Throne (4)
Two more days passed in the hut. Her left arm was still useless, but the rest of her wounds were healing rapidly. Injuries that would keep an ordinary human bedridden for a month were mending in just a week. The old man noticed it too and asked about it.
"Yer body ain't ordinary, is it."
"I've always been sturdy."
"Sturdy don't cover it. Scrapes healin' overnight. Cracked ribs mostly knit back together already."
"...Really?"
"Really, hell. I've run this herb shop over forty years, and this is a first."
"Must be my constitution."
"Constitution my ass... Well, yer alive, so that's what matters."
Adelaide herself sensed it intuitively. Something flowed through her body—a warm energy distinct from mana. The same force she'd felt during those three days of battle. The power that had exploded when she'd choked Ailin upon learning the truth that night.
"Different from mana?"
"I said it was."
"I've seen mana before. Mages conjurin' fire or pullin' water. But what's comin' outta you ain't that."
"...It's different from mana and aura too."
"Even you don't know what it is, huh?"
"...Yeah."
"Must be frustratin'."
"More urgent than frustrating."
"Urgent?"
"I need to master this power. Fast."
She couldn't wield it freely yet. Healing seemed automatic, but everything else resisted sheer will.
While the old man went foraging for herbs that morning, Adelaide stood near a boulder behind the hut, gripping Zenon's dagger in her right hand. She extended her arm straight ahead, reliving the memory from three days ago. Light had burst from her hand, enveloped the dagger. It had melted the shadows, pushing back Ailin's darkness.
She tensed her grip.
"...Come out."
Adelaide murmured softly. But the blade's tip only flickered briefly before dying out.
Once more. This time, she recalled Zenon's initials. The moment she'd opened the bundled belongings. But drawing power through emotion alone proved unstable. She switched tactics—discarding feeling, channeling pure will instead. Focusing every sense on her right hand's tip: the hilt's texture, the tension in each palm muscle.
After a long stance, light began to bloom. Faint and hazy, yes. But golden. A sensation closer to warmth than searing heat.
Adelaide swung down toward the boulder.
Swoosh—!
Light lanced out, cleaving the rock in half. The cut surface gleamed smooth—immense cutting power. But recoil surged back through her arm. The backlash of using the force.
"Control..."
It wasn't working. Without knowing how to modulate the light's intensity, it poured out unchecked.
Adelaide caught her breath and reset her stance. Once more—this time, half power. But the light refused fine control. The swing unleashed excessive golden brilliance again, shattering the boulder into fragments. A shard grazed her cheek.
The old man stood frozen, eyes wide, a bundle of herbs slung over his shoulder.
"...What the hell."
"Training."
"Why's the rock like that?"
"...It broke."
"I can see that. Question is, did you do it?"
"Sorry. I'll clean it up."
"Cleanup ain't the issue...! How the hell did you do that?!"
"Long explanation."
"...Long's fine. Got time."
The old man dumped his herb bundle on the cart and squatted before Adelaide.
"So?"
"I've got... a power. Awakened recently. Light, maybe."
"Light? Magic?"
"Not magic. Not aura either. Don't know what to call it."
"Do it again. Lemme see proper."
Adelaide gathered light on the dagger. As golden radiance sheathed the blade, the old man's eyes widened.
"...Holy relic?"
"What?"
"Seen a holy knight once, long ago. Sword glowin' like that, slicin' monsters..."
"Holy knight? Yeah, that fits."
Come to think of it, she'd been too dazed to note it then, but Ailin had called her the Hero. Adelaide nodded slowly, and the old man continued.
"Yeah, feels like a holy knight. But stronger. Overwhelmingly."
"...I know it's strong. Can't control it."
"That's why the rock's toast?"
"Yeah."
"Try again. Slow this time."
"Slow don't matter. It all dumps out."
"Then try lettin' out just a bit. Like gatherin' water and droppin' it one drop at a time."
"...Tried. Didn't work."
"Keep tryin' till it does. Save the rocks, yeah?"
"...You worried about the rocks?"
"Damn right! Ain't many 'round here!"
The old man peered deep into Adelaide's eyes. Whatever he saw there stilled his questions.
"Arm?"
"One arm's enough. Right one's fine."
"That swing cracked the rock. Keep it up, you'll wreck the right one too."
"Doesn't matter."
"Matters to me. I patched you up."
"..."
"Set yer bones, slathered salve, watched you lie there like the dead for five days. Can't just say 'don't matter' after that."
Adelaide fell silent. The old man's words carried a grumble—not anger, but the petulance of a craftsman seeing his work abused.
"...Sorry."
"Sorry? Then take care of yerself. Moderate it daily."
"Moderate how much?"
"To where it don't strain ya. Moderate."
"...Got it."
The old man chuckled and rose.
"Said you'd snag a rabbit for dinner?"
"Yeah, I'll go."
"One-armed?"
"One arm's plenty."
"Fine then."
