Because We Fought
Raon narrowed his eyes.
He's thanking me?
It made no sense. He had casually smashed a strategy they'd spent so much effort building, won their one-on-one duel, and driven a fist into the man's chest at the end of it—and yet Kane was bowing his head in gratitude. Raon couldn't begin to understand why.
"You look like you don't understand."
Kane Zieghart chuckled, as if he'd expected exactly that look.
"I was certain I could beat you in this all-out battle. Certain I'd win no matter when we fought. I'd already mapped out your personalities and your strength before the spar was even decided."
"You were a real threat, I'll give you that."
Reading Marta and Burren's temperaments and swordsmanship, then matching them with the right opponents and the right counters—that had been effective. If Runaan hadn't been sent in, both of them would have gone down right there.
"Right. But a threat is all it was. I didn't actually win. I took one small victory and decided the whole thing was over. It never even occurred to me that your senses were sharper than mine, or that you were that good at hiding your presence. And I never imagined Marta and Burren would change that much."
Kane let out a long, heavy sigh.
"And last of all—I never once pictured myself losing a one-on-one against you. I'd done nothing but cultivate while I recovered, so I was confident in my aura if nothing else. I still can't believe I was broken by a little flame like that."
Even now, he thought the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames was weak. It was a misconception, but there was no particular need to correct him, so Raon let it lie.
"I learned a great deal from this fight. From now on I have to assume that among my enemies there might be someone younger than me and still outstanding—and I have to stay sharp. Always."
Raon looked into Kane's eyes. They were the eyes of a man who had just filled his belly with a good meal, thoroughly satisfied. Everything he'd said, it seemed, had been sincere.
Not bad, for a direct descendant.
Kane was right. You always had to move on the assumption that an enemy might be hiding their true ability. Back in his assassin days, it was precisely because he'd prepared for every possible situation that he'd been called the best.
"Yeah."
Raon nodded to Kane, then swept his gaze through the restaurant.
The trainees of the 5th Training Ground and the 6th Training Ground were laughing and chatting over their food as if they'd been friends all along.
"What do you think about when you throw your sword?"
"Think? I don't think. I just stick it wherever it feels right. And I told you to get lost."
Even Marta, who'd been snapping at everyone, seemed to have softened a little under the praise. She was actually answering. A very little.
"Anyone who means to become a Zieghart swordsman ought to have at least that much will."
"Of course. A Zieghart swordsman would offer up his left side even with a blade already in his right, if that's what victory demanded."
Burren and Decal were laughing heartily, their faces flushed as if they'd been drinking.
Crunch, crunch.
Runaan had finished talking with Karin and was eating fruit. She seemed to like it—she'd piled a heap of it in front of herself and was working through it with the single-minded focus of a squirrel.
Strange.
They'd been trying to kill each other a little while ago, and now they were getting along like this. It was bizarre. When he'd first heard they were all going to eat together, he'd expected the atmosphere of a funeral. It was the complete opposite. The restaurant felt no different from a little festival.
"You're a strange one yourself."
While he was still turning it over, Kane—who had been tearing into a piece of chicken—gave a short laugh.
"About what?"
"You're wondering why the people who were just fighting are suddenly so friendly, aren't you?"
"Well…"
"Thought so."
Kane nodded, as if he'd known that would be the answer.
"Want me to tell you why? Because they fought."
"I know that much. But why would fighting…"
"No. Not just because they fought. Because they fought under the name of Zieghart."
He pointed across the room at the trainees still loudly recounting today's battle.
Raon's gaze settled. It was exactly as Kane said. Crossing blades with him, Raon had felt the man's mindset with perfect clarity. Kane had wanted nothing but victory.
"When you've poured out everything you can at the other person, win or lose, it leaves you feeling clean. Those kids aren't pretending to be close. A little real familiarity has actually formed."
Having said that, Kane threw back his juice as if it were beer.
"Is that so…"
A little of it reached him. Why they all looked so friendly—and why he himself hadn't been able to understand it.
Because it was never like this in my previous life.
There had been all-out battle drills during his assassin training, too. Unlike here, though, even in training the weak had lost their lives, so building any kind of camaraderie had never crossed anyone's mind. You were grateful you'd survived another day, and you despaired.
