the hollow emptiness inside, Lucia suddenly felt a cold touch under her arms.
"...What are you doing?"
"Hold still."
Shiron hoisted her up and shook her out. The snow clinging to her back tumbled to the ground in a flurry. Limp in his arms, Lucia offered no real resistance, merely puffing out her cheeks.
The cold hands between her arms and torso were there because Shiron was worried about her. Lucia wasn't so ill-mannered as to reject a person's kindness.
Carrying the dangling Lucia, Shiron returned to the pavilion and set her down in a chair. Now Siriel, chin resting on her hand, could face her properly.
"Hmm..."
Siriel understood what Shiron had meant by "broken." Even with hands slipped under her arms, Lucia's face hadn't flushed with the slightest embarrassment.
Presently, Shiron set the pieces of the black iron sword he had brought belatedly onto the table.
"Right. Brother, there's something I wanted to ask you."
"..."
"The Coming-of-Age Ceremony involves fighting an Apostle, doesn't it?"
Siriel deliberately asked Shiron a question she could have put to Glen.
"But what exactly is an Apostle? Father and Uncle didn't finish their sentences, but they both looked terribly grave."
"Apostles are remnants of the Evil God."
"..."
At the mention of the Evil God—a remnant of the past—Lucia's head turned toward Shiron.
Unfazed, Shiron continued with a face devoid of humor.
"Siriel. You've read the fairy tale, haven't you?"
"...You mean The Eternal and Immortal Great Chronicle of the Great Savior, Founder Kyle?"
"That's the one."
"..."
Hearing the title of the fairy tale, Lucia's face flushed a little. Siriel looked at Shiron with a puzzled expression.
"But in the fairy tale, Lord Kyle clearly extended a sword aura hundreds of meters long and slew the Evil God. So how can there be remnants?"
"...That's right. M-my... Lord Kyle did slay him."
Lucia mumbled, lacking confidence.
"The Evil God is not dead yet. And there is clear evidence of that."
"Evidence?"
"I'll show you."
With a solemn expression, Shiron drew a shard of black glass from his breast.
A fragment reeking of vile divine power
The object he had obtained by killing cultists radiated a demonic energy every bit as thick as that of the maid attending at his side.
"Do you not feel something?"
"A dreadful, repulsive demonic energy can be felt."
Dorothy, the maid attending nearby, answered in his place. From the black glass shard radiated something that could only be described as a remnant of the damned Evil God she had once served.
Shiron tucked the black shard back into his clothes.
"The Evil God bestows blessings of his own upon demons and demonic beasts alike—even upon humans. And those who receive that wicked power wield the blessing without any price to pay."
"...So the ones who receive the blessing are the Apostles?"
"No."
Shiron shook his head at Lucia's question and sifted through old memories.
Receiving the Evil God's blessing did not make one an Apostle.
Those promised eternity. Those who could hear the voice of a god. Those who schemed in the shadows to resurrect the Evil God.
Many settings came to mind, but every single one was a phrase too embarrassing to say out loud. Left with no choice, Shiron decided to share his impressions of the Apostle he had met not long ago.
"Among those who received the blessing, the ones who swagger around especially. The ones who babble nonsense about being chosen by a god and hearing voices and so on."
Meanwhile, beyond the snow-covered mountain range, near a bubbling volcano, a woman who had lived on nothing but a thirst for vengeance let out a mournful sigh.
The Giant's Forge.
It was a place she would not normally have come until after the Coming-of-Age Ceremony, but at Shiron's request, Yuma had crossed the mountains and braved the blizzard bare-bodied.
Young Master said he needed a sword.
The one-horned woman clutched at her fluttering heart and knocked on the massive iron door.
Clang— Clang— Clang—
Three knocks in total. And precisely three seconds.
With a heavy sound, a scorching blast of heat poured out between the iron doors.
Whoooosh—
Yuma squeezed her eyes shut against the hot air, then slowly opened them once the wind died.
And then—
Yuma's eyes met those of a fairy floating gently in midair.
Faded hair. Rags for clothes. Her appearance was nothing special, but the horrific scar over one eye socket marked her as someone unique.
