Bonds Money Cannot Buy

Raon narrowed his eyes at the middle-aged man in mercenary garb standing before Dorian.

A mercenary with the power of a Master...

The Six Kings and Five Demons, along with the famous houses and kingdoms of comparable stature, all possessed numerous Masters. With countless martial artists among their ranks, it was only natural that several would have reached that realm.

There was, however, one group that counted unfathomable numbers of martial artists among its ranks, yet produced vanishingly few Masters.

Mercenaries.

Mercenaries sold their martial prowess and their pride for coin. They had no shortage of combat experience, but without systematic training, their overall level of power remained low.

And any martial artist with real talent gets out of mercenary work as fast as they can.

Anyone gifted enough to become a Master would accumulate far more wealth, fame, and status by joining a renowned house or kingdom than by remaining a mercenary.

The only people who stayed mercenaries despite possessing outstanding talent were those who aspired to become the Mercenary King, or eccentrics who simply loved their freedom.

That said...

The opposite case, though exceedingly rare, did exist.

There were Masters who had belonged to famous houses or kingdoms, only to despair at their stagnating skill, waste away like broken men, or cause some incident and get driven out—ending up as mercenaries.

And that's him.

Raon let out a faint chuckle as he watched the middle-aged mercenary slouching with his weight cocked on one leg.

Mark Goetten.

A knight from the Warner Kingdom, a nation regarded as just below the Six Kings in prestige. He had risen to Master at a young age, but after more than a decade of failing to break out of the lowest rank, despair had driven him to cause an incident, get expelled, and become a mercenary.

The epithet he had earned from that fall was Falling Blossom Blade—a name laced with mockery, meaning a flower that had dropped from the branch.

Ten years ago, twenty years ago, he had been a Low-rank Master. He was still a Low-rank Master now.

But he's a little different from what I expected.

Raon smacked his lips as he took in Mark Goetten's finely honed saber and well-trained physique. As always, rumors weren't something you could take at face value.

"Come on, if you're ready!"

Dorian, still riding the high of his previous fight, hadn't even realized the man in front of him was Mark Goetten. He rolled his wrist.

"I'm ready whenever."

"Good for you."

Mark Goetten gave a dry chuckle as he looked at the confidence blazing in Dorian's eyes.

"W-what is?"

Dorian's shoulders twitched, as if he'd sensed something off.

"With that much power at your age, you'll reach Master before you turn thirty."

Mark Goetten narrowed his eyes, saber still lowered.

"Ah, I wouldn't go that far..."

"But you'll never climb above Low-rank Master."

"W-what is that supposed to mean?"

"Reaching Master is a path open to those with fine talent and endurance. Even if you start late, if you have the gift and train as if your life depends on it, that road will open eventually. But..."

Emptiness and despair began to settle in his eyes.

"To climb above Low-rank Master, you need a true talent that surpasses talent itself. Like Raon Zieghart, vice-captain of your Light Wind Squad. Unfortunately, you don't have it."

"I-I know I don't have talent like the vice-captain's. But if I don't try until the very end..."

"Me? I'm a petty man. Filthy petty."

Mark Goetten lifted his saber with a twisted smile. A chilling aura rose from the thin, crescent-curved blade.

"That's why brats like you, overflowing with confidence, make my guts churn."

"Ugh..."

Dorian bit his lip against the cold wave of pressure that seemed to drop the very temperature of the air. But he showed no intention of backing down. He clenched his sword tight and lowered his stance.

"Hey."

Wrath whipped his head around at the look in Dorian's eyes.

"Is he going to get himself killed like that?"

I'm not going to just let that happen.

No matter how harshly he trained them, he had no intention of letting anyone die or suffer a serious injury.

What I want is enlightenment.

"Enlightenment?"

That's right. Dorian, and that foul-mouthed sister of his, are both laboring under a very large misconception.

Raon gazed at Dorian's back with blue eyes that seemed to bloom with the flowers of Glacia.

This foolish duel exists for that enlightenment.

Adis Sefia's office.

A frantic knocking burst through the door, and a young martial artist hurried in, bowing his head.

