The Summoner of ■■ (43)

“Kyahaha!!”

In the deadlock, Binboji Kazu moved first. With nothing more than a snap of his wrist he twisted the blade of his sword, sweeping Ban Taewung’s weapon aside as if brushing it away.

Screeeeech!!

Mana-coated steel ground against steel, the sound like a grinder chewing through iron, sparks flying in every direction.

Where Ban Taewung reinforced his sword with mana that followed the honest, straight form of the blade itself, the mana coiled around Binboji Kazu’s sword was jagged like the teeth of a saw, gnawing away at Taewung’s power.

Clang! Ching! Chaaang!!

Swift exchanges of sword and blade painted the air with showers of sparks. The shimmer of clashing mana and the hair’s-breadth dodges that looked almost choreographed made the fight look vicious—yet more than that, it was dazzling. The breathless, sweat-inducing collisions of sword and blade finally ended their mutual probing, and the two returned to a pure contest of strength.

Minor cuts had appeared, but nothing serious. At that fact Binboji Kazu smiled.

“Oh? How about this?!”

Kakak, gagagagak—

He twisted the edge harder, pouring force into it. If Ban Taewung failed to meet that pressure, the blade would simply slide the rest of the way and, with only a little more strength, graze his throat.

“Hup!”

Ban Taewung was never going to let that happen. Instead he bled off power and body, slipping the trap while driving his sword upward from below in a counter. Cross-range number-reading in a one-on-one was familiar ground for him.

Screeeek!

“Not a chance!!”

The counter was shut down from the start. Even though Kazu had deliberately withdrawn his blade as if yielding, he had already read the move; his sword stuck to Taewung’s like glue and refused to separate.

Taewung tried to force his sword free with raw strength, but Kazu used that very force with exquisite skill, bleeding it off and dragging him this way and that, forcing a sticky, grinding contest of power. It looked exactly like a dog being hauled around on a leash. Moments earlier Kazu had been the one who looked like the dog; now the roles were reversed. Like a seasoned trainer he skillfully reined in the thrashing Taewung, suppressing that strength and steering the fight into a shape that favored himself.

“Kh…!”

Ching!!

Defeat in that contest naturally fell to Ban Taewung. He had already shifted his weight to dodge, so his center was compromised; every subsequent exchange of force carried a built-in penalty. In a pure mana-strength contest Taewung still won. In a contest of technique and skill, however, Binboji Kazu held an overwhelming edge.

“Got you!!”

Seizing the opening, Kazu’s sword carved a lightning-fast arc toward Taewung’s side. Taewung twisted desperately, raising his blade like a shield—but that, too, had been part of the plan.

Shweeeek!!

The honest slash was pulled short, sailing past Taewung. Then, as naturally as flowing water yet with blinding speed, the blade twisted in midair and carved straight ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠through the completely exposed torso.

Skrrk!!

Whether from the lingering trail of mana or pure geometry, a perfect X-shaped cut landed on Ban Taewung. A beat later, smoke-like mana detonated with a dull boom and the shockwave hurled him backward.

Thud-crash!

“Cough, cough—”

Even while rolling he snapped back into stance, dry coughs wracking him until blood spilled from his lips. The mana explosion had clearly damaged his insides. Blood gushed from the gash in his side, rapidly soaking the beige student uniform. Then a faint light flickered across his body and the flowing blood began to reverse itself, as if time itself were rewinding.

Some skill must have activated. For a man who stacked damage through sheer toughness and then multiplied it back at the enemy, it was the perfect ability. Perhaps he had even taken the hit on purpose. Most of Ban Taewung’s skills only truly shone once he had already been hurt.

Even so, healing the wound did not erase the damage already taken. Clutching the place where the cut had been, Taewung gritted his teeth against the pain, planted his sword, and forced himself upright into a proper guard.

“…You’re incredible after all, senior.”

“Hiyah~ You’re a masterpiece yourself, you know?”

Despite the heavy damage, Ban Taewung calmly leveled his sword again without a trace of fear. Binboji Kazu gave a cynical laugh and raised the arm holding his blade.

“You even managed a counter in that short window?”

