Protagonist (2)
"……Everything is perfect."
Perfect.
There was simply no other way to describe it.
How to grip the hilt, where to center the weight, how much mana to use to emit aura—It was because I had once been one of the Empire’s few, a ