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THE LOVE BALLAD OF THE SWORD DEVIL

The Silver Flower Dance of Pictat

1

The Sword Devil heard the whoosh of a blade as he leaped off the ground, escaping death by inches.

In the corner of his vision, the Sword Devil saw the dust he had kicked up; he twisted and struck. A flash of silver reached for his opponent’s broad neck, seeking the fatal blow, but it was deflected by a stroke from below.

“ ”

There wasn’t even time for an irritated click of the tongue.

The Sword Devil used the force of the block to fling himself backward. It might seem foolish to jump into the air, where there was no escape, but at this moment, he had nowhere else to go…

“Shrrrr!”

Instantaneously, blades lashed out from three directions, grazing his skin and releasing a mist of blood. Still, he avoided any fatal wounds. His accelerated awareness put aside pain as the bloodied Sword Devil spun in midair to launch a reverse strike at the giant just in front of him.

The tip of his sword cut into the blue-black shoulder, shallow. It wasn’t enough to sever the arm, and no sooner had he gritted his teeth than a blow came in reply.

“Hrrgh—!”

His side caved under a fist at least the size of a child’s head. His ribs cried out under the impact, and he was thrown to the side. He smashed against the stone edging, landing on the ground without time to break his fall. His forehead split against the flagstones, and when he looked up, he could taste blood on his tongue. No follow-up attack came. His enemy was hardly unwounded.

“ ”

The Sword Devil rose to one knee, looking up at a giant standing with his arms crossed before him. The giant was looking in perplexity at his own arm—the limb he had used to throw the Sword Devil, and which had now been cut off at the wrist. The wound was spurting blood, and the fist itself was rolling around by his feet.

The wounds looked quite severe at first glance. The Sword Devil was plenty injured himself, but it was clear that he was better off than an opponent who had just lost his left hand.

If only that opponent hadn’t had three more left hands to spare.

“Long has it been since I was blessed by such an enemy… A rare happiness indeed,” the great, bare, blue creature rumbled, his arm beginning to swell up. At that moment, the blood ceased gushing from the handless arm. He had squeezed his remaining muscles in that limb to forcibly stop the flow. It was not a matter of whether such a thing should be possible. Seeing was believing.

“…What are you, some kind of monster?”

“Such a lonely thing you say, fine foe of mine. You and I are both beings equally uncanny.”

“Pff… Is that how a man justifies trying to steal someone’s woman? Nice try.”

“When I fell an enemy so powerful as you, I shall claim her as is proper. Nothing is hard to grasp about this.”

“Spoken like a true barbarian.”

“It is the way of we beasts who live by the sword.”

The eight-armed battle god graced the Sword Devil, who was hacking up blood and phlegm, with a warrior’s smile. The expression reflected his overwhelming combat ability, but the Sword Devil faced him undaunted.

Of course. To withdraw was not an option. After all…

“ ”

From one side of the stone bridge, he could feel a pair of eyes on his back.

This superhuman battle was being observed by a great many eyes. Countless gazes were upon him, countless emotions roiling; he felt them on his skin.

But for the Sword Devil, only one of them mattered. He simply had to feel that one, and it was powerful.

“ ”

Eyes clear as a blue sky, beautiful hair as red as a flame in the wind, heart unclouded by any doubt as to the Sword Devil’s victory.

So long as those eyes were set upon him, he could not lose to anyone. And so…

“You just keep talking. I’m going to beat you…Eight-Arms Kurgan.”

“Then I shall give your name to the child I bear by your princess—Sword Devil, Wilhelm.”

The seven great arms held the huge blades, “Devil Cleavers.” Kurgan, whose technique had repelled even the Sword Saint, prepared for battle, his whole body overflowing with a warrior’s aura.

The endless frenzied combat, the life-and-death fight, the duel between the Sword Devil and Eight-Arms…

The Silver Flower Dance of Pictat: the deadly duel that would be known throughout the land.

Its beginning and its conclusion would form another chapter in the Love Ballad of the Sword Devil, the tale of that young man and woman.

2

“Stupid, stupid Father! I give up!”

A beautiful voice rang through the mansion early one morning, scaring the birds in the garden into flight. As the sound of startled wings receded, the world settled into a moment of silence. But the frozen moment swiftly melted away, and a tall, thin, bearded man launched into action.

His composed exterior was completely belied by the frantic waving of his hands. “W-wait, Theresia. Don’t you think it’s a little soon to be getting so angry? Can’t you listen calmly to your father’s idea before you—”

“Your ideas, Father, are what come too soon! How could you decide something so important without even mentioning it to me?! Is what I’m saying so strange?!”

“Of course, it’s because I wanted to surprise you, my dear daughter.”

“Oh, I am surprised. Absolutely shocked. In the worst possible way! Enough to make me want to leave this family!”

“What?! But why?! Family is all I’m thinking of!”

The girl gave a dramatic, exhausted sigh at the stuttering man.

She was a lovely girl with beautiful red hair and eyes the color of the sky. She wore a simple white outfit that, although plain, nonetheless brought out her feminine beauty. Her arms were crossed in a way that emphasized her surprisingly generous bust.

Her name was Theresia van Astrea, and she was the owner of this house. She was the daughter of Veltol Astrea, who stood across from her. In other words, this was an argument between father and daughter.

What’s more, such arguments between them were not unusual. In fact, they occurred quite frequently. Almost every time Veltol came to visit Theresia.

And indeed…

“How many times do you plan to visit this house in a month anyway, Father?! You’ve been here practically half the time! Do you understand what these days mean to me?! That I’m a newlywed?!”

“Of course I understand! That’s why I need to keep an eye on you, so you two young people don’t do anything rash. If that isn’t concern for my daughter, then what is?”

“I hope a land dragon kicks you in the head, Father!”

“Whaa?! I recognize that saying—from Kararagi!”

The young bride’s father was trying to hold his head high in the newlyweds’ home only to receive a heartfelt scolding from his daughter.

Wilhelm, watching the argument from the sofa, sighed. Suddenly, a cup of tea appeared in front of him. When he saw the person offering it to him, an elegant woman with flaxen hair, he straightened up.

“I’m sorry, Wilhelm. My husband and daughter are always this way.”

“Yeah, well, the stupid antics don’t— I mean, I guess you could say I’m used to it by now. And it’s not like I don’t understand how Honorable Father feels. He just freaks out a little— Er, I mean, he’s simply worried about his daughter.”

The woman smiled as Wilhelm struggled with the niceties of aristocratic language. “Oh, there’s no need to watch your language in front of me. We’re family now. I just wish that man had the guts to recognize it already.” Wilhelm saw in the woman’s smile a shadow of that smile he loved most. Of course he did. This woman was Tishua Astrea, Theresia’s mother.

That morning, Veltol and Tishua had showed up at the Astrea annex—the house in which Wilhelm and Theresia were making their new life together. And just as Theresia lamented, their visits seemed to be a very frequent occurrence.

“Good morning… And what seems to be the crisis today?”

A new visitor appeared at the door, remarking upon the familiar sound of argument. She was a woman with shining golden hair that went down to her shoulders, along with a serious visage and an all-around refined look. This was Carol Remendes, Theresia’s attendant; she had a history with Wilhelm as well. Her family had long served the Astreas, and these arguments between father and daughter were well-trodden ground to her—clearly, as she ignored the bickering pair to ask a question of Tishua.

“Good morning, Carol. Yes, that’s an excellent question. If you don’t mind my asking, what would you guess it is?”

“I might suspect Lady Theresia finally snapped at the frequency of your honorable visits.”

“You suspect exactly right. Of course, given his single-mindedness, it’s not that hard to figure out.” Tishua smiled.

Carol drew a face. “Sigh… Is that so?” This was her mistress’s father. She seemed to be disappointed because her desire to find something to like about Veltol had so far gone unfulfilled. Wilhelm refrained from pointing out that her very disappointment was itself rather rude.

Then, noticing that the three of them had set aside morning formalities to complain about Veltol, Theresia exclaimed, “Carol! Listen, Carol! My father has gone and done the most selfish, boorish thing—again! But he doesn’t even feel guilty about it… Oh, and good morning.”

“Good morning, Lady Theresia. I profoundly sympathize with your frustrations, truly I do, but you mustn’t be too critical of your father. Think how sad he’ll be.”

“Listen to her, Theresia. You could learn a thing or two from that respectful attitude.”

“Heh-heh! He’s sad, all right, and he doesn’t even know it… It’s downright adorable.”

Veltol had altogether missed the meaning of what Theresia and Carol were saying. His wife alone seemed to be enraptured by him just the same; Wilhelm put a hand to his forehead when he noticed it.

The dynamics of this family were unusual to say the least. And now he was a part of it. He thought back to his own family, to his parents and his two older brothers—had it been this exhausting to deal with them?

If it had been, he was suddenly less perplexed as to why he had left home.

“I remember getting upset at my brothers’ excuses, but…”

As Wilhelm sat reflecting, Theresia called on him for reinforcement.

“Hey, Wilhelm! You tell my father! This isn’t normal, is it? You have to tell him… He doesn’t understand anything even when people spell it out for him!”

“Well then, my saying anything won’t do any good, right?”

“But it’ll make me happy to know you’re on my side! Isn’t that reason enough?”

She hardly seemed to understand the full power of that last argument. Leave it to the Sword Saint to intuitively grasp her opponent’s most vulnerable point.

“ ? What are you grinning for? Here, come over here. I need an ally.” She gestured at him to join her.

“Yeah, I know,” Wilhelm said, still grinning. “So what are you arguing about this morning?” He still didn’t really know. The number of visits they had been subjected to during their first half-moon as husband and wife couldn’t be the entire explanation.

At last, Theresia, her face bright red, divulged the outrageous request Veltol had made this time. “My father—he says he wants to accompany us on our honeymoon! Can you even believe that? Wilhelm, help me convince him he’s mad!”

Now I get it.

Wilhelm looked at the ceiling. This was even worse than he’d thought.

3

“Well, Father. Explain your thought process. Then I’ll decide how I feel.”

“Ha-ha-ha… ‘Decide how you feel’ sounds so intimidating, Theresia. What a child, putting her father to the test. Every time I think I can take my eyes off you…”

“This isn’t helping your case, Father.”

“Whaaat?! Why?! We haven’t even talked about anything yet!”

Veltol was overwhelmed by Theresia’s piercing glare. Wilhelm frowned, curious why the man was at all surprised, but the three women remained expressionless, perhaps already used to this. Still, they were bound for a mere repeat of the earlier argument at this rate. Though he didn’t much want to, Wilhelm found he had no choice but to intervene.

“Calm down, Theresia,” he said. “Let’s hear him out first. And you, Father, please don’t surprise Theresia like that. Her emotions burst out at a moment’s notice.”

“Hrm… Yes, very well. If you say so, Wilhelm, I’ll listen.” Theresia puffed out her cheeks sulkily but nonetheless came around.

Veltol, relieved, stroked his beard, a wisp of a smile on his face. “You almost act as if you understand Theresia better than I do, young Wilhelm. I’ll have you know, I’ve bathed with Theresia.”

“Father!! Just how far back do you intend to go to nurse this hostility of yours?!”

“I hate to break it to you, but so have I.”

“Hagghh!”

“W-Wilhelm?!”

Veltol choked, and Theresia, her face red as could be, grabbed Wilhelm by the lapels and shoved him over to a corner of the room. There, she pinned her husband up against the wall, her face running with tears of embarrassment and panic and love.

“Wh-wh-what do you think you’re saying?! W-we haven’t been in the bath together yet!”

“Sorry. Rivalry got the better of me.”

“Don’t try to compete with my father! I do not, under any circumstances, want to see that same look in your eyes that he gets!”

