A Fateful Encounter
"This dumb bastard's here again."
"You're the dumb one. You ought to be grateful I even showed up at this dump of a shop."
Clay, who had retired from his days as a fixer to become a blacksmith, scowls the instant he sees Rai walk through the door. They each bore epithets that struck terror into people's hearts—the Fallen Knight of Bane and the Devil of All Nations—yet the conversation unfolding between them was childish beyond belief.
Philia, who had been dragged along without the faintest idea why, watches the two of them bicker with cold, unimpressed eyes. Whatever she had been expecting, the place Rai had brought her to was a smithy.
What… what was I even expecting?
The thought startles her so badly she shakes her head vigorously, trying to snap herself out of it. Apparently that remark about climbing the stairs of adulthood had shaken her more than she'd realized.
Clay's smithy had been wrecked once already, and he had taken the repairs as an opportunity to pour a fortune into expanding the place. It wasn't merely a matter of adding floor space—he had invested heavily in materials and furnishings as well, and the shop now carried an air of genuine luxury. A finer interior, however, had done nothing to improve Clay's craftsmanship. Every weapon and suit of armor on display was of distinctly poor quality.
Philia is still puzzling over the jarring mismatch of lavish décor and worthless steel when Selma emerges and smacks both of the bickering men across the back. Age had not diminished her beauty. She looks at Philia with a gentle smile.
"So, is this young lady your girlfriend?"
"G-girlfriend? No! Why would I ever be with someone like—"
"She shot that down so fast it actually hurts."
Rai says it as though he's been genuinely wounded, and Clay snickers.
"She's a pretty girl—way too pretty to be hanging around a bastard like you."
"Hey, keep your husband in line. He's drooling over a kid."
Selma doesn't seem particularly bothered, but Clay glances at her and promptly shuts his mouth.
Watching the three of them, who clearly know one another well, Philia is still completely lost. Selma approaches her.
"Aren't you going to introduce this lovely young lady? You escorted her here and you don't even have the manners for an introduction."
"That's Philia. Academy student, same class as Zeroa."
Rai's introduction is as perfunctory as they come. Philia dips her head slightly toward Selma.
"Philia Serios. Um… to be honest, I don't actually know why I'm here."
"A pleasure. I'm Selma. You must have your hands full with that idiot. May I call you Miss Philia?"
"Please, just call me Philia, Miss Selma."
"And please, no need for formality with me either."
The weight behind that gentle smile, the softness of the voice that had just called Rai an idiot—Philia decided then and there that this was someone she could trust. It had been a long time since she'd met anyone who shared her opinion.
Selma takes in the sparkling eyes and the vehement agreement written all over Philia's face, covers her mouth with a laugh, and looks at Rai.
"So why did you bring Miss Philia here?"
"So you can take her as a disciple."
He says it offhandedly, poking at a lump of scrap metal so poorly made it was impossible to tell what it was even supposed to be. The three people in the shop all stare at him, dumbfounded. The atmosphere goes ice-cold, as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over the room, but he doesn't care in the slightest and keeps talking.
"I'll vouch for her talent. And she hasn't learned any advanced techniques yet, so she's a clean slate—it'll be easy to teach her the secret arts."
"Wait… Instructor Rai, what are you talking about?"
"What? Isn't it a good idea? She's pretty broken down these days, but back in her prime she was something else."
Watching Philia's panic and Rai's complete nonchalance, Selma grabs her forehead as though nursing a headache, then kicks at his shin. Rai simply draws his leg back and dodges it with ease, looking at her as though he can't understand what the problem is.
"Why are you getting angry?"
"Haa—this is why people without a master are hopeless."
Selma lets out a long sigh and leads the still-flustered Philia over to a sofa. While Clay berates Rai as an idiot, she brings over tea, hands a cup to Philia, and sits down beside her.
"I'm sorry. That idiot was terribly rude."
"No, it's… what on earth was Instructor Rai talking about?"
"I think he did this for my sake."
Selma traces the rim of her teacup with a bitter smile.
The retired Selma had no disciple. She had given Zeroa nothing more than the fundamentals; he would never inherit her secret arts. Those who had once defined an era did not wish to see their techniques vanish. Even if they themselves died, they wanted their secret arts to flow from person to person, remaining immortal in the world.
