Honor Between Blades

A white spear, loosed as if from his entire body, collided with the Flame Dragon's Breath.

White and crimson. Two streams of ganggi, starkly opposed in color, lanced toward each other's very soul.

The air itself groaned. At the heart of the battlefield, a colossal mass of energy condensed until the very axis of the earth began to buckle. Even as the Urban Combat Training Ground was crushed into rubble beneath them, neither Raon nor Trevin gave an inch.

Watching the waves of ganggi warp and tear at each other, Raon tightened his grip on the Heavenly Sky Sword. This isn't enough. Trevin had poured every last ounce of his strength into that strike; it would not break so easily. To beat him, Raon had to take one more step beyond this.

The instant he dropped his center of gravity to prepare the next technique, the secret art of the Iron Piercing Sword and the Flame Dragon Form detonated as one, unleashing a shockwave of staggering force. The storm of ganggi that had only just begun to settle surged up again, vaster and more violent than before.

Now!

Raon kicked off the crumbling earth. Driving the Ring of Fire and the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames to their absolute limits, he plunged straight into the heart of the ganggi storm. The energy carved open his shoulder and waist; blood ran freely. He paid it no mind and ran on.

I'll end it like this—wait.

A white flash came screaming from the opposite side. Trevin. He, too, had torn through the storm of ganggi and was charging in.

"I knew you'd come at me!"

A cold smile ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on his lips, Trevin thrust. It was a form of the Iron Piercing Sword Raon had already seen—but the energy riding the blade was faster and sharper than before. He's gotten stronger too. Fighting this battle had honed Trevin as well.

"This is getting a little old."

Raon laughed, bright and unburdened, and unleashed the formula of the Mad Fang Sword he had prepared. A predator that had been lurking in the dark, waiting for an opening, bared its fangs.

The Heavenly Sky Sword and Trevin's blade coiled around each other like a serpent and a vine, then ricocheted away to either side. Raon snapped his wrist to bleed off the impact, kicked the collapsing ground with his right foot, and surged toward Trevin.

"Hup!"

Even as he was driven back, Trevin thrust again. Whether it was obsession with victory or an unwillingness to let the fight end, the force of will behind that blade was almost unreadable.

Raon slipped Trevin's sword—aimed at his right arm—by the width of a sheet of paper, then brought the Heavenly Sky Sword down from where he had cocked it on his right.

Trevin recovered his blade a beat too late. He managed to block, but he could not keep the edge from carving across his shoulder and chest.

"Kh—!"

He rolled across the ground, retreated, and lifted his head. Wounded in a dozen places, his aura heavily spent—and still his eyes had not died.

"Not yet."

Trevin staggered to his feet and raised his sword. His legs and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠waist trembled, but the blade itself, strangely, did not shake at all.

"My sword has not broken."

He leveled it at Raon. His aura and stamina were clearly exhausted, and yet a chill ran down Raon's spine. Of everything so far, this smelled the most dangerous.

"That one." Wrath crawled up onto the bracelet and smacked his lips. "His skill is garbage, but he's a decent human being, I'll grant him that."

Yeah. Raon nodded deeply. Power, will, mindset—he's lacking in none of them. Trevin had neither insulted his opponent nor stooped to anything underhanded. He had simply fought with everything the situation allowed. It was hard to believe a martial artist like that shared direct blood with someone like Karun.

"Ask him what food he's good at. If it's decent, This King shall take him as a subordinate. Of course, This King would need to see him actually cook…"

Give it a rest. Raon swatted away Wrath, who was mumbling something about hoping the man baked a good pie, and lifted the Heavenly Sky Sword.

"This will be the last one, then."

"I expect so."

Trevin nodded and looked down at the tip of his own blade.

"The form I will use is Piercing Advance—the foundation of the Iron Piercing Sword."

"I'll be using Raging Fang Thrust, a form of the Mad Fang Sword."

Raon nodded, and the two of them faced each other. As they leveled their swords, a shard of stone caught in the ganggi storm came tumbling down.

The instant it struck the earth, Raon and Trevin thrust.

A coincidence: both of them, a thrust. Blade-light aimed at the other's shoulder shot forth like a bolt of radiance.

