"Myyy goodness. You're back sooo late."
"—"
When Wilhelm returned to his room, he found a woman lounging elegantly on his bed—Roswaal. Without a word, he stared at her. Her eyes were free of malice as she smiled at him; she seemed to be enjoying herself.
"You've been out on the training grounds, sweating up a storm, and now you want to turn all that heat on a member of the opposite sex… Is that how you're feeling?"
"I'm feeling awfully tired of seeing you just waltz into my room. What the hell is the barracks captain doing? Doesn't he realize he's supposed to keep suspicious people out of here?"
"He used to let me in because he was afraid of me. But now he does it as a favor to an old friend…or sooomething like that?"
"You need to mind your own business."
He recalled the salute the pudgy barracks captain had offered him as he entered the building. Wilhelm had dramatically improved his relationships with not just Zergev Squadron but also the other soldiers. Still, this was not going to help things any. If the captain let every visitor, well-wisher, and alleged buddy into his room, he might never get another chance to relax.
"So?" Wilhelm asked. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"
"Suuurely you know there's only one reason a woman abandons her shame at night to sneak into the room of the man she desires. A primal, instinctive—now, now, don't get so angry."
Wilhelm's glare had begun turning aggressive, and Roswaal immediately abandoned any flirtatiousness. She let out an annoyed breath, observing Wilhelm with her asymmetrically colored eyes. "I could haaardly make my affection more obvious, and yet you have all the reaction of a steel wall. I'm going to lose my confidence in myself as a woman at this rate."
"I'm happy to respond earnestly to people who have sincere affection for me. But if they don't, then I don't waste my time with them."
"Hmm." Roswaal closed one eye and lapsed into thought. Wilhelm ignored her and grabbed something to wipe himself down with. After he had parted ways with Grimm, Wilhelm had headed to the training grounds and was indeed very sweaty. He did at least possess enough discretion, though, not to start changing clothes in front of a woman.
"Then let's talk in a spirit of sincere affection. Not as a man and woman, unfortunately, but as friends," Roswaal said. The tone of her voice had suddenly changed, and Wilhelm looked at her. Roswaal was still sitting just as she had been before, but her behavior was completely different. It was a side of her he had seen only rarely, on the battlefield, when she had been displaying her full desire to catch Sphinx.
In other words, Roswaal was now well and truly serious.
"With the help of you and your friends," she said, "I was able to achieve my objective. Consider this my heartfelt expression of gratitude for your help."
"…Go on."
"The civil war is threatening to find its way into the territory of the House of Trias. Your family."
"Wha…?!"
Wilhelm's eyes went wide at this unexpected news. Roswaal folded her long legs and nodded gravely.
"Yes. I have some acquaintances around there. I'm sure this isn't easy for you to hear. I came here to tell you myself, fearing it might otherwise be too laaate."
"Why would you…? For that matter, why would they…?"
"Of course, there's nothing in the Trias lands worth attacking. The local lord and the royal army will both find it a bolt from the blue. Buuut the demihumans aren't so logical these days. You understand?"
The demi-humans who burned with the remnants of Valga's hatred had nothing more to stop them, nor even anything to make them distinguish one target from another. Their actions might lead nowhere, yet the flames of this civil war could not be doused.
"Then again, I suppose it could be revenge against you for killing their leaders, my dear Wilhelm Trias."
"—" When one wounds another, it creates a reason for revenge. The beginning of this civil war, as well as its continuance, hinged on such reasons. And Wilhelm was in no position to condemn these actions.
"I think your best hope is to talk to your superiors. I believe our friend
Bordeaux would not do wrooong by you. Although it might take some time."
Then Roswaal stood up from the bed as if to signal that their conversation was over. She walked right past Wilhelm, who stood ramrod straight, and headed for the door.
Before she could leave, however, Wilhelm demanded, "…Just what do you want here? What do you think you're going to get?"
Roswaal stopped. "I don't have any dark designs. It's unusual for me to feel such affection for someone. If I can help the few people I care about to be happy, so much the better. I promise my motives are nothing more sinister than that."
She didn't turn around as she spoke, and he couldn't see her face. Wilhelm swallowed heavily at the weight of her words. But then she shrugged and turned her head so she could see him out of the corner of her eye. She was smiling.
"What you do is your choice. Make sure you won't regret it." And with that, Roswaal J. Mathers left the room.
Wilhelm stared after her. After a moment's silence, he came back to himself. He rushed to grab the overshirt he had just stripped off and nearly flew out of the room to go see Bordeaux.
When he got out into the hallway, Roswaal was already gone.
5
"First, let me confirm the situation. It'll depend what's going on, but I'll err on the side of deploying the squadron. Don't get ahead of yourself, Wilhelm."
When Wilhelm had told Bordeaux about the impending threat to the Trias lands, Bordeaux had nodded with unaccustomed seriousness and given this reply. He had then set off for headquarters.
Wilhelm watched him go. Reporting the problem was all he could do right now. He ground his teeth at his own helplessness, but he had enough selfcontrol now to bear it. He had the emblem of knighthood on his chest; it was a sign of his awareness that he would no longer be permitted to act as rashly as he had before.
"Let me repeat that," Bordeaux had said. "Don't get ahead of yourself. Knights are almost never stripped of their rank once promoted, but people know who you are now. You aren't just a nameless swordsman who can go anywhere he wants."
Twilight was deepening as the curtain of night draped over the capital. As he walked along the main street, he replayed Bordeaux's words again and again in his mind.
He couldn't just wait quietly in his quarters. He had altogether too much time on his hands, and his feet seemed to drag him slowly but surely toward the plaza in the poor district. It was hours since he had seen Theresia, exchanged their usual words, and then parted ways. He had never before gone to that place twice in one day.
"Wilhelm?"
So he was surprised to find the red-haired girl standing in the darkened square.
Unlike the main street, this plaza opened onto the back alleys, and as such there were no artificial lights. It was a cloudy night, and he could barely see his hand in front of his face. Theresia couldn't possibly see her flowers in the darkness, yet she was waiting alone in that square.
Theresia looked at Wilhelm and blinked her blue eyes. "What's wrong…?
You're making such a scary face."
"What's a girl doing out here at this time of night anyway?"
