Twenty-year-old Biksul could only scratch his head in confusion. His mentor slid a hand under his clothes, closed his eyes, and continued softly:
“We’re catching up, gradually.”
“Catching up — to that person?”
Young Shasta could not help mixing disbelief into his voice. Just three days ago, Bercouli had demonstrated his crushing swordsmanship. In the instant that his mentor’s arm flew high, spurting blood, the piercing feeling that chilled him to the bone like a pillar of ice still lingered today.
“I’ll be 50 this year. Even so, I still don’t feel like I’m holding my sword in the best way, let alone swinging. I think, in five years to ten years’ time, that won’t change even after I die.”
His mentor said quietly.
“…That way, we short-lived people are unable to achieve what that immortal living for more than 200 years can do. Although it’s pretty embarrassing, even in the instant that our swords cross, I still kept it in mind. But after fleeing following a miserable defeat, I realized that this is wrong. All this time, my mentor and all the Knights in the past have endlessly challenged that man, but it wasn’t all in vain… Biksul, what is the strongest swordsmanship?”
To this sudden question, Biksul answered reflexively:
“A «Slash of Thoughtlessness».”
“Very good. Through long years of training, you unify with your sword. One strike that you don’t think of how to cut, draw, or move would be the ultimate swordsmanship. My mentor taught me this, and I have taught you the same. But… Biksul, that’s not it. There’s something stronger. I’ve realized it since I’ve been cut by that monster.”
A hint of excitement floated onto his mentor’s aged, wrinkled face. Shasta maintained his leg-folded seating position, leaned forward, and asked:
“Something stronger… That is?”
“The opposite of thoughtlessness. Firm confidence. It’s the power of will, Biksul.”
Suddenly, his mentor stood up from the wooden floor, and waved his right arm stump vigorously.
“You see. Back then, I sliced down with a right diagonal slash. It was exactly a thoughtless attack; the fastest I have ever swung my sword in my life. At that moment when I drew my sword, I already had the advantage.”
“Yes… I thought so as well.”
“But… But. Normally, my sword should’ve bounced off his defense, but he pressed my sword back, and this arm was sliced off… Can you believe it, Biksul; in that moment, his sword didn’t even touch mine!”
Shasta kept silent, and shook his head dubiously.
“H… How could this…”
“It’s the truth. It was like… the very path of the sword, was completely altered by some unseen force. It’s not a spell, nor is it the Armament Full Control Art. We can only explain it like this: my Slash of Thoughtlessness was defeated by his willpower built up with two hundred years of hard training. Because he pictured where he wanted my sword to go so intensely, it became the unchanging truth!”
Shasta was unable to immediately believe his mentor’s words.
The power of will: something amorphous like that can defeat a real, heavy, rigid sword; no matter what, that can’t be real.
It looked like that Shasta’s mentor expected this reaction. Suddenly regaining the formality in his sitting position, on the glossy black floor, he calmly ordered:
“Okay, Biksul. I’ll teach you my last sword technique. — Cut me.”
“What… What are you saying! It’s difficult for you to…”
Have lived so long; Shasta could only swallow these words. Suddenly, his mentor’s eyes flashed with a strong light.
“Since I managed to live on, there is even more necessity for you to cut me. Since I’ve been defeated by that man in one stroke, I’m no longer the strongest in your heart. As long as I live, you’re unable to battle that man on equal footing. Cut, no, kill me, and stand at the same height as him… Bercouli!!”
His mentor finished and stood, holding his right arm stump as though he was gripping a sword.
“Now, stand up! Draw your sword, Biksul!!”
Biksul cut his mentor, and ended his life.
At the same time, he realized with his body the meaning of his mentor’s words.
The invisible sword that his mentor’s severed right hand held — the sword called [will], let out intense sparks as it crossed with Shasta’s sword, and marked an eternal wound on his face.
His face stained with tears and blood, the young Shasta stood at the zenith that exceeded the «Slash of Thoughtlessness» — on the border of the «Slash of Incarnation».
Time passed — Five years ago.
Shasta finally challenged the archenemy of the Dark Knights, Integrity Knight Commander Bercouli. He was but 37 years old, but he felt that his sword had achieved the highest.
