Punching Through the Ice
Encia, who had barred the outsiders from the succession ceremony, waved a dismissive hand as she spoke.
“Kill him? Even coming from Lady Lucia, that’s quite the leap.”
The way she flicked her hands about was deliberately playful. Yet her words carried real weight. The overseers of the succession ceremony were every last guardian of Dawn Castle, Yuma included.
“I’m only speaking out of concern—that an outsider might come to harm by barging in midway through the ceremony. Consider it a warning.”
“A warning?”
“Meaning something comes after the warning.”
Encia nodded at Lucia’s question.
She stretched out her index finger and drew a line across the ground.
White lightning leapt from her fingertip, melting the snow, blackening the earth, and sending up coils of smoke.
“From this moment on, if anyone unrelated to the succession ceremony crosses this line, it will not end with a warning. I’m rather broad-minded compared to the other guardians, but my friends are not nearly so forgiving.”
“I’m glad it ends with a warning, then.”
Yohan offered a bitter smile and took a step back.
Before he knew it, demons stood arrayed in front of him. They made no effort to hide the hostility in their eyes.
Yohan studied their faces one by one. Every last one of them radiated the presence of a high-ranking demon—the kind one might only sense beyond the Macal Mountains, deep in the Demon Realm.
If he hadn’t received even a brief rundown of the precautions from Hugo before coming here, he might have found himself unconsciously fingering the sword at his hip. The thought carved the wrinkles around his mouth a little deeper.
“……In that case.”
Lucia’s eyes narrowed as she fixed them on Encia.
“What happens when I—someone related to the succession ceremony—cross the line? Will you hurt me too?”
“Oh, of course not.”
Encia burst out laughing and waved her hands again. This time, though, her tone and manner were casual and gentle.
The person she was addressing now was not some old knight of unknown origin, but the lord’s own daughter. That difference softened her attitude at once.
“As you heard earlier, the succession ceremony was never created to kill the descendants of Prien. We who live to ensure the Prien line continues would never harm a young lady who has passed the ceremony, would we?”
“Then if I cross—”
Thud—
In that instant, Lucia never finished the sentence. The dull impact that rang out from behind Encia was unmistakably something striking the lake.
Thud— Thud—
Heavy blows followed one after another. With only one person currently beneath the lake, everyone present could guess the source.
As the successive sounds of something trying to smash through the ice rolled out, every gaze and every scrap of attention locked onto the place where the noise came from.
“……He swam under the ice, did he? Unbelievable.”
Hugo, who had been watching in silence, groaned under his breath. His interest was no longer on the maids of Dawn Castle at all—it was fixed entirely on Shiron beneath the ice.
Yuma didn’t interfere, so I thought maybe… but to think he’d actually try something this insane.
What Shiron was attempting carried a crushing amount of risk. The end point of the succession ceremony was not the far edge of the lake—it was reaching dry land.
It wasn’t as if no one had thought of that idea over the past five hundred years. Everyone had joked about it and moved on; no one had ever actually tried.
So there was a child with real guts after all.
Hugo stroked his chin, a pleased smile tugging at his mouth.
Right now, Shiron was gambling with his life.
Even if he reached the spot, if he failed to break through the ice without any help, he would simply drown. The ice of the lake was far too hard and thick for a child whose blood hadn’t even dried on his head to smash with bare hands.
Even knowing that, Shiron filled Hugo with anticipation for how he would handle whatever came next.
Hugo looked across the lake at Yuma, who stood perfectly still on the opposite shore. He could guess why she hadn’t stepped in. Considering her nature, she would be the one fretting the most of all.
Thud—
Yet even as Shiron pounded madly at the ice, not a single crack appeared. The successive impacts stopped as well.
“Don’t tell me...”
Lucia murmured, staring at the place where the sound had been coming from only moments before. An ominous premonition crept up her spine.
“……I have to help him.”
“My lady.”
Encia sighed as she watched Lucia’s lips move.
