The Unbroken Form
The things I had accepted. The assassin guild, the Silver Fangs—they were nothing more than pieces Carix would use and discard. "Ah. They were still useful. What a shame." Yet even the villainous Duke Carix had felt genuine regret the day they vanished. They had only ever worked for coin in the game, but that did not change how valuable they had been.
"That joke isn't funny."
"Everyone who asks me for the right answer says the same thing. I'm always serious."
"……"
A tall man approached quietly through the mourners. The worn hood he wore gave him the dreary air of a vagrant, yet a closer look revealed the clean, well-trained face and body beneath. "So. How do you like my terms?"
"…You're serious. You can really take all of us in."
"Yeah. I can. And I can keep giving you what you want from now on. Ah, I heard quite a few of you died on the job I gave you. Three hundred northern refugees still left, right?"
"How did you—!"
It was thanks to the information the game's Duke Carix had possessed, but since I also knew how that information had been obtained, there was no need to lay out any more cards.
"If you want to know, come under me. How long are you going to grind your own people down just to survive? At this rate… you won't even die as humans, will you?"
"Ha! You're surprisingly well-informed about our circumstances."
"I know everything. Decide quickly. I've already waited over two months. If you say you need more time to think, I'll take it as a refusal—and there will be no further contact between us."
"……"
Something outside the game had already begun to unravel. How far the hostile eyes fixed on the burden these people carried had advanced could no longer be precisely predicted. Yet they still wanted to deliberate? Only to get dragged in later and beg for a redemption arc while asking us to clean up their mess? No. This was already a considerable risk I had weighed and chosen. Indecisive pieces who couldn't even grasp their own situation and steel their resolve were of no use to me.
"Do you truly mean to accept us even while knowing everything, young lord?"
"……You're starting to irritate me. Follow me."
I turned and walked away without looking back. With the memorial procession drawing so many people, continuing this conversation here was foolish. Still, why was I reluctant to let these indecisive people go? 'The mere possibility that there are Mazok—or those in league with Mazok—among the ones who killed my brother makes the Silver Fangs a useful piece.'
While I thought this, we reached the outer walls of the capital. The procession continued here as well, though the area was noticeably quieter than the city center.
"That building over there is the ducal residence."
"Yes. I know."
"Then do you also know the extent of the ducal territory?"
"…Isn't it everything up to that guard post?"
"That's only the land officially registered under the ducal name."
"?"
"Vassals, retainers, servants, and branch families. Using their names, the duchy has spent the last fifty years purchasing every inch of land you see before you."
"Pardon?"
"And you know the rumor that those idiots lost their heads half a year ago, right?"
"……"
The land outside the capital's outer walls now belonged entirely to the duchy—thanks to the insane setting created to make the villainous Carix function. "Th-that's impossible. The royal family would never have allowed such a thing…"
"There's no such thing as impossible. My very existence proves it."
"Young lord, surely you don't mean…"
"That's right. I'll let the northern refugee assassins among you live on this land. The rest will have to go to the western territory my father manages, but even then I'll make sure they're settled as close to the northern border as possible. So swear absolute loyalty. And when I command it, die as my people."
"!"
The northern refugees. In the game of my previous life, their lives had been wretched, and their ends horrific. The reason they became refugees was, in short, the Monster Front. And the reason their deaths were so terrible was because they were Main—those who required monster blood and flesh.
"Bringing in monster meat through middlemen has its limits anyway. The three hundred million Carte I gave you—you haven't spent it all yet, have you?"
"……Ha. You really do know everything."
"Drop the formal speech. The last young lord of the northern duchy, Cedric Be—!?"
In that instant the larger man clamped a hand over my mouth, nearly killing me in earnest.
"Kuh!! …My apologies. I beg you—do not speak that name."
I truly disliked anyone laying hands on me. The fact that the man was the head of an assassin guild only made me react more violently. My ribs had probably cracked in an unpleasant direction from that single blow.
"Why? Because you think the ruin of the people who followed you was your own fault?"
