"—Wolka. Why are you trying to become stronger?"
"--"
Under a hatefully clear sky, a young boy lies sprawled out on the ground, breathing heavily.
The old man sheathed his sword and used the scabbard as a walking stick, looking down at the boy from the side. Blood flowed from his forehead and the corner of his mouth, his left eye was swollen, and the old clothes he had recently received from a villager were torn in many places and stained red.
But even so, there was an unwavering light in the boy's eyes. Three years had passed since he began his training under the old man, yet the boy was still only eight years old. Sword training was out of the question; normally, at that age, he would be running around and playing innocently with his friends.
The boy was, from the old man's perspective, his son's child—in other words, his grandson.
"Wolka, what lies at the end of your path?"
When his grandson first asked him to teach him swordsmanship, the old man's heart was with his own son .atonementingredients
The son was, to put it mildly, not suited to being a warrior. Therefore, the old man quickly gave up on his son's sword, and the son never followed in his father's footsteps. The son's interests lay more in magic than swordsmanship, and he knocked on the door of
Then, during a certain academic research project, the couple ventured into a dungeon—and never returned.
I don't know exactly why my grandson, whom I took in as a memento of my deceased mother, suddenly asked me to teach him swordsmanship. But if he wanted to follow the path of the sword, I felt it was my duty to raise him to be a fine swordsman.
If the old man hadn't so quickly discarded his son's sword, and had taught him a little more about proper fighting techniques, the son might have been spared.
So I decided to raise this boy, my only remaining memento, so that he could survive even if he were left alone. I believed that this would be the least I could do to atone for my actions, since I would one day be going to the same place as my son.
I was wrong.
The old man had absolutely no idea at that time that his grandson would pour such passionate energy, almost like a fiery spirit, into his sword.
"Wolka, what are you trying to do?"
To accommodate his young grandson, whose hands weren't even developed enough to hold a sword yet, the old man started with gentle training. It was more like playing with a stick than actual training. But after about six months, the grandson suddenly bit the old man.
With such lukewarm training, you'll never get strong.
I want you to teach me more seriously.
At the time, he dismissed it as mere vanity. But in reality, the grandson's fiery spirit seemed to burn the old man's skin like a flame. "If you don't take this seriously, I'll just crush you right here," the grandson audaciously pleaded with the old man through his sword.infantyoung
So I was easily influenced, and what started as playful training with sticks gradually became more serious.
The remaining six months will be literally "training,"
The next year, the level of proficiency will be far beyond what a child could possibly achieve.
The following year was even more challenging, to the point where even adults might find it unbearable.
Occasionally, the old man's reason would intervene. —What on earth is he getting so serious about? His opponent is a child not even ten years old yet.
The old man's instincts responded: "Age doesn't matter; this guy's eyes are serious. In that case, isn't it the duty of an old man who has lived this life to respond to him?"
In fact, the grandson never cried. On the contrary , he bared his teeth and tried to bite off the old man's throat.flameHomuraeyeManako
This boy is clearly abnormal. At first, I thought he might be grieving the death of his parents, but is that really enough to keep him going for three years?
Therefore, the old man asks his grandchild:
"Wolka. Why do you wield a sword?"
"Ugh—"
My grandson managed to regain his breath and answered in a hoarse voice that was barely audible.
"It's... decided. There's a sword I want to possess...!"
"...Not that again."
The old man sighed. It was the sword his grandson was practicing, constantly experimenting in the few spare moments between his training. Drawing the sword from its sheath and slashing in the process—a mysterious technique that, when put into words, is so simple that it's questionable whether it should even be called "swordsmanship."
"I've told you this many times, but that's not proper swordsmanship at all. A sword that can only be used while sheathed is practically useless. It might be useful for a surprise attack at the beginning, but it's rare for monsters to attack alone. Are you going to sheathe your sword every time an enemy lunges at you? What if your hand slips and you can't sheathe it? Are you going to beg the monster to wait?"
"Uh,"
My grandchild's breathing is gradually becoming more regular.
"I know that."
He spat it out.
"Even I don't know if this is something I can actually use in a real fight. ...It's not about logic. I'm going to master it because I want to. There's no other reason than that."
"Is that really all there is to it? Is that all it takes for you to endure my training for three years? You must have noticed that my training is no longer ordinary. Is that sword really worth it?"