It seemed like an implicitly terrible way of talking about her father, but Wilhelm couldn’t help agreeing with her. The bond between husband and wife was strengthened by the presence of a common enemy, and Wilhelm embraced Theresia gently before they went back to the sofa. Then they sat down again politely, but…

“…Carol, what are you doing over there?” Theresia asked. For some reason, Carol was sitting opposite Theresia and Wilhelm—that is, alongside Veltol and Tishua. She had been standing guard just behind Theresia until a moment earlier. It seemed to literally indicate where she stood in this argument.

Carol, looking very serious indeed, shook her head and said, “That awful man has abused your relationship as husband and wife to bring shame upon you, Lady Theresia…”

“Wait! B-but Wilhelm and I are married, remember?”

“Yes. But I cannot abide the abuse of a husband’s authority to get into the bath with you.”

“Even though we’re married?!”

Carol was looking at Wilhelm with all the malice of a woman taking revenge for her dead parents. Veltol was quick to add, “She’s right, you know,” further cementing their alliance. Apparently, the other side had also discovered a common enemy, and it had reinforced their own connection. Well now, this was troublesome.

“I’m very sorry, Lady Theresia. But there are things on which I simply cannot budge. Even if it forces me to align myself with Lord Veltol.”

“Yes, she’s— What?! Forces you?!”

“B-but if even you say so, Carol, then what am I to do…?”

“I don’t care what you all think. I’m going to bathe with Theresia.”

“Curse youuuuu!” Carol flew at Wilhelm in genuine rage, but he easily deflected her attack. Ignoring the brewing knockdown, drag-out fight despite the difference in the abilities of the combatants, Theresia turned a worried look to Tishua for help.

“Mother…”

“Heavens, you’re a bride yourself now; don’t look so pathetic. Though I admit, I do feel a bit bad for you. Dear…?”

“Hrk! I swear, this isn’t my fault!” Head in hands, Veltol said precisely what the person at fault always says. The sight of her mother squinting silently at her trembling father was a familiar one to Theresia. And it followed a familiar course as well, to a familiar conclusion.

“I—I have to admit that attempting to follow you on your honeymoon was going a bit far even for me… Even if you weren’t so angry, Theresia, I certainly wouldn’t…”

“You heard him. He may be small-minded and have poor social skills, but he’s not a bad person—he just makes a little mischief. There’s nothing for you to worry over.”

“Mother, you could practice a little more restraint when talking about Father…”

“If I used restraint, it wouldn’t be a proper apology to you and your dear Wilhelm. That’s why I have to be thoroughly cruel. Oh, how it hurts…”

Tishua offered a hideously alluring smile as she continued to mock Veltol, who seemed to shrink under the attack. Theresia sympathized with her deflating father, but still let out a breath of relief. As much as she wanted to show filial devotion, even she couldn’t abide the idea of having her father on her honeymoon. Although she might be willing to let Carol come along as a chaperone.

“I wish the two of you would stop fighting already, too,” Theresia said.

“Who’s fighting?” Wilhelm asked. “She just won’t leave me alone.”

“Hrk… Why must I lack strength? O Sword God, if you hear the prayers of mortals, give me the power to strike this man down here and now—”

“Here?! Don’t ask that trickster for such a thing! Stop it, Carol!” Theresia hugged Carol, whose teeth were gritted, and patted her head gently. Her attendant experienced emotions deeply and had picked up on her mistress’s anger. “And, Wilhelm,” Theresia said, puffing out her cheeks, “don’t provoke her anymore. Next time, I’ll be the one to fight you.”

Wilhelm was quick to raise the white flag. “…Well, I won’t win that. I’ll stop.”

Thus, the argument about their honeymoon that had been raging all morning finally came to an end.

Although one suspected it would have gone much easier if Veltol had simply behaved like an adult.

“In any event, your first trip together is a bit like moving into the same house: It’s another marker of your new life as husband and wife,” Veltol said. “Take care that nothing untoward happens, that Theresia isn’t harmed. You understand?”

“Yeah, sure… I mean, yes, sir.”

“And, Theresia, if you ever have any complaint, you can come back to your family’s house any— Ouch! Ow, ow, ow!”

“Ho-ho-ho-ho. Well then, Theresia, Wilhelm. Enjoy your trip together.” Tishua managed to grab Veltol’s ear before he could say anything truly out of line and dragged him out of the room. The fact that, despite being present in the house for roughly half the month, they had never tried to stay the night, perhaps spoke to Veltol’s better nature.

“I hope I’m not just imagining it,” Carol muttered.

“I try not to think about it too much,” Theresia said. “And what about you, Carol? You’re off today, aren’t you?”

Carol caught her breath slightly at this. As Theresia’s attendant, she didn’t have much concept of a fixed day off. Instead, these “vacation days” generally meant the days when the person with whom she could spend some relaxing time was also on vacation.

“The squad’s off today, too,” Wilhelm said. “Grimm’s got to be hanging around at the garrison. Go on over there.”

“I d-don’t need you to tell me! That’s what I was planning to do!”

“Yes, of course, that’s wonderful,” Theresia said. “Come on, time’s wasting. This is your last day off before the trip—go have enough fun that you can stand to be with us after this.”

“V-very well… If you say so, Lady Theresia.”

The touch of obstinance was so maidenly, Theresia couldn’t help but smile as she saw Carol off. Carol kept glancing at her as if there was something she wanted to say, all the way until she was gone, but perhaps realizing that nothing she might say to another girl in love would be any use, she shuffled out of the house.

“Maybe she has a date with Grimm at the shopping district,” Theresia said. “I think Carol has been so cute lately. I’m nearly jealous of Grimm!”

Wilhelm clicked his tongue. “Both of them are a pain in the neck. They should hurry up and get together.”

“Why? So she’ll start paying more attention to him than to us? I would be a little bit sad if that happened…” Theresia smiled and ran a hand through her hair. She understood what Wilhelm was thinking, but the relationship between her and Carol was somewhat complex. The Remendes family, while not as prominent as the Astreas, was nonetheless nobility. As the eldest daughter of that household, it would be no simple matter for Carol to marry a commoner like Grimm. Even if their hearts were in perfect accord, status and blood still stood between them.

Wilhelm sensed Theresia’s doubt. “Grimm just has to become a knight,” he said. “He’s Zergev Squadron’s vice-captain. It won’t be that long.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

“…Mm,” Theresia answered, leaning into his warmth and closing her eyes. “You’re right.”

It was a series of miracles that had produced the union between her and Wilhelm. If even one thing had gone differently, this happiness might never have existed. At that moment, she knew only heartfelt gratitude. The love of him filled her; she looked up at Wilhelm.

“…S-say, Wilhelm?”

“Yeah, what?”

“You’re off today, too, aren’t you? No plans all day?”

Theresia didn’t quite seem to know where to put her eyes. Wilhelm frowned. He didn’t fully grasp what her question was driving at, but he dipped his head affirmatively.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“…I know it’s still morning, but Carol’s left, and… Er, sh-shall I draw a bath?” Theresia could feel the heat rising in her cheeks; she had to scrounge up her courage to speak. It might seem irreverent to compare this to the fields of battle on which she had stood as the Sword Saint, but she felt this made her even more nervous. It was its own trial.

“ ”

Wilhelm’s blue eyes opened wide in astonishment. She saw her own face reflected in them and thought how pitiful and shameful she looked there.

For a moment, she thought she might die of embarrassment, but—

Well, let us simply say that on that day, they tried something new as husband and wife.

4

When it came to Wilhelm and Theresia’s honeymoon, there were a number of logistical challenges to overcome.

For example, Wilhelm’s Zergev Squadron had a very important place in the reorganized royal army, reporting directly to the king. A great deal was expected of them. With the effects of the civil war very much to be felt both inside and outside the country, there was considerable concern about the captain of this unit vacating the capital.

It would in fact be difficult to refuse if he were asked to put off his trip on those grounds. However—

“No, the Sword Saint and the Sword Devil have at last been wed. I should think the Dragon itself would get angry at us if we were to interfere with the venerable rite of passage that is a honeymoon. I say they go!”

Such concerns were swept aside by the declaration of His Majesty Jionis. The king was as agreeable and as sympathetic as ever, qualities for which Wilhelm was deeply grateful. It almost made offering him one’s sword feel like an empty gesture.

Thus, having promised His Majesty both souvenirs and stories, Wilhelm managed to secure a chance to go on his honeymoon.

The husband’s schedule was therefore settled. The next problem was his wife.

Theresia retained the blessing of the Sword Saint, but she had already been released from service in the royal army and resumed being just another daughter of the nobility—and a housewife, at that. What problem could she have? The Sword Saint’s fame.

“If they learn who you are, Lady Theresia, whole cities will be in an uproar. I’m sure you don’t want that, either. So we must use the utmost caution.” Carol would be accompanying them on their trip, and she was burning with enthusiasm to fulfill her role as Theresia’s attendant for the first time in quite a while.

Theresia was somewhat cowed by her intensity. “U-uh, Carol? Maybe you could stop to take a breath?”

“To have the chance to present you precisely as I see fit—what joy that I was born your attendant…! At the wedding ceremony I tried to make you beautiful, yes, but now I shall pour my whole heart and soul into making you as lovely as can be, Lady Theresia! Prepare yourself!”

“Oh, uhh…”

With Theresia as a blank canvas, Carol proved herself a surprisingly gifted artist. Much as the knight hated to dress up herself, she leaped at the chance to coordinate an outfit for Theresia.

Ultimately, the ensemble de-emphasized Theresia’s unique attractiveness, while making her seem even sweeter and more noble than usual—the effect was practically magical.

“My greatest regret is that now I must give you over to that man…!”

“Oh, take it easy… You won’t fight too much with Wilhelm during the trip, will you?” Theresia smiled wanly, admiring herself in the mirror. The effect of her distinctive red hair was somewhat blunted by a wide-brimmed white hat, while a long dress with an elaborately embroidered skirt was meant to draw the eye. So long as she didn’t carry around the Dragon Sword, no one would suspect her of being the Sword Saint.

“That’s my Carol. I love it.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Now let’s get ready for the—”

“Wait. It would be unfair if we didn’t dress you up, too, Carol.”

“Er.”

Carol froze when she saw the smile on Theresia’s face. She backed away step by step, but Theresia trapped her against the wall, looking like a delicate noblewoman the whole time. Then Theresia opened her arms—there was no chance of escape—and said, “Come on, you can be a girl just like me! You can’t leave me to be embarrassed all by myself.”

“P-please, forgive me, Lady Theresia! You can dress up a rough-hewn woman like me, but it won’t—”

“Don’t be silly! Here, come on, come on, come on, come on!”

“Oh! Ohh nooo…”

And with that amusing interlude, both husband and wife were finally ready for their honeymoon.

5

The two of them had been granted a generous two months for their honeymoon. They’d heard that this, too, had something to do with the good offices of His Majesty Jionis, but the more they thanked him, the more generous he became, so afraid of being granted even more, they determined to leave the remainder of their gratitude for after the trip.

“Even so, it’s still not enough time for a full tour of the kingdom…”

“There’s nothing to the north or east anyway,” Wilhelm said. “We can skip those.”

“But aren’t the Trias lands to the north?”

“…Seriously, let’s go somewhere else this time. What good would it do them for us to go there on our honeymoon?”

Theresia was suggesting that they include the Trias lands—or rather, the former Trias lands, the family having been obliterated—on their trip, but Wilhelm refused. Even though it was indeed the place where his family and all his ancestors slept, he had already been to pay his respects once before their marriage. Even the dead could be inconvenienced by too-frequent visits.

“Well, okay. I’ll listen to you… So do we want to do the west or the south, then?”

“If we go west, we’ll be at the cities of the locks. South is the land dragon capital and the merchant cities. Take your pick.”

“Hmm. Hmmm. Hmmmmmmm…!”

Left to decide for herself, Theresia mulled and agonized, but then her blue eyes went wide, flashing.

“For our very first trip, we’ll go south!”

