The Gold Grain's Choice

Raon narrowed his eyes at the crumbled fragments of Gold Grain Stone.

It wasn't just the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and Glacia that moved just now.

The two energies he had stirred himself were not the only ones. The demonic energy of the Requiem Sword at his waist had seeped into the Gold Grain Stone as well. When those three forces flowed into the stone, the last thing to move was the Ring of Fire. The six rings whirling around his heart had resonated, trying to fuse the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, Glacia, and the demonic energy into one—and the Gold Grain Stone had shattered, unable to endure that tremendous power.

"Hmm..."

Vulcan's hands trembled as he picked up the glittering orb.

"In all my years, this is the first time I've seen Gold Grain move of its own accord."

Raon slowly evened his breathing as he watched the five-colored light flashing in Vulcan's grip. He had never seen the old master this shaken.

"So this is Gold Grain."

Raon studied the orb in Vulcan's hand. A mysterious energy spilled from the glittering sphere—no wonder they called it the King of Metals.

"That's right. This little thing is Gold Grain—the metal that amplifies every kind of energy. The fact that it's shining like this means it took a liking to your aura..."

"Gahhh!"

Just as Vulcan held out the Gold Grain and started to speak, Haren—who had been lying off to the side—bolted upright and crawled over.

"Y-you used frost and heat at the same time—what the hell are you?! And how did you smash the Gold Grain Stone?!"

His eyes bulged as he stared at the finely shattered remains.

I thought he'd passed out.

Haren had been thrashing around, complaining that wherever he'd been hit still hurt, so Raon had knocked him out for a while. Of all the moments to wake up, it had to be when the Gold Grain Stone broke.

"Old man! What kind of monster did you bring in here?!"

"Shut up and sit down!"

"Guh!"

Vulcan smacked Haren across the back of the head and dropped him to his knees.

"If you go around telling anyone what you saw today, I will personally cave your skull in."

"H-hey... that's a little harsh to say to your own son..."

"Quiet! Just answer me!"

"I won't! I don't even have anyone to tell!"

Haren bellowed, yelling at his father not to beat up a patient.

"The boy's an idiot, but he knows how to keep his mouth shut. You don't need to worry."

Vulcan rolled the Gold Grain across his palm with a faint smile.

"Understood."

Raon nodded. Considering Haren had stood alone against a prince of the Kingdom of Zetur and his knights without even knowing martial arts, the man did have a trustworthy side.

"I don't do cheap things like holding someone's weakness over their head!"

Haren grumbled and turned away, still rubbing the back of his skull.

"Then let's continue. Just now, you moved frost, heat, and one more energy besides, didn't you?"

"Yes. Though I wasn't the one who moved it..."

Raon drew the Requiem Sword from behind his waist and held it out.

"A demonic sword..."

Vulcan recognized at a single glance that the Requiem Sword harbored demonic energy.

"Yes. Master Kuberad forged it."

"What? That stubborn fool made a demonic sword?"

He stared down at the Requiem Sword as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"How did that thick-headed bastard ever manage to forge a demonic blade..."

"There were circumstances. In Siren Village, in the southern continent..."

Raon lowered his gaze and told Vulcan the story of how Kuberad had come to forge the Requiem Sword.

"I see. That explains it."

Vulcan nodded, understanding at last.

"Is the sword sleeping right now?"

"It stays quiet unless I ask something of it, or we run into the White Blood Cult."

Aside from stirring on its own today, the Requiem Sword hadn't so much as twitched, as if it were asleep. It was as though it were gathering its strength to take revenge on the White Blood Cult.

"A mere insect gathering power is pointless. This King could crush it with a flick of a finger—that's how paltry its rank is."

Wrath twisted his mouth as he looked at the Requiem Sword.

The blade hummed, trembling along its length as if to say don't make me laugh, and demonic energy welled up from the steel.

"Hmph!"

Wrath snorted and crushed the Requiem Sword's demonic energy under a wave of frost.

