Get Lost, You Maniac
"Get lost, you lunatic. You reek of booze."
Stay calm. For now, the only thing that mattered was getting away from this damned dokkaebi woman.
One wrong move, and I'd be waking up tomorrow morning in the depths of a hellish hangover. I was sure of it.
"Promise me ye won't run off first, willya~?"
"Goddammit, seriously."
My head throbbed at the realization that I had walked into the tiger's den of my own free will. The one silver lining was that Clarice was with me.
The Saintesses of the Seven Great Orders were all a law unto themselves, but even they tended to give Clarice a wide berth.
So slipping out shouldn't be too hard—
"Clarice!?"
She suddenly staggered, and I caught her by the waist to steady her.
What the hell's wrong with her all of a sudden?
Looking down in bewilderment, I found Clarice's face flushed red as a ripened apple.
"Haaaah... Unnie~ I'm dizzy. The world's spinniiiing..."
"Oh, for crying out loud. Clarice?"
Her tongue was slurring on top of it all.
Anyone could see she was drunk.
"Hey. What did you do to Clarice?"
"Hmmm? Well~ isn't it just that Clarice's order is so weak to alcohol that even a whiff of the stuff gets 'em tipsy~?"
"...Unbelievable."
The Order that worshipped Diana, goddess of gold and wine, dealt in every kind of treasure and liquor imaginable.
And Kiara, that Order's Saintess, enjoyed liquors that defied all common sense.
Even I, who actually drank, felt my head swim just from catching a whiff of the stuff.
It was hardly surprising that Clarice—newly come of age, having never so much as touched a drop—was swaying around like that.
"...Hey. Let's open a window or something first. The smell of booze is killing me."
The moment I cracked open the dining hall door—to air the place out, and to scout an escape route if it came to that—
BANG!
"......"
Kiara shoved the door shut again.
In the darkness, her golden eyes gleamed down at me, brilliant and bright, and divine power came pouring out.
'...This insane woman...! She's using her Authority!?'
I scrambled to draw up my own divine power, but Kiara was faster.
The moment her amber divine power spread through the room, mine was sealed off entirely.
"What the hell is this?"
"Don't ye worry~ this is merely Lady Diana's Authority, in the name of a fair drinking party~"
Ah. I get it. Since divine power can purify alcohol, she's blocking it so I can't sober up. That's the trick.
Leave it to an Order that drinks liquor instead of water to have a genuinely deranged Authority.
"Now then, ye can't leave until ye've had a drink with me~"
As Kiara spoke, a golden cup dropped with a soft tap into my hands.
I caught it on instinct, and Kiara grinned sloppily as she filled it with the liquor she'd been drinking.
"What is this now?"
"The Holy Grail of the Diana Order~"
"...You absolute lunatic. You're hauling out a holy relic to get people drunk?"
"Relax. The goddess granted it to us as a drinking vessel~"
Unbelievable. Seriously.
I glared at the amber liquid inside the grail with pure disgust.
"And anyone who accepts this cup~ can't leave the drinking party until it's been emptied~"
"Ha."
With Lady Diana's Authority entangled in this, I had exactly one option.
Drain this cup fast, grab Clarice, and bolt.
"So if I finish this, you'll let me go?"
"Of course~ have ye ever known me to go back on my word~?"
Thankfully, the grail wasn't all that large. Small mercies.
I screwed my eyes shut and tipped it back. The instant it touched my lips, a searing heat bloomed across them, and then a ball of fire slid down my throat.
"Hehe~ as expected~ Sister Beatrice knows how to hold her liquor~"
Leave it to the Diana Order—the taste wasn't bad, but... this was way too strong.
Why is this woman drinking pure alcohol instead of actual liquor?
"Haaah..."
I somehow managed to empty the cup and let out a long breath. Just one drink, and I was already feeling it.
That told me everything I needed to know about what a lush this dokkaebi was, drinking this stuff like water.
"Alright, I finished it. Now let me out—"
"What are ye saying~? Isn't the cup still full?"
"What kind of bullshit—"
I couldn't finish the sentence.
Was I so drunk I was seeing things?
I'd clearly seen the bottom of the cup just moments ago, yet the golden grail was now brimming with sloshing liquor once more.
"Hey. What is this? Why is it refilling itself?"