"Why, this almost sounds like… Ah!" Theresia clapped her hands as if she had figured something out. "Hmm…I'd sort of like to ask you the same question, but maybe it wouldn't be very polite. You don't look like you're much for jokes."
"—"
Wilhelm didn't reply, but something felt off to him about the way Theresia was talking, almost as though she was playing a part. As he thought about why this should be, he hit upon a possible reason—and what she was probably thinking.
This was almost the same conversation they'd had the first time they'd met.
"—"
Truth be told, Wilhelm didn't feel he had the time at this moment to indulge Theresia's little games, but she eyed him so innocently while awaiting his response that he couldn't help but play along.
He easily put on the grimace of annoyance that he had worn at their first meeting. Then he said, "There's a lot of dangerous people around here. It's not somewhere a woman should be walking alone."
"Goodness, are you worried about me?"
"I might be one of those dangerous people."
"You're not. I know that uniform—you're one of the castle's knights, aren't you? You wouldn't do anything wrong."
This last line took a turn as Theresia pointed to the emblem on his chest and smiled. Wilhelm smiled grimly at the words, then stepped up next to her. She was wearing the same clothes she had been that afternoon, and she was sitting in the same spot. So he assumed—
"You've been here all day?"
"…Yes. I guess I did hang around for a while." She stuck out her tongue as if to suggest this was something unusual, but Wilhelm suspected it probably wasn't.
Wilhelm had never tried to check on what Theresia did after they parted ways, but now he was sure she always sat here until it got dark.
"I'm not trying to be cute when I say that this really isn't somewhere a woman should be walking around on her own at this time of night."
"Thank you for worrying about me. But I really think it's a little late for that. And anyway, I won't be walking around alone, so it's fine. Someone is coming to get me."
"—"
"Don't worry, it's a girl."
"…I wasn't worrying about that."
It was just his imagination that he was relieved to hear it. And anyway, having another woman around wouldn't make things any safer.
"It's okay. She's a very strong swordswoman. Much stronger than me."
"Stronger than you? I think that would describe most swordspeople."
This girl didn't know the first thing about the fighting arts. She didn't make much of a comparison for anything. Still, though, it had been close to a year since Wilhelm and Theresia met. If this person had been acting as her bodyguard that entire time, maybe she had proven herself.
If Theresia had a bodyguard, did that mean she actually had a certain status in the world?
"So you don't go home. Is it because you don't want to be at your house?"
"Y-you certainly don't pull your punches, do you, Wilhelm?"
"It's a bad habit. My work has taught me never to hold back. So what's your answer?"
"…You could say yes, but…you could also say no. I'm sorry, I know that's complicated." Theresia's eyes seemed to gaze into the distance as she apologized. The feelings swirling in her eyes, how fragile she looked— Wilhelm cursed himself for his insensitivity. No young woman would spend the night wandering aimlessly around town instead of at home without a reason.
"What about you, Wilhelm?" It took him a moment to catch up with her question. Theresia was sitting on the step by the flower bed, hugging her knees and looking up at him. "Can I…ask about your home…? Your family?"
"My…family…"
"Right. I mean…I know maybe it's none of my business…" She smiled shyly. Normally, he might have been able to shoot something back at her. But at this moment, being asked about his family brought Wilhelm up short. After all, at that very moment his home, the House of Trias, might be in danger.
"…Did I say something wrong?" Theresia's expression clouded at his silence.
He cursed himself again for being immature. To tell Theresia about what was going on would only place an unnecessary burden on her. So why couldn't he summon up his usual indifferent look? He looked painfully at the ground.
Then Theresia stood in front of him and reached out her hands to Wilhelm.
"Stiffen that upper lip! Are you a man or aren't you?"
"—?!"
She gave him a hearty smack on both cheeks. Completely surprised, Wilhelm looked at her with wide eyes. Theresia put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest.
"Whatever your relationship is to your family, it's obviously complicated, but it's not like you to let that make you all weepy. Do what you always do— you know, act haughty for no reason. You should swing your sword like a child, full of unfounded confidence. That's much better."
"—"
Her criticism was brutal. It stunned Wilhelm to realize that was how she thought of him.
Perhaps his silence made Theresia realize how sharp her words had been, for she quickly said, "Wait, that's not— Hrm."
Wilhelm's shoulders relaxed at this change in her. He exhaled, then smiled at her. Not one of his grimaces, but a smile from the heart.
"You really are a strange girl, aren't you?"
"H-huh? What makes you say that? I know I'm not quite normal, but I thought I said something pretty on the nose there." She sounded annoyed.
"Don't praise yourself. But…you're not wrong." He exhaled deeply again. It wasn't a sigh of longing, but a way of expelling all his emotions. "Swinging my sword like a child, huh…?"
A child with a sword would be a very dangerous thing. The image made him smile. But again, she wasn't wrong. Wilhelm was a child playing with a sword. He had remained a child even as time passed, as he grew up. He had just forgotten it somewhere along the line.
But now he remembered why he had taken up the sword, despite his immaturity.
"Let me walk you to the entrance of the poor district. Wait for your friend where there's some light."
"…Aren't you afraid she might miss me if I'm not in our usual spot?"
"Are you saying I should leave you here in the dark? Don't make me."
"That's true enough. I guess we don't have a choice, then. I'll let you help a young woman to her feet." Theresia sounded so confident as she held out her hand. Wilhelm took it and helped her up, and somehow the two of them never quite let go of each other's hands as they walked toward the entrance to the slum. In the heat from their intertwined fingers, Wilhelm could feel his own pulse.
They had threaded their way through several narrow streets when Theresia stopped on a side street near the main road. "I'll wait here," she said. "I think she'll be able to find me." Truthfully, Wilhelm wanted to see her all the way to the main street, but chances were she didn't want him and her bodyguard to meet.
"So now it's a girl by herself in a dark alleyway? You know, come to think of it, they do call prostitutes 'flower girls' around here…"
"Nobody's going to mistake me for one of those… Wait a second, surely that's not why you started calling me that?"
"No. It was because your head was full of flowers."
"Well, that's not very nice, either!" She turned red and batted him on the shoulder. Wilhelm let go of her hand and took a step away from her. His fingers still tingled with the sensation of her—but he set aside this moment of frailty and looked at her. Then, touching the emblem on his chest, he said good night.
