Ishura - Volume 2 - Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Rosclay the Absolute

Rosclay the Absolute. The pinnacle of valor. A true knight.

A good exercise was to ask the citizens of Aureatia who the strongest champion was in all the land.

One would likely receive a variety of answers. Maybe the aberrant wyvern who had traveled through a myriad of dungeons all on his own, Alus the Star Runner. Perhaps the legendary dragon that no one had ever seen before, Lucunoca the Winter.

Whatever the answer may be, the name Rosclay was always in the back of their mind. Anyone who knew of his legend and radiance couldn’t help associating the word strongest with Rosclay the Absolute.

The knight who fought fair and square, Rosclay. The dragon-slaying champion who held the legendary distinction as the only minia to single-handedly kill a dragon. No matter what enemy appeared before him, not a single stain remained behind on his silvery white armor.

It was possible that Gilnes the Ruined Castle, too, held the same feelings of admiration as the citizens of Aureatia somewhere within his heart.

Even as the leader of an insurrection, chained in a damp dungeon and awaiting his execution.

The Old Kingdoms’ loyalists were tragically defeated. With the main part of their plan, the Particle Storm, coming up short, their diversionary tactic of assembling troop strength in Togie City was rendered meaningless. The fact that the Free City of Okahu, which had once appeared hostile to Aureatia, secretly formed an accord with them and appeared on the frontlines, was yet another major cause of their defeat.

And now, these were the last days of Gilnes, commander of the loyalist army.

“You’re making me duel Rosclay the Absolute?”

Still seated in the dark, he replied with a question of his own to the man standing on the other side of the chair.

“That’s right, Gilnes the Ruined Castle. There is no righteousness in your actions. It was little more than pointless threats against the people and murder. An utter and unforgivable betrayal of our current peace.”

Aureatia’s Third Minister, Jelki the Swift Ink. One of the highest-level bureaucrats in control of Aureatia’s governmental affairs.

Tearing off his chains, he could slip them through the cracks in the grating and smash Jelki’s face in two. The sight remained as a fantasy in the back of his mind. He wouldn’t end his fight simply by killing the man before him.

Gilnes believed he fought for the sake of the people. The people, not just him, needed to rise up. Even though the once-proud Royal Army of the Central had come to be known as the “Old Kingdoms’ loyalists” somewhere along the way, Gilnes had fought under that firm conviction.

“Though you’re the former great commander, Gilnes the Ruined Castle, right? Even now, there are plenty of citizens who admire you. Executing you where none could hear your frivolous claims would create cracks in the righteousness of Her Majesty’s actions. Therefore, you will be given a chance. It will be a true duel, with justice on the line.”

A true duel. There were few instances of the event that had ever been recorded, but it was a type of duel that adhered to Old Kingdoms’ traditions.

The duel was performed without weapons, and there were no restrictions on Word Arts usage.

Each combatant staked everything they had, both technique and strength, on the fight. Naturally, this included putting their very own life on the line as well.

“You sure you’re okay with that?”

Gilnes the Ruined Castle remained unshaken, even more so now that he knew about the duel.

For him, defeated and simply waiting for execution, the true duel was, if anything, a remarkable deal.

“I’ll kill Rosclay and prove my innocence…and I’m going to stand there in front of the people and indict the Twenty-Nine Officials system for its deceit. There wouldn’t be anyone there in the ring to stop me.”

“Let me make this easy to understand. This isn’t an offer. It’s already decided. You have no right to refuse. Fight with everything you’ve got.”

The Third Minister’s expression, like the cold glimmer of his glasses, was mechanical and level-headed.

Aureatia’s purpose behind holding this duel lay, of course, in the royal games that lay ahead afterward.

Champions would take each other’s lives, bringing every last ounce of their strength to bear in the process. The true duel itself was an essential arrangement to ensure not a single prominent monster lived on into the upcoming age.

How much would the citizenry react to a true duel between two champions? How much could they stir up their enthusiasm? The fight between the champions Gilnes the Ruined Castle and Rosclay the Absolute was a rehearsal to understand the answers to such questions before the main event.

For Gilnes the Ruined Castle, the brave general who protected the people during the age of the Central Kingdom, before it served as the Aureatia’s foundation, there could be no better opponent than Rosclay the Absolute.

“You said a true duel, huh? To fight with everything I’ve got.”

His bearded face, grown thick during his confinement, stretched into a bestial grin.

A duel with the Rosclay. It was more than he could ask for.

“You plan on keeping me locked up here until the day of the match? Without allowing me to hold a sword, or get back to my full range of movement? I’m sure you snakes will consider that ‘giving it my all,’ but what about people? Are they all as foolish as you think they are, I wonder?”

“Only natural you would make such a claim, I suppose.”

There was a light metallic sound. Following a signaling look from Jelki, the warder opened up the cell.

Continuing, they removed the Gilnes’s shackles.

“Until the day of the duel, you shall be released under direct supervision. We’ve declared the date for the duel. The offer to release you under the condition of your agreement to the duel is well-known among the citizenry, as well.”

“…What are you planning?”

“Nothing at all. If you fear the power of Aureatia’s Second General, then feel free to come up with your best dishonorable excuse and flee. Fortunately for you, we don’t have the time to spend on chasing after a pitiful loser such as yourself. In fact, you may be able to trade in your popularity among the people to ensure your own survival.”

By showing Gilnes the Ruined Castle actually released from prison to the citizens, they could demonstrate the Queen’s magnanimity and justness—such aims were another facet of their offer.

