Whether others believed it or not, these days what Attila gave Lucan was far from the one-sided, war-obsessed image people had of the Scourge of God.
At that moment, feeling her face pushed away, Attila woke. Her honey-colored lashes trembled; her cheek rubbed once against the beast-skin padding. Slowly opening those golden eyes, the pupils still seemed to hold lingering starlight, reflecting a wash of gold.
The "girl" looked down at Lucan in her arms. Seeing his expression of clear disgust, she paid it no mind and simply said softly:
"...You're awake?"
Her voice carried the sand-and-gravel thick slowness of sleep, but already by instinct she twined a fingertip through the loose hairs at the nape of his small neck. Silver-white strands of hair fanned across the beast-skin, glinting amber in the campfire's light.
Then Attila suddenly buried her face in Lucan's tiny shoulder and inhaled deeply; the ties of her battle skirt came undone with the motion.
"Smell of civilization…" she murmured.
Her canine teeth absentmindedly scraped his clavicle; a satisfied rumble escaped her throat. Those arms — capable of lifting thousand-pound blades — tightened around Lucan like a siege-hammer, yet she felt no alarm. If not for Lucan's god-body instinctively exhaling true-aetheric power to form an absolute barrier, this crushing embrace would have shattered him into pulped bones on the spot.
He may be a "scoundrel," but not that kind of scoundrel.
Yes. Such coquettish gestures, such destructive unconsciousness — nobody in the world would believe them; and apart from Lucan, nobody could endure them.
Rejection by instinct yet subjective affection; the urge to destroy and simultaneously to protect — this was the essence of contradiction.
While Attila's teeth tickled his chest, Lucan finally could not help but push her away, face deadpan. "Don't you care at all about your image in front of me? Great 'Scourge of God'—"
"Call me 'Attila.'" Attila cupped Lucan's face and said it.
Though the name "Atila / Attila" sounds nearly identical, the slight inflection made it more feminine — and compared with the more commonly acknowledged title people used, Attila unquestionably preferred the softer form. Even if that name had slipped out of Lucan's mouth by accident. He had 'leaked' it on purpose.
"Fine. Attila," Lucan sighed.
"Mm." Attila withdrew her hands and nodded in clear satisfaction.
Lucan's expression grew even more blank. How could he, barely a year old, feel like the adult caring for a child? But then again — until recently Attila had always been solitary, aloof, and unperturbed; though conscious, her self was weak because her true body lay sleeping. For decades she had been no more than a combat machine. Only in the last year or two, as the true body gradually stirred, had she begun to emerge as a "person." In that sense she truly resembled a child — not far from Lucan in apparent real age.
A sudden feeling stirred in Lucan's heart as he watched Attila beam at that slip of a name. He thought: Has this being called Attila just become a "person"… only to be about to vanish?
Attila, still unaware, slowly propped herself up; silver hair scattered like slivers of moonlight.
"Today, then — we shall learn a new sword technique, Su."
With that single syllable she named him: Su — this life's 'Subotai.'
When she spoke of today's lesson, Lucan's face betrayed a flush of surprise.
...
[While following Attila for these months, naturally you would not skip the original point: learning martial arts.]
[But facts proved each person has their own path and their own strengths and weaknesses.]
[Although you once led armies on battlefields at the end of the Hundred Years' War in Gaul, you had never truly stormed thousands of troops with only your own body; although you had provoked half the mage world, you had never used your physical body itself as the weapon.]
[You cannot say you have no talent for martial arts; you can only say you have absolutely none.]
[Being physically strong is not the same as mastering combat; strength alone does not guarantee victory. And your strength is not raw physique but a constitution — the "god-body" that continuously generates true aetheric power.]
[It is not hard for you to simply release magic to strengthen yourself or bombard an enemy.]
[But that is not "martial art."]
[The former — reinforcing the body — is your forte: you used that as the foundation to construct a pseudo-godly environment and forge your god-body.]
[That very god-body fills your body with perpetual cycles of life and magic, forming an almost inexhaustible micro-source; it always bathes you in dense true aether, like living perpetually in hyper-oxygenated air — simply inhaling more oxygen no longer helps you.]
[Because you are constantly immersed in true aether, your micro-source's essence is high but its expression is not spectacular. Not only are you still growing, even when you do grow your physique will remain unable to rival the great heroes of the era.]