"Be careful on these dark roads, Flower Girl."
"Be careful not to shirk your duty too much, good-for-nothing soldier."
These seemingly cruel words quickly gave way to smiles. Then he said,
"Bye, Theresia."
"See you next time, Wilhelm."
This was how they always parted now. Wilhelm turned away from her and headed for the main road, feeling her eyes on his back. It was only after he was sure he could no longer sense her watching that he reached to his left breast and tore off the emblem.
It was the sign that he was a knight, that the world had recognized him, that he could hold his head up when he met Theresia. Now, the nexus of all that meaning glimmered dully in his palm.
It was not brighter nor more beautiful than the sunlight glinting off his sword in the days of his youth.
"That giant, raging idiot!"
It was the next day, and Bordeaux was shouting his lungs out in Wilhelm's personal quarters. He vented his frustration on a desk, which broke in half, and a variety of awards lay scattered around the room. This was not exactly behavior becoming of a commanding officer, yet it was not enough to placate Bordeaux's anger.
"—"
Beside the enraged officer, Grimm silently set a hand on the devastated desk. From inside what was left of it, he picked up an emblem—the dragon crest of a knight. The disk also contained a note, on which was written just one word.
Sorry.
It was simple, unadorned—very much the sort of thing the rather boorish
Sword Devil would come up with. Wilhelm Trias had removed the badge of his station and left the capital with only his sword in hand.
It may not have seemed very cultivated. But as the Sword Devil, it was his answer.
6
It had been no small choice for Wilhelm to abandon the sign of his knighthood. The emblem was the proof of acknowledgment by something as big and important as the kingdom itself. Once, he had been considered no more than a delinquent child, but the badge showed that he had been right all along.
From the day he had knocked on the door of the royal army until this moment, he had been focused single-mindedly on the sword. All that time, he had believed it was all he needed, yet he had been given so many things. There had been enemies. Allies. Rivals, comrades, superiors. Those against whom he swore revenge. And…
"Theresia…"
He whispered the name of the girl whom he now knew he cared deeply about. He put a hand on his sword as if to be sure it was still there.
To abandon his emblem was to leave behind everything he had gained in the capital. It wasn't that he believed they were without value. Rather, precisely because he knew they were valuable, he couldn't act freely if he continued carrying them. He had let go of them because they were priceless.
He did look back on them wistfully. He did feel guilt, regret, and anger. His emotions were like a muddy swamp. He had never managed a completely simple way of living. The days when he had merely wanted to be a sword felt as if they had never existed. And yet, neither did he hold that time against himself now.
"—"
He knew that even if he managed to deal with everything that was going on, he wouldn't simply be able to go back to the way things had been. His days had merely been so calm and complacent as to allow him to entertain such fantasies recently.
Like the one in which he extinguished the flames of war that raged around his homeland, was forgiven for throwing aside the honor of a knight, and then took Theresia's hand and brought her home to meet the Trias family. Just a fantasy.
Such thoughts had closed his eyes to reality, but the conflagration he found on returning home opened them with brutal force.
"Hrrraaahhhhh!!"
So the Sword Devil took his beloved sword in hand and, arriving at a home he found utterly changed, began his one-man war.
7
"What do you know about my feelings, Brother?!"
It was five years ago now that, after another one of their fights, Wilhelm had fled his home.
The House of Trias was a diminished noble family with a small territory in the northern part of the kingdom of Lugunica. Their former fame for feats of arms had already waned when Wilhelm arrived as the family's third son.
The two boys who preceded him were more than qualified to inherit the family headship, and Wilhelm spent his youth essentially unfettered by the demands of being part of the succession. There was one thing that caught the eye of this boy as he spent his days unconcerned with the running of the household: an heirloom sword hanging in the house's great hall. It was the one reminder of the days when the House of Trias had earned renown as disciples of the martial arts.
Wilhelm found himself drawn to swords, spending his days engaged in practice from morning till night. At first, his family had looked on in amusement, but after six years they were no longer smiling. The eldest son of the family began to take little swipes at his sword-crazed younger brother under the guise of friendly advice. Wilhelm's reaction to this quibbling led to a white-hot fight, and the younger boy's running away from home was in effect the final word.
He fled to the capital, where he joined the royal army and, eventually, became the Sword Devil.
These were his pitiful beginnings, which he was resolved not to reveal to Theresia or anyone.
The Trias lands he remembered were already wreathed in flames from a major demi-human attack. The vistas he thought he knew had been dyed red, and the mansion where he had lived until almost his teenage years had been burned to the ground. Perhaps the household had been totally unable to resist the attackers, because all that was left were signs of trampling here and there.
Of course. It only made sense. His brothers had been so soft and his family so complacent that the thought of resisting would not even have crossed their minds. His family had been bent on protecting themselves in any way other than combat. That was what had first drawn him to the blade.
He would make up for what his brothers lacked.
And now, he should have had enough power to do so.
"Ruuahhhhh!"
His sword became like a whirlwind, and a mist of demi-human blood stained the Trias lands even redder. The demi-humans had successfully overpowered one meek human tribe, but now the Sword Devil slammed into their flank. The heads that looked up in surprise he sent flying; where hands and feet sought to oppose him he cut them off; cries of mockery and hatred could not be raised when he had pierced their throats.
He was covered in the blood of his enemies, his voice raw from shouting. He flashed his sword what seemed like a million times, and then a million more.
"It's the Sword Devil! The Sword Devil, the killer of Valga and Libre!"
As they realized who the rampaging human was, his foes began to press in upon him. They filled his vision to the right and left, breaking upon him like a wave along with their hatred. Still, he flew straight at them.
It was only at the start of the battle that things went well for him. The demi-humans had been caught off guard by the Sword Devil's appearance, but as they realized that Wilhelm was their only opponent, they began to let their numbers do the work.
It was many against one, and he was soon wounded. He might take ten lives with ten strokes of his sword, but the enemy would come back with a hundred blows from a hundred lives at once. It was naturally overwhelming, and Wilhelm, alone and without support, was pressed harder and harder.
