Rosclay the Absolute - 3

The leg, covered with a silver white greave, stamped the ground.

An instantaneous opening move, sharp and fast, the flawless form taught to students of the blade.

Gilnes fell back in time with his opponent's advance. As long as he was in the Dwelling Might state, it was simple enough for him to watch his adversary's movements, and instantly stop and adjust his own.

However, with his attention monopolized by the sudden Word Arts, while Gilnes could stay out of his opponent's sword range, he couldn't stay fully aware of the tip of the blasting sword in his hand.

Rosclay seized this opening.

The knight's sword entwined with the tip of the enchanted sword, held up and pointing at eye level, and hoisted it upward.

Not relying on his strength to knock it down, he instead quietly tapped it, pressing down on its side, and then turned it away. The technique of an extremely just royal knight.

…The special quality of the Blasting Blade—

He had seen right through it. Now, Rosclay's sword didn't burst apart after touching the enchanted sword.

Then, if his movements were indeed following the fundamentals, there was only one movement to follow. Using the back of the sword, he slid along the sword shortening the distance between them. His hand immobilized Gilnes's gauntlet, and they both came together, swords locked at the hilts.

In power and physique, Gilnes was superior. However, because he was pinned as he fell back, he couldn't shift his center of gravity forward. Rosclay was using this to tip the scales.

Gilnes bellowed, to properly muster his fighting spirit.

"Rosclay! Regardless of whoever or whatever you may be, I will claim victory…!"

"Speed. The speed of the slash, coming into contact with a solid mass.

That's what's needed for the explosion."

A cold sweat shivered down Gilnes's back.

Looking at Rosclay's face from up close… His expression was wholly unlike the one he had just shown the crowd, appearing now level-headed and reflective.

Paying no heed to Gilnes right in front of him, Rosclay continued murmuring to himself.

"He was able to sheathe his sword. If contact is the only requirement to cause an explosion, then if I do this—"

He propped up the back of his two-handed sword, pushing back and forth against Gilnes's, and added more force. Gilnes was inevitably pushed to resist the added force in a similar way, as well.

"…He also can't use his hand to support the blade. The breadth of his sword techniques gets narrower. He shouldn't be able to utilize such a weapon in this position. All right."

Riding the momentum of the weight pushing into him, he fell back and opened up space between the two of them again.

That was what made Gilnes the Ruined Castle realize. Their locked hilts moments prior weren't an attempt by Rosclay to push back the much larger and bulky Gilnes. In fact, it was possible that from the beginning, the first grazing hit Gilnes had made to Rosclay's sword hadn't been a coincidence at all.

—He had completely seen through all the characteristics of Charijisuya the Blasting Blade.

Backed away from Gilnes, replications of Rosclay's sword, formed beneath the ground, were still suspended in midair.

The two of us were exchanging blows. He couldn't possibly have kept his complex Word Arts going…

That wasn't it. That wasn't what he needed to think about. He had to keep his mind focused. Otherwise it would become a weakness his opponent could exploit. Even with regard to pure swordsmanship skills, Rosclay the Absolute's rivaled or even exceeded Gilnes's own.

…Looks like now's the time to use it.

Gilnes switched his grip on his sword and loosened the wrist coverings on his right hand.

It was the signal for the final remaining strategy that he had prepared. They had referred to it as the bird's bough.

The name of a one-shot crossbow, modified into a thin, foldable shape.

Its unique firing sound was not quiet by any stretch, but with its frequency modified to vanish within a person's vocal range, amid the screams and shouts of a large crowd—or rather, surrounded by an audience's excited cheers—it was constructed to make it impossible to determine the shot's origin.

Fire.

The target he was signaling to attack was, of course, not Rosclay the Absolute.

He was commanding the soldiers slipped among the crowd to shoot Gilnes himself in the back.

Intended to stand out, without being lethal, and then incite cries denouncing the match as corrupt and dishonest.