[In such a situation, without resorting to magic or other mysteries, you cannot inflict huge physical damage despite the constant magical shield that makes it hard for others to harm you — be it direct impact or conceptual curses. But you also cannot display extraordinary body-based feats by physical means alone.]
[Your flesh is permanent, unreceding, but it is also difficult to use raw inner magic to produce a temporary burst of power far beyond normal.]
[And "magical inner release" is not the same as "martial art" — you are not lacking in means to strengthen yourself magically, but without a skillful martial technique to wield that force, pure reinforcement is pointless; it would be better to simply cast magic.]
[This is the greatest difference between later-era humans and those closer to the Age of Gods: the nearer to the modern era, the more technique can compensate for physique; augmentations can improve performance to a point. The more one approaches the Age of Gods, the more natural physique dominates, while finesse declines — being able to use one's strength perfectly already marks one as a hero; extra reinforcement can become a burden.]
[—Moreover, magical reinforcement has an upper bound determined by physique — and later-era physique is, naturally, far inferior to beings closer to the Age of Gods. In that respect it is not an issue for you, but still, it is meaningless.]
[So during this time, you practically learned nothing.]
[Though only one year old, that's still normal.]
[But what is normal for others is not for you.]
[It turns out being a hexagonal warrior isn't that easy.]
[Every gift of fate comes prearranged; choosing one thing often means giving up another.]
[Fortunately your talent as a spirit-medium is astonishingly great — even without seeing the White Giant again you can easily commune with myriad spirits and forge the various remnants of mystery left after the end of the Age of Gods.]
[And with Attila's unhidden affection for you, nobody questions anything about you.]
[But the more Attila loves you, the more unsettled you feel: her self grows stronger and you become ever more aware of the White Giant's awakening, of the approaching end of the Scourge of God.]
[Yet you are powerless.]
[Even if at first you followed Attila not to "save" her — you had no feelings for the split of the White Giant at the start — months of companionship naturally caused a small, genuine fondness to form. Not much, but enough to give you pause.]
[You have never wished to suppress what it means to be human.]
[But after thinking and thinking, the conclusion is the same:]
[The awakening of the Giant — which even the gods could not resist — is beyond your capacity to stop.]
[However, knowing the truth does not make you despondent; you understand Attila's disappearance is not outright death but returning to the Giant's true body. When she closes her eyes and opens them again she will still be the same: the White Giant Vanguard and Attila, equally one. Even if she loses freedom, she still exists.]
[Even if she dies, in this moon-named world there remains the "Boundary Record Ribbon."]
[So you do not feel grief or resentment.]
[Thinking is useless.]
[What you can do is make sure Attila's life — as "Attila" in sleep — leaves as few regrets as possible.]
Then — what regret does the Scourge of God herself bear?
"Su... why couldn't you grow taller?"
Lucan's wish to see him grown.
"No... this is fine. If I were to see you grow into a full civilization..."
And yet she would not want to see it.
"At that time I... might not be able to help crushing your neck, right?"
She wants to destroy.
"My hands that can even snap a Giant's lance... I deliberately lighten touch when combing your hair..."
And yet she wants to protect.
"This is... too contradictory..."
"But it's okay... at least that Su who never learns swordsmanship..."
"...will forever stay in the shape I cannot destroy."
"So... I suppose I am relieved?"
[Contradiction is indeed a contradiction.]
[But such a spiral may not be — and cannot be — unwound.]
The Hunnic campaign against Italy finally reached its end; Attila's army seized northern Italy. Emperor Valentinian III fled Ravenna to old Rome; Attila's forces were received by Pope Leo I of the Italian curia — and you saw the era's head of the Church, a remarkably determined old man.
Although victorious, the Hunnic Empire ultimately signed a truce with Rome. After prolonged war, the empire's territory had swollen massively and required consolidation — that was the official line; you knew better: it was because Attila had reached her limit.
This year was the 453rd year after the death of Christ.
You had been beside Attila for more than a year.
You had turned two years old but still had no progress in martial skill.
In March of this year, deep winter just past, the great host returned to Buda.
And on this day, Attila — in the midst of her hard-fought struggles — saw a "young man" from ten years later.
Using the fragment of magic that manipulates time — briefly aging his body into a youth — the Lucan from the future walked into the tent, smiling.
"Let's have a match, Attila."
"See if you can destroy me ten years from now!"
[What contradiction?]
[Just fight, and that solves it!]