"—"
He was surrounded by enemies. Right and left, behind and before, and all of them were focused only on killing him. He had no hulking ally to help him break through their ranks, no silent shield bearer to guard his back—no friends at all to form a battle line with him.
He was alone. He knew there had been a time when he had believed he could get by this way. But even then, he hadn't really been by himself. He could see that now, when it was too late.
"Grrahh!"
He took a wound to his back. He spun around and pierced his ambusher through the heart. As he did, more attackers closed in. He tried to jump out of reach, but his feet got tangled. He blocked from an unnatural position, feeling the impact in every bone in his body. He gritted his teeth; with a succession of silver flashes, the group of demi-humans went flying.
But his inelegant advance stopped there. The blood spatters covering him were not only from his opponents. The bleeding from his own wounds was too much. He fell to his knees, then collapsed where he was.
"H— Hhh— Hhhhhh!"
His breath was harsh and his fighting spirit was relentless, but his limbs no longer responded to his commands to do combat. There, among the piles of dead enemies, Wilhelm's beloved sword slipped from his hand. To let go of one's weapon while still on the battlefield was a pitiful thing. For the Sword Devil to drop his sword meant he was no longer even a demon, but just a man—no, something less than that. A shell.
Perhaps it was only fitting that a man should meet his end as an empty husk, having forgotten even the first wish that led to his being called Sword Devil and simply run ahead. In the end, why had he taken up the sword? What had he been able to leave to the world?
Nothing. Only a body, hollow and empty, a bit of airy nothing.
Could it really have been nothing…?
A massive demi-human stood beside him, looming over Wilhelm where he lingered between life and death.
"You were a fearsome opponent, Sword Devil," he said. "But your life ends here!" He raised his sword high, preparing to strike off Wilhelm's head. The sight of his impending death stirred something in Wilhelm.
"—"
Countless shadows flitted through his mind—all the people he had encountered in his life. He saw his parents, his brothers, the people of the Trias lands, the other members of the royal army, Grimm, Bordeaux, Roswaal, Carol—and finally, Theresia, smiling, the field of flowers at her back.
Her face, her voice as she said "See you next time" were seared into his memory—into his very soul.
She had brought light into days when he had thought there was nothing, and in his mind's eye, her light mingled with the gleaming of the sword from his youth. He had believed he wanted to be a sword, but the many encounters he'd had and the interlocking bonds he shared with people were like heat and pressure to form him into a person.
He reminisced with fondness on both the days when he was steel and those when he was human. He still had so many memories of them.
"I don't want…to die…"
And so at this, his last moment, the desire to live was what slipped from Wilhelm's lips. He had taken so many lives, affected such nonchalance at the thought of death, yet when the end finally confronted him, his heart quaked with fear. He began to see the joy of being alive, his heart breaking with the terror that that joy was about to be stolen from him.
"—"
Surely that one desperate whisper would not be enough to buy clemency from the demi-human after he had killed so many of his companions.
The ruthless blade fell, speeding the Sword Devil toward the end of his life…
The stroke of the sword at that moment had a beauty that could last into eternity.
The head of the giant demi-human about to end Wilhelm's life went flying into the air.
The weapon that struck him was so sharp that the demi-human himself didn't realize what had happened. When his head landed on the ground, it showed no recognition of his own death.
Wilhelm was agog at what was going on above him. He was the one who was supposed to be facing his demise.
Then there was the rushing breath of a passing blade, a storm of silver streaks, and one demi-human after another was struck down. The shock of this fresh attack spread through the Demi-human Alliance. But it was scant trouble for the newcomer. No sooner had each enemy recognized the opponent's presence than they lay dead on the ground; in other words, it was the demi-humans' own deaths that alerted them to this new force.
"—"
This "someone" all but literally danced among the demi-humans, dispensing blow after blow and amassing piles of corpses. The strikes were so true and so sharp that Wilhelm thought perhaps some god of death was walking among them. A beautiful and kind reaper who took people's lives without letting them suffer the knowledge that they were dead.
This god of death had red hair that bobbed in a tail at the back of its head and wielded a flashing blade as if it were an extra limb.
"Red…hair…"
The reaper cut down all those around Wilhelm as if to protect him. Each time he saw this god of death land a strike, each time this person entered his vision, he felt a fresh tumult in his heart. For standing there was…
"Wilhelm! You great, dunderheaded idiot! We found you!"
He heard the bellowing voice at the same moment he felt someone violently grab him by the shoulders. Before his astonished eyes appeared Bordeaux and Grimm, and he could see the whole of Zergev Squadron with them, covered with gruesome spatters of blood.
"So even you can find yourself at death's door, eh? That's good medicine! You stupid, stupid, stupid idiot!"
"—!"
Wilhelm couldn't speak as Bordeaux berated him; even Grimm's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something. But none of them would actually be that hard on Wilhelm, whose body was covered in cuts, bruises, and wounds. Instead, Bordeaux made sure he had a good grip on the battered young man, then ordered the rest of the squadron to secure a way for them to retreat.
"S-stop," Wilhelm grunted. "Now's…not the time! I can't—! I can't rest now—!"
He shoved away the hand that held him and tried to drag himself toward the sword fighting ahead of him. But just before he reached it, he halted, grinding his teeth in frustration. He had enough self-awareness, enough pride as a swordsman, to stop himself there.
"—"
The flashing silver, the beautiful strokes of the blade, the utterly perfect attacks—these were the work of a god of death. Wilhelm had lived his life with the sword, given much to it, and he could tell.
Even if I work the rest of my life, I'll never reach that place. Only the one who deserves it can make it.
It was the summit, the place allowed only to the truly beloved of the sword and who had mastered this weapon of steel.
"Yaaaahh!"
This time, when Grimm lifted Wilhelm up, he didn't resist. He no longer had the strength. His endurance was at an end, and he felt he might faint away at any moment. And yet as long as he could, as long as he was allowed, as long as his heart could endure, he wanted to see this dance of the sword.
"Lady…!"
Now he found Carol was there, too, watching the god of death at work. She had a hand to her chest, almost as if she were anxious for that reaper, despite this display of unmatchable strength.
He stared stupidly. What was Carol seeing? How could she possibly watch this and look…worried?
Does she not understand how profound her skill with a blade is? Is she not enough of a swordswoman to know?
