This can’t be! Michael went pale the moment he saw Clovis’s face, which looked exactly like the sketch that circulated certain parts of the underworld. From Michael’s point of view, he could only assume that not only had Clovis predicted his actions, he’d also come to kill him alone without bringing along any small fry that might get in his way.
I’ll kill him first! Michael assumed that Clovis would have prepared a contingency for him running away, so he decided to kill Clovis first in order to get out of this desperate situation.
Could that be Michael?! Clovis was also confused. Since there was no sketch of Michael going around, Clovis couldn’t be absolutely certain, but since he was a master, he sensed the stench of blood from the man, so he suspected that the person before him might be the Michael he’d heard about.
In other words, since Michael was the one who knew for a fact that he was facing Clovis and had decided to kill him, he’d taken the initiative and had an overwhelming advantage. He drew his sword with a short exhalation and tried to stab his opponent, hoping to bring him down in the fastest way possible.
Clovis was clearly slower, if only by a moment, but...he moved his feet, knees, torso, elbows, arms, and even head with such momentum that it felt like every muscle in his body might be twisted off, drawing his sword. But instead of thrusting it, he raised it and swung it down, before Michael’s sword could react to his intent to kill and unleash its power, and before it could pierce his body.
“Argh?!” Michael couldn’t believe it. Even though he’d definitely taken the initiative and thrust his sword in a straight line to kill his opponent, the slower Clovis’s sword had severed Michael at the shoulder.
Clovis—whose muscles were now bulging across his entire body—and his fellow disciples of Sazaki had a creed: If you swung your sword downward, it was guaranteed to kill. Ultimately, both of them—Michael, as well as Clovis—had mastered the use of swordsmanship to take lives.
Magic tools and profane swords, supernatural abilities and authorities, and special abilities that were guaranteed to kill on the first try... In a world overflowing with such things, simply arresting someone was a lenience that could not be afforded. This was in no way an exaggeration, especially since there were plenty of people or tools that could still kill their enemy even if they were dismembered or unconscious. Which was why Clovis and his fellow disciples had been taught by their teacher that if they swung their sword down during a fight to the death, they had to do so to kill their opponent. And in order to faithfully adhere to that teaching, overwhelming speed was necessary.
Clovis silently looked down at the collapsed Michael.
Tch. I’d like to call him a disappointing apprentice, but...Clovis truly is impressive, isn’t he? Michael’s teacher, a seemingly young man, was also observing his disciple’s defeat from a faraway roof. I never expected his swordsmanship to be that fast. I don’t think I’d lose against him, but if I were to face him head-on, I might lag behind. Besides, I have nothing to gain by fighting over some drug I don’t even know exists for sure. I think I’ll retreat here. No, Michael wasn’t even a disciple to him—just a sacrificial pawn used to measure Clovis’s strength.
“I thought I’d picked up on someone who reeks of blood. You smell just like the guy using the secret Soul Eating art or whatever. I’ll warn you: I suggest you come quietly.”
The young man hadn’t noticed the man who’d now set his alcohol bottle down on the roof and started talking to him. Startled by the voice coming from behind him, he ignored the warning by drawing his sword. This deceptively young man, with his sword techniques acquired through years of diligent training, skills related to the Soul Eating magic, and a refusal to give up beaten into him by a harsh past, could certainly be classified as a master. But who cared about his techniques, skills, or history? None of that mattered at all at the scene of a murder. There was no need to know his name. There was no need to know his past. There was no need to go easy on him.
Speed left all of that behind.
“You drew your sword, huh?” Sazaki’s murmur was the only sound that could be heard.
He drew his sword.
There was a red flash.
He sheathed his sword.
He brought his alcohol bottle to his mouth.
He drank.
Silence.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. Sazaki, the homeless, had once also been known as Sazaki, the Lightspeed Blademaster. The brilliance of his sword had yet to fade.
Ferd and Elrica’s visit to Lianard took place after those turbulent events. And now that the Blademaster and Hero were meeting again after such a long time, their conversation would shake the entire world.
“Y—”
“No.”
Or perhaps not. Sazaki the Blademaster had been about to say, “You of course brought me some hooch, right?” when Ferd immediately cut him off. The two of them had known each other since they were young and could be called best friends, but because of that, they didn’t hold back against each other.
“I’m—”
“No.”
Sazaki, the homeless, had been about to say “I’m sure you actually brought some expensive booze despite saying that, right?” when Elrica also cut him off. She’d also learned about the behaviors of a drunkard and how to deal with one during their old journey, so she didn’t hold back either.
“Actually, why did you two come down from the mountain?” And as Ferd and Elrica knew, once Sazaki got the topic of alcohol out of the way, he got straight down to business.
“’Cause our end is drawing near. We set off on a journey to see our son, grandchild, great-grandchild, and acquaintances. We came to you first since you’re the closest.” Perhaps influenced by his unchanging best friend, the elderly Ferd unconsciously explained in the same tone as his younger days.
“Man, that’s nice. Hmm? If I remember right, your son and his family live—”
“On the neighboring continent.”
“Good luck on the long journey, then. You know, I actually only have about a decade left too.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t drunk yourself to death. Right, Elrica?”
“I wholeheartedly agree.”
“Bwa ha ha ha ha! As if I could die from drinking too much!”
In contrast to the laughing Sazaki, Ferd and Elrica looked truly exasperated. Even back during their harsh journey, Sazaki had been constantly drinking. He’d consumed such massive quantities of alcohol that, logically speaking, his body should have broken down; he shouldn’t still be alive.
“All right. How about I join you on that journey of yours?” Sazaki said.
“What? Well... What should we do, Elrica?”
“I don’t mind.”
“In that case, let’s go on a journey together. It’s been a while,” Ferd said.
“It’s decided, then. Let’s add Elrica and reform the Shining Stars after eighty long years,” Sazaki replied.
Sazaki’s sudden declaration made Ferd’s wrinkles and cheeks twitch, and he felt like shoving an alcohol bottle right into his close friend’s mouth. It wasn’t because he said he wanted to accompany them on their journey. Both Ferd and Elrica were happy that their journey to meet their friends would also be one with an old party member. However, “Shining Stars” was the name of the team Ferd and Sazaki had formed when they’d just started out as warriors. Elrica asked her husband the meaning of the unknown name with her gaze, since it was a youthful fancy he’d kept hidden from her.
“So, who’re you going to meet next?” Sazaki asked.