Lia (3): Until She Is Saved
He drew his sword.
It was a heavy longsword.
No ornate fittings. No glittering jewels. Just a grip worn smooth by years of use, and a blade that had been ground down and reshaped more times than anyone could count.
But the moment he took hold of it, the air itself seemed to change.
Lia's ears twitched.
This man was nothing like the ones who had come at Leon so far.
Even the way he stood was different.
He let the sword hang as if he barely cared where it pointed — and yet from any angle of approach, that tip looked ready to meet you.
He opened his mouth.
"I'll ask one last time."
Leon said nothing.
"Leave the beastkin and walk away."
His gaze flicked briefly toward Lia.
She wore no expression at all.
She had already decided this was how it would end.
This was as far as it went.
He had broken her chains.
He had given her food.
Even with the slave merchants on their heels, he had brought her this far.
It was enough.
So if Leon turned around here, it would not have been strange.
Even then, she was sure she would not resent him.
She was certain of that.
And yet.
"No."
Leon said it flatly.
The man's brow twitched.
"…What?"
"I said no."
A short silence.
He let out a long breath.
"Young bastard's got no fear."
He raised his sword slowly.
"Ever heard the name Silver Wing?"
Leon thought for a moment.
"Yeah."
"Then this'll go quick."
His shoulders dropped.
What had looked like a loose stance settled into something complete.
"Name's Walter. I was the vanguard of that party."
Lia's ears pricked up a little.
Silver Wing.
Even she had heard of them.
A famous party out of the Capital — the ones who had cleared an ogre nest and brought down a full-grown wyvern.
To ordinary people, the name was already half legend.
Walter spoke low.
"Retirement doesn't mean the sword got old."
Leon took hold of his hilt without a word.
"I'll give you this — you're strong."
Shing.
Leon's blade slid free of its scabbard.
"But the Capital's a different level."
Walter's eyes narrowed to a hard edge.
"There's only one way a bastard like you beats me."
He drove off the ground.
"And that's if you ever rode with the Hero's party!"
Crash!
The two blades met.
The air cracked open.
Lia's ears flattened hard against her skull.
On that first clash alone, Leon's arm was driven back hard.
It was heavy.
Far heavier than he had expected.
Leon twisted his blade, trying to bleed off the force — but Walter never pulled his sword free. He rode the rebound of the impact and dropped the edge straight down.
A second cut.
Leon turned his body.
Too late.
Slash.
The fabric at his side tore open in a long line.
A beat later, a thin red seam opened beneath it.
Lia's golden eyes wavered.
Of course.
Walter was different.
He gave Leon no time even to check the wound.
He stepped in deep and drove the longsword upward.
Clang!
Leon barely got his blade up in time.
His arm was forced high.
Walter's boot slammed into the open line of his chest.
Thud!
Leon's body skidded backward.
His back hit the branch office's iron door.
Bang!
"Leon…"
His name slipped from Lia's lips. That was all. She only looked down at her own trembling hands, as if she had already given up.
Walter came at him again.
Leon threw himself sideways.
Crash!
The longsword shattered the door's latch.
The heavy panel swung inward.
Leon's feet carried him, unhurried, into the dark of the warehouse beyond.
Walter followed without hesitation.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The cuts came without pause.
Leon did not try to meet them head-on.
He let them slide.
He set his blade at an angle, dumping the shock off to the side, and gave ground half a step at a time.
But Walter was relentless.
When the sword was deflected, he drove in with his shoulder.
When Leon opened distance, the long reach of the longsword chased him down.
The fourth attack grazed Leon's cheek.
A single drop of blood hit the dust-caked floor.
"That's enough already…"
Lia stepped through the open iron door into the warehouse, her face on the edge of tears.
"You've done enough…"
Walter leveled his sword as well.
"The slave's right."
Leon wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
A red smear came away on his skin.
"This isn't worth your life. Walk away now and I won't chase you."
Leon looked down at the blood on his hand for a moment.
Then he looked at Walter.
"You're strong."
Walter's eyes narrowed.
"Finally getting it?"
Leon reset his grip on the sword.
"More or less."
This time, Leon moved first.
Clang!
Walter's longsword knocked the attack aside.
Leon did not force the exchange.
He turned with the direction his blade was driven, letting his body follow the push.
One full turn.
The edge that came around out of the spin cut for Walter's side.
Walter jammed the hilt up in a hurry.
Clang!
The ring of metal sang high and sharp.
"…!"
Walter's eyes tightened.
Leon did not give ground.
When Walter knocked him aside, he bled the force off.
When Walter pressed, he was already at a different angle.
It was nothing like before.
After only a handful of exchanges, he was already reading Walter's distance and timing.
It was not overwhelming speed.
Nor was it raw power.
Walter had seen any number of strong fighters.
Swordsmen faster than himself.
Humans with monstrous strength.
Men whose blades were so beautiful they were called geniuses.
But the man in front of him was strange.
The more their swords met, the more unpleasant it became.
Aim for his feet, and his weight had already shifted the other way.
Feint with the eyes, and he was watching the shoulder and the hips — not the tip of the blade.