"That is the difference in rank. Beg This King, and I shall take vengeance in your stead."

So if you lose in power, that means your rank is lower?

"Of course. Power is rank, and rank is the grade of one's existence."

Then you're lower rank than me.

"W-what are you talking about? Why would This King be beneath a mere human?!"

You always lose to me and get squashed.

"Urgh..."

Wrath's mouth fell open. He had nothing to say.

Then stay crouched, low-rank Demon King.

Raon stroked the Requiem Sword and looked down at Wrath.

"Y-you brat!"

Unable to hold back, Wrath drove frost and fury into Raon's mana circuits.

A deep, rumbling surge rolled through him. Raon blocked that tremendous assault as if it were nothing, weaving the Ring of Fire, the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, and Glacia together, and slid the Requiem Sword back into its scabbard.

"A demonic sword carries the nature of the word itself—'demonic,' meaning sinister. But depending on how it's used, a demonic sword can become a divine blade, or a cursed one."

"So in the end, it depends on me."

"That's right. The grudge dwelling in that sword is thick enough even I can see it. Don't let that energy devour you. Help it fulfill its name—grant those souls their requiem, and set them on their proper path."

"I will."

Raon gripped the Requiem Sword firmly, then fastened it at his waist.

"If it's you, you'll manage it."

Vulcan smiled gently and patted his shoulder.

"Hmph. Anyone watching would think he was your son."

Haren pouted, arms folded.

"Quiet!"

"Ugh!"

Vulcan glared, and Haren hunched his shoulders and edged aside.

"Raon. Try holding this."

Vulcan held out the Gold Grain. Unlike before, the five-colored light was gone; the orb was pitch-black. Raon nodded and took it in his hand.

The instant it touched his skin, five-colored light flared from the Gold Grain. It rang out with a clear, sword-like cry and trembled in his palm.

"Hah?!"

"Hah. Just as I thought..."

Haren's hands shook with astonishment. Vulcan let out a dry laugh.

"Why is it doing this?"

"The Gold Grain has fallen for your energy. It wants to take you as its master."

"It has a will of its own?"

"Not quite a will. It's instinct—like a flower opening its leaves toward the sun."

"Hmm..."

Raon clicked his tongue and studied the Gold Grain. He was circulating three energies through his body to hold Wrath at bay, and the orb seemed to like them; it kept flashing and trembling in his grip.

"Would it be all right to put this in my sword? I'll pay whatever—"

"No need, you brat."

Vulcan snorted and waved him off.

"Its master is already decided, so giving it to you is no problem. The amount, though—that's a little short."

"The amount..."

He was right. It was an orb that fit in a single palm—not even enough to forge a dagger.

"Forget making a full sword. There isn't even enough to harmonize the two metals that match your energy."

"Harmonize?"

"You use both frost and heat, don't you? To bring out those two energies properly, the best method is to blend two metals and bind them together with Gold Grain. For heat, there's Fire Seal Iron. For frost, there's Silverform Iron. But there isn't enough Gold Grain to join the two."

Vulcan let out a small, regretful sigh.

"You don't have to use Silverform Iron. Use this!"

Runaan, who had been sitting quietly, held out the box of Cold Blood Iron she had been clutching to her chest.

"I'll give Raon everything left over after forging my sword."

"A-are you certain? This is high-grade even among Cold Blood Iron..."

"It's fine."

She offered it without the slightest hesitation.

"If she says so, I have no objection, but..."

Vulcan nodded and looked at Raon, his expression asking what they were to each other.

"She's a comrade."

Raon shrugged.

"Ahem. Then that leaves the Gold Grain and the geothermal heat."

Vulcan rose slowly and stretched his back.

"I'll look into the Gold Grain myself. You two go to Mount Skelei and find out why the geothermal heat has dropped."

"Understood. Then if we could have a guide..."

"You've already got one. That layabout over there."

He pointed at Haren, who had been crawling toward the door.