Husband and wife left the capital in a dragon carriage, heading first for Flanders. Flanders was a city on the Highclara Plateau, where a variety of land dragons lived; the area was known for raising these creatures. Land dragons from Flanders were valued both abroad as well as within Lugunica, and its “dragon industry” had elevated it to one of the kingdom’s five largest cities.

“According to legend, Flanders is also where the Holy Dragon Volcanica was bound in friendship to the first Sword Saint, Reid, and the sage Shaura,” Theresia said.

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard that the first land dragons were born as some kind of blessing from the Holy Dragon about the same time. Not that I believe it for a second.”

“But if it were true, wouldn’t that be exciting?” Theresia’s eyes were shining.

Wilhelm gave a sort-of smile, holding back the rush of emotion in his heart.

When the three of them arrived in Flanders, they were greeted by a scene worthy of the city’s nickname, the Land Dragon Capital. Wherever they went in the great city, they found a place predicated on the existence of land dragons, with much power for urban functions provided by the creatures. As a simple example, sometimes they would see a land dragon running on a gigantic wheel. The motion would open or close a canal or raise or lower a drawbridge.

“Lately, magic lanterns powered by mana crystals have started showing up in the capital, but…”

“Here you don’t see anything like that, huh?” Wilhelm concluded. “But on the other hand, we don’t have these wheels where we come from.”

“In the capital, land dragons are mostly for transporting cargo or passengers,” Carol broke in. “We don’t have enough of them to spare any for generating power like this. The geography of the capital isn’t really suited to this sort of thing, either. I guess you could call it a unique feature of this area… What?”

She cast a dubious eye at Wilhelm, who shrugged. “Nothing. I was just surprised to hear such a perceptive explanation from you. I didn’t know you knew so much.”

“I can’t say it feels quite natural, hearing honest praise from you… Anyway, it’s just something I picked up.”

“From Grimm?” Theresia asked.

Carol’s frown was answer enough.

They were to stay in Flanders for ten days, and the three of them took it nice and slow during that time.

The ones who enjoyed it most, however, were Theresia and Carol, while Wilhelm, less amenable to the appreciation of scenery, mostly followed the women around. Consider:

“Hey, Wilhelm! Look! What a gorgeous view!”

They were flying over the plateau on a land dragon, Theresia pointing and grinning at the sun setting between the mountains. Even if the scenery hadn’t been so captivating, he would still have been completely taken by Theresia’s ear-to-ear smile. It would have been enough for him, riding alongside her on another dragon, to keep watching that smile out of the corner of his eye.

Wilhelm, too, started to grin, feeling a sense of satisfaction about this trip.

Not everything about the honeymoon was so pleasing. For example, there was the matter of room assignments.

“I mean, I can understand getting two rooms at the inn, but what’s with the two of you staying in one of them and me in the other? This is supposed to be my and Theresia’s trip.”

“Curse you—what are you playing at, trying to share a bed with Lady Theresia…?”

“Just so you know, that’s what we do every night back home. It’s a little late to be worrying about it now.”

“Why, youuu—!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I forbid you from fighting! For! Bid! You! Wilhelm, stop provoking Carol! Or I really won’t share a bed with you again!”

Thus, they passed the time in Flanders until it was time to point their dragon carriage toward their next destination, the city of Pictat. Along the way…

“Hey, the Astrea family’s main house is near Flanders…”

“No.”

“I think maybe your mom and dad are back home by now…”

“No.”

And so it was agreed that they would not be making any detours.

They politely ignored the existence of the Astrea house, which was somewhat out of the way anyway, and headed for Pictat, a place known for its picturesque vistas—and, unbeknownst to them, the stage for the next act of their story.

6

Pictat was another of Lugunica’s five great cities, a place that flourished thanks to its trade with other nations. The city was divided into five districts—one for each cardinal direction and a central district—and each had its own special trade and unique rules. It seemed as if each of the districts was a city or indeed a land unto itself.

The central district was especially rich and particularly crowded with facilities aimed at visitors. As tradition all but dictated, Wilhelm and his party stayed at an inn there, but…

“Stupid, stupid Father! I give up!”

A beautiful voice rang through the inn early one morning, scaring the birds in the garden into flight. As the sound of startled wings receded, the world settled into a moment of silence. But the frozen moment swiftly melted away, and a tall, thin, bearded man launched into action.

Or we could say simply: Veltol.

“W-wait, Theresia. Surely there is no reason to be so upset. I should imagine one would be surprised and overjoyed to encounter one’s father so unexpectedly…”

“Why must you always be this way, Father?! Just when I thought that for once you might finally be sensible! You betrayed me… You’re the worst! The worst, the worst, the worst!”

“Whaaaaaat?! Bad enough for you to be that tearful?!”

At the entrance to what was reputed to be the finest hotel in the city’s central district, the Golden Cup, Theresia and Veltol were having their first argument in nearly half a month. Veltol was squealing under Theresia’s aggression. Carol, supporting her agitated mistress, shot him a glance.

“So you circled ahead of your daughter to head off her honeymoon… Lord Veltol, I must question your judgment.”

“You too, Carol?! Are you sure those tears aren’t from the heartwarming joy of meeting one’s family on the road?!”

“No—of course not—how could they be?! Did Mother allow this?!”

“Er, Tishua was against it, but…I thought perhaps it was a test…”

“Oh, it’s a test, all right. A test of my patience! By you, Father!”

From the look of the wilting Veltol, it seemed Tishua was not with him this time. Theresia had never seen him act on his own before, and the fact that he didn’t have his wife to keep him in check left her more anxious than ever about what he might do.

“Calm down, Theresia,” Wilhelm said. “The fact is he’s here now, and we can’t change that. It’s not like he’s going to come to our room with us. I’m sure your father’s done what he came to do.”

“Er… I did take a room here, you kn—”

“I’m sure he’s done what he came to do.” Wilhelm stared Veltol square in the face, silencing him by sheer spirit.

The head of the family of the Sword Saints was able to endure that glare for an instant or so, but then his face went pale and he shook his head. It wasn’t the most respectful way to treat his father-in-law, but if there was ever a time for Wilhelm to take the side of his wife, this was it.

“Sigh… Father, what did you tell Mother when you came here?”

“I told her I had official business to attend to. I had ordered something from one of the merchant houses in the western part of town and recently received word that it arrived. I came to get it… That was my true purpose.”

“So you just thought you would bother me and Wilhelm on your way through…?”

“Are you still going to get angry even though I’ve told you the truth? What do you want me to do?! Do you want me to apologize?!”

Yes, an apology might help, but Veltol’s pride got in the way, and he found he couldn’t.

Faced with a father and daughter who seemed about to descend back into argument, Wilhelm and Carol nodded at each other. Then Wilhelm grabbed Theresia, Carol grabbed Veltol, and they dragged the two apart.

“W-W-Wilhelm,” Theresia sputtered.

“I know,” he said. “But just calm down.” He looked into Theresia’s eyes, which glistened with tears of frustration. “Calm down. Don’t get emotional.”

“But this time— It’s just…”

“If you can’t bear it, let me get angry in your place. And don’t let anyone but me see you looking like this. I’m the only one you have to get emotional for.”

“You’re so selfish… Ohhh. Er, that is, I mean…”

They were so close they could feel each other’s breath. The anger that had so gripped Theresia until a moment earlier drained away. Her face was still red, but now it was from embarrassment rather than rage.

Wilhelm relaxed when he saw this and turned to the other perpetrator of the argument. Carol had already procured Veltol’s acquiescence with a threat to tell Tishua. Wilhelm wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Now that you’ve come around, Lord Veltol,” Carol said, “we’ll be saying our farewells…”

“Wait, wait, wait, Carol! Surely you’re in too much of a rush to send me home! I do have business to attend to here. Inserting myself into Theresia’s vacation wasn’t my only objective!”

“Be careful what you say, sir,” Wilhelm warned him. “I’m going to get tired of talking Theresia down one of these days.” It was clearly only a matter of time before Theresia exploded again when Veltol laid bare his intentions like this. The best plan would clearly be for him to run his errand as fast as he could and then go home.

“…And so what exactly did you want here, Father?”

“Th-there’s such an edge in your voice… Er, but, yes.” Even as he backed away from his daughter’s narrowing gaze, Veltol stroked his beard. Then he looked down, almost shyly. “It’s a hair ornament for Tishua. It will be our anniversary soon, you see.”

7

“Every year, Father gives Mother a new hair ornament. And on important days, Mother wears the hair ornament he got her that year… It’s the one thing he does that I think is really wonderful.” Theresia glanced up at Wilhelm, smiling bashfully. The smile was a subtle indication that she wanted Wilhelm to learn something from what she was saying, but it equally implied that everything else her father did was not to be emulated.

Having said that, since Veltol actually had a perfectly respectable reason for being in town, there was no call to stop him from going to pick up the gift. It was a simple matter of going to the western district and collecting the item from a merchant there. Even Veltol couldn’t cause too much trouble doing that.

“So tell me again why we have to go with him?”

“We don’t have a choice. Lord Veltol requested that Lady Theresia accompany him. If we turn down this simple request, we might end up stuck with him for the remainder of our trip.”

“You talk awfully freely about your employer…”

Wilhelm frowned as he and Carol walked down the main street side by side. This situation was as unusual on this trip as it was at any other time. But they had ended up together because father and daughter were walking ahead of them, happily, arm in arm. This wasn’t even at Veltol’s request but had come about naturally.

“That Theresia… For all she complains, she’s really her daddy’s pet.”

“Stop that. You make her sound like a small animal. Anyway, their affection for each other is plain to see. Lady Theresia, in particular, is the apple of Lord Veltol’s eye. In fact, his eyes became an issue once.”

“Well, the result is clear to see.”

He was glad that Theresia’s blessing of the reaper had ceased to function. If her father had lost his sight because of that, Theresia would have regretted it forever.

With these feelings in mind, Wilhelm felt his eyes soften while watching the two people walking ahead of him. Veltol’s voice sounded authoritative, if nothing else about him did, while Theresia could go directly from pouty puffed cheeks to a smile like a flower.

“…You look a bit soft for the Sword Devil.”

“There are times when I don’t need to be the Sword Devil. And anyway, I never thought I would see Theresia and her father having a real conversation.”

“You…might be right about that.”

In spite of her usual tendency to argue, today, for once, Carol agreed with Wilhelm. In any event, the familial connection between Theresia and Veltol seemed to have been restored. Or perhaps it had never really been broken.

With no more need to keep a watchful eye on his wife and her father, Wilhelm took an interested look around the city with all the unusual sights it offered. At first, it seemed much like the shopping district in the capital, but it was far busier, since the capital’s commercial life had been stifled by the civil war.

Shops and stalls lined the street, and the boisterous voices were evidence of the overwhelming vigor and life of the place. The exhaustion of the drawn-out war seemed not to have touched this city.

“Noisy place,” Wilhelm remarked.

“Not to your liking?” Carol replied seriously. “Regardless, this is a concrete example of what Lady Theresia fought to protect.”

What she said was true. If the brutal hand of the Demi-human War had reached this place, who knew what might have become of this liveliness?

“She always blames herself,” Wilhelm said.

“To her, the gazes of the voiceless departed are much heavier than the sound of those who were saved. I hate to say it, but…you’re the only one who can alleviate that pain.”

“ ”

“I can see that all too clearly now. This trip is something of a line in the sand for me, as well.”

“What kind of line?”

“…When we get back to the capital, you’ll see.” Carol wouldn’t meet his eyes, her face remaining its usual impenetrable mask. She maintained an armor that hid her emotions from him, no matter how he might seek them out.

When we get back to the capital, you’ll see. She was stubborn, but he believed her. Wilhelm had faith in her.

The party passed most of an hour walking around, notwithstanding the unusual conversation.

Veltol finally stopped at a shop just inside the entrance to the western district.

“This is where I ordered it.”

