A Blade Without Harmony

"Step right up, step right up! A chance to hit it this big isn't coming around twice. Watch Raon's duel, win some money—have your cake and eat it too!"

Rimer clapped his hands and raised his voice, working the crowd for every last customer he could pull in.

"This is the entertainment board where you can enjoy, even more, the clash between Raon Zieghart—the kennel master who leads the Mad Dog Squad packed with rabid dogs—versus Muston, disciple of the Sword Demon and the young Sword Demon who will soon make the world tremble!"

At his lively cry, the makeshift gambling den packed itself to the gunwales.

Hah...

Wrath slowly shook his head as he watched Rimer.

This King has seen quite a few pointy-eared ones in his time, but never one whose personality was so utterly at odds with those ears.

He muttered that it was a wonder how a creature like that had ever come out of the noble elves.

Raon gave a stiff nod. I never thought an elf like that existed either. Call the word "elf" to mind and what rose were beautiful features, a deep affinity with nature, an exclusive temperament, a quiet life lived as nature's companion. Of all those categories, the only one Rimer belonged to was the face.

This King told you, did he not? Those ears are snap-on. Give them a tug and they'll come right off.

You might have a point. Raon smirked and nodded. Strip away that handsome face and those were exactly the kinds of things a back-alley thug would do.

Wrath's remark was starting to make those ears look genuinely detachable.

Raon approached Rimer's gambling den, which was growing noisier by the minute.

The people crowding in were trying to call today's winner so they could put their money down.

"Ah, who do I even bet on?"

"Raon, obviously. You think he picked up the name White Sword Dragon in a card game?"

"I'd pick our benefactor too, normally—but look at the opponent."

"Right. This isn't just anybody. He's the disciple of the Sword Demon, one of the Five Great Swordsmen. You can't take that lightly."

"Ugh, this is hard. What do I do..."

Under ordinary circumstances the money would have flooded toward Raon, who had just distinguished himself in the war. But the Sword Demon's name carried too much weight, and people couldn't bring themselves to bet easily.

"Ah, forget it! I'm trusting my benefactor!"

"Yeah. When you don't know, go with loyalty!"

"The White Sword Dragon really is the safe pick. He ended this war by himself, didn't he?"

"I'm with Lord Raon too!"

Once the people right in front of the stall put their money on Raon, the ones behind them nodded and said they would do the same.

"Ah, you people just don't get it."

Rimer looked at the money piled on the stall and wore a sly, slippery smile.

"I said it a moment ago, but it wasn't Raon's power alone that ended this war. I helped."

He declared that it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only thanks to the support he had provided when Raon was exhausted and staggering that they had barely managed to finish the war, and he let out a breath of pure excitement.

"Huh? The man himself is standing right there! Raon!"

Rimer waved at Raon, who had been standing blankly behind him.

"Hah..."

Raon looked at Rimer and let out a hollow breath. This guy really... He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had never imagined that instead of being embarrassed, Rimer would try to use him for the gambling. For sheer shamelessness, the man was a match for Merlin.

"Raon. You tell them! Did you finish it alone at the end?"

"That wasn't the case."

Without Rimer and Wendy Ariane's help, he never would have been able to cut down that sphere of death energy, so he shook his head.

"Then what would have happened without Habun Castle—or my help—along the way?"

"It would have been quite dangerous."

Once again, he had no choice but to be honest.

"See! That kid's all foam. And I mean the king of all bubbles—the kind you get from furiously rubbing both palms full of soap!"

A moment ago Rimer had been pumping Raon up as the kennel master of the Mad Dog Squad and the White Sword Dragon. Now he was making a fuss calling him nothing but foam.

"Seeing you all so confused truly pains my heart. Let me give you a little hint. There's a rumor that before the Sword Demon's disciple arrived here, he caught an apostle of the White Blood Cult and a Floor Master of the Black Tower."

This was the same man who had claimed at the festival that he had only just learned the Sword Demon even had a disciple. Now he was spouting complete nonsense.

"On top of that, Raon used to carry the epithet Little ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sword Demon. Muston will throw everything he has into this match just to take that name from him!"

"Hah! He caught an apostle and a Floor Master?"

"His presence was sharp, I'll give him that. More than just the name of the Sword Demon's disciple."

"Little Sword Demon, huh. If there's a name like that on the line, he'd fight with everything he's got."

