[529] An Ally (5)
The people in the eatery turned their heads toward Rian.
It wasn't surprising—the hottest topic in the area was the Knight of Maha—but something about the greatsword he wore and his blue hair made them suspicious.
"Could they both be impostors? Or maybe one of them's the real thing."
They weren't far from Raphne Village; it wasn't impossible the real one was among them.
"But that young man said he's not the Knight of Maha."
The man who had claimed to be the Knight of Maha grew flustered as the crowd's reaction cooled. He realized the young man with the greatsword and, fortunately for him, blue hair was the cause and moved forward.
"Hey, you. You think it's funny that I say I'm the Knight of Maha? What, you spitting out your food and making a fuss for nothing?"
"The Knight of Maha?"
When Rian repeated the name, the man seized the moment and raised his voice as loud as he could.
"Yes! I am the rising holy blade, Rian, Knight of Maha!"
'I see how it is.'
Rian, who had wandered the world long enough to know how many fake names were out there, understood. He'd never imagined anyone would impersonate his obscure name, but fakery was everywhere.
"So you're Rian. What's your family name, then?"
The Knight of Maha's house was wrapped in rumor and secrecy, so people's eyes glittered with curiosity.
"You want to know that badly? Fine! I'll tell you this once! I'm Rian of House Ryan! Ryan Rian!"
Someone among the patrons nodded knowingly.
"Of course. It makes sense. You need a name like Ryan to carry the title of Knight of Maha."
House Ryan was one of the seven sects called the Seven Swords of the Vaiden Kingdom, known for bold swordsmanship like the Ozent house.
'House Ryan, huh…'
Rian set down his utensils and stood.
A swordsman from such a great house wouldn't go around impersonating someone else, and even if it were true, letting someone else use a family name that represented a house was intolerable.
"You're not Rian. The Rian people talk about has blue hair and is nineteen, uses a straight greatsword—not a saw-toothed one. And his family name is Ozent. One of the oldest sword lineages in the Tormia Kingdom."
The man flinched at Rian's precise words.
'What's this brat—?'
His real name was Alf.
A former bandit leader who'd run a small gang until his men betrayed him, he'd been serving as a squire, dreaming of glory ever since.
"Don't talk nonsense! You think I'd fall for some foreign family name? And how do you even know that?"
Rian scratched at his blue hair and stepped closer.
"Because I am Rian."
"Ha! You're Rian, are you? What? Rian!"
Alf's eyes went wide.
"Yeah, Rian. I don't know if I'm the Knight of Maha or whatever, but I'm Rian. So if you want to make the name known, fight me yourself to prove it—don't be stealing other people's names."
A cold sweat ran down Alf's back; he hadn't expected to run into the real one here.
'No, it's not certain yet. I'm scamming too—this could still be a fake. Hair can be dyed, and that sword…'
Having swung a blade for a living, Alf couldn't maintain his lie in front of the Idea's true nature. Though rough in form and without any glitter, it had no chips or even a tiny scratch—he instinctively sensed its inhuman oddness.
"Hey, who's the real Rian then?"
"Maybe both are fakes? Now that would be hilarious! Hahaha!"
Two people both claiming to be Rian was ridiculous no matter the truth, and the eatery turned into a circus.
'Damn it…'
He could be another fraud, or he could be the real thing—and more than anything, Alf felt this one was the real article.
'Don't be ridiculous. I'm supposed to give up here?'
Days of memories flashed through Alf's mind like a slideshow.
The rising holy blade in the sword world, Rian the Knight of Maha.
When he'd been a mere bandit, he'd never had people look at him with reverence, nor had unknown swordsmen come seeking him out. The treatment in the pleasure districts had been exceptional.
'How did I get this far?'
What living as the Knight of Maha had taught him was that reputation was everything. Equal skill aside, the famous taught apprentices from safe positions, while the nameless bled on battlefields and were cut down by a general's sword.
"Shut up! I am the Knight of Maha! I am Rian!"
Alf decided to gamble everything on a single bold move.
He would cut down this green kid and prove himself the true Knight of Maha.
"Calm down. I'm not trying to fight you. There's no need to apologize. Just go back and stop using the name Rian from now on. Won't that settle it?"
Alf couldn't accept that.
If he let it slide, it would look like the real and the fake had been arbitrarily determined.
"No! I am the real one! If you want to use the name Rian, you'll have to kill me. Afraid? Avoiding a fight proves you're the fake!"
Some in the crowd nodded, eager for a brawl. They'd rather see fists than have it end with words.
Two hundred meters from the eatery, Miro was eating Vaiden's famous spicy chicken skewers at a stall selling local specialties.
Her outfit had evolved with each border crossing.
Her braided hair was pinned up like a sheep's, exposing her neckline, and she wore a robe far too large for her frame. Red letters ran down both sleeves.
"Ugh, that's spicy. But it's really good."
"…Miss, where in the world did you come from?"
The stall owner found her outfit odd but her beauty merely curious.
"I've been all over. Ah, one more of these, please."
He handed her a freshly grilled skewer.
"Take it slow. Too much of that and your stomach'll be upset."
"I'm fine. I once ate a snake in the desert."
"There's a fight! In the alley by the eatery!"
A man ran past Miro and shouted.
"They say the Knight of Maha showed up! Don't miss the show!"
The vendor watched the crowd surge by.
"Unbelievable. The Knight of Maha here now—if I weren't running the stall I'd go see. You know him, sir?"