There was no need to keep him chained. To Gilnes, who relied on the justness of the royal authority that once was, his own sense of justice and expecting looks from the citizens of the Central Kingdom were the most binding chains of all. Any path of escape from the duel two small months down the line was completely closed to him.

“You don’t think I’ll attack your barracks or council halls?”

“It matters not. If you were to brazenly refuse Her Majesty’s mercy, that’d serve as plenty justification to put you down for good next time. When that happens, of course, Rosclay the Absolute will be the one to serve you your death sentence. No matter how much you struggle, know that you can’t run from your destiny to fight Rosclay.”

“…Fine, then. If all roads lead to the same end, then I should stand before the people and show them true righteousness.”

In other words, he would destroy Rosclay in the arena during their true duel.

He had never held any fear of Rosclay to begin with. Gilnes’s resolve was fixed from the start.

Gilnes would be damned if he would let the Central Kingdom he had protected for so long come under the control of Queen Sephite, a blood relative of the United Western Kingdom. Nor was there any justification behind renaming it to Aureatia.

It was the country of the monarch who appealed to the people, regardless of race, and gathering citizens together in the face of the True Demon King threat, building the foundation of what was now Aureatia—the kingdom of King Aur. Sephite was nothing more than an invader, using her lineage as the last among the One True King bloodline as a reason to usurp the throne.

The Central Kingdom that Gilnes and the King protected had been tragically corrupted by the influx of citizens from the other two kingdoms.

He couldn’t consent to the Queen’s rule. The same was true for the Twenty-Nine Officials who controlled the people at the Queen’s behest.

The daughter of the kingdom ruined by their own extreme foolishness, trying to open a dialogue with the True Demon King, was now the Queen.

Gilnes’s chest was filled with an endlessly burning anger.

He had to use his just vengeance to open the eyes of the citizens Gilnes and the King loved.

As he walked through the streets, the eyes of Aureatia soldiers were always on Gilnes.

Nevertheless, there were still places their watchful eyes absolutely couldn’t follow him—the bath and his quarters. Other options included the confessional and inside the brothels.

Gilnes the Ruined Castle hid a weapon inside his coat for whenever those moments arrived.

It wasn’t one of the weapons the soldiers had taken from him—even if he showed it to the citizenry, he was sure almost no one would be able to understand its intended purpose. A triangular metal plate split down the middle, jutting out from the middle of a hollowed-out wooden rod, small enough to fit in his hand.

A tool known as a “fountain pen.”

It was technology that he procured from a deal with the Gray-Haired Child. With most people in this world having no literacy above what is taught by the Order and where the nobility and royalty utilized their own unique written languages they passed down through the generations, Gilnes’s elite troops established their own form of writing, and exhaustively taught it to everyone, down to the lowest private.

None of the soldiers who watched him would be able to decipher the meaning behind the ink-blotched words he left on scraps of cloth around the city.

He told me to give it my all, right?

He continued giving everything in his training, going about his daily activities, being met with a smile by those citizens looking forward to the duel, and brushing off the cold glares from those who didn’t cheer for him.

In order to make sure the soldiers observing him reported such activities.

Through an intelligence network known to the Aureatia council, Gilnes the Ruined Castle’s former subordinates were gathering. None of them came into contact with one another. Despite this, they shared the operations progress through messages left behind in various regions.

There were a hundred personnel able to move into action. Each and every one of them, advancing the plan put in place for the day of the duel.

It’s too late for any regrets, Third Minister Jelki.

“Lord Gilnes, why, the date of the duel’s only two big months away!”

“…Indeed. Perhaps this shall be the last time I can enjoy this establishment’s hawthorn berries.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, my lord. A direct fight with the Rosclay? There’s no one else who could do such a thing. My son is very much looking forward to it.”

The period of preparation and training had passed, and the two small months of respite were now closing in on the two big months mark.

It took six days for the large moon to complete its orbit. There were twelve days left. During these twelve days, the men who were scattered across the land would gather in Aureatia. On the day of the match, when the audience had reached the height of excitement, he would make his indictment against Aureatia… Then, in that moment, all of his armed forces would launch into action at once, sweeping the citizenry up in the conflict.

“This is a battle for truth. Of course, I shall stand up and face the challenge head-on. The Central Kingdom is a nation built by King Aur, rest his soul, and does not belong to Queen Sephite or the Aureatia Council, either.”

“I see. I am an uneducated man, but now that you mention it, the current council is acting a little bit off. My son is rooting for Lord Rosclay, but of course, I’m backing you, Lord Gilnes!”

It was clear the owner of this fruit and vegetable stand was totally unaware that the competition in two big months’ time was an actual fight to the death.

That was why he so casually supported both combatants. Gilnes wondered just how much his feelings would change once the man’s naïve perceptions were met with the reality of the situation. Though, when he considered that even in the age of the True Demon King, the coliseums on the frontier boasted of their prosperity, pitting slave fighters together in true duels, it was possible that the inner true nature of the people had remained unchanged.

“I’m grateful. I very much hope both you and your son will make sure to witness the moment I display what true justice looks like to the people.”

While Gilnes chatted with the shopkeeper, a customer sizing up the shelves packed with fruit took Gilnes’s sword as he went to stand up. It was a blind spot for the soldier tasked with observing Gilnes, obstructed by the beautiful leaves of a houseplant.

The customer, in exchange, left behind a sword bearing the exact same hilt and sheath.

