Chapter 83: Even When Flowers Fall, My Spirit Rises.
Calix was deeply immersed. Every sense narrowed to a tight radius around his body. Consciousness settled into stillness. He neither saw with his eyes nor heard with his ears. His mind was empty, yet there was no confusion. He simply followed wherever instinct pointed.
Whoosh—
And then, movements carved into his body came pouring out. The Dance of the Wilderness. A fluid yet sharp dance that Gregor had passed down to him. The timing and breathing, the rotation of the blade and the angle of the wrist. Calix had repeated it hundreds of times until it was part of him. It had been a means of survival. But from this moment on, it was different.
'A dance is something you do together.'
With that inner whisper, the opponent's extended blade grazed across his chest. The armor made from sandworm leather was torn away as if it were nothing. That was fine. Without the slightest disturbance, he planted his foot and turned.
The movement slipping to the side was called the third chapter of the Dance of the Wilderness—'Possum's Leap'.
That was what it had been called until now. No longer. The form of swordsmanship, too, no longer held meaning.
Shwack!
One after another, he matched rhythm with his opponent. A horizontal slash disrupted the enemy's center, and in exchange, he accepted a small cut near the chin.
The difference in skill was unmistakable, but he did not deny reality. He accepted it. That was what dance had always been. It embraced even a partner's careless steps. Even if they collided, the flow had to be maintained.
It could not be severed, bent, or faltered. The moment he accepted that truth…… His heart grew lighter.
[Bloodline Ability: 'Mind's Eye' Stabilization Complete]
[Heart Rate at Dangerous Level]
[Unconscious State Entry Detected: Interference minimized]
Body and mind moved in the same direction. The swordsmanship evolved. Where the heart went, both feet and both hands followed—along with the sword—and along that trajectory, petals bloomed. Leaves forged from flame drifted through the air.
They scattered, spread, burned, and faded. Fierce will.
The tip of Calix's sword no longer wavered. There was only one thing his eyes held now. Saving the newborn. Not because the child's life was worth more than his own. Rather, the opposite. If he could not even protect that much, he could not save himself either.
One who looked away in that moment—even if they survived—could not be called alive. And so he did not retreat. He turned resolve into action, and at its end—he came face to face, for the first time, with something that existed deep within.
'I wasn't trying to save the wanderers, nor did I risk my life for the child. In the end, everything was a fight to save myself.'
Only now did he understand. This battle had been a fight to save his past self. The young, powerless Calix of those days. The small boy who had no choices, who could only cry. Now it was different.
He felt the change, and he hesitated no longer. Steps without hesitation were the very first steps toward what came next.
Shaaaa—
The trajectory of the sword grew steadily more precise. Even as his stance wavered, the tip of the blade refused to tremble.
Falling Fire no longer burst outward like an explosion. It swirled, blazed in spirals—and then, slowly, it moved with order.
['Core' and 'Nature Attunement' Rising Sharply]
[Core Runaway Warning]
[Mana Fission]
And so, following its master's will, a vast surge of mana rose through his body. The core within his heart shuddered—then extended its power throughout every limb.
The center of the petals drifting along the surface of the blade—gently crumpled. The sparks that had scattered irregularly came to a halt. Without a single exception, they bloomed again in a perfectly ordered form.
Shwaaaaa!
Falling Fire, complete. The mass of mana scattered through the air no longer carried any dissonance. It was not a forced shaking of branches to scatter what lay within.
Simply because the time had come— It turned along the current of the wind, cut through the air, and formed a torrent. The crimson leaves bloomed in the void and spread their wings all at once.
As unified motion transformed into unified rhythm, a single season revealed itself to the world. At the very edge of spring, the blossoms were falling.
* * *
Imran Akran had been watching Calix from the closest possible distance. Just a hand's breadth away, a crimson flame bloomed. It was no simple outpouring of mana. The trajectory of a sword imbued with emotion and will. From within it, vivid shapes emerged. Flowers.
The sparks became petals, and they scattered countless in the wind. They had bloomed but did not linger, and even as they vanished quickly, they left a steady mark.
'……He is worthy of hearing my name.'
