White Dragon Like Water
Dokoe's brow furrowed as he watched Raon gulp down White Dragon as if it were water.
No matter how I look at it, this doesn't make any sense.
Undiluted White Dragon was a vicious liquor so potent that even large monsters couldn't keep it down—they would vomit it straight back up. A Master's stamina and recovery were a cut above the rest, true enough, but this was still not a drink a human being should have been able to endure. And yet that young brat was pouring White Dragon down his throat as casually as if he were sipping tea.
What the hell is that kid even made of…?
The gambling, he could almost swallow. If Raon claimed he'd learned it from some hidden master lurking on the continent, Dokoe could force himself to concede the point. Hard to believe, but he could yield that much.
Pure White Dragon, however, was not something you drank through luck or skill. He simply could not accept that this young brat—who looked as if he'd never so much as tasted a cup of wine—was outdrinking him.
"Aren't you going to drink?"
Raon, having lightly emptied a full dipper, offered a faint grin.
"It's your turn, Dokoe."
"I know that."
Dokoe ground his teeth, lifted the dipper, and forced the liquor into his mouth, clamping down on the fire boiling up from his gut.
"Khrrr…"
It was vicious. This was a liquor you were supposed to dilute and sip slowly. Drinking it straight—and in a rush, no less—wasn't enjoyment. It was nothing but filthy, grinding pain.
He wanted to quit. Pride wouldn't let him. He forced strength into his trembling hand and emptied cup after cup in succession.
"Khaaah! Y-your turn!"
Dokoe set the dipper down with a grotesque smile plastered across his face.
"I was going to drink anyway."
Raon emptied the dipper with the same easy smile he wore when he was enjoying a gamble. There wasn't a trace of pain in it. The smile was almost gentle.
He's not even burning it off with aura.
Raon's aura hadn't stirred during the gambling, and it wasn't stirring now. It was buried in his dantian as if it had gone to sleep—and yet not a hint of drunkenness clung to the boy. He truly looked as if he were drinking water.
"Eek! Why does that liquor smell so lethal?!"
"The smell alone is enough to kill a man. How are they even drinking that?"
"Ugh, I don't even want to get close."
"They're both monsters. Absolute monsters!"
The onlookers couldn't even endure the breath the two men exhaled after drinking. They shuffled backward in a hurry.
"You hold your liquor well. What do you usually drink?"
Dokoe tossed the question out, buying himself a moment to steady his breathing.
"I don't."
"What?"
"This is the first time I've ever had alcohol."
Raon scooped up another dipperful and smiled, bright and easy.
"The warmth in the throat isn't bad. I think I understand now why people drink."
He emptied the cup again, lightly, as if he meant every word.
"Huh? Wh-what?"
The composure Dokoe had been forcing onto his face shattered without mercy.
The first time? He just said this is his first time?
A man tasting liquor for the first time, pouring White Dragon down his throat like that—it was impossible to believe.
No. It's true…
He knew, because he'd just gambled against that monster. The claim that this was Raon's first drink was, without question, the truth.
What kind of freak is this?
Calling him a monster wasn't even enough. The boy was something unknown. Something that shouldn't exist.
Even so, I will not lose! Absolutely not!
Dokoe's pride reared its head—the pride of a man who yielded to no one in gambling or drink. He would not drop to his knees before a first-time drinker.
"Bring another jar of liquor!"
"Yes, sir!"
Dokoe crushed the ache in his gut—it felt as if he'd taken an internal wound—and glared at the second jar the moment it appeared. This was a battle of pride now. He would have to endure on willpower alone.
"Hmph."
Raon eyed the second jar and frowned, just slightly.
"Don't tell me you're getting scared now."
"Of course not. It's just…"
"Just?"
"I don't think even this will be enough. Let's prepare one more jar."
"Y-you…"
Dokoe's jaw trembled. The boy was insane. This was a madman who had stepped clean off the edge of imagination. His hands were shaking, but he could not afford to look weak here.
