Footprints (2)
Thud!
A stack of books toppled over, caught under Lumil's foot.
It was a minor commotion that erupted while they were chasing after Kirian.
"Hey! What the hell? Watch where you're going!"
"S-sorry."
Decat snapped irritably at Lumil.
But he didn't think it was a big deal.
Even if Kirian heard the noise, nothing would change.
'We've got seven people here. And backups too.'
Whether they caught up to Kirian from behind or snatched the proof of return from him on his way back, it wouldn't be difficult at all—or so he judged.
But then, out of nowhere, a fork in the path appeared.
"What the—?"
"Kirian's footprints...?"
"Th-they suddenly multiplied."
Footprints splintering from one spot into seven different paths.
All of them unmistakably Kirian's.
Decat and the kids froze in confusion, having lost their lead.
"What is this? Did Kirian cast a spell? What kind of magic is this?"
"Damn it. Who cares what magic it is! Get out of the way!"
Decat shoved Lumil aside as he paced near the footprints, biting his lip.
They were already quite far from the center of the tomb.
Regrettably, this Tomb of Books and Swords turned into a vast, intricate maze the deeper you went.
Pressing on meant shouldering that much more risk.
'But we can't go back empty-handed. That'd be humiliating!'
Decat had placed an impressive second in the first trial, drawing no small amount of attention.
As a branch family member, he needed to shine even brighter to stand out.
Which meant he couldn't abandon the pursuit of Kirian.
"Everyone, fan out and search."
"What? Keep chasing him?"
"What are you planning, Decat?"
The scared kids pushed back, but Decat spoke calmly.
"Think about it. I don't know what trick Kirian's pulling, but he can't actually be seven people. The Duplicate spell is tricky even for a 6-star mage."
"Yeah, that's true..."
"One of these paths has to dead-end eventually. Find it and come back here. Once we're down to six, we resume the chase. Got it?"
"Ohhh..."
The kids nodded at his reasonable plan.
Kirian's real path was just one, after all.
Spot it among the seven, and they could tail him.
"You heard me—scatter! Hurry up!"
At Decat's command, the kids dispersed.
But one lingered, scratching his forehead.
Lumil.
"What? Why aren't you moving?"
"Hey, Decat. Instead of this, why not call one of the guardians? If we summon one skilled in tracking, they'd spot the real Kirian footprints in no time..."
The guardians the participants had brought along.
Their primary role was protecting the entrants' safety, but depending on how you used them, they could provide hints for the trial too.
The catch: only two summons allowed, with a 30-second stay limit.
How much you got out of a guardian was up to you.
"I heard your guardian, Sir Corteo, excels at tracking. What if we ask him?"
"..."
It was sound advice.
Decat's guardian was a magic swordsman renowned for tracking and hunting.
Summoning him now would make identifying the real footprints a breeze.
But Decat scoffed.
"You want me to waste Sir Corteo on something this trivial? You trying to make me a laughingstock?"
"Huh? No, that's not—"
"And summoning a guardian outside an emergency docks points. Have you even read the fine print?"
"S-sorry."
"Then shut up and take that path. Come back if it dead-ends!"
"Okay..."
Truth be told, pride alone made summoning a guardian impossible here.
Decat sent Lumil off first and let out a deep sigh.
Fire blazed in the boy's eyes.
'I have to win. No matter what.'
He focused on the footprints on the floor as he advanced, ready to react the instant he sensed Kirian in the darkness.
But at some point...
He realized something was off.
"Huh?"
"What is it, Decat?"
From the shadows ahead, not Kirian, but familiar figures emerged in droves.
The kids who'd taken other paths earlier.
"Why are you here?"
"You guys too...?"
Kirian's footprints didn't end.
No—they kept going.
As if he'd read their minds, anticipated every pursuer, and toyed with them all.
Twisting and tangling into a massive spiderweb.
"No way!"
"He played us!"
"..."
Chaos gripped them all. Decat scowled, clutching his forehead.
Only then did he grasp the trap.
No matter how he racked his brain, pursuit had been impossible from the start.
"Then where's the real Kirian?"
Where the hell did he go?
The kids could only stare into the unseen darkness, lost.
* * *
All seven pairs of wooden shoes were decoys.
