While Nadoli sat, fuming, Luke crossed his arms and looked down at him.
“No need to look so glum,” he said brightly. “Ansem can replace a missing arm! That sort of stuff’s his specialty! We’ve got a few people who need his help, so this will be good practice for him.”
Luke had a number of wounds himself, but he didn’t look like he was in any pain.
“Th-That’s not the problem!”
He was so casual. You’d never think he had just cut so many people. You’d never think he had nearly killed so many people. Even after being chastised by Nadoli, he didn’t even flinch. The gathered apprentices were looking gravely at the two of them. They didn’t say anything, partially because they were leaving judgment to their mentor, but also because Luke occupied a unique position among them.
Words had no effect on Luke. Despite this, he was brimming with talent, loved swords more than anyone, and didn’t have any qualms about cutting and being cut. He didn’t cave to authority, and he ambitiously pursued strength, earning him many friends and foes.
His biggest issue, though, was that he was so unrestrained that it wasn’t hard to imagine him cutting down fellow apprentices and destroying the dojo even without the involvement of some Devil Sword. If Nadoli hadn’t been directly involved and had only heard about this afterward, he likely would have just brushed this off as more wild behavior from Luke. After all these years, Nadoli knew him well.
Why was he still so deeply upset at someone impervious to words? Even their mentor had stopped talking to Luke himself and instead started going to his party leader, the Thousand Tricks.
It was Nadoli’s inexperience that had allowed him to be drawn in by that sword. He couldn’t show his face around family, friends, or his mentor. At the same time, however, he still had objections he felt the need to raise, no matter how pathetic they might have been.
“I’m not talking to you anymore!” Nadoli said to Luke. “Let me talk to the Thousand Tricks! I want to talk with your leader! I need to know what he was thinking when he sent that sword to us! Do you understand? You might not know this, Luke, but in this land, to send someone a Devil Sword without warning is a violation of the law! I refuse to believe he was ignorant! I don’t buy it! I don’t care what our mentor says, I want to talk with the Thousand Tricks!”
“What? Chill out, Nadoli. Krai didn’t do anything wrong. I asked him if he had someone I could cut. Then he gave it to me.”
Who the hell would respond to a request like that by giving out a sword that eroded people’s hearts? Even a Level 8 wasn’t supposed to do things like that. Was it not just Luke? Did nobody in Grieving Souls have any regard for the law? And never mind that. Why was Luke asking for someone he could cut?!
Nadoli resisted the dull pain he felt in his abdomen. Perhaps in his excitement, he had accidentally reopened his wounds. He began to feel faint, but he had to hold out. He wouldn’t even let himself visit a doctor until he had seen this through. He had to at least hang in there until his mentor returned.
Luke abruptly looked upwards and began waving his hand. “Ah, it’s Krai! Over here!” he yelled.
“Wh-What?!”
Nadoli ignored his body’s protests and forced himself onto his feet, where he then got hit by a strong gust. Having been driven by sheer willpower, his knees gave out and he tumbled backwards. Feeling pins and needles throughout his body, he let out a voiceless cry. The other apprentices cleared a spot.
Then, descending in front of him was a black-haired girl. She was riding atop a broom and was uncannily beautiful. Her straight hair extended to her waist, and her pale skin was without a single flaw. Though lacking warmth, she was pretty and carried an aura of intelligence. Her pure-black Magus garb was subdued in style, but its mystic impression suited her perfectly.
Nobody rode on brooms. Not outside of fairy tales. Nadoli forgot to breathe. He forgot his pain, he forgot his anger. Perhaps the other apprentices felt the same way, as nobody said anything about the sudden appearance of this mysterious fable-esque Magus.
Amid the abrupt silence, only Luke was unaffected. “Krai! You came!” he said, sounding oddly pleased. “That was the best. I’d cut one down, and another would grab the sword and come at me. That thing had quite an edge too.”
“L-Luke?!” Nadoli cried. “What are you talking about? The Thousand Tricks is a man.”
This couldn’t be right. Nadoli had seen the Thousand Tricks before. He was there when Luke joined the dojo, and he had visited a number of times after that. He was a man with black hair and black eyes, with a face that could be politely described as gentle or rudely described as unremarkable.
But there was the matter of gender. The Thousand Tricks was a man! Not some beautiful girl. The only thing they had in common was their hair and eye colors, and saying that was an insult to the girl.
The apprentices had supposedly tempered their minds and hearts under the Sword Saint, yet they were shrinking back. Some of them weren’t even hiding their scrutinizing looks.
Strength came in many forms. Very few of the Sword Saint’s apprentices were female, and most of them had powerful physiques comparable to Nadoli and the others. For many Swordsmen, though they would never admit it under any duress, it was their dream to protect a frail, tragic, adorable Magus.
While all the other apprentices were left breathless, Luke blinked, then furrowed his brow. “Huh? Oh. Lucia is Krai’s younger sister. Though I don’t often see her on a broom. What’s up, Lucia? Training?”
“Indeed,” she said after a pause. Her voice carried a pleasant ring.
Nadoli doubted his ears. Krai’s sister?! That couldn’t be.
Then, from the back of the broom descended the source of all this madness.