He murmured inwardly. The young man before him had risen one step in the face of crisis. A dance of instinct revealed in an unconscious state. A single strike poured full of soul. All of it had melted into sword, body, and mana.
Of course, in the battle itself, he was still being pushed back. As the blade grazed the armor in passing, a red line was drawn across Calix's thigh.
Shallow wounds continued beneath his collarbone as well. Beyond that, he was a mess all over—he should have been writhing in pain—yet he never once gave up his back. And then, Imran Akran crossed blades with him once more.
Midway through a heavy downward strike, he twisted once—then thrust straight forward. The opponent immediately recognized his intent and, spinning to the left, launched a counter.
Scrape.
It grazed the shoulder. No blood was drawn, but the sound of the armor being scorched by flame could be heard. It was neither fast nor perfect. But it was splendid. It was sincere.
"You finally touched me."
A faint, involuntary note of admiration rose to the corner of his lips. He could not dare call them equals.
The gap in their abilities was far too vast. If he had pushed the output of his Neural Accelerator just a little higher, the young man's head would have been taken long since. Yet he had not done so. He had not wanted to.
'To kill him here…… Would be too great a waste.'
The Master had seen the talent. Not a talent for swordsmanship—a talent for enduring. A talent for not dying. And alongside it, a stubbornness that drove him to press forward headlong for the sake of his own convictions.
In short, he possessed 'the potential to climb higher'.
And so Imran had turned the blade aside several times. Where he should have cut, he had eased back his strength slightly; in moments where a thrust was possible, he had twisted his wrist. Throughout it all, Calix had proven himself in kind.
Attacks that should have been fatal ended instead as minor wounds. Strikes flew at him from all directions, but he moved to distinguish what had to be avoided from what need not be. It did not rest solely on one-sided consideration—the two of them were in step with each other.
The result was that, as though they were master and student, the two were truly dancing. And soon, the Master reached a decision.
'I must take him.'
Imran Akran chose after weighing it carefully. His opponent was not merely a promising swordsman. He was someone who accepted even pain and despair as rites of passage in order to turn conviction into reality.
'I can't guarantee he'll reach the Master's realm, but everyone who's managed to climb has always been the same.'
For the first time in his life, he entertained the thought of recruiting an enemy. The Emperor would be furious. Because of these Antelopes, the Empire's front line had been forced back, and even after that, far too many soldiers and knights had died. But—
"And what of it?"
He was a Master. A supreme being, one of only nine on the continent. Once the decision was made, the tip of his sword naturally fell. And as he put distance between them, a look of puzzlement and regret rose simultaneously in his opponent's eyes.
This young man was worth gaining, even at the cost of all that. That was his answer.
* * *
Whether fortunately or not, a fierce energy came surging in from outside at precisely that moment. A pulse of dark mana. A prickling force that pierced to the marrow. The monster that had devoured the Empire's knights—a Draug.
As though sensing that its time had finally come, it rose like wildfire and turned toward the direction where the two stood. From a distance, the energies of both could be felt. It was time to move.
"……It is heading this way."
Imran Akran sensed the malevolent creature's presence as well. He turned his head briefly to gauge the distance, then shifted his gaze back to Calix.
The Empire's forces lay in the Draug's path. There was a gap—but it was not comfortable.
"Surrender."
And so perhaps, the words came out short and blunt. It was a word he had never once spoken in his life, so that would be why.
As a Master, he had never stooped to take someone in, nor had he ever asked. He was one who commanded—not one who persuaded.
He cursed himself inwardly for his poor choice of words, but they were already spoken. He could not take them back. Calix did not answer.
His breathing was ragged. His lips were parched, and his eyes trembled faintly. Where the dance had ceased, only a body that had reached its limit remained. Yet his spine was held straight.
Carefully, he confirmed the bundle that held the child and felt relief. His conviction had not changed.
"Do you feel resistance? If you dislike the Empire, what of sheltering under House Akran? I will take you as my disciple."
A voice urging him came once more. As though to mend the earlier misstep, the intent to pacify him was unmistakable.
"This one is a Master. Those who resist shall be subdued by authority. Past grievances need only be proven through skill. The mere fact that you receive my teaching…… Will grant you much."
