You're Not Alone

"Even This King, merciful as I am, cannot simply let this pass!"

Mercy, my ass.

Raon let out a sigh. One look at Wrath's half-crazed eyes told him another tantrum was about to erupt. He ignored it and turned his attention to the messages that had unfurled before him.

The moment he read them, a gasp of wonder slipped out on its own.

Rewards like this…

Then again, maybe they were only natural. He had fought a brutal battle, wielded Wrath's power, and watched Transcendents clash with his own eyes. Considering everything he had done, a haul of this caliber was hardly strange.

"Aaaargh! Damn it all!"

Of course, a certain generous sucker couldn't accept it and howled like a wounded beast.

A warm rush flooded through him. As every stat climbed by ten points, the pain receded as though his wounds had all closed at once.

I'll take this anytime.

The injuries themselves hadn't actually healed, but the euphoria that came with a stat increase bled the heat from the pain. His mind felt clearer already.

Three Sword Scars etched into my mental world. What does that mean?

It meant three scars of the sword would be carved into that space where he had fought Rokta and endured Wrath — but he couldn't grasp what that actually entailed.

"It means exactly what it says."

Wrath glared at him. He looked thoroughly irritated, but in the form of a cotton-candy puffball, the effect didn't land at all.

"Not merely in your mental world — the sword scars you witnessed with your own eyes have been driven into that skull of yours."

Sword scars? Don't tell me…

"Precisely. Those three sword arts your family head unleashed upon opening his Sword World have been hammered into your head."

You've got to be kidding me.

Raon's jaw went slack before he could stop it.

His swordsmanship, carved into my mind? Those three strikes?

He didn't know what techniques Glenn had used, but he knew they were transcendent sword arts of a kind the continent could count on one hand. The thought that such magnificent swordsmanship had been etched into his head set his heart hammering like a war drum.

Then I could use those swords too…

"You cannot."

Wrath shook his head with absolute finality.

"Your realm is only about this high."

He lifted a tiny hand to the height of the pillow on the bed.

"And even this is This King being generous, considering how much you've grown."

Then what about the Head?

"That old geezer…"

Wrath's eyes narrowed. He drifted up into the air and pointed at the ceiling.

The ceiling?

"He reaches beyond this ceiling, all the way to the heavens. The likes of you aren't even worth one of that old man's fingers."

He ground his teeth, as if to say Raon shouldn't even dream of catching Glenn.

I figured as much.

Raon gave a faint laugh and nodded. Glenn was the man Wrath had said he'd need tens of thousands of exchanges to defeat — and by now, he would have grown even stronger. Raon's current realm was far too low to even look those Transcendents in the eye.

So if my realm rises, I'll be able to understand what those sword arts actually are?

"That's right. Though This King has no idea when that day might come."

Wrath added, with a mocking lilt, that the day might never arrive at all.

That's enough for me.

He was satisfied. If he could someday understand what Glenn's swordsmanship truly was, that was all he needed.

I have no intention of copying it anyway.

The point wasn't to imitate Glenn's sword. It was to take ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that swordsmanship as a reference and open a Sword World of his own. No one climbed higher by merely following in someone else's footsteps.

If I keep draining your stats, I'll get there eventually.

"Grrrk…"

Raon waved a hand with a smirk, and Wrath's pupils scrunched into slits. He never won these exchanges, so why he kept picking them was a mystery.

Having swatted Wrath aside with ease, Raon looked at the next message.

A rise in all swordsmanship attributes.

It meant that by witnessing Glenn's swordsmanship — a blade that had become the sword itself — through the Ring of Fire, the principles of every sword art he had learned had advanced.

Not one technique. Every sword art he had mastered, all climbing at once. Even seeing it written out, he could hardly believe it.

Both of them, honestly…

He didn't know whether to praise the Ring of Fire or thank Glenn.

And last of all.

Raon dropped his gaze to the message at the very bottom and checked the title's contents.

Reading it, he figured it was a title he'd earned for keeping his head even after being abducted by Eden — pocketing their treasures and laying plans for the future.

Not bad.

Even a man who had lived as an assassin could freeze up in a crisis, body and mind locking tight. A title that would help in those ugly moments was more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than welcome.

Hah…

Once he had gone through every message, Raon allowed himself a satisfied smile.

These rewards are the best yet.

What pleased him most were the rise in his swordsmanship and the fact that Glenn's techniques had been carved into his mental world.

I've drawn closer to Sword Realm Manifestation.

His mental world had grown. It was no exaggeration to say he had taken another step toward Sword Realm Manifestation.