"be"
Immediate answer.
"I'm in love with that sword."
"..."
A defiant smile smirked on the grandson's mouth, which was oozing with blood.
"I know it's not something you can achieve with just ordinary determination. If you do it the usual way, you'll end up like an old man like you by the time you get there. ...That's why I'm saying, please teach me seriously."
Like biting off the old man's throat.
"I've decided I'm going to give you a taste of your own medicine with that sword. I won't let you get away with it by just dying and running away."
"...Hmph."
The old man scoffed again, but in reality, he was laughing because he found it incredibly amusing.
That's quite an unexpected answer, isn't it?term・Wait・General・the law of nature・
"You fool—"
It's far better than being subjected to tearful, flowery rhetoric about avenging one's parents or protecting what one cherishes.
The old man was certain—this boy was a man driven mad by the sword.
For a sword technique that seems like a delusion, whose origins are unclear and whose practical use in actual combat is questionable, this boy is already determined to dedicate his life to it.
He's not sane at all.
But it has to be that way. Otherwise, there's no point in raising them when their lives are short.
At first, it was an act of atonement. I thought that raising my grandson to be a responsible adult was the least I could do to fulfill my responsibility for having once dismissed my own son's talent.
"Very well. ...Then from here on, I'll be training you."Small・death・murder・vinegar・Tsu・too・the law of nature・in・
"...teeth?"
" If I continue training like this, I'll die much sooner."raw・warm・stomach・
I'm done with this.
My son's only memento. My only grandchild. I'm putting an end to treating him through such preconceived notions.
I'll risk the rest of my life .
"Four more years. Within four years. —Show me the sword you've fallen in love with before I die."
"...You damn old geezer...!!"
If I lose my life along the way, then so be it. In that case, I will atone for the sin of ruining my grandchild's life forever in the depths of hell.
No—no matter what the outcome, I don't mind if my destination is hell.
that's why,
"—Now stand up, let's continue!!"
"Yes...!!"
I wanted to see it while I was still alive.
This utter fool will unleash an unprecedented flash of swordsmanship.
/
When I realized that this was a classic fantasy world of swords and magic straight out of a manga—and I genuinely believed that at the time—my life's goal was immediately clear.
That's right, let's practice Iaido (Japanese sword drawing).
It's incredibly foolish, but men, no matter how old they get, love swords. I was no exception; in my previous life, I was one of those healthy, perfectly normal middle school boys with a case of "chuunibyou" (eighth-grade syndrome). I bought a wooden sword as a souvenir from a school trip, much to my parents' dismay, and I'd go around the garden swinging it around, making noises like "Shubah!" and "Zubah!", earning disapproving looks from my sister.
I've lost count of how many times I've been captivated by the sword techniques used by the protagonists in manga and video games, and fantasized about using those same techniques myself.
Japan, the land of the samurai. I think the yearning for the sword is like an instinct etched into the genes of Japanese men.
So when I realized this was a fantasy world, and learned that superhuman martial arts that were impossible in my previous life were possible here, the first thing I thought was this:
—In this world, I'd like to create 'Iai,' a form of swordsmanship that can only exist in fiction.
Could it be possible to realize the art of "sword drawing," which is a bundle of mystery and romance?
He holds his sword loosely in a half-turned stance with the sword still sheathed, and the moment he draws it, only a flash of light appears, and as soon as he sheathes it, his opponent is cut in two with no way to defend themselves—I think that's incredibly cool. I admire it. It gives me chills. Long live Japanese Iai!
That's why I decided to do it. Since I've come to a fantasy world anyway, I might as well aim for that sword I dreamed of that day. If I could actually make that sword, which only existed in anime, games, and manga, a reality—just imagining it is enough to get me going .Ta・Gi・ru・
Ultimately, that was the starting point for me as a swordsman.
"――――――......"
Ah—even though I have lost an eye and a leg, when I draw my sword slowly like this, my mind becomes clear.
A day had passed since I received my prosthetic leg, and I could walk reasonably well, so I asked my master if I could swing my sword. I just wanted to try cutting a stationary target once.
