A Sparring Match with the Sword Demon
Raon bit down on the inside of his cheek. The Sword Demon's frigid gaze felt as though it would split his heart in two, but he endured it by circulating the Ring of Fire.
This man is the real thing.
He wasn't raising his presence. He wasn't even circulating his aura. To generate this kind of pressure through sheer existence alone—the epithet Sword Demon, which had shaken the entire continent, was no exaggeration.
But…
What was that look in his eyes, flickering now and then?
Despite standing in an overwhelming position in every respect—not merely in martial might and mental fortitude—the Sword Demon's gaze seemed to ripple, as if a stone had been cast into a still lake.
"Your spirit and confidence, at least, are worthy of the name White Sword Dragon."
The Sword Demon nodded. Unlike a moment before, his eyes no longer wavered in the slightest, as though a boulder had been set upon them.
"Very well. I'll accept that wager."
"It isn't a wager."
Raon shook his head as he looked at the Sword Demon.
"I simply wished, as a junior walking the path of the sword, to witness a senior's blade."
"You've got some nerve, but at least you know how to talk!"
Muston glared at him with the savage eyes of a predator closing in on its prey.
"Your sword will never reach my master. It'll end in front of me."
He discarded what little courtesy he'd been maintaining, dropped into informal speech, and ground his teeth.
"That's something we won't know until our swords actually meet, isn't it?"
Raon met Muston's murderous gaze and offered a faint smile. Sorry, but I can't afford to spend this opportunity on you alone.
Muston had no reputation to speak of yet, but he possessed martial power worthy of the Sword Demon's disciple. Fighting him would yield a great deal. Even so, at Raon's current level, even a single exchange of blades with the Sword Demon would clearly grant a far deeper enlightenment.
It wasn't that he was dismissing Muston. He simply wanted to seize the better opportunity.
"Fine. Draw your sword. Right now—"
"Enough."
Just as Muston reached for his blade, the Sword Demon raised a hand.
"This one is not yet at full strength."
A single glance had been enough for him to know that Raon's power had not fully recovered.
"Two days should suffice?"
"Yes."
Thanks to the elevated level of Sloth, a single day would have been enough to recover—but he needed time to adapt to his grown power, so he nodded.
"Then we shall meet at noon in two days."
The Sword Demon turned on his heel at once and returned to his lodgings.
Muston did not follow. He stared Raon down, biting his lip hard.
"I will never lose to you."
His eyes glittered with a murderous light, as though he harbored a genuine grudge. Then he turned his back and followed after the Sword Demon.
Raon watched him go, narrowing his eyes. Why is he so angry?
It wasn't just because Raon had asked the Sword Demon for a spar. Muston had been shooting him sharp looks from the moment they first met, and even now, undisguised malice rode every word. He clearly hated me before we even came face to face.
They had never met. Raon couldn't understand the reaction at all.
"It's jealousy."
Wrath snorted, as if incredulous that a human could fail to recognize another person's emotions.
"At any rate, you are nothing like a human."
Jealousy? Why would he be jealous of me?
Muston occupied a position anyone would envy—the Sword Demon's disciple. The idea that he would be jealous of someone else made no sense.
"Jealousy is one of humanity's ugliest instincts. The reason for it matters not."
Wrath muttered that it was surely some trivial, insignificant cause, and that they should hurry up, wash, and go eat.
Jealousy, huh…
It was possible. Humans often struggled to understand their own emotions. Muston himself might not even know why he was so angry.
Still, thanks to him I gained the chance to spar with the Sword Demon.
Raon washed the mud from his hands and face, then headed toward the main street where the festival was still underway.
A great deal of time had already passed. People flushed with drink had scattered this way and that, enjoying the festivities. At the long table Dorian had produced sat not only the Light Wind Squad, but Milland, Borini Kitten, Morell, and even Trevin, all raising their cups.
Everyone's here.
Raon approached the table with a faint smile.
"Where the hell have you been wandering off to?"
Rimer's face had gone red from drink. He scowled.
"You should've come right away and poured drinks for this squad leader!"
"Yes, yes."
Raon ignored the drunken rant, walked over, and sat down beside Milland.
"Lord Castellan. Thank you for your help."
He filled Milland's empty cup and bowed his head.
"How many times are you going to say that?"
Milland accepted the cup and shook his head.
"Compared to what you did for Habun Castle, this is nothing."
He grinned as he explained that every knight and swordsman who had come from Habun Castle had volunteered of their own accord.
Hearing that they had all come willingly made Raon's chest swell. It was a pleasant, stirring beat—not a trace of awkwardness in it. Milland seemed to recognize the feeling, and gave his shoulder a light pat.
"The same is true of Owen."
Borini Kitten set down his fork and smiled.
"Had you not stepped forward, Owen would have hosted the Six Kings conference only to fail to stop Tatcheon—a disgrace we would have carried forever. You saved both our people and our honor. That debt can never be repaid, no matter what we offer."