"G-Guild Master!"

"What is the matter."

Adis, who had been reviewing documents, lifted his gaze at a leisurely pace. His eyes were dry, empty of anything resembling emotion.

"I am busy. If it is not important, speak of it later."

The moment the words left his mouth, he returned to his papers. His eyes flicked rapidly across the page, as if something urgent demanded his attention.

"It concerns the youngest young master."

"Mm..."

The instant the word youngest left the martial artist's lips, Adis's eyes—which had been swinging left and right like a pendulum—came to a dead stop.

"What happened?"

Adis raised his head. The dryness of a moment ago had given way to unmistakable curiosity.

"The third young lady took the youngest young master with her."

"Where? You have confirmed the location, I trust?"

His previously calm voice surged like a breaking wave, so turbulent it was almost difficult to make out the words.

"The guards' training hall."

"And do you know who is there?"

"The martial artists the third young lady recently hired. Toten Robel, Kelmek, and Mark Goetten."

"Two Expert Peak-Class, and one Master."

Adis tapped the documents with the pen in his hand, his brow furrowing. He let out a short sigh and pressed his fingers to his temple.

"She took Dorian there to force a spar, then?"

"That would be it. She means to prove that the fortune she has amassed stands higher than the youngest young master's martial power."

Ligwin, the old butler standing to the right, nodded.

"To go after the youngest the moment he returns after nine years, no matter how much she dislikes him... she truly has not grown up at all."

Adis crumpled the paper where the ink had run. His forehead wrinkled the same way the page did.

"It is true the youngest young master is stronger than martial artists his own age, but he will not be able to defeat any of those three."

The young martial artist placed a hand over his chest and bowed at the waist.

"If you give the order, I will go stop it at once."

He raised his aura as if begging to be told to move.

"Hrm..."

Adis did not answer. He tapped the desk with his pen.

"Did Dorian go alone?"

"No. The Zieghart swordsman who came with him went as well."

"I see. Then that is fine."

He gave a faint chuckle and pulled a fresh set of documents from the pile on his right. He lowered his eyes to the papers as if nothing of consequence had occurred.

"Guild Master?"

"Leave it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"If he is there, nothing serious will happen. I said leave it be."

"Who on earth is that man, that you would..."

"Raon Zieghart."

"Raon Zieghart... the White Sword Dragon!"

The young martial artist recoiled in shock.

"Why would he be here..."

"He said he came as vice-captain of the Light Wind Squad, bringing Dorian with him..."

"Th-then that is all the more reason to go, is it not? The White Sword Dragon might refuse to involve himself because it is a family matter—or if he does involve himself, a serious fight could break out..."

"That will not happen."

Adis even wore a faint smile, as if utterly certain.

That could never happen.

He was a merchant. How much could he truly claim to know of a martial artist's power? And yet when he had seen the look in Raon's eyes in this very place, it had called up an old memory.

It felt like looking at the heads of the Six Kings and Five Demons.

And not the Raon of now, still in his teens or twenties—it had been the same feeling he'd had looking at those leaders in their thirties, when they had already come into their own.

A monster, through and through.

As he had told Raon, he was confident in his eye for people. But the vessel that was Raon Zieghart was so vast he could not even begin to take its measure.

A man like that would never fall for the third daughter's little scheme. He would shatter the girl's plan and give Dorian a great deal of help—of that, Adis was certain.

"And Swordsman Raon has every right to involve himself in this matter."

"Sir? What do you mean by..."

The young martial artist, who had been standing there in a daze, lifted his head.

"You, Dorian, and Phalen are all laboring under a very large misconception."

Adis smiled faintly and tapped the desk.

"What that boy has built is not martial power alone."

"That is..."

"Do you still not understand? It is..."

"Guild Master."

Ligwin, who had been standing quietly, stepped forward.

"If you do not finish your work now, you will have to remain in the office tomorrow as well."

"Ah. So I would."

Adis nodded and cast his gaze back to the documents.

"You must be sure to set aside time to see the young master tomorrow."

"Yes. I have been waiting for today..."

He hurriedly shook his head, his face twisting.

"That is not what I meant!"