Calix thought it a proposal worth accepting. In truth, it was not merely reasonable—it was a tremendous opportunity. A Master's disciple. Lofty renown and riches beyond measure would follow.
Countless opportunities for sparring would be given, and an elevation in standing was as good as guaranteed. But they were the Antelopes. Of low birth, yet they had survived with their heads held high.
They had not survived by begging for an enemy's mercy.
They had moved their feet in search of a way to live, whatever it took. Calix was the same. If he surrendered himself to grasp the future—what meaning would that hold? There might come a day for a transaction, but this was not that day. He slowly shook his head.
"I have already…… Set my will."
One sentence was enough for an answer. The tips of Imran Akran's fingers trembled faintly. He stirred inwardly without letting it show. But that emotion was far removed from anger.
"So you mean to court death for the sake of that child? To cast aside wealth and honor and walk willingly into the jaws of death?"
In the silence, their eyes met. The answer that followed—he felt he already knew without hearing it.
"Gladly."
The weight of a single word, stronger than a sword. The Empire's Master let out a long sigh.
Indeed, this young man had not sought to flee.
He had not come bearing the Emperor's orders as Imran had. He had taken up the sword by his own choice, and he had stood to protect one life.
He moved forward even as the blade carved into his flesh. Because his victory did not lie in killing his enemy.
Pushing through the rain toward the riverbank. Meaning was placed only in saving the infant, the weak.
'There was a time, once, when I was like him.'
Imran was suddenly reminded of memories from long ago. There had been a time when he too had taken up the sword to protect someone. His brow creased sharply. The more he understood, the less he wished to kill. Instead, he wished even more to keep him close. Yes. To kill him here—it truly was…… maddeningly wasteful.
"You are rather like the edge of spring."
A flower is more dazzling in the moment it falls than in the moment it blooms. Calix, standing before him, was exactly such a presence. Falling Fire had long since quieted, leaving only a single sword hanging limply at his side—yet the young man reflected in his eyes radiated a brilliant light.
* * *
The rain continued to fall, yet the earth stood in contrast—dry and cracked. Wherever the grey flames had touched, the moisture had burned away and the breath of the land had ceased. It was the aftermath of the battle between two people.
'I will take him.'
Imran Akran reached the same decision. The one thing that had changed was the resolve to take him by force if necessary. He would bring him to the House, and watch over him personally so that he would not be broken by the storm.
Environment was no less important than talent. Fertile soil, proper moisture, and careful tending hands. He had the ability to provide all of it. But a creature of unknown nature was drawing near, so there was need for haste.
[Output Amplification]
['3.9', '4.1'…'4.7'…'5.0']
[Reality Acceleration 5.4x Maintained]
Wind rose. As though something had torn through space in several layers, Calix's vision wavered. At first, his opponent's body appeared to tremble, and then it split into several. Beyond trembling—it fractured. Afterimages appeared one by one, crossing the air and overlapping before dispersing. It was as though every motion was occurring at once.
Boom!
With a single step, the air was torn apart. Shockwaves poured through the gaps between afterimages and swept everything around them. The aftermath of Falling Fire was washed away. By a single ordinary movement, the place where a season had just resided was erased. With each step taken, the ground cracked and shallow fissures spread.
Creak.
Calix forced himself to grit his teeth. Even gripping the sword properly was now a struggle. His fingers were not so much holding the sword as straining not to drop it. That was when it happened.
"Calix!"
"……?"
An unfamiliar voice came flying in along with the sound of hoofbeats. At the familiar voice, the person in question's head turned reflexively. It was none other than Vice-captain Marik. He dismounted immediately and approached. Alone. A single rider.
"Vice-captain……. Why?"
Calix's question was Imran Akran's question as well.
He lowered the output of his Neural Accelerator and sized up the newcomer. He lowered it again and again, until the voice became audible. A level even beneath the young man. A level that had not even reached upper-rank swordsman. Yet there was no hesitation in the approaching movements.
Marik came to a stop before Calix. A step to the side, a unit member was struggling with everything he had not to collapse. He quietly stood shoulder to shoulder with him. Imran Akran's gaze swept over him.
