29. Grand Marshal (3)
29. Grand Marshal (3)
Hestia planted her foot firmly on the ground. Due to the fleetness characteristic of the Cat Tribe and the efficiency of her muscles, she closed in much faster than the blond knight Michael had anticipated.
The sword in her hand now was the plain blade Hestia had always used. The Full Moon's Kiseteria was safely stored away in her subspace pouch. Wielding a renowned sword like that for sparring wouldn't help her training, after all.
Kagagang!!
The sound of two swords clashing echoed out. The rough ringing of blades. And the continuous exchange of offense and defense.
Shwaeaeaek!
Michael threw his body backward, deflecting Hestia's fiercely downward-slashing sword with a parry of his own.
"You aren't fully utilizing that superior physical ability of yours. Use your leg muscles more efficiently."
Michael pointed out the flaws he could see, one by one. Hestia corrected the feedback she received in an instant.
With an expressionless face, Michael parried the sword paths thrust at him by the scarlet-haired Cat Tribe swordswoman, endlessly marveling.
Even for a genius, correcting pointed-out flaws this quickly should be impossible.
'As expected, she is the swordswoman chosen by that man.'
The God of War, Yuma.
Indeed, she was a talent worthy of being his subordinate.
"Try using your Sword Aura."
"Okay!"
At Michael's words, Hestia ignited her Sword Aura along her blade. Crimson Sword Aura flowed down the edge.
"Come."
Blue Sword Aura flashed on Michael's sword.
Kwang! Kwang!
The crimson Sword Aura and the blue Sword Aura glided through the air and clashed.
The waves of Sword Aura spread out wide.
'Her Sword Aura is strong, too.'
Even as he admired this, Michael calmly pressed Hestia hard.
"Uwaaahk!"
Three streaks of sword light seemed to extend out simultaneously. So when she met that sword path with a counterattack, her feet got tangled up.
Hestia plopped down onto the floor.
"Ho-oh! You're strong!"
Looking at Hestia exclaiming in admiration, Michael opened his mouth as well.
"You were strong too."
Someone extended a right hand toward Hestia, who was sitting on the ground.
"Get up."
It was Yuma.
"Okay!"
Smiling brightly, Hestia took Yuma's hand and sprung to her feet.
The blond knight, the 1st Princess Brigitte's escort knight Michael, stared at Yuma, who had helped Hestia stand.
"Lord Yuma."
Yuma felt something odd.
He sensed an intense fighting spirit in Michael's eyes.
"Would it be permissible for me to dare ask you for a single lesson?"
Yuma silently stared at Michael.
If he took a strike from a Sword Master, he'd have no choice but to parry it. And then <Absolute Counter> would have to activate. It was obvious that would end Michael's life right in front of him.
Yuma decided to tell a suitable lie. In any case, it was an effort not to cut Michael's lifeline short, so it was a white lie, in a manner of speaking.
"I spent a long time on the battlefield. It was a very long war."
First, he laid the groundwork.
As if he had some immensely dramatic past. Of course, no such thing existed.
"It was an endless struggle. Perhaps because my hands were stained with blood for too long—the reason isn't clearly known to me—but I cannot hold mercy within my hands. Not now. I've become pathologically that way. So, things like sparring are impossible for me."
Michael swallowed hard.
"...As expected. So there was a reason you cut down every enemy in a single stroke. I apologize. I failed to consider the weight of that sword."
Michael had let his imagination run wild on its own.
That Yuma must have walked an utterly harrowing path. That he must have continuously trodden battlefields swirling with blood and its lingering traces.
Leaving behind Michael, who had come to his own understanding of the reason for refusing the spar, Yuma walked toward Cloné on the opposite side. Cloné was discussing magic with the Red Magic Tower Lord.
Pajijik!
A blue-tinged bolt of lightning flickered in Cloné's hand.
The lightning emitted dozens of branching tendrils.
"The mana is intertwining very fully. It is an achievement that's unbelievable for the 3rd Circle. You've begun to see the light of the 4th Circle, haven't you?"
At Eldrie's words, Cloné replied quietly.
"Yes."
It must have been because she still lacked confidence in her achievements.
"Have confidence. You possess an immense talent."
At the Archmage's praise, Cloné smiled bashfully.
"Thank you."
Eldrie bowed his head, looking at Yuma.
"Greetings, Grand Marshal."
Yuma spoke indifferently.
"We're not on the battlefield here, are we?"
Yuma looked at Eldrie with his Searching Eye.
[Lv.122] Eldrie
Race: Human
Class: Mage
State: 7th Circle
Cloné bowed her head toward Yuma in greeting, then focused back on her magic.
Eldrie approached Yuma.
"Cloné's talent can be called truly genius-level. She is expected to achieve the 4th Circle soon. Her growth curve after that will be steep as well."
After that, Yuma and Eldrie exchanged a few more words.
Yuma watched Cloné, who was casting lightning magic in one hand and ice magic in the other, from a distance.
'Yeah, grow up fast.'
Yuma hoped for the day to come quickly when he wouldn't have to step forward himself.
***
A day passed. Day broke again.
The 1st Princess of the Astes Empire stared at Yuma in front of the main gate of the princess's palace.
