God Whispers: Get Some Exercise
Clop-clop—.
He'd been certain he and Priscilla were about to throw down on the spot. That was not the case.
Sparring was forbidden here, she said; she would escort him to a wide open lot nearby instead.
It was absurd beyond belief, and yet he had no real grounds to argue.
Apparently the Academy half-demolition incident had reached the Holy Order in full, vivid detail. Thanks to that, he found himself packed into a carriage and carted off somewhere.
What am I, a gladiator being hauled to the Colosseum?
He was perfectly capable of going easy. Perfectly capable of not smashing a single thing. And yet they'd panicked and stuffed him into a carriage—the Holy Order really was full of cowards!
When strong people fought, a little property damage was only natural!!
"…"
Sensing a gaze, Kyle quietly turned his head.
There sat Priscilla, the same woman who had just challenged him to a spar.
"…"
"…"
Awkward. Damn it all, the awkwardness was going to kill him.
If they were going to provide two carriages, shouldn't they have split the combatants up? Putting the Saintess and the Cardinal in one and stuffing him and Priscilla into the other—what exactly was he supposed to do with this?
How was he supposed to get through this unbearable situation?!
"I apologize, Brother Kyle."
The sudden apology made Kyle flinch.
What? Had she just used something like mind-reading?
"I offer my apologies once more for the discourtesy of treating a guest this way."
"It's fine, Captain. But if you've been with the Holy Order all this time, why didn't you… when my older brother or sister were around…"
"Of course I tried to seize an opportunity once or twice. But when the eldest son of House John Nassen was at the Academy, I was commanding the knight order at a branch of the Church. And when the eldest daughter was enrolled, I had only just been promoted to Knight Captain—I was buried in the handover and everything that came with it."
In other words, once she'd settled into headquarters life and the captaincy, fortune had delivered Kyle to her door. The timing was almost unnervingly perfect; he could only mutter as much to himself.
Silence wrapped the two of them again.
If the destination had been far, he could at least have closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. But they were nearly there, so even that was off the table.
"You aren't going to ask me why?"
He'd been about to lean against the window and pretend to admire the scenery when Priscilla's question made him turn.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"That I would commit such a breach of etiquette toward a guest of the Holy Order—and of the Saintess, no less."
Honestly, he was curious. Captain of the Holy Knights was an enormously high station. And yet this woman had simply walked up and said she wanted to clash with him once.
She didn't seem like she was missing a screw the way Yulika was. So why?
"I am curious, yes."
"And yet…"
"But I won't ask. You must have your reasons for this, Captain. If it's something you can share, you'll tell me yourself. And if you can't…"
Kyle let the sentence trail off and gave a single shrug—a gesture that said, quite plainly, then there's nothing to be done about it.
"…My grandfather once fought a John Nassen and lost."
"Pardon?"
She was one of the Imperial 10 Strongest. She would have her pride, even if it didn't match Yulika's. That was why she was asking for a spar—or so Kyle had assumed.
What came out of Priscilla's mouth was nothing like what he'd expected.
"My grandfather was truly strong. A magnificent swordsman. From the time I was very small, watching him, I dreamed of walking the path of the sword. I would become a strong, splendid swordsman just like him."
"…"
"That man took part in the fighting between the Empire and the people of the North—and he was defeated."
Shit. So what is this, then? She's going to avenge her beaten grandfather on me?
No! Captain? Doesn't the Holy Order teach you people to forgive your enemies? Or love them? I don't care how much your beloved grandfather lost to a John Nassen—what did I ever do wrong?!
It's been almost thirty years since the John Nassens entered the Empire!
"But even in that defeat, my grandfather said he felt relieved. He had clearly lost—and yet his face was never that of a loser. As a child I couldn't accept it, couldn't understand it. And that feeling remains to this day. What kind of duel could it have been, that made my grandfather smile like that? I am curious. So very curious."
"Uh… so the reason you suddenly came at me like this…"
"I want to know. I want to understand. Why my grandfather was the way he was. I want to grasp it for myself. That greed is why I am committing this great discourtesy."
She wanted to fight in order to gain something. To clash. That was what Priscilla was saying.
Her words sent something hot flaring up in a corner of Kyle's chest.
Not revenge. Not payback. A fight to understand something—to break through a wall. If that was what this was, if that was why she was asking…
"I apologize, Brother. This discourtesy, someday I will—"
"Captain. Not long ago I clashed with the Fifth Princess."
"The Fifth Princess… Princess Yulika…?"
"Yes. And like you, she's one of the Imperial 10 Strongest."
Priscilla wondered for a moment why Kyle would bring that up—then grasped exactly what he meant.