Gilnes stroked his beard, giving a sign of acknowledgment.

“…With it, all the lives sacrificed in battle will truly be able to rest in peace.”

“You’ve definitely got a point there. All those soldiers protected our current peace for the people.”

Adopting a nonchalant demeanor, Gilnes gathered the swapped sword in his hand.

The weight of the sword was the exact same weight as the two-handed sword he had used up until that moment.

Charijisuya the Blasting Blade. They still had it, did they?

Up until now, he could count on one hand the number of times he had drawn a real sword during the times he trained for the duel.

For the next two big months, he was going to make the eyes of his soldier observers accustomed to the blade, to make them think it was the same shape it had always been. To ensure that there was no one who would notice the swap on the day of the duel.

The moment Rosclay the Absolute experienced this sword would be his last.

Four days were left. Gilnes the Ruined Castle was visiting a dwelling on the outskirts of town.

He was there under the pretext of running an errand for the owner of the tavern he frequented following his release. Without many people in the region, the soldier observing Gilnes didn’t take any special steps to hide his presence, leaning up against a tree behind him.

Gilnes rang the bell. If the information his men gathered was correct, the person he sought was here in this hideout.

With the ringing of the bell, there was a heavy sound of something toppling behind him.

When he turned around, the soldier who had just been standing there watching him was collapsed on the ground, and in their place, a gangly man, just past middle age, was absentmindedly lingering about.

“…Master Romzo.”

“Oh, if it isn’t General Gilnes. It’s good to see you again. This one looked like he might be a bit of a nuisance, you see, yes. I had him take a bit of a nap.”

He looked down over the fallen soldier with his scholarlike glasses, as if the whole affair was none of his concern.

The ferocity of his martial skill was completely unchanged from the days when King Aur was alive.

“I’ll lean him up against this tree here. He won’t notice that he was asleep, but with that, he won’t be asleep long.”

“I understand. Let us wrap up our conversation quickly.”

Negotiating his release. A hundred of his men, gathered in Aureatia. Charijisuya the Blasting Blade. This man was his final trump card.

Romzo the Star Map. A man known as one of the members of the First Party.

The legendary seven, the first in the world to confront True Demon King. All of them were champions, the absolute pinnacle of their age. Touted as unrivaled, they too were defeated and scattered before the True Demon King menace, and it was said only Romzo and one other member survived.

Two of them managed to survive.

Countless champions challenged the True Demon King, with close to none of them returning alive.

One of those very few who survived was Romzo the Star Map.

He was a compatriot who lamented the current state of Aureatia, and someone with superlative fighting prowess, rivaling Gilnes himself.

“As you are aware, sir… In the middle of my bout four days from now, we plan to make our move. The location will be the castle garden theater. It’s surrounded on all sides by audience seating, and well within range of the bird’s bough. Here is where I’d like to ask you to defend the soldiers providing support.”

“Hmm. That is easy. Very easy… But that’s not all, is it?”

“Before the match, may I request your ‘Dwelling Might’ technique?”

“Hmm.”

Romzo casually looked out over the trees. It was the season when the leaves turned brown and began to fall.

Gilnes kept silent, watching Romzo as he looked.

“That is easy. You understand, right?”

“Of course. If we can win this one battle, our ambitions will be realized.”

The pressure points technique he utilized to incapacitate the soldier was not intended to simply be used as an attack.

Its real abilities rather lay in releasing the physical limits of the body when either the user or their allies engaged in combat.

Dwelling Might was the pinnacle. Romzo had named the technique, capable of shouldering the price of death itself.

“…Rosclay the Absolute is strong. He’s absolute in anything and everything.”

“My consent to this arrangement was very much made with that in mind.”

“Got it. Well then, I suppose that’s fine.”

The elderly master slowly walked over and put his hand on the door of the dwelling.

There, he turned around.

“All right, over there… The same position as you were at the start. Stand about three paces in front of where I am. When that man over there wakes up, he’ll feel a bit unsteady on his feet.”

“Understood. You have my thanks.”

Gilnes gave a deep, respectful bow and departed. Now, all of the preparations were complete.

A hundred supporters springing out from the audience. The Blasting Blade. And now, his movements would go beyond the limits of his own body.

Preparations that had used up every iota of power at his disposal.

A true duel. How one would interpret such an arrangement would likely be different from person to person.

The honest and noble-minded knight Rosclay was certain to put forth all his effort into battling with the one skill he honed to perfection himself. Gilnes was not.

He wasn’t an idol of the people like Rosclay; he was a military man who fought to accomplish a goal.

The day of the duel was coming.

“Rosclay!”

“Rosclay! Rosclay!”

“Rosclay!!”

“Rosclay!”

The cheers of the packed crowd were almost loud enough to shatter eardrums.

Daytime in the castle garden theater. The excited citizenry of Aureatia clamored in the spectator seats surrounding the large grass plaza. The thought that the owner of the fruit stand was somewhere among them suddenly flickered in Gilnes’s mind.

The knight walking out to face Gilnes was still young.

His features, blond hair and red eyes, were plainly beautiful to anyone who saw them.

However, this beauty was also unlike that of a vampire, cloaked in an air of dread. His pleasant features were the kind that brought a sense of security to those who laid eyes on him.

On top of this, the way he had toned his muscles, it was likely the two men’s physiques had been different from birth. Compared to Gilnes’s imposing appearance, covered in big, thick muscles, his thin and sinewy body made him look not unlike a sculpted statue.

His was a face known to everyone. He was Rosclay the Absolute.

