Smille, Smille (4)
'I'm angry about what?' Rian—running somewhere with his consciousness half gone—suddenly wondered.
A building rushing toward him slid into view.
He could see it, yet his mind filled with impressions that weren't his own....
'No—are these my memories?' Each time someone else's memory flashed, it hit him with jolts sharp as nerve endings.
Without even thinking about breaking through the obstacle in front of him, Rian crashed into it, still in a running posture.
'Where am I going?'
According to Nikke's memories, the Genocide Team should have been taken to the mansion of the magnate Miguel.
Jinma Faust, Ilhwa's liquor, a Vampire Lord, and another Lord who had likely already awakened.
"Zenia."
The instant he said her name, a voice—like a shout from the edge of the universe—exploded.
"Smille."
Bang! Bang bang!
Walls crumbling like brittle crackers vanished, and the magnate Miguel's mansion stood before him.
From that moment his thoughts leapt ten thousand years forward and settled him in some corner of heaven.
'Ozent.'
Long ago there had been a swordsman—timid, self-centered, and touchy.
He hadn't saved the world or caused any epoch-making event. Yet—
'What do you rage about?'
Those in heaven who had endured over ten thousand years remembered that swordsman this way.
Yaksha.
Late at night, Ozent entered the training hall where his clan practiced swordsmanship.
"Hoo. Hoo."
Every rasping breath made the candle flames that lit the room tremble as if they might snuff out.
'Hold. Just hold. Endure it.'
What is anger?
It was a blaze rising from the heart that melted mind and body together, mixing them like molten metal in a furnace.
"Aaah?…!"
His clenched teeth split apart as he wanted, with all his might, to scream.
'Swordsmanship.'
Ozent needed somewhere to run.
In a heart that felt like a hell walled in by flames, there had to be a single escape.
'Become the best.'
No one told him to, but he thought that if he reached the pinnacle of the sword, Smille might somehow come to him.
'Thinking such delusions is why people call me pervy around Smille.'
He didn't care.
'Take ten steps. Then it will be alright.'
Ozent counted the ten steps before him with his eyes and began to walk slowly.
He was moving, yet even after ten minutes his soles had not left the ground.
'Slow. As slow as possible.'
To anyone watching from the side he would have seemed to be standing still, but Ozent felt innumerable movements across his whole body.
'It disassembles endlessly.'
His nerves sheared into fragments; he could feel air particles brush his skin.
'It's the universe.'
Only what's contained within the body is mine, and therefore I am infinitely free.
"Oppa?"
Smille, who had come to the training hall, pushed the door open a crack.
'Smille.'
His keen senses picked her up, but the thunderous speed of his nerves swept him beyond memory's reach.
Since it was routine, Smille sat in a corner of the hall and watched her brother.
'What kind of training is that?'
Unlike the clan's other swordsmen, Ozent's training bored people so much they often went home tired of watching.
But today she had something she absolutely had to say, so Smille waited patiently.
Within half an hour drowsiness overcame her, and she nodded off into a deep sleep.
"Hm?"
When she woke, dawn birds were singing outside the hall.
Disconnected memories clicked back into place, and she looked around—but Ozent was gone.
"Wow."
She turned her head and saw him: Ozent had taken those ten steps and now stood upright with his feet together.
"Oppa."
She'd thought he was merely standing, but he was moving to reach perfect stillness.
'Stop.'
He had never stopped during those ten steps, so the acceleration was beyond human measure.
'Stop.'
Controlling that in the body was as difficult as trying to sense the speed of light.
As a candle flame was pressed from top to bottom and went out, Smille swallowed.
Perfect stillness.
Her brain couldn't analyze it, but her eyes were clearly seeing it.
"Smille."
Ozent turned his head.
"What's wrong?"
Dazed, Smille gathered herself and stood.
"Ah, I have something to tell you." She already knew what she wanted to say—and what she wanted to hear.
"It's morning now. Let's do it later."
He felt pathetic—unable to let her go, unable to hold her either.
"Fine. But if you won't say it now, promise you'll never say it."
She turned and looked at him with anger in her eyes, unusually fierce.
"You have something to tell me, right? The Mountain clan will be here soon. If not now, you might regret it your whole life."
She was probably right.
"I don't know why you've been cold to me lately. It started after the engagement with the Mountain clan was arranged."
"Smille, I—"
"You don't want me to marry?"
His heart dropped.
"That can't be. The River clan and the Mountain clan have cooperated for generations. This is an important match."
"I'm talking about you right now. You've got objections to this wedding. Want me to guess?"
Ozent's face went pale.
"Oppa, maybe—"
As his head swam with nervousness, Smille put her hand on her hip and said bluntly,
"I'm worried I'll have no one to play with after I marry?"
"What?"
A cold sweat crept across him.
"You're not sociable and have no friends. That's why you want to leave."
The tension in the room dissolved into hurt.