As far as he could tell from the words and actions of Third Minister Jelki, Aureatia was concerned about the bad reputation that came with this match far more than the outcome itself. With it, the seasoned general Gilnes hadn't assumed a situation like now, where he had exhausted all the methods he had considered and still couldn't stand up to Rosclay's strength, wouldn't come up.

It wasn't Gilnes using the cowardly trick to shoot the general in the back from the stands. It was Rosclay's side who was.

This method of bringing the match to an end, regardless of any difference in their strength, had been planned from the beginning.

Afterward, the hundred who had been slipped into the crowd were then to instigate a riot. When it came time to alter the mood of a crowd, strength in numbers produced the best results.

"..."

He watched his opponent's movements. A major premise of the plan, before being put into motion, was that Gilnes was still alive.

"Haaa-yah!"

Rosclay swung one of the swords floating in midair with a flowing movement. A sword flash across from the shoulder, ever true to the

fundamentals.

Gilnes blocked with the Blasting Blade. His adversary's sword burst and broke into pieces, and once again Gilnes stopped moving.

He realized that the electric Thermal Arts that had caused him to stiffen up moments prior were flowing from Rosclay's sword. The electric currents flowed simultaneously with the sword's slashes.

Why?

He had already given the signal. There was no sign of the supporting crossbow fire from the stands.

"Truly superb reactions, General Gilnes!"

At this point there were now six blades formed around Rosclay, revolving around the knight in midair.

Together with the resonant praise that echoed into the audience, Rosclay took his next sword. Gilnes's arm was rigid from the electric Word Arts. He was under the effects of the Dwelling Might. He would've been able to display peerless technique and swordsmanship, if he could just make his muscles move.

A flash of steel.

He had to react. Even if he sacrificed an arm, he had to ensure the blade didn't cut into his torso.

With the effects of Dwelling Might, he forcibly blocked the path of the blade with his left arm.

Yet the silvery path curved unnaturally, like a snake's coil, evading his left arm.

"—Aeus4motbode. Temoyamafista. Iusmnohain. Xaonyaj." (The axis is the fourth left finger. Pierce sound. Descend from the clouds. Turn.)

Force Arts. If he was able to make his swords float, then changing their midair trajectory was also—

"Gwauck?!"

The strike, with its wielder's full weight behind it, split Gilnes's breastplate in two.

He could feel a rib had broken, and the wound extended deep inside his body.

Everything about him seeming off and abnormal, as Rosclay battled it was his swordsmanship alone that stayed wholly and completely true, the sword of a royal knight.

"Rosclay!"

"You can do it, Rosclay!"

"This is the end of the line, General Gilnes. It was a spectacular duel." "Rosclay!"

"Just…what, are you…" "Rosclaaay!" "Rosclay!"

With gentle eyes, the kind that instilled peace of mind in those who saw them, Rosclay the Absolute looked down at Gilnes.

Was he really a champion?

Did no one else realize it? Everything that happened during their match had been beyond strange.

"General Gilnes. I do not intend to take your life. If you wish to surrender, I will accept it."

"..." "General."

Rosclay did not cruelly bring down his sword on Gilnes's lowered head. Instead, he informed him with a whisper.

"How was your ironbound hilt?" "...!"

With his final thoughts rushing through his head, Gilnes the Ruined Castle surmised the meaning behind his words.

Charijisuya the Blasting Blade. He had ordered it to have only its blade swapped out, the rest being built to match the previous sword's hilt and scabbard.

Exactly like the sword Aureatia had provided him, to prevent anyone from noticing the swap.

Therefore, the electric Word Arts were conducted through the sword to the wielder.

What about Rosclay's sword? It was constructed out of stone. It insulated the hilt.

"How did—"

"There is one other thing I would like to show you."

Rosclay showed Gilnes the inside of his cloak, careful to avoid the eyes of the crowd.

…I can't be. I don't believe it…!

Inside were several sparkling crystals.

Wires extended out of each one of them—they were the same instruments used by comms soldiers, radzios.