A technique built over a lifetime was, in some ways, more important than having one's name carved into history. For a warrior, such a technique was pride itself—honor itself. Unwilling to let that simply fade into obscurity, Rai had brought Philia to Selma.
Philia's master was a training instructor who had been assigned to her as casually as a birthday present, simply because the family's daughter had taken an interest in the sword. He had never made a name for himself, and he possessed no remarkable techniques of his own. Raised in a political household, Philia had never been taught anything of a higher order. For her, Selma's secret arts were nothing short of a fateful opportunity. And for Selma, it meant her arts might live on. It should have been a win for both of them—except that Rai had gone and arranged the whole thing on his own, without consulting anyone.
"That boy never had a master, so he has no concept of this kind of etiquette. Please try to understand."
If Selma accepted Philia, she would be stealing another person's disciple. It would wound not only the honor of Philia's master, but his pride as well.
"When you say he never had a master…"
"I mean exactly that."
There was no falsehood in Selma's simple answer. Philia could not comprehend how anyone could possess that kind of skill without ever having a teacher.
Come to think of it, Rai had always been a little strange. He showed not the slightest reluctance when it came to teaching formulas or techniques. She had never learned anything from him directly, but watching him instruct Zeroa and Aslan, he practically gave the knowledge away. She had found it odd more than once—the way he would openly demonstrate techniques even with her standing right there, regardless of whatever conversation he'd had with the other two. No matter how valuable the knowledge, people simply did not do that.
Pulled from the memory, Philia looks at Selma, who is quietly sipping her tea.
"Are you close with Instructor Rai, Miss Selma?"
"Close…? I wouldn't say that. There was a time we crossed blades and went for each other's throats. It isn't so different now. The only change is that I no longer have the strength to hold a sword."
Philia shuts her mouth. Selma's expression is kindly, but the words coming out of it are savage. She may have grown weaker, yet the depths of her eyes still carry the air of a predator.
"If it isn't too forward of me… may I ask what kind of work you used to do?"
"If you can keep everything said here a secret."
Rai had brought the girl, so Selma figured she was someone who could be trusted, and she asked with every intention of laying it all out. Philia meets her eyes squarely and nods. Selma smiles softly and tells her.
Philia, who had researched Rai's identity and in the process looked up every powerhouse of the previous generation, feels a chill race down her spine. The Lizard of Viridian—the one who had specialized in taking down powerhouses no one else could touch—was sitting right in front of her.
"Then…"
"That's right. The Fallen Knight of Bane. These days he's just a pot-bellied old man."
Philia murmurs it as she looks over at Clay, still locked in a childish war of words with Rai, and Selma nods. The Fallen Knight of Bane, who also went by the Butcher for crushing everything in his path, is currently getting his beard yanked by Rai and whimpering. Rai, for his part, has had his hair grabbed, and the two of them are demanding the other let go first. Even knowing it is real, it is almost impossible to believe.
Real or not, Philia has no intention of receiving instruction from Selma. Asking a complete stranger for her secret arts—there was no world in which such shamelessness would be acceptable.
"Instructor Rai really overstepped this time. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to listen to that nonsense about taking a disciple."
"Truthfully, if I were told to do it, I would accept without hesitation. That idiot may be useless at everything else, but his eye for people is exceptional. And a young lady this lovely as my disciple? How could I not be pleased?"
"Thank you…"
"But it wouldn't be proper."
Selma gives a small shake of her head and looks away. She is right. To start teaching someone out of the blue is improper, and to accept that teaching is equally so. Rai had bulldozed ahead without a thought for anyone, and now the two of them were the ones left with the headache.
And yet both of them wanted it. The chance to learn from a warrior who had once defined an era—Philia's hunger for that knowledge ran deep, and for a girl who had never been given opportunities equal to her effort, it was as good as a fateful encounter. Selma, for her part, had never been interested in passing her techniques to a later generation. She had lost a child and laid everything down. The only reason her will to live had lasted this long was her husband, Clay, and in retirement she harbored not the slightest desire for the sword or for strength. When she had taught Zeroa, it was only because she had felt sorry for a child who knew nothing and kept wandering to the brink of death; she had never intended to pass her secret arts to anyone.
And then that damned Rai had gone and stoked the fire all over again.
The two of them, hearts equally tangled, let out small sighs at the same time—then look at each other and laugh.
"You don't need to decide right now. And I need time to get to know you as well, Miss Philia. Don't make the mistake of thinking this will be easy just because Rai recommended you. Take as long as you need to think it over, and then tell me."
