A Mantis Has Two Scythes
Raon looked down at the mercenaries sprawled spread-eagle across the ground, a smile welling up from deep in his chest.
Nothing beats fighting people, after all.
Crossing blades with mercenaries tempered by real combat had pushed his Mad Fang Sword forward at a visible clip. Choosing a duel over dinner had been the right call.
Though…
He'd gotten a little too emotional, maybe. The way the Mad Fang Sword's frenzy seeped into him and stoked his blood still wasn't fully under control. He'd need to push the technique a little further before he could stay cold enough to pick apart an opponent's openings with true composure.
"Is that all of you?"
Raon pointed his still-humming blade at the Wolves Mercenary Corps.
"I haven't even warmed up yet. You picked this fight, and if this is as far as it goes, I'm going to be disappointed."
"Grrrk!"
"Fine! Come on!"
"You're not enough. I'll take him."
The taunt set the mercenaries shoving each other aside as they surged forward.
"Five is just about right. Come at me all at once."
"He's insane…"
"He's actually going to fight five of us?"
Raon nodded without a word.
"There's a limit to how much you can look down on people!"
"Let's go! We'll beat him into the dirt!"
"That's far enough."
Just as the mercenaries were about to charge, a voice drained of all energy drifted over them.
From among the soldiers standing at the center, a green-haired man with unnaturally long limbs stepped forward. Something about him called a praying mantis to mind.
"Huh?"
"V-Vice-Captain!"
The mercenaries took one look at the man, called him Vice-Captain, and bowed their heads.
"What do you think you're doing?"
His features were sharp, but his voice crawled along as slowly as a tortoise.
"Uh…"
"Th-that's…"
"I get the picture."
He glanced from Raon to the mercenaries crumpled in the corner and clicked his tongue.
"Haa. I'm Cliff, vice-captain of the Wolves. The kids don't have much in the way of manners."
Cliff offered an apology and bowed his head with polite formality.
"It's fi—"
Raon was about to say it was fine when Cliff lifted his head, and their eyes met. Those pupils were settled ice-cold. They were not the eyes of a man who was sorry.
"I heard you just offered to fight five of our boys at once. Would you mind if I took their place?"
The words were courteous. The voice behind them was packed with a fighting spirit that looked ready to throw a punch at any second.
"I thought this one might be different. He's the same as the rest."
Told you.
"Nngh. This King thought he would finally get to taste pizza. Here we go again."
I'll wrap this up quickly. Just wait a little.
Raon smiled lightly and squared off against Cliff. He looked up into those narrow eyes and nodded.
"I'd be grateful, actually. I still haven't warmed up."
"How convenient. I prefer to warm up while I fight as well."
Cliff bared his teeth in a grin. He no longer seemed interested in hiding the fighting spirit rolling off him. The presence of a swordsman who had reached Expert pressed down on Raon's shoulders.
Steel whispered from the scabbard as he drew the spear-length longsword strapped across his back.
"I ought to act my age. After you."
"I won't refuse."
Raon adjusted his grip and kicked off the ground. The instant he started forward, a steel-blue blade erupted into his vision.
Fast.
A lightning-fast strike that leveraged those long arms and the longsword's reach. It genuinely felt as though the blade had simply sprung up in front of his eyes.
But I already knew this was coming.
From the moment he'd seen Cliff's arms and that longsword, he'd expected exactly this kind of attack.
Raon knocked the incoming longsword aside with calm, unhurried eyes.
He kicked off the earth, aiming for the gap left as the longsword was driven back. The moment he tried to close the space, Cliff retreated, recovered the deflected blade, and thrust again. A speed like a bolt of light. He showed not a flicker of surprise, as if he'd prepared for exactly this.
Interesting.
Raon grinned.
This is the kind of fight I wanted.
Not a fight that ended in an easy win — a battle like this one, where he could wring every last drop of use from the Mad Fang Sword.
"You've got quite a bit of room to spare."
Cliff smiled coldly and drove his sword in. Raon smashed his blade against the edge as it hooked toward him like a hawk's talon.
He'd put real power behind the blow, but the longsword barely shuddered. Cliff yanked it back in a flash, already set for both defense and the next attack.
So that's it. I see it now.
Raon licked his lips. Three exchanges had been enough to give him a feel for how to create an opening in Cliff's guard.
He stamped a true step and surged forward.
Cliff thrust as if he'd been waiting for it — a speed half again faster than anything he'd shown so far. He'd been holding back.
Sorry, but so was I. I'd been hiding even more.
Raon twisted his shoulder, slipped the thrusting longsword by a paper's width, and brought his sword down.
The sound was huge, but once again the longsword barely gave ground.
The reason was simple.
