Rebellion (1)
Nathan stared with a hollow smile, as if his soul had already left his body. Then he made a decision. Whatever questions still lingered, he’d dump them on tomorrow’s Nathan to deal with. Concepts so incomprehensible that even beating someone to death wouldn’t make them clearer. There were generally two ways to handle such things. Either accept them calmly, like Nathan, or do what the gamblers all across the Heavens did—tear out their hair and spiral into full-blown panic.
Those who only expressed their rage through words were probably the more rational ones. The silent ones were likely busy smashing their tablets against whatever surface they could find.
Except for a few conversation channels, all communication across the Heavens had been severed. That included the illegal relay channels used for duel gambling, of course. The rare spectacle made possible by the runaway Sapiens had been short-lived. The festive atmosphere of the gambling dens vanished the moment everyone’s payouts evaporated.
The elves, still not ready to part with their stakes, flooded the few barely functioning chat windows with pure madness. An unprecedented event had occurred, yet everyone could only cautiously toss out guesses about the cause. Very few truly understood communication technology, after all.
A handful who grasped even fragments of it carefully offered their opinions. It seemed there was a problem with Galarhorn, the Heavens’ largest communications corporation. Even that wasn’t certain. The only evidence was that Galarhorn managed most of the channels.
All sorts of wild speculation born from those guesses spread from mouth to mouth. Rumors that the server manager at Galarhorn had gone insane. Or that he’d worked himself to the point of delirium, cursed the Heavenly Gods, and been struck by lightning. The words floating around the virtual gambling halls carried a certain wishful thinking. If nothing had happened to the staff, the gamblers looked ready to make something happen themselves.
“So that’s what they’re saying. Pathetic, isn’t it?”
Pontima Peres smiled and waited for a reply. What came back was only silence. Pontima swallowed his awkwardness and continued talking to himself.
“I hear this thing called ‘communication technology’ that appeared just over a century ago is still a foreign concept to these elves. All those long years and they never even understood what they possessed. Yet without these tablets they supposedly fall apart. It’s ridiculous. Then again, maybe it’s only natural. How many soldiers really understand the craft of sword-making? Even we could barely follow half of what the Federation mages prattled on about.”
He was saying whatever came to mind just to keep the conversation going, but this last part was half sincere. Inside Pontima, his longing for the Heavens was already crumbling. Was this the warless paradise his father had spoken of?
These elves wielded mystery yet failed to comprehend it. Nor did they dwell within it like gods or spirits. Instead they lost their reason over something as vulgar and earthly as a gambling upset. For beings supposedly carrying centuries of wisdom, they showed remarkably little dignity…
Though the one who had thrown dignity away wasn’t much different from the sibling sitting before him.
“…Aspen. Just asking out of curiosity, so don’t take it the wrong way.”
Did you bet on the match too?
He almost said it, but Pontima closed his mouth. Aspen was a natural warrior. He had no desire to get beaten up by a sister ten years his junior. Still, from his perspective, the situation looked worrying enough to warrant suspicion.
In the mansion the woman had temporarily granted to the Peres family, Aspen Peres had locked herself in her room and was serving her punishment. For the crime of suddenly turning her blade on her own family, it was a light sentence. Yet Aspen showed no signs of remorse. For some time now she had simply stared endlessly out the window… while sharpening her sword against a leather belt.
The chilling scrape of cowhide against steel. Shrrrng.
On the windowsill Aspen gazed through lay a tablet. The communication device the woman had given every member of the Peres family to relay orders. Displayed on its screen was a low-resolution, crushed-looking video.
The very video that had become the talk of the outside world—the one that froze mid-battle while Nathan fought the demon.
On screen, the demon looked extremely unfortunate. The frame had frozen at the exact moment the two-handed sword sliced into his testicles due to a technical glitch.
Aspen, who had been standing motionless, turned her head ever so slightly.
“Don’t take it the wrong way? What exactly am I supposed to hear?”
Her low voice dripped with killing intent. Those were the first words she had spoken since Pontima entered the room five minutes ago.
Pontima, who had been frantically searching for an excuse to replace his gambling suspicion, ended up choosing an option just as foolish.
“If you press below the screen, you can increase the video resolution.”
Nonsense pulled out of his mouth by lingering flight sickness. The nausea he’d suffered on the hippogriff’s back still tormented Pontima.
“Why are you telling me that? So I can watch the scene of Nathan possibly dying in even sharper detail?”
Thanks to that blunder, Aspen finally turned around instead of showing only the back of her head. After more than ten minutes since he’d entered the room, Pontima could at last face his sister directly.
Now that he thought about it, it might have been better if she had stayed facing away and made the conversation awkward. The fire burning in Aspen’s eyes looked ready to incinerate him.
“That wasn’t what I meant. But it’s hard to watch you suffering like this. Don’t we have things we can do?”
The woman had said she would make useful use of Nathan. The one who rejected that and fled to unfamiliar ground was Nathan himself.
“It’s unfortunate, but even if he dies, that’s his choice.”
“Choice? Did Nathan ever have a choice? They were going to use him as an arena slave. If I were him, I would have run too.”
And the one who helped that escape was Aspen. Thanks to her, the Peres family had failed the very first mission their new lord had given them. They should consider themselves lucky the woman had shown such generous mercy.
Pontima desperately hoped Aspen would realize her position.