As Adelaide walked, she reflected. Before, she'd grown strong for the people. Gripped the sword for honor. Her knighting oath had sworn as much: protect the weak, serve the kingdom.
But now? The people she'd guarded tried to burn her at the stake. The kingdom she'd served felt distant. Her subordinates—all dead. In a single moment.
One thing remained.
Ailin.
The name stirred turmoil in her heart. She'd sworn to tear her apart. In this life, the next, and every one after. An unbreakable vow.
Yet during those three days of combat, she'd seen things. Ailin had lured the fight outside the city. Screamed with that tiny mouth about NPCs. Slain her own minions to save Adelaide, then faltered when pressed for reasons.
Adelaide wanted no part of what that meant. Not now. She needed strength—purely to fell Ailin. Whatever crouched at the root of that drive could wait.
Adelaide returned with a rabbit. One arm sufficed. The old man took the pair with an incredulous look and deftly prepared them.
Over dinner, he asked,
"Tomorrow too?"
"Of course."
"Wish ya wouldn't smash more rocks. Ain't many left."
"...Got it. I'll shatter sparingly."
Thus, the next morning. The old man stirred porridge by the hearth.
"How many more rocks yesterday?"
"...Three."
"Three?!"
"Medium-sized."
"Medium? Ya callin' man-sized boulders medium?"
"Sorry."
"No need sorry. What's the plan today?"
"Repetition. Gotta learn control."
"More rocks?"
"...Gonna cut grass this time."
"Grass?"
"Practice slicin' one blade at minimal power."
"...Grass is fine. Plenty of that. Cut away."
Adelaide changed tactics from then on. But throttling the light proved tricky. Evenings, the old man always asked.
"How'd it go?"
"Meadow's half gone."
"...Half?"
"About."
"Yer 'about' is my disaster."
"Tomorrow, less."
"Lesser. Please."
Day three: three blades. Day four: one. Soon, she wove thin light along the edge, slicing precisely as desired. Full power left massive gouges in the earth.
Fifth evening, by the campfire gnawing rabbit, the old man asked,
"Ya said Istius, right?"
"Yeah, technically."
"Frontier city. What happened there to leave ya like this?"
"...Long story."
"Tch, don't care. But can I ask one thing?"
"Shoot."
"That one yer huntin'—why? Revenge?"
"..."
"Won't answer—"
"Revenge. She... killed my men."
"She?"
"...Yeah."
"Beat by a woman?"
"No ordinary woman."
"Can see that. No normal soul does this."
The old man fed branches to the fire. Flames crackled, shadows danced. Watching with sunken eyes, he added cautiously,
"Those names ya sobbed before... all yer men?"
"Yeah."
"Good folk?"
"...Good people."
"Good people? That's enough."
"...Enough how?"
"Means they were worth yer tears. Plenty."
Adelaide bit into her meat instead of replying. A mural memory surfaced. The ancient painting on Istius temple's back wall. Crowned figure: king of darkness. Sword-wielder: sword of light.
Ah, got it.
...Got what.
Cliché setup.
...Setup?
Yeah. Hero vs. Demon King. Winner grants a wish. Seen it hundreds of times in games.
What makes ya—
Look. Crown's the Demon King, sword's the Hero. They fight, one falls, star shines. Stars mean wishes in games.
...Just yer take. And games?
They exist. This trope's everywhere. Bet on it.
In a ruin like this?
Ruins especially. Legends carved on walls—classic foreshadowing.
...Foreshadow? No clue.
Normal. Yer an NPC.
Ailin's shadows, her light. Ailin the Demon King, herself the Hero...?
Fated from the start? She hated it. Hated how she and Ailin overlapped that mural now.
To find Ailin, return to Istius first. A missing vice-captain's return would mobilize the knights, the kingdom. She knew Ailin headed east.
"Gramps."
"Hm?"
"Leavin' tomorrow mornin'."
"Already?"
"Owe ya enough."
"Arm ain't ready."
"Can walk—that's enough."
"Fine... Won't listen anyway."
"Sorry."
"Skip sorry. Where to?"
"Istius."
"West. Walls in a day."
"...Thanks. Truly."
"Know."
Adelaide packed. Dagger and waterskin, that was it. The old man fidgeted, then fetched from the cart: dried herb bundles, rations, a small jar of salve.
"Brew herbs for painkiller. Salve for wounds. Rest, eat."
"No need to—"
"Hush. Givin' 'cause I want. Herb seller can't give herbs?"
"...Gramps."
"What."
"Why this much? I'm just some stray patient."
"Stray I picked up. Man's duty to see it through."
"...Duty."
"Weird?"
"No. Not weird. Just... been a while."
"Duty?"
"People helpin' without reason."
"Reason's there. Ya collapsed at my feet."
"...That enough?"
"Plenty. Need grander?"
Adelaide's lips curved faintly. Long absent. Gazing west, she murmured,
"Promised to remember."
To her dead men—or herself.
"I'll find her."
She walked without looking back. The old man watched from the hut till her figure vanished.