Four Exchanges
Sheryl chewed her lip thin and shook her head.
"Even so, no."
"Why not?"
Raon frowned. Her eyes had wavered—he'd been sure she was about to allow it—but at the last moment, she seemed to have changed her mind.
"Because it's dangerous."
Sheryl shook her head as if that much should have been obvious.
"As I told you before, I'm the one responsible for this mission. I can't drag a kid who's only just spreading his wings into a death trap."
The steel in her voice made it clear the decision was already made.
"I have something I have to do. I won't die until it's done."
"You think people get to make their bed before they die? Death is fair to everyone. It doesn't send a notice."
Sheryl's words were more than a simple refusal. They carried the weight of things she had lived through.
I still can't back down.
He had come every year until Raon turned five, offering his help. And he hadn't simply shown up. Every visit, he arrived having learned a new treatment, restoring vitality to Raon's body, even handing over high-grade elixirs.
It was the first time someone who wasn't family had shown him that kind of care and attention. Raon had sworn he would repay it someday.
That someday is now.
Raon clenched his fist. He refused to become the kind of animal that ignored a debt of kindness for the sake of revenge. Even if he couldn't be of much help—even if all he bought was a handful of seconds—he wanted to be there.
"Hnn…"
Sheryl let out a low sound, as if she had read the will in Raon's eyes.
"Holding this place is important work too."
"It is. But Econ and the other swordsmen are here, aren't they?"
"If Eden's ghosts come in force…"
"Eden's targets are the boy Julius and the Raysin. Neither of those is here, so the odds of a real powerhouse showing up are low. Econ and the swordsmen can hold this place well enough."
"Hah…"
Sheryl furrowed her brow and let out a long breath.
"Look at this place."
She pointed at Letran, more than half of it already reduced to ash.
"Once Eden receives an order, they swing their blades without caring about anything else. Civilians. Even children. In some ways they're worse than the White Blood Cult—more vicious, and they don't deviate an inch from the line they're given."
"I know."
"The White Blood Cult has more martial artists, but Eden's upper ranks run deeper. Those Masters out ahead of us aren't the only four."
"I know that too."
"And you still want to go?"
"Yes."
Raon nodded without the slightest hesitation.
"I've already broken the prejudice that an Expert can't beat a Master."
"That's…"
Sheryl had nothing to say to that, and she didn't try to argue it.
"If you decide I'm no help, or that I can't keep up, you can drop me along the way. I won't complain."
"You mean that?"
"Yes. If you tell me that and mean it, I'll turn back."
This was his last stand. If he truly wouldn't be of any use, stepping aside was the right call—better than getting in the way.
But his instincts were telling him that going was the right choice. A chance to repay a life debt, and a chance to cross blades with the strong in a Life-and-Death Duel.
Raon gripped the hilt of the Heavenly Sky Sword and did not look away from Sheryl's eyes as she studied him.
A shame.
If he were a Master, she would have taken him without a second thought. It left a bitter taste that he hadn't crossed that threshold yet, and so he had to wait to be chosen.
"Tsk. Fine. I'll give you five minutes. Get ready."
Sheryl clicked her tongue, as if she had no other choice.
"Squad Leader!"
"Take us too—"
"No."
She looked at Burren and Marta and shook her head, her voice cut clean.
"At your current level, you couldn't even buy time."
Sheryl's tone was cold enough to freeze. Unlike when she had dealt with Raon, she opened and closed the matter with a single stroke.
"Ah…"
"Kh!"
Burren and Marta bit their lips and couldn't argue. They knew they didn't have the skill to push the way Raon had.
"If that pisses you off, get stronger. You'll be fighting the Five Demons for the rest of your lives."
With that, she turned away.
She's not a cold person after all.
Raon watched Sheryl's back for a moment, then went to Dorian.
"A-are you sure you'll be all right? Maybe you should just leave it to the Squad Leader…"
"I'll be fine. Just give me some hemostatics, healing salves, bandages—that kind of thing."
There was no telling what would happen, so he started by stocking up on medicine.
"Th-these are expensive, so you have to bring them back, okay?"
Dorian's hands trembled as he passed the items over.
