I'll Win
"All right, listen up!"
Rimer climbed onto the platform and clapped his hands. The trainees, lost in their practice, all raised their heads.
"See those people over there?"
He pointed toward the knights of the Owen Kingdom standing along the right side of the training ground.
"Our guests from the Owen Kingdom have requested a sparring match."
"A-a sparring match?"
"Just like that?"
The trainees' mouths fell open, thrown completely off balance by a word they had never expected to hear.
"Just like that? What do you mean, just like that? I've always told you—a swordsman has to be ready to swing his blade the moment he wakes from sleep."
Rimer clicked his tongue, muttering that they still had a long way to go.
"Ugh…"
"But it's the Owen Kingdom…"
"Wouldn't it be b-better if we had a little time to prepare?"
Even with Rimer's advice, the tension never left the trainees' faces.
A few of them, however, were thinking something else entirely.
Burren and Marta swept their eyes over the Owen Kingdom's trainee knights one by one, with the look of predators sizing up prey. Runaan paid no attention to the noise in front of her and simply kept training.
"Heh heh."
Rimer, who had been savoring the trainees' panic, turned his gaze on Raon. The look in his eyes asked, And what about you?
"Hmm…"
Raon turned his head and studied the Owen Kingdom's trainee knights.
A sparring match, huh.
Knights were one thing, but among the trainee knights, not a single one had reached his level. The prince standing at their center, though, would make a decent enough opponent for practicing the harmony between Garam Footwork and Yeonseong Sword Art.
Raon gave a slow nod, and the smile at the corner of Rimer's mouth deepened.
"Since everyone's agreed, we can get started. Twenty people. And…"
Rimer dropped his voice so that only the trainees could hear him.
"I bet my entire salary on this. You will win. If you lose, you're dead. For real."
"Wh-what?"
"Excuse me? Th-that's…"
"Prepare for the sparring match!"
The trainees' jaws dropped. They tried to protest, but Rimer had already turned away and started issuing orders to the instructors.
"Yes, sir!"
As if they had known all along, the instructors spread the trainees out and began setting up boards and equipment in the center of the training ground for the matches.
"Hah."
Raon watched it all and let out a short laugh.
So that's what it was.
Every strange thing Rimer had done over the past few days had been for this sparring match. He must have started preparing the moment he heard that an Owen Kingdom delegation was coming.
He really is something.
Even if they were still children who hadn't earned the qualifications of swordsman or knight, a sparring match between the Six Kings didn't happen easily. To arrange one this smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—Rimer was no ordinary man.
"Gather up."
Raon turned and called everyone together.
"Okay."
Runaan, who until now had ignored every word spoken around her, stopped her sword and came over first.
"Tch."
"…"
Burren and Marta, then the rest of the trainees, took their places beside her. Centered on Raon, every trainee of the 5th Training Ground drew into a circle.
"As you heard, the sparring match is already decided. We need to pick twenty people, so anyone who wants to volunteer, raise your hand."
"I'm going. No question."
"Same. I'll smash my way in if I have to."
Burren and Marta raised their hands at the same time.
"Are you going too, Raon?"
"I am."
"Then I will too."
Runaan nodded and lifted her hand. Behind her, about ten more trainees raised theirs.
"…"
"Umm…"
The rest, though, couldn't bring themselves to raise their hands so readily, glancing around instead.
They're scared.
The Owen Kingdom's trainee knights were wearing armor even though they hadn't received formal knighthood. Faced with that imposing presence—men who stood there so confidently when the Zieghart trainees weren't fully sure of their own skill—their bodies and minds had locked up.
"Tch."
It was a hassle, but as the top trainee, getting the others moving was part of his role.
"Do they look that impressive to you?"
Raon pointed at the Owen Kingdom trainee knights preparing for the match.
"Well, they kind of do."
"They look dangerous, too."
The trainees nodded, still sneaking glances.
"Look closely at the trainee knights' hands."
"Huh?"
Their eyes followed Raon's finger to the knights' hands.
"Hmm?"
"Th-they're shaking a little, aren't they?"
"Not 'aren't they.' They are shaking…"
"The others are the same."
The trainees looked at the rest of the trainee knights' hands and their eyes went wide.
"They're wearing fine armor, that's true. But they're still just trainees who can't hide the trembling and the nerves before a match."
"Ah…"
"In other words, they're kids around your age, thinking the same things you are."
Raon turned and looked at the trainees.
"There's no reason to be afraid. You've trained in a way that wouldn't fall behind anyone from the other Six Kings—or the Five Demons. Fight the way you were taught, and you won't lose in some ugly fashion."
"Mm!"
"Hah, well, who else has trained as hard as we have?"
"The blood and sweat we poured into training won't lose to anyone."
At the earnest recognition in Raon's voice, life and fighting spirit flared in the trainees' eyes.
"I'll ask again. Anyone who wants to enter the sparring match, raise your hand."
A rush of wind, and every last trainee put a hand in the air.
Raon nodded and selected twenty, including Burren, Runaan, and Marta.
Those who had been chosen and those who hadn't looked toward the Owen Kingdom with a completely different energy than before.