Kiara didn't answer my flustered question.
Instead, she hoisted the now-sleeping Clarice over her shoulder like a sack of rice, seized my wrist in an iron grip, and dragged me toward the table where she'd been drinking alone.
"Hey! Answer me! Why does this thing refill?!"
"Hm~? Oh my, did I forget to mention~? This cup, blessed by Lady Diana, never runs dry so long as even one person at the table wishes the drinking party to continue~"
Having gently seated the sleeping Clarice in a chair, Kiara narrowed her golden eyes into crescents and smirked.
It was the smile of a predator that had cornered its prey.
"Now then, Sister Beatrice... rejoice. To refuse the infinite pleasure the goddess bestows is a grave sin, y'know~ Hehe. Come now, bottoms up~!"
...Ah, fuck. We are so screwed.
I had a very strong premonition that I'd be crawling back to the cathedral on my hands and knees tonight.
The daily routine of the Holy Knights always included training—but during the Council of the Cathedral, that rule was suspended.
Aside from those assigned to escort duty, the rest of the knights were granted complete free time.
Under normal circumstances, there were two people requiring escorts: the Saintess and the High Priest.
But Beatrice, the Saintess, was strong enough not to need one—and she hated having escorts trailing after her anyway—so she was out.
That left only High Priest Bartholomew.
As a result, everyone except the single knight assigned to guard Bartholomew was effectively on vacation.
The knights savored their rare freedom, sightseeing in the capital or mingling with the holy knights of other Orders.
Which meant the training grounds of the detached palace had been left practically deserted.
And yet, one figure swung a sword alone in that empty yard.
Cassian.
"Hoo..."
What Cassian repeated was the downward slash, the horizontal cut, and the thrust.
The three most fundamental movements of swordsmanship.
Ever since getting knocked down by Beatrice and picking himself back up, he had done nothing but conditioning drills and these three motions, over and over.
Of course, the importance of fundamentals could never be overstated—even Knight Commander Vargas never skipped basic drills.
But repeating only these was a different story entirely.
Two possibilities came to mind. The first: a complete beginner.
Someone endlessly drilling the basics to build a foundation for the sword.
And the second: a master who had reached the summit.
Someone with nothing left to practice and nowhere left to climb, emptying their accumulated skill and returning to the beginner's mind.
So which of these two opposites was Cassian?
Obviously, the former.
"Hah...!"
The Cassian of the past had wielded a style of swordsmanship that relied entirely on his natural physical gifts—little more than a shortcut.
The blessed body of a Hero Candidate papered over all those flaws, and thanks to that, he'd become a promising mercenary with a silver plate before even turning twenty.
But within the Eris Order, a silver-plate mercenary was nothing.
Here, he was merely a slightly sturdier human being.
He could barely keep pace with the lower-ranked holy knights, let alone the intermediates.
A tower built on shortcuts was nothing but a splendid sandcastle. Since joining the Order, he had learned that bitter truth in his bones—it was nothing more than a hollow mirage, doomed to collapse at the first wave.
And so Cassian had resolved to rebuild from the ground up, so that he could stand unashamed beneath the name of Hero.
"Hoo...!"
The March air was still chilly.
But after swinging his sword hundreds upon hundreds of times, sweat beaded and ran down his face.
He was tired.
The thought of wanting to rest pushed its way up, and he shoved it back down.
Don't forget.
The helplessness of those years, dragged along by others, unable to do anything by your own will.
And if that isn't enough, remember this:
While the Saintess fought a desperate battle to the death against a heretic, the so-called Hero Candidate lay sprawled on the ground like a pathetic fool, fast asleep.
"Hyung-nim."
At the voice that cut through his gritted-teeth swinging, Cassian turned his head.
There stood Leonid, arms crossed.
"I say this every time, but you really do work hard, hyung-nim. I wish our kids would take a page out of your book."
"...Thank you."
"Though your skill isn't improving much, is it?"
Cassian's face turned bitter at Leonid's words—because it was a truth he felt keenly himself.
"Stop practicing for now and rest."
"I cannot. I've wasted so much time already. Rest is a luxury I—"
"It's for you, so listen to me. Don't be dense about it."
"...Why is that?"
Cassian stopped mid-swing and asked.