It's a flexible sword.
It had looked like nothing more than an unusually long blade, but that sword could bend like a whip. Whenever Raon struck, Cliff loosened the rigidity in a section of it and let the impact bleed away.
He's good.
Raden Zieghart's swordsmanship was stronger and more spectacular, but in the finer points of application, this man was a step above.
Cliff whipped his drawn-back arm forward like a thunderbolt. The speed climbed another notch — fast enough that even a gifted martial artist's eyes would have lost the trail.
But to Raon's eyes, the trajectory burned clear.
He launched his sword with the monstrous power of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, drawn up from his aura core. The instant Cliff tried to bleed the force from the longsword's center, Raon twisted his wrist. Following the flash of the Mad Fang Sword, he drove his blade down onto the longsword's tip.
Cliff hadn't been able to bleed the force in time. His longsword folded in half and slammed into the cracked earth.
"W-what in the—!"
A rattled Cliff wrenched at the hilt, but the blade wouldn't come free.
Raon crushed the ground so the longsword couldn't possibly come loose, then charged. Just as he was about to smash the flat of his blade into the man's chest, Cliff's eyes flashed steel-blue.
"Sorry — a mantis has two scythes!"
He reached back with his left hand and drew the second sword strapped to his back — a short blade that had been hanging from the end of the scabbard.
"I know."
Raon drew the Requiem Sword with his left hand and slashed down.
Cliff's short sword sheared apart like tofu. Genuine panic flashed across his face as he flung a hand out.
"W-wait a—"
"There's no such thing as 'wait' in a fight."
Raon snorted and drove his left fist — still gripping the Requiem Sword — into Cliff's gut.
"Gaaahk!"
His entrance had been different, but Cliff went down just like the rest of the mercenaries, foaming at the mouth as he toppled backward.
"Hoo…"
Raon gave a satisfied little nod and sheathed his swords.
Real combat really is the best.
There was no training method that raised the Mad Fang Sword like live combat. He turned, already thinking he should lock down the insights he'd just gained.
"Guhhh!"
"W-what the hell was that?"
"That mantis devil just lost! To a kid like that!"
"No, does that even make sense? Cliff got wrecked like that?"
"A s-saint. He's a future saint of the sword!"
Swordsmen, knights, even the common soldiers who'd been watching the fight stood with their mouths hanging open.
"Wooooaaah!"
"That was incredible!"
"Fight me next!"
"Hey! Where are you from!"
Plenty of soldiers and swordsmen were cheering, shouting that it had been a hell of a fight.
"R-Raon, sir! Great work!"
Dorian pulled out a towel and some apple juice. Declaring that he'd believed in him the whole time, he produced a separate grape juice for himself and started drinking.
"Raon."
Raon was smirking as he wiped off the sweat when Vice Commander Terian approached. Unlike everyone else, his expression was even.
"Come with me. The Commander wants to see you."
He turned and walked off. He led the way as if nothing were out of the ordinary, but he couldn't quite hide the tremor in his fingertips.
Two days later, Raon stood before Commander Milland once more. The man looked him up and down with appraising eyes.
"I should start with thanks. You saved my scouts' lives."
Milland slowly lowered his eyelids.
"I'm assigned to the scouts myself. I only did what I was supposed to."
"That's a dull thing to say, compared to how you fight."
"You watched?"
"I didn't see it. I felt it."
He pointed at the window behind him and gave a dry chuckle.
"How should I put it. Both your strength and your temperament are different from what I saw here. I didn't expect you to take the mercenaries up on their provocation."
"I don't walk away from a fight that's brought to me."
"A fine mindset for a swordsman. I think I understand how you came by that kind of strength at your age."
The hard line of Milland's mouth lifted slightly. Commander or not, he was a swordsman himself. The unflinching words and posture seemed to sit well with him.
"What did you come here hoping for?"
"Sir?"
"Even if you were sent here on your family's orders — wasn't there something you wanted to accomplish yourself?"
"There is."
A red gleam flashed through Raon's eyes.
"I want to experience as much as I can. I want to take part in as many fights as possible, and stand on as many battlefields as I can."
It wasn't only about completing the Mad Fang Sword, growing the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, and becoming stronger. He wanted to know more emotions, so that his heart and spirit could grow harder still.
"I-I'm the opposite! I just want to be a supply soldier in the re—"
Raon clapped a hand over Dorian's babbling mouth.
"Many fights and much experience, is it…"
Milland drummed the desk with fingers that looked as though they'd been scorched black.
"Which branch do you two think is the most dangerous?"
"The infantry, maybe?"
Dorian answered without much conviction.
"And you?"
"The scouts."
"You know your stuff."
Milland gave a short laugh and nodded.
