The Sage Descends
After granting the swordsmen two days of rest to recover from Exhaustion Training, Raon headed not for the Lord's Palace but for the Annex.
"What's gotten into you?"
Wrath drifted in beside his shoulder, looking genuinely puzzled.
"This King was certain you'd stay behind at the training ground to practice alone again."
The thought of Raon going to the Annex had clearly never even crossed his mind. His round eyes went wide.
Once we leave on this mission, we might not get a proper meal for a while.
Raon shrugged, already turning over methods of hunting Sariel in his mind.
I figured I'd eat well at home first.
If things went the way he expected, it might be a long time before Wrath tasted any of the food he loved so much. He'd chosen the Annex as his destination with that farewell feast in mind.
"Hoh!"
Wrath let out a gasp of astonishment.
"You, considering This King! At last you've decided to enter This King's service!"
He dipped his head as if granting a tremendous favor by accepting him.
"Excellent! Bring This King before Sariel! This King shall personally rip every last wing off that chicken-pigeon!"
Wrath ground his teeth, making it plain he still harbored deep and unfinished feelings toward Sariel.
No thanks.
Raon waved him off, shoving the fluffy creature aside.
Unless I'm on the brink of death, I can't use Demon King Advent.
Unlike other forms of Sword Realm Manifestation, the instant he invoked Demon King Advent, the martial realm and the grade of his soul—built with blood and sweat—would be degraded. Some might call it an excessively harsh penalty, but this was a Sword Realm that accepted another's soul to deal with an enemy. The drawback didn't strike him as particularly unfair.
"Tsk! Damn law of causality!"
Wrath ground his teeth, irritated at being bound by that law.
And like I told you before...
Raon narrowed his eyes slightly, turning over what he knew of Sariel.
That thing can read people's thoughts. Not without conditions, from the looks of it—but still.
Wrath had said Sariel fled at the mere sight of him. If the Archangel happened to read Raon's mind and caught even a glimpse of information about Wrath, he would run without so much as a backward glance. That much was certain.
If a creature that proud would rather run than fight, it means he has no intention of facing you at all. Your existence cannot be exposed.
"Heh-heh! This King is rather strong, after all! This King could devour a whole flock of those chicken-pigeons even if they all piled on at once!"
Taking the warning as a compliment, Wrath stretched his little mouth into a long, smug grin.
Well. That's true enough.
Raon gave the remark a perfunctory answer and clicked his tongue.
"Then how do you intend to catch him?"
Wrath drifted closer, sniffing with curiosity.
Archangel Sariel will be exactly as you described—proud, and cautious.
Piecing together the intelligence from Chad, head of the Biyeon Assembly, with what Wrath had seen of Sariel firsthand, the picture that emerged was of a creature whose pride ran deep and whose caution ran deeper. A troublesome personality to deal with. To catch him, they would have to needle that pride from the same standing.
In other words, we have to pick a fight from an equal position.
"An equal position...?"
Wrath tilted his head. A being who had solved everything with raw power still couldn't grasp the intent.
You'll see soon enough.
Raon gave a quiet laugh and walked on, crossing the Annex garden toward the inner grounds.
"Hm?"
"Young Master!"
"Lord Raon!"
Helen and the maids, who had been tending the garden, sprang to their feet at the sight of him.
"I-is something the matter?"
Helen trembled at the shoulders, thrown by his sudden appearance. With Raon currently serving as Acting Family Head, she seemed to have gone tense.
"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted a home-cooked meal before the mission."
He waved both hands, telling her not to worry.
"What? Then you should have said something first! We don't have much prepared right now..."
Helen wrinkled the bridge of her nose, already fretting over the evening menu.
"It's fine. I just want an ordinary dinner. The same as always."
Raon smiled and asked her to prepare it the usual way.
"I'll have it ready at once."
Judiel bowed and disappeared into the Annex to begin the meal.
"Honestly. You're just the same now as you were as a child."
Helen let out a helpless little laugh and headed for the kitchen with the other maids to prepare dinner.
"Khh! An ordinary dinner is exactly right!"
Wrath let out a short, rapturous sigh.
"It seems you've finally learned what true gastronomy is!"
He smacked his lips, confessing that what he'd missed wasn't some special feast but the everyday food of home.
Yeah. Ordinary is better.
Raon smiled and walked on toward the lake behind the Annex.
"Hmm. You're not going inside?"
Wrath tilted his head, wondering why Raon wasn't entering the building.
Same as always.
Raon came to a stop before the lake, its surface painted with the night.
I wanted to look at this place, too.
Despite those words, he slowly closed his eyes. This was a place so familiar that even with his eyes shut, he could feel everything around him. The tree branches swaying in the night wind. The ripples a water strider sent across the lake. The warm, lively atmosphere drifting from inside the Annex.
He had been away for so long, and yet more of this place seemed to touch his skin and soul now than when he had actually lived here.
A quiet stillness settled over him.
Raon felt his soul and the image within his heart grow as clear and transparent as the lake before him, and slowly opened his eyes. Perhaps it was the full moon reflected on the water—a faint golden radiance seemed to bloom within his crimson pupils.
"Hmm...?"
Wrath let out a low sound as he gazed at those eyes, gold and crimson light intertwining.
"Those eyes..."
Two days later, at the Lord's Training Ground.
The swordsmen of the Light Wind Department stood in formation, an aura as cold and sharp as a blade of frost rising off their bodies. Fighting spirit burned in their eyes, as if they could win a war that started this very instant.
Raon felt that chill aura with his whole body as he climbed onto the dais.
"Today is the day we set out."