His mentor had exchanged an arm for his life, but Shasta had no intention of returning defeated. Because Shasta had no apprentice as his successor. He did not want his young apprentice to have the executioner’s burden, and bear the destiny of having his life sliced away. He decided to put his life on the line, and sever the blood-stained cycle there and then.
The sword called [will] that carried with it all determination and realization, during its first cross with Bercouli’s, was not deflected at all. But in that instant, Shasta already predicted his own loss. He did not think that he could reproduce a slash of such power.
But, as they crossed swords, Bercouli laughed roughly:
“Your swordsmanship isn’t bad. If you only have murderous intent, you will be unable to block my sword. Go back and think long and hard about the meaning behind my words, and return after five years, little boy.”
Then the Integrity Knight Commander turned and left. But Shasta didn’t know why he was unable to swing his sword towards the Knight’s back, which looked full of openings.
To understand the meaning behind Bercouli’s words, it took a very long time. But he finally understood what happened now, five years later. Then, if Shasta had swung his sword only with hatred and the intent to kill, he would have immediately been defeated. Although it was only one round, he was able to clash with him because he held a realization much heavier than murderous intent.
That was — gratitude to the mentors who put their life on the line to pass on their knowledge, and a prayer for the young one who will become his successor.
Therefore, after receiving news of the Highest Minister’s death, Shasta immediately decided to negotiate for peace. He was confident that, if the other party was Bercouli, he would definitely accept.
For the same reason—
This Emperor Vector, who suddenly descended on Obsidia and decided to wage war without saying anything else, must be cut to death by Shasta himself.
Even as he kneeled and bowed his head, Shasta was shaping out the [Incarnation] that he must load his killing Slash with.
This Emperor that left the Dark World for hundreds of years and suddenly revived was a young man with white skin and golden hair, similar to that of a Human World resident. His figure and looks were not necessarily charismatic.
But, only his extraordinarily blue eyes revealed that the Emperor was not an ordinary man. Within those eyes was a [void]. A bottomless abyss sucking in all light. This man concealed a colossal and evil hunger.
If his exercised Power of Incarnation was engulfed by the Emperor’s void, the blade would be unable to reach him.
If that happened, Dark Knight Shasta would lose his life. But, his will would likely be succeeded by someone after him.
His only regret was that he was unable to convey his determination as he did not see Lipia yesterday. She might be busy with preparation before the attack, or staying in her important [home].
If he told her his intent to slay the Emperor, she would definitely not listen and beg to join him. It was better this way.
Shasta slowly inhaled, building up.
With his hand, he quietly touched the s
word that was released from his belt and placed on the floor.
He was about 15 Mel from the throne. He only had to take two steps to reach it.
He must not let anyone notice. He must be thoughtless in drawing his sword.
Purifying and contracting his Power of Incarnation to the limit, he injected it into his sword through his fingers. Then, he emptied his body.
His left hand gripped the sword—
Just then.
The Emperor spoke nonchalantly with a sound as smooth and rigid as glass:
“Just — last night, someone infiltrated my bedroom. With a short knife concealed in their hair.”
A suppressed gasp wavered the air in the hall.
In the line of the other nine Feudal Lords to Shasta’s left, someone softly held their breath, another let out a low moan from the depths of their throat, and another shrank back into their thick robes. A few among the officers in the back made sounds as well.
Shasta was equally shocked. Maintaining his stance and style before slicing, he thought for an instant.
Besides himself, there were others who came to the conclusion of eliminating the Emperor. Unfortunately, the fact that the Emperor was still alive showed that they had failed — but which of the nine people sent out the assassin?
Not the five Demihuman generals. Passing over the Giant, Ogre, and Orc, even the shorter Goblins were unlikely to have dodged the eyes and ears of the guards and infiltrated the top floor.
If he considered the four Human generals, he could first exclude the young leader of the Fighters, Iskahn, and the leader of the Commerce and Industry Guild, Lengil. Iskahn was just a straightforward boy who purely aimed at improving his empty-handed combat to the maximum, and Lengil would love to make a lot of money out of the war.
Since the attacker had infiltrated the bedroom, the leader of the Assassin Guild, Fer Za, was the most suspicious, and he actually had a few hints for what that man was thinking, but it was puzzling that a short knife was used.