"Hhk!"

"He's been running around the area since he was a boy, so he knows the lay of the land better than anyone. Take him with you."

"W-why do I have to go?! I just had a brilliant idea and I was about to get to work—"

"Ahem."

"I-I'll go!"

Haren sprang to his feet and nodded.

"Runaan."

"Mm."

Raon left the forge with Runaan.

"We'll be back."

"You don't need to solve the problem. Just be careful."

"Yes."

Raon nodded and turned away.

"You brat! How long do you intend to ignore This King?!"

I wasn't ignoring you.

How could he ignore frost stabbing through every inch of his body and a fury that made his chest seize? He was simply circulating three energies and pretending it didn't bother him.

"Fine! Today we settle this once and for all! I shall teach you just how exalted This King's rank truly is!"

It's useless.

Wrath gathered every scrap of energy he possessed and slammed it against the walls Raon had built in his mana circuits. Raon simply refined the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and Glacia even further, and shut it all out.

A grinding roar filled his body as a battle of numbers and a battle of force raged at once. Wrath won neither.

"Ghhh! This King never surrenders—"

Just as Wrath tried to detonate even the last of his energy, a message appeared before Raon's eyes.

Judgment itself had arrived to declare Wrath's defeat.

"Again?! You damn, blasted—!"

Wrath blacked out and toppled over backward.

If your rank is so low, then stay crouched like I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠told you.

Raon looked at Wrath sprawled across his bracelet and smiled, cold as frost.

"Hmm-hmm-hmm."

Rimer hummed a little tune as he knocked on the door of the Audience Chamber of the Lord.

"My lord!"

Glenn's voice did not answer. Instead, Roen stepped out and bowed.

"The Head of House has stepped out for a short while."

"What? I thought that man had a disease where going outside would kill him. He doesn't?"

Rimer flailed his hands as if the idea were absurd.

"It's been a long time since I last saw him go out in person, myself."

Roen smiled faintly.

"Where did he go?"

"He did not disclose his destination. He said he would be out briefly and return around evening."

"You can't just let him wander off! If something happens to the Head of House—wait. Nothing's going to happen to him, is it."

Rimer swallowed dryly. There was no one who would dare lay a hand on Glenn—and anyone who did would see hell for it.

"He is traveling with the Heavenly Sword Squad Leader, so there is no need for concern."

"Well, if that's the case."

The Heavenly Sword Squad Leader was a warrior who had stood with Glenn from the beginning, just as Rimer and Roen had—and she was a supreme master in her own right. If she was with him, Rimer could trust it.

"What business brought you here, sir?"

"I came to give a few reports. Raon and Runaan have left, Burren's holed up training, Marta's working herself to the bone..."

"If that is all, I shall pass it along."

"And!"

Rimer grabbed Roen's shoulder as the butler started to turn away.

"M-my squad leader's salary..."

"That should already have been paid in advance."

"I was hoping for another advance. Or you could just lend me a little!"

"Ah. In fact, the Head of House left a message before he departed."

Roen smiled pleasantly and gently removed Rimer's hand.

"A message?"

"He said that if you happened to mention an advance, or asked to borrow money, he would come find you in person for a 'warm little chat.'"

"A... chat..."

Rimer swallowed hard and took a step back. Chat, he said. Fists would be flying first, that much was obvious.

"Roen. You and I go way back. You could keep this much a secret, couldn't you?"

"Of course. I would be more than happy to keep it a secret. However..."

Roen glanced upward.

"Will they be all right with that?"

"Ah..."

Rimer squinted up at the Heavenly Sword Squad swordsmen hidden in the ceiling and grimaced. The Heavenly Sword Squad answered to Glenn and Glenn alone. They were not people you could talk around.

"There's a saying about living in the moment, isn't there? Getting beaten is a problem for later. Fun is now. I'll take the conversation later."

Rimer did not back down. He held out his hand.