"Ghhhk!"

Dorian groaned under the crushing weight as he caught Mark Goetten's saber.

W-what is this guy...

The aura he'd felt had been weaker than Toten Robel's, so he'd thought this would be an easy win. It was anything but. The complexity of the saber arts, the aura pouring off the man, the physical ability—every last one of them existed on a different plane.

Just blocking a single saber strike drained the strength from his entire body.

"You can't even stop this much... Seems I overestimated you."

Mark Goetten whirled his saber with fluid ease. The blade, honed to an extreme edge, came screaming down in a gleam of murderous light.

"Hup!"

But Mark Goetten's saber tore through that solid wall in a single stroke.

A thunderous crash rang out.

Dorian felt as if a hammer had smashed into his chest. He went sliding backward.

"Khahk..."

He tried to hold it in, but a scream punched its way out of his mouth. His stomach churned violently, the way it did after a long carriage ride—he'd taken internal damage.

It wasn't even a special saber art...

Mark Goetten had shattered his secret technique with a downward cut so basic it barely qualified as a saber form. That could only mean the gap in skill was enormous.

The extreme of Peak-Class. Or else...

Master.

Dorian's jaw trembled as he watched Mark Goetten approach at a leisurely pace. The moment he understood how far above him his opponent stood, the excitement that had filled his head went ice-cold.

"E-excuse me?"

Mark Goetten did not answer. He sent a diagonal saber strike screaming in.

A ringing clash split the air.

Dorian desperately unfolded the Ten Gates Profound Sword and Cloud Profound Footwork at the same time to meet the blow, but he could not absorb the tremendous impact and went bouncing away.

"Ghhk..."

"What now?"

Mark Goetten lifted his chin as he looked down at Dorian, who was gasping for breath.

"M-may I ask your name...?"

"Mark Goetten."

"Falling Blossom Blade? Hup!"

Dorian clapped a hand over his own mouth the instant the epithet left it.

"Say it all you like. It's true my blade has fallen."

Mark Goetten's expression did not change in the slightest at the mocking name.

"And I am also your future."

"Ah—what have you even been talking about this whole time?!"

"Martial artists who reach Master hit something called a stagnation period. A stretch where your skill doesn't grow at all, the backlash of having broken through a wall."

"I've heard of it..."

Dorian nodded stiffly. When Raon had reached Master, Rimer had told them about that stagnation.

"Some people skip the stagnation entirely and keep climbing the stairs into the sky. Others never escape it for the rest of their lives. Like me."

Mark Goetten wore a smile so desolate it was difficult to describe.

"That's why when I see a young thing bursting with confidence like you, I want to grind him into the dirt and teach him his place."

The saber ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠aura rising from his blade began to thicken.

"I don't care for all the talking, but I like the conclusion."

Phalen snorted and pointed at Dorian.

"Step on his head. So he can never raise it again."

"Looks like you've made yourself thoroughly hated over there too."

Mark Goetten glanced back at Phalen and gave a dry chuckle. The energy condensing along his saber gathered, coiled, and forged itself into a thick, razor-sharp blade of force.

Dorian swallowed dryly at the tremendous vibration of saber Ganggi. He neither stepped back nor fled. He wrapped both hands around his sword.

"You're going to keep going even after seeing Ganggi?"

Mark Goetten frowned at Dorian's eyes, which were shaking as if seized with terror.

"I-I'm not special compared to the people around me."

Dorian let out a deep breath as he looked at Mark Goetten.

"Not in martial power. Not in willpower. I fall short in everything."

He had nothing on Raon, of course—and nothing on the squad leaders, Burren, Runaan, and Marta, either.

He had watched their backs from closer than anyone, and he had not gained a single insight into swordsmanship from it.

But I did learn one thing.

That you must never give up. Not at any time.

He was scared. He was filthy scared of dying to that Ganggi, or of being badly hurt. But as a subordinate who had watched Raon from closer than anyone, he could not drop to his knees and do nothing.

A light more brilliant than any he had ever produced surged up along Dorian's sword.

"I have no intention of winning—but I have no intention of being crushed here in some ugly way, either!"

