The Spoils of Victory

"Hm?"

Raon tilted his head as he looked toward the window where sunlight was pouring in. Thunder? In this weather? The sky was perfectly clear, without a single cloud, yet a rumble of thunder had suddenly rolled through. The old saying about a bolt from the blue existed for a reason, it seemed.

There's always something.

He smirked and clenched a fist, testing his grip. His stamina seemed to have returned to some degree, but his aura had barely recovered at all. I used too much. He had quite literally emptied every last drop of aura from his dantian, so even with the effects of Sloth, recovery was crawling. It would take some time before he was back at full strength.

Better start now.

A patient had nothing if not time. Just as he was about to circulate the Ring of Fire and the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames together, healing his internal injuries and restoring his aura at once, the objects sitting on the table caught his eye.

"These are…"

The championship prizes he had received from the leaders of the Six Kings.

Glenn's platinum medal, the gloves from King Lecross, Chamber's ring, Ogram's elixir, and the martial arts manual Derus had handed over — a treatise called the Flying Spirit Blade — were all laid out in a neat row.

"Those are the things This King's subordinates left behind."

Your subordinates?

"Indeed."

If Wrath was calling them subordinates, it had to have been the Light Wind Squad kids who'd left everything here.

Let's take a look.

He picked up the medal first. Nothing particularly special about it. It was exactly what it looked like — a commemorative piece the leader of the victor's faction hung around the winner's neck.

The squad leader would love this.

On the continent, platinum was worth ten times its weight in gold. If Rimer had seen it, his eyes would have spun in his head.

Though maybe not anymore.

The man had probably become a nouveau riche all over again. He'd put money on this tournament and won an absurd amount; a chunk of platinum like this wouldn't even register. The image of him turning up any day now with gold rings on both hands was so vivid that Raon couldn't help laughing.

"Next…"

Raon set the platinum medal down and picked up the gloves King Lecross had given him.

"Huh?"

Are these made of Terril?

Terril was a rare metal that could be drawn into thread. It was extraordinarily durable, and it carried a powerful resistance to both magic and deception. Gloves crafted from a material more expensive than an equal weight of platinum — that was a prize that went well beyond anything he had imagined.

To hand over a treasure like this…

He hadn't expected anyone to part with something whose value couldn't even be measured. He would have to pay a visit soon and thank the king properly.

Raon settled his racing heart and turned to the ring Chamber had given him.

And this is… what, exactly?

A considerable amount of mana was clearly sealed inside it, but he couldn't begin to guess at its function. To hand someone a gift and not bother explaining how to use it — he'd heard Chamber had a mischievous streak unbecoming of a leader of the Six Kings, and it seemed the rumors were true.

I'll have to come back to this one.

Raon shook his head and opened the wooden case Ogram had given him. A scent rose from within, clean and grassy, with a bitter edge.

A black pill?

This was a Four Clouds Pill.

The Four Clouds Pill was the Beast Alliance's finest elixir, refined from a precise combination of the highest-grade medicinal herbs and poisonous plants. It didn't merely increase aura — it strengthened bone, muscle, and even skin. A treasure whose price was whatever the seller cared to name.

One of these and the internal injuries would be gone like they were never there.

If he took it, he would recover from his wounds and restore his aura, and his body would be tempered another layer besides. Raon thought of Ogram's easy, booming laugh and smiled faintly.

And last of all…

Time to look at his gift.

Raon opened the martial arts manual Derus had presented — the Flying Spirit Blade.

Not quite supreme-grade, but upper-grade at the very least.

The Flying Spirit Blade was an ascending martial art that wove close-range dagger techniques together with long-range throwing blades, a system that could answer any opponent.

It's good. But I can't use it as is.

The fact that Derus had given him the Flying Spirit Blade meant the man had already mapped every technique in the book. Using a martial art that might one day become the blade that took Derus's head — without changing a thing — would be insanity.

I'll improve it, then learn it.

