Get Lost, You "Uncrowned" Ghost! -1-
Laverre asked after his well-being. But those gentle words weren't meant for Henry. They were a fishing line, cast to test the temperament of the someone currently occupying his body.
"You. For a priest, you treat your own party members pretty roughly."
Henry's tone was markedly different from usual. There was a certain gravity to it. Or, to put it more sharply, it sounded like the voice of an old man.
"Haha. Well, you did something rather cheap, so I thought I'd be a little hard on you today."
"For someone saying that, your skills are no joke. Well, not that it's any of my business."
Their conversation had only just begun. But at that moment, Jian—who had zero grasp of the situation—played the role of uninvited guest.
"What the hell is going on? Is there a ghost inside Henry's body or something?"
"Shh! Be quiet!"
Fearing she might provoke the vengeful spirit, Laverre whispered in a panic, but it was already too late.
"Ghost?"
Laverre carefully prepared a forced exorcism. If the spirit went on a rampage, she planned to cast it immediately so it wouldn't burden the body's true owner.
"Yes... that's what they used to call me. But it's all in the past now."
Contrary to her worries, his attitude was remarkably calm.
"Right now, I'm nothing more than a man who wasted his life without gaining anything. Everyone calls me that twisted old nickname... the Uncrowned Ghost Kiriol."
Laverre stepped closer to him.
"...Should I call you Mr. Kiriol?"
"Call me whatever you want. Ghost, Kiriol—doesn't matter anymore."
"No. Please decide. What you want to be called is the most important thing."
"Then call me Kiriol. I don't want to be called by that nickname anymore."
Henry. No—in accordance with Laverre's view, it was more appropriate to call this man Kiriol for now.
Kiriol found Laverre's behavior strangely perplexing. He even thought to himself, If she's a priest, she could just exorcise me and be done with it... What a hassle she's going through.
"Mr. Kiriol. Could you tell me what happened while you were alive?"
"It'll be a rather long story..."
"That's fine. Please tell me."
If Kiriol had been asked this question while still alive, he would have stubbornly kept silent to protect what little pride he had left. But after wandering as a spirit for so long, pride had become something utterly insignificant to him.
He slowly began to unravel his painful tale.
When I was alive, they called me a ghost. It didn't suit those pretty boys sitting in their cozy rooms, but among warriors, such a bizarre and fierce nickname was actually pretty cool. It was like a medal that displayed one's might.
Of course, I never thought that name would last forever. Plenty of warriors foolishly believe they'll be the best forever, but I wasn't one of them. I knew that someday I'd grow old, my body wouldn't move like it used to, and I'd have to make up for it with skill and experience. And if I lived even longer, even that would come to an end.
But who could've guessed that the word "uncrowned" would be attached to "ghost"?
One bastard who envied me started calling me the Uncrowned Ghost, claiming I wasn't a true warrior because I'd never won the arena tournament. And because that nickname spread like wildfire, I went from Ghost Kiriol to Uncrowned Ghost Kiriol in the blink of an eye.
What nonsense. A warrior's worth isn't decided by how many times they've won in the arena!
Yes... I should have said that. But back then, I didn't know how to say those words in front of them. "Watch me. If I put my mind to it, I can shake off a title like 'uncrowned' in no time. The moment I step into the arena, first place is mine." I entered the tournament just to prove that.
I shouldn't have done that. At that time, I was still a ghost. Young, overflowing with strength, and above all, arrogant. I thought no matter who my opponent was, I would win.
But no matter how high a bird flies, it can never fly higher than the stars. There was someone far stronger than me. No, I'm not exaggerating at all. He was stronger than any swordsman I'd ever seen. If the others were worms crawling on the ground and I was a bird soaring through the sky, then he was a star. Someone so distant it felt like I could never reach him.
He had a nickname too. "Sword God." That was the title given to him. The swordsman that all warriors called the greatest. That was him.
For better or worse, I only met him in the finals. When the arena's iron bars opened and his sharp gaze pierced me, my instincts—honed by experience—screamed at me. "That guy is stronger than you."
Cold sweat ran down my chilled spine, and my heart was already pounding with fear, but I didn't want to admit it. And even if it was true that he was stronger, a warrior can't give up just because of that.
I am Kiriol Cervantes! No one can make me feel this way!
To shake off the fear, I roared like a battle cry and charged at him with my axe raised. But he closed the distance in an instant, seeing the terror in my eyes. I could barely even see it...
Damn it. No one was more fitting of their nickname than that guy. His slashes were so fast they were hard to follow with the eye. His body techniques filled in every gap. In swordsmanship, he had reached the absolute peak—truly a "Sword God."
No matter how many more lives I live, I'll never see another swordsman like him. When I swung my axe, he would dive in as if he'd predicted my attack completely, and if I switched even slightly to defense, he'd seize that opening and strike again. The one-sided exchange continued, and my axe never even grazed the hem of his clothes.