"Raon. When you get back, let's go to the ice cream shop again."
Runaan, who had been standing quietly, came up and blinked at him. It was their way of telling him to come back in one piece.
"Yeah."
Raon offered a faint smile to Dorian and Runaan, and to Burren and Marta, who were watching from the side.
"S-Swordsman!"
He had finished preparing and was about to join Sheryl when Rozy came running from the temple.
"Um…"
"Go ahead."
"There were a lot of martial artists who ran out saying they'd help the Saint. If you happen to see them…"
Her voice shook—embarrassment at asking for something in a situation like this, tangled up with the hope that those people were still alive.
"If they're alive, I'll bring them back."
Raon nodded. He knew exactly how she felt, because it was the same as his own.
"If you're ready, we leave."
Sheryl didn't look back. She kicked off the ground and in an instant was leaping over buildings, already at the city wall.
"Hoo…"
Raon slowly steadied his breath and drew up the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames. He stepped the Supreme Harmony Footwork and chased after Sheryl, his teeth clenched.
I will not fall behind.
An old man in rags ran through a dense forest with a child of about ten on his back. Blood dripped steadily through the worn fabric; he was wounded.
He was moving at a speed no fine horse could match, yet he kept glancing behind him, as if he couldn't shake the unease.
"Saint."
The child in his arms lifted his head, his voice far too grave for his age.
"I heard they want me. If you leave me and get out safely yourself…"
"Enough!"
The Saint of Rags—Pedrick—barked a short rebuke at the boy.
"Julius! What kind of nonsense is that?"
"Saint…"
"The reason those bastards want you is to put a monster's armor on you. Do you want to become a demon that's thrown away even its humanity?"
Pedrick shook his head, telling him not to say such things.
"But if you keep carrying me, they'll catch us in the end."
Julius's brows drooped with worry for Pedrick.
"Don't you worry. I'm old, but I've still got one fast pair of feet. A little farther and we'll be in a region where a friend of mine lives. They won't be able to follow us there."
Pedrick offered a warm smile so the boy wouldn't be afraid.
"And even if I did leave you, those bastards would keep chasing me anyway."
"Are they trying to put armor on you too, Saint?"
"No. It's because of a flower I have."
"A flower?"
Julius tilted his head, not understanding.
"Used well, it can save a great many people. Used badly, it can hurt even more."
"Then they'll use it badly."
"Hah. You've got that right."
Pedrick let out a cloudy breath and nodded.
"They're after me as well as you. Don't worry, and try to get some sleep. It's past your bedtime, isn't it?"
"It would be improper to sleep while you're suffering, Saint."
Julius's mouth was set in a firm line, his answer crisp and clear.
"Um…"
"What is it now."
"There were men following us. I keep worrying whether they're all right."
"Those bastards are only after us. They'll be fine."
Pedrick stroked Julius's hair once, then cleared a rocky hill in a single bound.
I have to save this child, at least…
It didn't matter if an old man like him died. But he could not stand by and let a child this good be turned into one of Eden's ghosts.
"Looking at you reminds me of someone."
"Someone you remember?"
"That's right. A peculiar child who neither cried nor laughed, and he hadn't even been weaned from his mother's milk."
"I cry, and I laugh."
"Do you, now."
Pedrick smiled faintly and glanced up at the sky for a moment.
"That child was born with the worst constitution in the world. The pain, of course—but he could barely even move his body. I judged he could never become a martial artist. Only…"
Pedrick smiled as he looked into Julius's red eyes.
"He shattered my diagnosis. He became an outstanding martial artist and made a name for himself. He overcame himself."
"R-really?"
"He did. Incredible, isn't it?"
"Overcoming yourself… that sounds wonderful."
Julius nodded, his eyes a little brighter.
"Then let's go see him together. I'm sure it'll be a good—"
"Mind taking me along too?"
A cold voice slid out from up ahead just as Pedrick was smiling. Moonlight poured through the twisted brush and lit the speaker.
A man clad head to toe in crimson armor shaped like a lion's mane, a wolf helmet on his head with sharp fangs gleaming.