This is how it should be.
People bound by the same name, standing in the same place, colliding with everything they had and leaving no regrets—this was the result that ought to follow. What the instructors in his previous life had wanted, on the other hand, wasn't a human being. It was an obedient dog. When the training was kill or be killed, suspicion and resentment were the only natural outcomes.
"When you fight, you look as composed as a veteran who's seen it all. Right now you look your age. A curious temperament."
Kane grinned around a mouthful of meat. It wasn't mockery. He looked genuinely amused.
"Do I."
Raon smiled back. Of course, it was a smile with a different meaning from Kane's.
I really don't know anything.
His strength was growing by the day, and the assassination techniques and experience were still intact in his head—but when it came to being human, he was more lacking than anyone in this room. It was a laugh at his own pathetic self.
"Hah…"
He let out a slow breath and looked out the window. The setting sun pressed a dull sting against his eyes.
Was it this situation? Or was it hearing words that dragged up memories of his previous life?
The old memories rose.
The days before he'd even had the codename Raon. The days he'd clutched a dagger and thrashed just to stay alive came flooding through his mind.
The children who'd come at him to kill him in the live combat drills. Children whose faces he'd never even seen because of the masks—if they hadn't been dragged to that place, they might have lived lives like these. They would have met friends who understood them, laughed and talked and been happy. However hard it got, it would have been a better life than dying the way they had. His hands trembled with the pity of it.
That's right. All of it…
Derus Robert.
The former king of the south, the one they called the Heavenly Sword Star—that damned swindler. For the first time in a long while, rage at the man surged up through his chest.
"Raon?"
Just as he was grinding his teeth, Runaan's clear voice reached him. His mind snapped back.
"Tsk. That damn brat had to interrupt!"
Wrath's voice rang from the bracelet, thick with disappointment. Apparently the creature had been quietly stoking his emotions from the middle.
You really are something else.
"W-wait! Why are you letting that splendid wrath fade?! Stoke it higher! You have a score to settle! This King—"
Get lost.
"Guhhh! You little…"
Raon stuffed Wrath back into the bracelet.
"Hah."
Wrath had given it a push, but the feeling itself was real. Derus Robert, at least, he would kill no matter what it took.
"I'm fine."
"Mm."
He gave a faint smile to Runaan, who was staring at him with her usual blank look, and she went back to eating her fruit. Even the way she ate was exactly like a squirrel.
"Raon Zieghart."
Kane, who had at some point finished off an entire chicken, rapped the table and called his name.
"I have a proposal."
"A proposal?"
"How about we do spars between training grounds like this from time to time? One-on-ones are good, and an all-out battle like today's has meaning too, I think."
His voice must have carried a little, because the restaurant went quiet. Every trainee who'd been talking turned to look their way.
"Hmm…"
Raon glanced over the kids. Nobody looked particularly against it. Marta was scowling as if to say don't you dare, but that was one person's opinion, and he paid it no mind.
"Yeah. I think that's fine."
"Now that's what I like to hear!"
Kane slapped the table and stood up.
"Ohh!"
"This is going to be fun from now on!"
"Next time we are not losing!"
"What are you talking about? We're winning next time too, no question!"
The trainees' voices swelled even louder. Everyone was delighted at having found a new connection.
"Fuck this!"
Exactly one person. Only Marta spat a curse and glared at Raon.
Raon ignored her stare and looked toward the far right end of the room. The people whose opinion actually mattered most in deciding Kane's proposal were absorbed in an entirely different conversation.
"Wait. The meal cost isn't the price for losing the bet?"
"Of course not. Did I ever once say 'pay for the food because you lost a bet'? I just told you to pay."
"I already gave you money."
"That was a down payment."
Rimer and Metoon weren't talking about the trainees' performance today, or about anything they needed to reflect on. They were arguing about the bet.
"What kind of rule is that…"
"This is this, and that is that. The stake of a bet is gold coins, as a rule. Come on, hand it over. And settle the bill for the meal while you're at it."
Rimer grinned and held out his open hand.
"There's not an elf alive as money-hungry as you."
"Oh, I'll take that as a compliment."