"Hmm. Even if I give you an advance, I doubt you'll be able to win it back from him."

"Isn't challenging the impossible what a warrior does?!"

"Heh heh."

Roen seemed to like that answer. He smiled faintly and set a pouch of gold coins in Rimer's palm.

"Thank you! I'll bring back news of victory today!"

Rimer spun on his heel and used movement techniques to get out of the Lord's Palace.

"I can see the reaper on him."

Roen narrowed his eyes at Rimer's receding back. For some reason, it looked as though Death itself were smiling over the man's shoulder.

"That aside..."

Roen opened the door to the Audience Chamber again, a hint of laughter in his voice.

"He should be arriving about now."

Haren led Raon and Runaan up Mount Skelei.

"Please keep your voices down. If they hear a loud sound, the monsters in the area will come swarming."

He knew the terrain where monsters didn't roam as if it were the back of his hand, but some of the creatures were sensitive to noise, so they had to climb quietly.

That aside...

He glanced back at Raon.

A swordsman the Gold Grain chose for itself.

Even if it was the King of Metals, it was still lifeless iron. He had never heard of—let alone seen—a soulless scrap of metal vibrate because it wanted to pick its own master.

"Ahem. So, what are you going to do about that?"

Perhaps it was because he had witnessed a scene out of a blacksmith's legend. The boy was years younger than him, but Haren couldn't bring himself to talk down to him anymore.

"About what?"

Raon tilted his head, as if he had no idea what Haren meant.

"The wager we made."

"I'll handle that myself. I did say I'd do whatever you asked."

"E-even so, if it's too extreme, or takes too long..."

"That's all included in 'whatever.'"

"Grr. I can't accept that! One wager and you're putting a leash on me—"

Haren started to shake his head, and Raon drew his sword. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A chill aura spilled from the blade as he stepped in.

"W-wait! You don't swing a sword at someone just because they said no! I'll do it! I'll do everything—hhk!"

He threw his hands up and squeezed his eyes shut, but no pain came. A few sticky drops of something like muddy water pattered onto his head.

"What..."

He opened his eyes. Green blood ran down Raon's blade, and three enormous fly-shaped monsters lay beside them, split clean in half.

"R-Red Flies..."

Insect-type monsters that lived in heat-soaked lands like deserts and volcanic regions—vicious things that drank the bodily fluids of living creatures.

"Th-thank you."

Haren bowed deeply. He had thought Raon was attacking him. Instead, the boy had cut down the Red Flies coming up from behind.

"It'd be a hassle if the guide died."

Raon said it as if it were nothing, then smiled.

This kid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is terrifying.

That single stroke had saved Haren's life and served as a warning not to run his mouth. It was not the kind of psychological warfare a seventeen-year-old should be capable of.

"But these things..."

Haren narrowed his eyes at the Red Flies.

"They don't usually come this way..."

The path they were on hadn't seen a monster in over a decade. Three of them appearing together was strange.

"Just as the geothermal heat has ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠changed, the monsters' behavior has probably changed with it."

Raon stepped past him as he spoke.

"I'll take the lead from here."

"You don't know the terrain."

"I don't know the terrain, but I can feel energy. I think I know where the problem is. It's fairly serious."

He looked up the mountain and narrowed his eyes.

"Runaan. Watch our backs."

"Mm."

The silver-haired swordswoman, quiet enough to be mistaken for a doll, gave a small nod.

"Then let's move."

Raon walked out in front. He hadn't said a word about the route, hadn't shown a map, and yet in this tangled wilderness he followed the ley line of volcanic heat coming down the mountain as if he were walking a straight road.

Hah.

Haren let out a breath.

He felt where the problem was? From here?

Haren had lived on this mountain his whole life and still couldn't be sure. A boy who had never set foot here claiming he already knew where things had gone wrong left Haren's mouth hanging open.

He's bluffing, right?

He wanted to think so, but Raon's stride was overflowing with certainty. He climbed the mountain without a single wasted step.