"Jeokranggwi…"
Pedrick swallowed dryly. The monster in front of him was an executive of Eden who had inherited the power of the Lycanthrope Chieftain—a Master-level fighter.
The ground itself seemed to groan.
The problem was that he wasn't alone.
"So you did come this way."
A man wrapped in black winged armor drifted down in a smooth descent. Eerie blue eyes flashed from a demon's helmet set with two horns.
"Heuk-ikgwi."
The owner of that winged armor was an Eden executive who had inherited the power of the Gargoyle Lord. He too was a Master—and with the ability to fly, he was even more troublesome than Jeokranggwi.
"Ah, I'm here too."
"Akyanggwi as well."
At a cheerful voice that didn't belong in a situation like this, Pedrick looked to the right. A man with a goat's lower body and a knight's armor on his upper half, wearing a goat helmet with horns that curved downward, gave a light little wave.
"Damn it…"
Pedrick bit down on his lip. He had already taken internal injuries just facing Jeokranggwi and Heuk-ikgwi. If Akyanggwi—the strongest of the three—joined in, he was as good as dead.
"Ah, don't worry. Today's job is blocking the path, so if you don't come this way, I have no intention of touching you."
Whether he meant it or not, Akyanggwi folded his arms and leaned his back against a tree.
"I'm getting tired of chasing."
"Old man's meat is tough, but a saint should be different, right?"
A wave of searing red Ganggi surged up over Jeokranggwi's claws and Heuk-ikgwi's dagger.
"Julius. Stay behind me."
"S-Saint…"
"No need to worry. I'll keep my promise to you."
Pedrick steadied his breathing and spread both hands. He packed Ganggi into his open palms and stamped his foot.
Raon frowned as he watched Sheryl racing ahead.
Is she trying to shake me off?
Sheryl was steadily increasing her speed, as if she meant to lose him with footwork alone. The gap that had been a mere ten meters at the start was now closing in on twenty.
He stepped the Supreme Harmony Footwork. The distance closed for a moment—then he failed to catch her, and she began pulling away again.
I can't keep using the Supreme Harmony Footwork.
The aura consumption was severe. In a situation where colliding with Masters was all but certain, burning it continuously would leave him exhausted before the fighting even started.
Then what do I…
Raon lifted his head and looked at Sheryl again. She wasn't so much stepping on the ground as the ground itself seemed to come to her, stretching forward in a long, unbroken line.
A little different from Rimer.
If Rimer's movement had felt like riding the wind and taking flight, Sheryl's was the sensation of exploding the power in her lower body to its limit and shooting forward like an arrow.
He resonated the Ring of Fire and studied her legs closely. Loaded into the limbs that kicked the earth was the Swift Sword formula she had explained to him.
Now I get it.
He understood why Sheryl could open such a gap even with basic footwork. She had converted every martial principle contained in the steps into the Swift Sword formula, raising speed and speed alone.
I can't do it the way she does. I can't reduce resistance and glide forward the way Rimer does, either. But…
He had a feeling he could blend the two properly.
He kicked off the ground with Sheryl's formula and the principles of Frost Lotus packed into the step, then ran the energy of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames the way Rimer ran the wind, splitting the air as he went.
Even though he struck the earth more lightly than before, he traveled faster, and farther. Sheryl's back, which had only been receding, gradually drew closer.
"Mm…"
Sheryl looked back for the first time. Her eyes had gone nearly twice as wide, and she was frowning.
Got it!
It was still crude—too rough to use in a real fight—but in speed, at least, he wasn't losing to Sheryl.
"I've caught up."
Raon drew even with her and smiled.
"I was going to drop you like this."
Sheryl clicked her tongue, disappointed. The surprise in her eyes, however, hadn't gone anywhere.
"I told you I wouldn't get in the way."
"You mixed my movement and Rimer's half and half?"
"That's right."
"Honestly. You're no fun to teach."
She shook her head as if she'd had enough.
"But you've only just stepped up to the starting line, so don't get cocky. If you fall short of my expectations, I'll drop you on the spot."
"I know."
Raon nodded. She was right. The real fighting hadn't even started yet.
