[517] The Nameless Swordsman (1)
The borderlands between the Vaiden and Peris kingdoms were dangerous — even after a truce, skirmishes flared up constantly.
But for a swordsman serving as a squire, it was exactly the kind of place to gain real combat experience.
Rafne Village, a little closer to Vaiden on the frontier.
One swordsman crossed the village gate.
His body combined speed and toughness, proving his muscles weren't mere ornamentation, and the massive straight sword strapped to his back confirmed it.
He was Ojent Rian, a squire who had dropped out of the Kaizen Swordsmanship School to wander the world and learn on the battlefield.
"Damn it…"
A sound like metal scraping escaped his utterly spent throat.
He had roamed the war-torn lands, taken work with Vaiden's mercenaries, and fought in skirmishes against Peris soldiers.
But the whole thing had been an attrition scheme secretly arranged by the two regional governors to secure subsidies, and most of the hired mercenaries had been quietly eliminated to silence them.
Rian had even been attacked by those who should've been his allies, yet he'd somehow survived and staggered to this village.
'If I'd been a bit more careful…'
Then again, that was the mercenary life.
The Parrot Mercenary Company he'd met in Galliant had been dragged into nobles' power struggles and reduced to banditry, hadn't they?
'I'm not going to beg for food here either.'
One of the hardships of war was that even after leaving the battlefield, there was nowhere decent to rest.
This village was no different — there wasn't even a market, not even scraps of food on the ground.
Many houses had collapsed roofs and lay unrepaired, and the people's faces had been drained of color.
'Then I'll have to cross the mountain tonight.'
There would be no one to feed Rian.
If he threatened them with his sword some might hand over food, but he'd seen too many squires turned thieves after wandering the world to count on that.
"Huff! Huff!"
Suddenly a fever rose in his head and the world spun.
The arrow wound in his flank, received in battle, began to throb fiercely.
He'd done emergency care, but the infection hadn't been fully quelled, and having eaten nothing for days, his body was at its limit.
Thud!
Rian squeezed out his last strength, leaned his back against a roadside wall, and collapsed.
"Huuuu!"
The breath that poured from him felt like it could melt his teeth.
"Am I going to die?"
When he'd stormed out, boasting to Klump, he hadn't realized one thing.
Bad things don't stop on their own.
Fatigue, pain, fear, despair — every force that breaks a person tormented him.
There was no instructor to say, "That's enough," and halt the suffering.
The world offered only this: if you can't endure it, die.
'Well, that's not so bad either.'
Rian couldn't remember how he'd escaped the battlefield.
All that remained was a cinematic image of himself, blood-splattered and roaring, tearing through the encirclement of the two kingdoms' soldiers.
'Dying would be an acceptable choice.'
He smiled without meaning to — not because it was funny, but to check if he still could.
For the first time in endless despair, he wanted to run away from his life.
'I'm not afraid of death.'
He only feared being buried as a skeleton that had achieved nothing.
"Shirone… Tess…"
Rian blinked slowly. Each time his eyelids closed, his vision narrowed by half.
"Sorry…"
"Sir, are you okay?"
From the edge of his fading consciousness came the voice of a young girl.
"Are you all right? Try to snap out of it."
The narrowed view, as if a hole had been poked in black paper, filled with the girl's face. That was Rian's last memory.
* * *
-Not yet. But it should be possible.
-Smille. Smille.
-It's risky, but worth trying.
-Smille. Smille.
"Ugh!"
Rian shot upright, eyes wide open.
He couldn't recall the dream, but the low, repetitive whisper still clung to his ears like an auditory hallucination.
"Godsdamn it!"
Whenever those voices appeared in a dream, profanity escaped him without fail.
Was he going mad?
He forced himself to ignore the thought.
'What the hell is Smille?'
The only hint was a story his grandfather had told when Rian received the straight sword .
After the old man had been badly wounded fighting a bandit gang, he'd arrived in a strange village and an old man and his granddaughter had saved his life.
He didn't know what treatment he'd gotten, but while unconscious the word he'd kept hearing had been "Smille."
'Something related to an object?'
Rian stared at the propped against the wall, but unlike Armand, it offered no information.
"Huh?"
Only after that thought did he realize he didn't even know where he was.
He scrambled out of bed. The moment his hand closed on the sword's hilt, the door suddenly swung wide and an eight-year-old girl with brown hair braided into two side plaits barreled in.
"Oh? He's awake! Mom, he's awake!"
The girl called toward the doorway, and a woman in her mid-thirties followed.
Not beautiful, but in a village ravaged by war she had a composed, neat air.
"You're awake. Thank goodness."
When Rian registered that the first faces he saw were the girl and the woman and that their eyes and tone held no hostility, he relaxed.
"Where is this place?"
"A village belonging to the Vaiden Kingdom."