It would be impossible for anyone else. But with the Ring of Fire, Raon could take the Flying Spirit Blade and lead it somewhere better. He closed the booklet with a quiet vow to forge a martial art sharp enough to punch straight through Derus's heart.

"Kkkuuugh…"

Wrath exhaled a long, steaming breath and glared.

"Terril gloves and a supreme-grade elixir?!"

"There's a martial arts manual too."

Raon waggled the book at him, just to needle him.

"Is that not excessive for the prizes of a tournament the size of a pinhole?! They should have given bead ice cream. Who hands out elixirs?!"

Wrath howled that the rewards for such a hole-in-the-wall contest were far too grand.

Bead ice cream, huh.

Raon snorted. The only thing an elixir and bead ice cream had in common was that they were round, but ice cream did seem to suit Wrath far better than any miracle pill.

"If it had been This King, a wave of the hand would have been the end of it. To waste so much — they have all taken leave of their—"

Wrath was clicking his tongue, winding up for more, when a message bloomed in front of Raon's eyes.

Victory over two powerhouses of a higher realm had raised every stat by fifteen points and lifted the Ring of Fire and both of his aura along with it.

Fifteen points? All at once?

He had never received fifteen points in a single reward before. Fifteen points would have been a fortune on its own — but the messages were not finished.

The traits he had leaned on throughout the tournament had risen in rank as well.

So that's how I stayed on my feet.

The reason he hadn't collapsed even after burning through every last scrap of stamina and aura was Indomitable Will — the trait that stoked his mental strength whenever he took a heavy blow.

Without it, I never would have seen that look on Derus's face.

Every last one of them had its use, after all. Even the traits that looked like nothing much proved their worth eventually. For all of it, he was genuinely grateful to Wrath, who had given him every one of them.

It's only you, you know.

"F-fifteen points to every stat? Not 1.5 — fifteen?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Wrath's jaw began to tremble.

"Unlike you, the system doesn't seem to think it was a waste."

Raon tossed Wrath's own words back at him and smirked.

"Kkkuuugh…"

Wrath lowered his head a fraction and clenched both fists until they shook.

Here it comes.

Watching the tremor in Wrath's shoulders grow violent, Raon hung a do-not-disturb sign on the door and locked it.

"This King will not stand for it! What did you even do to gorge yourself on fifteen points of stats?! There is a fork jammed in that skull of yours, there must be!"

Wrath screamed and lunged. His pupils had spun clean out of alignment — he was as furious as he could possibly get.

Raon looked down at the little creature latched onto his arm, took out the Four Clouds Pill, and popped it into his mouth.

A bitterness like chewing on a dirt-caked tree root flooded his entire mouth as the elixir went down his throat. A scorching energy burst outward in every direction at once.

"Die!"

From the outside, a terrifying tide of frost and wrath came crashing in.

Heat from within, frost from without.

Perfect.

Raon smiled as the two immense forces — one inside, one outside — poured through him, and he began to circulate the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames.

A low, rolling roar built in his meridians. To endure the colossal cold pressing in from outside, the Four Clouds Pill melted even faster, pouring its strength into the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames. The elixir's energy was being absorbed at a blistering pace — but that was not all he stood to gain.

Wrath's frost.

The cold hammering at his mana circuits could be converted through Glacia and taken in. Two birds, one stone. Wrath, eyes spun with rage, had no idea — but the situation was no different from a massage that restored aura more than twice as fast as usual.

Now then…

Raon cracked his eyes open, just a little. Wrath was clamped onto his arm like a baby shark, endlessly pouring out frost. Raon dipped his head slightly at the sight.

Thank you, Wrath.

You really are the Giving Tree.

He offered the gratitude in his heart, and then he sank ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into cultivation.

Matio swallowed hard as he looked at Derus and Cadis, who had entered his infirmary. Twenty minutes had passed since the two of them sat down, and neither had said a word.

"Cadis."

Derus's mouth ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠opened only after they had been in the room for thirty minutes.