The real way I'd shaken the kids—
"Such a frail guardian spirit. You should've trained your stamina harder."
Manifesting Hierniorn briefly.
Then clinging to him and flying off without leaving a single footprint.
The kids would just chase the wooden shoes' trails until the paths tangled— so I only needed to fly beyond their sight.
"Enough. Set me down."
"Weren't you the one saying not to rely on drugs someday?"
Fire Spirit Essence.
A high-concentration elixir for growing fire-attribute spirits.
No—it was exceptional enough to replenish vital energy even for spirits of other attributes.
Hierniorn had been nagging me to get it.
"Fine. I'll get you some."
I nodded despite myself.
I couldn't bring myself to tease the phoenix sprawled out, utterly spent.
"But not right now. It's not like Fire Spirit Essence grows on trees."
Dim light revealed hazy bookshelves.
Tucked between them was a small door.
A hidden space so subtle you'd miss it without close inspection.
'No wonder they say even Nirvana's location is unknown. Makes sense.'
I wouldn't have dreamed of finding it without Hierniorn's guidance.
I opened the door and stepped in. At the center stood a gorgeously adorned sword.
"Nirvana..."
Even without Hierniorn's clarification, it was obvious.
I activated my Transcendent Eye and confirmed the details right away.
"Replica of the divine sword 'Nirvana'."
"It has slightly degraded performance but faithfully replicates the original's traces and functions."
"Can utilize Yunhwa, Hangswae, Cheollung."
The original had been destroyed during Ulfrik's bloody battle with a demon legion commander.
The enemy had turned Nirvana's functions against him in a counterattack.
Hierniorn smacked his beak, reminiscing.
"Enough. No more chit-chat. Let's start."
I approached Nirvana slowly.
The blade emanated unyielding strength, unmarred by ages of time.
"Gripping the hilt initiates the proof trial."
"Debate swords with the fragment of will left by the previous owner; victory grants ownership."
The trial was a swordsmanship duel.
In other words, fight Ulfrik.
My teacher who'd trained me, the great swordsman who'd surpassed the Noble Wall to reign as an Allmaster.
But it was winnable.
'Nirvana was Ulfrik's sword from his immature days, and this is just a replica anyway.'
Plus, since it was a sword debate—not a life-or-death bout—it favored me even more.
I gripped the hilt without hesitation.
My mind went white in an instant, unfolding a grand illusion.
A man's back amid swirling sand in a desert wasteland.
Cloaked, Nirvana in his right hand.
"Hm...?"
I furrowed my brow.
With the previous owner's will fragment for the sword debate, I'd expected Ulfrik.
But this silhouette wasn't his.
"...Who are you?"
"Nirvana's owner. If you want this sword, defeat me."
Who the hell?
The man turned, revealing a face I didn't recognize.
His grip on the sword felt alien.
Thankfully, Hierniorn—who'd tagged along into the illusion—recognized him.
At least a century ago, then.
I pondered the hunched man on the dune.
'So he beat Ulfrik's will fragment and claimed Nirvana...'
Meaning Leroy was a swordsman of considerable skill.
But he didn't seem it.
Awkward stance and breathing—like he'd barely learned the basics.
'What is that? Did he reach the realm of Return to Primal Truth Ulfrik mentioned?'
Then Hierniorn spoke again.
I couldn't help furrowing my brow in surprise.
"Just 4-star...?"
If true, this remnant was no match for me.
He'd merely failed to breach the Noble Wall, stuck below 7-star.
In pure theory, I rivaled 8-star knights.
Comparing to 4-star was pointless.
"Hiern, explain in detail."
"How bad?"
A mage with zero sword talent.
So how had he bested Ulfrik's will and inherited Nirvana?
It made no sense.
Fair point.
I'd have to seize it via sword debate to find out.
'Good thing I have this—no need for a drawn-out debate.'
I drew Mihaden's dagger from my robes, raising it to eye level.
Leroy's remnant leveled his sword at me in response.
"I'll yield the first move. Come."
"I won't hold back."
A sword debate pitted pure technique against each other, ignoring strength or size.
Like chess with sword forms— even a child could match an adult.
'A mere 4-star yielding first move to me?'
Leroy had blundered from the start.