"Y-you're right. Fine! Bring one more!"
"Th-that's all the White Dragon we have."
"Then bring something else! Something vicious!"
"Yes, sir!"
His subordinates were infuriatingly obedient today. They could have brought something milder. Instead they returned with liquor of a proof nearly matching White Dragon, in an even larger jar.
"Let's start again, then."
"Gladly."
Raon emptied his cup with a leisure so complete it was almost insulting.
"Khuk!"
Dokoe forced his own cup down and clenched his teeth as he stared at Raon.
I will not lose!
Even if he died, he would not fall.
Raon swallowed the laugh that wanted to escape as he looked at Dokoe.
He's trying to die, isn't he?
Dokoe's eyes were half-glazed, swimming. He was holding the drunkenness at bay with sheer will, but he wouldn't last much longer.
"You're next. Drink."
His tongue had gone thick; the words came out slurred. He truly looked as if he'd reached his limit.
Impressive, though.
White Dragon and the two liquors that had followed it were all of a proof so vicious that the smell alone could get a man drunk. That Dokoe had been knocking them back like water and was still conscious was astonishing.
"D-drink, you punk."
The "you punk" told Raon the man's wits were hanging by a fingernail.
"As you wish."
Raon smiled faintly and emptied his cup without a care.
A thin sizzle ran through him.
The Ring of Fire, still turning even now, melted the vicious liquor energy the instant it entered his body—dissolving it like a chip of ice.
Two birds with one stone.
A strange little laugh slipped out of him. He was in a drinking contest with Dokoe, and the Ring of Fire's accomplishment was climbing at the same time.
"Wh-what is this?"
"The Frost-Flower Sword Hero doesn't look drunk at all. He's actually smiling."
"That's a man drinking for the first time?"
"D-Dokoe looks like he's about to die…"
"What on earth is going on?"
"I never thought this drinking bout would last until morning."
The onlookers' jaws trembled as they looked from Dokoe—swaying like a puppet with its strings cut—to Raon, who was perfectly fine.
"H-he's smiling?"
Dokoe scooped liquor with a violently shaking hand and barely got it to his mouth. Half of it went in; half of it spilled. Nobody stopped him. It didn't matter anymore.
There was, however, someone suffering every bit as much as Dokoe.
Gaaaaah!
Wrath let out a strangled scream, his tongue lolling out.
Stop it! Stop this at once, you devil spawn!
The drinking contest had begun in the evening and stretched into morning, and Wrath's face had gone deathly pale.
When does this torture end?! This King won't eat ice cream! This King won't even eat meals, so stop drinking already!
He, too, had been overwhelmed by the vicious liquor and had more or less surrendered his wits. Raon had, without meaning to, subjected Wrath to torture.
If he just holds on a little longer…
And when is that "little longer" supposed to be?! This King is truly dying, you fiend!
Wrath clutched his head, wailing that he'd never suffered a torture like this, and rolled across the tabletop.
"Khuk—m-my turn, is it?"
Dokoe's shoulders shook as he scooped more liquor.
"I'll join you."
Raon filled a cup alongside him and raised it.
"Shall we toast, for the first time?"
"F-fine. As much as you like!"
When Raon offered his cup, Dokoe bit his lip and clinked it.
Raon drank lightly. Dokoe drank with his hands shuddering.
A bright, clean crack of breaking ceramic rang out, and Dokoe toppled over backward. In the same instant, Wrath—who had been hanging his chin on the edge of the table—dropped to the floor.
"You devilish bastard…"
You devilish bastard…
One man and one Demon King muttered the same words, then closed their eyes. Both of them seemed to have fainted; the only sound left was the rasp of their breathing.
The accomplishment of the Ring of Fire has increased.
Raon set his cup down as he looked at the message. He nodded, a quiet smile on his face.
