WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

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Chapter 92: 14. The King's Silence (10)

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* * *

The moment sword met sword, sparks flew, but the sound echoed from far away. His visual nerves reacted faster than his hearing.

Which meant that their battle now occupied the split instant between signals crossing the nerves.

He could not move after seeing it. He had to predict the next move before he saw it and act first.

The delay created in the instant perception and judgment locked together would soon become the turning point of victory and defeat.

-Clanggg!!

Only now did the noise of the first clash reach his ears. Ivan ground his teeth and moved.

The clash of swordsmanship was like a contest of moves. Every collision brought recoil, the opponent's motion, countless branching paths that could grow from it, and a long fight to draw out the correct answer from among them.

Only then did Ivan realize it.

So this was what people called swordsmanship.

Until now, every clash of blades he had shown had been no more than imitation, buried in the act of swinging a weapon.

He had only learned, mechanically, the intricate truths established by others and copied them exactly. Which was why, now that he was judging, choosing, and driving his blade forward for himself, he was only now truly learning martial skill.

-Clang!!

What he had always considered his sole asset, the fact that he "had good eyes," might have been a curse.

Because he had never needed to realize anything for himself or grow past it. He had stopped at imitating the answers left behind by those who came before him.

It was like a limit line on growth. No matter how much nourishment one fed grass or trees, there was always a limit to how far they could grow.

His exceptional ability to learn had itself restricted his limits. The instant he faced someone else's answer, perhaps he had mistaken it for the one and only solution.

Only now could Ivan understand Adel's words when she praised the sword.

To pile up years and stretch a hand toward the sky.

Even if it could not be reached, perhaps. Even if it was nothing more than a vague notion he might never reach in his whole life. Still, to desire it.

Not to recognize one's limits. Or even if one did recognize them, not to accept them. And so, for an entire lifetime.

To offer up a whole life and throw that lifetime before a challenge.

Freedom.

That was Adel's Ideal. That was her life. Even while countless lives were snuffed out amid the horrors of war, her sword had scattered through the air singing of freedom.

So that day, in the dark forest of the Northern Front, the path traced by the blade she swung alone...

It had been comfort for the living, a requiem for the dead, meditation for herself, and longing for freedom.

Just as the Hero's sword symbolized hope, her sword symbolized freedom. That was what it meant to establish an Ideal.

Could he reach it?

Could this dullard, who had only now awakened to the true meaning of martial skill, reach that long ordeal of establishing an Ideal and tempering the true essence of swordsmanship?

Could he stand shoulder to shoulder with the giants of an earlier age who had walked ahead of him?

Ivan swung his sword in silence and gradually sank into ever deeper thought.

* * *

He's keeping up.

Adel smiled broadly and thrust out her sword. Their blades met. The faster she became, the more feints she mixed in, the more killing blows she drove forward, the more he collided head-on with all of it and followed her.

This brat was growing.

That sensation made Adel burn with impatience.

Like watching a dragon hatch from its egg, or else... like watching the first sprout unfurl its seed leaves.

Over the long years, the few disciples she had raised had always been like this.

How radiant was that first step taken by things that grew, by things that developed.

How beautiful was that courage, that will reaching toward a new horizon they had never known and never even dared imagine.

Ivan's swordsmanship resembled Adel's. That was only natural. He had good eyes. He was the sort of brat who could imitate her swordsmanship, grasp it in an instant, and use it exactly as it was.

And so, in this moment.

-Kaaang!!!

Whenever swordsmanship she did not know burst out in fragments, a deeper smile spread across Adel's lips.

That man who was not a knight but a soldier, who had thought of himself as nothing more than a weapon.

That man who had repeated only input and output like a precise magitech device.

Now, at the sight of him taking a step on his own and walking his own path, Adel was trembling.

"Do you see it? John, do you see this too?"

She knew he would not hear. Their battle had already passed beyond the realm where conversation could exist within the instant of perception.

At this moment, the only conversation between the two of them was the clash of steel and the slow-following peal of impact.

And yet now, while their swords were colliding, while sword and sword met again and again.

Adel believed, through the conversation of steel, that he was feeling the same thing she was.

"That is the road that leads to the end of martial skill!"

* * *

All the many senses abandoned in the process of honing his combat instincts had created a strange synesthesia.