…I get it. No wonder they’re setting him up to be a symbol to the people.

Pitting them against each other, it was obvious at first glance which of them was on the side of justice.

Even someone who protected the people as the general of a ten-thousand-strong army like Gilnes the Ruined Castle, compared to the man before him, ended up looking like a crude mountain bandit.

“General Gilnes. Your heroics remain still fresh in the memories of the people. I consider our duel on this day a great honor. Let us show to these fine people what a battle free of spite can look like.”

“I consider it an honor, too. I didn’t expect such an opportunity for vindication… I thought the council, too, recognized my own righteousness as something to ignore entirely. Now, as a warrior equal, allow me to challenge you to combat.”

Gilnes took notice of his arm’s movements, beginning to sag under the weight of his sword. When a single strand of hair on his arm lowered, then he would stop. He moved it again. He stopped at the drop of a strand of hair.

His center didn’t waver an inch during the series of motions.

To anyone else, he assumed it looked like he was gently lowering his sword.

In just a few moments, Gilnes finished checking the capabilities of his physical body.

He could instantly tell his body to “stop” with the speed and positioning he wanted.

This was Romzo’s Dwelling Might. With the full strength of Gilnes’s sword skills on top of it, he had become a powerful threat.

“Rosclay!”

“Rosclay!”

“Rosclay!”

Mixed in with the cheers, the signal announcing the start of the match rang. Both combatants, in that moment, began to close the distance between each other.

He saw Rosclay hold his sword above his head. It was an exceedingly fast downward swing, exactly as taught to military swordsmen.

However.

That won’t hit me. Not with how I am now.

Gilnes stopped his advance.

Even in the midst of a full-speed charge, with all his body weight behind him, in his current condition, it was possible.

Consequently, Rosclay misjudged the range for his opening attack. The worst possible blunder to make.

“Over in an instant. Sorry, but—”

—There wouldn’t be any need to make use of his hundred-strong-soldier force.

Holding his sword low to meet incoming slash, he grazed Rosclay’s sword with the tip. It took on heat and exploded. Rosclay’s sword shattered.

Charijisuya the Blasting Blade.

From the eyes of the spectators, he assumed it looked as if the sword was unable to defend against the overwhelming strength behind the blow.

Continuing the attack, Gilnes slashed straight down at his chest.

“Iokouto. Namfatqumziz. Ninhortas. Wizioguraeua. Pastigeste.” (To the wind of Kouto. Fireflies on the lake’s surface. Source of soil. Release from one eye. Flash.)

It was that moment when Gilnes realized his opponent had been incanting Word Arts during their battle.

The electrical charge of the Thermal Arts, suddenly appearing before Gilnes’s sword’s path, flowed back down through the blade, and for an instant, induced an unavoidable biological reaction, stiffening up his muscles.

The average person would have likely been knocked unconscious by the attack. He endured and held his ground.

…What was that?

He shook his head. Gilnes certainly wasn’t one to overlook indications that an opponent before him was using Word Arts.

Even with his own weapon lost, there wasn’t a single crack in Rosclay’s calm demeanor.

He was perplexed by the Word Arts that seemed to have no visible forewarning, but at the very least, Rosclay’s display meant that he could utilize electric Thermal Arts with the speed and power necessary in battle.

If his Words Arts were fast enough to keep up with their battle, he must have devoted a considerable amount of effort to honing his skills.

I assumed he was a knight, but he’s an arts knight, huh. No matter.

If he had mastered combat Word Arts at such a young age, if anything, it made him easier to deal with.

All that time he spent honing those skills was time he wasn’t spending training with his sword.

It was far from his first time fighting against an arts knight. In fact, with both his purer experience and longer years of training, Gilnes was capable of surpassing Rosclay. The blade he brandished was one that caused explosive death with its touch, Charijisuya the Blasting Blade.

He wouldn’t give him the time to draw his next sword. The instant his muscles were free of their paralysis, he rushed forward with a slash of his blade.

“…Your sword—”

Rosclay muttered offhandedly.

“Thinking of pleading for a halt to the fight? It’s too late. My sword stroke will reach you faster than the words can leave your mouth.”

“No. I simply thought that I needed a new sword of my own, as well.”

Gilnes pressed in closer to Rosclay, paying no heed to his reply. The dirt in the garden theater whirled in the air.

“Vapmarsia wanwao. Sarpmorebonda. Ozno.” (Jeweled crevice. Still stream. Strike.)

A sword blocked the sideways sweeping flash of Gilnes’s sword. Rosclay’s sword—but not exactly.

The sword that had been blown apart by the enchanted sword sprouted up from the ground and defended against Gilnes’s high-speed strike.

Flanking Rosclay, four whole swords were being constructed out of the ferrous materials in the soil.

“This, can’t be possible…!”

Gilnes pulled back his sword—he could manage Craft Arts with such speed in combat, too?

It may have been correct to say the man in front of him wasn’t a knight, but a true arts caster. It couldn’t be.

“Hah…yah!”

Without letting the momentary confusion pass, Rosclay stamped on the earth with a rending shout.

Rosclay’s new sword arced in an almost too-perfect path, picture perfect compared to how it was taught to new swordsmen.

It followed the reverse course of Gilnes’s blade, tearing into and breaking his gauntlet. The only reason his arm wasn’t then cut clean off was because he was able to pull his arm back at the last second with the added effects of Dwelling Might.

“……!”

Had Gilnes been his normal self, this single exchange would have spelled defeat.