“If he ran simply to survive, he wouldn’t have thrown himself into such reckless combat like we saw in the video. You gave him the chance to escape because you wanted him to live. If I had tried the same thing instead of you, Father probably would have kicked me straight down to the Lower World. Yet if he still chooses to die as a knight without hiding, that is his choice.”
“You expect me to just sit here and watch that happen?”
At Aspen’s murmur, Pontima let out a sigh.
“That’s exactly why we’re not letting you out. You still can’t shake off the stench of knighthood. You’re losing your mind worrying about a comrade who chose to walk the path of martyrdom alone.”
Pontima tapped the brand engraved on his neck. The Heavenly God’s emblem with its many outstretched arms. The same mark was carved into Aspen as well.
“But the Peres family can no longer wander the streets armed however we please, nor can we launch independent operations. Human laws do not reach the Heavens. We must now adapt to the rules of the Heavens. That is the head of the family’s decision.”
Aspen took a deep breath, then plopped down heavily on the bed. It might have been a sign she was willing to cooperate with the conversation. Pontima’s face brightened for a moment, only to harden again. Aspen still hadn’t sheathed her sword. The keenly sharpened blade remained resting across her knees.
“Can’t shake off the stench of knighthood…”
Her tone was almost accusatory.
“That’s pretty funny. Is changing really that easy? How long has it been since you deserted, and you’re already a civilian, Pontima?”
Pontima Peres was a military commander. A commander’s desertion was far more shameful than a common soldier’s. Pontima blinked as if struck in a sore spot, then gave a dry smile.
“In your eyes I must look like a pathetic fool.”
Aspen didn’t deny it. Although Aspen had been dragged along without knowing the full story, Pontima—as the eldest among the siblings—had been one of the original planners of the migration to the Heavens alongside their father.
Pontima swept both hands down his face as if washing it. Even though he was still only in his thirties, the deep wrinkles around his eyes sagged heavily.
“I admit my own weakness. It’s pathetic, but I stopped being a commander long ago. I may still be a general on paper, but my heart had already left the army. I grew tired of war.”
“That reminds me of something Nathan once said. He asked if only the Peres family’s lives mattered.”
“Everyone values their own life above all else. That doesn’t only apply to soldiers. It’s the same reason I followed Father’s decision. And the same reason I sympathize with Nathan Maia. Do you know what that boy went through?”
Aspen answered indifferently.
“Roughly. I’ve heard it a few times.”
There had once been a warrior whose name was barely known. Despite his many achievements, information about him was strangely veiled. He had mercilessly crushed the Federation’s enemies and sown the seeds of an anonymous legend, then suddenly vanished for over a decade. When he returned to the world as abruptly as he had disappeared, he brought a boy with him to visit the commander of the Lion Wing Knights.
A child with eyes full of venom and scars of abuse all over his body. His name was Nathan Maia.
“Then this will go quickly. Orcus. The boy’s father was already a living legend even when I was young. The few heroes who knew him didn’t hesitate to call him the strongest warrior in the Federation. I even heard Father lost to him several times. Yet such a great man spent his time breaking and shattering a child from a young age to turn him into military equipment. It’s even more horrifying because it’s unclear whether the boy was even his real son. Anyone can see Nathan wasn’t born in the Federation.”
Aspen didn’t argue. Black hair, blue eyes. Characteristics of the savage tribes of the far north. It was highly likely Nathan carried the blood of the uncivilized northern lands. And in Aspen’s honest opinion, Nathan’s childhood had been nothing short of horrific.
“I suddenly thought—yes, it was a terrible thing to do to a child, but perhaps for someone like Orcus, that was the only way. No matter how outstanding a soldier is, one man cannot end a war alone. He was probably trying to create a replica of himself to prepare for the next generation. In his own way, it might have been the best he could do.”
Pontima stared at the ceiling with dry eyes.
“In truth, there must be many children on the ground who inherit unwanted legacies. When you think about it, the only difference is degree. What we experience is similar. So is what our father did. So did the founders of our family. They pass down techniques, swords, and the knowledge of war commanders. It doesn’t matter if the helmet and armor don’t fit. There are no natural-born soldiers. They force people into the frame of war and throw them onto the battlefield. Most die. Some produce more children. To send them to the battlefield. War. A war that began before we were born and will not end even after I die.”
Aspen quietly glared at Pontima as he rubbed his face.
“Do you remember how many brothers and sisters died, Aspen? I didn’t want to become like that. I desperately wanted to escape. Father’s decision was practically a blessing for a coward like me.”
Pontima removed his bracelet and fiddled with it like prayer beads. He said he did this whenever he felt anxious. It felt as though his lover who had died on the battlefield was watching over him.
“But Nathan won’t be able to throw it away as willingly as I did. He’s a child who has known nothing but fighting his entire life. The boy Orcus raised by cutting and stabbing with real blades and feeding him poison will eventually throw himself gladly into death. Just like the other madmen of the north who invade the civilized world.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
Aspen ground her teeth. Pontima no longer pretended to be afraid.
“You can think of me as a weakling. But I’m scared. Scared that I’ll lose you the same way I lost that boy.”
An older brother whose sleep was haunted by the nightmares of war. On his prematurely aged, frail face, however, burned a stubborn resolve.
“That’s why we will not allow your future to turn out that way. That is the decision of our family.”