I want to move. Now.

His arms and legs itched. He wanted to swing a sword this instant.

"Hey!"

Still complaining? That's enough already…

"That's not it!"

Just as Raon sighed, Wrath shoved his face in close.

"This King has something to ask you."

Hm?

Raon narrowed his eyes. Contrary to expectation, Wrath's expression had settled into something calm and serious.

"You. You said that half-baked one was one of the two heads of that helmet rabble, did you not?"

Half-baked… Tatcheon?

"Indeed. You said he was one of the two who could stand against that blood demon."

I did.

"What of the other one, and where is he?"

Wrath's face had gone uncommonly grim.

I don't really know.

"You don't know?"

Eden has two who can face the White Blood Cult Leader, but only one of them is active. That's what I was told.

"If he isn't active, is he injured?"

I don't know that either.

Raon shook his head.

"Then what in the world…"

Decades ago, there was a renowned house famous for its spear arts — House Lumen.

"Lumen?"

That's right. Not quite on the level of the Six Kings and Five Demons, but the tier just below — and their momentum was tremendous. Then that house… was wiped out in a single night.

House Lumen's spear arts had been rated the finest on the continent. A colossal family that, given a few more decades of growth, would have become the Seventh King — gone overnight.

The one who did it was Eden's second leader. But the name only ever comes from Eden's own mouths. No survivors. No witnesses. Whether he actually exists or is a fabrication, nobody knows.

The shock of House Lumen's overnight annihilation had been so great that rumors of Eden's second leader had spread like wildfire. After that, though, there had been no appearance, no activity of any kind. These days, most people considered him a phantom.

Why are you even asking… wait. You think he's a Demon Lord too?

"I do."

Wrath nodded. Having sensed that Tatcheon carried the power of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Monarch of Pride, he seemed to believe the other one was connected to the Demon Lord of Pride as well.

"What is his name?"

The Heavenly Demon.

No one knew what helmet he wore, whether he was a man or a woman, or even whether he truly existed. But Eden's ghosts called him the Heavenly Demon.

"A fallen heaven and a demonic heaven…"

Wrath's face twisted, as though something had stirred in his memory.

"Could that perhaps…"

He was about to speak again when the infirmary door opened.

"Huh? Raon?"

Runaan, carrying a damp cloth and bandages, went round-eyed. The instant her startled voice rang out, something like a scream erupted from the hallway.

"Hah!"

"Vice-captain!"

"Raon!"

"You're awake?"

The Light Wind Squad poured in from both sides of Runaan, packing the doorway solid.

"Raon!"

"You bastard!"

"He's finally awake!"

"Waaaah!"

"Vice-captain!"

Starting with Runaan, Burren, and Dorian, the entire Light Wind Squad came charging into the room.

"Ghk—!"

Raon tried to fend them off with his hands, but they came at him like puppies who had just spotted their owner and piled onto the bed in a single wave.

"You finally woke up…"

"Looks like nothing's seriously wrong."

"Hic! I'm so glad you're okay!"

Runaan clung to his hand, her lips pushed out in a pout. Burren exhaled in relief. Dorian's eyes welled with tears.

"You woke up way too late!"

"How are your wounds?"

"Raon!"

"Vice-captain!"

The entire squad had crowded onto the bed, crushing him under their weight. Pain aside, he could barely breathe.

"Now that's a sight."

"Urgh…"

Rimer, who had appeared from nowhere, grinned about the joys of youth without the faintest idea that Raon was suffocating. That man was, as always, completely useless.

"You idiots. I'm a patient…"

Raon managed to twitch a finger, his eyes unfocused.

"B-back off, all of you!"

Burren finally came to his senses and herded everyone back. Dorian and Runaan still refused to let go.

"Hah…"

He dragged in a ragged breath and wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

I almost died.

A second later and he would have survived Eden and the White Blood Cult only to be smothered by his own comrades — a unique way to make the history books.

Still…

It didn't feel bad. He knew every one of them had been genuinely worried about him. After everything that had happened, it wasn't only House Zieghart that had settled deeper in his chest. The Light Wind Squad had too.

"Hm?"

Raon smiled faintly as he looked over the swordsmen one by one, then tilted his head.

"Where's Marta? Is she hurt?"

"It's not that."

Rimer, still standing in the doorway, shook his head.

"She's not injured. More ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like something hit her hard."

"Hit her?"

"She won't talk, so I don't know what it is, but she hasn't come out of her room in two days."