When blood flowed from my wounds and formed a puddle, he lowered his sword and said, "Let's stop here. You cannot possibly defeat me as you are now."
He was right. But at that moment, I couldn't bear to hear those words. My eyes rolled back in fury as I charged at him with my axe.
When I came to my senses a little later, the blue sky was spread out before my eyes.
After that, I ran from the name Uncrowned Ghost. I didn't want to hear it from people's mouths anymore. I tried to let go of my obsession with that nickname. But the derogatory title followed me like a shadow and tormented me everywhere. While fighting, while walking down the street, even while eating!
I lived in every way I could to shake off the name Uncrowned Ghost, but the only thing that became clear was that there was only one way to escape it. In the end, I returned to where I started.
Yes. The only way to break free from this yoke was to carve my name onto the crown of the arena!
You don't understand? Fine. I won't ask you to. But I hope you'll at least understand that everyone has at least one thing in life they can never back down from.
And so I returned to the arena once more to erase the derogatory title of "uncrowned," but it was already too late. My body had grown old. The crown of the arena still shone with golden light, but my body had already aged hideously.
Haha... Give up there, you say? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. From some point on, I had been living for this. Giving up then would have been the same as throwing my life away.
I tried raising disciples, like retired warriors often do. I taught them my skills and experience exactly as I knew them, thinking that if those guys brought back the arena crown, my infamy would gradually fade. No. Actually, maybe the infamy didn't matter anymore. Maybe I just wanted to enjoy that glory in any way possible. Well... it doesn't matter now.
At first, many disciples were desperate to learn my techniques, but as they started losing in the arena one by one, they began to leave. From then on, the legend of Uncrowned Ghost Kiriol was complete. The forgotten specter, the Uncrowned Ghost, had even cursed his own disciples. A perfect tale of the Uncrowned Ghost.
Still, I did them wrong. Maybe because they felt the pressure of having to win the arena crown under my name, none of them looked particularly happy.
And at some point in my life, sitting alone in an empty room with nothing left, I looked at the axe that had been with me my whole life and thought...
All I have left... is this.
Kiriol's story ended there.
His voice, which had been calm throughout, now carried a faint trace of exhaustion. Even so, there was no resentment or lingering attachment in it. It was simply the voice of a man who had accepted everything.
Laverre remained silent for a long time. Jian, who had been listening quietly, scratched the back of his head with a complicated expression.
"So... you died without ever winning the tournament?"
"That's right."
"That's rough. I get why you'd be called the Uncrowned Ghost, then."
Jian spoke bluntly, as always. But there was no mockery in his voice. It was just his honest impression.
Kiriol let out a small chuckle.
"Hearing it from the disciple of the Sword God makes it sting even more."
"Huh? You knew my master?"
"Of course. He was the one who gave me that final defeat."
At those words, Jian's eyes widened.
"Whoa... so you're the guy Master talked about sometimes. The one who charged in roaring even though he knew he was going to lose."
"...Did he really say that?"
"Yeah. He said you were a fun opponent. That even though you lost, you never once looked away from the fight."
Kiriol was silent for a moment. Then he smiled faintly.
"I see. So even the Sword God remembered me."
His voice sounded somewhat relieved.
Laverre, who had been watching the two of them, finally spoke.
"Then... what do you want now, Mr. Kiriol?"
"I..."
Kiriol paused for a long time. It seemed like he was organizing his thoughts. After a while, he opened his mouth again.
"I want to fight one more time. Not as the Uncrowned Ghost, but as Kiriol Cervantes. I want to step into that arena again and swing my weapon with everything I have."
His eyes, which had been filled with exhaustion, now burned with a faint but clear light.
"And if possible... I want to win."
It was a simple wish. But for Kiriol, who had lived his entire life chasing that one thing, it was everything.
Laverre nodded slowly.
"I understand. Then we'll help you."
"...Really?"
"Of course. We're the ones who dragged you out here, after all. It's only right that we take responsibility until the end."
At her words, Kiriol looked at her with a slightly surprised expression. Then he smiled.
"You're a strange priest."
"I've heard that a lot."
Laverre smiled brightly. Jian, who had been listening, suddenly clapped his hands.
"Alright! Then let's get ready for the tournament! I need to warm up too if I'm going to fight you properly, Kiriol!"
"...You're going to fight me?"
"Obviously. You're possessing my friend's body. If I don't beat you up at least once, I won't feel satisfied."
Kiriol burst into laughter at Jian's cheerful declaration.
"Haha... I see. The disciple of the Sword God is just as interesting as his master."
The atmosphere in the room had completely changed. The heavy air from Kiriol's long story had lifted, replaced by a strange sense of anticipation.
Laverre looked at the two men and thought to herself.
This might turn out to be more fun than I expected.