What a hassle.
Looking after children was more trouble than he'd expected. Sharing time and space with the trainees, though, he seemed to have grown a little fond of them. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.
"Then I'll set the match order. First up is Marta. You can handle it, right?"
"I'll crush them."
Marta gave a big nod. The vanguard was a position that could lift the trainees' morale, so sending Marta—the second strongest in the 5th Training Ground—was the right call.
"After that…"
He set the order one by one. Runaan would be eighteenth, Burren nineteenth, and he himself would go last.
"If you're ready, please gather in the center."
"Let's go."
Listening to Rimer's insufferably smug voice, Raon walked toward the middle of the training ground.
Marta cocked her chin to one side as she looked at the trainee knight who had stepped onto the sparring ground. The well-polished silver armor and the massive frame called a full-fledged knight to mind.
She wasn't afraid. Compared to that bastard who had crushed her with sheer power, this one didn't look big at all.
"Tars."
The hulking trainee knight rested a hand on his scabbard and bowed his head.
"Marta Zieghart."
Marta gave her name and set her feet at half her shoulder width.
"That undeveloped body of yours is terrifyingly well-trained. I look forward to a good match."
The trainee knight who had named himself Tars did not let Marta's delicate features or small frame lull him into carelessness. He read her energy carefully. There was a reason he had come out as the vanguard among the trainee knights.
"A good match? You're going to get beaten anyway, so quit the bullshit posturing and come at me."
Marta snorted and crooked a finger at him.
"Hmph."
Tars let out a breath through his nose and drew his sword. A greatsword thicker than a typical knight's blade revealed itself.
"Your mouth is fouler than you look. I hope your swordsmanship matches it."
"You talk too much. If you won't come, I will!"
The instant Marta stamped the ground, her sword was already out. The pale blade split the rising heat.
"Fool!"
A cold light flashed in Tars's eyes as he brought the greatsword straight down. Fierce wind pressure surged from the dull edge of the massive blade.
A heavy gust of air tried to crush Marta's body—and her eyes flared.
She drove a stomping step into the earth and struck upward. Like a salmon leaping a waterfall, she split the wind pressure and met the greatsword head-on.
A roar like bursting metal rang out, and Tars's greatsword bounced away and buried itself in the ground.
"Hhk!"
Tars jerked back in shock, but Marta did not let the opening slip. She closed in at once and smashed the flat of her blade into his abdomen.
"Grk—!"
Struck in the gut, Tars blew foam and toppled over backward.
"A guy who fights with power, and he doesn't even put everything into a single blow. Pathetic."
Marta sheathed her sword with a cold smile and turned away.
"Marta wins!"
Rimer raised a hand toward her side, a look of deep satisfaction on his face.
"Hmm…"
Raon watched Marta's retreating back, tapping a finger.
She's changed, and she hasn't.
After losing to him, he had thought Marta would put softness into her swordsmanship. She hadn't. Instead of adding softness, she had piled on more power and more speed to raise her force. An almost absurd simplicity.
An unbending will, is it?
That refusal to compromise would surely carry her higher.
This is actually pretty entertaining.
Entertaining? You find watching little ants fight entertaining? This King finds it nothing but tedious.
Even ants don't stay young forever.
Pathetic. Even when This King summoned young demons for sparring back in the Demon Realm, they never showed such amateurish—ghk!
Raon flicked the flower bracelet, shutting Wrath's mouth, and waited for the next match.
I'm enjoying this. So be quiet.
Marta had given them the best possible start, but the Owen Kingdom's trainee knights were no pushovers.
Whether they had brought only elites or not, they traded wins and losses with the 5th Training Ground's trainees in a hard-fought contest. After seventeen matches, the 5th Training Ground stood at eight wins and nine losses, and it was Runaan's turn—the eighteenth.
"Runaan, you're up."
"Okay."
Runaan nodded and stepped onto the sparring ground.
Waiting there was a female knight of about Runaan's height, a hand on her hip.
"Edelia."
"Runaan Sullion."
Runaan and Edelia observed the courtesies of knight and swordsman, then faced each other.
"…"
Runaan didn't even draw her sword. She looked at Edelia with the same vacant eyes as always.
"I don't like those empty eyes."
Edelia wrinkled her nose and charged. Crimson flame surged from the tip of her sword, held out like a spear.
Flame aura. Even with her small frame, it was a strike that showed exactly why she had been saved for the later matches.
"I don't like fire."
Runaan stuck out her lip so slightly it was barely visible, and drew her sword.
Frost paler than the silver blade itself filled the air.
The sword of flame and the sword of cold collided, and white steam billowed up. Runaan stepped into Garam Footwork and vanished into the frost and smoke.
"I'll just burn that cold away!"
Edelia swept the flames riding her blade like a torch, wiping out frost and smoke at once.
"There!"
She didn't miss the shimmer in the cold and thrust.
"Huh?"
Edelia's eyes flew wide. Nothing caught on the tip of her sword. The empty air it had pierced was hollow.
"Ugh!"
A chill at her throat made her swallow dryly and turn her head.
