The Rakshasa Sword

The Third Prince stopped the sword he'd been about to swing as naturally as breathing.

Dangerous…

There was no precise reason. Just instinct. The moment he met Marta's clear black eyes, a chill crawled up his spine, and he trusted that shiver enough to throw himself backward.

The instant he retreated, Marta's blade came crashing down like a thunderbolt. The arena floor crumbled as if a fist had smashed through a biscuit. Had he met that blow head-on, his shoulder would have caved in.

"Hah…"

The Third Prince spat out a ragged breath and lifted his head. Marta's pupils had already flushed red again.

What is this? It was Berserk — it had to be.

The Berserk used by the warriors of Cyan Gorge was a flesh-rending, bone-crushing art that granted a sudden surge of physical power and aura — anywhere from one and a half times to nearly double — at the cost of reason itself. The user became a creature of pure instinct, attacking whatever stood in front of them and nothing else.

It was a technique that left no room for thought. And yet Marta had clearly kept her mind.

Just what is that woman… He'd assumed that once she used Berserk, the fight would end quickly in his favor. He had never expected to be driven this far onto the back foot.

Marta stamped a true step into the earth and charged. In the blink of an eye the distance between them vanished — a speed that had already left the realm of human movement behind.

The Third Prince twisted his longsword and deflected the descending cut, letting it slide off the blade.

Heavy. He'd succeeded in parrying, and still a bone-splitting pain tore through him. It was a slash as terrifying as a killing blow — and her assault was nowhere near finished.

Marta snapped her lowered sword back up like a rubber band and launched a second strike. The motion was purely animal.

I can't deflect this one. The change in direction was too fast. He had no choice but to take it head-on. He clenched his teeth and raised his aura, bracing to endure.

The Third Prince bit down until his jaw ached. The impact rang through his entire body as if he'd been struck by a hammer rather than a sword, and his vision swam.

But this is as far as it goes. Because he'd met her head-on, Marta's blade had stopped. Now it was his turn.

He raised his center of gravity and thrust. A cut laced with a chilling killing edge shot toward Marta's left shoulder.

"Kh—!"

Marta brought her sword up to guard the blow aimed at her shoulder.

Got her. The strike at her shoulder had been a feint. He'd drawn her eyes with a false opening, then poured everything into an aura blade aimed at the right side of her chest. Against a Marta using Berserk, it was a trick she shouldn't have been able to see through.

I've wo— ah!

In the instant he was certain of victory, Marta's sword swept a half-circle and smashed his aura blade aside with brutal force.

"Hah…"

The Third Prince's eyes flew wide. Marta's pupils had already returned to black. A sharp, lucid light flashed in her gaze.

That wasn't a coincidence? Maintaining reason while using Berserk at more than double strength — he'd never heard of such a thing, never seen it. What kind of monster was this?

"Hoo…"

Marta's eyes flushed red once more, and her aura swelled.

Are they all like this in Zieghart? Raon had already climbed to a height that was nearly unreachable, and Marta — whom he'd thought of as merely comparable to himself — had taken another faction's art and made it entirely her own.

It seemed Zieghart was a house where only monsters lived.

I still have to hold on. The drawback of Berserk wasn't only the loss of reason. The stronger the power, the faster stamina and aura burned — more than twice as fast. If he endured, the tide would turn.

I cannot lose. Absolutely not. This was Owen Royal Castle.

More than half the spectators were citizens of Owen. He would not collapse in disgrace in front of his own people.

"Hooo…"

The Third Prince lowered his stance and reset his grip. His eyes glittered, sharp as a honed edge.

Even if I have to use that swordsmanship…

Marta bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood.

Two and a half times really isn't easy. She'd grown used to keeping her reason while Berserk amplified her body and aura by one and a half. Two and a half was another matter.

It felt like a beast was burrowing into her skull. If she let her guard down even a fraction, instinct would swallow her whole.

I can barely keep my head on straight. Honestly, she hadn't expected to be using two-and-a-half-times Berserk at all. Even the warriors of Cyan Gorge topped out at double.

The one who'd shattered the idea that Berserk stopped at two times was a certain lunatic.

Raon Zieghart. That maniac had insisted there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was no way Berserk maxed out at double, then used her as a test subject — and thanks to that, she'd reached two and a half.

