The Founding Ceremony

Dawn, before the sun had even risen.

Raon packed a light bag and slipped out of the Annex. His destination was the same as always—the Fifth Training Ground. Thanks to Glenn's consideration, the Light Wind Squad had been allowed to keep using the grounds they'd occupied as trainees.

"Ahem. Still charging out at the crack of dawn, I see."

Wrath yawned so wide his jaw nearly unhinged, exhaling a frost colder than the morning air itself.

"Whether you train or not is none of This King's concern, but you could at least eat breakfast."

I can eat at the training ground.

"The food there is dreadful. When it comes to flavor and freshness, the Annex is unmatched."

He wasn't wrong. Lately Yua and Helen had hit their stride in the kitchen, turning out delicious new dishes at the Annex every single day. Meals at the Fifth Training Ground, by contrast, had the salt, sugar, and spice all dialed down for the sake of training, and the taste suffered for it.

For training, this is better.

Flavor was something to enjoy in ordinary hours. During training, a light meal that simply filled the stomach was enough. He needed to get stronger, and fast, so he could start cutting down the list of things he still had to do. When did he have time to sit around savoring food?

"Pathetic."

Wrath clicked his tongue and cocked his chin to one side.

"You know nothing of refinement. All you do is get brutishly stronger. You haven't a scrap of romance in you."

I'm a guy with no romance, after all. Guess from now on I'll just fill my stomach with Nadin Bread.

"N-Nadin Bread?"

Wrath's blue eyes flew wide with panic. Flavorless, rubbery, good for nothing but stuffing you full—Nadin Bread was Wrath's natural predator.

"A-are you threatening This King right now?!"

It's not a threat. I'm a guy with no romance, so I'll just do whatever's convenient.

"How dare a mere human threaten a monarch of the Demon Realm!"

A terrifying cold surged through Raon's entire body. The wrath Wrath had once handed over tore through the gaps in his emotions and began searing every corner of his soul.

A deep rumble rolled through him. The frost and fury—far stronger than before—stopped him in his tracks. A crushing wave of energy smashed against his inner walls, and his hands and feet trembled.

"Just as you grow, so does This King. Keep getting cocky and you'll pay dearly—"

You've got that wrong.

Raon clenched his fist, forcing his shaking hand still.

"What?"

I've grown even more than you have.

He set the Ring of Fire resonating. Six rings produced a clear, crystalline chime as they crushed the wrath down, while the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and Glacia raced through his mana circuits and shredded the frost Wrath was pouring into him.

"Kgh! I'm not done! This isn't This King's full power!"

Wrath refused to yield, drawing up even denser frost and fury. Trusting in the Wrath 25 embedded in Raon's soul, he let the cold fall like rain.

The rumbling deepened. With Wrath sitting at 25, simply enduring it was genuinely difficult—but the Ring of Fire had grown even further than that. Raon calmed the malice-soaked energy and started walking again.

He was still locked in that contest of strength with Wrath when he arrived at the training ground, and a message rose before his eyes.

The instant the message appeared, Wrath let out a howl of pure outrage and tumbled away.

"Daaaaamn it!"

He flailed in midair, as if he simply could not accept his own defeat.

Stamina's good.

Raon dismissed the message and nodded. Getting a stat off Wrath for the first time in a while brought a smile to his face all by itself.

I won, so from today on, meals are Nadin Bread only.

"W-wait! Wait just a moment!"

Wrath shot over like the wind and landed on his shoulder.

"T-This King was entirely in the wrong! Starve if you must! Anything but that bread! That thing is a food bordering on sin, doing nothing but stuffing the stomach!"

He trembled all over, on the verge of a full-blown fit.

Behave from now on. Act up again and it's Nadin Bread for a month.

"Kgh. If This King weren't a gourmet, I never would have fallen into your clutches. Is this the crime of possessing a noble soul…"

Not a gourmet. A glutton, more like.

Raon corrected Wrath's nonsense and pushed open the training ground door.

"Huh?"

He'd fully expected the place to be empty. Instead, the trainees—no, the swordsmen of the Light Wind Squad now—were already gathered inside.

"Young Master!"

Dorian, who'd been fishing snacks out of his belly pouch, broke into a grin and came running over.

"You're late?"

"Pretty sure you lot just got here early."

At this hour, the Fifth Training Ground was supposed to be deserted. That was the normal state of things.

"Raon. You're late."

Even Runaan, who loved her morning sleep, was already out on the grounds. She shuffled over, rubbing her eyes, and caught his sleeve.

"Hmph."

At the familiar snort, Raon glanced aside and found Marta leaning back against a tree. Including her, that made thirty-three. The entire Light Wind Squad, himself included, was here.

"Why is everyone so early?"

"Today's the founding ceremony!"