"That look in your eyes is irritating."

Mark Goetten ground his teeth and moved. The Ganggi piled upon his blade surged upward, gnawing through space like a saw.

"I'll put you on your knees in one stroke."

His saber twisted as it rose, then came crashing down as a bolt of crimson lightning.

"Uwaaaaaah!"

Dorian roared and thrust his sword forward. He screamed as he drove the blade out, and the secret technique of the Ten Gates Profound Sword that had broken Toten Robel—Grand Ten Profound Slash—bloomed into a second colossal cloud.

A violent explosion tore through the hall.

The cloud bank that had looked so solid split apart, and Dorian coughed blood as he rolled across the floor.

"Ghhhk..."

He tried to stand at once, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his strength was gone; only his neck twitched. He was not badly injured, but the backlash of spending every last drop of his aura, combined with the physical shock, had left him unable to move.

"Ahahahaha!"

Phalen jabbed a finger at Dorian and burst into scornful laughter.

"I knew it would end like this. That's your level. No matter how much you polish your swordsmanship, you can't even beat a single mercenary I hired!"

She looked down at Dorian with cold eyes.

"While you were wasting time swinging a sword, I was making money. Not just that mercenary—enough money to hire martial artists who could crush the likes of you without breaking a sweat."

"Ugh..."

"Then and now, the thing that suits you best is kneeling under my—"

She stopped.

"Hup..."

Dorian used his sword as a cane and forced his body up. He locked eyes with Phalen, his teeth clenched.

"I-it's not over yet."

"W-what are you doing?! He stood up!"

Phalen scrambled backward and waved frantically at Mark Goetten.

"Finish it already. Smash that mouth of his first!"

"Hrm..."

Mark Goetten approached Dorian and narrowed his eyes.

"If you move in that condition, it won't end well. The internal damage is bad enough you might not be able to move for a while."

"I'm a coward. I hate being scared, and I hate pain even more."

Dorian drew in a breath and raised his sword. His drained wrist trembled so hard the blade looked warped.

"...But I know that right now is the time to stand up and hold my sword."

It occurred to him only now that Raon was not the kind of person who made you do things like this for no reason. Trusting him, Dorian drove strength into his shaking legs.

"I'm liking the look in your eyes less and less."

Mark Goetten's face twisted as he brought his saber down—and a crimson line crashed in like a thunderbolt.

A ringing clash exploded through the air.

The steel-blue saber was driven roughly back. What rose before Dorian's eyes was Raon's longsword, burning red.

"Why are you interfering?! This is our family business!"

Phalen's face crumpled as she jabbed a finger at him.

"Wrong. This concerns me."

Raon forced Mark Goetten's saber aside and looked down at Phalen with eyes like winter.

"You said the martial power Dorian has built isn't worth as much as the money you've piled up, didn't you?"

"And what of it!"

"Sorry, but what Dorian has built isn't just swordsmanship."

A cold smile touched his mouth as he raised his left hand.

"A little harder than copper."

A copper coin, split cleanly in two, fell from his grip.

"A little tougher than silver."

A second coin—silver—crumbled like a biscuit and poured down.

"A little more binding than gold."

Last of all, a gold ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠coin scattered into dust.

"Bonds? What kind of bullshit is—"

"Just as you bragged about making money, Dorian came to Zieghart and built bonds. Meaning I am his strength."

Sword aura burning as deep and fierce as the sun began to crush Mark Goetten's blue saber aura.

"I, and every other swordsman in the Light Wind Squad, are ready to take up our swords and stake our lives for this guy. That is something money can never buy."

"Grrrk..."

Phalen's face twisted at Raon's ice-cold smile.

"Put him on his knees ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too. Crush him into the dirt!"

She ground her teeth and jabbed a finger at Raon.

"I like your eyes even less. Enough to turn my stomach."

Mark Goetten frowned and flicked his saber free. Vivid blue Ganggi rose along the blade.

"Forgive me if I get a little rough."

"Falling Blossom Blade, was it?"

Raon cocked his chin to one side and crooked a finger. A flash of killing frost gleamed across his blue eyes.