Wilhelm looked up, taking the place in. It was relatively large and handled everything from textiles to foodstuffs. Carol had told him that, in Pictat, the variety of items an establishment could sell was a quick measure of its status. It followed that this shop would be prominent even in the capital.

“Swain Goods…”

“A very clever merchant house,” Veltol said. “I first encountered them years ago, when I came here to talk business. Ever since then, I’ve always consulted them when choosing gifts for Tishua.”

“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never been here,” Theresia said. “You’re always coming here on the sly, Father.” She almost sounded teasing.

Veltol responded with no hint of embarrassment. “A man ought to pick out gifts by himself. It’s one of the best ways to show how you care for a person.” Theresia looked surprised for a moment, then quickly looked at the ground as if ashamed of herself. The sight of her father proudly giving his love for his wife a concrete form was striking. She thought perhaps the relationship between Veltol and Tishua was something different from what she had always believed.

Quite oblivious to the way his daughter, now a wife herself, was watching him, Veltol spoke to a young staff member standing outside the shop. “Is Yactol Swain in? It’s Veltol Astrea; I have an appointment.”

In response to the appearance of this familiar customer, the staff member said, “Just a moment, please, sir,” and hurried into the shop.

While they waited, Veltol turned to Wilhelm. “I must apologize, young Wilhelm,” he said, “but I’m about to pick out a gift for my wife… Perhaps I could ask you and Carol to wait out here. Not that I’m embarrassed, mind you.”

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. “I don’t mind,” he said, “but what about Theresia?”

“I’d like her to choose the hair ornament with me. Please indulge me in this.”

Wilhelm felt this didn’t quite square with Veltol’s prior announcement that a man should choose his own gifts.

“Th-that’s fine by me!” Theresia said. “L-listen, Wilhelm, just spend a bit of time with Carol. I mean, this will probably be the last chance you get to walk around with a girl other than me…”

“That’s not a chance I need or want.”

“Oh, hush up and come with me! Lady Theresia, Lord Veltol! We shall see you in a short while. We will meet you back at this store—later!”

Then Carol dragged Wilhelm off all but kicking and screaming. He meant to resist her, but the effort went out of him when he saw Theresia smile and wave at him.

Fine, then. He would consider this the last obdurate request of his bride’s father and let it go.

“Seriously, though, this is the last time…”

“Every time you encounter Lord Veltol, you have to play along with him…telling yourself all the while that this is the last time. Remember it well.”

It was not a lesson Wilhelm wanted to learn, but he let Carol drag him away from the shop just the same.

He took one last glance toward the shop where Theresia and Veltol stood. Theresia kept waving until he was out of sight.

Wilhelm would regret their parting in this place for a long time to come.

8

Carol took the stone-faced Wilhelm by the arm and dragged him off into the crowd of people.

“Theresia, how has the trip been so far?” Veltol asked, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Theresia tapped a finger to her lips. “It’s really been a lot of fun. Just like I imagined…or maybe even better.”

“A trip of more than a month can allow you to see things you don’t see in everyday life. Young Wilhelm may be able to behave himself at home, but how has he been on this trip? He hasn’t made eyes at the girls in the places you’ve visited, or been condescending to shop staff, or tried to make you leave a place when you’re having fun, or—”

“It’s all right, Father.”

“But…”

“Father.” Theresia’s voice was gentle. Her eyes were as blue as a clear lake, and Veltol went silent, as though even he knew that now was the moment to stop talking. He was not quick to grasp a situation, or intuit anything, or guess how people were feeling—but Veltol was nonetheless his daughter’s father. His daughter’s feelings, at least, he apprehended.

“You’re right. I’ve seen a lot of sides of Wilhelm that I don’t normally see. You needn’t worry about him looking at other women or acting bored in a place he isn’t interested in. Although the fact that he can’t seem to express himself or be earnestly kind… Well, I’d like to work on that.” Theresia giggled as she bent her fingers, counting off the memories they’d made on this vacation. “But I have seen a good deal of him that I normally wouldn’t, and it’s made me love him more than ever. I’m so glad it was him. I can accept it all because it was him.”

“ ”

“Father, I’m in love. I love Wilhelm. Everything about him makes my heart burst with joy. I’m truly happy. “So…,” she murmured, looking at her silent, tense-eyed father, “thank you for being so concerned about me my whole life.”

Smiling, Theresia communicated to him this tremendous blessing she had found, with all the gratitude and love she could muster.

Veltol swallowed a breath to see his beloved daughter like this. Then he put a hand to his mouth and said, “I-if you truly are happy, then that…that alone is enough for me.”

“Yes.”

“You are the child of me and Tishua. The sister of Thames, Carlan, and Cajiress. I have a responsibility to see that you’re happy. Can…?”

“Yes?”

“Can he do that…?”

“Yes,” Theresia answered after a beat, responding to her father’s trembling question with love and only love.

Finally, the dam of Veltol’s emotions broke. He moved his hand from his mouth to his eyes and began weeping great, fat tears.

A middle-aged man standing and crying right in the middle of such a well-traveled street was bound to attract some attention. Theresia, however, felt no shame but drew close to her father, gently offering him a handkerchief.

“If you’re happy, that’s all that matters. I’m glad this trip made that clear. Snorf!”

“Of course, Father. Thank you.” Theresia nodded deeply, ignoring the honking sound of her father blowing his nose.

The people around them, when they saw Veltol had finished crying, soon lost interest. Theresia smiled wryly at having become, for a moment, a tourist attraction in this city of tourist attractions, then she turned back to the store—

“Oh, I’m sorry we kept you waiting. You’re from this shop, right?”

“Er? Oh, ahem, yes. Er, I am Yactol Swain, the spokesman for this merchant. It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The speaker bowed to Theresia. He was a man with a narrow face and gray hair, and he seemed a bit older than she was. The fact that he ran a shop at his age surprised her. As well as the fact that he was evidently close with her father.

“Yactol,” Veltol said. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“Not at all, sir, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. I assure you, I’m well aware how the eyes may brim in an emotional conversation between parent and child.” He took a breath. “If anything, it is I who have reason for regret.” The young man—Yactol—bowed again.

“Regret?” Theresia asked uncertainly.

The answer, however, soon revealed itself in the flesh.

“You spend too long in vain chatter. I insist my precious time not be wasted with fools.”

An imperious voice came from inside the store, drawing Theresia’s attention. Down an aisle between the shelves was a door leading to the innermost part of the shop, and the speaker stood directly in front of it.

He was slim with uncommonly noble features. Perhaps around thirty years old with rich, deep purple hair. His clothes and carriage marked him out immediately as a person of status—but not one from this kingdom.

“L-Lord Stride!” Yactol exclaimed. “Sir, I must request you wait inside…”

“Fool and boor. Why should my actions be in any way constrained by a despicable merchant such as yourself? If you cannot rein in your impertinence, then your one redeeming feature—your discerning eye—shall go for naught.”

The man called Stride turned a baleful eye on Yactol. He was not speaking to Theresia, yet she felt a chill run down her spine just the same.

She understood: There was no lie in Stride’s words. This was not mere intimidation. If this man didn’t like someone, he would feel no compunction about tearing out an eye or two.

Veltol stepped forward to speak for the paralyzed Yactol. “…I can’t say that’s a very gentlemanly attitude. What is it you want here?” There was no trace of the sobbing, sniffling man who had stood there a few minutes before. Now he radiated the authority of the head of the House of Astrea, the bloodline of the Sword Saints.

 

 

 

 

Stride raised an impressed eyebrow at Veltol’s display. “Hmm. For one who weeps like a woman, you do know how to present yourself.”

“If you wish to stand there and slander me, then let me respond in kind. If you have some business, state it quickly. Else this may not end with words alone.”

“With worse than words, eh? Splendid. That is precisely what I wish.”

“What?”

Veltol was startled by the eager reaction to this dangerous exchange. Yactol, ghostly white and swallowing hard, said, “Lord Veltol…Lord Stride has shown an interest in the item I prepared for you, sir. Naturally, I refused and told him it already has a buyer, but he insisted on speaking to you personally…”

“And thus, I waited. I deigned to wait, as I was told you would come, but I never imagined you would start jabbering away just outside the store. A pathetic act that raises my hackles.” Stride smiled coldly.

“Now just a minute, you,” Theresia said angrily. She was upset at the way his words made light of the moment she had shared with her father. She couldn’t stand by and hear this mockery of Veltol’s clumsy but unmistakable love.

But then—

“…And what is this?” Stride asked, narrowing his eyes.

“In accordance with the customs of the Kingdom of Lugunica, I have challenged you to a duel, young wolf of the Empire.”

Stride was looking at a white handkerchief at his feet. Veltol had thrown it at him; it had struck Stride in the chest before drifting to the ground. It was, just as Veltol said, an invitation to a duel.

“Father…!” Theresia swallowed, and Yactol somehow grew even paler than before. Veltol’s brave expression, however, did not falter one bit, and neither did Stride’s as he accepted the handkerchief.

“An insult once offered cannot be withdrawn,” he said.

“I have no intention of withdrawing it,” Veltol answered. “You have shamed my daughter, and what’s more, you seek to steal away my gift for my wife, like a common thief. I declare that I cannot forgive these offenses.”

“Ha!” Stride exclaimed. “Such words. You’ve done well even to speak such bold things to me!” Passion came into Stride’s face. He stared straight at Veltol with respect in his eyes, his cold, indifferent expression gone.

“F-Father! You can’t! What do you hope to—?”

“Don’t try to stop me, Theresia. I am a member of Lugunica’s nobility. A man of the House of Astrea. I know a thing or two about the sword. And above all, I am a husband and a father.”

“—!”

Veltol gently rebuffed Theresia’s attempt to stop him; turning back was no longer an option. Faced with her father’s resolution and assurance, Theresia found she could offer no more words.

She turned her most intent gaze upon Stride. The way he stood would tell her just how capable he was. With the blessing of the Sword Saint that she had, Theresia could judge a person’s abilities at a glance. And her judgment showed her—

“Oh…”

“Turn not your impertinent eyes upon me, girl. Rudeness never does become a woman. But regardless, did your naughty little eyes see it? Did you see that I am not fit for any duel?”

“What is this…?”

Theresia could hardly get the words out. Stride gave a dry laugh. Then he spoke to Veltol, who was watching the exchange in puzzlement. “My body is racked with illness. Even moving is difficult for me, let alone sword fighting. A duel could only end in tragedy for me. Do you not agree?”

“That may be so, but…”

Stride declared openly what Theresia had seen with her eyes. What he said was true. Theresia had seen that Stride’s flesh and bones could not stand up to strong physical exertion.

So why had he accepted the challenge…?

“As such, I nominate a champion to take my place in the duel. In deference to your spirit.”

The moment Stride said champion, Theresia spun around.

“ ”

Standing behind her was a figure she could never have imagined until that moment. It was giant. Nearly seven feet tall, so towering that she had to crane her neck to look up at it, so tall that it had to bend over to enter the store. The entire body was covered in a black robe, but Theresia could feel the threat rolling off it.

“My champion,” Stride said to Theresia, cruelly seeming to enjoy her alarm. “I engaged him as a bodyguard, but he’s useful in situations such as this, as well.”

That was the moment the Sword Saint, Theresia van Astrea, encountered Kurgan, the eight-armed one.

These were the first sparks of the Silver Flower Dance of Pictat.

9

The moment she saw the man, an instinctive sense of danger gripped Theresia.

Even she, who had lived with the blessing of the Sword Saint her entire life, who had been subject to the whim of the Sword God, could not suppress a shudder.

Kurgan’s huge body was armored by thick, twisting muscles and draped in the black cloak. His face was hidden by a hood, but the most striking thing about this giant was his arms—eight of them, far more than any normal person.

She understood at a glance, as he stood there with four of his arms crossed, that this man was like something out of legend.

“Stride,” the man said. His voice rumbled as if a mountain were speaking. “You told me you were only here for business. What is going on?”