A red hologram clung to the arm, the word [HIT] stamped clearly across it. Even while being blasted away, Taewung had landed a blow. The faint tremor in Kazu’s arm, though he had put no extra force into the strike, showed the damage was far from light.

“Two more to go.”

“Khuhuh… I like you more than I expected.”

Kazu shook out the numbness, reset his grip, and settled into a stance completely different from before.

“So I’ll fight you properly too.”

Until now he had held the sword two-handed like a kendo practitioner. Now the posture was utterly changed. Legs spread wide, body lowered as if drained of tension. The sword hand was hidden behind his body while the free hand rose in front, torso angled. It looked loose, full of openings, a formless mess with no fixed frame—yet his eyes locked straight onto Ban Taewung without the slightest waver.

Taewung’s gaze shifted slightly at the sight.

Swordsmanship is fundamentally built on swings and thrusts. No matter how different the school, certain commonalities always appear, and swordsmen read each other’s moves from those foundations. It feels like fighting inside the defined frame of “the sword.”

That is why a self-taught style like Binboji Kazu’s—lacking any fixed frame—brings the user’s personal skill and habits into sharp relief. Swordsmen accustomed to orthodox forms often fail to read the numbers and are left flustered. Those of sufficient skill can still decipher it, of course, but many simply sneer at “inferior heresies” because they cannot understand them. Reading an unorthodox style on first sight is that difficult.

Of course, all of that presupposes the user is highly skilled and the overall balance is solid. Reach that level and it is no longer mere self-taught style—it becomes an unknown sword art of its own.

“Hayakaze Gale Style, Howling Wind stance.”

Apparently Binboji Kazu’s swordsmanship was one of those successful cases. The moment he fully settled into the stance, the mana that had been swirling around him began to influence the faint ambient mana in the air, instantly drawing wind toward him.

No magic tool, no spirit power. The stance itself and the flow of mana circulating through his body completed a kind of magic formula, a living magic circle.

The wind gathered around Binboji Kazu’s entire body. Mana-laden currents began to spiral in circular forms along his limbs.

“Gulp…”

By contrast, the swordsmanship Ban Taewung used had no grand name. If he had to give it one… yes, it would simply be Fundamentals.

The basic sword arts any blade-wielder learns and can use. The first thing he had ever studied was a nearby self-defense dojo. Once he had the basics down, he taught himself from manuals of general anti-monster sword techniques usable against beasts. Only after entering the Academy had he begun learning proper swordsmanship in earnest. Ban Taewung possessed no inherited style worthy of a name, and no master either.

All he could do was plant his sword with the same stubborn honesty he had always used.

Binboji Kazu’s eyebrows twitched for an instant at the sight; then his smile deepened and he shouted.

“Thirteenth disciple of the Gale Style, Binboji Kazu!!”

It was the epithet that proved his current standing—and, without exaggeration, a declaration of his entire self. The nanori of the old Japanese warriors before they rode onto the battlefield: a challenge, and at the same time proof ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that he recognized Ban Taewung as a worthy opponent.

“…First-year Class S of Sunrise Academy, Ban Taewung.”

“Yeah. Burn that into your eyes.”

Whoooooosh!!!

The wind that had been circling gently around Binboji Kazu grew violent with the roughening of his mana. The moment it passed a certain threshold, the surrounding wind itself died.

No—more precisely, every scrap of that wind had condensed into him.

“Here I come!!”

Boom!!

The instant his foot kicked the ground, Binboji Kazu’s body shot forward so fast it left not even an afterimage.

Kagagagak!!!

“Hup…!”

Almost simultaneous with the shout, Ban Taewung raised his sword and barely blocked the opening strike, then spun with the force that shoved him back. In a normal situation one would dodge; instead Taewung accepted the risk of a blade graze and poured the rotational force into a counter-swing.

Shweeeeek!!!

The tip that had been aimed precisely at the head never reached its destination. To me—who had seen and handled Haze’s spatial power directly—it was clear: Binboji Kazu simply “stepped” on empty air and moved.

Tong, tooong!