He even gave me the insight. Originally, two-and-a-half-times Berserk had made holding onto reason completely impossible. This time, she'd grasped a sliver of enlightenment, and she could keep a thin thread of sanity in her grip.

Which is why I have to win. For that idiot's sake, if nothing else.

Raon had spent his own precious time making her stronger. She would not — could not — lose this duel.

Marta kicked off the ground with everything she had. Her vision narrowed, and the Third Prince's figure rushed toward her.

Clinging to a thread of reason as fine as silk, she brought down the secret art of the Golden Lotus Sword.

"Guh—!"

The Third Prince stepped through his footwork and curved his blade, carving a line meant to shed the blow.

I can't keep eating this. Marta focused her mind and twisted the path of Golden Radiance. The slash that had been falling in a straight line broke onto a diagonal and hammered into the Third Prince's opening.

Even then, he shifted his sword again and reduced the impact to the barest minimum.

"Hah!"

Marta clenched the hilt until her knuckles went white and unfolded the Golden Lotus Sword once more. Stamina, aura, willpower — all of it was at the limit. She was running on sheer stubbornness now. She had to end this, one way or another.

"Kh…"

Fortunately, the Third Prince was in no better shape. He couldn't move his legs; he was working his sword with his upper body alone.

Aura blade crashed against aura blade, and blue-white sparks drowned the arena.

Even in the middle of that storm, the Third Prince kept sending aura blades into the gaps of the Golden Lotus Sword, bleeding off the force of each exchange. He was persistent enough to make her skin crawl.

"Mm…"

His expression stayed composed, but the stagger in his legs and arms was impossible to hide.

This is the last one… Marta drew a deep breath and hauled up every last drop of her Titan Aura. She left not a single bead of aura in her dantian and fired White Current Soul.

In that instant, a blue flame ignited in the Third Prince's eyes. The sight of those eyes made every hair on her body stand on end.

He stamped a true step with those faltering legs and thrust. A blue current condensed at the sword's tip, and a mighty force that surpassed an aura blade surged forth.

He was waiting for this! Even while taking hits, he'd been holding out for the moment to counter. A killing edge she'd never felt from him before bloomed along his blade.

I'm going anyway! She'd come this far. Tricks didn't matter anymore. She would put her entire mind and body into meeting him head-on.

Marta's slash, loaded with overwhelming force, collided with the Third Prince's, which had condensed killing intent to its absolute limit.

The completeness of the swordsmanship had fallen off ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— but the momentum itself was no less than a Master's.

Unable to withstand the power of both fighters, their swords shattered from the tips like panes of glass.

Fragments of blade still wreathed in aura blade sprayed in every direction. In that desperate instant — two people holding swords that no longer had edges — their choices split.

"Kh—!"

The Third Prince panicked and fell back. Marta drove straight into the storm of steel.

Aura-laced shards tore her cheek, her eyelid, her ear. She didn't stop. She took another step.

That one step.

The step that refused to retreat even in the face of death decided today's victory.

The fist still clenched around her hilt slammed into the Third Prince's temple with vicious force.

"Ghak!"

He couldn't absorb the blow. He bounced off the arena floor and crashed into the ground.

"Haaa…"

Marta sank down onto the arena, her limbs shaking.

I— I'm gonna die… The strength had drained out of her so completely she couldn't twitch a finger. A vicious pain rolled from her face to the soles of her feet — and yet, strangely, she felt incredible.

Unable to fight the exhaustion and the pain any longer, she sprawled out on her back. A clear, cloudless sky filled her vision.

So this is the view that guy's always been looking at. Raon never retreated, no matter the situation. He always put a foot forward.

The reason she'd plunged into those blade fragments was because she'd spent so long watching that idiot's back.

I ended up taking his help again.

Marta let a genuine smile spread across her face for the first time in a long while, and the tension went out of her fist.

"Not bad."

"This King has never seen the beef girl smile like that."

Wrath looked at Marta, sprawled out and grinning, and smiled himself.

Yeah.

Raon let out a quiet laugh as he watched Marta's trembling hands. That must feel amazing. Only someone who'd lived it would know. She'd thrown everything she had into a losing fight and won. Of course it felt good.