“You know how poor the blood flow is in my body, Kurgan,” Stride replied graciously. “Do you think I would excite myself unnecessarily? It was these rude creatures that started everything. It’s time for you to earn your keep as my guard.”

“Kurgan…?!” Theresia exclaimed.

The giant body with its imposing aura, the multitude of arms—all very well pointed to Kurgan of the many-armed tribe.

“Eight-Arms Kurgan of the Volakian Empire?!”

“Oh-ho. You not only saw me for what I was, but you know the name of Eight-Arms. I’m surprised…but perhaps I shouldn’t be. A closer look reveals something to you. You have my interest.”

“Contain yourself,” Kurgan said. “This girl is no rabbit you can catch.”

“Hmph. The man of malign blood is awfully quick to offer his opinion.”


The giant threw back his hood, revealing the face beneath—blue skin and black eyes, the visage of a vengeful demon.

Then he looked into Theresia’s blue eyes. “A creature of integrity, I see, and abilities unexpected. You— What is your name?”

“ ”

Theresia hesitated at first to answer Kurgan’s question.

It was clear who she was dealing with. “Eight-Arms” of the Volakian Empire was the nickname of a god of battle who sought the title of Strongest in the Empire. His feats were known throughout the Kingdom of Lugunica, the same way the Sword Saint, Theresia van Astrea, was famous in Volakia.

If she carelessly announced herself, this would transform into a meeting of the Sword Saint and Eight-Arms. And there was no telling where that would lead…

Her hesitation was resolved when Veltol stepped forward. “I cannot abide you turning your uncouth eyes upon my daughter. She is newly wed, and what you do is difficult to forgive. Further, this dispute is between me and him, and does not include any champion or anyone else.”

Veltol stood with his beloved daughter behind him, covering her, attempting to fulfill his role as the challenger in the duel. Sensing the threat from him, Kurgan turned his eyes to Veltol.

“…Your audacity impresses. However, that man cannot serve as your opponent.”

“Is it not to a swordsman’s credit that he can evaluate an opponent and know when to draw and when to sheathe?”

“I see,” Kurgan said, lowering his head in evident admiration at Veltol’s forthright resolution. “This one was most rude. Forgive me, swordsman of the kingdom.”

To see the Empire’s strongest apologizing to Veltol left Theresia speechless. Completely forgetting where she was, she felt only pride in her father. He had no talent for swordsmanship, rarely showed anything approaching courage, and his thoughtless overprotectiveness had been the cause of more than one argument between them—but here was a shining light that eclipsed all that.

“Then let me ask, not instead but in addition—what do they call you?”

“…It’s Veltol. O Eight-Arms Kurgan.”

Veltol demurred to provide his family name, concealing his association with the Astreas and the Sword Saints. Clearly, he had the same doubts as his daughter.

“Hmph.” Stride snorted disinterestedly, looking at them. “Whoever you are, you are a nuisance. The pride of blood for blood… A fixation I myself do not understand. And here, your daughter is clearly so much more versed in the sword than you are.”

“ ”

“Or is it indeed true that she was allowed to abandon the blade? If so, then you are mad, and the king who approved such a thing an even more benighted ruler than I had heard.”

“L-Lord Stride?! We-we’re in Pictat, in the heart of the kingdom, sir!” Yactol found himself drawn into the debate as Stride loudly mocked first Veltol and then the Kingdom of Lugunica. He was white as a sheet at the thought that his store might become a battleground, and Stride laughed at the man.

“Do not measure the blood of the Bright Sword by the admonitions of fools, boor! Howsoever many may be the specks of dust beneath our feet, we do not fear for our place in the sun. A duel it shall be. A duel to settle all! A meeting between my champion, Eight-Arms, and this one who knows nothing of the blade but would stand in for the Sword Saint.” He could no longer hide the malice in his words.

“—! You knew all along…” When it came clear that Stride had known that Theresia and Veltol were Astreas—indeed, that Theresia was the Sword Saint—everything fell into place.

It was nothing more and nothing less than the proof of the hatred of Stride, born of the Volakian Empire.

“Is your intent to damage relations between our countries?! Then this duel—”

“Is off? Then we claim victory. I certainly wouldn’t mind at all. Veltol, shameless nobleman of Lugunica. Out of cowardice you have withdrawn from a challenge you yourself issued. Let shame be upon the name of your family and of your daughter’s family. It befits you.”

Stride was immensely fluent in his insults and his mockery of others. The coolness had returned to his expression, while Theresia’s mind had gone blank in an avalanche of emotion. Did she have to endure this ridicule of her father, then simply swallow it and walk away?

But it seemed Veltol felt the same righteous indignation that Theresia did.

“Theresia, let me—”

“No…! You simply mustn’t, Father. Just endure it, please. Otherwise, you’ll be killed…”

Veltol valued his daughter’s honor more than the family name, more than even his own life. Theresia pulled on his sleeve, biting her pink lips and shaking her head vigorously.

Watching this debate between father and child, the battle god spoke somberly. “In battle, I shall give no quarter. This shall be my show of respect to you.”

This pose of respect between warriors was itself one more way of cornering them. If the threat of shame was the best way to cause indignation, Eight-Arms wouldn’t hesitate to break Veltol with it.

Theresia tried desperately to pull her dithering father away before that could happen, to cede this place to their opponents—

“Have you no impulse to take up the sword in place of your dishonored father?” Stride asked. “It seems the current Sword Saint wants for courage. Or perhaps your husband is quite talented to keep a woman like you in bed.”

“—!”

The next moment, a sharp sound rang around the street.

It was the sound of bone striking flesh, and Stride suddenly stumbled backward. The fist of a man with burning eyes had connected with his face—specifically, Veltol’s fist.

Her father had been mocked, her husband belittled, and Theresia had reached her breaking point. Veltol had acted and struck Stride before Theresia could do so.

And then, with Theresia looking on speechless, Veltol shouted, “Wilhelm is a man of the Astreas! I will not allow you to shame him!!”

“…That will do perfectly well as the start of a duel,” Stride murmured, blood dribbling from his torn lip.

The next instant, there was an explosion of fighting spirit from directly beside Veltol.

Splendid was the word of appreciation for his resolve—and soon after came a fist of iron.

“Tell Tishua…I’m sorry.”

“Wai—”

Theresia reached out her hand. For some reason she didn’t understand, her father’s voice sounded dreadfully calm.

10

By the time Wilhelm heard the commotion and came rushing back, it was all over.

“ ”

When he wriggled through the wall of people, he saw blood, copious amounts of it. He could see immediately that someone had been seriously wounded.

He scanned the area but saw no trace of the people he was looking for. The beloved wife and quarrelsome father-in-law he had left here earlier were nowhere to be seen.

“Wilhelm! The hospital! Lady Theresia and Lord Veltol are—” Carol, her face dark, was talking to the owner of the store. They got the gist from him and rushed to the nearest hospital. When they arrived there, panting, they reached the waiting room to find—

“Oh…”

It was Theresia, dumbfounded, who watched them dash in. She didn’t have any obvious wounds. But her light-pink outfit was splattered with blood. It looked as if she had hugged someone bleeding profusely.

“ ”

Quicker than a word could be said, Wilhelm embraced the willowy girl. Theresia had been about to say something, but the strength of his arms made her catch her breath, and then she could hold back no longer. She broke into heaving sobs, tears spilling from her eyes.

“F-Father, he— Father… Wilhelm…!”

“Don’t cry. It’s all right,” he said, stroking her head. Then he asked, “Where is your father?”

With a shaking finger, Theresia pointed inside.

“Let me handle this,” Carol said, heading into the hospital. “You take care of Lady Theresia.”

Wilhelm watched her go as he continued to comfort the howling Theresia and tried to get her to tell him what had happened.

“When we heard there was some kind of problem, we came back, but out in front of the store, there was blood everywhere, and you were here. I was worried about your father but especially about you…”

“I’m…fine… But out in front of the store, we got into an argument with a man who said he was from the Empire… No, it was more than that. He had been hunting us from the start… But still, Father, he…”

“Hunting you…?”

“Father bore it all. He saw what they were after and knew he couldn’t let himself get dragged in… No matter how much they mocked him, he still… But when they made fun of you, Wilhelm…”

“ ”

“Father—Father said you were a man of the Astreas…”

When Theresia, buried in his chest, told him this, Wilhelm was struck speechless. He felt his chest growing damp from his wife’s tears, and their heat fueled the growing fire in his heart. But before it could take full form—

“Lady Theresia, they’ve finished working on Lord Veltol. Come to his room.”

“—!”

When Carol spoke, Theresia’s head shot up. She began to totter unsteadily through the hospital, and Wilhelm made to follow her.

“Wilhelm,” Carol said, “I want to talk to you.”

“How is he?” Wilhelm asked pointedly.

“Not good,” Carol murmured, touching her golden hair. “The hospital has an excellent healer, so his life at least was saved…but his wounds aren’t the problem. It’s something else.”

“What is it?”

“His gate is seriously exhausted. Unnaturally so. I should think it’s—how do I say—a curse.”

The voice came from behind them, from a man who had just entered the waiting room. He was a thin man, older, at least a decade older than Wilhelm. From his white caster’s coat, it seemed likely that he was a healer.

“Who’re you?”

“Garitch. I’m a healer; I happened to be at the hospital today. But never mind me. What’s more important is this curse… If it isn’t broken, the patient’s life will be forfeited.”

“What exactly is this curse? Is it different from the healing arts or normal magic?”

“You could call it a twisted image of those things, or a perversion of them. All curses have real killing power; their targets suffer and die. Curses are a favored tool of the wicked.”

“ ”

They had rarely heard the word curse before, but it proclaimed death for Veltol.

As he digested what the healer Garitch had told them, Wilhelm glanced toward the room where his father-in-law was sleeping. Even now, the man’s life was in danger…

“We’ve got to find the imperial who did this.”

“I f-f-finally found you… Y-you were just too fast, and I couldn’t c-catch you…”

No sooner had Garitch finished explaining the situation than a young man, huffing and puffing, burst into the waiting room. Wilhelm looked over: It was the owner of the shop where the fight had occurred—in other words, an eyewitness who ought to be able to tell him what had happened to Theresia and Veltol.

“Phew… I have something to tell both—well, all—of you— Ergh, huh?!”

“Who did this, and where is he now? Spit it out. I dare you to try to hide anything.”

“Wait, Wilhelm. He can’t talk with you choking him. You’re forgetting your own strength.”

“Hold on already! I’m not trying to cover for anyone! I was just told to deliver a message! I’ve come to— P-put me down, will you?”

Wilhelm finally released the man he had grabbed by the collar and shoved up against the wall—Yactol.

The young man hid behind Garitch in an attempt to get away from Wilhelm and Carol.

“The one you’re looking for—Lord Stride—he said he would be waiting tomorrow morning at the great bridge in the western quarter. He said he would bring the Scarlet Finger that’s afflicting Lord Veltol…”

“The Scarlet Finger?! What’s that?!”

“I don’t know! That’s just what I was told to tell you…”

The cringing Yactol really didn’t appear to have any further information. Mulling over the news, Wilhelm turned to Garitch. The healer met his gaze and nodded. “The patient is in a precipitous decline. If the curse isn’t broken by noon tomorrow, his life may be in danger.”

“The sooner we break that curse the better, I assume,” Wilhelm said.

“Grr! Am I going to wait till tomorrow morning?!” Carol demanded. “I’m going to find those bastards today! Let’s go, shopkeep, you’re coming with!”

“What?! Why me?!”

Seeing that there was no time to waste, Carol grabbed Yactol and dragged him out of the hospital. Her directness was admirable, but their hopes of finding the ones they sought seemed thin. They were dealing with people who could target the Sword Saint, cast curses, and then specify a place and time to meet. If such people were hiding, it would be very difficult to discover them.

“Can I go in?” Wilhelm asked.