The technique he was seeing was so elevated that every swipe of steel made him despair for his own status as a swordsman.
"That… That god of death…"
"God of death? Don't be silly. That's the kingdom's ace in the hole—the true sword of the kingdom who puts us to shame. The Sword Saint."
The battlefield seemed far away now. His consciousness flickered. He caught just those two words as it faded away.
Sword Saint. The name given to living legends, carved into the history of the Kingdom of Lugunica.
But how could it be that she was the one to bear it…?
"—"
He had no way of asking her now. He couldn't even call out to her.
8
The battle for the Trias lands would loom large in the history of Lugunica. It was not that there was any special value to the territory in which the battle took place. The carnage wrought on the Trias lands was just another one of the tragedies that occurred throughout the Demi-human War. It differed from all the others in just one way: It would go down as the first stunning excursion of the era's Sword Saint.
Until that moment in the Trias lands, the Sword Saint of that generation had not once shown her abilities publicly. Some even doubted her existence or even the existence of the Sword Saint's blessing itself. But this battle abundantly proved the saint's true strength.
In her first battle, she single-handedly took the lives of nearly a thousand demi-humans, a feat that would have been impossible for anyone else. The event marked the appearance of a savior who could bring an end to the Demi-human War, which had become a confused morass. Everyone hailed her as such, and all praised the name of the Sword Saint.
As for the Sword Devil, who had abandoned his status as a knight and become an ordinary swordsman once more in order to protect the Trias lands, who had cut down three hundred demi-humans alone—his name was quietly forgotten.
The Sword Devil himself, however, couldn't have cared less. He had never cared much for records or awards. And any reason he might have had to be interested in them he had surely relinquished by then. What was important to Wilhelm Trias was in that field of flowers by that square.
It was weeks before his wounds had healed enough that he could go back to the plaza. He had been in one brutal battle after another, but now he walked down the familiar path with his battered but still beloved sword in his hand. Every time he walked this street, Wilhelm always felt a mix of emotions.
There was happiness and eagerness, depression and anxiety, frustration and even envy. But what he felt right now was not any of these. It was the sure intuition that she would be there. Wilhelm trusted his hunches. Especially when it came to whether or not she would be waiting to meet him in the square.
There was no need to put into words at this point what it was that made this intuition so certain.
"—"
When he reached the plaza, he sucked in his breath. He didn't have to look for her. Her presence was overwhelming. She was sitting on the steps right where she always was, her eyes playing over the flowers, which had now started to wither.
He didn't do anything as foolish as walking toward her. Instead he ran, drawing his sword soundlessly as he went. He brought the blade down with fearsome speed, striking like a thunderbolt to cleave her head in two…
"That's humiliating."
"…Oh?"
His earnest admission was met by only the briefest of replies. He had attacked with all his might, and she had simply caught the blade between two fingers. Without even turning around, she negated all the months and years he had spent honing his sword technique.
"Were you laughing at me?"
"—"
She didn't respond. The silence hurt Wilhelm more than anything else.
Even now, nothing about her willowy body suggested she was an exponent of the martial arts.
"Answer me, Theresia… Or should I say, Sword Saint Theresia van Astrea…!"
He wrenched his sword back from her with sheer force, then struck again. She dodged him without so much as a hair falling out of place. He found himself distracted by the sight of her flowing red locks, and before he knew it, his feet had been swept out from under him to send him toppling to the ground. Wilhelm, once feared as the Sword Devil, hit the pavement without even managing to catch himself.
"—"
He had met this girl so many times, bantered with her, grown closer to her without anybody knowing—and now she had knocked him down. Theresia looked at him where he lay. Her eyes were a piercing blue reflection of a sky that had never known clouds. "Y-yaaaahhh!"
Wilhelm scrambled to his feet for another attack as if chasing after her retreating form. His strike was so strong and so true that one would never have believed it came from a convalescent. His battle aura was even stronger than it had been when he had earned the name of Sword Devil, when he had felled Valga and gone toe-to-toe with Libre.
His sword technique was so polished and pure that it seemed he had thrown away everything else he had once been. In this place, the secret plaza that only they knew, the Sword Devil brought to bear every ounce of his skill.
It was, without a doubt, the greatest and ultimate demonstration of Wilhelm's life as a swordsman.
"—"
And Theresia, without so much as a sword in her hand, avoided it as if Wilhelm were merely a little boy.
A light, dancing step revealed the size of the gulf between them. An impassable wall, an unbridgeable gap, an uncrossable chasm. They were utterly remote from one another. The divide was all too clear to both of them.
Theresia looked down at Wilhelm, who lay on the ground.
"I won't come here again," she said, her quiet good-bye.
She was holding Wilhelm's sword in her hand. When had she gotten it? The Sword Saint had stolen the Sword Devil's weapon, and he had been ignominiously sent to the ground not by the blade, but by a blow from the hilt.
She was so far ahead, and he was so weak. He would never reach her. He wasn't enough.
That was why she was looking at him that way.
"You shouldn't…be using a sword…with that expression," he said.
There was a limit to shamelessness. Whose fault was it? Whose powerlessness had led her to this? If he were stronger, if he had had an exceptional talent for the sword, she wouldn't have looked like this now.
"I'm the Sword Saint," she said. "I never knew why before. But now I do."
It was at once an answer and not an answer. It was Theresia's obscure signal that she wanted something from Wilhelm. When she really wanted him to listen, she never said so directly. She could be difficult that way.
"What you mean, why?!"
"Wielding the sword to protect someone. I think that's a good reason."
The exchange was like what they had once said every time they met, though there was no longer any need for those questions and answers.
The Sword Saint had preferred her flowers, unable to see the meaning in using the sword. Wilhelm's sin had been to give Theresia van Astrea a reason to wield her blade. He had given a reason to the woman who was stronger than any other, could take the sword further than anyone else.
"Wait…Theresia…"
She was already leaving; she felt there were no more words to speak.
Wilhelm couldn't move his limbs. He could hardly raise his head. Yet, driven by his frustration at Theresia and his anger at himself, Wilhelm managed to look up, his own blue eyes focused firmly on her back, since she refused to turn around.
"—"
She didn't stop walking, and retreated farther and farther. Soon his voice would not be able to reach her anymore. He had to speak before that happened.
