The Escort to Letran

Raon Zieghart held the gaze of Sheryl, leader of the Heavenly Sword Squad, without blinking.

"By 'work,' you mean a mission?"

"That's right."

Sheryl nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Wouldn't the Heavenly Sword Squad alone be more than enough?"

"The Heavenly Sword Squad exists to protect the house and the Lord. Our role is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠different from an ordinary combat unit."

Judiel had once told him that every major stronghold of the house was guarded by Heavenly Sword Squad swordsmen. The ones posted around the Annex belonged to them as well.

"On top of that, three-tenths of the squad is currently away on assignment. We don't have many people we can actually deploy."

She said it as though they were short on swordsmen, her eyes settling into a calm, unreadable stillness. For all the words, she didn't look particularly disappointed. The impression she gave was simple: take it or leave it.

"Hmm."

Raon clicked his tongue softly.

An opportunity, if I choose to see it that way.

Sheryl was a Grandmaster. Watching every movement she made, every breath she took, would teach him more than most people learned in years.

But it could be dangerous.

A mission that required the Heavenly Sword Squad Leader herself would be no ordinary errand. Fail, and he might die — or watch everything he had built come crashing down.

Succeed, and the rewards ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would more than make up for it.

Complete the mission properly and he would earn Sheryl's trust, along with no small amount of compensation. The advantages and the risks were both perfectly clear.

"May I ask what the mission is?"

"Of course you may."

Sheryl raised a finger.

"This one is an escort."

"An escort? Then the Lord…"

"No. We'll be escorting a distinguished guest from another house."

"Why would the Heavenly Sword Squad handle something like that?"

As Sheryl herself had just said, the squad's purpose was the protection of the house and its Lord. An outside escort hardly seemed to fit her.

"Because a debt has come calling."

"A debt?"

"One the Lord left behind when he was still the heir. He staked the name Glenn Zieghart on it, so the Heavenly Sword Squad has no choice but to see it through."

Her eyes sharpened, as if that settled the matter.

"Could you explain in more detail?"

"A young lady of a great house has fallen ill with a disease no one can identify. Priests, healers, physicians — all of them have given up. Our task is to take her to Letran, where the Saint of Rags is said to be."

"The Saint of Rags…"

"You have a connection with him, don't you?"

"I do."

Raon nodded. Pedrick, the Saint of Rags, had come to see him every year from infancy until he turned five, checking his condition and leaving behind fire-attribute elixirs.

"Then the reason I was chosen…"

"The recent sparring left an impression, but the real reason is your connection to the Saint."

"I see."

So that was why Sheryl had come looking for him, despite having almost no prior dealings. She had picked him because of that small thread tying him to the Saint of Rags.

"You already understand why we have to take her there, I take it."

"Yes. The Saint doesn't turn anyone away."

Pedrick, the Saint of Rags, would not go even if a king summoned him, and he would not refuse even if a slave came knocking. Friend or foe made no difference. The only thing that mattered to him was the patient standing in front of him.

Even a great house would find calling Pedrick to them all but impossible.

Which is why I owe him more than I can say.

That he had come every year to examine a child and leave elixirs behind was extraordinary. To call it a life debt would not be an exaggeration.

This isn't a bad arrangement.

The mission itself didn't seem especially dangerous, and escorting the young lady of a great house would mean a reward worth taking.

And it's been a long time. I want to see him.

Truthfully, the desire to meet the Saint of Rags and thank him outweighed the mission itself. He was curious, too, what Pedrick would say now that Raon had all but overcome the Curse of Extreme Cold.

"I'll do it."

"We leave at dawn, two days from now. Bring six people, including yourself and the Light Wind Squad's unit leaders."

"Six will be enough?"

"That house has its own guards. We don't need a crowd. Too many people slow the pace and complicate everything. Six of you will do."

"Understood."

Sheryl nodded, showing neither approval nor displeasure.

"One more question."

She had started to leave, then turned back and stopped in front of him.

"Go ahead."

"Just now, you were practicing how to form Ganggi."

"I was."

He had known she was watching the entire time, so he nodded without hesitation.

"Then why did you give up and go back to basic drills? You know as well as I do that you're standing on the doorstep of Master."

"I know. But I decided there was no need to bury myself in Ganggi."

"No need to… bury yourself in it?"

"A few attempts were enough. I could feel it. Training this way, I wouldn't touch Ganggi in ten years."