“That’s your wife with the patient now, isn’t it? You’re a responsible party, so let me tell you. Today, you should spend all the time with him you can.”

Despite his hoarse voice and diffident attitude, Garitch showed a flash of humanity. Wilhelm nodded, then finally went through the door into Veltol’s room.

The room was white and sterile. It was a large chamber with four beds, but three of them were empty; Veltol was the only patient there. Dressed in hospital clothes, he was reclined in bed, bandages wrapped around him in a way that was painful to look at. Theresia was holding her father’s hand, looking into his sleeping face.

“When I… When I hold his hand like this, his breathing steadies a little. I guess he’s tired of making that pained expression. Father never did like to do any one thing for very long.”

“…Oh… Oh yeah?”

He closed the door softly. Theresia didn’t look at him but continued speaking in a normal voice. Forcing herself to sound calm.

Wilhelm knew that Theresia was someone whose strength increased as times got worse. That’s why he knew that she must be in great pain at that moment.

“Theresia, what happened to your father?”

“…Some kind of strange magic. The man from the Empire, he—”

“A curse, apparently. If we don’t break it, your father’s life may be in danger. The ones who did it to him told us where they would be tomorrow morning. I’m going to go and—”

“I’m going with you.” Theresia was emphatic when she heard what Yactol had said. It was not, however, something Wilhelm was especially pleased to hear. He understood how Theresia must feel. But their enemies were specifically targeting the Sword Saint. He was reluctant to simply bring her along—even though he knew not to do so would be putting Theresia and Veltol to the test.

“Wilhelm, listen.”

“Theresia…”

“I was the Sword Saint. I’m still an Astrea. And the head of my family was entrapped and hurt. I have to clear away that disgrace.”

It touched on her pride as both a member of the nobility and a swordswoman of the kingdom. As Wilhelm listened to Theresia speak, he held his breath. Not because he was touched by the weight of her pride and dignity, but because, with her eyes full of tears as she tried to justify taking this upon herself, she looked even more beautiful than he had seen her before.

Still looking at him in a way that captured his heart afresh, Theresia said, “You’re a man of the Astreas, Wilhelm. The head of our family himself said so.”

“…Yeah. He did.”

“You and I are a man and a woman of the Astreas. We’ll go together.”

Wilhelm looked at the ceiling under the strength of her words. He thought briefly, before gently wiping away Theresia’s tears.

He said only, “Yeah. You’re right.”

11

Early the next morning, Wilhelm and Theresia stood at the great bridge. They had slept only a few winks, but they both felt good. Carol looked much worse, having stayed up the entire night traipsing all over the city. She was now tormented both by exhaustion and guilt over the lack of results.

“I’m so sorry, Lady Theresia…”

“It’s all right. Don’t worry. Wilhelm will handle everything somehow.”

Theresia embraced the apologetic Carol, comforting her with baseless reassurances. It was so very simple to say. Wilhelm sighed and brushed the hilt of his sword audibly.

They had only been planning on a honeymoon. Neither he nor Carol had brought a sword that would withstand a battle to the death with a powerful enemy. So at first, he had resolved to go into battle with whatever poor blade he might be able to find.

But before he set off, Yactol, who had been dragged around the city all night by Carol, offered him a wrapped object.

“You must be Lord Wilhelm, son-in-law of the Astrea family. This is for you,” he said.

“What’s this?” Wilhelm asked, frowning at the weight of the package. The wrappings obviously concealed something of some length, and from the feel and heft he could guess well enough what was inside. It must be a sword.

The issue was its provenance. Why was this man giving Wilhelm a sword here and now?

“As I believe you’ve figured out, it’s a sword. A masterpiece of a blade… When I consider what’s about to happen, I simply can’t let you proceed without a decent weapon.”

“And I’m grateful for it, believe me, but you have no reason to go out of your way to help me, do you?”

“On the contrary, sir, I have every reason. Lord Veltol is a valued customer of mine. He found himself in a fight with another customer at my very store… All of this is my fault.”

Wilhelm paused before saying, “They were targeting Theresia and her father. You were simply unlucky.”

“Even so, sir. In any event, I don’t give you that sword to clear my conscience. It has always belonged to you. It’s just taken its time making its way into your hands.”

“Come again?”

Wilhelm was taken aback; Yactol lowered his eyes slightly as he explained, “Lord Veltol ordered it from me as a gift for his son-in-law. Like the hair ornament for his wife, he selected it himself. So as I said, the sword belongs to you. It is right that you should have it, and it is not for anyone to wield but you.”

“ ”

“I may not be the best person to say this, sir, but…I wish you good fortune in battle.”

And so he had a conversation with the shopkeeper and left with a new sword.

The fact that it felt so familiar in his hand no doubt spoke to Veltol’s discerning eye. The length, the weight, everything felt as if it had been made to order. There was no cause for complaint in it, no reason for concern.

“So you got here first. Obvious though it may be to not keep one such as myself waiting, I’m still impressed.”

Wilhelm and Theresia looked up when an imperious voice reached them. On the far side of the bridge appeared two figures in black, like a parody of the young man and woman waiting for them. Their enemies, Wilhelm knew at a glance.

There was a man who looked like nobility, wearing a cold smile, and a giant with four pairs of arms—Stride and Kurgan, the young wolf of the Empire and Eight-Arms himself.

“Well, you’re an ugly face. The imperial nobility is even more revolting than I had heard.”

Stride paused. “What’s this? You’ve brought some kind of sidekick. I don’t recall permitting just anyone to be part of this fight. You impudent dog. Don’t pretend you belong here.”

“It looks like you’re too stupid to deal with anyway.”

“Wilhelm, stop. We didn’t come here to bicker.”

Stride’s eyes narrowed cruelly as they exchanged barbs. Finally, Theresia broke in, glaring at Stride. “Lift the curse you put on Father,” she said.

“A curse, she says. He not only interferes with our duel, but he said such insolent things. Far from redemption, that man is. Even a man of this kingdom ought to know some shame…”

“Stride, check yourself. You can be too roundabout at times.”

“Hmph, you have no sense of fun, man.” He stopped smiling and held up his right hand. “This is what you seek, is it not?” There was a ring on each of his five fingers, and the one on his pinkie glowed a muted scarlet. It was somehow uncanny, the jewel eerily alluring.

“This is the Scarlet Finger. A magical object of considerable age… I believe in this kingdom you call them metia? So long as its glow does not dim, I can promise you your father will live. Though, of course, that is only to say that his suffering will be prolonged.”

“Hand over the ring. I’ll shatter that stone and break your stupid curse.”

“You fool of a simpleton. Do you really think anyone will give you what you want simply because you demand it? For starters, you have—”

Stride made a shooing motion as if chasing away a stray dog, trying to put Wilhelm out of the conversation. But before he could finish his own sentence, something came flying into his field of view. It arced gently before touching Stride on the chest and then drifting to the ground.

A white handkerchief—and here, as manners dictated, a challenge to combat.

“I’ve no time for this. So I’ll make this simple. I challenge you to a duel.” In lieu of the silent men, control of the place now passed to the one who had thrown the handkerchief—Theresia. The aura of battle radiated from every inch of her, and she was glaring directly at Stride. There was no longer any hint of her girlish sweetness. There was only a cold, polished length of steel, chill enough to shatter a heart—the Sword Saint on full display.

“…So you’ve finally chosen to reveal yourself, Sword Saint. A duel—every bit as barbaric as your father?”

“Isn’t that what you want, though? You gave cause, you drew me… You drew the Sword Saint to the place of battle. I don’t know what you want with this, but…”

Stride’s cold smile seemed to become just a little hotter in the face of Theresia’s serious request for combat. Theresia’s face tightened at that, and she looked at Kurgan. “You’ve obviously come prepared,” she said. “The fact that you brought the Empire’s strongest with you is proof enough.”

“ ”

“Let me ask one thing. Is the purpose of this fight really to worsen relations between our kingdom and your Empire? If it is…”

“If it is, then what about it?” Stride said.

“Then I won’t fight you for the ring. I’ll just steal it.”

“ ”

She had no intention of letting this turn into an international incident.

Stride’s eyes widened at Theresia’s declaration. Then he put a hand to his mouth, murmuring, “I see,” and nodded. “Clever girl. It’s always possible that after the duel, the Sword Saint might lose her life through an unfortunate accident. But to what end? Your kingdom is under the protection of the Holy Dragon. So long as that be the case, every plan the Empire lays shall be in vain…merely a death wish.” He spread his arms wide, putting her doubts to rest.

Stride’s words were correct. Or more precisely, they were based on what was taken to be established fact.

“ ” Theresia, unable to guess what exactly Stride was playing at, pursed her lips in a frown.

The Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica had made a covenant with the Holy Dragon. It guaranteed the prosperity and peace of the kingdom, and it stated that if anything threatened these—for example, if another nation were to go to war against Lugunica—the Dragon would come to their aid.

The only wrinkle was the Holy Dragon had never once invoked the covenant and saved the kingdom from danger. In the past several centuries, nothing had ever happened to warrant it. Some people had even begun to speculate that maybe there was no covenant protecting the kingdom.

Then again, if it turned out the kingdom really did enjoy the Holy Dragon’s protection when relations between the kingdom and the neighboring empire reached a terminal state, then the Empire might very well be destroyed. In that case, whatever Stride did here would truly become a death wish, exactly as he had implied.

Did Stride believe in the covenant or not? Was his goal really to stir up trouble between their nations? And if not, then what in the world did he want?

“As you know, my body is not fit for the rigors of combat. As such, this man here shall be my champion. I believe you understand that much?”

As he spoke, Stride picked up the handkerchief at his feet and put it in his breast pocket. The sign that he accepted the challenge.

Theresia nodded firmly. “Eight-Arms Kurgan, the one they call strongest in the Empire. Your nation could have no better champion than him.”

“And he could have no more fit opponent in the kingdom…” Stride’s cold smile returned; he didn’t bother to say aloud that she was speaking of the Sword Saint. His smile made it obvious that one of his aims was Theresia.

If he felt that his plan was progressing, though, Theresia stymied him by saying, “No. I’m sorry, but there’s something I have to tell you. The Sword Saint cannot fight.”

“…What?”

“For reasons of my own, I’ve put aside the blade. I, too, am unable to fight, though the circumstances are different from yours. And so, like you, I too shall nominate a champion.”

“You? A champion? Nonsense. Who could possibly stand in for the Sword Saint—?”

Stride’s language became more strident as his plan veered off course, and ultimately, he was interrupted. Not by his own volition but because he was struck by a warrior’s spirit that emanated from nearby.

It came from some place incredibly close—two auras wove together into a great maelstrom, and in the space of an instant, the bridge had become a battlefield.

“My gratitude. A fine enemy. I am pleased by this meeting with you.”

“Shut up. All I’ll say is, don’t crash a guy’s honeymoon and expect to walk out of it alive.”

The two overwhelming presences, and the subsequent exchange, came from Kurgan and Wilhelm. Even Stride, who knew nothing of combat, swallowed heavily at the power of their swirling contest of will.

And then—

“Quite the gambit, Sword Saint.”

“You were the first to abuse the custom of the challenge. What’s more, I want to lift the curse on my father. What could be a more obvious way to do that than to have someone stronger than me fight in my place?” Theresia spoke proudly, her shoulders back, and finally, Stride regarded Wilhelm seriously for the first time. The young man had not taken so much as a step back when faced with the full intensity of Eight-Arms’s lust for battle, and that was what made Stride finally understand. The long-haired swordsman standing there was truly powerful enough to take the sword from Theresia.

“Could there be a fighter in this kingdom equal to the Sword Saint?”

“I guess they kept it quiet,” Theresia said. “It would be bad for our reputation if people knew that in the middle of her own ceremony, the Sword Saint was defeated by a mysterious interloper.”