The blood soaking the inner cloth of his gauntlet gave him this terrifying premonition.

“Impossible.”

“—Iokouto. Yurowastera. Vapmarsia wanwao. Sarpmorebonda—” (—to the soil of Kouto. Reflect in replica. Jeweled crevice. Standstill stream—)

“—Namfatqumziz. Ninhortas. Wizioguraeua—” (Fireflies on the lake’s surface. Source of soil. Release from one eye—)

“—Tortewbijand. Ringmoruseipar. Wrbandeaziograf—” (—Warping disc. Rainbow corridor. Turn the hidden heaven and soil—)

“—Iojadwedo. Laeus4motbode. Teomayamvista—” (—to the steel of Jawedo. The axis is the fourth left finger. Pierce sound and—)

Yet another new sword was created. Lightning flashed. The swords floated in the air.

He could use so many Word Arts, and all simultaneously. Not only that, but when adding in Rosclay’s sword skills, he had over five different categories of advanced and well-honed techniques at his disposal.

Impossible. Gilnes couldn’t believe it.

For starters, simultaneously invoking different Word Arts should have been impossible.

What’s going on here? A feat like that… Rosclay the Absolute—

“…This should put us back at square one, wouldn’t you say, General Gilnes? Now, let us continue…”

It was possible that Gilnes the Ruined Castle also held the same feelings of admiration as the citizens of Aureatia somewhere within his heart.

He felt that he was a knight on the path of true righteousness, vanquishing his enemies with his just swordsmanship.

“…battling fairly and with honest skill.”

Everything about him is wrong.

“Rosclay!”

“You can win, Rosclay!”

“Rosclaaaay!”

“Rosclay!”

The strength of the man in front of him…was something else entirely. He was enigmatic and mysterious.

The leg, covered with a silver white greave, stamped the ground.

An instantaneous opening move, sharp and fast, the flawless form taught to students of the blade.

Gilnes fell back in time with his opponent’s advance. As long as he was in the Dwelling Might state, it was simple enough for him to watch his adversary’s movements, and instantly stop and adjust his own.

However, with his attention monopolized by the sudden Word Arts, while Gilnes could stay out of his opponent’s sword range, he couldn’t stay fully aware of the tip of the blasting sword in his hand.

Rosclay seized this opening.

The knight’s sword entwined with the tip of the enchanted sword, held up and pointing at eye level, and hoisted it upward.

Not relying on his strength to knock it down, he instead quietly tapped it, pressing down on its side, and then turned it away. The technique of an extremely just royal knight.

…The special quality of the Blasting Blade—

He had seen right through it. Now, Rosclay’s sword didn’t burst apart after touching the enchanted sword.

Then, if his movements were indeed following the fundamentals, there was only one movement to follow. Using the back of the sword, he slid along the sword shortening the distance between them. His hand immobilized Gilnes’s gauntlet, and they both came together, swords locked at the hilts.

In power and physique, Gilnes was superior. However, because he was pinned as he fell back, he couldn’t shift his center of gravity forward. Rosclay was using this to tip the scales.

Gilnes bellowed, to properly muster his fighting spirit.

“Rosclay! Regardless of whoever or whatever you may be, I will claim victory…!”

“Speed. The speed of the slash, coming into contact with a solid mass. That’s what’s needed for the explosion.”

A cold sweat shivered down Gilnes’s back.

Looking at Rosclay’s face from up close… His expression was wholly unlike the one he had just shown the crowd, appearing now level-headed and reflective.

Paying no heed to Gilnes right in front of him, Rosclay continued murmuring to himself.

“He was able to sheathe his sword. If contact is the only requirement to cause an explosion, then if I do this—”

He propped up the back of his two-handed sword, pushing back and forth against Gilnes’s, and added more force. Gilnes was inevitably pushed to resist the added force in a similar way, as well.

“…He also can’t use his hand to support the blade. The breadth of his sword techniques gets narrower. He shouldn’t be able to utilize such a weapon in this position. All right.”

Riding the momentum of the weight pushing into him, he fell back and opened up space between the two of them again.

That was what made Gilnes the Ruined Castle realize. Their locked hilts moments prior weren’t an attempt by Rosclay to push back the much larger and bulky Gilnes. In fact, it was possible that from the beginning, the first grazing hit Gilnes had made to Rosclay’s sword hadn’t been a coincidence at all.

—He had completely seen through all the characteristics of Charijisuya the Blasting Blade.

Backed away from Gilnes, replications of Rosclay’s sword, formed beneath the ground, were still suspended in midair.

The two of us were exchanging blows. He couldn’t possibly have kept his complex Word Arts going…

That wasn’t it. That wasn’t what he needed to think about. He had to keep his mind focused. Otherwise it would become a weakness his opponent could exploit. Even with regard to pure swordsmanship skills, Rosclay the Absolute’s rivaled or even exceeded Gilnes’s own.

…Looks like now’s the time to use it.

Gilnes switched his grip on his sword and loosened the wrist coverings on his right hand.

It was the signal for the final remaining strategy that he had prepared.

They had referred to it as the bird’s bough.

The name of a one-shot crossbow, modified into a thin, foldable shape.

Its unique firing sound was not quiet by any stretch, but with its frequency modified to vanish within a person’s vocal range, amid the screams and shouts of a large crowd—or rather, surrounded by an audience’s excited cheers—it was constructed to make it impossible to determine the shot’s origin.

Fire.