"I'll steal that sword from you. What do I care about your blessing or your station…? Don't make light of wielding it…of the beauty of a steel blade, Sword Saint!"
She kept growing more distant, until he could no longer see her. Had his last words reached her? They must have. He must have made them reach her.
To speak of the beauty of steel to the one who was beloved of the swordgod was the Sword Devil's pathetic challenge to battle. The two of them never met in that place again.
After that day Wilhelm Trias, the Sword Devil, was not to be seen in the royal army. Instead, the name of Theresia van Astrea appeared. She began single-handedly turning the tide of what had seemed to be an endless war.
Through sheer strength, she began to overwhelm the flames of Valga Cromwell's hatred and the unending battle. This was one way of rising to the old stories of heroism.
The name of the Sword Saint resounded throughout the land, bringing hope to the humans and despair to the demi-humans.
And so time went on, and as the flames of war began to wink out, so, too, the tale draws to its end.
But the love song of the Sword Devil yet speaks of the end of the Demihuman War, and the final meeting of the Sword Devil and the Sword Saint.
THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL
Interlude
1
Carol Remendes had first met Theresia when she was fourteen. The House of Remendes had served the Astrea family, the house of the Sword Saints, for generations. Carol, too, had learned the blade for as long as she could remember, honing her abilities and being trained in her family's duties.
When the Sword Saint Freibel van Astrea passed on the blessing of the Sword Saint to the next generation, and a new Sword Saint was born, the responsibility of attending her fell to Carol.
Carol could still remember her first day of duty—she had been so nervous she thought she might faint clean away. It was only natural. Many of the great swordspeople of the Remendes family were present at that moment. Carol was, of course, quite a competent sword fighter compared to other members of her own generation, but if pure strength was the only condition for being an attendant of the Sword Saint, well, there were many other qualified candidates.
And yet it was Carol, young and immature, who had been chosen. She was confused.
"Are you the one who will be with me from today onward?"
She was actually rather thrown off her rhythm by the fact that the person she found herself attending was a girl younger than she was.
"Y-yes, ma'am! I'm Carol Remendes, of House of Remendes! I'm inexperienced as a swordswoman, but for you, Lady Theresia Astrea, I will spare no—"
"You don't have to be quite so nervous. Can I call you Carol?" Theresia smiled. Carol was somewhat calmed by this behavior, but she was also suspicious. It was hard for her to believe that this child was the Sword Saint, the one who had received the blessing spoken of in legend.
This girl is a sword fighter vastly more accomplished even than me?
Carol had spent no small amount of time diligently devoted to the art of the sword, and she had a certain conceit about her own abilities. It was unsurprising that such extensive training might cause her to doubt the true abilities of the "Sword Saint."
In truth, neither the way Theresia carried herself nor the way she acted gave the slightest hint that she knew anything of the sword, nor of the martial arts at all. It was not easy to simply accept the claim that she was the one who had inherited the most powerful of martial blessings.
"Lady Theresia, if it's all right with you, perhaps I could beg a lesson in swordsmanship from you?"
It was a very provocative way of speaking, but that, Carol reflected, was how she had been back then. She had believed then she was hiding her doubts, but she was sure now that Theresia had seen through her. The Sword Saint had put a finger to her lips, feigning thought, and looked back at Carol. Then she had said, "I'm sorry. It's not, so I'm afraid I can't entertain you with a lesson."
Bluntly, she had refused Carol's request.
This meeting did not give Carol a favorable impression of Theresia. Of course, that was no reason to abandon her duties. On that point, Carol was quite firm with herself, and Theresia never once complained about the way her bodyguard went about her work. It was another event that caused the distance between them to close—and changed how Carol thought about Theresia.
Theresia and Carol had been acting out the roles of a good master and a good servant for about two months. At the time, Theresia spent many of her days at home; she seemed to care little for her status as Sword Saint, and it bothered Carol tremendously. Now and again, Carol would request a lesson, but she was always turned down. This was one of the things that contributed to her annoyance as time went on.
"I'm going to find out if Lady Theresia really is qualified to be the Sword
Saint."
Looking back on it now, she could only marvel at how foolish she had been. But at the time, it had seemed an excellent idea. If Theresia was not sufficiently capable, Carol would have to train her herself. This mistaken sense of duty played no small part in pushing her to act as she did.
Thus, Carol engineered an incident that would allow her to test Theresia's abilities with the sword. She had no intention of getting the girl hurt, but neither did she mean to be particularly gentle. Just a little test.
And as a result…
"Carol! Carol! Are you all right? You… You aren't hurt, are you?!"
Carol lay spread-eagle on the carpet, listening to Theresia's frantic voice. Her head was spinning too fast for her to tell what had happened. She had tried to set up an opportunity to test Theresia and snuck up behind her—and the rest was darkness.
"L-Lady…T-Theresia…?"
"Y-you're all right?! You're not hurt? Th-thank goodness…"
Theresia was looking down at the stunned Carol, all but choking. Her anxiousness had gone beyond words; she covered her face, and tears began to run from her eyes.
But the person who had caused the pain here, who had been in the wrong here—it was all Carol.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Carol…!"
Watching the weeping Theresia, Carol understood with terrible clarity. Thanks to her own foolishness and insensitivity, she was the one who had hurt this girl so badly.
It was only later that Carol learned about Theresia's blessing. She was talking with Freibel, the previous Sword Saint and Theresia's uncle. He asked Carol to take good care of Theresia, and also spoke of the power she had been born with.
"She's had the blessing of the reaper since birth," he said.
This was an inborn blessing, something separate from the blessing of the
Sword Saint she had been granted. It meant that injuries inflicted by Theresia's hand would never close and could not be healed, inevitably ending in death.
Carol shivered. These two abilities together showed Theresia to be truly the beloved of the battlefield. At the same time, she understood the meaning behind the tears Theresia had shed when she had hit Carol.
"—"
She stood, speechless to realize how foolish and hasty she had been, and then she was flooded with regret. Her feet were so heavy with selfrecrimination that she could hardly return to Theresia's room. She had done something unbefitting a servant, and she was sure she would be released from duty.
"I apologize for what happened. I'll understand if you can't forgive me, but I'm truly sorry."
