8. Clashing Blades p1
Crimson light pushed back the darkness. Dust danced in the light. Smoke and flames rose from the fort. Along with angry shouts and explosions, the fierce clang of metal resonated throughout the surroundings. The fighting intensified as the night deepened, and various battlefields formed within the fort.
A battlefield where magicians fiercely exchanged spells. A battlefield where Imperial soldiers joined forces and bravely confronted the assault force. Or a battlefield of escape. Some attempted to flee the fort, only to be swiftly killed by the waiting assault force. And there was one who walked alone through a corridor that had already become a battlefield—a veritable slaughterhouse.
That lone victor advanced, muttering,
“…The Empire is a step down without the ‘Six Wings’.”
In another corner, there was a battlefield where a coward fought against himself.
The new recruit hesitated in fear, trembling in conflict. He curled up on his bed, as if cowering from the commotion outside.
“Damn it, why… why me…!”
Every battlefield revealed the cruel aspects of humanity. It wasn’t just about life and death. Because of the extreme conditions, the brutality, human frailty, and underlying dishonesty usually masked by social norms were exposed. Stripped bare, they became like beasts, surrendering their bodies to their instincts. It was a natural consequence for living creatures.
But even in the midst of this maelstrom, there were those who stood by their convictions.
One on one. A form of combat unbefitting a battlefield.
A duel between two swordsmen, each wielding a single sword.
A fierce exchange of sword blows, exchanged with utmost sincerity.
“Hah!”
The heavily armored knight exhaled and swung his sword with all his might.
The speed of his attack was unbefitting his large frame. Resembling a gust of wind, it possessed the power to easily sever a human body. It left only a single, sharp line in the stagnant air, in the faint, ambiguous emotions.
But it failed to end its target’s life.
The bloodstained little girl’s eyes clearly captured the trajectory of the sword. She slightly changed the angle of her hand and slid her own sword into its path. She skillfully shifted to defense with minimal movement.
A metallic clang echoed. But the force hadn’t been completely neutralized. The little girl’s sword was deflected as if swallowed by a wave—.
“Heavy…!”
“No need for hesitation.”
By the time he uttered those words, his sword had already completed its swing.
He was certain that he had completely bisected the little girl from the neck—
Tehrich recalled his years of experience. He knew that those who resorted to defense were always accompanied by a degree of complacency. The moment they chose to defend their lives instead of evading, they underestimated the strength of the attacker.
If this assumption and reality didn’t match, it could result in a fatal wound.
The moment she instinctively went on the defensive, she had already lost.
“…Your… habit.”
However, a childish voice that shouldn’t have been there echoed.
Tehrich was startled and stared at his target.
She had turned her upper body away from the trajectory of his sword. Without moving her feet from the ground, she thrust out her side and arched her back. In other words, even after her defense was broken, she had still managed to dodge by a hair’s breadth. It was an evasion that seemed to have been planned from the start.
The little girl, maintaining her posture, caught his gaze with her eyes alone.
“When you feel you’ve landed a hit, you create a slight opening.”
—Tehrich instinctively slashed his sword downward.
As if anticipating it, the small figure spun around.
She twisted her white braid and skillfully created distance.
(Her movements, her words… puzzling.)
Tehrich revealed his true feelings with each breath. Although he maintained a calm exterior, he was certainly shaken. He was unnerved by the words uttered in the little girl’s sweet, lisping voice.
It was as if she had seen through the emotions born deep within his thick, steel-clad body, beneath layers of toned muscles, with those golden eyes. Could it be that she had noticed the slight relaxation in his tension right after he swung his sword?
It was so strange that such a thought crossed his mind.
(It’s also strange that I still haven’t finished her off.)
This duel should have been his domain. In the corridors of the fort, combat inevitably became close to mid-range. Since they were surrounded by stone walls on all sides, evasion and retreat were difficult. Whether they liked it or not, most of the fight would be a contest of strength. In that case, there was no reason for the little girl to surpass Tehrich.
After all, his strengths were his physical strength due to his large physique and his swordsmanship based on physical abilities enhanced by an above-average amount of Od. He had fought on dozens of battlefields, wielding his sword with a speed that seemed impossible for someone in heavy armor. The armor he wore was a treasured piece of equipment passed down in the Galdi family, a lineage of knights. It was so sturdy, a combination of the best techniques and magic, that it could break steel blades and deflect the fists of heroes.
And the sword he held was a masterpiece crafted by a renowned blacksmith.