"I-I'm sorry."

Cadis dropped to his knees at the mere sound of his name.

"For what?"

"F-for losing to that…"

"That is not it."

Derus's voice was no different from usual. The only thing missing from it was feeling. No joy, no sorrow, no anger, no irritation — nothing but a dry, flavorless calm. That inhuman tone drained the color from Cadis's face and Matio's alike. Both of them knew. Derus was far more terrifying when he didn't raise his voice in a situation that called for it.

"I told you before. Stop playing with your toys and finish it quickly."

"Th-that's…"

"I can understand the Azure Cloud Manifestation Sword being pushed back. He had mastered the Severing Sword, its polar opposite. But the Sacred Light Sword Art should have ended it cleanly."

Derus's eyes sank into a dark, still light, and the air in the room began to dry out like a desert.

Kh…

Matio crushed the urge to clutch at his own throat and clenched his fists until they bled.

My throat's on fire.

He was just beginning to think he would suffocate if it went on any longer when Derus continued.

"As if being slaughtered by a child years younger than you weren't enough, you even raised his realm for him. The worst possible outcome. The worst of the worst."

"I-I'm sorry."

Cadis bowed his head, clutching the arm that had barely been reattached. The confidence he had worn when they first arrived in Owen had melted away beneath his feet.

"N-next time I'll take his head for certain—"

"Next time?"

Derus smiled for the first time. It was a cold smile, the kind that would freeze anything it touched.

"What?"

"He is a monster who defeated you at nineteen. A year from now he will be standing on top of your head. Do you really think there will be a next time?"

"I'll work myself to death! If you just give me the chance, I'll do whatever it takes—"

"You will not even be able to take that chance."

Derus's gaze shifted to Cadis's right shoulder, thick with bandages.

"Because your arm is no longer whole."

"W-what do you mean…"

"His frost left frostbite in your mana circuits and tendons. Even if it heals completely, you will never swing a sword as freely as you once did."

Derus looked down at Cadis not as a son, but as a tool that had outlived its use.

"Ah…"

Cadis's pupils pitched and rolled like a sailboat slammed by a wave.

"Go. Think about how you ended up like this. Think, and then think again."

"…Understood."

At Derus's gesture, Cadis dropped his head and left Matio's infirmary.

"Matio."

"Yes."

Matio bowed, his face every bit as pale as Cadis's had been.

"What did you make of Raon?"

On Derus's orders, Matio had gone to the arena even while injured, watched Raon move, and already reached a firm conclusion. He ordered his thoughts, then opened his mouth slowly.

"Having watched every fight Raon Zieghart has fought — he is not the assassin Raon I raised. I did not see a trace of the Shadows' methods in him."

Matio spoke honestly of everything he had felt watching Raon yesterday and today.

"Is that so."

Derus nodded and pulled off his glove. From a wound twenty years old, a bead of vivid red blood welled and ran.

"How interesting."

He licked the wound on the back of his hand and smiled a strange, thin smile.

"Nnh…"

Matio wiped the cold sweat running down his brow at the grotesque sight.

"There will be a final banquet tomorrow evening. The moment it ends, you will return to the house at once."

Derus took a grimoire from his coat and held it out to Matio.

"Deliver this to him and begin the dungeon raid immediately."

"And you, my lord…"

"I will need to move a little — to have Cadis's arm repaired. It would not hurt to look in on the training camp along the way."

He pointed at the door Cadis had gone through, and his eyes narrowed.

"Y-yes, sir."

Matio nodded, his jaw trembling.

A terrifying man…

Derus was not going to have Cadis's arm repaired out of any concern for Cadis. He was stepping forward to leave the impression of a good father on all the people who would have heard that his son's arm had been ruined. Matio had watched Derus for a long time, but lately the man had become someone who sent a chill up the spine just to look at.

"Since things have come to this, I intend to give Cadis another chance. Though I expect it will be the last."