The target he was signaling to attack was, of course, not Rosclay the Absolute.

He was commanding the soldiers slipped among the crowd to shoot Gilnes himself in the back.

Intended to stand out, without being lethal, and then incite cries denouncing the match as corrupt and dishonest.

As far as he could tell from the words and actions of Third Minister Jelki, Aureatia was concerned about the bad reputation that came with this match far more than the outcome itself. With it, the seasoned general Gilnes hadn’t assumed a situation like now, where he had exhausted all the methods he had considered and still couldn’t stand up to Rosclay’s strength, wouldn’t come up.

It wasn’t Gilnes using the cowardly trick to shoot the general in the back from the stands. It was Rosclay’s side who was.

This method of bringing the match to an end, regardless of any difference in their strength, had been planned from the beginning.

Afterward, the hundred who had been slipped into the crowd were then to instigate a riot. When it came time to alter the mood of a crowd, strength in numbers produced the best results.

“……”

He watched his opponent’s movements. A major premise of the plan, before being put into motion, was that Gilnes was still alive.

“Haaa-yah!”

Rosclay swung one of the swords floating in midair with a flowing movement. A sword flash across from the shoulder, ever true to the fundamentals.

Gilnes blocked with the Blasting Blade. His adversary’s sword burst and broke into pieces, and once again Gilnes stopped moving.

He realized that the electric Thermal Arts that had caused him to stiffen up moments prior were flowing from Rosclay’s sword. The electric currents flowed simultaneously with the sword’s slashes.

Why?

He had already given the signal. There was no sign of the supporting crossbow fire from the stands.

“Truly superb reactions, General Gilnes!”

At this point there were now six blades formed around Rosclay, revolving around the knight in midair.

Together with the resonant praise that echoed into the audience, Rosclay took his next sword. Gilnes’s arm was rigid from the electric Word Arts. He was under the effects of the Dwelling Might. He would’ve been able to display peerless technique and swordsmanship, if he could just make his muscles move.

A flash of steel.

He had to react. Even if he sacrificed an arm, he had to ensure the blade didn’t cut into his torso.

With the effects of Dwelling Might, he forcibly blocked the path of the blade with his left arm.

Yet the silvery path curved unnaturally, like a snake’s coil, evading his left arm.

“—Aeus4motbode. Temoyamafista. Iusmnohain. Xaonyaj.” (The axis is the fourth left finger. Pierce sound. Descend from the clouds. Turn.)

Force Arts. If he was able to make his swords float, then changing their midair trajectory was also—

“Gwauck?!”

The strike, with its wielder’s full weight behind it, split Gilnes’s breastplate in two.

He could feel a rib had broken, and the wound extended deep inside his body.

Everything about him seeming off and abnormal, as Rosclay battled it was his swordsmanship alone that stayed wholly and completely true, the sword of a royal knight.

“Rosclay!”

“You can do it, Rosclay!”

“This is the end of the line, General Gilnes. It was a spectacular duel.”

“Rosclay!”

“Just…what, are you…”

“Rosclaaay!”

“Rosclay!”

With gentle eyes, the kind that instilled peace of mind in those who saw them, Rosclay the Absolute looked down at Gilnes.

Was he really a champion?

Did no one else realize it? Everything that happened during their match had been beyond strange.

“General Gilnes. I do not intend to take your life. If you wish to surrender, I will accept it.”

“……”

“General.”

Rosclay did not cruelly bring down his sword on Gilnes’s lowered head.

Instead, he informed him with a whisper.

“How was your ironbound hilt?”

“……!”

With his final thoughts rushing through his head, Gilnes the Ruined Castle surmised the meaning behind his words.

Charijisuya the Blasting Blade. He had ordered it to have only its blade swapped out, the rest being built to match the previous sword’s hilt and scabbard.

Exactly like the sword Aureatia had provided him, to prevent anyone from noticing the swap.

Therefore, the electric Word Arts were conducted through the sword to the wielder.

What about Rosclay’s sword? It was constructed out of stone. It insulated the hilt.

“How did—”

“There is one other thing I would like to show you.”

Rosclay showed Gilnes the inside of his cloak, careful to avoid the eyes of the crowd.

…I can’t be. I don’t believe it…!

Inside were several sparkling crystals.

Wires extended out of each one of them—they were the same instruments used by comms soldiers, radzios.

“Wwnopellaliokou. Yurowastera. Vapmarsia wanwao—” (From Owenopellal to the soil of Kouto. Reflect in replica. Jeweled crevice—)

“Vigeriokouto. Namfatqumziz. Ninhortas—” (Viger to the wind of Kouto. Fireflies on the lake’s surface. Source of soil—)

“Egirwezi io rosxle. Tortewbijand—” (From Ekraezi to Rosclay. Warping disc—)

Rosclay hadn’t been using Word Arts.

There was a limit to how much experience a single person could amass.

Ignoring outliers like Alus the Star Runner, there was no possible way for someone to be perfectly suited to handle everything.

“Rosclaaaaay!”

“Rosclay!”

“Rosclay won!”

“Rosclay!”

It was possible that Gilnes the Ruined Castle, too, held the same feelings of admiration as the citizens of Aureatia somewhere within his heart.

He felt that he was a knight on the path of true righteousness, vanquishing his enemies with his just swordsmanship.

Everything about him was wrong. This man’s strength wasn’t some sort of mysterious yet exceptional talent at all.

During these two small months of preparation time, he had done the same thing Gilnes had.