And that was not the only astonishing thing.

Raon seemed to sense every presence around them. The moment a monster appeared, he was already there, taking its head with a single stroke. A Zika Orc, infamous for its brutality, lost its neck before it could even swing its axe. A Flame Snake that spat fire had its body carved into eight pieces and drifted down like fallen leaves.

The girl behind them, Runaan, was no different. Five Gray Scorpions, their stingers loaded with heat-poison, lunged at once—and she froze them solid in a burst of fierce frost.

This level at seventeen. So this is the real House Zieghart.

Haren swallowed dryly. After dealing with screw-loose types like Rimer, seeing proper Zieghart warriors—young as they were—made his chest run hot.

Now I get why the old man told me to watch them properly.

He understood why his father had told him not to take his eyes off Raon and Runaan. Looking at the martial power of those two children, he wanted to grab a hammer right then and start pounding on whatever scrap of iron he could find.

For the first time in a very long while, Haren wiped the word gambling from his mind, and his fingers curled as if they were already closed around a hammer.

Raon climbed, cutting down monsters, and all the while he kept turning over the principles of swift swordsmanship in his mind.

Something's missing.

He had pulled the formulas of swiftness from the Refining Sword Technique, from the Mad Fang Sword, from the swordsmanship of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, even from the swordsmanship of Tarkan, the prince of the Kingdom of Zetur he had just faced, and drawn them all in his head. The swift sword he wanted still would not come.

I don't know what's lacking.

If he could just refine the formulas and the shape of the swordsmanship a little further, an ultimate swift-sword form felt close enough to touch. It simply would not come together.

"Krarak!"

Four Zika Orcs burst from the right, massive axes raised, and charged. Their killing intent was thick enough to tear a human apart in a single blow.

Raon lifted his wrist a fraction and drew a diagonal cut. The energy blooming from the tip of his blade fell as if it would split space itself.

"Krarara..."

The orcs never reached him. They pitched forward and drove their heads into the dirt. From the looks on their faces, they had died without even realizing they had been cut.

It was a stroke fast enough that Zika Orcs, whose senses were excellent, never knew they had been struck—and still Raon's eyes held a trace of dissatisfaction.

The speed was there, but the line was off.

Chase speed alone, and you failed to cut the precise point, and you handed your opponent an opening to counter. Speed and accuracy had to move together, like magnets.

Raon wove the principles of swift swordsmanship together one by one, following the flow of geothermal heat up the mountain.

Only after nearly half a day of climbing did they reach the place where the colossal energy he had felt from below—energy on the verge of exploding—lay coiled.

"We've climbed way too far. The ley line's always had problems a bit further down—"

"Quiet."

Raon covered Haren's mouth before he could insist they go to the usual trouble spot, and pointed ahead.

A low rumble rolled across the ridge. At the center of a slope shimmering with heat haze sat a small hill of rock, as if sharp boulders had been stacked in layers. The hill bulged, very slowly, like something breathing.

"Huh? Was there a hill like that here?"

Haren scratched his beard, frowning.

"It isn't a hill."

Raon steadied his breath and drew his sword. The instant his killing intent flared, the hill heaved itself upright and unleashed a storm of tremendous flame.

A massive wave of fire swept the entire ridge—and something lifted its head above it. A dragon's head crowned with two horns, a body sheathed in a turtle's shell: a colossal being of living flame.

A deep, rolling roar shook the air. The presence pouring from those scarlet eyes, blotting out the dying sun, had already far surpassed anything a mere monster should possess.

"R-Red Dragon Turtle!"

The moment Haren met the giant's gaze, he toppled over backward without meaning to.

"I-I've never seen one that big. What kind of monster is the size of a mountain?!"

His lips trembled. It didn't make any sense.

"A Red Dragon Turtle the size of a mountain..."

A blue gleam flashed through Raon's eyes as he rested his sword on his shoulder.

"Looks like there's a lot to gain."