"G-Grier de Owen is down!"

The announcer raised a shaking hand, his jaw trembling.

"Woooooooooo!"

At his cry, the roar the spectators had been holding back exploded like a dam bursting.

"Marta! Marta! Marta!"

"Marta! I believed in you!"

"I never thought an Expert bout would have me sweating like this!"

"A swordsman like that was unknown until now? What has Zieghart been doing?!"

"Your Highness the Third Prince fought brilliantly as well! I was moved!"

The audience sent applause to both Marta and the Third Prince for the deadlock they'd fought.

"But, uh…"

"Yeah. That's… scary."

"She ran straight into the blades. Is she even human…?"

"She's got sword scars all over her face. A person can't do that."

A considerable number of spectators, however, were trembling as they looked at the woman who had driven through shattered steel to throw a punch.

"R-Rakshasa…"

"Rakshasa? Rakshasa Woman? That actually fits. Rolls right off the tongue."

"The undone hair alone is a Rakshasa through and through!"

"That's a good epithet. Rakshasa Woman Marta!"

"Rakshasa Woman! Rakshasa Woman! Rakshasa Woman!"

Marta's epithet had been decided. Contrary to her hopes for a splendid name, what settled on her was a title steeped in fear and a crawling chill: Rakshasa Woman.

Honestly, it was scary. Charging bare-handed through fragments of aura blade to throw a punch was something even Raon would have thought twice about.

Marta hadn't given her face a second thought. She'd just lunged and thrown the fist. He could understand why the crowd was afraid.

"Well, well."

A light, mischievous voice pulled his attention to the side.

Chamber had come down at some point, her nose wrinkled. She drifted through the air and flew toward Marta.

"That pretty face is a mess."

Chamber studied Marta's features, her eyes narrowing.

"I don't usually bother with this kind of hassle, but I hate seeing a gem get scratched."

She swept her hand down gently, and light began to rise from the sword scars left on Marta's face. It looked like magic that had pushed the power of regeneration to its limit.

"If you apply the medicine properly from here, you'll be good as new."

"Th-thank you."

"Entertain me again next time. Both of you."

Chamber ruffled Marta's hair and smiled. She turned, tossed Raon a wink, and floated back up to the dais.

"Hm…"

Raon watched Chamber's receding back, his eyes narrowing. Unexpected. Relations between Valkar and Zieghart were at their worst, and Chamber — that territory's Transcendent — was as willful as they came. He hadn't expected her to step in and offer treatment.

"Haa."

Marta let out a long breath and came down from the arena. She still wasn't paying her face any mind; her brow was knotted in a scowl.

"Why do those idiots keep yelling Rakshasa Woman. It's loud."

"Because you are a Rakshasa Woman."

"Hah?"

"You."

Raon pointed at Marta with a finger, the same way he'd once explained something to Burren.

"They said watching you charge in with your hair down, looking completely unhinged, was terrifying."

He even added things the crowd hadn't said, smiling as he did.

"You fucking—!"

Marta stomped her foot and started toward the stands.

"Why the hell am I a Rakshasa Woman?! Give me a cool name, or a cute one, you assholes!"

"Ohh! That's a Rakshasa through and through!"

"I've never seen an epithet fit a swordsman this well!"

"She said she hates Rakshasa Woman — how about Rakshasa Sword?"

"That's even better!"

"Rakshasa Sword! Rakshasa Sword! Rakshasa Sword!"

The spectators only grew more excited at Marta's outburst, and they roared the new name at the top of their lungs.

Once it reached this point, it couldn't be changed. Her epithet had been set in stone: Rakshasa Sword.

"You bastards wanna die?"

Marta, body still a wreck, hurled herself toward the spectator seats.

"Marta!"

"Ugh!"

"Squad leader!"

It took Burren and the rest of the Light Wind Squad physically holding her back before they finally managed to calm her down.

"Ah…!"

A gasp turned Raon's head. The Third Prince, still planted in the dirt, was staring at Marta's retreating back with a face gone red.

"She's beautiful…"

Raon closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. There really isn't a single normal person around…

After a brief interval spent repairing the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arena Marta and the Third Prince had wrecked, the announcer stepped forward again.

"Thank you for waiting! We now begin the Master-rank finals that will close out this long Six Kings Tournament!"