In the inner depths of dark caves, the Assassin Guild specially researched the third power apart from Dark Sorcery and Martial Arts: [Poison]. The race of Fer Za was an organization formed to survive, by those who were not gifted on Priority when it came to controlling weapons and spells. They had a unique restriction: their only allowed weapons were hidden needles and blow darts coated with poison. Short knives were not included.
In the same reasoning, the leader of the Dark Sorcerers kneeling right beside Shasta, D.I.L., would be out of the consideration. This woman with only desire for status, although she could have considered taking and raising high the Emperor’s head, becoming the dominator of the Land of Darkness, the Sorcerers under D would have used spells instead of a short knife.
Looking at it like that, the one who sent the assassin was not any one of the nine generals.
The one left — could only be himself, the Dark Knight Commander Shasta.
However, he had not the slightest memory of doing that. He had already decided, when he was going to eliminate the Emperor, he would swing his sword with his own life on the line. Of course he didn’t give an assassination order to any of his men, or even the decision that he had kept secret, not once—
No.
No…
Could it be?
After the Emperor finished his words, Shasta thought only for the blink of an eye, and noticed that his left finger on his sword grip had instantly become ice cold.
What was originally sharp, surging determination instantly transformed. Fear. Anxiety. Terror. Then — it became a certainty of impending misfortune.
Almost at the same time, Emperor Vector opened his mouth a second time:
“I don’t want to question right now, regarding the name of the one who sent the assassin. Souls that use their own power in a desire to obtain more power are excellent. If you want my head, cut me whenever my back is turned.”
The Emperor looked arrogantly at the bustling hall, and for the first time, an emotion floated onto his white face — a shallow, light smile.
“Of course, I hope that you all understand that this kind of gamble carries with it an equal price. For example… like this.”
From within his dark robes, a hand extended and made a soft gesture.
Then, set besides the throne, a small door on the wall east of Shasta opened soundlessly, and a servant girl shuffled in. She held a large silver bowl in her hands: inside was a cube-shaped object, but it was obscured with a black cloth, so it couldn’t be seen in detail.
The servant girl set the silver bowl in front of the throne, bowed her head respectfully to the Emperor, and exited through the door.
In the deafening silence, the Emperor wore a crooked smile, extended a toe, placed it against the cloth covering the bowl, and kicked it off.
Shasta, whose entire body, even his thoughts, were frozen, caught sight of —
An ice cube, as transparent as the most perfect crystal.
Sealed inside, was the forever sleeping face of his lover.
“Li…pi…”
Shasta’s lips moved soundlessly.
The coldness that enveloped his entire body disappeared, and was replaced with endlessly deep, dark emptiness in his heart.
Shasta knew that Dark Knight Lipia Zankehl was secretly running an orphanage. No matter the races, she sheltered and educated children who had lost their parents, siblings, and were about to die on the street. Shasta saw a hopeful future in Lipia’s actions.
Therefore, Shasta only told Lipia his own ideals. An endless dream in which the long-term state of war with the Human World would be broken, and a mutually supportive world in which there would be no need for constant snatching and seizing would be created.
But, his own words had driven Lipia to attempt to assassinate the Emperor, and ended in this grievous result. Although it was the Emperor who killed her — Shasta also had a hand in it.
Doubtlessly.
Although it was only for a blink of an eye, a storm of insurmountable guilt and remorse raged in Shasta’s empty-feeling chest.
Instantly, it became a black chunk of emotion.
Murderous intent.
Kill. He must kill that lightly smiling man sitting cross-legged on the throne, no matter what.
Even if he needed to put his own life, and the future of the Dark Territory on the line.
***
Now, who is that suspicious [Your Excellency]?
Gabriel watched the ten prostrated Leader Units under his eyes with a little bit of interest.
The master of the assassin woman whom she so loved. Gabriel had sucked dry all traces of the emotions that tasted of heavenly nectar, that had been released during the woman’s death: not just the yearning of the woman, he even understood the feelings that [Your Excellency] had for the woman herself — although he just analyzed the emotional patterns as data.
Therefore, he was confident that when he showed the woman’s head, the one called Your Excellency would definitely take action. He would mercilessly execute the opposing, rebellious Unit, and increase the loyalty of the rest of the Units through fear. No different from the simulation games he had played to kill time in the real world.