The falling petals came to him as snow, and the muffled cheering as the sound of a cutting wind.

The stadium beneath a clear sky vanished, and before long the two of them were standing at the edge of the Northern Front, facing one another and trading blows.

"You idiot."

Adel drew her sword down and laughed. Her voice carried a light rebuke, yet beneath it lay immense satisfaction.

"Were you not terribly late? John, if you understood it the moment you saw it, then the moment you realized it, this was where you should have arrived."

"My apologies."

A faint smile had risen at the corners of Ivan's lips as well.

Locking his chipped sword against Adel's, he stepped toward her.

"What can I do? My talent falls short."

"Even now?"

"From here on, I'll have to find out."

"That is enough."

Clang, the steel sword, long since pushed beyond the limits of its durability, snapped and flew away. Ivan let go of it without regret.

This was a battlefield. Around them, the ground was thick with corpses and discarded weapons.

Ivan had no trouble plucking up an axe from among them.

"What have you taken up?"

"An axe. Seventy-three centimeters, blade width twelve centimeters. It weighs a little under two kilograms."

"A nimble, sturdy weapon. Come."

There was no need for an answer. Ivan's assault changed. Unlike a sword, an axe was not a weapon that drew lines.

Every strike converged into curves. It was fierce power focused on nothing but cutting and splitting.

And every one of those assaults turned into a long rotation beneath Adel's blade, like a storm striking land.

"So that is Einar's way."

"Yes."

"What next?"

"Spear and shield."

Ivan threw the axe, then the instant he drew her eyes away, swept the ground and snatched up his next armament. A short infantry spear, and a round shield scarred by a long gouge.

Once more, the nature of his assault changed. He marked a point, swept with the shield, then marked another point, every blow solid yet sharp.

"So this is Gilles Ver's. You learned it well. It is troublesome to face."

"Do you have another?"

He did. Instead of answering, Ivan took up a dagger. He imitated Enrika's method of attack, fast, secretive, and lethal.

A limit he had thought he could never accelerate past suddenly broke loose with a clack, like interlocking chains snapping free. Yes, so a person could move even faster from here. It was a new realization.

He opened that horizon, then moved to the next weapon. Then the one after that.

A mace, a poleaxe, a longsword and dagger, sometimes mixing in shots, sometimes throwing knives.

By the time he had wrung out the last weapon left in his head, Ivan had stopped right before Adel.

"So this is your homeland, John."

"..."

"This is the only homeland you can now call to mind. In a human's short life, you filled too many years with the battlefield. The things you still cling to because you cannot let them go, you call this place your homeland."

"..."

"I will not call your Ideal a homeland, John. At least I will not. Your will is never a homeland."

Adel smiled as she brushed a petal from Ivan's hair.

"I will call it memory. Not something you failed to let go of, but something piled up together with you. Leave your homeland for later. The place you will one day reach and settle in, where you can finally put down all your burdens and rest, only then will I tell you that you have arrived home. So..."

Time passed.

Petals fluttered, and countless sword marks had been carved across the stadium floor, lined up like an abstract painting.

Adel quietly looked at Ivan standing there in silence, then lifted her eyes to the sky.

It was a clear day. The summer sun was shining down on them.

Adel squeezed her one remaining eye shut and whispered softly.

"Sir Beolgreen. I must refuse your request."

Then, without regret, she threw away the sword still in her hand. She turned in a circle and bowed her head deeply to the stunned crowd.

"I, Edelplat Coenwulf of the Kallion Privy Council, admit defeat. By the Lord's grace, I offer my respect to the victor."

She walked lightly out of the stadium. When the audience finally shook off their shock and leaped to their feet shouting, the stadium thundered behind her like an earthquake.

[T-The winner is!! Ivan Petrovich Yermof of Viscount Yermof's house!!]

Along with that shocked announcement.

Thump, and beneath it came a lower, smaller sound. The sound of something heavy collapsing.

Yes, rest easy. It was worth that much.

Smiling, Adel resumed the steps she had paused and left the tournament corridor behind.

* * *

"Are you awake?! Vanka, do you recognize me?!"

"Yes, Your Highness."

The moment Ivan opened his eyes, Elizaveta lunged in and grabbed him by the collar. He stared up at her blankly.

Then he turned his gaze and quickly checked his surroundings. A sickroom. Late at night.