“I assumed that was a rumor not worthy of a second thought…!” The touch of anger in Stride’s voice came from the realization that a story he had dismissed as frivolous talk had in fact been true. Quietly satisfied by his reaction, Theresia gently took the arm of Wilhelm, who stood beside her. It was the proof of her own faith.

“ ”

A second later, a vast rumbling shook the bridge. Theresia realized belatedly that it was coming from Kurgan’s throat, and later still that it was laughter. Kurgan’s shoulders quaked with the bass tones of his hilarity. And then the god of battle opened his eyes wide. “The demon of the sword, the Sword Devil, who took the blade from the hand of the Sword Saint and then took her as his wife—what is his name?”

“Wilhelm van Astrea.”

“Your warrior’s aura is dazzling, and the way you named yourself, radiant. Stride, I have no doubt this one is fit to be an opponent for me.”

“I don’t recall that being yours to decide,” Stride said, looking bitterly at his willful champion. Then he cast his eye upon Wilhelm and Theresia, now drawn close together, and exhaled. “I have no objection, though the Sword Saint’s nominee lacks her sweetness. Which of you becomes a stain on Eight-Arms’s blade is of no consequence to me. The challenge has been accepted. Let us not waste more words.”

“What do you want if you win the duel?” Wilhelm asked.

“Nothing,” Stride replied, “as I am the challenged and not the challenger. Ahh, but…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing at the two of them. Then he patted Kurgan on the back. “I have no wish of my own, but perhaps the same may not be said of my champion fighting on my behalf. There’s the rub. As he has taken my place in battle, I shall grant his wish as my own.”

Thus, Stride passed the victor’s right to Kurgan, who crossed one pair of his arms and considered his employer’s offer. Then he pointed.

Directly at Theresia.

“I claim the resplendent princess,” he said.

“Huh?”

“…Say wha?”

Theresia and Wilhelm responded at almost the same time.

“Her beauty, her abilities, and her boldness, all I would be loath to set aside. Therefore, Wilhelm, when I have split you in twain with my sword, I shall make the princess mine. You do not object?”

The veins stood out in Wilhelm’s forehead at this declaration that his young wife would be taken from him. “Do you bastards not understand that we’re newlyweds?” His warrior’s spirit was buoyed by a wave of simple rage, but Kurgan actually smiled at this.

Beside him, Stride nodded as if he had achieved his own desire and said, “Give up. This is the foolish custom of a barbarian nation. We have no compunction about impregnating a strong woman to carry on our line. Thus, you shall be his prize. Will you withdraw in fear? Like your father did?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Theresia!”

It was Wilhelm who was disturbed by this declaration. Having Theresia herself on the line dramatically changed the nature of the fight for him.

Theresia, however, shook her head at him. “They’re taking Father’s very life hostage. And I don’t want to be the only one who watches from safety because I can’t fight. I know I can’t wield a blade but let me bear some of the responsibility.”

“But—if by some chance I were to—”

“Oh?” Theresia touched Wilhelm’s lips with her finger, silencing him. His eyes widened, and she smiled. “You won’t. There’s no one anywhere stronger than you.”

“ ”

“You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

“…Yeah. That’s right.” Wilhelm, reminded of his vow, gave a crooked smile. The Sword Devil had only to be himself. To fulfill his duties as a fighter and a man.

Wilhelm turned to the creature who would dare to steal his bride, and to the enemy who had wounded his father-in-law with his ploy, and he bared his fangs.

“I accept,” he said. “When you reach hell, tell them Wilhelm sent you.”

12

As the duel began, a crowd of spectators gathered by the bridge.

In this day and age, duels were nearly sacred, like a ritual, not to be violated by any third party. At the same time, though, they were also a form of entertainment for bystanders. If all the rules were followed correctly, even bodyguards could not interfere. For those who observed the fighting from a distance, it was a safe way to enjoy a bit of spectacle.

Thus, the moment word of the duel spread, would-be gawkers and spectators flocked to the bridge, hoping for a good time.

Their expectations of pleasant frivolity, however, were shattered the moment they saw the fighters standing across from each other.

“ ”

Neither of them needed to speak, but each projected his warrior’s aura, casting the crowd into silence.

The sight of the Sword Devil and Eight-Arms astride the bridge, facing each other, enthralled the entire crowd, rendering them unable to make a sound.

All, that is, except Stride and Theresia. Watching the duel but not watching it, they stood side by side, sniping at each other.

“That is some blade. Though of course it fails to shine quite like the Bright Sword.”

“It was picked out by the head of the Astrea family. Of course it’s impressive.”

“And I suppose the man picked out by the Sword Saint must be equally distinguished. Though I can’t imagine him threatening Eight-Arms. What could such a reedy little boy do anyway?”

“You wanted an even slimmer girl to fight instead!”

“ ”

Theresia, with her blessing of the Sword Saint, was painfully aware of just how powerful Eight-Arms was. He was without a doubt the second-strongest opponent she had ever encountered.

There was no question in her mind that he would be defeated by one man who outranked him: her husband.

“Wilhelm.”

It was not a prayer nor an appeal but simply a loving invocation of his name.

She knew that, as his wife, it was the best thing she could do.

“ ”

Wilhelm felt his name being spoken behind him more than he heard it. He closed his eyes. The sound of the wind, the twittering of birds, the rush of water under the bridge, the collective breath and heartbeat of the gathered spectators—amid all this, he could focus on the voice of the woman he loved.

The way she said his name carried no doubt that he would claim victory. Nor was her gaze anything less than certain.

It was like the morning when they woke up together and she spoke his name for the first time that day. Like when she smilingly told him dinner was ready. Like when they were spending time together and she tugged on his sleeve. Like when, in the middle of a minor disagreement, her cheeks flushed sweetly. Like when they shared a kiss before going to sleep.

She had said his name. That thought alone was enough to inspire the Sword Devil.

“For this beauty, I give thanks. My heart dances at the blessing that has been visited upon me this day.”

“Blessing? You’re giving thanks for the day you die? You’re a weird one.”

When Wilhelm opened his eyes, he saw the great bridge awash in the blaze of the morning sun, its rays lying like a mantle upon his enemy.

Now that the opponent had shed his robe, he truly did look like some creature that had evolved purely for battle: Nearly seven feet of blue skin and eight arms made for a bizarre warrior. And the head atop this unusual form boasted a face like a devil’s born for war.

“So they call you Eight-Arms because of those eight arms, huh? Must be pretty nice, having all those limbs.”

“It is surprisingly less convenient than one might think. An increase in the number of usable arms does not beget an increase in the number of things one can do. Above all, we are too conspicuous.”

“Making you a target?”

“Quite the opposite. Few indeed dare challenge one who looks like this. It is a boring life.”

It was very much the logic of a warrior who lived for battle. With that thinking, at least, Wilhelm could sympathize.

To wield the sword was, by definition, to seek power. Wilhelm himself had formerly looked to others as his reason for holding a blade. But that was in the past. Now, his reasons might not lie within himself, but they certainly were not found in some faceless “other.”

“It’s not worth spouting off about all that. Anyway, we don’t have time. Hurry up and die.”

“I intend to prolong this time of my enjoyment. All the more crucial when I have so few opportunities.”

Wilhelm drew his sword. The heirloom blade selected by the very head of the house of the Sword Saints glinted with the anticipation of combat.

At the same time, four of Kurgan’s arms moved, withdrawing four massive, thick cleavers from sheaths on his back, armaments appropriate to the strongest in the Empire.

“They bear the name Devil Cleavers.”

“Never heard of ’em.”

“They shall be the instruments of your destruction. You may wish to know their name. And your own blade?”

“ ”

He thought for just a second. But he quickly tired of thinking and simply declared, “It’s called Astrea!”

Then he leaped in.

And so, quietly but intensely, the flint was struck on the Dance of the Silver Flowers.

13

The duel went unusually long for a fight between skilled swordsmen.

“ ”

Strikes rose and fell, the pace of the blows ever accelerating. The clamor of blade on blade was relentless; blood flew, the bridge cracked, and the resounding footsteps of the fighters sent ripples along the surface of the water.

It was a confrontation between soft and hard—or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say light and heavy.

Wilhelm moved furiously around the bridge, unleashing stroke after stroke in hopes of landing the killing blow. In contrast, Kurgan stood majestically where he had started, repelling the attacks of the Sword Devil with a defense like steel.

Though they might be called light and heavy, the “heavy” one, Kurgan, was still shockingly quick. He wielded the cleavers in four of his eight freakish arms with the force of a storm. If so much as the hem of Wilhelm’s shirt had been caught up in that whirlwind, he would have been reduced to dust. It was only his superlative agility that prevented that from happening.

“ ”

A simple butting of heads would eventually see him reach the end of his stamina. His speed would slow, and he would no longer be able to avoid the blades of the Devil Cleavers. But Wilhelm’s speed was not his advantage. Rather, it was the nerve and the footwork to get him close enough to Kurgan to strike. It was not his speed but the guts and technique to upset his opponent before closing in for the kill.

And yet, neither of them had managed to land the decisive blow.

They were similar in skill, both profoundly able combatants, and that was why this fight persisted for so long. If there had been the slightest difference in their abilities or in the stakes of this battle, or otherwise if they had been fighting in the same style, then the matter would have been settled with the first exchange.

Instead, the duel had already reached well over a hundred volleys.

“ ”

Breathing harshly, Wilhelm let loose a strike, trusting to his speed. It was blocked by a huge blade, and he made a half twist of his body to escape the response. Next, there was an overwhelming flash of silver light, but it only produced a shallow nick in his opponent’s chest plate, and the brief opening allowed a blow to catch him in the shoulder.

“Hrgh…!”

 

 

 

 

Wilhelm’s body shuddered under the hit; he jumped into the air to clear the sideward swipe of the blade that followed. But no sooner had he escaped into the air than he felt a chill run through him.

“Can you dodge this, Sword Devil?”

One arm adjusted its grip on a Devil Cleaver, relaxing. The massive muscles tensed, a clear sign that Eight-Arms was about to unleash a huge blow.

In the air, there was nowhere to run; he could bring his sword across to defend, but—no, the attack that was coming would be impossible to block. If it hit him, there would be nothing left. It would sever the very thread of his life.

And so Wilhelm abandoned defense.

“I rend you now, Sword Devil.”

The attack as it approached was audible.

To Wilhelm’s ears, it seemed every sound in the world fell silent at that moment.

“Wilhelm!”

But it was not so.

That shout, that lovely voice, that voice that touched him to his heart, became his pride, his strength, his inspiration to battle.

He abandoned defense. Holding his sword sideways, he welcomed the incoming attack. If Kurgan had released a bolt of lightning, Wilhelm would catch it upon the fangs of the wind.

An explosion of silver light enveloped the bridge, blossoming like a flower.

Blows were exchanged, and blood went dancing through the air. Wilhelm was thrown backward with the intensity of the engagement. Every bone in his body ached, and the left side of his body, which had been caught by the flat of the huge blade, complained shrilly. He might have broken his shoulder, collarbone, ribs, and hip; he wasn’t sure.

But Kurgan paid a considerable price of his own in exchange.

“Superb…”

The word came out like a groan as Kurgan’s huge frame fell to its knees.

The battle god didn’t move from the rapidly accumulating pool of his own blood. The source of the massive hemorrhage was his third arm on the right—which had been cut clean off by the blow.

“So…it worked…”

The instant he had decided he couldn’t dodge the blow, Wilhelm had focused on minimizing his own injuries while maximizing the damage to his opponent. He would use his own stroke to deflect the angle of Kurgan’s attack, while taking advantage of his opponent’s momentum to rob him of another limb.

This meant Kurgan now had two arms he couldn’t use and was down one sword. He had sustained considerable injuries and would not be able to move easily. The same could be said of Wilhelm, but while Kurgan had only his own morale to sustain him, Wilhelm had more than that. He could draw strength from the voice of the woman who stood behind him. She provided such a reserve of power that, even now, it seemed to overflow from his heart.