Raon looked down at the Heavenly Sky Sword. What had gathered along the blade was nothing more than condensed aura. No true martial principle had been mixed into it. Practicing that for years would mean nothing at all.

"If I keep building my martial arts the way I always have, slowly, I'll reach what lies beyond it on my own."

"You really are…"

Sheryl's right hand clamped down on her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠left wrist, her face tightening.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. It's nothing."

She buried the surprise as quickly as it had surfaced and turned her back.

"We leave first thing the morning after next. Don't be late."

"May I ask one thing as well?"

"What is it?"

"Which house does the young lady we're escorting belong to?"

"Yonan."

"Yonan…"

House Yonan was not a martial family. They were a renowned house of artisans, standing as Valkar's equal in the crafting of artifacts.

"Our mission is to escort that house's youngest daughter into Letran — a city currently at war."

Sheryl glanced back over her shoulder, a faint smile touching her mouth.

"It shouldn't be too difficult. Relax."

Sheryl went straight to the Audience Chamber and stood before Glenn Zieghart.

"Raon has accepted the mission."

"He took it immediately?"

Glenn stroked his chin and tilted his head.

"He confirmed the details, thought it through, and then accepted."

"How did he look? His condition."

"Fully recovered. Both the aura inside him and his body were stable."

"Good."

The answer seemed to please him. Glenn gave a small nod.

"You already know this mission will not be a smooth one. Put him through the wringer and bring him back."

"Of course."

Sheryl placed a hand over her chest and bowed her head.

"I have my own preparations to make, so I'll take my leave."

"Wait."

Glenn raised a hand as she turned to go.

"Did something happen? You don't look well."

"Mm…"

Sheryl let out a quiet breath and looked at him.

"That boy Raon is not normal."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Glenn's voice rose — a rare thing — and he came up out of his chair in a single motion.

"When I found him…"

She told him how Raon had firmly abandoned his Ganggi training and gone back to the basics.

"By any standard I know, that doesn't make sense."

Ganggi was the dream of every martial artist. The goal. Especially for someone standing on the threshold of Master, the entire day would be spent chasing that luminous edge and nothing else.

They say people get possessed by Ganggi.

They ignored every warning, stared at Ganggi and trained for it every single day, and only much later realized it had never been the right path. That was how it usually went.

She herself had wasted nearly a year on that kind of stupidity. Raon had tried a handful of times, given up on forming Ganggi, and returned to fundamental training.

It gave me chills.

His eyes had been as still as a lake at midnight. The will to forget Ganggi, go back to the beginning, and build his strength from the ground up had raised goosebumps along her skin. She had grabbed her own wrist without realizing it.

A martial artist on the verge of Master — someone who should have wanted it more desperately than anyone — letting go of Ganggi that easily. She had never seen it before.

"Monster is the only word for him."

Just as Glenn had said, Raon looked as though he would break through even the wall of Grandmaster before he turned forty.

"Ahem. S-so that's what it was."

Glenn cleared his throat, looking faintly embarrassed, and settled back against the throne.

"Have I not been telling you all along? That child is unusual."

"There's unusual, and then there's this. It's too much. It isn't just his talent for martial arts — his mind is even more astonishing."

Sheryl exhaled a long breath. Her first impression of Raon had been ordinary. The more she saw of him, the more he made her hair stand on end. She had watched countless swordsmen in her life. She had never seen a child like this.

"It's almost a shame, but even if I do nothing in particular, Raon will be a Master by the time we return. By his own power."

"There's no need to force anything. Just show him the martial arts you've built, from as many angles as you can. If the Light Wind Squad's children fail to pick up on it, that's simply their lot."

Glenn made a point of saying Light Wind Squad — not Raon.

"Understood."

Sheryl bowed and stepped back.

"Then I'll be going."

She left the Lord's Palace as she was.

"Hmph…"

Alone in the Lord's Palace, a strange sound slipped out of Glenn — the sound of laughter being forced back down.

Raon headed for the Fifth Training Ground, where the entire Light Wind Squad had gathered. Autonomous training was over, so every member was there.

"You okay now?"

Runaan Sullion reached him first. Her face was as blank as ever, but her voice was thick with worry.

"I'm all healed."

He gave her a faint smile, and Runaan nodded, a smile of her own so slight it barely showed.

"I ate the ice cream too."