At that range evasion should have been impossible. Yet he neither twisted his body nor raised a guard; he simply kicked off the spot itself. No fool fails to understand the enormous risk of both feet leaving the ground. But without a moment’s hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leapt and spun, slipping past Taewung’s sword with perfect ease. Instead of landing, he stepped on the air again to reset his stance, looking for all the world like an acrobat walking the sky.

Swaaaang!

His mana surged and wind rose. Not a swirling tornado—compressed vacuum blades that rang like struck steel around the sword’s edge, ready to burst at any second.

Up and down had reversed. Binboji Kazu, treating the sky as solid ground and swinging with ease, locked eyes with Ban Taewung, who stood on the earth yet looked the more unstable of the two.

Hayakaze Gale Style

First Form.

“Gale Slash!!!!”

“Haaaaaa!!!!”

Kaaang!!

Their shouts tangled as the blades met.

Chaaang!!

“…Ah.”

The victor was Binboji Kazu. More precisely, his sword cleaved Ban Taewung’s blade cleanly in two.

No—in this case Taewung had held out. The sword that had been barely surviving until now simply could not endure this latest force and broke. Compared to the power Ban Taewung possessed, the blade had been far too fragile. Combined with Kazu’s experience in targeting a sword’s weak points, the result was inevitable.

Even after shattering the sword, the edge of the blade continued its slow advance; Taewung’s body toppled backward. The pause lasted only an instant. Instantly assessing the situation, he flung himself clear of the flying shards and retreated at speed.

Whoosh!!

The edge that grazed the tip of his nose by a hair’s breadth made him suck in a sharp breath. He immediately recovered his balance and, without forgetting, clenched the hilt of what was now little more than a long dagger. Shortened, yes—but it still functioned as a sword. That was enough. He could still use it.

Judging so, Ban Taewung drew out a blade of pure mana to fill the missing length.

“You can force out a crude sword aura like that all you want—it still won’t reach the tip of real sword ki!!”

Ching-clang!!

Even that lasted only a few exchanges before the mana shattered with the sound of breaking glass. Taewung’s face twisted. Seizing the opening, Binboji Kazu charged like a battering ram, reversed his grip so the blunt spine of the blade faced forward, and brought it down.

Chwaaaak!!!

“Gyaaaaah…!”

“Taewung-ssi!!”

A clean cut from shoulder to waist tore the first real scream from Ban Taewung. Luicia, panicking, tried to rush forward, but the mana barrier the Guardians had raised still refused to open—the duel was not yet over. Biting her lip hard, she clenched her fists until the knuckles whitened.

Even though the blow had been struck with the blunt side, the power packed into it was still power. The student uniform ripped, flesh split, blood sprayed.

Thud!

Taewung forced his half-buckled knee to hold and tried to move again—only for the cold tip of the sword to settle against his throat.

“Still want more?”

“…Grit.”

Looking up at the calmly gazing Binboji Kazu, Ban Taewung clenched his teeth. Frustration, and a cold fury that painted over it, began to flare through his mana.

“With power like that… why would you use such a base method?”

“That’s…”

For the first time Kazu swallowed his words. With a sour expression he shifted his gaze toward me. I met it with an equally sharp look of my own.

I had been the real target. Yet the fight itself had been with someone else. The fact he had deliberately forgotten in order to focus on combat came rushing back the moment reality returned, cooling his heated head. Frustration surged again; he roughly raked his fingers through his hair. Seizing that opening, Taewung knocked the blade from his throat with the broken sword and leapt far back, resetting his stance.

“I acknowledge that you’re strong, senior. But using power that way is never right. Power is something you swing to protect someone—not to hurt them.”

Faced with Taewung’s almost nauseatingly upright righteousness, Binboji Kazu squinted as if staring into a glare and clicked his tongue.

“Tsk. Look who showed up—the model citizen. Sure, that usage exists too. But the way I see it, power is the means and the proof for enforcing your own justice. How you use it is just a matter of the heart.”

Thud, thud—

Resting the sword on his shoulder and grumbling, he looked every inch the thug.

Whoosh, thud!

He swung the blade again, leveling it at Taewung, and laughed arrogantly.

“So if you want to force your justice on me, break mine first.”

Taewung’s expression hardened.

“…And what is the justice you believe in, senior?”