Leave a deliberate opening, and he refused to take it.
And the moment Walter truly slipped —
he drove in without a flicker of hesitation.
Clang!
"Kh—"
Walter was forced back half a step.
Sweat beaded on his brow.
This is…
This was the sword of a man who had survived a great deal.
Mixed into the way he moved against people were habits born of fighting monsters.
Even with a smaller opponent in front of him, he checked the space overhead in an instant.
Even fighting one man, he left room for an attack from the side.
He never looked behind him — and still never blocked his own line of retreat.
The battlefield itself lived inside his body.
The last of the ease drained from Walter's face.
"You…"
Leon's blade came in.
Crash!
Walter caught it with both hands.
His arms went numb.
"Where the hell did you learn a sword like that?!"
"I didn't."
"Don't lie to me!"
Walter shoved hard with the blade.
Leon's body rocked back for an instant.
Walter did not let it go.
The longsword swept in a wide arc.
Leon raised his sword to meet it.
Clang!
This time Walter bore down with pure strength.
Leon's blade was knocked hard outward.
The edge flipped through a full turn.
In that moment, sunlight cutting through the broken iron door glanced across the base of the blade.
Walter's eyes went wide.
"…"
A small crest.
Just above the hilt.
Scratched and worn from long use — but never erased.
A laurel wreath wrapped around a Holy Sword.
Walter's lips parted slowly.
"…That sword."
Leon settled back into his stance.
Walter raised his own blade a beat late.
"That emblem…"
Leon came in.
Clang!
Walter barely got his guard up.
"Wait—!"
Leon did not answer.
"You bastard…!"
Walter shoved with everything he had.
But his eyes could no longer track Leon's movement alone.
That crest.
There was no mistaking it.
It was not something the Royal Knights carried.
Not even the Holy Knights of the Grand Cathedral could engrave it lightly.
A mark granted, in the names of the King and the Pope, to only a handful of people.
The Demon King Subjugation Party.
In Walter's memory, an old scene from the Capital rose back to life.
It had been the day the Capital's bells rang from dawn to dusk.
Word had come that one of the Demon King's high-ranking demons had been beheaded.
Kingdom banners hung from the walls, and the central avenue was packed so tight a person could barely set a foot down.
Walter had been among them.
Back then he was still the vanguard of Silver Wing.
His name carried some weight among adventurers. Walk into a tavern and someone would recognize him; start telling one of his own stories and people would lean in to listen.
But not that day.
That day, Walter was just one face in a crowd of tens of thousands.
"They're coming!"
Someone shouted.
The cheers rolled outward like a wave.
"It's the Hero!"
Knights opened a path.
And they walked through it.
The first thing anyone saw was the Holy Sword.
A blade so bright in the sunlight it hurt to look at.
Beside it, the Saintess with her golden hair.
The white-robed mage.
The archer with the black bow across her back.
People called their names.
Flower petals rained down.
It looked as if figures out of myth had stepped onto a real street.
And a little behind them —
one more person was walking.
He was not as dazzling as the ones ahead.
Most of the cheers passed right by him.
A man with a single sword at his hip, walking a few paces behind the rest of the party.
Now and then, when someone who recognized his name waved, he would lift a hand in an awkward reply.
That sword had it too.
The same crest.
A laurel wreath wrapped around a Holy Sword.
Walter had thought, briefly —
so that man had walked the same road as the rest of them.
And then he had forgotten.
Buried under the flowers and the roaring crowd.
The fifth person.
"Kh—!"
Walter's body was thrown backward.
His boots dragged a long trail through the dust on the warehouse floor.
Leon stood in front of him.
Clothes caked with dirt.
A worn cloak.
Blood spreading at his side.
A figure that had nothing in common with the Capital's triumphal procession.
But the face was the same.
That day.
The man who had walked behind the Hero's party.
Walter's eyes went wide.
"…That's impossible."
Leon came at him again.
Walter raised his sword, but his body was a beat too slow.
Clang!
He barely blocked.
"Why…"
Again.
Clang!
"Why the hell is a bastard like you wearing that crest?!"
Leon's gaze hardened, just a fraction.
The moment Walter saw that reaction, he was certain.
"You…"
He could not believe it.
No.
He did not want to believe it.
"You lot are supposed to be in the Demon Realm!"
Walter's voice rang through the warehouse.
Leon let the blade slide off his own.
Walter swung again, nearly screaming the words.
"Hunting the Demon King's army!"
Crash!
"Going to kill the Demon King!"
Clang!
"The whole damn kingdom is waiting with bated breath for you people to come home!!"
The two blades locked.
Walter's face twisted.
It was not fear.
It was not the rage of defeat, either.
It was the face of a man who had been wronged by the world itself.
"So why is someone like you out in a backwater like this…!"
Leon twisted his sword.
Walter's stance broke.
One step.
Walter clenched his teeth.
"Why of all places…!"
Another step.
"Why the hell did you have to show up in front of me!"
Leon said nothing.
He only raised his sword again.
Lia watched it all.
The Demon Realm.
The Demon King Subjugation Party.
The kingdom.
Those words were impossibly far from her.
They sounded like stories that happened at the edge of the world.
She was only a slave.
Someone who thought about who would buy her, and for how much.
When she would be sold again.
Whether she would get food tomorrow.
But the moment she heard Walter's words —
Lia understood something strange for the first time.
This man was not supposed to be here.
He was supposed to be going to kill the Demon King.
He was someone the whole kingdom was waiting for.
He was that strong.
And that man was now —
swinging a sword inside a collapsing warehouse.
For her alone.
Lia's golden eyes trembled.
Why.
The thought rose on its own, before she could stop it.
She had not understood it when he broke her chains, either.
Or when he gave her food.
Or when the men who came to take her appeared, and he still refused to hand her over.
Lia had said it more than once.
That it was meaningless.
That she would only be caught again.
That this was far enough — leave her and go.
And earlier —
for the first time, she had asked.
Why won't you abandon me?
Leon had not answered.
And now —
bleeding, he was raising his sword again.
Clang!
Metal rang out.
Through that sound, a voice she thought she had forgotten a very long time ago seeped in.
It had been a snowy winter.
Lia had still been small.
A time when her tail was as long as her body, and her ears had not yet learned to hide what she felt.
She had been buried in her mother's arms in front of a little stove.
In the worn picture book her mother read to her, there was a man in shining armor.
"Mama."
"Mm?"
"Are heroes real?"
Her mother had smiled.
"Of course."
Little Lia had pointed at the book.
Among the people held captive by a monster, there was a beastkin with wolf ears drawn on the page.
"Do they save beastkin too?"
Her mother's hand had paused for a moment.
"Of course."
"Even though they're human?"
A short silence.
Little Lia had not known what that silence meant.
A moment later her mother smiled and stroked the small ears.
"A hero is different."
"Even if the monster is really strong?"
"Even then."
"Even if the hero gets hurt?"
Her mother had thought for a moment.
Then she smiled again.
"Even then."
Lia had tilted her head, not understanding.
"Why?"
"Because a hero never gives up."
"Until when?"
Her mother had gently pressed the tip of Lia's nose.
"Until that person is saved."
Little Lia had grinned.
Back then, she had believed it.
That someone like that really existed in the world.
"Kh—!"
Walter's groan tore through the memory.
Lia opened her eyes wide.
Leon was there.
No shining armor.
Dirt and dust on his cloak.
He did not smile, and his words were not kind.
He looked nothing at all like the hero in the fairy tale.
And yet —
this man did not give up.
Even though she had given up first.
Even though she had asked for nothing.
Even though she had said over and over that it was meaningless.
Even when the opponent was strong.
Even when he was hurt.
He did not step back.
In that moment, her mother's voice and the back in front of her overlapped.
Because a hero never gives up.
Lia's fingertips twitched.
"Ah…"
She thought she understood, just a little.
This man does not give up.
Even if I give up first.
Even if I ask for nothing.
Until I am saved.
Just like —
the hero in the fairy tale her mother had told her so long ago.
Lia's ears slowly rose.
In those empty golden eyes, a very small light stirred.
Crash!
Walter was driven hard backward.
Leon did not let him go.
Once.
He turned the longsword outward and let it slide past.
Twice.
He struck Walter's wrist with the flat of the blade.
A third time.
Leon's edge stopped just short of Walter's fingers.
The strength left Walter's hand.
The longsword spun through the air.
Clatter!
The fallen blade skidded under a broken crate.
Walter sucked in a breath.
The cold tip of a sword had come to rest in front of his throat.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Wind came in through the open iron door.
Walter was breathing hard.
His gaze was fixed on the blade at his neck —
more precisely, on the crest engraved into it.
"…Insane."
A hollow laugh slipped out.
"You're out of your damn mind."
Leon said nothing.
Walter twisted a bitter smile.
"I said if you hadn't ridden with the Hero's party, you couldn't beat me."
His face twisted again.
It was unfair.
Truly, bitterly unfair.
"And of all people."
Walter looked around.
Broken crates.
Pillars scored deep with sword cuts.
Rusty shackles rolling across the floor.
An iron door half torn from its hinges.
And Leon, standing in the middle of it all.
"Of all people, why is that man here…"
Walter looked at Leon's face again.
The people who had walked through the Capital under the cheers of tens of thousands.
And the fifth man who had followed behind them, barely noticed.
He had not known it then.
That the unremarkable man walking at the back —
just as much as the ones out in front —
had been someone standing in a place a man like Walter could never reach.
Walter spoke low.
"…A monster who ought to be off killing the Demon King."
A bitter smile.
"What the hell are you doing out here over one slave."
Leon's gaze flicked briefly toward Lia.
Their eyes met.
Lia drew a small breath.
Leon looked back at Walter.
And said it as if it were nothing at all.
"Just because."
"What…?"
Leon's eyes dropped to the black brand still left on Lia's neck.
"It bothered me."
That was all.
No grand oath.
No justice.
Not even the word hero.
Until that person is saved.
For the first time in a very long while, her mother's voice —
did not sound like a lie.