It was exquisite!

While he had been laid up, Runaan had come to visit with bead ice cream — every last flavor mint chocolate — and Wrath's cheers had drowned out Raon's own.

"You're back already."

Dorian Sepre wandered over, chewing on a snack. He had clearly eaten well during the break; his cheeks had gone round and plump.

"You've put on some weight. Looking comfortable, huh?"

"C-comfortable?! Not at all!"

He shook his head in horror.

"He said he looks comfortable."

"He's not starting that again… right?"

"Come on, the sparring's over!"

"No. It can't be. It had better not be."

"Ugh…"

The Light Wind Squad still hadn't forgotten those three months of hell. They edged backward, watching his face.

"You're already fully recovered? What are you, made of iron?"

"All that sturdy body and nothing else."

Burren and Marta spoke as if they were annoyed he had shown up so soon, but small, welcome smiles slipped through anyway.

He was about to call the three of them over and tell them about the mission when the training ground doors slammed open hard enough to come off their hinges, and Rimer strode in wearing a gold coat. Jewels of every color blazed on his fingers, his wrists, and his throat.

"Hah…"

Raon ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠let out a dry laugh. He had never in his life seen a man wear new money so shamelessly.

"S-Squad Leader. Why are you dressed like…"

Burren's mouth fell open.

"I had so much money I ran out of places to spend it, so I started with jewels."

He shook his hands and fingers as if showing off the rings.

How irritating. Crush that fool underfoot and burn every last one of those trinkets!

Wrath snarled at the sight of him, equally unimpressed. Pitiful when he was broke, insufferable when he was rich — a truly peculiar man.

"More training? Just live easy. We're all just doing this to put food on the table anyway."

Rimer grinned as he looked over the swordsmen one by one. His heart was so unburdened that even his voice was softer than usual. Of course, that was not something a squad leader ought to be saying.

"Oh, Raon! Our little fortune-bringer's here too! All healed up?"

"Yes."

"Good, good. I've been praying for you to get better fast."

"You seem to have been running around too busily to have time for prayer."

Raon smiled coldly and pointed at Rimer's clothes and jewels.

"I prayed every time I spent money while running around. Long life and prosperity for Raon, who earned me all this!"

"Long life and prosperity…"

Raon was so speechless a puff of air escaped him. So he hadn't been praying for a fast recovery. He had been praying Raon would live forever.

"I have something to tell you."

"Go on. I'll hear anything!"

Rimer nodded at once, looking ready to grant any request that didn't involve handing over money.

"A little while ago…"

Raon explained that the Heavenly Sword Squad Leader had come to see him, and asked whether he could take the unit leaders and two more members on the mission.

"The Heavenly Sword Squad Leader? Then you have to go!"

Rimer clapped his hands together.

"There's no sword attribute that woman doesn't know. Follow her around and you'll learn a great deal."

He called it a rare opportunity and told him to go, no questions asked.

"I said from the start that this squad would be sent out on assignments all over. Go."

"A m-mission with the Heavenly Sword Squad Leader? That's a stroke of fortune!"

The moment Rimer told them to go, Burren let out a cheer.

"The Heavenly Sword Squad Leader?"

"Hmph. They say she's the finest swordswoman in the house. I'll see for myself and decide."

Runaan tilted her head as if she had no particular thoughts on the matter. Marta snorted, but she couldn't hide the tremor in her fingers.

"That's four including you. Who are you taking for the other two?"

Rimer pointed at the remaining members of the Light Wind Squad.

"One of them will be my wallet."

"Your wallet?"

"Ah — Dorian. He needs to lose some of that weight."

Raon looked at Dorian and smiled faintly.

"Eek!"

The wallet — no, Dorian — dropped his snack in terror. The flesh of his cheeks quivered.

"And the last one?"

"Hmm…"

Raon swept his gaze over the rest of the squad. Most of them rolled their eyes and pretended to be busy, clearly hoping not to be chosen.

"Crain. Front and center."

He beckoned to the long-haired swordsman who had been hiding at the very back.

"M-me? Why me…"

Crain's eyes bulged as if they might burst.

"I saw you during the sparring. Looked like you had a lot you wanted to say to me."

Raon smiled brightly and tapped the scabbard of his sword.

"Let's have a frank talk during the mission."

"Ah…"

Crain remembered calling Raon a demon and a lunatic in the sparring arena, and toppled over backward.