"Yes…"

Derus took out a fresh pair of gloves, pulled them on, and rose.

"Matio."

"Yes."

"Know that the chances given to you are not so many either."

Derus was a man who could discard not only his subordinates but his own blood. Another failure beyond this would be no different from asking to have his head cut off.

"I will keep that in mind."

Matio bowed. But from Derus there came no word, no reaction of any kind.

"Ah…"

Matio swallowed dryly and lifted his head. Derus had not shifted an inch from that first posture, and he was sending over a gaze that made the skin crawl. It felt as if a fist had closed around Matio's heart.

"I will see you later."

Light seeped back into Derus's lightless eyes. He softened his gaze, patted Matio's shoulder, and walked out the door.

"Haa…"

Matio closed his eyes and collapsed onto the bed just as he was. He had a feeling he would not sleep at all tonight.

Raon opened his eyes slowly. The windowsill that had been pouring with sunlight was now warped with risen moonlight.

I've recovered quite a bit.

The Four Clouds Pill's energy had risen from within, and Wrath's frost had hammered him from without; his internal injuries were mostly gone. His aura had filled back past the halfway mark as well. He would be fully restored before long.

"Hnn."

"Kkugh."

He raised his arms and stretched — and Wrath tumbled off his waist like an acorn.

"H-how did you endure in that state…"

Wrath's arms flopped, all the strength gone out of them.

"Thanks to you."

"What is that supposed to—"

"Because you were beating on me from the outside, the elixir's energy unraveled that much faster. I used all that power to treat the internal injuries and restore my aura besides."

Raon grinned and gave a little wave.

"Ah. Ah…"

Wrath's mouth fell open as he realized what had happened.

"Thanks for the refreshing massage."

Raon ruffled the dazed Wrath's head and sent him a mocking smile.

"Aaaagh! You sneaky little bastard!"

Wrath clenched his teeth and lunged, but he was so drained he only clawed at empty air and dropped.

"D-damn it. No wonder the strength left me so fast…"

Tears welled in his eyes as he realized he had done nothing but someone else's good turn.

"Aah, that feels good."

Raon stretched and stood. He was still enjoying the clean, light feeling in his body when he sensed someone at the door.

"Runaan?"

He opened the door and found Runaan sitting in a chair, her head dipping in a doze.

"What were you doing?"

"Guard."

Runaan blinked her vacant eyes as she answered.

"Guard…"

She must have noticed he was cultivating and come to stand watch.

"Thanks."

"Then let's go."

Runaan gave a light nod, as if it were nothing, and took hold of his sleeve.

"Where?"

"Banquet hall."

She pointed toward the banquet hall west of the infirmary, licking her lips.

"They said to bring you when you came out."

"Who?"

"The Leader of the Heavenly Sword Squad."

As she said it, Runaan lifted a set of clothes that had been hanging beside the chair. A lavish ceremonial outfit, gold and crimson woven together.

"Wear this."

"That's a bit…"

"She said you have to."

Runaan held the clothes out, a faintly pleased light in her eyes.

"Then I'll pass—"

"No."

"You may not!"

The moment Raon tried to refuse and stay in the infirmary, Runaan and Wrath seized his arms at the same time.

"I want bead ice cream."

"This King wants bead ice cream!"

They said the same thing in the same breath, eyes narrowing.

"There's a pile of bead ice cream today too."

"Did your old man not tell you to eat plenty of meat?! That means you are to come!"

"Nnh…"

Raon shut the mouth he'd been working. Looking at the shining eyes of Runaan, who had stood guard for him, and Wrath, who had given him a massage — however unintentionally — he couldn't get a refusal out.

"Well. I do have to fill my stomach."

"Mm. Let's go."

Runaan waved her hand as if to say hurry up.

"Raon, so handsome!"

"At last, a scrap of conscience has sprouted in you!"

Runaan wore the thinnest of smiles, and Wrath snorted, thoroughly satisfied that his education had taken effect.