"……You truly know everything. Just what kind of fool ever called you talentless?"
At least he hadn't struck me with mana, so I managed to endure. Though I clutched my chest in pain, it seemed my ribs hadn't punctured a lung. So this is what being Main means.
"So you intend to accept even us… for the sake of revenge."
"Don't misunderstand. This is exploitation. If you prove less useful than I expect, I'll dispose of every last one of you."
Misunderstandings were dangerous. Humans were beasts that had to be ruled by the whip first. Unreasoned kindness and salvation evaporated along with fleeting gratitude. But a single thread of gentleness woven between fear and terror created an unbreakable noose of dread beneath the yoke of survival instinct. What I needed was not sentimental loyalty born of some redemption narrative that was easy to weigh against self-interest, but absolute obedience. Since I had chosen to bear the risk of using them, nothing else would suffice.
"…Understood. Then, before I accept your proposal, allow me to demonstrate our usefulness."
"?"
The guild leader's lips curved slightly beneath his hood, his voice confident. "You're gathering information to find the one who killed Sir Walter. 'That Mazok' fled north."
"……Hah!"
I had taken the Silver Fangs into my hand and, with them, accepted the risks they carried in the game. But risks taken for revenge never frightened me—no matter how many. If anything, the more people who dreamed the same vengeance as I did, the harder it became to suppress the upward tug at the corner of my mouth.
*****
"Chopper. Bring more blood."
The blue-eyed man's maid, Linnet, neatly emptied another bottle as large as her own face and stacked it atop the tower of bottles she had already built.
"Hey, blood clot. You left blood with me? You come back looking like you got your ass kicked by an idiot and now you're eating all the blood I collected?"
The man speaking so viciously to the maid was named Chopper, a Mazok who was steadily expanding his influence in the northern black market of the Valcart Kingdom.
"Wipe that expression off your face. Your scar already makes you repulsive enough—don't make it worse by looking annoyed."
"Yeah? Fuck you, bitch. If you want to die, just say it instead of scratching at me like that. Want me to draw my sword?"
"How delightfully creative of you to ask me to add another line to your face."
The two Mazok radiated killing intent as though they would tear each other apart at any moment. Yet they never came to blows.
"Enough."
A black-haired woman appeared suddenly and stepped between them.
"Chopper. I distinctly told you to grant Linnet whatever she requested."
"Lady Orden."
"Tch."
At the appearance of the woman called Orden, the two who had drawn greatsword and dagger returned their weapons to their original positions as if nothing had happened.
"That crazy bitch has already drunk fifteen bottles. At this point she's basically saying her master doesn't feed her, so she's eating here instead."
"My master always provides ample meals. This is entirely the result of your incompetence."
"You fucking—!!"
"Chopper, stop. And Linnet, don't provoke him. Or do you dislike the fact that I am personally apologizing and taking responsibility for the current situation? Must I go bow my head directly to your master before you'll be satisfied?"
"No. I apologize."
Linnet hurriedly bowed her head at Orden's words. The mere thought of what might happen if her own master and the high-ranking Mazok before her met filled her with dread.
"Ha! You'll tuck your tail the moment she speaks, so why the hell do you even bother acting up?"
"Haa. Chopper, enough. I had clearly said I would assign the surveillance of the retired knight Walter to another Mazok, yet you threw a fit and took the job yourself. You can't even apologize to Linnet, who lost several lives because of your failure, so at least don't vent your irritation."
"……I said I'd go kill him anytime. The one who stopped me was you, Master."
Just as Linnet served the blue-eyed man as her master, the Mazok called Chopper served the Mazok called Orden. Yet unlike Linnet's absolute obedience, the relationship between these two felt somewhat more relaxed.
"You say that, but the last time you returned with a new line on your face was forty years ago. And judging by what happened to Linnet this time, if you went again you'd definitely lose at least one limb. So you should be grateful that this child avenged you—why are you being so petty?"
"Master! She didn't avenge me—she stole my prey!!"