The second trial, cleared without breaking a sweat.
"H-he won at drinking too…"
Dorian's eyes flew wide as he stared at Dokoe, sprawled on his back.
"Squad Leader! Sir Raon won the second trial as well!"
He grabbed Rimer—who was standing beside him in a daze—and practically screamed it.
"Is there anything that man can't do?!"
To overwhelm Dokoe, a man whose gambling and drinking were famous across the entire continent—Dorian already knew Raon was special, but he had never imagined a scene like this. It was the stuff of dreams.
"Wooooah!"
Even though he had the distinct feeling he'd become Raon's wallet, his mood was strangely good. He let out a cheer.
"Nngh!"
Rimer's clenched fists trembled.
"It's coming. It's coming!"
"Huh? What's coming?"
"My golden age is coming back!"
He held the excitement down and slowly evened his breathing.
He just has to win one more time.
Rimer had bet every last coin of his hidden savings, plus the gold he'd borrowed from Dorian, on Raon completing the Three Pledges. He was the only one who had wagered that Raon would succeed. If it paid off, an enormous fortune would roll straight into his lap.
"Please…"
Rimer pressed his hands together as he watched Raon staring blankly down at the fallen Dokoe.
O my god of fortune!
Rain gold down upon me!
The moment Raon pushed the last thin haze of drunkenness from his body with aura, endless white smoke began to pour from Dokoe, still lying on the floor.
A fierce hiss filled the air.
The instant that smoke spread, a liquor stench so vicious it could kill rolled through the entire gambling hall, and everyone with a weak tolerance for drink collapsed in droves. Dokoe had wrung every last drop of liquor energy from his body with aura.
"Huu…"
Dokoe sat up from the waist and let out a long breath. He slowly lifted his head, looked this way, and sighed a second time.
"I lost."
He admitted defeat with a twisted expression, the look of a man who still didn't want to accept it.
"Gambling, and then drinking on top of it. Honestly, I feel like I've been possessed."
Dokoe looked up at the hole he'd punched in the ceiling himself. Night was over. Sunlight poured down, stretching as if the day were waking up and yawning.
"One question."
"Go ahead."
"Was that really your first time drinking?"
He looked genuinely curious. His face was serious.
"Yes."
The first time in this life, anyway.
Raon nodded honestly.
I-it's over.
Wrath lifted his head, swaying.
It's finally over! Aaaaaaah!
He dropped to his knees on the floor like a prisoner who'd just broken out of jail, both hands thrown wide.
"I never thought I'd be overwhelmed in drink and gambling by an eighteen-year-old. I'll admit all of it."
Dokoe rose slowly to his feet. He jerked his chin toward the outside.
"The third trial begins now. Follow me."
Raon stood in the empty lot behind the gambling hall with Rimer and Dorian.
"I know you're a Master, but you don't impress me."
Dokoe rolled his wrists and ankles slowly, as if loosening up before a spar.
"I'd like to set a trial where you fight me and win, after the humiliation of drink and gambling—but I can't demand the impossible."
He lifted a thick finger.
"First, I'll confirm whether you even have the skill to cross blades with me. Come. Land an attack on me, or throw a sword strike that catches my eye, and I'll make a proper wager of it."
"You just fainted and woke up. Are you sure you're all right?"
Raon smiled faintly and tapped his scabbard.
"Nngh. I didn't faint. I was merely resting for a moment."
Dokoe frowned and shook his head. After spending from yesterday afternoon until now in the man's company, Raon could read his face perfectly. He was sincerely embarrassed.
"Understood. I'll take it that way."
"It's not a matter of taking it that way. It's the truth!"
"Yes."
Raon rested a hand on the hilt as he watched Dokoe make pained noises, then lowered his stance. It was the posture of Battōjutsu—the Quick-Draw Sword Art.
"The young ones have such old-fashioned tastes."