He had already faced one of the Ten. And he was sitting here perfectly fine afterward. So she should stop fretting and come at this spar with everything she had. If she truly believed she had been rude, she could make amends by giving her absolute best.
"…I will give everything I am capable of, Brother Kyle."
"As you should. I'll be looking forward to it."
"Your Holiness… shouldn't we stop them even now…?"
After they arrived at the empty, wide-open lot, the Saintess asked the question in a restless voice.
She was certain they had promised to keep it light. But looking at the two facing each other across the cleared ground, there was nothing light about the atmosphere.
They meant to collide for real. They weren't inside the Holy Order grounds anymore—so they were free to fight as hard as they liked.
"Nngh…"
Cardinal Paulo let out a troubled hum of his own. Priscilla was not the sort to treat a promise lightly, but the look on her face said she was thoroughly absorbed. She was of the Holy Order, yes—but at the end of the day she was still a swordsman. When the moment to fight arrived, she wiped everything else from her mind and focused solely on the battle in front of her. Trying to stop them in that state could do more harm than good.
"We will simply have to pray it ends safely."
Priscilla was nothing like Yulika, who lived for the duel itself. And Kyle, if the Saintess's words were anything to go by, was different from the John Nassens who had come before. So perhaps they could allow themselves even a sliver of relief. Cardinal Paulo soothed himself—and the Saintess beside him—as best he could.
"It seems they're about to begin."
The moment Cardinal Paulo finished speaking, blue light poured from Priscilla's blade. Considering that most swordsmen used translucent sword aura, the sight made it perfectly clear why her epithet was Blue Moon.
Wait—come to think of it, was Brother Kyle even armed?
With a sinking feeling, Cardinal Paulo turned his head—and let out a sigh at the sight of Kyle standing there with absolutely no weapon in his hands.
John Nassen or not, his opponent was one of the Imperial 10 Strongest. She was even drawing out sword aura with mana. A direct hit from that power would slice through armor like soft turnip. One wrong move and a man could lose his life—that was what this meant!
He had heard that Kyle had shattered a sword barehanded at the Academy. But that opponent had been an ordinary student, not one of the Imperial 10 Strongest. The difference was night and day. And back then, no sword aura had been involved!
"Brother Kyle—!"
Cardinal Paulo opened his mouth in urgency, but it was already too late. Even knowing Kyle held no weapon, Priscilla kicked off the ground. With every ounce of her strength, she brought her sword down from high overhead.
Was it so fast the eye couldn't follow? No. Did it contain some ineffable, unspeakable technique? No. To all appearances it was nothing but the simplest of downward cuts.
"Aah…!!"
But it was a downward cut stripped of every excess—utterly clean, utterly sharp. That single, simple stroke alone was enough to send a chill racing down the spines of those watching.
This was the Imperial 10 Strongest. This was the skill of the Empire's foremost warriors.
Priscilla's blade would split Kyle's body cleanly in two. His frame would part left and right with a wet crack, leaving a horrific ruin—those images flooded the minds of the Saintess and Cardinal Paulo alike.
THUP!!—
"…Huh?"
Until the moment Kyle caught that sword with his bare hand.
"That's a terrifying blade."
It was not empty praise. It truly was a terrifying sword. If he had reached out thoughtlessly the way he used to, he would have spent the rest of his life as a left-hander. So instead of smashing the sword outright, Kyle had seized the edge.
Huh. It actually worked.
His older brother and sister had drilled this so relentlessly that he had practiced it in secret himself. After failing dozens of times, succeeding once, swearing never to try again, and promptly forgetting about it—pulling it off on the first attempt left even Kyle a little speechless.
Of course, he couldn't hold on for long. The energy lingering in the blade—the sword aura—hurt like hell.
"Shall we continue?"
Kyle asked lightly as he shoved the sword away. Priscilla nodded. This time she advanced with more difficult attacks, shifting into more protean patterns. And then, at some point, for the first time in a very long while, she began swinging her sword in a frenzy of genuine killing strokes.
"L-Lord…"
All the while, Cardinal Paulo clasped his hands and called upon God. Amid the dancing blue moonlight, Kyle was shattering every last ray of that light with nothing but his bare hands. An Academy student was standing against a blade of the Imperial 10 Strongest—against the Holy Order's finest. Was this truly a thing that could be? How could that be called human? Had the same God truly fashioned them both on the same day, from the same divine clay?
"Wooow…"
The Saintess simply stared, entranced, drinking in the sight of Kyle. Unlike the Cardinal at her side, she did not call upon God. She only thought, quite simply, that it was magnificent. That Brother Kyle was truly magnificent.