"If it was your prey, you should have hunted it faster. Why did you let them meet near the capital and make me lose eleven lives? I really thought I was going to die."
Linnet's expression remained as blank as ever, but the slightly lowered tone of her voice and the coldness in her eyes made her rebuke unmistakable.
"Anyway! If you keep ignoring me and fighting, I'll want to punish both of you, so stop. And Chopper—give her thirty bottles, not fifteen."
"What!? Master! We haven't even fully taken over the black market yet, and it'll be years before we can build a legion of Main. If you give that woman that much blood…!!"
"That's fine. I think I've found a new ingredient."
""?""
The ingredients needed to create Main were monster flesh and blood. But there was a fact the Mazok had only recently discovered—one completely unknown among humans.
"I've found Main. Quite a large number of them, in fact."
"…Surely not! Those northern beast bastards?!"
"Yes. I thought they'd completely vanished fifty years ago and committed mass suicide, but it seems around three hundred are still alive."
"That's… incredible. With their blood and flesh, Lady Orden, you could advance the operation you've planned several times faster."
If Main had consumed monster flesh and blood for decades, their own blood and flesh far surpassed the effects of ordinary monster meat and blood. Even a small amount could turn a human into a Main. Moreover, the effect was so potent that the period during which one had to consume monster flesh and blood to maintain sanity was drastically shortened. To Orden, who wished to create an army of Main that would slaughter humans, the survivors of the Baker ducal house—the Silver Fangs, who had lived as Main for 130 years—were nothing less than elixirs and sacred beasts.
"Master!! Where are they! Where are those damn bastards!! I'll kill them all and bring them back!!"
"Chopper, don't get excited. You may kill some, but I want to keep as many alive as possible so I can feed them to other humans while they're fresh. If we can capture and breed even half of those Main, our goal of exterminating humanity will be shortened by centuries."
"I can still see those bastards eating the monsters we brought! I'll definitely hunt them myself!!!"
Seeing Chopper's will reignite after losing spirit when Walter—the man who had scarred his face—was killed by Linnet, Orden smiled in satisfaction.
'How many times has that idiot failed a hunt? At this point isn't he just getting beaten by humans every time?'
Watching the two Mazok, Linnet thought that even Orden, who kept Chopper, seemed like a rather strange high-ranking demon.
*****
"Hup! Hup! Hup!"
Two weeks had passed since Walter Abrams's funeral. For those still living beneath today's sun, the old man's death already felt like a distant past. Of course, there were those for whom it did not.
"Sir Jena, please stop!"
"Haa, haa…… Sir Dust. Good day."
"You ask after my well-being while you yourself are far from well?"
"……"
To her, who had yet to overcome the death of the master she had so loved and respected, the word "yet" would be far too cruel. Leng understood this, yet he could not leave her be.
"Swinging a sword until the skin on your hands peels off won't break the wall—you know that better than anyone, Sir Jena."
"Then will you tell me, Sir Dust? If it's you, who reached 4th class in a single leap from 5th class…"
"Sir Jena…"
"Heh. It was a joke."
Anyone who saw her haggard expression—even a passing dog—would know it was no joke. But Leng had heard what the young master had once said to Jena about the wall that blocked her. Unlike him, the reason her level was stagnant was not because her body was broken or because she had forced her mana. It was simply that she had stopped. What she needed now was personal growth. And at the very least, that growth would not come from swinging a sword until the skin on her hands peeled away.
"At least apply some ointment. You shouldn't hold a sword for several days."
"It's fine. These days I go to the temple for healing even when my hands peel."
Grind. Leng clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. The young master had said it: excessive training was not growth, but torture. Jena was clearly falling apart.
"Healing magic won't relieve fatigue."
"It's fine. If I set my mind to it, I can go three days without sleep. This much is nothing."
"How can it be nothing!!"
The sword slipped from Jena's hand as Leng yanked it, ringing out with a clear note. A knight only dropped her sword when she died or when she dissolved her oath and returned the blade given by her lord. There was no reason for her, a royal knight, not to know this—yet she merely stared blankly at the fallen sword.