He bowed his head, saying a lifetime of repayment would not be enough.
"Moreover, this was a battle against Manghongwi, who sought to devour the continent. If anything, you gave me and my knights invaluable experience, and for that I am grateful."
Borini Kitten smiled gently, asking Raon not to treat this as a favor to be collected.
"Isn't that right, Your Highness?"
"Huh? Ah! Yes! Of course!"
The Third Prince had been watching Marta sip her drink. He answered in a daze.
"Hey! Why've you been staring at me this whole time!"
"Hiek!"
The moment Marta snapped at him, the Third Prince whipped his head away and pretended he hadn't been looking at all.
"Yaaaaaah!"
Just as Raon snorted a laugh at the sight, Wrath burst out and seized him by the collar.
"Stop talking! Please, just shut your mouth and eat, I tell you!"
Wrath screamed about why Raon was running his mouth when the table was loaded with food.
What do you want first?
"The pie right in front of you!"
Raon nodded and put into his mouth the blueberry pie Wrath had been howling for.
Crunch.
The crispness of the layered pastry and the sweet-tart burst of blueberry flooded his mouth. The nutty finish of finely scattered almond slivers crowned it all, and a single bite filled him with satisfaction.
Not bad.
He could understand why Wrath had begged for it.
"Khhhk…"
The instant the pie was gone, Wrath shed fat, round tears.
That good?
"It isn't merely that it tastes good. This King cannot help but weep, recalling all the hardships I have endured until now!"
He patted his own shoulder, declaring himself admirable for having suffered so long under a wicked human.
"Now, the next! Bring forth the grape-jam sandwich and the clay-roasted duck!"
Wrath bellowed the names of dishes as if possessed by a hungry ghost. Raon chuckled and granted every request.
"Khup!"
Wrath, now sporting a tadpole belly, flopped onto his back with a look of pure contentment.
"This is what it means to live!"
Raon left Wrath blinking drowsily in a food coma and approached Morell, filling the man's empty glass with wine.
"Nothing else here is to my liking, but the wine, at least, is decent."
Morell smacked his lips, remarking that he could come back just for the wine.
"It suits your palate, I see."
"House Arian's wine isn't something you can obtain just because you have money."
He lifted his gaze along with the glass.
"Still not going to tell me?"
"Tell you what, sir?"
"How you put a leash on that brat of a princess of ours. I'm curious."
"A leash? Her Highness simply promised to grant a few requests. That's all."
Raon smiled faintly and shook his head.
"Well, I suppose that doesn't matter."
Morell wet his lips with wine.
"That brat dropping to her knees and begging me was enough on its own."
He had known Princess Jayna since she was a child, but this was the first time that stiff neck of hers had ever bent. He curled his lips in satisfaction.
"That's good to hear."
Raon chuckled. Jayna would never have held herself in check just because she was inside her own kingdom, so Morell's reaction was only natural.
Raon clinked glasses with Morell, then went over to the table where the Iron Halberd Squad had gathered and sat down beside Trevin.
"Enjoying the festival?"
"Not bad."
Trevin nodded, allowing that the food and drink were, in their own way, worth obtaining.
Anyway.
He wasn't honest, but he was a man of deep affection. In more ways than one, he didn't fit among Zieghart's direct line.
"Thank you for coming."
"I was just bored."
Trevin brushed it off, saying he'd come because he had nothing else to do.
"There goes our squad leader again."
"He was raising hell about going to rescue them immediately."
"Let's be a little honest here."
"How long is he going to keep this up?"
"All of you shut up!"
Trevin flushed at his swordsmen's muttering and slammed the table.
"There's no need for such words between swordsmen of the same house. Don't mind them."
Having said that, Trevin drained his cup.
Watching him drink in rapid succession, Raon felt his fingertips tremble. There's no need for such words between swordsmen of the same house…
If any other direct descendant had said that, Raon would have sneered. But coming from Trevin—who had come to save the Light Wind Squad with nothing asked in return—it struck a deep chord in his chest.
Words I want to remember.
As Trevin had said, going to save your people regardless of circumstance or reason was the duty of a house. If Raon ever founded a house of his own, he wanted to build one that held that kind of loyalty.
"Thank you."
Raon bowed his head once more to Trevin and the Iron Halberd Squad, then sat down at the table.
"Huh?"
Wrath, who had been draped over Raon's shoulder like laundry, lifted his face over his round belly.
"Round two, is it? This King can still eat more!"
Your stomach's going to burst.
"What nonsense! If there is room left in the stomach, you might well cram Nadin Bread into it! It must be filled further!"
Sigh…
Raon shook his head and piled dishes he hadn't yet touched onto his plate.
"So why were you so late, anyway?"
Marta, who had been glaring at the Third Prince before going back to her drink, asked.
"Yeah. It took forever in the swamp, and forever washing too."
Burren tilted his head, finding it strange.