"Ugh. I'm going to get an ulcer."
Metoon slammed a heavy pouch of gold coins down onto Rimer's palm.
"Thank you, sucker—I mean, valued customer. Please come again!"
The moment he had the money, Rimer picked up his beer mug and stood.
"You kids did great today. Rest tomorrow, and I'll see you at the training ground the day after!"
He spun a hand in a lazy wave and walked straight out of the restaurant.
And where do you think you're going.
Raon snorted and followed after him.
I'm not about to let him pocket all the profit himself.
"All I have to do is bet on Raon and I win."
Rimer headed for the gambling den with a spring in his step.
Raon's a lucky charm. A walking fortune.
The trainees had been getting pushed back one-sidedly, and he'd been a little nervous—but it had gone exactly as he'd hoped. The moment Raon moved, the whole disadvantage had flipped, and they'd taken a perfect victory. From now on, as long as he bet on Raon, he would never lose a thing.
"A sure thing. A hundred percent. He's a gold mine! A walking gold mine! I wish I could do this every day."
"There's no such thing as a sure-thing gamble in this world."
"Huh?"
At the clear voice from behind him, he whipped his head around in a hurry. Raon was standing there, his gaze cold as it settled on the gold-coin pouch in Rimer's hand.
"R-Raon? What are you doing here? Go on, eat some more…"
"You've won quite a bit betting on us, I take it."
"Uh…"
"And not just once or twice, either."
"Ugh."
Both statements were true. He had made a great deal of profit thanks to Raon. No—more than a great deal.
"Half."
Raon lifted a finger and pointed at the gold-coin pouch.
"Half?"
"You won because of us, so please spend half of what you won on us."
"H-half?! That's way too much!"
"By tomorrow it won't be half anyway. There'll be nothing left but dust."
"I could triple it!"
"I've never seen you come back from a gambling den with winnings."
The boy snorted. It was infuriating, but that was true too. This time, though, was different. He could feel his luck standing on end.
"I've got a good feeling about this one. I'll win ten times as much and give you half of that…"
"That won't be necessary. Half is enough for us."
"No! All of it is mine—"
"Then I won't be cooperating from now on."
"What?"
"It's obvious where you'll place your bets, Instructor, so I could always lose on purpose."
"There's no way you'd do something like that… hmm."
Rimer swallowed a groan. Those sunken eyes of Raon's meant he was serious.
Did I… go too far?
Come to think of it, even when he'd bet on Burren and Marta's spars, he'd just kept winning and wiped his mouth clean every time.
"I'm not asking you to give it to me. I want you to buy something for the trainees."
"Sigh. Fine. What is it. What do they need?"
"Watching them fight the 6th Training Ground trainees today, I realized something."
For the first time, Raon went on with a faint smile.
"What the trainees need is…"
Two days later.
"Huh? What's this?"
"Dolls?"
"These are swordsmanship practice dummies."
The trainees' eyes lit up at the dummies installed along the left side of the training ground.
"Swordsmanship practice dummies?"
"Yeah. When you strike them with a sword, they rebound with even more force. They're supposed to be excellent for live combat practice."
"Really? But why are they suddenly here?"
The trainees tilted their heads at the dummies.
"The instructor bought them."
"Huh?"
"For real?"
At Raon's words, the trainees turned startled eyes toward Rimer, who was sprawled face-down on the platform.
"You felt it in the last live match. When you clash swords with an opponent, the rebound makes it easy to lose your grip or injure your wrist. He bought these as a countermeasure for that."
"Hah!"
"That gambling addict…"
"So he used the money he won the day before yesterday?"
"Instructor…"
The trainees approached Rimer with touched looks in their eyes.
"Hmm…"
Even Burren, who made no secret of disliking Rimer, widened his eyes in surprise.
"Go on. Use them well."
Rimer waved a hand and smiled weakly.
Damn things were expensive.
The dummies had cost more than he'd expected. After buying a few of them, not even half the gold coins were left. And the rest he'd blown in a fit of pique, every last coin. Just as Raon had said, he was completely broke.
Even so, a thin smile lingered at the corner of Rimer's mouth as he watched the trainees happily striking the dummies.