Joker
The Martial Arts Tournament only gets more entertaining to watch as the rounds climb higher.
The academy students who have been winnowed down, round after round, are all formidable in their own right, and every last one of them carries a fierce pride in their own skill. Early on, there were those who—like Sozeta—chose not to fight to a decision and dropped into the losers' bracket of their own accord, conserving stamina for later. But the closer the preliminaries draw to their end, the fewer are willing to concede.
Watching a student claw their way back from the losers' bracket, reversal after reversal, all the way into the main draw has its own appeal. Even so, nothing draws a crowd like a full-power clash between championship contenders.
The fourth-round match unfolding now is exactly that kind of fight.
Philia looks at the delinquent-looking red-haired girl standing in front of her. A cocked, slouching stance, and eyes that glare as if the entire world is an inconvenience. It is a look that makes it impossible to believe she is a cleric of any kind.
"Lucky me, drawing a scrub."
"Likewise. This should be an easy ticket through."
Abigail's sneer is met with a smile of Philia's own. The fighting spirit blazing between them makes it abundantly clear that neither has the slightest intention of backing down. Once the atmosphere of a real fight takes hold, the spectators lean forward, eyes locked on the stage with hungry interest.
"Your win rate's lower than mine, you know."
"It's not a margin worth bragging about."
"Can't even do simple math? I thought you were supposed to be the smart little lady."
In the year since Philia began training under Rai, the two of them have sparred hundreds of times. Abigail's win rate sits higher by a razor-thin margin, but as Philia said, it is nowhere near enough to claim a real advantage. If they fought in earnest, there was no telling who would come out on top.
"Abigail!! You've got this!"
From the hushed, concentrated stands, Xenia's voice rings out loud and clear.
"Oh? You've got yourself a fan."
"Shut up. I don't even know her."
Whether from embarrassment or irritation, Abigail refuses to even meet Xenia's eyes as she snaps the words. They have spent so much time together strengthening Abigail's Divine Power that Xenia considers them close. They are hardly a matching pair of personalities, but no matter how much Abigail grouses, Xenia has always wrapped her in that gentle, unshakable warmth.
"Don't you want to make the main draw? If one of us steps aside, the odds get a little better. You wouldn't want to disappoint your fan, would you?"
"Odds this, odds that. Talking like you've seen the future with that empty little head of yours is seriously fucking disgusting, you know that? Guess a pampered lady like you just doesn't have eyes for reality."
Abigail sneers at Philia's suggestion and draws her sword. Her sharp eyes narrow, and her mouth splits into a grin so wide it looks almost refreshing.
"I just want to beat you to death, that's all."
Abigail's red eyes flare, and a sacred radiance coils around her body.
Sacred light coils around her body. Her eyes burn red.
Watching Abigail go all-out from the very first breath, Philia lets out a disbelieving little snort of a laugh.
"What a coincidence. Looks like we're of the same mind."
Blue lightning erupts from her body.
Blue lightning bursts from Philia's frame, and when she moves, afterimages trail behind her like phantom doubles.
"Praise the Lord!!! The Lord shall gather you into His warm embrace! Now hurry up and DIE!!"
"You lunatic."
Philia's face twists at the sight of Abigail charging in, spouting mad nonsense thanks to Joue en Lucette's grip on the brain—but a smile still hangs on her lips, as if the fight itself is a joy.
"Don't kill her! The Goddess is generous of heart—She'll wait as long as it takes!"
The spectators tilt their heads at Xenia's slightly off-target cheering, but their eyes are quickly stolen by the dazzling clash unfolding on the stage.
"Haha. A pair of idiots."
Rai laughs at the two of them beating each other bloody, then rises from his seat. He'd told them to keep their cool. He'd even praised them for thinking strategically. Both of them have ignored him completely and are having the time of their lives.
Not that he has any intention of scolding them for it. The heat of combat, the presence of a rival—there are times you simply cannot back down from a fight. They're at the age when their blood runs hottest. They need to go through this if they're going to be honed into finished warriors. This isn't a battlefield where thousands or tens of thousands of lives hang on a single decision. This is exactly when they should be experiencing this.