"Did you sleep?"
Runaan asked if he'd slept in the street, and whether he wanted a blanket.
"No. I ran into the Sword Demon and his disciple."
"Why those people?"
"One thing led to another. We're going to spar."
"Spar?"
"What are you talking about all of a sudden?"
Not only the Light Wind Squad but the warriors from the other factions shot to their feet, jaws dropping.
"Well…"
Raon gave a brief account of what had happened at the well.
"A spar with the Sword Demon…"
"That's a fated opportunity!"
"Not just any opportunity, either. He's the head of the Five Great Swordsmen—a true master of the sword."
"I-I'm jealous…"
People envied Raon for the chance to spar with the Sword Demon and smacked their lips.
"No, wait. He has to beat that guy's disciple first."
"His presence was no joke."
"You could tell he was a master just from his eyes."
"Being the Sword Demon's disciple, you can't even judge him by realm. He'll be several times stronger than anyone else at the same level."
"Still, Raon will win."
"He didn't earn the name White Sword Dragon by gambling."
Everyone clinked glasses and began placing their bets on who would win the spar.
"Hmmmm!"
Rimer, who had been drinking quietly, had eyes that sparkled like starlight.
"A spar, huh…"
He rose from the table with his cup still in hand.
"I'd better make some preparations too."
Raon stood, picking up the Heavenly Sky Sword he had left across the table. He clenched his right hand into a fist and nodded.
I'm at full strength.
One day of rest had restored his body. One day of training had adapted him to his current physique and aura. He was certain his condition had reached its peak.
"Full strength, my ass."
He glanced aside at Wrath's mocking laugh. A cotton-candy ball that had grown plump and chubby was sneering at him.
For two days he had been replenishing his nutrition for recovery, eating every dish Wrath wanted along the way—and this was the result.
"Don't get beaten by that old man's disciple. Give it everything you have."
That was the plan anyway.
He needed to grow stronger, and faster. The duel with Buwang was only a year and a half away. He would gain something from facing Muston, but what he truly wanted was to clash swords with the Sword Demon and climb higher.
Raon donned his combat uniform, fastened the Heavenly Sky Sword at his waist, and left the lodgings.
Word of today's spar had spread, so food stalls had opened as if the festival from two days ago were still going, and a great many people had gathered around the training grounds.
It's basically a festival.
He hadn't expected it, but this spar seemed to be breathing a little more life into the people of House Arian.
"There are chicken skewers over there! Chicken skewers roasted in clay are no common thing! Let us go eat!"
Wrath drooled at the clay-roasted chicken skewers being sold at a stall to the right.
I'm on my way to a fight right now…
"One must fill the belly to fight properly!"
I already ate.
"You can only claim to have eaten once you've had a snack as well!"
Raon looked at Wrath with a dumbfounded expression and sighed. How was it that this creature's wrath kept shrinking while his gluttony only grew?
The Lord of Gluttony.
No matter how he thought about it, they had picked the wrong personality. He wanted to meet whoever had given this thing the name Lord of Wrath.
"Hurry up!"
Forget it.
Raon swatted away the clinging Wrath and headed toward the center of the castle, where the sparring ground lay, browsing the stalls as he went.
"A beer, please!"
"I'll take popcorn too!"
"Man, I'm looking forward to seeing who wins today."
"What kind of question is that? Obviously our benefactor!"
"But he's the disciple of the Sword Demon of the Five Great Swordsmen! And way older than him, too!"
"He's clearly no ordinary talent."
People enjoyed the food and chattered about who would win today's spar.
"Hm?"
On the way to the sparring ground, he spotted a particularly large stall with an unusually dense crowd around it.
"I'm betting on our benefactor, Lord Raon!"
"Me too! Of course we bet on our benefactor!"
"But that swordsman Muston is no joke. His eyes are like a beast's!"
"Well, if it's the Sword Demon, he would've trained his disciple properly."
Gold and silver coins were pouring onto the stall. It was a betting booth.
Of course there'd be a gambling den.
A spar whose outcome was this hard to predict always drew a betting pool. That stall was part of the festival too—there was no need to interfere.
Is the squad leader here too?
"No dung fly would ever pass up a pile of dung."
True.
He fully expected that delinquent elf to be there and started looking—but strangely, there was no sign of him.
Did he already place his bets and leave?
Raon had figured Rimer would wait to see the odds before betting, but it seemed he'd put his money down early and slipped away. He was about to walk past when a familiar voice drifted out from inside the stall.
"Tut tut! You people don't get it. The one who ended this war wasn't Raon—it was me. Nobody knows who'll win!"
At that swaggering voice, Raon looked back at the stall.
Standing in the seat where the owner ought to have been was a red-haired elf, grinning from ear to ear.
"……"
……
Raon and Wrath both dropped their jaws at the sight of Rimer, who hadn't merely gambled—he had set up the entire gambling den himself.
Just how far was that elf going to go?