[451] The Beginning of Change (3)
Past midnight.
With the war against Heaven approaching, Kuan felt a dullness in his chest.
He wasn't afraid of death.
What truly terrified him was breaking.
To be remembered as a broken sword in everyone's minds, in the hearts of the living and the dead.
'I can't stay like this. I need to get stronger.'
That thought had come to him during the fight with the armored mineral-type Ringer.
Etella had held it with her yin‑yang wave, but in truth he should have split it with his own blade.
What nagged him most was Shiina.
He couldn't shake the idea that he'd failed to show his strength in front of her.
"Good work. We'll start operations tomorrow."
A door opened at the end of the corridor and Shiina stepped out.
Those in combat positions could rest, but those in charge of strategy worked through the dawn.
Kuan stared, numb, as Shiina chatted with the rebel lieutenants, a trace of laughter in her voice.
He'd thought her cold, but in business she could wear an unexpectedly warm smile.
'She's different from me.'
Dealing with people was always draining for him; beyond his childhood friend Kiyora Elise, he had no contacts. Shiina's surprising side was a small, strange pleasure.
Shiina, still smiling, met Kuan's eyes.
She raised an eyebrow as if surprised he was awake at this hour, then inclined her head in a slight, polite smile.
Kuan returned the bow.
Just as he was about to speak, Armin stepped out of the meeting room.
Kuan's relationship with Armin hadn't improved despite roaming the many hunting grounds of Purgatory, but Shiina was different.
After the trials and the endless nights of conference, the chill between the two seemed to have thawed a bit.
Though Armin was blunt with emotions, Kuan—by a swordsman's eye—could tell that Shiina's expression had been different when she looked at Armin.
There was a slight distance between them. Even that bore the look of mutual trust.
Following Armin, Shiina turned and, as if belatedly realizing, nodded to Kuan.
In that moment, he didn't want her greeting.
* * *
Kuan tossed and turned.
A nightmare of losing his Achilles tendon to Pungjang pinned him again.
"Hah! Hah!"
Back in reality, Kuan clawed at his head.
"Damn it!"
Hadn't he renounced everything? Hadn't he come to make Heaven a grave and swing his final blade?
'My resolve has dulled. This won't do.'
He strapped on his sword and went outside.
It was an hour when everyone slept, but he looked for a place people were least likely to come and, vaguely, drew his blade.
Only the sword.
He had thought he could live his whole life swinging a blade.
Some say it's simple: just swing. Cut fast, cut hard. That's all.
Kuan had no intention of making them understand.
He didn't want to prove the harsh pain in that metal, the ages of discipline, the life of endurance that only someone who'd gripped a sword could know.
A thin gust of wind cut the darkness, cleaving the air as he advanced.
His limping leg felt as heavy as a mountain, but he gritted his teeth and swung the hilt.
'Move! Move!'
No matter how he forced it, a leg without an Achilles tendon wouldn't obey.
"Damn it!"
Kuan's breathing grew ragged.
At the moment his spasming leg could no longer hold him, his body flew.
—Kuan handles a sword well.
Grasping a sword had been a simple turning point.
At first it felt like he could do anything. His imagination stretched to the extreme; his movements reached the height of strangeness.
To him the sword was dream, duty, hope—everything.
"Ughhhhh!"
As Kuan landed and spun, sharp whirlwinds swept outward.
Only the blade remained. In his hand that could hold nothing else, a single cold scrap of metal stayed.
That was why he could not let it go.
All he could do was cut; he had lived believing that alone defined his worth.
'I am a sword. Only a sword.'
The more he tried to deny it, the more a certain woman's face haunted him, and in irritation he swung the sword.
Why did the sword suddenly feel so trivial? It was the first time he'd ever felt that.
'What is this?'
The moment he became distant from the sword for the first time in his life, paradoxically he transcended a plane.
Repelling and attracting gravitic forces shuttled back and forth faster than any human hands could strike, hundreds of gravities intertwining into chaotic currents.
Rotation upon rotation, Kuan's blade whirled.
Stormlike winds shoved the atmosphere aside, air slicing air, sonic booms bursting out.
'Olipher Shiina…'
The transcendence rose without end. Still, the old thrill did not return.
The more he wanted to put down the sword he couldn't bear to let go, the more new paths for the blade opened—yet the former ecstasy remained elusive.
'Get a hold of yourself. Let go of vain hopes.'
With bleeding hands, Kuan gripped the sword.
Without his blade he was nothing.
Even that beautiful phantom smiling in the void had come to him because of his sword.
"I am a sword fiend."
He ground his teeth and advanced.
The vortex he created, tens of meters across, moved and swept the clearing.
Kuuuuuu!
The massive whirl split into hundreds of smaller spirals and spread everywhere.
Inside the shimmering compressed wind, Kuan stopped and brought his blade down.
Wheeeee!
A sword-shaped gouge was revealed in the earth.
Where the wind had vanished, the traces of the blade had scorched everything to wasteland.