Burren shook his head, muttering that it wasn't like Marta at all.

Come to think of it…

He remembered Marta dropping her sword when she saw the White Blood Cult Leader and Tatcheon. No matter how strong the enemy, that was strange, given her usual temperament.

"The Beef Girl did go quiet after she saw those two. That's unusual."

Wrath nodded as well, as if even he found it odd.

Tatcheon and the White Blood Cult Leader.

Raon narrowed his eyes, calling up the image of them both.

I should go see her.

Once the Light Wind Squad had settled down and left, Raon pushed himself up. He still ached in more places than he could count, but it was nothing he couldn't endure.

He had meant to walk over to Marta as a bit of rehabilitation, but Runaan refused to leave his side. The shock of the abduction still sat heavy on her; she seemed determined to stand guard.

"It's fine here, you know."

"Just in case."

Runaan shook her head, her vacant eyes sweeping the corridor.

At least her eyes are back. That's a relief.

The gaze that had been a sharp, almost eerie red had returned to a hazy violet. Seeing that slightly unfocused look of hers eased something in his chest.

"Then show me to Marta's room."

"Mm."

Runaan dipped her head and led him toward Marta's room at the innermost end of the barracks.

"What's gotten into you? Normally you'd have left her alone and gone off to train."

Wrath drifted over, bobbing in midair.

"What scheme are you plotting this time?"

A scheme, he says…

Raon let out a dry laugh. Wrath seemed to have reached the point of assuming that anything he did had some ulterior motive.

I just want to see how she's doing.

"You, who never spare a glance for anything you can't use?"

That used to be true. It won't be from now on.

Before the abduction, he would have done exactly as Wrath said — assumed it was nothing serious and left her to it. But the others had come to save him, and Marta had been among them. He wanted to see how she was, and help if there was anything he could do.

"Here."

Runaan pointed to a tightly shut door at the end of the hall. A tray of untouched food sat on the floor beneath it. She hadn't eaten in two days.

Raon knocked lightly. There was someone inside, but no answer came.

"Marta."

The moment he called her name, a faint stir of presence answered from within. The door, of course, did not open.

"I'm coming in. Speak up if you don't want me to."

He picked up the tray and stepped up to the door.

"I don't—"

"You didn't answer. I'm coming in."

He opened the door and walked inside before she could finish telling him no.

The curtains were drawn; the room might as well have been a darkroom. Marta was nowhere on the bed, nowhere in the chair.

"Why'd you come in."

A dry voice drifted from the corner. Marta was crouched there, a blanket pulled over her head.

"That's supposed to be the Beef Girl?"

Hm…

Raon narrowed his eyes at the slump of her shoulders. This was worse than he had expected.

"You didn't answer."

"You son of a bitch, I swear…"

"I'm turning on the light."

He could see her well enough without the mage-lamp, but brightness seemed better, so he lit it.

"Ugh!"

Marta let out a short hiss, as if the light after so long was a blow of its own.

Raon set the tray on the table and sat down in the chair.

"That's not bad food. Are you going to eat it?"

This guy, I swear…

He left Wrath to his lunacy and looked at Marta.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I want to be alone. Get out."

Marta waved a hand, the motion drained of all strength.

"Hah…"

Raon let out a short breath at a gesture so thin it didn't look like hers at all.

"I used to think I was alone, you know."

"What?"

"Even when Eden took me, I never once thought anyone would come. I told myself I had to survive on my own."

It was the truth. He had gathered elixirs so he wouldn't miss his chance when it came, dueled the Gold Masked Snake, and absorbed the helmet's soul — all because the idea that his house would come for him had never even crossed his mind.

"But when I saw all of you there, the way I think changed."

He tapped the table lightly with a finger. A pleasant resonance rolled through the silent room.

"You, Runaan, the others — all of you coming together. I think that's when I first felt like I actually belonged somewhere."

He looked at Marta, then at Runaan standing behind him, and nodded.

Until now, the way he had treated them had felt like a mix of loyalty and a debt of the heart. That sense of transaction was gone from his mind entirely.

"There are a lot of things in this world you can't solve alone. No — the things you can do alone are the rare ones. We're not the Head."

Raon rose from the chair with a faint smile.

"I only just learned I wasn't alone myself, so I don't have much right to give you advice. But if something's eating at you, tell me. Whatever it is, I'll treat it like my own."

He was turning to leave, giving her time to think, when he heard a blanket hit the floor.

A voice wet with tears soaked the room. He looked back. The old water-drop necklace clenched in Marta's fist gave off a dull gleam.