He came to a stop at the edge of the platform and gave a small nod. Unlike the swordsmen below, his eyes had not lost their quiet.
"You're ready, I take it?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Ready!"
"We could fight a war right now!"
The swordsmen of the Light Wind Department nodded without hesitation, the confidence of having survived Exhaustion Training written plainly on their faces.
"Who's the enemy we're supposed to kill! I mean—who is it, sir!"
Marta licked her lips, demanding to know the target first.
"I'm overflowing with confidence this time too!"
Crain clenched a fist, declaring he felt like he could beat anyone today.
"I-I'm really not, though..."
Dorian sniffled. Even after finishing Exhaustion Training, a residue of fear still clung to him.
"It might not even be a combat mission, so calm down."
Burren pressed down on Marta's excited shoulder and sighed.
"Anything..."
Runaan bowed her head, as if to say that whatever mission Raon assigned, she was ready.
"Good spirit."
Raon nodded, satisfied, feeling the fighting will rolling off his swordsmen.
"The enemy we must cut down on this mission is an Archangel."
He narrowed his eyes as he named the task: they were to deal with Archangel Sariel.
"An Archangel..."
Burren bit his lip, tensing at the weight of that enormous name.
"That's more like it!"
Marta grinned. After surviving training that brutal, an Archangel was the least they deserved as an opponent.
"That's right! We could smash those Heavenly Tribe bastards right now!"
Crain stamped a foot, confidence pouring off him.
"Y-you've all gone insane..."
Dorian swallowed dryly, unable to understand any of them.
Runaan said nothing. She simply rested a hand on her beloved blade, Snow Flower, as if she were already prepared to fight.
"Grrrrrr!"
"Archangel, Eden—bring them all on!"
"That's right! We're confident we can kill them all!"
Still carrying the aftereffects of Exhaustion Training, the swordsmen of the Light Wind Department bared an almost feral overconfidence as they raised their swords, some even letting out beast-like growls.
"Attention."
Raon tapped his foot lightly. The swordsmen, who had been as noisy as a marketplace, shut their mouths at once and returned to proper formation.
"Confidence is fine. But listen first. I'll begin with our target—the Archangel. He..."
Drawing on what he had learned from Chad and from Wrath, Raon laid out everything they needed to know about Archangel Sariel.
"H-he reads minds? That's insane!"
Crain's jaw trembled as if the idea itself were impossible.
"That's not even the real problem. Controlling human souls is an ability so unfair it defies reason..."
Burren bit his lip, struggling to accept that such a power could exist.
"Mind-reading, soul-control—who cares? Just smash his skull in and it's over!"
Marta grinned, already volunteering to take Archangel Sariel's head herself.
"Hmm? He reads minds?"
Dorian tilted his head. For once he didn't look frightened at all. Unlike the others, Sariel's abilities didn't seem to startle him.
"Let's go right now! I mean—let's go, sir!"
Marta bared her teeth, itching to fight this instant.
"Doesn't matter if it's the Archangel or the ones he's controlling—smash their heads in and they'll come back to their senses!"
She even drew her sword, eager to show off the fruits of her training.
"There will be a war with the Heavenly Tribe, Sariel included. That's certain. But as I told you before, our beginning is..."
Raon looked down at the swordsmen burning with fighting spirit, and the corner of his mouth curled.
As he said it, his gaze settled on Dorian, who stood at the center of the Light Wind Department.
"Y-yes...?"
Dorian swallowed dryly under the heat of that stare.
"M-me?"
"Come, come! This isn't something you see every day!"
Crain, his hair dyed a vivid blue, clapped his hands and gathered the crowd's attention.
"The most famous sage in the northern continent has descended upon the Winten Kingdom! The superhuman who resolved the Lord of Habun Castle's troubles and earned House Zieghart's trust! A messenger of the gods who knows all and sees all now stands before you!"
Raon, his hair dyed black, stepped forward to take up Crain's pitch. He poured out praise for the sage without a hint of hesitation, putting real force into his voice, as if he'd been born to work a crowd.
"A sage?"
"He resolved the Lord of Habun Castle's troubles? I've never heard of that."
"I heard there was a sage in the Sarion Kingdom. Is it the same person?"
"Isn't this just a scam?"
The kingdom's people still didn't look convinced. They tilted their heads, unconvinced—but Raon had sold it so well that they stayed put, if only to see for themselves.
"The sage arrives now!"
"He arrives!"
Raon and Crain bowed with the utmost ceremony, and from behind them came Burren with a long spear in hand and Marta with a greatsword slung over her shoulder. The air the two of them produced was so heavy that the townspeople couldn't look away. They swallowed dryly.
Thud.
Marta and Burren stepped aside as if to say they were not the main attraction. Between them, a gaunt young man with hollowed cheeks approached, leaning on a worn wooden staff. His gaze was empty. His steps were cold, and yet somehow lofty.
"Hah..."
"Such sorrowful eyes..."
"I-is he a real sage?"
The townspeople let out ragged breaths, overwhelmed by the strange atmosphere rising off the young man.
At Raon's cry, Burren and Marta slammed spear and sword into the ground, and a massive boom rolled through the square.
The young man walked the path they had opened, his eyes growing even more sorrowful.
"Look at him..."
"The air around him is terrifying."
"Is that what a real sage looks like..."
The townspeople broke into cold sweat as they took in the young man's wasted cheeks and that melancholy air.
The man they were calling Sage Doraen, however, was thinking something else entirely.
Please...
Dorian—the eternally put-upon supply fanatic—looked out at the crowd with eyes that begged for rescue.
Save me!