However, just as he thought they were about to enter a new phase of the fight…

“So this is all you can do for me. Curse it all—the act never goes as well as the plan.”

“Wha…?!”

Had this shocking pronouncement come from one of the spectators? No, none of them had spoken. It was instead someone who had done the unforgivable: transgressed the ritual of the duel.

Stride, his overcoat cast off, stepped up beside the kneeling Kurgan. This represented nothing less than the intrusion of a bystander on the duel, the breaking of a sacrosanct taboo.

“Don’t you know this is a duel?!” Wilhelm demanded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“You’re on death’s doorstep, boy; I wouldn’t waste time sniveling. If I lose my pawn here, though, it will muddle the question of who has the initiative. As such, I believe this will do for now. You’re welcome to consider the duel our loss. Come.”

Wilhelm tried desperately to rise, to bring his sword to bear, but Stride merely sniffed at him. Then he removed the ring on his little finger and tossed it to Theresia. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she caught it reflexively.

The Scarlet Finger—the source of the curse—sat in her palm.

“You curs get to consider this your victory. We will cede the ring to you and withdraw. What is there to complain about?”

“It’s…a matter of seeing things through. What do you…think a swordsman is?”

“In this particular context, a piece on a game board. More broadly, a tool and nothing more. This encounter did have its benefits for me. Thus, I now withdraw. Oh, don’t worry.” Glancing down at the enraged Wilhelm, Stride held out his right hand. Though his little finger was bare, four rings remained on his other fingers. “We’ll have another four chances to play. Endless amusement. Aren’t you looking forward to it?”

“Why, you…!”

“Fool, I am joking. So laugh. I have my left hand as well as my right.”

He held up his other hand, also bedecked with rings, and Wilhelm fell speechless. The reaction seemed to put Stride in a good mood as he pointed to his left hand.

“I can’t be wasting time with the king’s men,” he said. “So I believe it’s a good moment to give you something else to think about.”

As he spoke, there was a flash of light, and then the stone bridge suddenly dissolved. It was as if all the rock had turned instantaneously to sand. Everyone who had been standing on the bridge, along with the former stone, fell into the river below.

“Dammit— Argh…!”

Wilhelm spat a curse, jumping into the air just as the bridge evaporated. He ran along as the stones collapsed behind him, shouting as he charged in Theresia’s direction. She reached out her arms to catch him, urging her husband on.

Wilhelm took a mighty leap, grabbing hold of Theresia’s slim arms. He escaped the dissipating architecture to land on the firm ground of the city itself. He let out a breath.

“Wilhelm!”

“I’m fine! But the ring…”

“I-I’ve got it right here. Help me!”

She showed him the ring in her hand, then flicked it lightly up into the air. Wilhelm tracked it with his eyes, judging its trajectory—and then with a flash of the sword Veltol had given him, he sliced it in two.

The strange glow the ring had displayed ebbed away, as if burned off by the sunlight.

“Do you think Father is safe now?”

“The only way to be sure is to go back to the hospital. But…” Wilhelm gestured with his head at the obliterated bridge. A rescue effort had begun for those who had fallen into the river. Meanwhile, Stride and Kurgan had vanished in the commotion.

There was no way they had drowned: They had certainly fled. There was a good chance this would be the only opportunity to chase them down and find out what they were really after, but—

“Forget it. I don’t want anything more to do with the likes of them. Let’s hurry…to the…hospital…”

“Wilhelm?! Are—are you all right?! Can you move?”

“Don’t…worry about me. I’ve just…lost a bit too much blood. My head’s swimming…”

“And you say not to worry?! Come on, I’ll carry you!”

Theresia hefted up Wilhelm, who was dizzy from a rush of blood to the head. Wilhelm tried to protest at this shameful receipt of aid, but he didn’t run from her.

“I carried my father to the hospital, too. Don’t think about it, just hold on to me… I don’t have to be the Sword Saint to carry you, do I?”

Wilhelm, recognizing that nothing he could say would change the situation, leaned into his wife. “…Just try not to shake me too hard.” Taking this trust, Theresia began running through the city with a speed few would have expected from the delicate maiden.

A few minutes later, Carol met them at the entrance to the hospital with news of Veltol’s recovery, and Theresia dropped Wilhelm to the ground as she broke into tears.

14

“This was supposed to be my honeymoon. I can’t believe what it’s come to…” The complaint came from the person visiting Wilhelm and Veltol, the two residents of this hospital room: Theresia, her red cheeks puffed out.

After the fight, the heavily injured Wilhelm had been immediately admitted to the hospital, ultimately being placed in the same room as Veltol. And speaking of Veltol, who had at one point been within an inch of losing his life thanks to the curse—

“What you mean, Theresia, is that you value your father more than your own honeymoon… How proud I am to mean so much to my daughter!”

“You make me want to squeeze those still-healing wounds of yours, Father, so quit while you’re ahead.”

“Whaaaaaaa?! Why?! Don’t you love me?!”

“I can love you and still be mad at you. Wilhelm, are you sure you’re going to be all right sharing a room with Father? Are you sure your wounds won’t open again from the stress?”

Veltol, who had been stroking his beard with his left hand and looking oddly important, found himself roundly scolded. Theresia, however, ignored her deflated father, eliciting a smile from Wilhelm.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Your father’s not so bad once you get used to him.”

“You won’t win me over that easily,” Veltol quipped. “The struggle between you and me over Theresia will continue for as long as we live.”

“I’ve belonged to Wilhelm for a long time now, so you’ve already lost that fight, Father.”

Theresia’s blunt remark forced Veltol into silence. It was a perfectly typical exchange for them, but Theresia seemed pleased to be able to have it. Seeing how happy she was, Wilhelm thought maybe the interruption to their honeymoon and the heavy wounds had been worth it.

Then the door to the hospital room opened, and Carol came in. “Lady Theresia, the dragon carriage will be here soon. Will you go to meet it?”

“Oh, yes, let’s do that.” She rose, brushing off her skirt as she made for the door.

“Dragon carriage?” Wilhelm said. “What’s that about?”

“It should be obvious. I want to leave again as soon as you’re back on your feet, Wilhelm, but I’m not exactly comfortable leaving Father here on his own… So, I called my mother.”

“Whaaaaaaaat?!” Veltol exclaimed, thrashing in his bed. “Tishua?! No, that’s too much for me! She’s going to be enraged!”

“She is! And she should be!” Theresia answered ruthlessly. Then, with one last sigh for her cowering father, she turned kind eyes on Wilhelm. “I’m going to go out for a few minutes now. See you soon, Wilhelm.”

“Sure. You and Carol go enjoy your honeymoon.”

“I-idiot! Lady Theresia and I are not on a— You know— Ahem!”

Carol seemed to implicitly admit he had gotten her pretty good as Theresia escorted her out of the room with an embarrassed “Oh!”

With their talkative visitors departed, Wilhelm and Veltol were left in the room by themselves.

“Oh, young Wilhelm, don’t imagine you’ve won. I changed Theresia’s diapers, you know.”

“I’ve changed her clothes as well, if you know what I mean.”

“Hrgh!”

Veltol lurched back, slashed by the blade of words. Lying sideways on his bed, Veltol began to mutter to himself. “Sigh… First my son-in-law takes my daughter from me, then my wife attacks me for wanting to go on the honeymoon… A girl dear enough to be another daughter to me tells me to leave well enough alone… Where in the world am I going to go from here…?”

“How about you let it go, Dad? Not that I think anything you’ve done is especially praiseworthy, but—”

“Ahh, and now my son-in-law piles on…”

“But in spite of it all, even Theresia thought you looked awfully manly, standing up for your family like that. I fought that blue freak. I understand the guts it must have taken to face him.”

In Wilhelm’s mind’s eye, he recalled how imposing Kurgan had been. It had been enough to give even him pause—for Veltol to confront the monster had been virtual suicide. It made Wilhelm nothing short of proud that Veltol had nonetheless been willing to leap to the challenge.

“You went a round with that thing before I did, Dad. That’s pretty impressive.”

“…But this ring, or whatever it was, caused terrible trouble for you and Theresia. It got you hurt and ruined your honeymoon.”

“The only thing that got me hurt was my own weakness. It’s nothing for you to worry about. And…”

“Yes?”

“I heard about how you got angry on my account. So…don’t worry about it.”

There was a moment of silence between the two men. It wasn’t embarrassment or awkwardness, as they both probably realized.

That was why the silence ended with Veltol bursting into laughter. “Very well. That’s that, then. Let’s consider us even. Agreed?”

“…You know, I think I contributed more than you here.”

“You agree?”

“…Yeah.”

As he answered Veltol’s insistence, Wilhelm swallowed a variety of emotions. He glanced briefly at the standing cabinet beside the bed and clapped his hands as if he had just remembered something. “I don’t know exactly what argument Mom is going to try on you, but it’s— You know.”

“Hm?”

“If you give her that anniversary hair ornament, maybe it’ll help her calm down?” He reached over to the cabinet and picked up the ornament from Swain’s. A gift for Veltol’s wife that he hadn’t had time to choose because of Stride’s interference. Theresia and Carol had picked one out instead and told Wilhelm to give it to Veltol.

“It was Theresia and Carol who chose it. I know maybe that’s not quite your custom, but…”

“Ah, the two of them did? Goodness… It’s so cute how they can’t tell me to my face.”

Veltol felt another self-congratulatory rush of emotion as Wilhelm offered him the ornament. Wilhelm smiled a little and went to hand it over…

“Dad?”

“…Er, oops.”

Veltol, with a somewhat unnatural motion, had dropped the hair ornament on the bed. He shifted in order to pick it up, exhaling as he collected it—with his left hand. Even though he was right-handed. His right hand seemed immobile.

Wilhelm gaped.

“…An aftereffect of the curse,” Veltol said, gazing at his right arm. “The normal course of things would have been for all four of my limbs to rot away, but that healer managed to force the decay into just one spot. He really is something. Imagine, such a capable doctor in such a remote place. When we get back to the capital, I’ll have to make a report and recommend him.”

“But…your right hand? That means…”

“As I said, Wilhelm. We’re even. You have no responsibility to bear.”

Pinned by the sight of the hair ornament in Veltol’s left hand, Wilhelm was speechless. A wave of shame struck him as he realized what Veltol had really been doing in their conversation. He hadn’t wanted his daughter and son-in-law to feel responsible for what had happened to his arm. To that end, he had caused Wilhelm to agree that they were even with what had seemed like a show of pique.

He was disgusted with himself for not realizing it. At the same time, he felt a rush of anger. Immense rage at the escaped imperials—Stride and Eight-Arms Kurgan. He would expunge this humiliation. He would exact payment. This he vowed in his heart.

“I will…”

“Hm?”

“I will settle this. I swear on your arm, Father.”

His words carried all the force of his status as a warrior, spoken for the benefit of the man before him.

But Veltol only laughed and said, “I don’t need any such vow. Let it go. I don’t want Theresia to know about this. If you must swear something, redouble your promise to make her happy.”

“Huh…”

The nonchalant tone caught Wilhelm off guard. Veltol looked as proud as if he had landed a sword blow on the young man. “This is to be kept a secret from Theresia,” he said. “Promise me, Wilhelm—man to man. Family to family.”

He smiled again as he made Wilhelm swear an unbreakable oath.

Until the end of Veltol’s life, his daughter never knew about the damage to his right arm. And thus, until the end of his life, whenever Wilhelm was asked which swordsman he respected the most, he would unhesitatingly respond with the name Veltol Astrea.

And this Silver Flower Dance in Pictat earned Wilhelm two enemies who would be an inescapable part of his life.

Stride “Death Wish” Volakia and “Eight-Arms” Kurgan.

The tale of the battle that would involve both of them and Wilhelm, as well as Theresia, and finally push the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica once more into chaos—the Battle Hymn of the Sword Devil—started here.

<END>



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