(But… this child…)
The heavily armored knight charged forward, closing the distance.
The little girl was now unarmed. Unless she possessed an enormous amount of Od that could overcome the difference in physique, he could crush her like an ant. Even without hitting her with the blade, just hitting her with his body would be enough to break her bones.
He swung his sword down as a finishing blow.
He blocked her escape route with his large body, ready to end her life with his blade if she hesitated.
The little girl, trapped in this space of death—,
“Complete.”
—Vanished, leaving behind words of admiration.
But Tehrich didn’t panic. Without a moment’s hesitation, he slid his sword downward. He saw her white hair swirling like smoke, caught in a whirlwind, and following it, it was easy to track the small figure that seemed to have disappeared.
Long hair really wasn’t suited for combat. Such long hair, as if for vanity, was fatal for a warrior.
(Did she slip below? An evasion unique to a child.)
In his downward gaze, Sol was curled up.
She was kneeling, her hands on the ground. Tehrich was aiming his sword at her neck. In half a second, his blade would sink into her soft skin. This realistic image was shattered when she suddenly moved out of the trajectory.
The little girl had already planted her right shoulder on the ground and was rolling forward.
This speed. Had she lowered her center of gravity from the beginning?
(However, if it’s a contest of speed, I welcome it.)
He swung his sword upward, the tip grazing the ground. The flash that chased after Sol’s back accelerated with each swipe, like a runner gaining speed. There should be no way to escape from this sword strike, from which even a rabbit couldn’t flee.
The moment the little girl completed a roll and stopped—.
“What…!”
The blade Tehrich was about to swing upward in a reverse diagonal slash. The little girl, while turning her back to it, used it as… a foothold. Considering that she had jumped slightly just before, it could only be described as a deliberate action. Tehrich was not only gritting his teeth at the weight on his arm, but he was also dumbfounded. Her military boots gripped the blade, and using the spring in her knees, she leaped towards the ceiling.
There, she planted both hands and bent her elbows to absorb the impact.
Then, extending her elbows, she attacked the knight below.
(One after another…!)
Sol’s dizzyingly seamless movements. Finally, his reaction to these movements was delayed. But there were no visible weapons on the little girl’s belt or hands. Her only weapon, her sword, had been knocked away. There was no time to chant a spell. Was she going to confront a heavily armored knight empty-handed?
It was truly a mantis trying to stop a chariot. What reckless bravery.
Her meager punches and kicks wouldn’t even scratch his armor.
Throwing punches would only create openings, digging her own grave.
(Challenging me to a duel in pure hand-to-hand combat?)
What the little girl unleashed was a kick.
No—this was also a stepping stone. She landed on his steel chest armor, then bent her knees and jumped. While still facing the ground, she leaped horizontally like a triple jumper, moving away from Tehrich. He couldn’t help but watch her unexpected escape. However, the moment her military boots caught his sword strike, his fluid counterattack was stopped.
Even if he regained his fighting stance, he wouldn’t be able to catch her.
He had to swallow his frustration and recover.
“Let’s start over.”
Sol faced him again from a distance.
The distance had returned to what it was at the start of the duel.
In her hand was the sword she had dropped. She must have picked it up while gliding during her retreat. Rather, her series of evasive maneuvers were probably for the purpose of retrieving her weapon.
The two quickly closed the distance and began a fierce exchange of sword blows. In the midst of this, the little girl muttered with a grin,
“Your swordsmanship is the Nirevat style, just like the knights of old.”
“…Sol. You’re quite talkative.”
“My apologies. My mouth runs when my blood boils.”
“That’s also—a sign of complacency!”
Tehrich took a large step forward as if to press his attack. He crushed the faint sense of unease and dispelled the unsubstantiated thoughts.
He unleashed a sword strike to leave them behind. Sol, maintaining a low stance, dodged by a hair’s breadth, pivoting on her right foot, aiming for the joints in his armor, and sliding her blade against them.
He accurately read her killing intent and trajectory and knocked her attacks away. There was no need to parry with his sword. He just had to block with any part of his heavy armor other than the joints. Sol retreated again to regain her distance. This kind of skirmish continued for more than ten times.
A back-and-forth like waves on the shore. A predictable stalemate.
Tehrich, sweat beading on his forehead, became certain.
“Just who… are you?”
“Who, you ask? That’s quite a vague question.”
The little girl replied, dumbfounded, and retreated again. —If there had been spectators here, they would have said, “A sword dance between two equally skilled swordsmen.”