"Wwnopellaliokou. Yurowastera. Vapmarsia wanwao—" (From Owenopellal to the soil of Kouto. Reflect in replica. Jeweled crevice—)

"Vigeriokouto. Namfatqumziz. Ninhortas—" (Viger to the wind of Kouto.

Fireflies on the lake's surface. Source of soil—)

"Egirwezi io rosxle. Tortewbijand—" (From Ekraezi to Rosclay. Warping disc—)

Rosclay hadn't been using Word Arts.

There was a limit to how much experience a single person could amass.

Ignoring outliers like Alus the Star Runner, there was no possible way for someone to be perfectly suited to handle everything.

"Rosclaaaaay!" "Rosclay!" "Rosclay won!" "Rosclay!"

It was possible that Gilnes the Ruined Castle, too, held the same feelings of admiration as the citizens of Aureatia somewhere within his heart.

He felt that he was a knight on the path of true righteousness, vanquishing his enemies with his just swordsmanship.

Everything about him was wrong. This man's strength wasn't some sort of mysterious yet exceptional talent at all.

During these two small months of preparation time, he had done the same thing Gilnes had.

His confusion from seeing no Word Arts indications from Rosclay had been only natural.

Had it always been that way? There was no way a single minia could kill a dragon.

If he truly had been alone, then who vouched for that fact? Was Gilnes really supposed to believe that during his dragon battle, he had fought solely relying on his skills with a blade? That this underhanded deceit was the reality behind the Aureatia's Twenty-Nine Officials, the true form of the

champion the people put their faith in?

"Ngraaaaaaaugh!"

In that moment, the pent-up rage that burned inside Gilnes burst open.

It was rage, it was remorse, and more than anything, it was deep disappointment.

The body that should have been beyond all salvation, taken hold by his mental anguish, brandished his sword, and—

"Haa-yah!"

He then took an over-the-shoulder slash, form perfect, and collapsed.

The silver flash passed through the crack opened in his breastplate and ended Gilnes's life. Rosclay seemed to have turned the tables against Gilnes's final struggle, defending himself fair and square.

Rosclay took a deep breath. Putting on his mask of sincerity, he appealed to the crowd.

A calculated act, before the excitement among his audience cooled. "…Citizens, it is as you just saw. General Gilnes, rejecting my call for

surrender, took up his sword. And now, he has died before my blade!" "Rosclay!"

"Rosclaaay!" "Rosclay!"

"He chose the path of a martyr for his ideals! He offered up his precious soul to bring the end to an outdated time! I ask you to applaud the general's courage! His sacrifice…will serve as our first step, the Old Kingdoms' loyalists and Aureatia together, to a new age!"

"Rosclay's right!" "Gilnes! Gilnes!" "Rosclay!" "Gilnes!"

"Now, with our battle in this true duel decided, I bear Gilnes no hatred! I pray that you, citizens, will do the same! He fought to build peace for all! It is time to shoulder his sacrifice and advance forward!"

Aureatia's Second General spoke, making his sword sparkly with silvery white light.

Rosclay the Absolute. The honest and just hero.

No matter what enemy appeared before him, not a single stain was ever left behind on his silvery white armor.

"The battle you have all witnessed before is a perfect example of my true duel performance. In the next grand match, I pledge that I will use the excellent techniques I have cultivated to slay my enemies!"

"Rosclay!" "Rosclay!" "Rosclay!"

Rosclay, his performance concluded, returned alone to the stage entryway.

His appearance in the royal games was set in stone. Though it wasn't decided that he would be fighting in the same garden. Much like with his duel that day, both parties wouldn't necessarily be on even footing.

It hadn't been an even playing field from the very start.

Inside the brick corridor was a single figure waiting for Rosclay.

A tall and lanky man, shrouded in an artless and unsophisticated air. "Romzo, sir. Thank you very much."

"Easy. Knocking out a hundred odd people, no trouble at all. I knew their faces already, too."

One of the First Party, Romzo the Star Map answered with his usual smiling face, free of any strain or tension.

