I Knew a Day Like This Would Come
I knew a day like this would come.
Even though Altare knew that Liv was acting far too leniently in her efforts to win Raven’s favor, he had deliberately chosen not to intervene.
If Raven escaped, the opportunity would swing in their direction.
It was her own fault for lowering her guard and going soft, even though both of them knew the other was a hyena.
“Are you planning to kill her?”
“I haven’t yet found a suitable association president to replace Liv, so I’ll do my best not to kill her as a precaution. But if it truly can’t be helped, then there’s no other choice.”
He knew from the diary that his master was immortal.
Still, fully believing it might simply be the blind adoration of a young heart that looked up to its master—a possibility he could not dismiss.
‘The story of him dying and coming back to life could just be a misunderstanding of the fact that he never died at all.’
It was also possible that the overlapping traits of Fighter, Shaman, and Sculpted Soul Master had lengthened his lifespan to that of an Awakener and slowed his aging. Keeping in mind the chance that the man before him was not truly immortal, Altare spoke slowly.
“At the very least, I intend to break an ankle…”
The blue eyes Raven had adored for resembling the daytime sky now held a frozen glacier as they slid downward.
“Which ankle would you prefer?”
Right? Or left?
May I sever the neck of that ungrateful wretch?
…Ha. Raven let out a crooked laugh.
Watching his disciple’s belated adolescence unfold gave him a strange feeling. Of course the boy was an Awakener, and his skills must have grown considerably in the time they had been apart, but he still shouldn’t look this easy.
Calming the Guardian Spirit, he smiled fiercely in open provocation.
“If you can manage it, then by all means.”
“Then both.”
Altare drew his sword and kicked off the ground, charging in a single breath. Raven gave his wrist a light shake to settle into a casual stance and spoke to Dan, who was watching from the side.
“Watch carefully. This is the one you must kill.”
Altare aimed for his opponent’s upper body and swept his sword in a wide horizontal arc. Raven arched backward to evade it, ignoring the blade that had grazed his chin, planted his hands on the ground, and kicked upward at Altare’s jaw. The motion resembled a backflip.
Sensing the tremendous power in the swinging leg, Altare swiftly retreated to avoid it.
“…You’re quite flexible.”
“One of the perks of keeping a youthful body.”
“Your strength is also greater than I expected.”
“That’s because I’ve trained extensively.”
Before contracting with Death, he had undergone hellish training, after all.
Raven stepped on the sword swinging toward his lower body and leaped upward. As if showing off, he lifted one leg high and drove his heel down toward the crown of Altare’s head—only to twist at the last moment and kick diagonally downward instead. The pursuing sword was knocked away as though it had struck something unyielding.
Flexible. Agile. Bold, yet precise.
Dan, observing the battle through his crow-shaped Sculpted Soul, thought.
‘His movements are large and sweeping, but when he deflects the sword, he only ever touches the flat of the blade with perfect accuracy.’
Despite clashing with Altare’s sword again and again, Raven had not been cut a single time.
This was not talent but experience. As an Awakener who possessed true ‘talent,’ Altare narrowed his eyes slightly after reading his opponent.
Dan, a civilian, would not understand, but the duel between these two masters was an endless exchange of psychological warfare and tactical feints, splitting every second before their blades or bodies ever met.
When Raven moved to strike the flat of the blade early, Altare would instantly twist his wrist so the edge arrived at the exact spot Raven targeted. Raven would then seize that fleeting instant to either change his aim or abandon the strike entirely, choosing instead to collide with the flat and be pushed back.
Even in a situation where a single lapse in focus could result in stupidly offering one’s body to the edge, he fought evenly with his bare hands, making no mistakes.
‘…A master is still a master, it seems.’
Altare readjusted his grip on the sword with clear irritation.
Unlike Altare, who could switch between flat and edge with a mere twist of the wrist mid-swing, Raven had to commit to his direction and power from the start. The disadvantage was obvious.
Even though both were fighting without intent to kill, the fact that he could not end the match easily despite holding the upper hand stung his pride considerably.
‘Should I just fight properly and let the building collapse if it must?’
But that would make the aftermath quite troublesome.
If the building came down, accusations of excess would be unavoidable.
‘Even if Master is truly immortal and takes no damage, the problem doesn’t change.’
That bastard Deciever was the type who could not tolerate anyone else killing the object of his interest, even if he himself killed them. No matter how immortal his master was, the moment he died even once, all hell would break loose. It would weaken any justification for suppressing that madman.
Besides, he was not the only opponent he had to handle.
Liv, who had not yet given up on winning their master’s favor, would add her resentment over the collapsed building to her reaction and press him even harder. The other two would seize the chance to join forces and attempt to strip away his authority.
‘Damn it all.’
He had underestimated him simply because he was a Fighter, but it was not easy. Altare tightened his grip on the sword until his knuckles whitened.
Raven, unaware of the storm raging inside Altare, used the brief lull to glance back at the crow.
“Did you see it clearly?”
This is the kind of person you have to kill.
He bent one leg and dropped his upper body low. A sword passed over his head. His long, unbound hair whipped wildly with the violent motion, yet not a single strand was severed.
The crow’s eyes, catching the sight, filled with dismay.
“Master.”
Altare glared at Raven with eyes as sharp as blue ice. Rage seeped through his clenched teeth.
“Focus on me.”
“…Right. Sorry. You must be angry.”
Instead of standing, Raven stayed low with his hands planted on the ground and swept his leg in a low arc to trip him. The sword plunged straight down toward his leg to block the move, but he withdrew it at once. Raven narrowly avoided it, rose, and before Altare could pull the blade free, laid his hand over the one gripping the hilt and pressed down hard.
Cold sky-blue eyes met strange green ones at point-blank range.