“Why ask something so obvious?”

As if openings no longer mattered against the current Taewung, he spread both arms wide and roared.

“The strong are ‘justice’!!”

The strong equal the victors. An extremely simple, extremely clear answer—and, more than that, the mindset best optimized for this Academy, and for a world crawling with Awakened who were walking time bombs. In a world where overthinking only gets you killed, simple men like him had the higher survival rate. Too many thoughts slowed the body; the single instant of opening born in a split second was more than enough to decide the outcome. It was a rational pursuit in its own way. That was why Ban Taewung could understand Binboji Kazu… yet could never empathize with him.

Because he knew someone who held a similar philosophy and produced completely different results.

“…I understand perfectly what you’re trying to say, senior.”

And that was exactly why he could not lose. No—he would win no matter what. As that emotion boiled over, the black-gold aura that had been dying around Ban Taewung began to surge once more.

Griiiip—

He layered a mana blade over the broken sword. Even if it was nothing but a crude imitation of a sword’s shape, it was better than nothing.

I am lacking. There is so much I want to do, yet I never have the power or the knowledge, so I always end up reaching out to those around me for help. To claim I feel no shame would be a lie. I shudder at my own insufficiency and burn with humiliation at my incompetence. But what I fear even more is the day those around me fall into danger and I am unable to help them.

So I will learn. I will fill what is lacking. Just as I always have—little by little… but surely—I will move forward.

Judging that the fight would continue, Binboji Kazu quietly settled into stance as well. Taewung’s presence had changed.

“…Still never gets old. This Academy place is—hey!!”

Chaaaaaang!!!

Binboji Kazu’s sword and Ban Taewung’s blade collided once more as if both had lunged at the same instant.

Kakak, gagagak!

This time the mana blade did not shatter. Instead it grew even harder, shoving the lighter sword back.

What kind of strength…

In that brief interval Ban Taewung’s physical power had become absurdly greater. Catching it in a single exchange, Kazu tried to switch to hit-and-run tactics.

Screeeek!

Impossible. Dragged by overwhelming force, he was forced to plant both feet on the ground; his brow furrowed. He wanted to free his sword from the lock, but could not.

“…This is—”

A sticky, stretching tug-of-war of pure strength—the exact technique he himself had used at the start of the fight. Still rough, but the form was already convincing. Because the lacking technique was being papered over with raw power, the unique spirit born of that roughness was no joke.

Screee, ting—!

Then a sound that should never have come from a sword blade rang out. At this rate he would be swept away by the enemy’s momentum. Belatedly abandoning the sword itself and trying to leap back, Binboji Kazu’s body spun with the flow of the wind.

“You said it yourself earlier, senior.”

Thud—

Normally he should have slipped away as smoothly as a leaf on the wind, matching his footwork. But a single protruding stone stepped into the path of that wind and blocked it—as if it had known from the beginning, sliding into the critical line and tangling the flow.

Stagger, thump—

“…Huh?”

His feet tangled; a wide opening appeared. Ban Taewung’s fist lightly tapped the exposed shoulder.

The second marker announcing a successful attack floated up, and a crack appeared in the previously confident face of Binboji Kazu.

“Please fight me properly. I’ve already ‘learned’ that one.”

One more hit remained. Ban Taewung had drawn closer to the victory condition, yet his expression stayed utterly calm—as if he wanted something beyond mere victory. Looking at that hollow gaze, Kazu let out a dry laugh for the first time.

“…Seriously. Unbelievable.”

In experience, in polish, even in the realm of swordsmanship itself, he could confidently claim he was inferior in nothing. Yet just now he had instinctively felt himself falling behind. Not talent, not anything in that domain. Something more fundamental.

What is it? What the hell is it?

For an instant the image of his master—who had vanished like the wind without even a letter—overlapped with Ban Taewung’s face. Binboji Kazu clenched his teeth hard.

The man who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had enrolled him in the Academy in place of that departed master had told him what he still lacked. If he beat this guy, would he finally understand it?

No idea. So for now, just win.

“…You’ve gotten way too cocky in such a short time, underclassman.”

“And you, senior, seem to be getting even stronger.”