"Die! Die! Die! The Lord awaits you!!"
"If you love your god that much, I'll send you first. Go kneel quietly and wait."
Rai glances at the two of them slinging insults while they fight with everything they have, snickers, and leaves. Those two aren't his only idiot disciples. To go see the most urgent idiot of the lot, Rai heads into the infirmary.
Those eliminated from the losers' bracket have gathered here for treatment. Dejected faces, faces welling up with unshed tears of frustration—the atmosphere is thick with gloom. But these are kids who will overcome this setback and walk toward the future, so Rai doesn't feel particularly sorry for them.
"Yo—you awake?"
"You're here..."
Zeroa's face, as he lies in the bed, looks haggard. Unlike the others, his expression carries a sense of having given up entirely, and it looks bleak.
"Last year it was the fourth round, wasn't it? Dropped a stage."
Rai says it casually, pulling snacks from the paper bag he's brought and eating as he talks.
"Yes... I haven't improved at all since last year... Everyone else is growing, and I'm just standing still."
"Ugh, this one's nasty. Who put this in here? Cesset? Here, you eat it."
Paying Zeroa's grave words no mind whatsoever, Rai grimaces at a thick bun and shoves it into Zeroa's hand. As Zeroa stares blankly at the bun in his grip, Rai pulls out another snack, eats it, and drinks the water by the bedside.
"I had a comrade who used to be a thief."
As Rai starts talking between sips of water, Zeroa looks at him.
"He didn't have any talent either. But confidence? He had that in spades. An absurd little bastard who swore he'd surpass me someday and become a knight who'd command the whole continent."
"Still, he worked like hell. Trained twice as hard as anyone else, showed real ingenuity in combat. He was weaker than the rest, but he never lost his courage or his confidence. He always walked with his eyes fixed straight ahead."
Rai smiles, a warm, fond smile, as if remembering those days. His smiles are usually playful, or a little frightening—but this one holds a warmth Zeroa has never seen before.
"What... happened to him?"
"He died. Got himself stupidly crushed under a giant's club until there wasn't even a shape left to recognize."
He'd been telling it like a hero's tale, and then the ending was just... hollow. While Zeroa flounders, not knowing how to react, Rai speaks again.
"He died saving me. If he hadn't been there, the idiot crushed under that club would've been me."
It was far too warm a smile for a man recounting the death of someone who had saved his life. Without a trace of bitterness—carrying only affection for the man he was remembering—Rai shrugs and eats another snack.
"You're not the hero of some heroic tale. You might get crushed under a club someday. Or you might retire in peace, ordinary as anyone."
"Most people—the ones who soar and the ones who crawl—vanish without leaving so much as a record. Instructors like Paul and Etila were big names in their active years, but their names won't be written in any history book. Ah, well. They'll make the academy's all-time faculty list, I suppose."
Having said that much, Rai stands and presses the snack bag into Zeroa's arms.
"Do you want to become a hero? Or do you want to protect the people beside you, even if it kills you?"
Zeroa stares at him blankly at the question. In those clear eyes, Zeroa meets his own reflection—and sees the face of a loser.
The desire to grow stronger. The confidence he'd gained, little by little, as he did. But in the face looking back at him now, there is nothing but weakness.
He remembers the moment Aria threw herself in front of him to save him, when they faced the assassin targeting the princess. The vow he'd made then was this: I will protect this person. To stand at her side, and walk the same road together no matter what danger or trial came crashing down.
The Zeroa in the reflection looks at him with sad eyes, then lets out a hollow laugh.
"Still... I don't want to die."
"Yeah. That's enough. Don't die stupid. Get up, and get up again, and protect them as many times as it takes."
Rai pats Zeroa's head, then—apparently still a little reluctant—pulls one of the tasty snacks from the bag and eats it.
"You're a popular man. I suppose I can't keep you all to myself."