Raven smiled, eyes curving softly, and tilted his head back slightly. Both hands remained firmly pinning the sword.
“But this isn’t a spar.”
“…!”
Crack!
A hard skull slammed into Altare’s jaw.
Strength fled Altare for an instant and he staggered backward. Even after Raven released the hand that had been crushing the sword, he could not even think of drawing it.
With his spinning vision, he clutched his jaw and looked toward where Raven should have been. An incredulous sound escaped him.
“What… is this…”
“I’m sorry, child.”
The voice came from behind him.
Altare tried to whirl around at once, but—
“I’ll let you kill me next time—when I have the leisure to spare.”
Thud!
His vision went black before he could even register his opponent.
He felt sorry about the headbutt, but there had been no other way to finish it quickly without leaving injuries.
Raven hoisted his limp disciple onto his back, dragged him across the floor, and laid him on the sofa. The boy was larger than him, but the sofa was absurdly oversized, so there was no awkward moment of legs dangling off the edge.
‘…He’s an Awakener, so he won’t catch a cold at least.’
Sorry, but the blanket would have to go to the weakened Liv.
Instead, Raven placed one of the sofa cushions on Altare’s chest, then turned and walked toward the door.
‘While I’m out, I should go find Eckhart first.’
The fact that Liv had tried to strike such a deal meant the situation was urgent. The tighter the time limit, the easier it was to pressure him, and the greater the chance he would accept the trade.
He didn’t particularly care whether the boy lived or died… but since he had heard the news and now had some free time, it wouldn’t hurt to solve the lingering problem while he was already on his way out.
Therefore, there was no time to waste. For the location… he would start from the address he had received from him previously.
After roughly organizing his thoughts, just before stepping out the door, he glanced at the crow that had been watching them the entire time.
“There’s no window here, so I’ll have to leave through the door… Want to come along?”
The way it whipped its head around made it clear the answer was no.
Stubborn as always. Raven shrugged and left the room.
And ran straight into someone.
“Why is there a being here whose nature—whether of the living or the dead—I cannot determine… Ah, could it be.”
“…”
“Is it… Master?”
“…Yes. It’s been a long time.”
His proud fourth disciple, now the president of the Shaman Association.
“Hwan.”
Dark skin typical of southerners. Curly red hair.
Just like the other disciples he had met, the child had grown beyond recognition. Raven reached out as if in a trance.
The man stared at the approaching hand for a moment, then took one step back. When the hand that failed to reach its target faltered, a calm voice finally fell between them.
“As you know, I have lost all memories concerning Master. Therefore, I require confirmation whether you are truly Master or an intruder pretending to be him…”
“…There shouldn’t be another existence in the world with a body like mine.”
Hwan offered a serene smile. Unlike Raven’s, his ash-gray eyes—clear enough to reflect the other person perfectly—curved with gentle amusement.
His hand rested on the shamanic bell hanging at his waist.
“Would you show me your tongue?”
“…Ah, yes. There really is nothing more certain than that.”
That particular detail would certainly have been recorded in your diary.
The fact that he displayed such behavior without even needing to draw and ring the bell spoke of his considerable skill, yet he was deliberately applying pressure.
Amused by the adorable act, Raven met Hwan’s gaze, opened his mouth slightly, and showed his tongue. A spark of interest flashed in Hwan’s eyes as he confirmed the red pattern engraved upon it.
“It is indeed my pattern.”
The pattern engraved when a shaman used power differed from person to person. In other words, it was no different from a shaman’s fingerprint.
Hwan removed his hand from the bell. He had no intention of treating rudely the benefactor of his youth who had swallowed a curse in his place to protect his immature self and severed the resulting karma.
“Were you in the middle of escaping?”
“Yes. Are you going to stop me?”
“No. How could I possibly stand in Master’s way?”
He had no desire to throw himself into a fight with no chance of victory, even if it meant earning hatred.
To fight a Fighter with a shaman’s body would require spirit possession, and the losses would far outweigh any gain.
‘Even if I don’t act, the others will catch him anyway.’
He stepped aside.
“It is unfortunate, but I will let you go for now. I hope we may have the chance to speak deeply another day.”
“Yes. It seems we have quite a lot to talk about, don’t we?”
For instance, the matter of Liv’s physical condition.
The subject he had been determined to address the moment he met Hwan now made its presence known. Hwan, who had taken a moment to process the words delivered in a tone as casual as daily conversation, froze. Raven continued without pause.
“Hwan, my proud disciple. Let me ask you just one thing.”
The softness in Raven’s eyes hardened. He took one step closer. With the fierce expression of a shaman, he glared at his disciple as though scolding him.
“The current state of Liv’s body. That was your doing, wasn’t it?”
The larger the fragment of soul torn away, the stronger the animal the Sculpted Soul would become. By that same logic, the stronger the Sculpted Soul, the shorter the time the owner had left before following it in death.
An outstanding shaman had realized why Liv, who should have died long ago, was still breathing.
“…As I thought.”
Hwan widened his eyes for only a moment before smiling brightly.
“You truly are ‘Master.’ The day we have that conversation grows even more anticipated.”
“Just what…”
Raven’s face twisted with sorrow.
“Just why would you—”
“I, too, have many questions for Master. For example, whether that body of yours is truly alive.”
“…”
“It appears you have not yet encountered Rowina. Since I seem to have arrived before her, please leave quickly before she arrives. Meeting her would become quite troublesome for you.”
Raven silently gestured toward him.
With a puzzled expression, Hwan leaned closer. Raven roughly tousled the red hair. The action seemed to transform the pity close to grief and the rising fury into simple mischief.
“Don’t touch the crow Sculpted Soul. He’s a new disciple.”
“…”
With those final words, Raven departed. The crow leisurely crossed the space he had left behind.