"Gilnes is dead, then."

"…Indeed. It is a pity. You have my sympathies."

"Ah well, it's fine. Nothing to be done. I did like the lad, but I had no problem betraying him. So long as I've got somewhere I can sell myself for a good price, I didn't really care about anything else."

In the dimly lit corridor, the bashful smile behind his rounded glasses instead seemed sinister.

"Especially given I'm just a coward who lost to the Demon King long ago. This much is no problem at all."

Even strategies mobilizing numerous soldiers collapsed under the smallest hole in the scheme.

Rosclay was himself a general in command of an army and could get a read on what schemes Gilnes would plan. On the battlefield, he first relied

not on his sword but his ingenuity.

"Thank you also for the Dwelling Might. Its power was far beyond my expectations. It made my blood run cold."

"About that, actually. Hmm. I still don't get it. You said to purposely make your opponent stronger. With my treatment, Gilnes… Hmm, let's see. I could've easily weakened him to the strength of a five-year-old child."

"That wouldn't be enough. In the upcoming grand match, there's sure to be no one weaker than myself and General Gilnes. I needed to actually experience and know for myself how much my blade can hold out against a stronger foe. Thanks to your help, I was able to pick out many areas that need to be addressed."

"…Diligent, aren't we? Seems like a tough way to live." "I'm ashamed of my shortcomings."

He clenched and unclenched his fist, ruminating on his memory of the duel. It was a hard experience to come by.

A day that was bound to arrive, and a similarly strong opponent. Similarly encircled by a crowd of spectators. A true battle, also with his life on the line. Having actually experienced such combat could prove the difference between life and death. As long as there was even the slightest possibility it

could, then the experience was necessary.

"Well then. I'll be going. My game of fake insurgency's over." "…Until we meet again, Romzo the Star Map."

That day, all one hundred–odd Old Kingdoms' loyalists who gathered at the garden theater were captured.

Having lost their leader in Gilnes the Ruined Castle, and adviser in Romzo the Star Map, their influence rapidly began fading away.

The night of the garden duel.

Along the riverside on the Aureatia frontier, there existed a dingy shack.

The house was inhabited by a mother and her frail daughter. The father who provided for them had passed away.

Amid the darkness of the area, no other residence in sight, the orange

lamplight illuminated the doorway and announced their visitor.

Opening the door, the mother looked at the face she hadn't seen in a long time and broke into a smile.

"…Oh my, how we've been waiting for you, my lord! Iska! Iska! Get up, quick!"

"Oh no, please. If she's already asleep, then… I wouldn't want to push Iska too hard."

The man was covered in a full-body robe, carefully concealing both his face and body. Nevertheless, to the mother, his was a figure so familiar, she could immediately recognize it.

The young girl, who came out of the bedroom to meet the man, gazed up at his face and gave him a smile.

"You're very late, Mr. Second General. You woke me up." "Iska…"

The daughter would turn sixteen that year. She had chestnut-colored hair and eyes to match. She looked a little thinner and more haggard than before.

Rosclay the Absolute cast his eyes to the ground and lowered his hand where he stood.

When he was under this roof, Rosclay was almost a completely different person.

"First, let me apologize. I put on a disgraceful battle display in front of the people."

"My, my, my. Is that so? That's quite the problem, isn't it? What was disgraceful about it, then?"

The village girl crouched down in front of the minian champion and asked, teasingly.

"…My first step forward. And if the enchanted sword had laid into me while my sword was broken, I would be dead. And if the electric Thermal Arts didn't stop him… I was a hair's breadth away from the end."

"Another dangerous fight, is it? Honestly… Just what am I going to do about you?"

Iska stroked Rosclay's golden hair and flashed a troubled smile.

All of his fights were like this. He appeared to fight with overwhelming strength that far outdid his opponents, but in truth, he was balanced on a razor's edge between life and death. Both his consideration for any and all possible schemes, and his diligence with his daily training, were all because

he truly and deeply held his own life dear.