Zeroa stares, not understanding what he's talking about, and Rai pulls back the curtain behind him. A startled Aria is revealed as the curtain is suddenly drawn, and Zeroa jolts upright in surprise.
"A-Aria. You have a match coming up—what are you doing here..."
"There's still time. Are you all right?"
"Y-yes! I'm fine. I'm sorry for making you worry."
Watching the two of them talk, Rai steps aside to give them space.
"Busy day today."
Rai walks off with a look of mild annoyance, ambling along.
A man in a gray robe sinks weakly to his knees. Blood wells and pulses between the fingers clutching his abdomen—a mortal wound. Without so much as a groan, the man only frowns, and Leila walks up to look down at him.
"That was a fine duel. I learned a great deal from someone who distinguished himself in the Era of Strife."
At Leila's words, the man gives a bitter smile. Blood is running down her forehead as well, and she hardly looks unscathed—but in the end, the victor is Leila.
"I think it's about time I asked the name of the one standing behind you."
"His Highness the Second Prince, Endo."
"That's not it, is it, Sesloff."
At Leila's words—she already has his name—Sesloff grits his teeth.
"Did you think I wouldn't recognize you? You may be an agent of the Information Bureau, but you're no mere spy—you've fought on the front lines. An agent's identity is supposed to be secret, but you've been exposed far too much."
His identity unmasked, Sesloff says nothing. This young knight, who has never even lived through the Era of Strife, has beaten him in skill and possesses a formidable mind besides. For the Empire's future, it is a glad thing—but the fact that she does not belong to the Fifth Princess's faction is something he must remain wary of. Talking further would only feed her more information, so Sesloff chooses silence.
"Huh? It's already over?"
Rai emerges, pushing through the underbrush. In both hands he holds drinks from Soltane—when he even bought them is anyone's guess. Sipping one with the leisure of a tourist on a stroll, he hands another to Leila and sets one down in front of Sesloff as well.
"Long time no see. It's good—try it."
Rai acts as if they know each other, but Sesloff doesn't recognize him and only stares.
"Huh? Is mine a face that's easy to forget? Guess I didn't leave as much of an impression as I thought."
"Stop talking nonsense and reveal your identity."
At Leila's cold words, Rai pouts, then drops the disguise magic.
His brown hair turns a burning red, and his ordinary brown eyes become red ones filled with madness—and Sesloff's eyes, which had been so composed until now, go wide.
"Heh. So there really aren't many people in the Empire who know, huh."
Pleased by Sesloff's shock, Rai grins so wide his mouth nearly splits. Frozen as he stares at Rai, Sesloff then turns to Leila and shouts.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done?!"
There is fear in his voice. Unlike Leila and the others, Sesloff lived through the Era of Strife. He has faced the Devil of All Nations' monstrous power with his own eyes. Those who lived through that era and those who did not will never feel the same thing when they stand before him.
"What in the world is the Sixth Princess thinking?! Does she mean to set the Empire on fire?!"
"I'm not some Demon King. Why would I go to all that trouble?"
Sesloff shouts in urgency, but Rai answers lazily, still sucking on his drink.
"His Majesty would never permit this..."
"His Majesty has already given his permission."
Leila cuts him off and sheathes her sword. She takes a potion from her coat, sets it beside the drink Rai left, and meets Sesloff's eyes.
"And you don't have the authority to decide, do you."
"We've shown you every card we hold. It's so paltry it's almost embarrassing. Would you go to Her Highness the Fifth Princess and ask whether she will take our hand or not?"
The Sixth Princess was requesting an alliance with the Fifth. There was no reason to take the hand of a Sixth Princess with no power base of her own. But in her hand she holds a card called the Devil of All Nations.
She called it paltry—but she is holding the most powerful joker of all. Sesloff looks at Leila for a moment, then turns his head away with a look of humiliation.
"As you said, I have no authority. But don't assume Her Highness the Fifth Princess will accept."
"If she refuses, we'll simply find someone else. It makes no difference to us."
Watching Leila make that leisurely offer—one that borders on a threat—Sesloff closes his mouth.