However, that certainty disappeared at the way Theresia lowered her head the moment she saw Carol. Carol knew it was she who needed to apologize, yet it was Theresia who looked defeated and apologetic.
Trembling, she could hardly bring herself to look at her attendant.
Touched by the gentleness of Theresia's heart, Carol was wracked with shame. And it began to change her.
"Lady Theresia, your bath is ready. Will you allow me to accompany you?"
"Carol…you seem so kind suddenly."
"No, milady. Not nearly so kind as you."
After that, Carol came to sincerely respect Theresia as her master. This new Sword Saint, she found, was a gentle and thoughtful young woman despite the awesome powers she'd been given.
That was the reason Carol Remendes changed.
Once she knew the details of Theresia's situation, Carol became her confidante. Theresia had an extraordinary pair of blessings, which together made it seem her inevitable destiny was on the battlefield. Yet she hated to harm others and much preferred to admire flowers wherever she found them.
At the beginning, Carol had been frustrated that a Sword Saint would show no interest in using the sword. But once she had come to know Theresia, Carol realized that there was no problem with this at all. Though favored by the sword-god, she chose a life without the blade. Others might criticize her for this, but Carol was determined to take her master's part no matter what. It was a kind of penance for her former foolishness, but also her way of serving her cherished Theresia.
Carol would be just as happy if Theresia could go on in her placid, content ways, never having to pick up a weapon. But that wish was quietly being betrayed.
The Demi-human War, the civil conflict that threatened the kingdom, would not let Theresia escape.
2
"Elder Brother! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…!"
"Lady Theresia…"
Carol held the weeping girl close, embracing her beloved master, trying desperately to comfort her. But she couldn't find the reassuring words she was looking for. Carol found herself pathetic; she hated herself.
Theresia's first battle as the Sword Saint was also the royal army's first defeat in the civil war. It was not that Theresia had not been powerful enough. The problem went deeper than that.
Theresia had been unable to fight or even pick up her sword. She had tied back her long red hair and clad herself in light armor, and taken up Reid, the Dragon Sword that only the Sword Saint could wield, along with her own blade. With the hopes of the kingdom on her shoulders, she had set out to battle.
And still she had been unable to fight. She could not bring herself to harm others. Instead her older brother, a guide for her to the last, had sacrificed himself. He had joined those fighting a desperate defense of the frozen Theresia and met his end in combat.
After Theresia's inability to bring herself to fight had gotten her brother killed, the sword became a curse to her.
"I'm sorry, Carol."
These had become the words with which an ashen-faced Theresia dismissed Carol each day.
Her failure to fight in her first battle had caused profound disappointment in the kingdom's upper echelons; she had continued to be unable to join the army in anything it did, and it seemed there was no hope left for the Sword Saint.
Requests for the dispatch of the defeated Saint were now filled by Carol, who went in her place. Of course, Carol did not esteem herself so highly as to believe she was really fulfilling Theresia's duty. But she continued to throw herself into the work in hopes of making things even a little easier on her master.
Carol knew full well that if Theresia were fighting, she would achieve ten times, a hundred times more. But Carol would also be happy if the opportunity never came. If her kindhearted young charge never had to use her
sword…
Years passed, and the civil war dragged on. All the while, Theresia's ill luck continued. Her second-eldest brother and her younger brother both died in battle one after the other, and Freibel, too, lost his life in the war. The flames of this conflict seemed as if they would pursue Theresia everywhere, burn out every corner of her heart.
More than once, Carol had heard Theresia crying miserably in her room at night, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…!"
Each time she heard the plaintive cries, Carol's heart filled with an unreasonable but irrepressible anger. Was it not enough? Would it not end? Why did destiny see fit to corner Theresia so?
"—"
How long would the attentions of the sword-god torment her?
Somebody, save her, Carol would pray from the bottom of her heart. Anybody.
Carol could not do it alone. She didn't have what it took. Let her be mocked as shameless; it didn't matter. Somebody, help.
She could only pray that the right person would find Theresia. She could only beg the heavens.
3
It was pure chance that Carol noticed the quiet change in Theresia.
Five years had already passed since the beginning of the civil war, four years since Theresia's ill-fated first battle. More and more often, Theresia spent her days outside rather than cooped up in her house. She was hardly out for pleasant walks, though. Carol had suggested to Theresia that it might be best for her not to be in the house. The reason was simple, and that made it all the more awful.
As the war worsened, various members of the House of Astrea, concerned that their status as Sword Saints would decline, were visiting on a daily basis to urge Theresia to rejoin the army. These encouragements came from people who had nothing to lose, and as the bearer of all their expectations, Theresia had to endure their "advice." Thus, Carol suggested that perhaps Theresia should get away from it all.
"Please, think of yourself first," she said. "You have to do what you think is right, Lady Theresia." She frequently saw off the depressed young woman with such counsel from her heart of hearts. She wasn't advocating simple escapism, but she felt unnecessary suffering should be avoided. Theresia might not be able to feel quite content, but she could at least find some harbor for a brief respite from the battering winds.
Theresia began to spend her time away from the house, somewhere deep in the poor quarter. It was not an especially safe place, but it certainly afforded solitude. The flower seeds she planted came into bud, and when they bloomed, it would become a place where she could relax. Or so she had hoped.
"Lady Theresia…did something happen?"
One night, Carol came to the square to meet Theresia and found that her usual distracted air had given way to something else. Theresia had a rare smile pulling at her lips as she said, "I met a very rude sword today."
The words didn't sound promising, yet she seemed almost pleased. Carol was puzzled. It would be quite some time before Carol learned the true import of those words.
Not until she discovered that the person Theresia had met in the square that day was Wilhelm.
She had, it was true, prayed for someone to save Theresia, no matter who it might be. So she wasn't technically in any position to complain. Yet she very much wanted to. Why, she wanted to know, did it have to be Wilhelm Trias?
It so happened that Carol had known Wilhelm before he and Theresia had met. Carol had often seen him on the battlefield when fulfilling Theresia's missions, and he could be a troublesome swordsman. There was no way, in Carol's mind, that a person with Wilhelm's particular qualities could ever mesh with Theresia's generosity of heart.