"The more I listen, the more confused I get..."

While the crowd sank deeper into thought, the Third Prince of Owen stepped up to the stall and set down a pouch of gold coins.

Thud!

The heavy sound of the pouch striking the table pulled every gaze in the square.

"Five hundred gold coins on Raon Zieghart."

At that colossal wager, desire welled up in every eye.

"Hah!"

"F-five hundred gold?"

"Five hundred would mean..."

Everyone seemed to be calculating the payout in their heads. Even breathing went quiet.

"I've decided! I'm going with the Sword Demon's disciple!"

"Ten silver on Muston!"

"Move! I was here first!"

"I'm even putting up my kid's candy money on Muston!"

The people who had been agonizing over the choice abandoned their hesitation and poured money onto the table.

"Your Highness?"

Raon called to the Third Prince.

"Mm..."

The prince flinched, his shoulders twitching, then looked toward Rimer, avoiding Raon's eyes. What? He had placed the bet himself, yet he wore the face of a child caught stealing. It was strange. Don't tell me? Raon frowned and sent an aura message.

The way the prince startled told Raon everything he needed to know.

Rimer had clearly learned that the Third Prince had feelings for Marta, offered him information about her, and told him to fatten up the betting pool.

Raon bit his lip. What am I supposed to do with this man? This was practically a rigged game. What kind of person did something like this?

"Here! Over here!"

"Hurry up and take my money!"

"I'm betting on the Sword Demon's disciple!"

"I'm with Lord Raon!"

He had considered stopping it, but the people's eyes were already dyed with madness. Try to hold them back and a riot might break out.

"Now it's your turn!"

Unable to handle the customers alone, Rimer waved to the side.

"Yesss..."

Dorian, who had been hiding in the corner, popped out and began writing down the amounts people bet, stuffing the money into his belly pouch.

"And what are you doing?"

"I'm the bank today..."

Dorian sniffled as he collected the cash.

"A portion of today's house take from this board will be donated to the reconstruction of House Arian! Think of it as a donation and put your money down!"

Rimer loudly declared that a great deal of the commission earned today would be given to House Arian.

"He's donating?"

"Then I'm in even more!"

"Shut up and take my money!"

"Raon!"

"Muston!"

Once a noble cause like charity entered the mix, people started betting even the emergency funds they had been holding back.

I doubt it.

Wrath shook his head, certain those pointy-ears were incapable of a good deed.

He wouldn't say he'd donate and then not do it. Even Rimer wouldn't lie about charity. Raon had never imagined the man capable of such a decent thought, and a hollow laugh escaped him.

Looking now, even the stall's signboard had the donation written on it. I never thought I'd see the squad leader in a new light... huh?

Raon's mouth fell open as he read the writing.

At the very end of the sign, in letters so tiny that even a Master would have to concentrate their eyesight to see them, it said:

F-forty percent? Even illegal gambling only took a ten to twenty percent cut. Forty percent was a rate that would make a loan shark weep.

Now I get why he said he'd donate. At a forty percent commission he would be sweeping money up by the armful. He was clearly planning to skim off a speck of it and call it charity.

This King told you. Those pointy-ears are beyond saving.

"Huu..."

Raon sighed as he looked at Rimer, whose pupils had turned into gold coins.

Now that was a real dark elf...

Muston finished preparing for the duel and went to Rektar's room.

"Master."

He bowed his head to Rektar, who sat on the sofa gazing out the window.

"It is time for the duel."

"So it is."

For the first time in the two days since meeting Raon, Rektar turned his head from that posture.

Muston bit his lip as he looked at his master's vacant eyes. Damn it... He had wanted to fight the bastard to prove he was better than Raon. Instead, all he seemed to have done was display the bastard's spirit.

Ever since returning from that meeting with Raon, Rektar had not even looked this way. He only stared up at the sky and poured wine.

Muston pictured Raon as if the boy were reflected in Rektar's eyes, and his hand closed around his scabbard. Insolent bastard. You're going to break me and then cross swords with Master?

The face of the man who had spouted arrogant words without even knowing Muston's skill rose in his mind, and strength entered his grip before he knew it.

Crunch.

The scabbard groaned as if it would split.