I kind of want to sit the two mint-chocolate idiots down together.

They'd get along perfectly.

Raon smiled, picturing Wrath and Runaan fighting over a single scoop of mint chocolate.

Raon washed his face, changed, and headed for the banquet hall. A fair amount of time had already passed since it started; the inside was packed and noisy.

"The Blue Moon Sword?"

"The White Sword Dragon!"

The knights guarding the entrance recognized Raon and Runaan, their eyes going wide as lanterns as they bowed. The greeting carried far more courtesy than the one at the banquet a few days prior.

"I was deeply moved watching Sir Raon's duel."

"We'll be cheering you on from here as well."

In slightly trembling voices they offered their impressions of yesterday's match, then struck the floor with their spears. With a heavy thud, the banquet hall doors swung open.

The moment the doors flew open, the knights inside raised their voices. And from the instant the name White Sword Dragon was heard, silence settled over the banquet hall that had been roaring with noise.

From the leaders of the Six Kings on the dais down to the countless people below, every gaze in the room turned and pinned itself to Raon in the doorway at once.

"Let's go."

Raon let the crushing weight of all those eyes slide off him and walked into the hall.

"Mm."

"Hoo! That smell is lamb ribs, it has to be! Let us taste the grilled lamb ribs first!"

Runaan and Wrath, who had never felt a scrap of that pressure to begin with, went looking for food the moment they were inside.

Let's find a seat first.

Raon was smirking, about to head toward where the Light Wind Squad had gathered, when martial artists of the Six Kings who had been scattered all over the hall came swarming in like a hive of bees.

"Wooooooo!"

"It's the Frost-Flower Sword Hero!"

"It's White Sword Dragon now!"

"I watched every last one of Sir Raon's duels without missing a single one! Fights that made the heart pound!"

"I was so nervous I couldn't sleep last night!"

"Just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one handshake, please!"

Men and women, young and old — a flood of people packed in until there was no room to step back, no room to leave. There was no space at all.

"Y-you lot! This King needs to eat lamb ribs!"

Wrath flattened like a wad of cotton candy pressed under a hand and fumed.

"Sir Raon! What's your next schedule?"

"Did you really create the swordsmanship that erased the Sacred Light Sword Art yourself?"

"I heard you've created other sword arts as well — if there's a chance, could you show us…"

Too many people were talking at once for any of it to come through clearly.

Slipping out quietly is going to be hard.

No helping it, then.

He was about to raise his presence and push the crowd back when a roar that shook the entire building exploded from near the center of the hall.

A deep, rolling boom. From the point of that tremendous impact, an enormous wave of aura surged upward, and the people standing in front of Raon split apart of their own accord, shoved to either side.

Over the opened human sea, a massive frame was revealed. Ogram. The leader of the Beast Alliance, who had been on the dais, was now down on the floor.

Ogram approached with heavy steps and stopped in front of Raon.

"On the arena you were a cunning old beast if I ever saw one. Down here, you look your age."

"The meat, when will—"

Ogram smiled that easy smile of his and clapped Raon on the back. The blow was strong, but there was not a shred of malice in it, and it felt bracing more than anything.

"Thanks to the elixir you gave me, I was able to recover from my internal injuries. I'm grateful."

"That lamb rib smell is strong, though…"

Since they had met, Raon took the chance to thank him for the Four Clouds Pill.

"I still have to give you thirty more. This much is nothing."

"I beg your pardon?"

Thirty what now?

The sudden mention of thirty Four Clouds Pills knocked the wind out of him.

"I made a wager with your old man, and I lost. The stake was Four Clouds Pills to match the number of you kids."

"Then you're giving a Four Clouds Pill to everyone in the Light Wind Squad?"

"That's right."

"No, first the food—"

Ogram said he had lost, and still he did not stop smiling.

"And…"

He pulled off the coat he was wearing and held it out.

"This Black Dragon Robe is yours as well."

"Black dragons, earthworms — This King does not care! Eat first!"