"Haah…."
Kuan groaned, drained, and looked up at the sky.
The blood from his burst palm flowed down; the blade drank it.
Beyond the mountain range he could feel the first hint of dawn.
At a time when surely no one had yet opened their eyes, Kuan looked toward where Shiina slept.
That night Kuan had leapt across three planes, while Shiina—unaware of how far a man had pushed himself for her—slept peacefully.
* * *
"Tagis production is complete."
Mitgun reported to Frankwine, head of Yameng.
Only three days.
Yameng, which produced all manner of military supplies, shocked everyone by producing a large Tagis in just three days.
Frankwine drew on his cigarette and said, "They're insane. One hundred thirty‑eight Black Elixirs? What the hell are those bastards doing?"
Mitgun was equally baffled.
"Not just the number, but ordering the elixirs to be used entirely for Tagis production is baffling. With a hundred Black Elixirs, you could be the strongest even on the mainland."
Frankwine clicked his tongue.
"That's why you don't get it. That kind of math only makes sense in tens—once you go past a hundred, you're simply the strongest. Anyway, it means they've got dreams bigger than the mainland. Like me, for instance."
Mitgun hesitated, then asked, "What will you do now? Yameng's losses are heavy since Reisis died."
"If Reisis is gone, we'll take from others. Send the Tagis. No point poking the hornet's nest. Pick the capable ones and negotiate later."
"Understood."
Mitgun selected only the strongest among his subordinates and transported the Tagis to the First Rebel Command.
The rails behind Yameng's armory, set in the mountains, were used only for special cargo, and some thirty transport personnel were assigned.
Several large containers ran along the line when suddenly there was an explosion and the iron tracks tore apart.
A container derailed and toppled; Yameng's guards leapt out with superhuman speed.
"What's this? An ambush?"
"No way. Who'd be stupid enough to touch Yameng?"
The captain ordered, "Hold your positions. Protect the cargo."
The container's contents were top secret, even the transport crew didn't know what was inside.
If it was an ambusher, they were probably a fly trying to pry open a treasure chest.
"You hit the jackpot this time."
But the guards' assumptions were completely wrong.
The attackers didn't care whether the container held treasure or dung. More than that, their skill level was on another plane.
"Sorry to bother you while you were busy. We just have a small matter to discuss."
An old man walked forward slowly, one hand behind his back.
He looked competent, but the guards—Yameng's chosen elite—were puzzled.
The next moment all thirty guards tightened their gazes and raised murderous intent.
Figures appeared from the surrounding woods, not just strong but radiating the intensity of prayer.
Exactly twenty‑one.
They were Cage B team from the Tormia Mage Association, tracking Yameng to take out Gaold.
"We fight. Prepare yourselves."
At the captain's command, the guards' faces split into snarls.
Their necks thickened unnaturally and their bodies swelled to match.
Clothes tore, revealing various shades of skin—results of human experimentation turned into biological weapons.
Crocodilelike men, wolflike men, men with serpentine faces—forms varied and traits were etched across their bodies.
Aroella of Saltfire stepped forward, tilting her head as if to break a neck.
"What is this, a zoo?"
"Grrrk! How dare you attack Yameng. I'll swallow you whole, bones and all."
A man with a snake's face bared his maw and charged, followed by countless beast bodies.
Their physical abilities, boosted to Telomere Level 5 through a deal with Reisis, matched the lieutenants of the Kergol tribe.
When Aroella unleashed her saltfire, the guards scattered in all directions.
They were trained and organized, but none of Cage B team flinched.
Roche, the metal mage, sneered and stepped forward.
He was Tarban's friend but looked much younger; a red tattoo symbolizing a dragon marked his cheek.
"Iron Cutter!"
When the metal magic—an unusual branch—was cast, blades of iron tore through the air.
"Raaaaaah!"
Ten guards were cut apart at the start of the fight, and the remaining Cage B members moved in.
"What on earth are these things…?"
The captain couldn't believe what he saw.
Even Yameng's top warriors were being cut down without getting a chance to act.
'Not even Telomere Level 5 can handle them?'
If so, none of them could face these attackers.
If anyone could, it would be Frankwine or Mitgun.
'I must report this…!'
The captain turned, using his subordinates as a shield.
He ran past the screams behind him, but it was already too late.
"Hey—!"
He had vowed never to look back.
Yet the captain did, reading death in the man's voice.
First came the corpses of his fallen men. Then Tarban's mocking laugh cut through the air.
"W‑wait!"
As the captain reached out, Tarban's hands shot toward him.
Kaiser Blast.
"Ugh…!"
The captain, his breath suddenly choked, flailed as his body exploded from within.
Crack!
Like fireworks, flesh burst and rained down. Tarban put a cigarette to his mouth and lit it.
"Phew, we swept them up. Do you really think Gaold would come alone? No matter how crazy, he's not stupid. He wouldn't take Cage B on by himself."
"He will come."
Team leader Rose inspected the container's contents and said, "For him, this is everything."