The presences around them were... attendant guards, most likely.

Only then did Ivan relax and lie back down.

"What happened to the match?"

"You... do not remember?"

"No, regrettably."

All he remembered was swinging a sword while nearly lost to oblivion. He had a vague memory that he had heard something deeply embarrassing, but it was hard to recall exactly what it had been.

His muscles were screaming. So were the joints in every limb, and even the tendons that had been squeezed to their limit and gone stiff.

The nerve network accelerated with mana felt overloaded to the point of snapping apart. The aftereffects were almost as severe as when he had fought the Seven Dragon Generals. Ivan let out a dry chuckle.

She had been that strong an opponent.

Strong enough that even if he had lost, not even regret would have remained.

"You won. Vanka, you won."

And so it took Ivan time to understand Elizaveta's words. Uncharacteristically for him, he had to ask again.

"I beat Adel...?"

"Hehe, yes. Vanka. You won."

"Was the result... sufficiently overwhelming?"

Only then did Elizaveta realize just how absurd the order she had given Ivan had been. Good heavens, had she really ordered someone fighting the strongest among the elves to win overwhelmingly?

How was that any different from handing the Annihilation Unit a death sentence back then?

Elizaveta forced back the tears surging up and spoke in a voice that trembled with emotion.

"Yes. Vanka. Your might was... sufficiently overwhelming. To all of us. To everyone. I swear it, you are the pride of this royal family."

"That is enough."

Ivan nodded and pushed himself upright. Ignoring the muscles and bones screaming at him not to overdo it. He slowly straightened his clothes.

"Vanka...?"

"My apologies, but my work is not yet finished, Your Highness. Was there anything Dmitry or Pavel failed to report to Your Highness?"

"Hm? What do you mean...?"

"I will take responsibility and interrogate them on that point. Now it is time to complete the plan Your Highness prepared."

"Hm? Me? The plan I prepared...?"

"That was supposed to be me marrying you, though?"

Elizaveta muttered blankly as she stared at Ivan. Expressionless, Ivan finished putting on his coat and stood up.

He looked so composed that it was hard to believe he had been lying in bed only moments ago.

"W-Wait. Where are you going? What more could you possibly do in that condition?"

"I will follow the words Your Highness spoke during inspections of the Annihilation Unit."

"What...?!"

The speeches she had given during inspections of the Annihilation Unit...?

Elizaveta was a sufficiently intelligent person. As easily as though it had happened yesterday, she recalled ten years ago.

If they were words she had often said while inspecting the Annihilation Unit...

-You are the pride of Krasilov!

No, not that.

-Our nation believes in you!!

Not that either.

It had been something a little more like what an adolescent brat would say...!

-Only death shall stop your holy war!

Ah.

Damn it.

Elizaveta grabbed her forehead and bowed her head. Right, she had said that too. At the time, it had looked genuinely cool to her.

So if one took those words exactly as they were, and thought about them in reverse.

Unless he died, the operation would not stop. That was what Ivan meant now.

"T-The final?! What about the final? If you don't take care of your body, how are you supposed to bring me another overwhelming victory in the final?!"

"There is no need to go as far as the final, Your Highness."

Ivan stood and soothed Elizaveta with the patience of an adult.

Watching his back as he left, Elizaveta thumped her chest and groaned.

"Idiot... you have to win the championship to claim the prize...."

* * *

After leaving the sickroom and walking down the corridor, Ivan stopped when he saw a shadow fidgeting at the far end.

"Dmitry."

"Yes, Senior!"

The shadow waved a hand briskly.

Ivan resumed walking and passed by him. Dmitry fell in behind him.

"Any contact?"

"Just as you expected, Senior, yes. Two invitations, one high-grade healing potion somebody tampered with, and one bastard posing as a priest from Tilles."

"And Pavel?"

"That old man's lying in wait at the strike point."

"It is not too late yet."

Ivan crooked a finger. Dmitry quickly placed a fine envelope into his hand. It was an invitation sealed with Duke Sheletif's crest.

"As if you'd ever be late, Senior. The timing is exactly right."

"Let's begin."

"Our way?"

Ivan nodded. Dmitry bared his teeth in a slight grin, then vanished beneath the hospital wall.

"Our way."

The Annihilation Unit's way.

* * *

Footnotes:

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