Dokoe snorted a laugh and leveled his sword forward. For a man of his bulk, the blade itself was not much different in size from the Heavenly Sky Sword.
He thinks it's a quick-draw.
Dokoe was clearly expecting Battōjutsu, and had prepared only to stop a swift-blade strike.
"Hoo."
Raon let out a short breath.
A good opportunity.
What he intended to use now was not a quick-draw. It was the martial art of sound—a new sword strike, packed with extreme swiftness, meant to tear through the inside of the man's ear.
He took a light grip on the hilt. Savoring the pleasant cold that filled his palm, he stamped his foot.
Aura, hardened after passing through the Middle Dantian, raced through every mana circuit in his body. In a fragment of an instant he poured tremendous power into his lower body and surged forward.
Dokoe's red eyes flew wide. Raon drove his left foot out and drew the Heavenly Sky Sword. A silver blade that had become the gale itself scraped up along the lip of the scabbard as it rose, and a deep sword-cry poured from the steel.
A low, rolling hum filled the air.
This was where it truly began. He laid the energy of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames over the sound as it advanced, vibrating the atmosphere. He controlled the direction of that sound with exquisite precision as it bent like a thunderbolt, and slammed it into Dokoe's ear—into the vestibular organ itself, deep inside.
A piercing ring burst in Dokoe's ear, as if a sword-wind had exploded inside it. He only staggered for a moment. He did not fall. But his eyes bulged as if they might pop from his skull, wide with shock.
A heavy thud.
Raon recognized the opening and stepped into the Grand Flower Twin Steps. He rose like a petal riding the wind—and Dokoe, recovering with startling speed, thrust his sword. Power rolled off the blade as if it meant to crush the sky itself.
A deep rumble. The sword strike was so immense he could hear the aura surging in. Raon twisted the Heavenly Sky Sword, knocked the blade aside, and carved the Mad Fang Sword.
"Khmm!"
Dokoe had no intention of going easy. He recovered his sword in an instant and brought it straight down. The pressure was like a mountain falling.
A sharp hiss of steel.
Raon's blade drew an arc through empty air, like tracing the curve of the moon. Spreading waves of Ganggi shoved Dokoe's sword aside and nicked his sleeve, a short, clean cut.
A delayed crash of blade on blade. Raon and Dokoe were both driven back at once.
"S-sword aura? No—sound? The martial art of sound?"
Dokoe's eyes were still wide. He didn't even care that his sleeve had been cut.
"That's right."
Raon nodded. There was no point hiding it now that it had been seen.
"Hmph. I never imagined you'd learned the martial art of sound."
Dokoe clutched his left ear, where the sound had burst, and frowned. He'd blocked it at the last instant, but the impact had clearly been considerable.
Well. I did hit the vestibular organ.
The vestibular organ maintained the body's balance. It sat close to the nervous system and could induce vertigo; once it was struck, a man could never display his true ability. If that first attack hadn't been a sound-sword technique, Raon would have been the one who paid for it.
"Tsk."
Dokoe clicked his tongue as he looked at the split sleeve.
"Seems I underestimated you again."
He clenched his fist, then opened it, and nodded.
"I apologize. Gambling, drink, and now martial arts. You have the right to break my Three Pledges."
"You admit it rather quickly."
"I never thought a creature like you existed in this world."
Dokoe snorted a laugh and raised both hands.
"Now the final trial begins."
He held his sword in a reverse grip and extended it.
"The last trial is to escape."
"Escape? Escape from where?"
Raon glanced around. He couldn't understand what kind of escape he was supposed to attempt in an empty lot like this.
"From here."
Dokoe pointed at the ground with the inverted blade, then aimed gathered fingers at the sky.
That stance…
It was a stance he could not fail to recognize. His mouth fell open.
Dokoe's voice rang out from every direction at once.
There was no time to dodge. The world itself began to drown in darkness, and Dokoe's voice—edged with the scrape of steel—spilled down through it.