"Know him? Of course. He wiped out a bandit gang and even defeated Ramdas, didn't he? Word's already reached Vaiden's capital. Wasn't his name something like Rian?"
"Hmm."
Miro glanced toward the alley, stuffed the half-eaten skewer into her mouth, and chewed.
"Swing there! Scratch with the saw! No, when that happens you should go for a takedown! Close the gap!"
By the time Miro reached the front, the crowd had already formed a ring like a stadium.
They seemed to be savoring the moment as if the guards would soon disperse them.
She pushed in and found the fight oddly off.
The hulking, hairy man brandished a fearsome weapon, while the blue-haired youth held a sword but showed no intention of striking back.
"Hey, what are you doing? Fight! Scared? If you chicken out, the saw-toothed greatsword will be confirmed as Rian's!"
The onlookers tried everything to provoke him, but Rian pretended not to hear. Since defeating the Red Spear bandits he'd lost the reflexive urge to slash, and whether to cut or not had become his own decision.
'Why are they so eager to fight? Is it worth blood over this?'
Though he had never hesitated to swing a blade at someone who drew on him before, he wasn't about to become soft.
'He doesn't look like he's actually trying to fight.'
That was the key.
He felt no threat in the way the opponent swung his sword.
'It's been different since the hundredth kill.'
Not being tense gave him space to see, and seeing gave him composure.
'I've gotten stronger.'
Realizing the change in himself, Rian felt a brief thrill even in the middle of combat.
"You bastard—!"
Feeling mocked, Alf raised his saw-toothed greatsword to the sky and charged.
By the time Rian snapped back to attention, the sawteeth were already thirty centimeters from his face.
Earlier his heart might have lurched, but now Rian truly saw.
'I'm fine. I have about a hand's width to spare.'
Denying inertia, Rian twisted his upper body as if springing out, and with a thud the saw-toothed blade struck the ground.
"What was that? Didn't that look weird just now?"
The crowd murmured.
When Rian evaded the blow, it felt as if the scenery around him had warped.
Miro's eyes flashed.
'A yaksha.'
That was enough for her judgment.
"You little—!"
Alf bared his teeth like a wolf, but his feet were slowly retreating.
Axing—magic that alters the laws of the body—undermines the future scenarios a person's training prepares them for. That dissonance makes the eye misperceive; to the uninitiated it feels like being bewitched by magic.
"Found you, Rian."
Just then Miro pushed into the ring. Alf scowled.
"Who are you? If you want to court the Knight of Maha, come back later. This duel isn't over."
"No, it's over. I'll tell you who's the fake."
"What? You little—"
He said it angrily, but inwardly he couldn't help feeling a flicker of hope. With a fifty-fifty chance, she might point at him.
Contrary to his hopes, Miro pointed at Alf as if she didn't need to think.
"You're the fake."
Stung in his pride, Alf erupted.
"What! Don't talk rubbish! Where's your proof that I'm the fake?"
"Of course I have proof. I heard the Knight of Maha destroyed a bandit gang to save a woman who was being threatened. Someone that noble wouldn't look brutish like you. So you're not him. No—you can't be."
Rational thought left Alf's eyes.
"You damned wench!"
As he brought the saw-toothed greatsword down vertically, Rian pulled Miro close and swung his sword.
"Oh my."
With a crash as the two swords struck for the first time, Alf was terrified by the superhuman strength he faced.
"Crazy…!"
He couldn't believe the greatsword he'd slammed down with both hands was flicked aside with one.
"Are you all right?"
Rian looked back at Miro.
"Yes, thank you. The Knight of Maha is kind after all."
"Step aside. A third party barging into a duel dishonors a swordsman's pride."
The coy smile Miro had worn vanished.
"So you're Shirone's friend, Rian. You will come with me now."
Rian's face went white as if struck by lightning.
"You know Shirone? What's wrong?"
"I need your help. Will you come or not?"
There was no hesitation. Rian slung his greatsword onto his back and made ready to leave.
"I'll go. Where is she now?"
'Phew, much easier than Marsha.'
The memory of an all-day interrogation disguised as conversation with suspicious Marsha still made his head throb.
"You little bitch is insulting me!"
Alf charged at Miro from behind.
He had been a bandit leader; when things went wrong he spared no one, man or woman.
"I'll saw your face off!"
A killing glint settled in Miro's eyes.
As she gently pushed Rian's chest aside and turned, an image of Kwan-eum appeared in her aura.
As if separated from the world, the relativity of time activated; Alf experienced something strange.
In the mind of a scale mage, space-time split to the extreme, and along the arc of an arm a series of palm-shaped impressions fanned out and descended.
The saw-toothed greatsword fit exactly against Miro's joined palms, and then innumerable palms of Kwan-eum surged in succession, compressing their force.
Drdrdrdrdrdr!
Just being crushed from both sides made the thick blade wobble like rubber; the iron handle shattered like glass and sent out a shockwave.
"Aaaah!"
Alf screamed and collapsed, dazed as smoke rose between Miro's palms.
When she unclasped her hands, a red-hot, palm-shaped iron plate clanged and fell.
"T—this is…"
It had been compressed like a film; the iron was charred black as the heat bled away.
Rian dusted his hands off in relief and looked at Miro approaching, bewildered.
"What exactly are you—?"
Miro flashed a carefree grin as if nothing had happened and nudged Rian's back.
"Let's go. I'll explain on the way."
Thus the final piece of the puzzle for their hellish journey was complete.