Living in wartime, she instinctively gave friend-or-foe information first.
"Oh, a village…"
Now he remembered. A girl had spoken to him just before he lost consciousness.
"But how did you bring me here?"
"You don't remember, do you? I came in holding my daughter's hand. You collapsed as soon as you came through the door, of course."
Had that happened?
A bitter feeling rose as he realized he'd wanted to live after all.
"Come out. I've prepared a meal."
When the woman led her daughter away, Rian inspected his bandaged body.
The arrow wound was completely healed.
He couldn't use Skima, so such rapid recovery should've been impossible, but he'd become used to it.
Whenever those voices appeared in his dreams, his wounds always healed cleanly.
'Maybe my grandfather dreamed, too?'
Rian, feeling awkward about accepting help without proper thanks, hurried outside.
The house was small; stepping out the door revealed the living room.
The girl sat at a worn round table while the woman ladled soup into bowls.
"Thank you. You saved my life."
Rian sat by the girl and offered his thanks. The woman shook her head.
"I only disinfected the wound and put on some medicine. It was incredible, though — I'd never seen a wound close up like that before. Must be some kind of Skima, right?"
Even without sword knowledge, life on the battlefield taught people certain words.
"Ah, yes. Well… something like that."
Rian didn't feel the need to explain a phenomenon he didn't understand himself.
"But mister, you're a mercenary, right? What's your name?"
"Me? Rian. And you are?"
When you work rough jobs, you often soil the family name, so squires rarely give their surnames.
"Rian? Hm, Rian."
The girl kept murmuring his name, then said with a slightly disappointed look, "I don't know him. Mister, you must not be a famous mercenary. Ah, my name's Riz."
Rian felt a sting.
He'd never expected his name to be known in some tiny village, but hearing it from a child left him oddly uneasy.
"But kiddo, don't call me mister. I'm only nineteen."
Riz shrugged.
"I know. All the misters say that. They say they're teenagers at heart."
"..."
Rian stared in disbelief. The woman brought a bowl of soup and sat opposite him.
"Don't tease the big brother like that. Sorry—Riz is just playing."
"But she called me a runt!"
Ignoring her daughter, the woman smiled and sat down.
"You've been traveling far, yet you haven't grown much of a beard. Riz is still young, after all."
"But that means my face is—"
The woman covered her mouth and chuckled.
"Just a joke. You look like a fresh-faced, handsome young man."
"Ha ha, I didn't come here for compliments…"
Rian flushed and looked down, aware of the mother and daughter's amused gazes. The playfulness seemed hereditary.
"Well then, I'll eat."
He cut to the chase and ravenously dug into the soup.
To be honest, he would've been grateful even if a few bugs were in it.
After he'd finished, the woman offered her hand and introduced herself.
"I'm Silvia. This is my daughter, Riz."
Riz stuck out her tongue at Rian when he met her eyes.
"And your husband…?"
"He's dead. He left us on the battlefield three years ago."
Riz, thinking of her father, shouted with all the fervor of a child.
"I hate war! I hate those bandits who always come around!"
"Riz, what did I say? When we have guests—"
Riz ignored her mother and grabbed Rian's wrist.
"Big brother is strong, right? I saved him, so please beat up the bandits who bother Mom."
"You said I wasn't famous a minute ago?"
"It's fine. Those bandits aren't famous either. And I heard there are super-strong knights who aren't famous. You're one of those, right? You're actually super strong, aren't you? I've never seen anyone carry a sword as big as yours."
Riz's eyes were earnest.
'Is that it…?'
Her hopefulness had played a part in saving the dying Rian.
But Rian couldn't promise to help them.
One clear truth he'd learned while wandering: killing brings responsibility.
They'd helped him, yes, but whether he could shoulder the responsibility that came with choosing to kill was another matter.
'I can't stay here forever.'
"Don't worry. Riz just doesn't know the world yet. And… it's not all bad."
'Not all bad?'
Rather than comfort him, Silvia's words put him on alert.
Where had she gotten medicine for the infection?
In wartime, medicine was more valuable than anything.
And having enough food to offer a stranger right away didn't match the lifeless scene he'd seen on arrival.
'Those trashy bastards…'
Sensing something, Rian tightened his gaze and lifted his head.
"You don't mean those bandits did something to you, ma'am…?"
"Oi! Silvia!"
At that moment a drunken shout came from outside the door.
Pale Riz hid behind her mother, and Silvia's expression darkened as she rose slowly.
Bang!
A man kicked the door as if to break it and strode into the room.
Tall, with a scar across the bridge of his nose.
He was Fox, deputy leader of the Red Spear bandits.
"Where is he? The one who slept here last night! Don't tell me you hid him…!"
He scanned the house with a vicious look and stopped at the table.
This one was much younger and better-looking than he'd been told.
"Oho? So that's how it is?"