They were crossing the open fields in Sheryl's wake when the sound of steel on steel rang out. One side was being clearly overwhelmed; the impacts came dull and heavy.
"This way."
"Yes."
Sheryl had already changed direction, heading toward the noise. Raon followed, running the movement method he had just created.
At the far end of a field scorched black stood an Eden ghost in a hyena-shaped helmet. He had clearly been carrying out a massacre—his long-handled axe and armor were caked in blood.
"Hwangjangwi, is it."
The Eden ghost who had inherited the power of a Gnoll Warrior—hyena's head, human body—was none other than Hwangjangwi, the Yellow Ferocious Ghost.
"Kihihihi!"
Hwangjangwi didn't have so much as a scratch on him, but the martial artists still standing were covered in wounds and blood. He had been toying with them rather than killing them.
"That one."
Sheryl didn't move to help. She stopped and pointed at Hwangjangwi.
"He's Expert Peak-Class, same as you. Kill him within ten exchanges."
"Ten exchanges…"
"If you can't, go back. If you can't even manage that, you have no business in this fight at all."
She didn't blink. She had no intention of giving him any ground. This, it seemed, was the final test.
"Not ten. I'll finish it in five. In exchange, don't tell me to go back ever again."
Raon didn't wait for Sheryl's answer. He walked toward Hwangjangwi.
"Ten exchanges? Five?"
Hwangjangwi turned around. He had heard all of it, and the look he shot them was murderous. Sheryl would have predicted even that.
"Staying behind makes you think I'm a joke, huh."
Hwangjangwi spun his axe and bared his teeth in a grin.
"Fine! I'll take all your heads within ten exchanges!"
He bent at the waist like a beast and kicked off the ground.
The stance was strange, but the speed was abnormally fast. In an instant he crashed in from the left, bringing the axe down. Battle Qi roared up like a firestorm, thick with the will to crush bone and flesh.
Raon ran the Ring of Fire and watched until the axe was almost at his collarbone.
It's carrying weight.
The principle dwelling in Hwangjangwi's axe was heaviness. But it wasn't loaded through the entire blade—it was concentrated only at the very edge of the axe-head.
Then I just have to twist it aside.
The flames of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames wreathing the Heavenly Sky Sword split the heaviness reaching from the axe. Aiming at the slender gap he had opened, he drew a second slash down.
A massive clang rang out. Striking second, landing first. Though the Heavenly Sky Sword had moved later, it was Hwangjangwi's axe that bounced away.
"Kh!"
True to Expert Peak-Class, Hwangjangwi recovered the axe in a flash and launched a second chop. A mighty wave of force poured in a straight line, several principles layered into it, adding power and speed.
Shall I try that.
Raon recalled the chop Hwangjangwi had just used. Picturing the method of concentrating heaviness in a single point, he condensed aura at the tip of the Heavenly Sky Sword.
He drove his foot down in a True Step to amplify his force and thrust the Heavenly Sky Sword, now carrying a new principle. The thickly compressed blade collided head-on with Hwangjangwi's axe.
A grinding crack. Despite the difference in the weapons' weight, what was pushed back—no, what was shattering—was Hwangjangwi's axe. The axe-head that had been radiating a ghastly killing intent broke apart like a thin pane of glass, and in the fragments Raon saw Hwangjangwi's stunned eyes.
"I-I'm not done yet!"
A veteran of many hard fights, Hwangjangwi stabbed at Raon's heart with his left hand even in the middle of his panic. From the knife-hand, raised like a blade, came a fierce energy no weaker than the axe.
"Sloppy."
Raon stepped the third form of the Supreme Harmony Footwork. Like a cloud drifting through the sky, he let Hwangjangwi's knife-hand flow past, then poured the Swift Sword principle loaded in the Heavenly Sky Sword from the shoulder down.
A silver blade fell like lightning. Hwangjangwi's movement stopped like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Th-this…"
Hwangjangwi flailed, but he couldn't catch his falling head.
Raon left the headless corpse behind and walked toward Sheryl.
"Four exchanges."
He flicked the thin line of blood from the Heavenly Sky Sword and stood in front of her.