Two impossibly fine points of steel collided. The deadlock of force tilted toward Raon—not from aura, not from raw strength, but from the difference in how thoroughly each man had tempered his swordsmanship.

The Heavenly Sky Sword smashed through Trevin's blade and buried itself in his shoulder.

"Ghk—!"

Trevin sank to one knee with a groan. He lifted his head. His whole body trembled, his strength spent, and still he smiled. He looked satisfied with the fight.

"Your sword was faster than mine. And sharper."

Honest, clean acknowledgment, same as before. For all his cold features, Trevin was a martial artist who understood honor and good faith.

"Mm…"

Raon lowered the Heavenly Sky Sword and bit his lip. I can't do it. The original plan had been to forfeit on the verge of victory—to raise the evaluation of the examination while sabotaging Rimer's bet. But to forfeit now would be to spit on Trevin, who had met him sword to sword and heart to heart. His hand would not rise.

No. I can't mock a man like this. He had finally met a martial artist he genuinely liked. He would not turn the man into a punchline. And becoming the same kind of person as Rimer just to mess with Rimer would be the stupidest thing he could do.

Raon glanced back. The Light Wind Squad swordsmen, who had withdrawn a good distance, seemed to understand. They nodded.

"That's the right call." Wrath snorted and dipped his head. "Mocking an opponent who came at you in earnest is something even demonkind wouldn't stoop to."

Listening to him, you'd think demons were more decent than humans.

"Which is why you need to properly stomp that long-eared bastard into the dirt."

Right. Take his money and pull his ears off while we're at it. Raon huffed a quiet laugh and nodded.

"Hah…"

Trevin raised a hand, a clear, unburdened smile on his face.

"I lost."

The moment he conceded, Harrison cleared his throat and raised his voice.

The instant Harrison's declaration rang out, the Light Wind Squad threw their hands into the air.

"YEAAAAAH!"

"We won!"

"We beat the Iron Battle Squad!"

"Light Wind! Light Wind! Light Wind!"

"Mad Dogs! Mad Dogs! Mad Dogs!"

The Light Wind Squad and every spectator ringing the battlefield roared as one.

"Let me help you up."

"Hrm."

Raon held out a hand to the kneeling Trevin. Trevin took it and rose.

"I thought I'd prepared properly. I didn't expect there to be someone who would grow beyond even that. Next time we fight, I'll have to set my estimate a full rank higher."

Trevin looked at Raon and gave a short, dry laugh.

"Next time? You're already thinking about fighting again?"

"I don't take losing well. I learned a few things thanks to you, and I'd like a proper rematch before long."

"You seem to have changed a little."

"That's thanks to you."

He laughed, saying he'd have to work on that overly cautious nature of his.

"I won't fix it overnight, of course. But I'd appreciate the occasional spar."

This time Trevin offered his hand first.

"Gladly."

Raon smiled and took it. The crowd's cheers rolled over their clasped hands.

"Khhaaah!"

Glenn let out a long, bracing sound of satisfaction, as if he'd just downed a cold beer, watching Raon and Trevin shake hands. He couldn't help himself—he even started clapping, nodding in deep contentment.

"Do you remember what the guild master said before?"

"Pardon? Which…"

Adis, who had been smiling at Dorian—whose eyes had swollen into a pair of dark, puffy orbs—jerked his head up.

"That Raon has a talent for changing people."

"Ah! That's right!"

"I believe I just watched it happen."

Glenn looked down at Raon with a smile so soft it looked as if it would melt at a touch.

"Trevin was always a cautious child—quick to give up when the situation turned against him. But fighting Raon seems to have changed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him as well."

"So I wasn't wrong after all."

Adis laughed, claiming that whatever else he might miss, he never misread a person.

"Roen."

Glenn turned and called to him.

"You wrote down everything Raon said just now, I trust?"

"Of course. I've recorded it in chapter two of the Gospel of Raon."

Roen drew a booklet from his coat—white enough to look sacred—and gave it a little shake.

"Good. The matter is settled, so now… hm?"

Glenn's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eyes narrowed as he watched a tall man make a beeline for the gamblers to collect his winnings.