"Woooooooooo!"

The announcer thrust a fist into the air, and a roar loud enough to split eardrums erupted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the stands.

"Raon! Raon! Raon!"

"We believe in you! Frost-Flower Sword Hero!"

"Raon! Write a new history!"

"Wave Sword! You're the only one left! Uphold the name of the Continental Twelve Stars!"

The spectators shouted the names of whoever they were cheering for, waving their arms wildly. Before, far more voices had been calling Cadis, the Wave Sword. Now the voices calling Raon's name were louder.

Let's go.

Raon rose from his seat to the sound of the endless roar. He was about to head for the arena when Garona appeared and blocked his path.

"Brother."

"I told you, I'm not your brother."

"I thought Cadis and I would meet in the finals."

Garona ignored him completely and said only what he'd come to say.

"Cadis is a powerhouse I couldn't guarantee a win against. His swordsmanship grows more dangerous the longer a fight goes on, the way a river becomes an ocean. Be careful."

"I will."

Raon nodded. I know that well enough. He understood better than anyone how terrifying — and how infuriating — Robert swordsmanship could be.

"You've got the same look you had when you fought me. Full of confidence."

Garona clapped a massive hand on his shoulder.

"I'll be waiting in the closest seat to watch my brother stand at the top."

"That's why I said I'm not your broth—"

"Give it everything!"

"I'm not your bro—"

"I believe in you!"

"Hey!"

Once again, Garona didn't wait for him to finish. He said his piece and vanished.

"For a fellow the size of a mountain, he certainly never shuts up."

Wrath clicked his tongue at Garona, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"A mouth ought to be heavy, as a rule. This King has seen countless disasters born of a careless tongue. In the Demon Realm, there is a saying that silence is gold…"

Is that so… A chatterbox of a Demon King delivering that particular lecture was so absurd Raon didn't know where to begin. There really isn't a single proper person around.

Raon let out a sigh and started toward the arena. Marta was waiting at the foot of the stairs.

"I did my part."

Bandages were plastered across her face and body. She snorted, a puff of air through her nose. A great deal of meaning was packed into that single sentence.

"Your turn."

"Yeah."

Raon offered a faint smile and walked past her. Nothing more needed to be said. He would show it here. On this arena floor. That was enough.

Cadis Robert was already standing in the ring. The moment Raon saw a face that resembled Derus so closely it was almost insulting, a cold fury boiled up from somewhere deep in his gut.

"At the banquet, I said I wished to witness the Frost-Flower Sword Hero's martial learning. I truly did not expect that day to arrive."

Cadis smiled smoothly and offered a greeting with his eyes.

He's sneering.I didn't expect that day to arrive — the meaning was obvious. He hadn't expected Raon to climb this far. It was contempt, dressed as courtesy.

"I was fortunate enough to grow by facing only the strong, and that luck carried me to the finals."

Raon tipped his head with a polished smile. It sounded humble. What it actually meant was: Unlike you, who rode an easy bracket all the way here.

"Hrm…"

Cadis seemed to catch the implication. His brow twitched.

"Regardless of how the finals end, Sir Raon will claim a seat among the Continental Twelve Stars. My congratulations."

"I have no intention of putting my name there."

Raon shook his head, firm and unhurried.

"I beg your pardon? What do you mean…"

Cadis's eyes widened, as if he genuinely couldn't understand.

"The Continental Twelve Stars are, as I understand it, the candidates to become the next Transcendents. It's a remarkable title, certainly. But I have no intention of stopping there."

The Continental Twelve Stars was an honor that would open doors anywhere on the continent. It was not a place he intended to write his name.

I have to look higher than that. He didn't want to stand among the next Transcendents. He wanted to stand on the same ground as the Transcendents of the present. He had no desire whatsoever to enter the Continental Twelve Stars.

"How should I put this. That's a little arrogant."

Cadis bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. Irritation bloomed across his face like a pufferfish swelling with venom.

"In that case, I cannot lose. Absolutely not."

He drew his sword, and a vast, crystalline aura surged up without end, rolling like a tide.

"As the audience wishes…"

Raon drew the Heavenly Sky Sword. Lightning leapt from the crimson eyes that stood in stark contrast to the silver blade.