His confusion from seeing no Word Arts indications from Rosclay had been only natural.

Had it always been that way? There was no way a single minia could kill a dragon.

If he truly had been alone, then who vouched for that fact? Was Gilnes really supposed to believe that during his dragon battle, he had fought solely relying on his skills with a blade? That this underhanded deceit was the reality behind the Aureatia’s Twenty-Nine Officials, the true form of the champion the people put their faith in?

“Ngraaaaaaaugh!”

In that moment, the pent-up rage that burned inside Gilnes burst open.

It was rage, it was remorse, and more than anything, it was deep disappointment.

The body that should have been beyond all salvation, taken hold by his mental anguish, brandished his sword, and—

“Haa-yah!”

He then took an over-the-shoulder slash, form perfect, and collapsed.

The silver flash passed through the crack opened in his breastplate and ended Gilnes’s life. Rosclay seemed to have turned the tables against Gilnes’s final struggle, defending himself fair and square.

Rosclay took a deep breath. Putting on his mask of sincerity, he appealed to the crowd.

A calculated act, before the excitement among his audience cooled.

“…Citizens, it is as you just saw. General Gilnes, rejecting my call for surrender, took up his sword. And now, he has died before my blade!”

“Rosclay!”

“Rosclaaay!”

“Rosclay!”

“He chose the path of a martyr for his ideals! He offered up his precious soul to bring the end to an outdated time! I ask you to applaud the general’s courage! His sacrifice…will serve as our first step, the Old Kingdoms’ loyalists and Aureatia together, to a new age!”

“Rosclay’s right!”

“Gilnes! Gilnes!”

“Rosclay!”

“Gilnes!”

“Now, with our battle in this true duel decided, I bear Gilnes no hatred! I pray that you, citizens, will do the same! He fought to build peace for all! It is time to shoulder his sacrifice and advance forward!”

Aureatia’s Second General spoke, making his sword sparkly with silvery white light.

Rosclay the Absolute. The honest and just hero.

No matter what enemy appeared before him, not a single stain was ever left behind on his silvery white armor.

“The battle you have all witnessed before is a perfect example of my true duel performance. In the next grand match, I pledge that I will use the excellent techniques I have cultivated to slay my enemies!”

“Rosclay!”

“Rosclay!”

“Rosclay!”

Rosclay, his performance concluded, returned alone to the stage entryway.

His appearance in the royal games was set in stone. Though it wasn’t decided that he would be fighting in the same garden. Much like with his duel that day, both parties wouldn’t necessarily be on even footing.

It hadn’t been an even playing field from the very start.

Inside the brick corridor was a single figure waiting for Rosclay.

A tall and lanky man, shrouded in an artless and unsophisticated air.

“Romzo, sir. Thank you very much.”

“Easy. Knocking out a hundred odd people, no trouble at all. I knew their faces already, too.”

One of the First Party, Romzo the Star Map answered with his usual smiling face, free of any strain or tension.

“Gilnes is dead, then.”

“…Indeed. It is a pity. You have my sympathies.”

“Ah well, it’s fine. Nothing to be done. I did like the lad, but I had no problem betraying him. So long as I’ve got somewhere I can sell myself for a good price, I didn’t really care about anything else.”

In the dimly lit corridor, the bashful smile behind his rounded glasses instead seemed sinister.

“Especially given I’m just a coward who lost to the Demon King long ago. This much is no problem at all.”

Even strategies mobilizing numerous soldiers collapsed under the smallest hole in the scheme.

Rosclay was himself a general in command of an army and could get a read on what schemes Gilnes would plan. On the battlefield, he first relied not on his sword but his ingenuity.

“Thank you also for the Dwelling Might. Its power was far beyond my expectations. It made my blood run cold.”

“About that, actually. Hmm. I still don’t get it. You said to purposely make your opponent stronger. With my treatment, Gilnes… Hmm, let’s see. I could’ve easily weakened him to the strength of a five-year-old child.”

“That wouldn’t be enough. In the upcoming grand match, there’s sure to be no one weaker than myself and General Gilnes. I needed to actually experience and know for myself how much my blade can hold out against a stronger foe. Thanks to your help, I was able to pick out many areas that need to be addressed.”

“…Diligent, aren’t we? Seems like a tough way to live.”

“I’m ashamed of my shortcomings.”

He clenched and unclenched his fist, ruminating on his memory of the duel. It was a hard experience to come by.

A day that was bound to arrive, and a similarly strong opponent. Similarly encircled by a crowd of spectators. A true battle, also with his life on the line.

Having actually experienced such combat could prove the difference between life and death. As long as there was even the slightest possibility it could, then the experience was necessary.

“Well then. I’ll be going. My game of fake insurgency’s over.”

“…Until we meet again, Romzo the Star Map.”

That day, all one hundred–odd Old Kingdoms’ loyalists who gathered at the garden theater were captured.

Having lost their leader in Gilnes the Ruined Castle, and adviser in Romzo the Star Map, their influence rapidly began fading away.

The night of the garden duel.

Along the riverside on the Aureatia frontier, there existed a dingy shack.

The house was inhabited by a mother and her frail daughter. The father who provided for them had passed away.

Amid the darkness of the area, no other residence in sight, the orange lamplight illuminated the doorway and announced their visitor.

Opening the door, the mother looked at the face she hadn’t seen in a long time and broke into a smile.

“…Oh my, how we’ve been waiting for you, my lord! Iska! Iska! Get up, quick!”