"No. It isn't settled yet."

Crimson lightning kindled in his grip.

"There's still someone who needs to die."

"Heh heh heh."

"Hah!"

Marta looked at Raon and let out a disbelieving laugh.

"He actually grew strong enough to beat a Peak Master…"

Raon had come back even stronger than when they'd sparred in the Owen Kingdom. To return that much more powerful in so short a time—it was less like looking at a human being and more like staring at a monster.

"I've got nothing to say except that it's insane."

Burren nodded blankly. I swore I wouldn't get dragged along at his pace, and I'm still thrown. There was no telling how far the man would go. The power to defeat a Peak Master at twenty was vanishingly rare even if you combed through the continent's long history. Whether having a monster like that in the same era—standing right beside you—was a blessing or a curse, he couldn't say.

"Can I sleep now?"

Runaan rubbed her eyes and let her head droop. Sleep, apparently, mattered more than the joy of victory.

"You heard that."

While the three of them were each lost in their own noise, Camang, first vice-commander of the Iron Battle Squad, strode over. He narrowed his eyes and shoved his face in toward Burren, Marta, and Runaan.

"Next time, we don't lose."

"We'll win then, too!"

"Next time I'll drop you myself."

Burren clenched a fist and nodded. Marta smiled, radiating confidence.

"Who?"

Runaan tilted her head, apparently failing to recognize Camang through his swollen face.

"Kh…"

"Kids!"

As Camang ground his teeth, pride thoroughly dented, Rimer came bursting out of the crowd.

"You all did great! I believed in you!"

The Light Wind Squad gave him nothing. Not a word—even as he danced around in high spirits.

"Leaving the battlefield because I trusted you was the right call. I can feel it—you've all grown another level."

"…"

"Why is nobody answering me? I was thinking of you when I—"

"What is there to say to a squad leader who abandoned his squad?"

Raon walked toward Rimer, his expression ice-cold.

"I-I didn't abandon anyone! I forfeited on purpose to train you! Look! The results were good, weren't they?"

Rimer laughed awkwardly, his eyes darting like a fish in a bowl.

"For your wallet, you mean. The odds jumped to seven-to-one. You must have walked away with a nice pile of gold."

"What are you talking about? I didn't go anywhere near a betting board today!"

He waved both hands frantically, insisting it absolutely wasn't true.

"A dung fly never just flies past a pile of shit."

Raon snorted at him.

"D-dung again…"

Rimer swallowed dryly and edged backward.

"You don't even have proof! I really didn't—"

"The proof is right here."

A majestic voice rolled down from the sky. They looked up to find Glenn descending, using empty air as if it were a staircase.

"P-Patriarch?"

Rimer's jaw trembled. He had known Glenn was present. He had not expected the man to come down in person.

Glenn flicked his fingers. Roen appeared from nowhere, stepped up to Rimer, and in a single ghostlike motion fitted a fur hat onto his head and stuck a mustache on his face.

"Th-that's the guy who bet on the Light Wind Squad! He put down more than anyone!"

The toothless old man who had been running the betting board up on the hill let out a scream.

"W-wait, that means—"

"This bastard again!"

"He rigged it this time too?"

"I'll take his damn hands off—"

Rimer tore off the hat and ripped away the mustache, but it was already too late. Everyone at the betting board was staring at him as if they meant to kill him.

"I overlooked a little gambling because it's a decent way to blow off steam. I will not overlook match-fixing carried out right in front of my eyes."

"Urgh…"

At Glenn's dry voice, Rimer shrank like a mouse before a cat.

Roen approached Glenn and handed over a subspace pouch—the one Rimer had been keeping inside his coat.

"W-wait, that's too harsh—"

"I'm not finished."

Glenn's hand cut downward. In its wake, a bolt of searing crimson lightning flashed out of a clear sky.

With no warning whatsoever, the thunderbolt drove into the crown of Rimer's head. And not just once. Glenn dropped lightning three times in succession, crushing Rimer's entire body beneath it.

"GAAAAAH!"

Wrapped in red thunder, Rimer screamed, his whole body twisting like a squid on a grill. He went limp, mouth hanging open, gray steam leaking from his lips as if he'd passed out.