'What did I expect?'
Had he secretly hoped for some devastating blow that would topple the fragile balance?
"That's not it."
Just as a wheezy answer tried to escape him, Damian opened the training hall door.
"So you were here."
Ozent felt guilty.
"Huh? Father? You're up already?"
Damian looked at the siblings with mixed emotions and exhaled.
"The Mountain clan will arrive. We must hold the pre-wedding rites, so come home quickly."
Smille watched Damian walk away, then glanced at Ozent as if urging him to speak.
Her eyes begged him to hurry, but after hearing Damian's sigh, Ozent simply closed his mouth.
"I'll go in."
Smille left; Ozent shut the hall door and squeezed his eyes shut.
'Slow. Slower.'
If he became the best—if there was nowhere left to climb—maybe, miraculously, Smille would understand his heart.
'Get stronger. That's all.'
It was Ozent's only way of fighting the world.
The Mountain clan arrived.
There was no superiority between clans, but tradition called for the groom's party to stay seven days at the bride's home to build harmony. The River and Mountain clans traded often, so most faces were familiar.
But Ozent, who always hid away to train, was seeing Smille's fiancé Leard for the first time.
A hulking frame and a broad southern face.
Laughing heartily even with strangers, he was the archetype of the Mountain clansman.
'Tch. What's so great about a guy like that?'
If he'd been outright terrible, Ozent might have spoken, but he blamed everything on politics.
'They're sacrificing Smille.'
Smille's temperament was calm and wide like a great river; no matter what happened, her heart did not waver.
It was something Ozent could never have—perhaps he even revered her for it.
'This marriage is nonsense.'
Seeing Smille smile as she talked with Leard twisted him further inside.
"By the way, where is your brother?"
Leard looked around, noticed Ozent's sour expression, and came over.
"So you're Smille's brother I've only heard of. Nice to meet you. I'm Leard of the Mountain clan."
Ozent wanted to swat away the offered hand, but he couldn't move under the gaze of the gathered clans.
"Nice to meet you."
"I hear you're the supreme warrior. When you have time, let's spar."
Ozent replied coldly.
"That won't be possible. I'm leaving on a long journey soon."
"A journey? Surely you're not going to Purgatory?"
"Excuse me."
Leard glanced at the River clan in confusion, but showed no real interest.
"What? He's your brother?"
Leard judged Ozent like this: "Totally a loser, huh?"
Aside from Ozent's coldness, the pre-wedding rites were cheerful.
Plentiful food from mountain and river, cups passed around—everyone was merry and tipsy in the early evening.
"Hahaha! Did I not tell you I killed three mountain-king beasts at once?"
As the father sending off his daughter, Damian heartily endorsed Leard's tales of valor.
"Impressive. Truly befits the strongest warrior of the Mountain clan."
"That's one thing, but—"
Downing his bowl of wine, Leard turned his gaze to Ozent, who sat sulking at the edge.
Whether he listened or not, Ozent just sat there like a sulky girl, staring at the ground.
'What a hateful temperament. Well, he isn't even my blood...'
If he was bound for Purgatory anyway, teaching him a man's gallantry might be amusing.
"Has your brother ever fought a mountain-king beast?"
When Ozent didn't answer, Smille interjected.
"He's really strong. He's a genius. A few days ago he even slew dozens of sea-lord creatures."
"Hahaha! Smille, you're praising him too much. Catching dozens of sea-lord creatures underwater? Impossible."
No human could do that.
"It's true. Oppa, right? Remember when we were swimming and you showed me—the technique that lets you fly through the sky."
"Fly through the sky?"
No one had reached that level; both Mountain and River clans stared.
"You have such a technique?"
Ozent couldn't stay silent.
"Why bother boasting?"
Even so, his answer was cold, and the mood sank.
"Oppa, seriously, what's with you—"
Leard threw his head back and laughed.
"Hahaha! What a fearsome elder brother we've got! Still better than a loser."
"Loser?"
Ozent glared, but Leard slid past like an eel.
"Whatever that means. If you have a cool technique, how about teaching me?"
Without waiting for an answer, Leard rose, took his practice sword, and walked into the center of the hall.
"You wouldn't have the brave River clan run away, would you?"
Putting a wedge into the clan's pride, Ozent finally realized his mistake.
'Damn it.' He rose slowly, gripping his wooden sword, when Damian set down his cup and called him aside.
"Ozent, come here a moment." While everyone waited for the duel of the ages, Damian drew him into shadow.
"You are to spend your life with Smille."
"I understand. I'm sorry. I'll apologize in person and make it as if nothing happened."
"Just don't kill him."
"Huh?"
Ozent, unbelieving, lifted his head and Damian patted his shoulder.
"You can beat him senseless if you must. Go on until your anger is spent—until there's nothing left in you."
It was the only courtesy a father could offer his son.
To be continued in the next volume.