"The legend of the Light Wind Squad starts today. I was so excited I couldn't sleep!"

"Heh. We're finally becoming real swordsmen."

The members of the Light Wind Squad clenched their fists, smiling as if they could already see the future waiting for them.

"Hmm…"

Raon met those bright, eager eyes and clicked his tongue inwardly.

They're going to get their hopes up and bleed for it.

Seeing Rimer yesterday had confirmed it. The man hadn't changed one bit. The kids would assume that becoming squad leader had changed him somehow. They were badly mistaken.

"Then until the squad leader gets here, train on your own."

"Yes, sir!"

"Got it!"

The Light Wind Squad spread out across the grounds with wide grins and started training. The chatter that drifted over now and then was packed with anticipation for future missions and achievements.

"Yaaawn…"

"……"

Raon checked on Runaan, who was yawning, and Marta, who was watching the sky with sharp eyes, then headed for an empty stretch of ground.

I should get started too.

He drew his training sword and unfolded the Refining Sword Technique. The sword path was as familiar as breathing, yet with the growth of the Ring of Fire, the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, and his swordsmanship itself, it now bloomed with a power that surpassed even advanced sword arts.

The momentum of the Refining Sword Technique, which had once raced onward as proudly as a great river, surged with violent force. The unceasing flow remained the same, but its power and speed had grown incomparably stronger.

Waves of aura spreading from the blunt training sword made the entire Fifth Training Ground tremble.

"Whoa…"

"Th-that's the Refining Sword Technique?"

"I learned the exact same thing. So why is there this much difference?"

"H-he's insane. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd believe you if you said that was a top-tier sword art."

"They say the grade of a sword art comes down to the person in the end. So it really is talent…"

The swordsmen stuck out their tongues as they watched Raon's Refining Sword Technique shake the entire training ground. It was a form they could perform with their eyes closed, yet in Raon's hands it produced an overwhelming pulse, as if they were seeing an absolute sword art for the first time.

"There they go, talking nonsense again."

Marta narrowed her eyes at the energy boiling up from Raon into the air.

"When you lot were chasing after higher-level sword arts, that guy trained nothing but the Refining Sword Technique. The gap in training has outstripped any difference in talent."

She muttered to herself at the end—I was an idiot too—and drew her own training sword.

"Wow."

Runaan's violet eyes shone as if she meant to take in every last trajectory of Raon's blade.

"Ahem. Same as ever, I see."

Dorian didn't train at all. He just kept chewing the snacks he'd pulled out, nodding along.

The swordsmen passed the time in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their own ways, waiting for their squad leader, Rimer. As expected, he failed to appear on time.

"Ahaha! I-it's the first day, after all."

"Right. After a speech that cool, there's no way he'd be that late."

"Exactly. If we just wait a little longer, he'll be here."

"Let's trust in the squad leader. He's changed."

They said all that and waited another hour. Rimer was nowhere to be seen on the training ground.

"H-he'll be here soon, right? Probably?"

"That bastard—no, that elf. If he has a conscience, he'll show up!"

"He reeled us in with those cool words. He has to have changed a little."

The swordsmen ground their teeth, forcing themselves to wait, when the training ground door creaked open.

"He's here!"

"Squad Leader!"

"You're way too la—huh?"

The swordsmen who'd been running toward Rimer stopped dead, their mouths falling open.

The red-haired elf who only yesterday had radiated a grave, dazzling cool had withered overnight, as if he'd aged a hundred years.

"Wh-what on earth happened…"

"Squad Leader! Are you all right?"

"Urgh! Squad Leader!"

The swordsmen propped up Rimer as he staggered like a zombie, their lips trembling.

"Ah… hello…"

He had no strength left at all. His eyes swept emptily through the air, and his hands flopped like reeds in the wind.

"Tsk."

Raon clicked his tongue at the sight.

He lost it all.

The look on his face said everything. He'd gone to the casino yesterday to try to grow the half of the money he had left, and he'd clearly lost every last coin. Nothing else would wreck the man like this.

Good thing I pulled my share out in advance.

The thought of his own money turning to dust if he hadn't taken half of it yesterday was genuinely horrifying.

But who keeps beating him at that casino?

Rimer was terrible at managing his expression, but he had a sharp eye, a mean streak, and a slippery tongue. At this point, Raon was genuinely curious who he kept losing to.

"Hahh…"

Rimer climbed to the center of the platform and let out a long, heavy sigh.

"F-from this moment, I hereby o-open the founding ceremony of the Light Wind Squad. Our goal is my money. Honor that others have never walked, and my money. From now on, you will pursue achievements and my money…"

Strange words kept slipping into what ought to have been a dignified, solemn founding speech. Judging by Rimer's face, they were spilling out without him even realizing it.