"I'm a dead man…"

He closed his eyes, drooling, as if he had already been beaten.

"It may take a little time, so I'll leave the squad in your care."

Raon gave the five of them the schedule, then bowed his head to Rimer.

"Isn't that what I, the squad leader, am supposed to say?"

"Do you intend to actually do your job as squad leader?"

"No."

He shook his head without a shred of shame.

"That's why I said it. And now that you've made money, stop gambling while you're at it."

"I already have, so don't worry."

Rimer waved both hands as if he had washed them of gambling for good.

"Go and learn everything you can. Not just Sheryl's swordsmanship — her stance, her gait, her breathing. All of it is worth stealing. Take all of it."

For the first time in a long while, his voice carried real weight.

"Understood."

"I'll also teach you an incantation, in case anything goes wrong."

"An incantation."

"That's right."

Rimer grinned and went on.

"Tell Sheryl…"

Dawn, two days later.

Raon stood in the Annex courtyard with both hands on the Heavenly Sky Sword.

The most fundamental posture: the middle stance. He set the hilt before his dantian, aimed the blade forward, and without moving a muscle, raised his presence alone.

A low, rolling pressure began to unfurl. Raon's aura drifted like a cloud crossing the sky, slow and unhurried, and started to coil around the courtyard.

By the ten-minute mark, his presence had filled the entire clearing. The whole space trembled in time with his breathing. The air itself was held in the palm of his hand.

"Hoo…"

Raon scattered the presence that had dominated the courtyard in a single breath and steadied himself.

Abominably slow. This King nearly perished from boredom.

Wrath clicked his tongue as if the whole exercise were beneath contempt.

"This is the Heavy Sword."

So you intend to devour space itself with sheer weight.

"That's right. When I fought Garon this time…"

And who is Garon?

"The one I fought not long ago."

Ah. That maggot?

He couldn't even remember a man who had reached Master, and it hadn't been that long. To Wrath, even Garon was just another nobody.

"Anyway, the sword he used was fast, and it cut off space. But I think erasing the speed and dominating space with weight alone would work better."

Garon's sword had been strong and fast, no question — but when it came to seizing space, it had been full of gaps.

Forcing the pace higher would be worse than moving slowly and swallowing every inch of space with certainty.

Your reasoning is sound, yet crawling along like a slug, this King wonders when you shall ever catch an enemy.

"I'll just have to work at it."

Having taken Garon's sword in with his own eyes, he had a decent grasp of the Spatial Sword. If he trained steadily, he would be able to bring weight and spatial dominance into harmony.

Before leaving, Raon opened his status window one last time.

Just looking at the stats and trait ranks he had built up over so much time was enough to bring a smile to his face.

Not much left now.

He clenched his fist, vowing that by the time he returned to the house he would have changed that title to something tied to Master, and brought the Heavy Sword and the Spatial Sword into harmony.

I wonder.

He was already looking forward to how his swordsmanship would change once he became a Master with stats that had already surpassed the human limit.

Time to go.

He slung the pack he had set beside him over his shoulder and was about to leave the courtyard when Judiel approached.

"I didn't have much time, so I couldn't investigate as thoroughly as I would have liked."

She held out a thin booklet as she spoke.

"This is…"

"Information on House Yonan's youngest daughter, and on the Letran region where the Saint of Rags is currently staying."

"Ah."

Raon opened the booklet. In neat, easy-to-read script, the name of House Yonan's youngest daughter was written out.

"Encia Yonan. A genius at artifact crafting?"

Beneath the name, it was written that even within House Yonan she was regarded as an outstanding artisan.

"She's in her mid-twenties, and they say no one in the world can match her at accessory-type artifacts. The Heavy Martial Palace doesn't know about any of this, so the illness is likely being kept in absolute secrecy."

That tracked. The matter had gone straight from Glenn to Sheryl. Only a handful of people would know.

"She's quite a famous name in the central region. Once she leaves House Yonan, there will be no shortage of people coming after her."

"There would be."

Escorting someone that talented meant this would be nothing like the easy journey Sheryl had described.

That's exactly what I wanted.

An easy journey was nothing but a waste of time. If it would take him farther and higher, he was ready to walk through hell.

The more he suffered, the harder it became, the stronger he grew. That much was certain.

This should be fun.

A deep crimson flame surged up in Raon's eyes.