"Even holding a sword is painful, so what exactly is 'nothing'? This isn't training anymore. It's just self-torture."
"……Then what am I supposed to do?"
No more tears fell from Jena's eyes as she asked.
"My master ended up like that, and I'm supposed to just stand by because I'm his disciple? The young master said it was impossible, that I'd never win—so I'm supposed to give up on everything and stay still? Sir Dust! Tell me!! What am I supposed to do!!"
But in Leng's eyes, it looked as though the tears simply would not come because there was nothing left to shed. Or perhaps it was her hands that were bleeding in place of her eyes.
"……I'm sorry. I…"
"What are you sorry for, Sir Dust? Huh? Tell me! What could you possibly be sorry for to me!! You haven't done anything wrong!! The only thing wrong is me throwing a tantrum despite being weak!!!"
"I'm truly sorry that I can't even be someone Sir Jena can lean on and rest against when she's hurting…"
"Ah, ugh… Aaaagh!! Stop!! Stop!!! Don't—don't be kind to me!! It's because of you that I get weak!! I—I have to become stronger!! Because you're… because you're here!!"
Unable even to shake off Leng's hand—which she could have easily thrown off had she been in her right mind—she merely screamed like a child and collapsed. Even as she broke down, not a single tear fell from her eyes. And Leng still could not properly embrace her.
"……I'll… somehow…"
He could not bring himself to say "I'll try." He only clenched his jaw until his lips threatened to tear.
*****
"Is Sir Jena really that bad?"
"Hey, self-proclaimed revenge ghost. Is that really what you should be saying right now?"
"I'm saying it because I'm a revenge ghost. I haven't cried once since my brother died."
"What."
After driving Leng toward Jena before sunset as usual, Carix tilted his head at the sight of the crown princess, who looked as though she had pulled an all-nighter for a week.
"Sending Leng was a mistake. Is she the type who can't calm down if she has someone to lean on?"
"Young master, every single word that comes out of your mouth is fucking disgusting."
"Your Highness, you've become quite venomous lately."
"Do I look like someone who wouldn't? The person I trust most is basically a walking funeral. The academy's on break, but as crown princess I'm stuck entertaining important guests from every country while also being in charge of the entire investigation—"
"No, what exactly is the crown prince doing while you handle all of that?"
"……Are you really the young master? When was the last time our brother went to the Monster Front? Ugh. You really don't care about anything except your own revenge."
Of course. Whoever the crown prince was, whenever the king died—honestly, none of it had anything to do with me. But wasn't that rather fortunate? If I started taking an interest in the king and crown prince, that would mean they had made it onto my list. This was a revolution, after all.
"If the royal family ends up on my revenge list, will you be able to handle it?"
"Haa—Anyway, help Jena. At this rate something really bad is going to happen. Is there no way?"
"Heh. You must be truly exhausted if you're willing to let this slide."
"I'm really struggling. These past two weeks have been too much…"
"Hmm. May I speak honestly?"
"Please, just a little gently. I don't have the strength to retort right now."
Seeing the noble blue-haired lady slam her forehead onto the table, I spoke as gently as she wished.
"Actually, there was a way from the beginning. But if I do it, I feel like Sir Jena will lose her mind and the late Sir Walter will kick open his coffin to kill me—Your Highness, why are your eyes so wide?"
"If there is one, then do it right now, you bastard!"
The table flipped over with a crash. What the— She still had strength left. No matter how I looked at it, that was not the attitude of someone making a request.
*****
Three days after the crown princess's visit. The training ground attached to the lodging.
"Sir Jena. Listen carefully. From now on, I will most likely be insulting you, your master, and probably countless generations of swordsmen above him."
"?"
"But I have no intention of insulting anyone. So don't suddenly get stronger or break through a wall or whatever and draw your sword to attack me. No—don't. If you promise, I'll help you from now on."
"Yes. If I can become stronger, I'll do anything."
"Leng. Your Highness. You heard her?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now hurry up and show us what it is."