On the way back to the holy city, there's no guarantee I won't end up fighting monsters or < >. I thought I needed to see how far I could wield a sword with this prosthetic leg.outlawRaffian
...But that was just a pretense; the truth is, I just wanted to swing my sword.
At the very edge of the garden, directly in front of me , was a clay figure created by my master using magic. That was all I could see. My masters and the others, holding their breath and praying in a safe place where there was no chance of my sword reaching them, were no longer even on my radar.Holy ChurchKriscles
That old man trained me so hard I almost died, and before I knew it, I had become a swordsman through and through. At first, I would have been satisfied if I could even mimic the form of sword drawing, but before I knew it, I was striving to reach the boundless heights of swordsmanship.
That's why even when I'm confined to bed, I can't relax unless I move my body.
If you practice your swing, you can work up a refreshing sweat,
When I hold a sword, I feel truly alive.
...I guess I have no choice but to admit it.
I have an inescapable love for swords.
It was a Talwar, almost indistinguishable from a Japanese katana, given to me by my grandfather as his final parting gift. I must have used it so much in that life-or-death battle against the Grim Reaper, yet it still sits in my hand without a single chip on the blade.
"Uh..."
Oh no.
It feels like a lot of things are about to overflow.
I lost an eye and a leg, and my future as a swordsman was cut short, but I thought it was a small price to pay since I had managed to reverse that bad ending. I wasn't just pretending; that's what I truly believed deep down at the time.
That's what I thought—
I don't want to give up.
I still don't want to give up.
After nearly ten years of practicing swordsmanship, it had only been a few years since I finally mastered a drawing technique that I was satisfied with. Only a few years had passed. I still had so much more to go. I thought I would continue to pursue my ideal swordsmanship and climb to even greater heights.
No good.
It was bound to fail.
There was no way I wouldn't have regrets, having it end halfway through like this.
"Wolka...? Are you alright...?"
My consciousness resurfaced at my master's call. I saw his face, clenched in pain, looking as if it were about to burst.
It's the same for Yuritia and Anze. Even Atoli seems speechless, her lips pressed together.
That was completely seen through... I think. Damn it, what an idiot. I really just wanted to try it out, I didn't mean for it to turn out like this.
I exhale sharply and shift my focus. For now, I just need to fulfill my original purpose. How far can I swing a sword with this prosthetic leg? If I can't give up on the sword, then all the more reason to find out, as it will help me decide on my future course of action.
"--..."
I haven't been swinging my sword relentlessly for ten years for nothing. Once I made that decision, my mind became calm and clear once again. The presence of my masters vanished from my consciousness, and all my concentration was focused solely on the clay figure before me and the single sword I held in my stance.
With my right foot forward and my left foot back—this stance, based on my right side—nearly half of my vision is obscured by the blindness in my right eye. Unless I consciously turn my head, I can barely see even a clay figure. But that doesn't matter. I plant my prosthetic leg firmly on the ground. I lower my center of gravity slightly, take a quiet, deep breath,
"――――――......"
Ah... somehow I feel like I can remember a little bit.
It felt as if I were one with the sword.
This must be a memory from when I fought the "Death-Taker." Even though my mind has forgotten, my body remembers it so vividly. It's etched into my memory.
It feels like we're stepping into a completely different realm than before.
That's right. Even back then, I was probably like this—
"!!"
He released it.
I heard the sound of something snapping.
My vision flipped upside down, and I was instantly unable to see anything.
"Ouch..."
For a moment, my consciousness was interrupted, and the next thing I saw was a vast expanse of blue sky.
It seems I fell backwards. It happened so suddenly, and I was in the middle of drawing my sword, so I couldn't break my fall at all.
"Wolka!! Wolkaaa!!"
"Senpai!!"
"Wolka...!!"
"Lord Wolka...!!"
As I groaned from a slight headache, everyone rushed over to me, making a fuss. They were all pale, and my master was practically in tears.
"A-Are you hurt?! Are you hurt?! Wolka!!"
"...It's okay, it's going to be alright."
Luckily, I didn't let go of my sword, so I was fine except for bumping my head and back a little. I raised my left hand in response while still lying on the ground, and my master slumped down, took my hand, and began sniffling and crying. Well, he didn't have to make such a big fuss...
But Yuritia, Atori, and Anze all have terrible expressions on their faces. No, I'm exaggerating. Did they all get depressed?