At that shameless reply, Binboji Kazu felt genuine laughter well up from deep inside for the first time in ages. So he didn’t hold it back.

“I’m not getting stronger—I was strong from the start, you idiot.”

Rolling his shoulders to loosen up, he grabbed the necklace resting against his chest and ripped it clean off. Instantly the mana that had been suppressing his entire body unraveled; his dulled senses snapped back into place. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forcibly narrowed mana channels widened, allowing a far greater volume of power to flow. By deliberately accelerating his heartbeat through mana so the energy circulated even faster, he finally felt alive again.

He had been permitted to join this little play only on the condition that he never remove the restriction. But now he no longer cared. The duel state itself was craving a proper fight. Answering that call was simply the duty of the one who had accepted the challenge.

“Just like you wanted—I’ll fight you at full power.”

He casually gathered and controlled the explosively increased mana. Ban Taewung showed no panic; he simply widened the distance in silence and leveled his sword. No more words needed, huh? Kazu liked that too.

“…Huu.”

Thud—

I’ll end it with this one strike.

Squeeze the breath. Gather the wind. Draw a single line that can pierce everything in this extreme.

Shwaaaa—

A gentle breeze rose. Matching it, he took his stance. Mid-level, sword tip pointed at the enemy. Power compressed into that point. Every muscle in his body swelled to the limit, ready to explode outward at any moment.

Hayakaze Gale Style, Thunderclap stance.

If the Howling Wind stance specialized in swift, light blades and unpredictable movement, the Thunderclap stance was honest, heavy, and concentrated overwhelming power into a single crushing blow. Against the boy’s newly elevated strength, Howling Wind alone was no longer enough.

One more technique layered on top.

Hayakaze Gale Style

Second Form.

Body Thunder.

A technique that fires compressed wind in an instant, allowing the body to move like lightning. The recoil is severe enough to accumulate damage on the user as well, so he rarely favored it—but for a one-hit decisive battle, nothing was more suitable.

Their mana collided, sparks flying. The surrounding air shuddered and vibrated under pressure like two walls slamming together. With the force to blow all of it away, he released the power he had packed into his body.

Cut.

Holding only that thought, he launched himself.

10 cm. The boy was still looking at the residual shadow like an afterimage and had not yet found him.

5 cm. The moment he realized Kazu had moved, he instantly pinpointed the location.

But it was already too late.

3 cm. The tip of the blade had already touched flesh. One downward stroke and victory was his. With full power behind it, the wound would not be light. Hoping a skilled healer was nearby, he drove the sword home.

The instant the edge bit into skin and began to part what lay beneath—

“Reverse…”

Ting!

A clear, pure note rang out. A sword? When did it make contact? Had he planned from the start to take the hit and counter?

Before the thought could finish, his body was already flying. Against his will—backward?

Ah. Blocking this is going to be a bitch, isn’t it?

He had to dodge. Faster than the thought, the broken sword swung.

“Counter-----------!!!!”

KWAAAAAAAAAANG!!!!!!!!!

An overwhelming torrent of mana and the destructive force packed inside it sheared his consciousness clean away for an instant.

When awareness returned he was lying on the hard ground. Damage existed, but nothing that would keep him from moving. Binboji Kazu sprang up at once, confirmed the sight of the man still standing in the exact posture of his finishing swing—unconscious on his feet—and let out a hollow laugh.

This isn’t a shonen manga; standing while knocked out is pretty novel. Still, credit where it’s due.

He checked his own body and clicked his tongue.

The third clear hit marker meant his defeat.

Right. This wasn’t a fight to the death—it was a game of landing three successful strikes. Remembering that fact again forced a bitter smile onto his face.

…Ah, how did it end up like this?

Yeah. All because of that guy. He’d finally had a good fight after so long, yet still failed to get what he actually wanted. Picking another fight right now would be awkward. He had lost, so following the words of the “victor” was the rule.

And that fine “victor” certainly wouldn’t want him fighting this man again.

Beyond the hologram projected by the Guardian, a brown-haired girl was charging toward them with eyes blazing. Binboji Kazu closed his eyes as if turning away from the sight and quietly let out a long sigh.