"That's right. The most dangerous branch is the scouts. They spend more time outside the walls than inside them, and they don't get to rest or sit a fight out just because a battle has started. When they're on patrol they fight for their lives outside. When they're in, they fight for their lives up on the ramparts."
A bitter look crossed his face as he clicked his tongue.
"They have the highest fatality rate on duty, so we're always short on scouts."
He'd figured as much. They'd been assigned as ordinary soldiers, and yet he and Dorian had been given a two-man room.
"I was going to send you to a combat unit at first, but there's no need. I'll see to it you can achieve what you came for."
"I-I told you my goal was to be a supply soldi—"
"I'm appointing the two of you as special guards of the reconnaissance unit. Fight as much live combat as you want, and save as many scouts' lives as you can."
Milland said it like a request, a gleam of fighting spirit in his eyes.
"Understood."
Raon nodded. If they moved with the scouts the way Milland described, there would be no shortage of fights.
"I never said I wanted to stand in live combat! I was just standing here quietly!"
Raon and Milland ignored Dorian standing right beside them as if he didn't exist.
"I'll issue the official appointment soon. Good work on the reconnaissance mission. Get some rest."
"Thank you, sir."
"Wait a minute! I just want to be a supply soldier in the very rear—"
Raon dragged the still-protesting Dorian out of the commander's office.
"Urgh, it's over. It's all over. My life is ruined!"
Dorian's shoulders sagged like a zombie's.
"Your life isn't ruined. Stop talking nonsense and go rest."
"Huh? What about you, sir?"
A round cookie was already in his mouth — Raon had no idea when he'd pulled it out.
"I'm going to train a bit first."
"R-right. Understood."
Dorian told him to work hard and headed back to the barracks.
"Hold it."
Raon was about to head for the soldiers' training ground when Wrath's voice cut in.
"That is not what we agreed."
Wrath surged up from the flower bracelet, scowling.
Agreement?
"Indeed. Thou said we would eat pizza once the sparring was finished."
Ah. That.
Raon tipped his head back and looked at the sky. It was an awkward hour for a meal.
Let's train first and eat at dinner.
"Do not lie to This King! This is hardly the first time thou hast slipped away with that excuse!"
This time I mean it. We'll even get whatever pizza you want.
"T-truly?"
I already said so. I just want to lock down what I figured out first.
Raon nodded with a serious face, certain he'd talked his way through it.
The Requiem Sword hummed as if telling Wrath to trust him.
"V-very well. Then This King, in his magnanimity, shall allow it. But choosing the pizza This King desires is non-negotiable."
Yeah, yeah.
Raon smiled the way one soothes a child and headed for the training ground.
Raon didn't leave the training ground until the moon that had risen over the western mountains had traveled the width of three finger-joints. His expression, as he tapped the scabbard, was full to the brim.
The Mad Fang Sword came a long way.
He'd carved every insight from the duel deep into both mind and body. He still had a long way to go, but it felt as though he'd cracked through one layer of the shell.
Alright. Time to head back and sleep.
"Raon Zieghart!"
Just as he was about to return to the barracks, Wrath — who'd been clinging to his wrist like a parrot — erupted with a terrifying blast of cold.
"Dost thou mean to say thou hast forgotten thy promise to This King yet again!"
Ah, I'm kidding. Just kidding.
Raon smirked. As if he would forget a promise that ridiculous. He'd only been messing with him. Wrath had waited quietly the whole time he trained, so he'd planned to order whatever pizza the demon wanted.
The Requiem Sword burst into a sword-cry at the sight of Wrath flailing.
"What? This King, petty? The only thing small here is thy master's skull!"
The Requiem Sword hummed again, unimpressed.
"Do not presume to lecture This King, thou insignificant trinket! This King is merely curious, as a gourmet—"
Raon ignored the bickering Demon King and demonic sword and headed for Frost Branch, the tavern he'd visited with the scouts.
Except…
"Huh?"
The tavern's lights were out, and he couldn't sense a single person inside. They must have closed early.
"They closed?"
Looks like it.
"……"
Wrath said nothing. The blue flame that was his form trembled. The thin thread of cold that had been leaking from him began to surge like a tidal wave.
"Did This King not tell thee we should go earlier!"
I didn't know they'd close this early either.
"Silence. This, This King cannot forgive!"
I really wasn't trying to—
"Hand over This King's pizza!"
The cold pouring off him coiled around Raon's ankles and wrists.
Th-this really isn't a good idea…
"This time This King shall seize thy body and eat pizza with his own hands and mouth!"
Wrath's frost flickered like blue lightning. The greatest rage and cold he had ever unleashed swept through Raon's entire body.
That day.
All Stats +2