At the crown princess's urging, I immediately put distance between myself and the three of them, drew my sword, and took my stance.
"Huh?!"
"That's…"
"Huh? What is it? What? Why am I the only one who doesn't know?"
Someone of the crown princess's level, attending the academy, really ought to know this—her ignorance was the real problem. Since she had been through a lot lately, I tucked that remark away and began swinging my sword.
"……"
I could feel Sir Jena and Leng focusing on me so intensely that it almost felt as though my face might be pierced. But what I was showing them now would certainly help. Because this was the Valcart Kingdom Basic Sword Forms—the most fundamental of fundamentals, contained entirely within the first twenty pages of the basic manual given to anyone who chose swordsmanship at the academy, excluding the preface.
"Young master! Wait a moment…!!"
"That's!! Master's sword!?"
Using only the forms written there, I was performing the sword dance while lowering my physical abilities to their level. That was why both of them looked so dumbfounded. Swordsmanship was a system built by accumulating forms. If it was merely a technique of swinging, then what would happen if they trained those forms to their absolute limit? I was demonstrating that very result to them.
━Swish.
"Huh… You didn't even use mana, but the stone training ground got cut?"
As I had said before, swordsmanship was ultimately a technique learned to cut and thrust better. And every technique an ordinary person used to swing a sword was contained within the basic forms. Whether it was some noble house's swordsmanship, the kingdom's swordsmanship, or the secret techniques of a reclusive elder—they were all merely derivative tricks born from that single foundation. Unless the foundation reached its peak, any technique learned would remain a trick. But once the foundation reached its peak, even tricks became a finishing move. And every knight I had seen in this world so far had been nothing more than swordsmen who had only learned tricks. I was demonstrating that with my entire body.
"……"
"……"
Before I knew it, the two swordsmen—excluding the crown princess—were so completely absorbed in my movements that they made no sound at all. Yes, because in the end, both of them were merely swordsmen who wanted nothing more than to swing a sword well.
'The last part is a thrust I made myself after reading only two pages. I wonder if it'll be a gift.'
The demonstration of the basic forms was already nearing its end. I had moved quite slowly so they could see clearly. After all, the basic forms consisted of nothing more than nine directions of cutting, thrusting, blocking, and deflecting. Since I was demonstrating them "without a single break" as one continuous motion, even at half speed it was difficult to exceed three minutes.
"Huh? Is that the end?"
"Your Highness, please wait a moment."
The crown princess, whose understanding of swordsmanship was shallow, made an oblivious remark, but fortunately Leng stopped her. After completing the demonstration of all the forms, I took the most comfortable stance with the sword in my right hand—a formless posture, the kind spoken of in some martial arts stories, where one did nothing at all.
'To them, this will probably look like I'm urging them to overexert themselves from now on.'
What followed was exactly one motion. A single thrust. I slowly slid my left leg back, then stomped the ground hard. At the same time, I bent my right knee, loading power as though I would spring forward at any moment, and transmitted the rebound force from my core and waist through my shoulder. Both arms stayed close to my body, tightening the muscles of my back. Finally, with a snap of the wrist, I rotated the sword and thrust in a single motion.
━Thud.
"!"
"Huh? What? Isn't that just a thrust? Why are you so surprised?"
As expected, Princess Lilith chattered on, oblivious to the depth of the technique I had demonstrated. Leng seemed slightly surprised, which was a shame. Sir Jena didn't seem particularly interested in this technique……?
"Huh, Jena?"
"Surely not…"
Having truly finished, I picked up the scabbard and sheathed my sword—only to turn at the sound of a slightly flustered presence and the crown princess's voice. The bronze-skinned knight stood with her eyes closed, quietly shedding tears.
"Both of you, be quiet. She… has broken through the wall."
And at Leng's voice, explaining the phenomenon I was witnessing, both the crown princess and I reflexively covered our mouths with our hands. From Jena's body flowed a blue haze—like the tail of a comet—that was unmistakably mana, yet somehow not quite mana.