"Because if you keep swinging with that sloppy form, bad habits are going to sink right into your body."
"Ah."
Letting out a soft sigh, Cassian stared at Leonid.
Vice-Commander Leonid.
Every other holy knight on this expedition—even Eric, who had only just made it out of the trainees—was stronger than Cassian could hope to beat. But this man was on an entirely different level from all of them.
"Sir Leonid, might you be able to teach me the sword?"
"Nope."
Leonid refused with a shrug.
"Then perhaps one of the other holy knights—"
"Sorry, but that's a no too."
At Leonid's blade-sharp refusals, one after another, Cassian's face fell.
"Don't look so obviously disappointed. There are reasons for all of it."
"What reasons?"
"First off, none of the knights on this trip are suited to teaching you. We all handle completely different weapons. Judas is a monkey— ahem, I mean a fist-fighter. Griffith uses a rapier, Hans uses knives, and Eric swings a greatsword so heavy most men can barely lift it."
Different weapon classes entirely—how am I supposed to properly teach you? Leonid added.
"So holy knights don't all wield swords, then?"
Cassian set aside his disappointment for the moment and spoke with wonder.
He had, of course, seen the rapier at Griffith's hip and the massive greatsword strapped to Eric's back. Cassian's skills were hopeless, but his eyes were not.
He'd been puzzled that he couldn't spot Hans's or Judas's weapons anywhere—and now, thanks to Leonid, his curiosity was finally satisfied.
"The sword is the symbol of the knight, sure. But not wielding one doesn't make a man any less a knight."
"I see. But don't you and I both use swords, Sir Leonid?"
"Different kinds, though. Mine's a longsword. Yours is a claymore."
Leonid tilted his hip to show his sheathed blade.
Both were swords, yes—but the difference in size and length was stark.
"Still, you could teach me the basics, couldn't you?"
"Afraid I've got no real talent for teaching."
Leonid said it with a quick grin.
Living in the shadow of Beatrice made it easy to forget, but Leonid belonged firmly in the ranks of geniuses himself.
And as geniuses usually are, he was poor at teaching.
When instructing someone, the thought 'How should I explain this?' never came first—only 'Why the hell isn't this working?'
"Don't be too disappointed. When we get back to the Order, the Commander will be champing at the bit to put you through the wringer. And he's an excellent teacher—he'll train you properly. It'll hurt, though."
"I see."
"Hmm... your body's itching to move, isn't it? Leave you alone like this and you'll just go swinging that thing however you please... What to do?"
Leonid fell into thought.
Left alone, bad habits would burrow into Cassian's form.
He wanted to teach him the fundamentals, but honestly, he didn't trust himself to instruct a total blank slate this green.
Then should he correct the boy's stance through sparring?
No. That was like telling a man who couldn't walk to start jumping.
Hmm... then what about—
"Why not ask our Sis to teach you?"
"Uh..."
Cassian hesitated.
Seeing that expression, Leonid scratched the back of his head.
Everyone in the Order knew that Sis couldn't stand Cassian.
Too late, he realized his suggestion might well have sounded to Cassian like 'go eat shit.'
"Besides, the Saintess wields a spear, doesn't she?"
Cassian finally spoke up after a moment's hesitation.
Leonid was at least a fellow swordsman—but Beatrice's weapon belonged to an entirely different classification altogether.
"No need to worry about that. Sis isn't as good a teacher as the Commander, but she's still a solid one. To put it more precisely, she's great at spotting your weaknesses and telling you exactly what to fix."
"I see. Then I will ask her."
"...You're serious? You'll be alright?"
"One has to try, doesn't one?"
Cassian answered flatly.
Even if he took a bucketful of abuse and got beaten black and blue—if he could gain her instruction, he would bear it gladly. His eyes burned with quiet resolve.
"Wow, hyung-nim. Brave, aren't you? I'll tag along too. Two heads are better than one, right?"
Liking that look in Cassian's eyes, Leonid gave his shoulder a light thump.
"Thank you."
"Let's go find her tomorrow morning. Saintess Clarice said Sis needs to rest properly through today."
"Understood."
And then, the next morning.
"Saintess, might you be able to teach me the sword?"
"My head is killing me, so get lost, you maniac."
Rejected in a single stroke.