"Is he dead?"

While everyone else stood frozen by Glenn's majesty, Runaan had somehow acquired a tree branch and was poking Rimer in the cheek. He flopped like a fish hauled onto dry land, and black ash smeared across the pale wood.

Glenn dusted off his hands, stepped on the thoroughly charred Rimer's back as if it were a doormat, and walked over to Raon and Trevin.

"Commander of the Iron Battle Squad."

"Y-yes, sir!"

Trevin snapped to attention, chin tucked tight.

"Caution is a great strength. It can also become a weakness that costs you a vital opportunity. There are times when a bold choice yields a better result."

"Yes, sir."

"Find the middle ground."

"Thank you, sir!"

Trevin bowed, his face flushed. He had already realized it himself, which only made the words land harder.

"Vice-leader of the Light Wind Squad."

"Yes."

Raon bowed his head to Glenn.

"Did you know the Iron Battle Squad Commander's temperament?"

"The preparation period was short, so I started by investigating my opponent."

"The preparation period was short? What is that supposed to mean?"

"R-Raon! Don't you—ghhk!"

Glenn dropped a small bolt of lightning and sealed Rimer's mouth.

"The truth is, I only heard this battle was happening yesterday."

Raon explained that Rimer had kept him from learning about the examination until it was nearly too late. The moment he finished, two more bolts of lightning drove Rimer's head into the earth.

"Nngh…"

He could no longer even scream—only a thin groan, and the smell of roasting meat.

"Is he actually dead?"

Runaan, who had been standing a little apart, darted in and stabbed him with the branch again.

"Hah…"

Glenn let out a breath and looked at Raon.

"To produce the best possible result from unexpected circumstances, using only the information you had—that was excellent judgment."

His gaze swept across the entire Light Wind Squad.

He met Raon's eyes one last time, then turned. He seemed to take a single step—and was already gone from the training ground.

"YEAAAAAH!"

"We cleared the first trial!"

"A full Corps isn't far off now!"

"We're going to be a Corps!"

The Light Wind Squad grabbed one another's hands and roared.

"Hold on."

Raon raised a hand and stopped the celebrating squad. As he spoke, he pointed at the sprawled Rimer.

"We're not done yet."

"Ah, right. That damn squad leader's still left."

Marta clenched her fists, teeth bared. A madness even fiercer than before burned in her eyes.

"I'm not stopping anyone today."

Burren stalked forward, eyes gleaming. Hot breath steamed from his mouth.

"I can't take it either! Do you know how hard that was?!"

Dorian yanked away the cloth he'd been pressing to his nosebleed and snorted steam.

"Exactly! Today we properly stomp—"

"You're out. Crain."

"Yes, sir…"

Crain, who had been eliminated early, heard the chill in Raon's voice and obligingly planted his own face in the dirt.

"K-kids…"

"Everyone."

Raon pointed a finger at Rimer, who was swaying as he tried to stand.

"Stomp him."

"Die!"

"That's a bit much, Marta."

"Drop dead!"

"That one's fine."

The entire Light Wind Squad charged in and started stomping Rimer.

"Ghhhkk…"

Rimer, who had barely managed to get up, was driven back into the cracked earth by his own disciples' feet.

"Join us, if you would."

At Raon's gesture, Trevin nodded.

"We're going too!"

"Yes, sir!"

"That damn elf ruined everything!"

"He looked down on us!"

The Iron Battle Squad—who had been quietly miserable about never getting to use any of the plans they'd worked so hard to prepare—came running in and started stomping Rimer as well.

And there were still plenty of people who held a grudge.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Give me my money!"

"How the hell did you even win that?!"

"My seven-to-one oooodds!"

"You're dead!"

The gamblers who had bet on the Light Wind Squad and gotten nothing but their principal back came flooding in and started stomping Rimer too.

That day, Rimer was stomped by more than two hundred people and set a new record in House Zieghart. It was bad enough that even Wrath was worried.

"At this rate, isn't he actually going to have his ears ripped off?"

Today, that's fine.

"Are they the snap-on kind?"