Selma says it with a gentle smile.
"I'm truly grateful for such a generous opportunity, but… I'm sorry. It may be shameless of me, but I would like some time to think."
Philia bows her head deeply in apology. At that earnest courtesy, a light kindles in Selma's eyes. They have spent only a short time together, but this is a girl worth coveting. The habits that show in her upright bearing speak of a diligent and honest character—a straightness of spirit different from Zeroa's, though it feels unfair to compare them. Even with a prize worth coveting sitting right in front of her, she does not stop thinking, and she does not abandon her own convictions. That kind of mental fortitude, the strength not to be swept along by others, was a rare talent that training alone could scarcely produce.
Afraid that the longer they sat together the more she would want her, Selma rises from her seat.
Rai and Philia all but flee the shop, and they talk as they walk back toward the Academy. Philia looks at him strangely, still turning over the sudden proposal, and asks,
"Why are you giving me an opportunity like this?"
"It's not for you. It's for Selma."
"Well, thanks for being honest."
For reasons she can't quite name, the words it's for Selma grate on her. She turns her head away, then looks back at him.
"What kind of relationship do you have with Miss Selma?"
"The kind where we tried to kill each other."
The same thing Selma had told her. According to the records Philia had read during her investigation, the two of them had operated in the central and eastern reaches of the continent. They had gone elsewhere depending on the contract, but if Rai had crossed paths with her, it was most likely in that region.
"Were you a mercenary, Instructor?"
"You've got a lot of interest in me, huh."
"Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-what kind of nonsense is that?"
Philia stumbles over her words in a way wholly unlike herself, flustered beyond measure.
"You spent that whole conversation with Selma asking about me, didn't you?"
"…That's…"
"Isn't it a little off to sit there asking for someone else's personal details when you're supposed to be talking to the person who might become your master?"
"She isn't my master yet. I said I need to think about it."
Rai shrugs at her answer.
"You people have so much you think you have to protect. Courtesy toward a master, this and that—it's so complicated it makes my head hurt."
"It's basic etiquette. Of course it should be observed."
"That so? I wouldn't know, so it's none of my business."
He says it as though the whole subject bores him, and falls silent.
Philia walks beside him in quiet, turning Selma's offer over in her mind. Her own master had been truly unremarkable. If anything, he would have been the first to clasp both hands together in gratitude if Selma became her teacher.
He had been a knight of House Serios—an utterly ordinary one. His skill had fallen short of a place in the imperial army, and he had barely managed to become a house soldier of the family.
I'm sorry, my lady. There must be better teachers out there for you…
He had always lamented that her talent was wasted on him, and when she passed the Academy entrance exam, he had celebrated as though it were his own triumph. They had assigned him to teach her self-defense, nothing more—and he had gone and gotten her into the Academy, something no one had even considered. He deserved praise for it. Instead, House Serios had driven him out, calling it a waste of time.
After that, he had set off to travel the world. He sent Philia the occasional letter, but she had no idea where he even was.
She is still turning over his words—that she would find a better master at the Academy—when Rai spots someone he knows and calls out.
"Yo, kid. Where you headed?"
"I'm going into a dungeon tomorrow, so I'm out buying supplies."
Philia, seeing Cindy for the first time, looks at the girl who seems so familiar with Rai. Their eyes meet. Cindy stares hard at Philia's face for a moment, then turns to Rai with a look of utter disgust.
"So you've even started going after Academy students…"
"What are you talking about?"
Cindy ignores him entirely, grabs Philia's hand, and pulls her away.
"Be careful. He'll tell you he's going to teach you something and then try to take you somewhere weird."
Philia is speechless. How does this girl know what happened today?
Faced with that bewildered expression, Cindy speaks as though the whole thing is painfully obvious.
"That's all just a pickup line, so don't you dare fall for it. You've got your whole life ahead of you. You can't let a lecher like that get his hands on you."
"That's a misunderstanding."
Rai denies it, but Cindy speaks with such conviction—as though she had witnessed today's events herself—that her words carry an unfortunate weight of credibility. Philia looks at him with eyes gone ice-cold. He takes a step closer, insisting it isn't true, but the closer he comes, the farther she backs away.
Flushed and still retreating, Philia finally turns and flees. It takes Rai a very long time to clear up the misunderstanding.