"This is not your place to intervene."
The voice was low, but it carried weight. Mana gathered and pressed forward with a sense of oppression. Marik nodded with a hardened expression.
"Indeed it is not. I am lesser than the person standing beside me. Somehow it came to be so."
The Master's eyes narrowed.
"And still you will not step back."
He did not compel an answer. He merely took the form of a question. Yet within those few words, killing intent was present. If he tried to interfere, there was intent to kill.
Marik did not answer immediately and looked once more at Calix. A face caked in blood. Armor torn to shreds. Yet the small life cradled on his back was unharmed. That was enough.
"It is only natural for a parent to protect a child."
A clear voice crossed the battlefield. Not even the driving rain could stop it.
"Likewise, it is an inevitable thing for a Vice-captain to seek to protect a unit member."
The pupils of Imran Akran darkened deeply. Mana welled up instead of a reply. A heavy pressure that bore down on the earth cut through the air and came surging forward.
Krrrrrr.
A formless weight swept over everything. The armor groaned, and the joints screamed. Marik retreated two steps as though about to fall to his knees—yet he held on until the very end. Calix had already been enduring against a being like this. He planted his legs and held firm.
"You will die."
Within a composed tone, a chilling foretelling was laid. To that, the Vice-captain of the Antelopes replied with respect. Not even a tremor in his eyes.
"If I die for my unit member, this is a great honor!"
At that, Imran took one step closer.
"This one is the foremost sword of the Empire. You will not save him—you will not even be able to leave a single last word."
The substantiated mana swept through his hair. It drummed against armor and brushed across skin, making the gap in power unmistakably clear. Marik called out loudly, again and again.
"Then all the more an honor!"
For one moment, silence fell. And then—
Heh heh heh.
Breaking the silence, a low and deep laugh slipped out.
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Imran Akran raised his head and laughed heartily. It was not mockery. Not ridicule, not hollow relief—a pure expression of joy.
"Yes, yes. Without that level of resolve, one cannot become a Vice-captain."
How long had it been since he had laughed. He savored briefly the smile that had come to the corner of his lips. A faint sensation was felt at the corner of his eyes. He was no small age, but it must surely be rainwater. His gaze turned to the sky. The raindrops were still pouring down fiercely. The earth was cracked, and the remnants of mana were slowly cooling.
"This is enough."
In an instant, his mind was settled. A seed of talent is truly precious, but at the same time, the environment in which it grows is more important still. Where it is planted, whose hands it is raised by.
All those elements coming together is how a small branch stretches into a great tree. Just now, he had confirmed it.
Calix had already put down firm roots.
To reach further from here would only make for an unsightly display.
Therefore, what remained was simply the question of how to let him go.
Boom—boom boom boom!
At just that moment, a great roar rang out from the east. A voice that sounded strangely distorted. It was a dissonance of sounds—human screams, animal cries, and the sound of souls being torn—all mixed together.
The Draug had drawn close. Imran Akran turned his head. Beyond his field of vision, the Empire's camp was wavering. It was felt even through the thick fog and rain. Panic, collapse, wretched deaths.
"……A timely summons."
He clicked his tongue, yet could not help but be inwardly pleased. Justification was a powerful tool. A reason had arisen to 'temporarily' spare those who should have been killed.
"A gap has appeared, so what can be done. I have no choice but to go and rescue them as well."
The supreme warrior—one of only nine on the continent—withdrew his sword and returned it to its scabbard. Then, without the slightest lingering attachment, he turned his back.
He had merely turned away, yet the air of the whole area changed completely. Killing intent, pressure—all of it evaporated in an instant.
"Calix, I shall look forward to our next meeting."
That was the last thing Imran Akran left behind.
* * *
Calix watched 'Draug' riding away on horseback for a long while, then carefully opened his mouth.
"……It was a foolish thing."
"Hmm……."
At those words, Marik nodded and gave a brief reply.
"You? Or me? Which one are you talking about?"
Their gazes met naturally. Within eyes wet with rain, a faint smile bloomed. No further conversation was needed.