The one-eyed Dolby. She was the one Yuma had come to find.
"I need a sword. Just one. Please give it to me."
Without so much as a greeting, Yuma stated her business to the fairy. They were not acquaintances of a day or two. Having known each other for more than five hundred years, Yuma omitted any unnecessary words.
"A fine sword. One that accepts mana well. A sword that will never break."
"...Come in."
Dolby beckoned the blankly standing Yuma inside.
Unlike Yuma, on whose skin beads of sweat formed in the rushing heat, Dolby seemed utterly unaffected by temperatures of this level.
"Pardon the intrusion."
Yuma followed the fairy who had appointed herself guide.
Rumble—
Along with the intensifying heat, Yuma felt tremors rising through her footsteps. Presently, the fairy's guidance came to a halt at a certain point.
A colossal human form filled her entire field of vision.
"Atmos. Yuma is here."
"......"
At the clear voice, the giant turned his massive body.
"......"
The giant whose entire lower jaw was sheathed in steel wordlessly bent down to look at the one-horned woman.
To converse, Atmos planted his hands on the floor.
Because someone had shattered his lower jaw five hundred years ago, conveying his will required a somewhat cumbersome process.
[Yuma. Why have you come here.]
The entire forge became his mouth and produced sound.
[The Coming-of-Age Ceremony has not even been held yet.]
"What other reason would I have to come to this place? As I told Dolby, I have come to receive a sword."
[I cannot give you one. Go back.]
Atmos turned away again, and Dolby shrugged her shoulders.
"He says go back?"
"..."
Yuma stared blankly at the giant's back, then drew a handkerchief from her breast. It was the handkerchief Shiron had handed to a weeping Yuma seven years ago.
Wiping the beads of sweat from her chin, Yuma steeled her resolve.
I cannot return empty-handed.
Less than a week remained until the Coming-of-Age Ceremony, and a full day had already passed since the Young Master's request.
Yuma fixed a fierce glare on the giant's back.
"Since when has the Coming-of-Age Ceremony been so important? You forge weapons, and I raise the hero. Was that not the agreement we made from the beginning?"
"......"
Even at Yuma's rebuke, Atmos gave no answer. He merely stared blankly at the seething lava.
Yuma exhaled a sigh along with a throbbing headache.
"Atmos. If you continue to be stubborn, I have ideas of my own."
Yuma reached toward the fairy floating nearby. Bone-chilling frost extended from her fingertips and took the shape of a sharp ice pick.
"...Yuma?"
Dolby stared blankly at the tip of the ice pick.
Surely she was using magic to cool off from the heat. Yuma had been sweating excessively even before entering the forge. After making the ice, she would press it to her cheek.
Even as the thought formed, the ice pick remained pointed steadily at Dolby.
Yuma tucked the thoroughly soaked handkerchief back into her breast.
"Atmos. I knew long ago that you were a fool, but to choose your pride over your lover's life—"
[Stop.]
Atmos cut Yuma off mid-sentence. When he turned around, his face was twisted like a demon's.
[Yuma. Have you gone mad?]
"I have not gone mad. I... have always been this kind of woman, have I not?"
Yuma smiled with her eyes as she approached Dolby. Then she seized the tiny fairy in one hand and pressed the ice pick to her throat.
The giant's contorted face went ashen with shock.
[If Dolby dies, I will no longer be able to forge weapons. Are you making this pathetic threat knowing that?]
"If Dolby dies, I shall cast magic in her place. I am better at magic than she is."
"What are you doing?! Hurry up and bring a sword!"
Dolby shrieked at the giant, her face contorted with terror.
"Look at this bitch's murderous eyes! Kyaaah! It's cold! Something cold is touching my neck!"
[Take it.]
Clatter—
Swords rained down from the sky. Only then did Yuma dispel her magic.
However, she had no intention of releasing the fairy.
"Dolby. You will be coming with me."
[That was not the deal, was it?]
"When did I ever say I would let her go? If I were to withdraw as things stand... hmm. Whatever the case, this is a precaution against any eventuality."
Yuma drew one of the swords with a faint smile.