Thinking of Raon—who had taken the epithets Little Sword Demon and Sword Dragon that Muston had wanted, and even his master's attention besides—made his stomach burn as if he had swallowed a stone. I'll break him. No matter what it takes.

Raon belonged to Zieghart, but he had not inherited Glenn's martial arts.

It was only natural that Muston, who had inherited the Sword Demon's martial arts and trained for far longer, would win.

"Master."

Muston took another step toward the Sword Demon.

"I will win today's duel and ensure that insolent bastard's sword never reaches you."

"Be careful."

Rektar turned his head slowly.

"That child is strong. Do not take him lightly. Fight him as if he is the strongest enemy you have ever faced."

"The strongest enemy..."

Muston bit his lip. So he really does acknowledge that bastard...

Rektar was a man who did not easily acknowledge anyone. The thought that such a lofty master had praised that young brat over him made Muston's heart clench tight.

And because Rektar had not even chosen him as a disciple with his own hands, the feeling went beyond anger. It became rage.

"Please watch. I will prove that I am the only one worthy of being your disciple!"

Muston turned, a chilling aura wrapped around his eyes.

Rektar shook his head as he watched Muston's back.

"He's thoroughly mistaken."

His first disciple seemed trapped in a great delusion, but at this point no words would mean anything.

He left him be, thinking it might even do the boy some good.

"Hah..."

Rektar looked out the window again and let out a cloudy breath.

"Whether my thoughts are right or not, I'll know today."

Raon stepped up onto the sparring ground before the sun had reached the center of the sky.

Word of the duel had spread, and the area around the arena was packed not only with the martial artists who had come to offer support this time, but with people of House Arian as well.

"Wooooaaaaah!"

"He's up!"

"Raon! Raon! Raon!"

"White Sword Dragon! White Sword Dragon! White Sword Dragon!"

These were all people he had crossed paths with at least once, and the cheers that burst out were even more magnificent than they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were at Zieghart.

Raon raised a hand in answer. As he did, the crowd on the opposite side parted, and Sword Demon Rektar and his disciple Muston approached with heavy steps.

Muston bowed to the Sword Demon, then climbed onto the sparring ground.

"Uoooooh!"

"Muston! Muston!"

"The Sword Demon's disciple!"

"The divine one who killed an apostle and a Floor Master!"

Thanks to the people who had bet on Muston after falling for Rimer's scheme, the cheers for him did not fall far behind.

Muston came toward the center, his eyes gleaming with a murderous light, as if this were a Life-and-Death Duel.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this day."

"So have I."

Raon nodded, unhurried.

"The epithets Little Sword Demon and Sword Dragon. You obtained those because you were lucky. If I had appeared before you, those names would have been mine."

"I don't particularly care, so take them if you want."

He had no interest in epithets. Being called Raon Zieghart, as he always had been, was more than enough, so he shrugged.

"That. That is exactly it. I cannot stand that arrogance."

"I don't think that's all it is."

From the first moment they had met, Muston had been throwing off a savage aura much like this one. He was not doing this simply because he found Raon arrogant.

"Today I will make it so you cannot open that mouth of yours."

He seized his hilt, and a fierce light burned in his eyes as if they were on fire.

"No one's managed that yet."

"Shut up!"

"Even the insults are the same."

Raon gave a faint laugh and took a step forward. He faced Muston at a distance where their breathing could touch.

Once the two of them settled into their stances, Borini Kitten stepped up onto the sparring ground.

"I am Borini Kitten of Owen, serving as referee today."

He bowed in turn to Raon and Muston with all due courtesy.

"Killing is absolutely forbidden. This is a duel. I ask that you show each other proper respect."

"Yes."

"Understood."

Hearing both answers, Borini Kitten withdrew to the edge of the arena.

"Then—the duel between Raon Zieghart and Muston begins!"

He brought down the hand that had been pointing at the sky and descended from the sparring ground.

"Raon Zieghart."

Muston drew his sword at once and charged. Aura pulled to full power from the very first breath. Together with eyes brimming with inferiority, he brought the blade down.

"Hm?"

Raon narrowed his eyes as he watched Muston's strike fall along a diagonal. What is this? The principles woven into the blow were not one or two.

Paaaang!

It was fast, and heavy, and fierce, and keen, and richly varied, and steeped in illusion.

Tung!

Wanting a closer look at that sword, Raon retreated to the left, treading the Supreme Harmony Footwork.