Rosclay the Absolute. The champion of the minia. No matter how much she wished and hoped, she knew his turn to abandon the whorl of battle would come later than anyone else's.

"…That's why, um, well… I came here because, I thought it'd be better to give you this sooner rather than later."

Rosclay's eyes darted around nervously, almost like any other young man his age, and he took out a box.

"What's this?"

"It's a coral ring. I bought it at the market. I think it would suit you, Iska.

And since I haven't properly given you any presents up until now…" "Hmm."

The young girl inspected the inside of the box, looking at the small silver ring.

Red coral, with a subdued luster. The color was also not too different from Rosclay's own eye color.

Still smiling, she pushed the box back to him. "No thank you."

"What?"

"Mr. Second General? You're taking me for some uneducated village girl, aren't you? I believe in the Beyond, gifting a ring is meant to be a symbol of betrothal, isn't it?"

Rosclay conspicuously averted his gaze in an effort to escape from Iska's probing look.

"Wh-what does that matter…? I'm simply giving it to you for my own self-satisfaction."

"I don't need something this serious. No, in fact, you absolutely mustn't send me anything that will remain behind. How exactly am I supposed to explain things if someone questions me about it?"

Rosclay's eyebrows drooped. There was no knowing just how long Iska had left to live.

He knew that she was trying not to leave anything behind after she died. "I don't need anything, Mr. Rosclay the Absolute. Wouldn't you say that

you being a champion itself is already too good of a gift for this simple village girl?"

"No at all… Am I, really a champion?"

"…Well, well, well. Aren't we in low spirits today, Mr. Second General?" Her mother had already taken her leave. More important than any dinner preparations, she knew that on the days Rosclay came to visit, the two of

them needed time to talk alone.

Time where he wasn't the people's champion, but a normal young man, where he could escape from his all-too-heavy obligations.

"I killed General Gilnes. Outstandingly valorous and intelligent, a person worthy of respect… I had no choice but to use every dastardly trick to kill him."

"…How cruel of you."

Rosclay was kneeling. Just as he had forced his enemies to kneel across his multitude of battles.

She was the only person in the world who saw him like this.

As if accepting a confession, she wrapped both her arms around his head. "The sword is all I have."

"…Yes, that's right. Why, it's the only thing you've ever trained for." "Just having someone else know about your existence would make victory

impossible."

"True. You're such a delicate person, after all." "I really…want to fight the proper way."

"…I know that."

If he hadn't been there that day, both she and her mother would have simply been sold off as slaves.

She would never say it. However, she alone knew that Rosclay the Absolute had the capability to be a champion right from the very start.

Thus, now, she simply listened to his words.

If Iska could be a solace to his troubled mind, that was enough for her.

The night grew late, and Rosclay returned to the castle. "…That dummy."

Iska muttered, picking up the small box that had been left on top of the table in the dark.

After all she had said to him about it, in the end he had left it behind. She returned to her small bedroom and lit the lamp beside her bed.

The contour of the ring she held in her fingers glowed gently in the yellow

light.

Honestly, to gift her something that'll leave a legacy behind like this—

"…Pfft."

She lay down on her back in the dark bed.

On the third finger of her left hand, stretching out to the lamplight, sat a shining red coral ring.

Rosclay. Stronger than anyone else, yet weaker than anyone else, her own personal champion.

In that moment, she even felt able to forget about her smothering illness.

If there could be such a future, it would be such a beautiful thing, indeed. Tears began to trickle down her cheek. Yet, just as happy, Iska laughed. "…Hee-hee-hee."

He, the individual, stood at the greatest and tallest heights of pure and proper swordsmanship.

He possessed the ingenuity to draw a fight to its conclusion before it had even begun, through scheming and subterfuge.

He, with a nation as his ally, received any and all support to turn his victory into a foregone conclusion.

Entrusted with all types of power wielded by the strongest social beings across the land, an artificial champion.

Knight. Minia. Rosclay the Absolute.