Runaan's eyes gleamed a piercing blue, her blade at Edelia's neck.
"…I lost."
Edelia bit her lip and dropped her sword.
Runaan took the blade from Edelia's throat and slid it back into its sheath.
"A good fight… huh?"
Edelia held out a hand, but Runaan didn't even look back. She came down and stood in front of Raon.
"Did you see?"
"You've gotten used to the footwork. Well done."
"Okay."
Runaan dipped her head and plopped down beside him.
Raon felt the cold energy coming off her and smiled faintly.
Using my footwork in a real fight.
The footwork Runaan had used this time was the concealment form of Garam Footwork, something she had practiced on her own. He had given her only a little advice, and with that alone she had created a distinctive applied form. Watching her follow along so well even without proper instruction filled him with a quiet pride.
"Nine wins and nine losses on both sides. This is getting interesting. Then we'll begin the nineteenth match."
Rimer grinned, clearly enjoying himself, and called Burren and a trainee knight forward.
"Hmm…"
Raon clicked his tongue.
He's quite strong.
The trainee knight facing Burren had a stable stance, and a keen light ran through his eyes. Setting the Third Prince aside, he was the strongest trainee knight Raon had seen so far.
Their martial power was even. A single mistake in a single instant would decide it. The other side seemed to have sent out what they would call a secret weapon.
"Trainee Knight Setun Kazel."
"Trainee Burren Zieghart."
The trainee knight and Burren exchanged courteous greetings, then rested their hands on their scabbards.
"The nineteenth match begins!"
The instant Rimer finished speaking, both men vanished from the sparring ground.
Burren and Setun kicked off the earth with their footwork and met in the center, swords colliding.
They know.
Both of them understood. Their strength was evenly matched, and the moment either let his guard down, it would be over.
Burren's sword was fast and precise. Setun's was heavy and strong. Each man brought his own strengths to the fullest, bringing his blade down to crush the other.
A true deadlock. Not only the trainees but even the swordsmen watching were drawn into the match.
Blood sprayed from Burren's shoulder. Setun's breastplate split open with a crack. Swordsman and knight neither dropped their blades, even as blood ran and flesh tore. They thrust at each other's weaknesses as if they had met mortal enemies.
Setun's heavy strike drove Burren back, and Burren clenched his teeth. He raised his sword and pulled up every last drop of his aura.
"Hup!"
Setun felt Burren's energy and poured every bit of aura from his core into his blade.
"Hyaaah!"
Burren threw his body onto the wind and surged forward. Setun planted both legs in the earth and brought his sword down.
A sound like the sparring ground itself being crushed rang out, and gray smoke billowed up. The crack of splitting gravel followed, and both men stopped moving.
Rimer hummed through his nose and stretched out a hand. A green wind blew in and pushed the smoke from the sparring ground away.
Burren and Setun had stopped at a distance a fist could have closed. Both of their swords were split in half, driven into the earth.
"Huh?"
"I-if it's like that…"
"It's a draw."
As the trainees said, neither man was in any condition to keep fighting. They had spent every last bit of stamina and aura, and their limbs were shaking.
"The nineteenth match is a draw!"
Hearing Rimer's declaration, Burren forced himself upright and came down from the sparring ground.
"Damn it…"
He clenched his teeth, his face twisting.
"You did well. That trainee knight was the strongest they had."
"What good is that? If I went out bearing the name of Zieghart, I should have won no matter what!"
Burren slammed a clenched fist into the ground. He had no strength left, and the skin split open.
"Hmm."
Raon looked at Setun, who had fought Burren. He, too, seemed frustrated; his previously composed face was crumpled like tree bark.
Honor, huh.
In his past life and this one, he had been too busy just trying to survive. He still didn't really understand what honor was.
"Then we'll begin the final match, which will decide victory and defeat!"
Raon stood at the sound of Rimer's cheerful voice.
"Don't worry."
He looked back at Burren, whose lips were still twisted.
"I'll win."
"…"
Burren said nothing. In his own way, it seemed to mean he believed him.
Raon turned and climbed onto the sparring ground. He still didn't know a thing about honor—but everyone had become of one mind, so he intended to win for them. No. He wanted to win.
"A direct descendant of Zieghart?"
The Third Prince, waiting on the sparring ground, tapped his sword's hilt and cocked his head.
"No. I'm from the collateral line."
"Tch. To think I'd have to fight a castoff."
The Third Prince's brow furrowed at the word collateral. He still hadn't recognized Raon's martial power.
"I have a proposal."
Without so much as looking at Raon, the Third Prince turned his head toward Rimer.
"What sort of proposal?"
"Those two over there."
He pointed at Runaan and Marta, who were watching the sparring ground.
"They don't look like they used their full strength. If I beat this one, how about a rematch with them?"
"Hmm…"
Rimer scratched his trembling jaw. From the look on his face, he was clearly holding back a laugh.
"Sure. We can do that. If. You. Win."
"Then tell them to warm up. This will be over quickly."
The Third Prince turned away with a satisfied smile.
"It'll be over quickly, all right."
A cold frost flashed through Raon's eyes.
I'll win, though.