“I say this only as a precaution, but if Lady Lucia helps Young Master Shiron, both Young Master Shiron and Lady Lucia will be disqualified from the succession ceremony.”
“……So what? Are you threatening me with that right now?”
Lucia turned her head and glared at the blonde maid. Encia paid the look no mind at all.
“Actually, the young master told us yesterday. That even if he fails, no one is to intervene.”
Encia shook her head at Lucia, who stared at her in silence.
“We opposed it—even Lady Yuma did—but Young Master Shiron forced it through. There are witnesses, you know.”
Encia pointed at Berta, who stood quietly off to the side.
“And would the young master even welcome your help, my lady? At least I don’t think so.”
“……”
Lucia had nothing left to say.
Even as his breath grew short, Shiron did not hurry.
What was needed to claim the most outstanding position in the succession ceremony was a conspicuous result—but the process of reaching it must never be excessive.
In other words, it needed to be dramatic.
Therefore.
Shiron had no intention of drawing the Holy Sword and cleaving the ice in a single stroke, nor of digging through the sand in some unsightly scramble to climb free.
His goal was the cool scene of punching through the ice with his fist and emerging.
Surely it can’t be that even this won’t cut it.
Shiron looked at the Holy Sword.
Perceptively, the Holy Sword neither flared with light nor made any eerie sound. It simply glittered with quiet pride underwater.
Slowly...
Shiron gently pressed the Holy Sword into the ceiling of ice.
The ice that had not cracked once despite his desperate pounding now sank in as if it were butter the moment the blade touched it.
But even here, Shiron was careful.
He did not drive it in all at once. It felt as if he had been holding his breath for quite a while, yet he could still endure.
He focused every nerve on the sensation traveling through his fingertips so that the blade would not poke out beyond the ice.
Then he withdrew the blade and pushed the sword in again from the end, crossing the previous cut.
Scritch— Scritch—
Shiron engraved his purpose into his mind once more.
He was careful not to make a wrong move as his breath grew labored.
Passing the succession ceremony with no one’s help. That was the only thought he held. He must not leave any evidence of having used the Holy Sword—that absurdly overpowered piece of equipment.
So, slowly, without letting the blade stick out beyond the ice, he carved away only enough that he could smash the rest with his fist...
At last.
Crack—
A conical chunk separated from the ice ceiling.
Shiron did not stop there. He sliced the freed mass into smaller and smaller pieces, cutting until, in this upside-down world, it looked as if a pile of ice was simply rolling along the floor.
Good.
Faint clusters of light poured down like a waterfall.
About two finger-spans, roughly? Even with the edge dulled quite a bit, it’s still this good.
Shiron kept working.
Once again he carefully created ice fragments. The pieces separated from the ceiling would scatter the light so that no one outside could tell what he was doing.
A thin layer of snow covered the surface, but he could not rest easy.
He immersed himself in the task for a long while.
This should be enough.
A slurry that looked like waterlogged shaved ice had formed.
Shiron slid the Holy Sword into his hand.
It was a blade that sliced that hard ice as if cutting tofu, yet it never cut his flesh.
There was no need to focus his mind. The Holy Sword was drawn in smoothly, as if that place were its proper home.
Shiron set his feet back on the sandbar.
The second attempt felt good.
Even as his breathing gradually reached its limit, he drove his fist toward the ice with a far lighter heart.
Crack—
A dull impact rang through the water, but the fist he threw was light. Outside air brushed against his extended hand. The murmuring voices from above were a bonus.
Crack— Crack—
Shiron smashed through the ice with the absolute will to succeed this time.
Finally the hole widened enough for his body to pass, and he thrust his head through it.
“Haa—!”
It had only been a few short minutes, yet it had felt endlessly long. The outside air was as sweet as honey.
He was so light-headed that he even forgot the stinging in his hands.
When he brushed the hair stuck to his eyes and looked ahead, every gaze was locked on him.
“……Oh my, what are you all staring at like that? It’s embarrassing.”
Shiron grinned brazenly. He had done it precisely to draw attention—but now that he was living the moment, he was genuinely embarrassed.