"The goal is my money?"

"Honor and my money?"

"Achievements and my money?"

"Don't tell me that guy…"

The Light Wind Squad members seemed to have pieced together at least some of the situation. Their expressions hardened.

"Damn it… Why did I even come here?"

Marta bit down on her lip and glared at Rimer.

"Yaaawn."

Runaan blinked slowly, yawning as if none of this had anything to do with her.

"…That is how our Light Wind Squad will operate."

Rimer seemed to have collected himself, at least enough to stop saying my money. His face, however, had gone even paler.

"Ah… Current roster is thirty-three, so we'll divide into three units. First Unit Leader is Marta Zieghart. Second Unit Leader is Runaan Sullion. Third Unit Leader will remain vacant for now. Raon Zieghart will command the members from the position of vice-leader. From now on, use formal speech in official settings."

"Yes, sir!"

"Understood!"

"I'll call the units now. First, Unit One: Setrai, Yanden…"

In a dying voice, Rimer read out the swordsmen's unit assignments one by one.

"Who is the vacant Third Unit Leader for?"

"That's the seat for the fool who'll be joining us shortly."

Everyone knew who that incoming fool was. They nodded.

"Then I'll tell you the Light Wind Squad's first mission. Starting today, you will…"

Rimer smacked his lips and looked over the swordsmen below the platform. They swallowed hard, waiting for his next words.

"Rest."

"What?"

"R-rest?!"

"We just got formed and you're telling us to rest? What is that supposed to—"

It wasn't a call for a short break. He was telling them to rest, period. The swordsmen's eyes flew wide, and they surged forward.

"Rest means rest. What else would it mean?"

Rimer shook his head, his eyes dull and half-emptied of soul. He still hadn't crawled out from under the shock of losing every last coin.

"Hah…"

Raon narrowed his eyes at the sight.

It's a little inconvenient without that guy around.

Burren was the one who used to step forward at times like this and grab Rimer by the collar. Without him, the situation was drifting in an annoying direction. Raon hadn't expected to actually miss the fact that he wasn't here.

"That is the way of the world. You never know the value of a thing until it is gone."

Hm?

It was a rare thing to hear from Wrath. Raon rounded his eyes and looked down at the bracelet.

"Frankly, This King could do without the likes of that eyeball brat—but with a magnificent being such as This King gone, the world might as well be drowning in sorrow. It may well be doomed before long…"

For a moment Raon had thought he might actually say something decent. In the end, it was just self-praise.

Even so, Wrath had said the world, not the Demon Realm. Same as with Sloth—something must have happened to the demon kings of the Demon Realm.

"Ah, I don't know. Figure it out yourselves."

Rimer flopped onto his back on the platform, as if telling them to cut him open if they wanted.

"Grrrk!"

"This elf, I swear…"

"I must have been out of my mind!"

The swordsmen glared at the vacant-eyed Rimer, their fists shaking.

"Huu…"

Raon let out a breath and walked up to him.

"By 'rest,' you mean we'll be heading out on a mission soon, so we should prepare for it. Is that correct?"

"Ah. That. That's it. That's why you're the vice-leader."

Rimer nodded, his eyes unfocused.

"I'll relay the squad leader's words. 'Rest' does not simply mean take a break. It means prepare for the missions ahead. Use this time to reorganize the signals we'll use among ourselves, our sword formations, and our combat and strategy."

At Raon's grave tone, the swordsmen took a step back.

"But why is the squad leader like that?"

"Is he sick?"

"Yesterday the squad leader lost his money at the gambling den, so—"

"Hey! You!"

The moment Raon started to tell the truth, Rimer grabbed his shoulder. His face was still deathly pale, but there was plenty of strength in his grip.

"R-rumors, you know, they spread in weird ways if you misspeak even once. Be a little careful with this kind of thing…"

"I see."

Raon nodded and turned back to the swordsmen.

"Yesterday the squad leader lost his entire fortune at the gambling den, so he's not in good shape right now. I'll be taking command from this point. We'll start with the basic signals. Change into your training uniforms and assemble again."

"Ah…"

"I knew it…"

"It's been too quiet lately, hasn't it."

"Tsk."

The swordsmen shot Rimer, standing behind Raon, a look of pure pity, then headed for the changing room.

"Squad Leader."

Raon turned and offered Rimer a slight bow.

"We can't have strange rumors spreading from a poorly chosen word, so I told them every fact, honestly."

"Urgh…"

Rimer's jaw dropped so far it nearly hit the floor.

"H-how did you even know I went to the gambling den yesterday and lost everything? You left first."

"Would a dung fly leave dung sitting there? It was obvious."

"Who are you calling a dung fly?!"

Rimer's shoulders shook. Those were the exact same words Glenn had used on him.