"Where do you think you're running!"

Muston's blade bent after him like a snake chasing a mouse. To the many sword principles Raon had just felt were added precision and flexibility.

Chiiing!

Raon bent his waist back and let Muston's sword slide past. He saw his still-unsettled bangs split and scatter into the air.

Tak!

He put strength into his ankles and withdrew as if pushing ice behind him, eyes narrowing. ...Myriad Swords, is it.

The principles of the sword were as varied as the swordsmen who wielded them. Most sword arts were built by harmonizing a handful of those principles. Those who cultivated the Myriad Swords were different.

They gathered every sword art they had learned and every sword art they would learn, and from that gathering they endlessly forged something new.

From Muston's swordsmanship now, the scent of Myriad Swords was rising. So the Sword Demon's sword was Myriad Swords as well...

Until now, the only people known to have cultivated Myriad Swords had been Glenn Zieghart and Derus Robert. It seemed the Sword Demon had walked that path as well. However...

Raon clicked his tongue softly as he watched Muston pour out strike after strike, his blade wrapped in seething ganggi. This one has nothing but the surface of it.

Myriad Swords was a sword of one's own, born from the condensation of countless arts. But the principles in Muston's blade had not found harmony with one another.

It was a Swift Sword that was not swift, a Heavy Sword that was not heavy, a Hard Sword that was not hard. He had mixed every sword art he knew, and not one of them was his, and not one of them was in concert with the rest. And this man is not even looking at me.

His shoulders were locked. His hands were clenched full of force. From the start he was using a sword stuffed with unnecessary strength, and his target did not seem to be Raon at all—it seemed to be the Sword Demon standing behind him. A meaningless duel, then.

Raon's eyes went cold and still. There was nothing to be gained from a man who had only anger to offer. There was no reason to drag this out any longer.

"You won't dodge this!"

Muston shot in like a thunderbolt and thrust the sword he had drawn back.

He ringed the space on every side with the principle of the Heavy Sword so there would be nowhere to escape, and into the heart of the blade he poured the principles of the Swift Sword and the Hard Sword, and even the Variable Sword and Illusion Sword that beguiled the eye.

Kugugugu!

Raon's body grew heavy, as if gravity itself had thickened, and his vision filled with the radiant haze of a sword wound in crimson ganggi. It was a strike that had taken splendor to its utmost. Even an outstanding Master would not be able to answer a sword current this dazzling and this fierce. But...

I am not them.

He was already walking the path of Myriad Swords a step ahead of Muston. A sword art this clumsily knotted was something he could shatter as he pleased.

He decided to offer a single lesson to a fool walking the same road.

Kuung!

Raon drove his foot into the earth in a true step. The scorching power that surged up from his legs wrapped his whole body as he closed the distance to Muston.

Chiririring!

In the instant Muston's sword-tip was about to graze his skin, he drew the Heavenly Sky Sword. The explosive energy of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames raced through every mana circuit in his body, and from his right hand a fierce scarlet flame burst forth.

The eyes that had been drowned in jealousy changed. They swelled with shock, and Muston's mouth fell open. Too late.

Coming to his senses now meant nothing. The Quick-Draw Sword Art was already touching the tip of his blade.

Kwaaaaaah!

The principles dwelling in the Heavenly Sky Sword were not as varied as Muston's. But in this moment, the speed, the precision, and the strength that were needed most had found perfect harmony.

Those simple, fully blended principles warped like moonlight and crashed into the mighty sword strike Muston had raised.

Jeeeeeeong!

The principles dwelling in Muston's sword were erased one by one.

Swiftness vanished. Heaviness shattered. Variation and illusion subsided. What remained where every principle had gone was an ordinary sword, nothing more.

Jjijijik!

Raon put his last strength into the wrist that carved the Heavenly Sky Sword through a curve.

Kyaaaaang!

Muston's sword, stripped of everything, split in two and buried itself in the sparring ground.

"Ah..."

Raon turned the Heavenly Sky Sword and set it against the throat of a Muston who had gone white with terror. The man could not so much as react. His lips only trembled.

"I have kept my promise to show you with results."

Raon lowered the Heavenly Sky Sword as he looked not at Muston, whose eyes were still unfocused, as if he had not yet grasped reality—but at the Sword Demon standing behind him.