“Oh no, please. If she’s already asleep, then… I wouldn’t want to push Iska too hard.”

The man was covered in a full-body robe, carefully concealing both his face and body. Nevertheless, to the mother, his was a figure so familiar, she could immediately recognize it.

The young girl, who came out of the bedroom to meet the man, gazed up at his face and gave him a smile.

“You’re very late, Mr. Second General. You woke me up.”

“Iska…”

The daughter would turn sixteen that year. She had chestnut-colored hair and eyes to match. She looked a little thinner and more haggard than before.

Rosclay the Absolute cast his eyes to the ground and lowered his hand where he stood.

When he was under this roof, Rosclay was almost a completely different person.

“First, let me apologize. I put on a disgraceful battle display in front of the people.”

“My, my, my. Is that so? That’s quite the problem, isn’t it? What was disgraceful about it, then?”

The village girl crouched down in front of the minian champion and asked, teasingly.

“…My first step forward. And if the enchanted sword had laid into me while my sword was broken, I would be dead. And if the electric Thermal Arts didn’t stop him… I was a hair’s breadth away from the end.”

“Another dangerous fight, is it? Honestly… Just what am I going to do about you?”

Iska stroked Rosclay’s golden hair and flashed a troubled smile.

All of his fights were like this. He appeared to fight with overwhelming strength that far outdid his opponents, but in truth, he was balanced on a razor’s edge between life and death. Both his consideration for any and all possible schemes, and his diligence with his daily training, were all because he truly and deeply held his own life dear.

Rosclay the Absolute. The champion of the minia. No matter how much she wished and hoped, she knew his turn to abandon the whorl of battle would come later than anyone else’s.

“…That’s why, um, well… I came here because, I thought it’d be better to give you this sooner rather than later.”

Rosclay’s eyes darted around nervously, almost like any other young man his age, and he took out a box.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a coral ring. I bought it at the market. I think it would suit you, Iska. And since I haven’t properly given you any presents up until now…”

“Hmm.”

The young girl inspected the inside of the box, looking at the small silver ring.

Red coral, with a subdued luster. The color was also not too different from Rosclay’s own eye color.

Still smiling, she pushed the box back to him.

“No thank you.”

“What?”

“Mr. Second General? You’re taking me for some uneducated village girl, aren’t you? I believe in the Beyond, gifting a ring is meant to be a symbol of betrothal, isn’t it?”

Rosclay conspicuously averted his gaze in an effort to escape from Iska’s probing look.

“Wh-what does that matter…? I’m simply giving it to you for my own self-satisfaction.”

“I don’t need something this serious. No, in fact, you absolutely mustn’t send me anything that will remain behind. How exactly am I supposed to explain things if someone questions me about it?”

Rosclay’s eyebrows drooped. There was no knowing just how long Iska had left to live.

He knew that she was trying not to leave anything behind after she died.

“I don’t need anything, Mr. Rosclay the Absolute. Wouldn’t you say that you being a champion itself is already too good of a gift for this simple village girl?”

“No at all… Am I, really a champion?”

“…Well, well, well. Aren’t we in low spirits today, Mr. Second General?”

Her mother had already taken her leave. More important than any dinner preparations, she knew that on the days Rosclay came to visit, the two of them needed time to talk alone.

Time where he wasn’t the people’s champion, but a normal young man, where he could escape from his all-too-heavy obligations.

“I killed General Gilnes. Outstandingly valorous and intelligent, a person worthy of respect… I had no choice but to use every dastardly trick to kill him.”

“…How cruel of you.”

Rosclay was kneeling. Just as he had forced his enemies to kneel across his multitude of battles.

She was the only person in the world who saw him like this.

As if accepting a confession, she wrapped both her arms around his head.

“The sword is all I have.”

“…Yes, that’s right. Why, it’s the only thing you’ve ever trained for.”

“Just having someone else know about your existence would make victory impossible.”

“True. You’re such a delicate person, after all.”

“I really…want to fight the proper way.”

“…I know that.”

If he hadn’t been there that day, both she and her mother would have simply been sold off as slaves.

She would never say it. However, she alone knew that Rosclay the Absolute had the capability to be a champion right from the very start.

Thus, now, she simply listened to his words.

If Iska could be a solace to his troubled mind, that was enough for her.

The night grew late, and Rosclay returned to the castle.

“…That dummy.”

Iska muttered, picking up the small box that had been left on top of the table in the dark.

After all she had said to him about it, in the end he had left it behind.

She returned to her small bedroom and lit the lamp beside her bed.

The contour of the ring she held in her fingers glowed gently in the yellow light.

Honestly, to gift her something that’ll leave a legacy behind like this—

“…Pfft.”

She lay down on her back in the dark bed.

On the third finger of her left hand, stretching out to the lamplight, sat a shining red coral ring.

Rosclay. Stronger than anyone else, yet weaker than anyone else, her own personal champion.

In that moment, she even felt able to forget about her smothering illness.

If there could be such a future, it would be such a beautiful thing, indeed.

Tears began to trickle down her cheek. Yet, just as happy, Iska laughed.

“…Hee-hee-hee.”

He, the individual, stood at the greatest and tallest heights of pure and proper swordsmanship.

He possessed the ingenuity to draw a fight to its conclusion before it had even begun, through scheming and subterfuge.

He, with a nation as his ally, received any and all support to turn his victory into a foregone conclusion.

Entrusted with all types of power wielded by the strongest social beings across the land, an artificial champion.

Knight. Minia.

Rosclay the Absolute.