This matching set of grandfather and grandson who barely even qualify as human!

West of the Heavy Martial Palace stood a detached building. Untended for a long time and choked with dust, it was receiving a human touch for the first time in ages.

"It's been quite a while since I was last here."

Tias, the butler who had raised Burren since childhood in Karun's place, smiled faintly as he cleared the cobweb-choked fireplace.

"……"

Burren said nothing. He was looking at the pillar on the right. At its base was a scribble that looked as if a child had drawn it—a man, a woman, and a young boy, all holding hands.

"That drawing…"

Tias narrowed his eyes. It was a doodle Burren had made as a child, on a visit to this place—a picture of the ideal family he had wished for.

Burren traced the graffiti with a gaze that was the opposite of the smiling child in the drawing.

Flecks of pigment came away with the dust, falling in a faint, aching scatter. Before long the child in the picture was gone, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leaving only the man and woman, their hands no longer joined.

"Tias."

Burren turned his head. Those green eyes, which had once seemed to carry a warm wind, had sunk to a dull, ashen gray.

"I want to be alone. Go ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back and rest."

With that, he walked into a room that was black with a long-dead fire, without even cleaning.

"Young Master…"

Tias bit his lip until it bled. He had watched the boy since childhood, but he had never seen eyes that held such emptiness. It was as if Burren had lost the very purpose of living.

It wasn't this bad even when he lost to Young Master Raon.

Back then, Burren had burned even hotter, swearing revenge. Now his eyes looked dead, as if every last log had burned down to nothing.

Nineteen days left, is it.

For twenty days after the Selection Ceremony, newly graduated swordsmen who hadn't been chosen could still register with a division. If Burren would only move, any number of places would take him—but he showed no intention of moving at all.

There isn't much time.

Tias hoped Burren would overcome these feelings on his own, but that might be too much to ask. Being recognized by Karun had been the foremost goal of the young man's life.

If he cannot stand on his own, I will have no choice but to ask for help.

Tias himself could not raise Burren up. There was only one person who could.

Even if I have to stake my life on it…

Tias made the vow to himself and kept cleaning the detached building, which was filthy as a ruin.

A week had passed since the Selection Ceremony.

In that time, Raon had overhauled the swordsmen's hand-signal system and refined the stability of their sword formations so that all thirty-three of them could fight as one.

The swordsmen, sensing that real combat was not far off, threw themselves into both group and individual training with new urgency.

A heavy bang rang out. Raon and the swordsmen had just finished dawn training and were taking a short rest when the training ground door was flung open. It was Rimer. Not only had he arrived on time—he climbed onto the platform wearing a dark crimson uniform that cut a striking figure.

"It's nice not having that guy picking fights at every opportunity, but it's also a little boring."

Rimer smacked his lips, looking at the door that still shuddered as if it might fall apart. The Light Wind Squad members' expressions dimmed slightly. They knew exactly who he meant.

"Well. That's not what I came to talk about today."

He clapped in that distinctive way of his, gathering every gaze.

"The hand signals and formations are more or less complete, so now it's time for personal preparations."

"Personal preparations?"

"We're already training every day."

"That's not what I mean."

Rimer shook his head hard.

"It's time to throw out that low-grade issued gear and proudly take up personal equipment as Zieghart swordsmen. Time to carry your own swords and wear your own uniforms."

He smoothed down the Zieghart uniform he'd arrived in.

"The uniforms are custom-made, so go to the Five Flowers Troupe and place the order yourselves. The first one's free. Put in every option you can."

He tapped the sword at his waist next. It wasn't the issued blade he usually carried, but the famous sword he'd used when he cut down the Blood Fiend.

"Same with the swords. You can use a blade you were given or inherited but haven't been able to draw until now, or you can have a new one forged. Get it done during the remaining waiting period!"

"Yes, sir!"

The Light Wind Squad answered with a roar that seemed ready to lift the training ground off its foundations.

"At last, I can use my Dark Phoenix."

"Hahh. To think I'll get to fight with the Great Fortune Blade in my hand. I'm already getting excited."

"My true sword, Super Haksar, has been thirsting for the taste of blood…"

Most of the swordsmen seemed to have prepared their blades in advance. They snickered, muttering names so pretentious they weren't even worth a snort.

"Hmm…"

"Vice-leader, over here."

Raon was considering how to have his uniform made when Rimer beckoned him over.

"You've got a message too."

"A message…"

"That old man told me to send you over."

When Rimer said that old man, only one person came to mind. Vulcan—the stubborn elder who had tended the blistering kiln while Raon learned the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames. The man who had reached the pinnacle of smithing, and the memory of his fierce, unyielding gaze.

"You mean Master Vulcan?"

"That's right. That old man."

Rimer smiled faintly and nodded.