To Yuma's left and right stood the mage Cloné and Hestia of the Cat Tribe.
"It's quite a modest departure ceremony."
Only three supporting troops. Even with that small number, Sword Master Michael could not dare to dismiss this force.
Brigitte straightened the attire of Yuma, who wore a black coat.
"It suits the epaulettes on your shoulder well, too."
On the right shoulder of the pitch-black coat was an epaulette bearing six golden stars, the mark of the rank of Grand Marshal of the battlefield.
Gazing intently at Yuma with her blue eyes, Brigitte continued.
"Heigelt, the 2nd Seat of the Empire, has also answered the call for support. He is currently in the east, so he will arrive at the front lines later than you. Heigelt has an independent mercenary corps, so the troops will be supplemented from his side. Though, to begin with, what they requested wasn't standard infantry, but elite forces capable of turning the tide of war."
On a battlefield where Aura Blades and meteors ran rampant, a few strong individuals were needed more than numerical superiority.
Cloné approached Brigitte.
"I'll be back. Your Highness."
"Alright, stay safe. Cloné."
Brigitte stroked Cloné's hair.
There had been times when she wondered if keeping Cloné with her would be safer. But after seeing Yuma's deeds, she became certain. No matter how chaotic the war might be, Cloné would be safer with Yuma than with her.
"I-I will see you again next time! Your Highness the Princess!"
When Hestia spoke using an awkward, pathologically stiff formal tone, Brigitte chuckled.
"You speak as if going to the battlefield is like going on a trip and coming back. May I touch your ears a little?"
Brigitte found Hestia's perked-up cat ears quite fascinating.
At Brigitte's gaze, Hestia's shoulders flinched.
"If you touch them gently... just a little, it's okay."
Brigitte carefully stroked Hestia's ear. The soft feeling of the fur flowed over Brigitte's fingertips.
"Oh-ho, oh-ho."
The corners of Brigitte's mouth twitched upward.
Hestia trembled slightly. It was because her body got ticklish if her ears were touched continuously. Seeing Hestia flinch all over, Brigitte wanted to touch her ears more, but upon seeing Yuma's bored gaze looking down at her, and Hestia's behavior as if it were pathetic, she stopped her gesture with a snap.
"Hm, I suppose I should stop bullying you now."
Freed from the tickling, Hestia's ears unfolded straight up again.
"Go and return, Grand Marshal Yuma."
"Yeah, I'll go and return."
Yuma and Brigitte exchanged looks. Trust in each other was contained within those gazes.
"Let's go."
At Yuma's words, Cloné and Hestia answered energetically.
"Yes!"
"Okay!"
They would have to ride the magic train Heilro again to get to Akan, and then travel by carriage.
***
"......."
Marquis Tornell, the guardian of the Empire's southernmost point, stared at the ominous sky.
Tuduk...
Raindrops began to fall one by one from the dark, pitch-black sky.
Was it a shower?
Beyond the pouring rain, the distorted torchlights of the enemy came into his view. The tents, barely illuminated by the dying flames, entered his sight.
They were the tents of the barbarian nation Pyneton's side.
"Father."
Tornell turned his head to the right. His eldest son, Merkel, who had turned twenty-four that year, came into view.
"Please go inside. The rain is getting stronger. Those bastards who hid even in the bright morning sunlight won't move in this rain."
"Alright."
The raindrops were growing thicker.
Merkel looked at the massive back of his father entering the tent. It was the back of the man called the Empire's first wall.
"Seeing them set up their camp so close, it clearly looked like they would invade any moment... but it seems they're hesitating more than expected."
At Merkel's words, Tornell slowly shook his head.
"I wonder about that."
Among the strong, there existed a dialogue not of words, but of intuition.
The fighting spirit rising from far away, the spirit of the Barbarian King, Conqueror King Kamet, was not that of a scared man.
A crouching beast.
A beast rising up, watching for an opportunity to bite into its opponent's nape.
That was how Kamet felt to Tornell's eyes.
Just after Tornell entered the tent.
Ku──uung
A massive drum sound rang out.
The tent flap was violently thrown open.
"Your Excellency, Marquis Tornell! The bastards have started their advance this instant!!"
Tornell grimaced hard.
"What?"
Carrying his cherished weapon, a massive axe, and fully clad in his heavy armor, Tornell rushed outside urgently. He saw the countless gleaming eyes of beasts shining in the darkness.
They were the giant wolves, <Fenris>, beloved by the warriors of the barbarian nation Pyneton as if they were war horses.
"Marquis Tornell."
It was a heavy voice.
"The war between you and me will begin now."
Ku──uung
At the end of Conqueror King Kamet's words, the drumbeat echoed out once more.
"Your Excellency!"
At his subordinate's shout, Tornell urgently looked to his left.
It was the knight Ulchep, in charge of guarding the left flank.
"Their archers have already swallowed up the mountain ridge!"
Darkness and rain.
Tornell realized he had been gravely mistaken.
Kamet's heavy voice sounded the alarm.
"We do not fear the darkness and the rain. Because that is how we have lived. Because that is how we have survived."
"Uoooooooooh!!"
The Conqueror King's words were followed by the war cries of the barbarian warriors.
The war had begun.