Or rather, why did I even fall backward in the first place? I had my prosthetic leg firmly planted, so there's no way I could have slipped and fallen.
"......what happenned?"
I looked at his left foot and immediately knew the cause.
I understood, but my brain couldn't quite grasp it for a while.
The prosthetic leg was broken.
The joint cracked and shattered, and the support was snapped in two
I see, I see, if the prosthetic leg that's supposed to support me when I draw my sword breaks, I'll lose my balance and fall backward. But why would it suddenly break? It's brand new, I just received it yesterday—no, that can't be.
It was Yuritia who gave the answer, her voice trembling.
"S-senpai... my prosthetic leg... couldn't withstand your drawing of the sword..."
"..."
What makes my swordsmanship possible is the accumulated practice of precisely manipulating the sword and the intense < > that I can instantly unleash.body strengtheningStrength
I had never really thought about it until now.
If the "physical enhancement" is unleashed with an intensity that could be considered excessive, then an extraordinary load must be placed on the lower body—especially the supporting leg that holds the stance.
Up until now, the only reason there haven't been any problems is because the system has been reinforced to withstand the load.
Prosthetic legs do not involve "physical enhancement."
Since magic itself cannot pass through it in the first place, it lacks the strength to withstand the load—
"...Hahaha"
Well, it's just a prosthetic leg for everyday use.
I didn't expect it to work from the start. After all, it looked almost like a stick had been attached to my leg. The prosthetic leg looked like it would break easily, and that's exactly what happened. I wasn't expecting anything, so it's not a disheartening result at all.
Besides, just because this prosthetic leg didn't work doesn't mean all possibilities are closed. There must be a model with even greater strength out there—ah, but if it can't be reinforced with magic anyway—if it's a prosthetic leg made from a material that conducts magic—that would be a rare material like mithril—so all I have to do is get my hands on it—but to get it I'd have to ask my masters—how can I possibly ask them for that—it would be selfish of me to involve them that much—can you even make a prosthetic leg out of mithril in the first place—what's the point of being so attached to the sword then—
Yes, this was just as expected.
I didn't expect anything from the start.
There's no need to be so worried. It's just that one long shot option, which was a long shot, has failed as expected. There are still plenty of other possibilities—
"Ah
But why?
I wonder why I'm so shocked...
/
—Of course, Wolka's opinion that there's no need to take it that seriously isn't wrong.
His prosthetic leg is undoubtedly for everyday use and is not designed for strenuous activities like running or jumping. Using "Body Enhancement" on it is completely out of the question. If the prosthetic leg's maker were here, he would be furious and tell him to tell them from the beginning if he intended to use it that way.
This is a perfectly natural consequence, and it would be completely premature to lament that this alone means one can no longer use sword drawing techniques.
However, the loss of an eye and a leg, which he had considered a small price to pay for protecting his comrades, was enough to make Walka understand the true meaning it held for him.
Wolka is a young adventurer, barely seventeen years old, but it has already been ten years since he first picked up a sword. He has dedicated more than half of his life to the sword, accumulating grueling training since childhood.
Even if, after a life-or-death battle with the "Death-Taker," his swordsmanship had reached a new level.
If you can't even swing a sword, it's meaningless in the first place.
Therefore, it's understandable that one might feel as if all the hard work and dedication they've put in is crumbling beneath their feet, and end up giving up.
However, this was the only moment Wolka showed weakness. This was largely due to the performance of his prosthetic leg, and it didn't mean he was completely unable to use his swordsmanship anymore. Soon after, he changed his mind, and after being thoroughly scolded by the old nun for destroying his prosthetic leg in just two days, he began to prioritize returning to the Holy City above all else.In the endHikkyo
For Wolka, it was even a good opportunity to reaffirm his feelings about swordsmanship.
That was all there was to the day.
—A small, fleeting moment of weakness that Wolka let out.
He was left with a heavy heart and regret, unable to even swing his sword once.
Except for the fact that I wonder how I appeared to my friends.
Tips for "Wolka":
The protagonist realizes he can't give up the sword. Up until this day, he genuinely believed that losing an eye or a leg was a small price to pay if it meant protecting his comrades.
However, it seems he not only destroyed his prosthetic leg but also burned the morale of his comrades.