Their movements were so beautiful, so well-matched, that it felt like watching a sword dance performance. But for Tehrich, who was involved, it was an unsettling description.
Anyone who practiced swordsmanship should understand.
(First, her swordsmanship. Sol isn’t that skilled.)
There was nothing remarkable about the little girl’s swordsmanship. Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. Considering her age, her swordsmanship was surprisingly mature. Her reaction speed and choice of forms were as if she had trained for decades. However, on the battlefield, where age didn’t matter, it was all within the realm of mediocrity.
For Tehrich, it was just a storm of familiar swordsmanship.
Swordsmanship lacking any personal characteristics. The swordsmanship of a mediocre talent lacking individuality. Just a collection of techniques based on fundamentals, just straightforward—a refined earthiness, so to speak.
In this regard, Tehrich was disappointed in Sol. It was sad that the one of the few opponents who knew chivalry was so untalented.
(Yes, her swordsmanship itself is mediocre. But…)
He steadied his breathing and peered through the gap in his helmet. He could see the little girl. He could see a mass of incongruity.
She was looking back at him, her sword held high. Despite her young age, she didn’t seem to be exhausted, and her breathing was calm. She had skillfully handled and evaded his attacks, and she was still standing, unharmed. But she wasn’t unscathed.
Bright red blood dripped from her shoulder, left cheek, and forehead. Her frail body, which should have been protected, was losing its vitality. If this weren’t a battlefield, he would have shown mercy as a father. But they were currently in the midst of a sacred duel. Since she had accepted the duel, she must have been prepared to die in battle. It would be unworthy of a knight to go back on his word out of sympathy.
He wouldn’t show any mercy, even to a child.
—No. Mercy? A child? No, that’s…
(What… is that?)
If he had to describe his impression of Sol, it would be a sense of foreignness. A mass of incongruity and foreignness. An unknown white fairy.
Her stance was perfect. Even if he stared from the top of her head to her toes, he couldn’t find a single opening. That deepened the sense of incongruity. The same could be said about her swordsmanship, which he had just described as mediocre. It was all strange.
First, the fighting style of a skilled child was limited to one thing. Namely, relying on their natural talent and brute force. Experience and analysis translated directly into strength. For young warriors, whose accumulation was inevitably meager, it was difficult to achieve results. It was an age where brute force was considered both practical and realistic.
Therefore, even when wielding a sword, they tended to ignore the fundamentals.
But that little girl was the opposite. Not a raw gem, but a polished pebble.
The discrepancy between visual information and experience intensified his confusion.
(And another thing.)
There was another fact that chilled his rising fighting spirit.
Tehrich became certain of it as they crossed swords.
(Sol is matching her swordsmanship to mine.)
—Their movements were synchronized even though they hadn’t planned it.
The feeling of disgust was immeasurable. It was like a puppet realizing that strings were attached to its limbs. Something lurking in the shadows of his choices. He had thought he was choosing freely, but the fact that even his thoughts were the result of being caught in a scheme—was extremely eerie.
Tehrich gripped the hilt of his sword and exhaled from the depths of his lungs. While exchanging sword blows, he couldn’t help but voice his question.
“…Do you really know me?”
“I can’t lie to my master. I remember you.”
“Master. But I’ve never taught you swordsmanship…”
“You didn’t teach me directly. I learned by watching.”
Sol said curtly, and her golden eyes deepened. Tehrich held his breath, captivated by the mature gleam in those eyes, so different from her outward appearance. They held the color of a seasoned pioneer, older and more experienced than himself. Even her snow-white hair seemed to have lost its pigment with age. It was probably due to this confusion of perception and her veteran-like atmosphere.
He suddenly had a vision of a man who had died in battle twenty years ago.
He was surprised at himself for thinking of him.
(Ridiculous. Comparing her to my father, of all people.)
His father had always stood at the forefront of Tehrich’s admiration. He was a great man. A soldier who wore the same armor Tehrich now wore and fulfilled his role as a sword protecting his homeland until the moment he died. He was a man who inherited the chivalrous spirit deeply rooted in the Galdi family, a man of integrity, and he deeply regretted that the knighthood had been abolished in his grandfather’s generation.
His father had never held the title of knight in his lifetime.
He wouldn’t forget the voice he had heard through the crack in the door as a child.
—I see. So, we can’t defy the times.
—My son is also interested in the way of the knight.
—I’m fine. I can compromise.
—But I wanted my son to… see his dream.