Wilhelm was like a blood-starved wild animal who had put on a human skin and learned to use a sword. That was Carol's opinion of the Sword Devil. He was the exact opposite of Theresia, who hated to hurt any living thing and was terrified by her own enormous power. It was inconceivable that they should see anything in each other, yet in that field of flowers, there was an unusual meeting of the minds.
Although she felt a little guilty about it, Carol had eavesdropped on their meetings more than once or twice. Each time, she had been prepared to leap out and cut Wilhelm down if there had been any trouble, but she had always been disappointed. Or, well, disappointment was not the right word. After all, she saw Theresia smile and laugh among her flowers.
It had been so long since Carol had seen a smile or heard laughter from
Theresia. In the five years during which they had been master and servant, Theresia had spent only the first six months in anything like happiness. After that, the Demi-human War had erupted, Theresia had attempted her first battle, her heart had been broken, and her smile had disappeared.
But here, Carol saw the true Theresia van Astrea. And if Theresia was willing to acknowledge and trust this boy, then Carol begrudgingly admitted that she would do so, too.
It was at this time that Carol was also growing closer to Wilhelm's comrade Grimm. He, too, thought very highly of Wilhelm, and her impression of the Sword Devil began to change.
Ultimately, Wilhelm achieved great things in battle and was even granted a promotion to knighthood. He took the place that had once been reserved for the Sword Saint, Theresia, and now it was the Sword Devil people looked to as the one who would bring an end to the Demi-human War. Carol admitted with admiration that Theresia's judgment had been right.
After that, she saw a change in how Wilhelm thought and acted. The barely restrained, bestial intensity began to subside. He showed consideration for those around him and dedicated himself to living up to the hopes people had for him. He was attempting to be the very picture of knighthood.
The change was extraordinary. But everyone believed it, and even Carol found herself thinking more kindly of him. Though they still argued, she had no choice but to acknowledge who he was.
"Wilhelm…"
There was no need to describe the meetings between Wilhelm and Theresia. She waited for him by the field of flowers, greeted him with gentle visage and voice. Anyone in the world could have guessed what she felt for the Sword Devil. There was no question that the two of them cared for each other and that their hearts had forged a connection.
That pleased Carol, and she genuinely wished them happiness. It would be untrue to say she felt no jealousy toward Wilhelm, who had been the one who was able to tease out the true Theresia. This was part of the reason she would always continue to needle him publicly. But all the same, if Theresia was happy, that was enough for Carol.
Theresia had been hurt more than enough already. A girl who didn't deserve to be in pain had been wounded for pointless reasons by the unfitting destiny she had been given. So it was good if she could at last be happy. Carol wanted it for her.
She wanted everyone to know that Theresia van Astrea deserved to be loved, to see the smile that Theresia used only amid those flowers, to hear the laugh Theresia uttered only for Wilhelm. Carol was certain that the day would come soon.
But the curse that was the sword had not yet relinquished its hold on Theresia.
4
When the flames of war began to lick at Wilhelm Trias's home, he tried to contain them by himself. Grimm told Carol what was going on; she understood the gravity of the situation and couldn't decide what to do, torn between telling Theresia and not telling her. Carol didn't think much would come of letting Theresia know. But if she kept from her master the fact that the person she cared about had gone off to a hopeless battle, was that not itself a great betrayal?
Carol went back and forth, agonized over the choice, but in the end she told Theresia everything.
It was to be the moment when the current Sword Saint truly awakened.
"Lady Theresia…!"
Everything in the Trias lands seemed to be on fire. Amid everything, the sight of Theresia wielding her sword was terrible and beautiful. The flashes of her blade, the movement of her feet as she dodged the enemy's blows. All of it was like a dance that spoke to the absolute achievement of her technique. As a fellow swordswoman, Carol could only watch this display in astonishment and admiration.
But as Theresia's servant, Carol Remendes, she felt sadness and pain. Theresia stood guarding the blood-soaked Wilhelm, holding off the waves of demi-humans who attacked them. For the first time in her life, Theresia had overcome her reluctance, and on the other side of that hesitation was a sword technique like a tempest.
Carol understood how she had banished that hesitation, as well as what the result would be. There were no tears on Theresia's cheeks as she brought her sword to bear, yet it was clear that she was crying. Here, in front of the man she loved, she gave in to the destiny she had so long resisted, the fate that had cost her a member of her family.
"Lady Theresia…"
In the end, Carol had done nothing but make Theresia cry. Nothing had changed since that first time. Keenly aware that Theresia and Wilhelm were parting ways, Carol was wracked with the sense of her own guilt.
5
Wilhelm quietly disappeared from the royal army, Theresia's name and renown replacing his own. That first battle in which she had failed to fight was covered up, and the battle for the House of Trias was presented as the Sword Saint's first combat. Afterward, Theresia rose to achieve all that was expected and hoped of her.
She gave the kingdom her selfless loyalty. All and sundry praised the beautiful Sword Saint and her exceptional prowess, the kingdom stirred with the second coming of a legend, and Theresia van Astrea became a hero.
And in the wings was Carol, supporting her mistress as she had always done.
"Thank you again, Carol," Theresia said with a small smile. But it was fleeting, not her true smile. That expression, the one more beautiful than any of the flowers she surrounded herself with, was not something Carol or anyone in the kingdom could evoke. There was only one person who could do that.
And that one person—that man, the Sword Devil—was gone. No one knew where.
Eventually, an end came to the fighting, though it left a great unease behind. It was Theresia herself who put a finish to the kingdom's long civil war. Beloved of the sword god, spending herself for the kingdom, she ended the conflict and became a hero.
Her name would go down in legend, and her fame would be eternal; she would be spoken of for generations to come. And eventually, no one would care about the life of one young girl named Theresia. Her love of flowers, the smile she revealed to one particular man, would be cut away by her life with the blade. It was a source of endless frustration to Carol to see Theresia dragged along by the path of the Sword Saint.
She had once prayed for Theresia to be saved by someone, anyone. Now she prayed for the same thing, but not at the hands of "anyone." If Theresia was to be saved, there would be only one man who could do it. And so Carol prayed desperately for him.
But her wishing was fruitless; her prayers went unanswered.
Nothing changed. Theresia became a hero, and the day of the ceremony arrived.
THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL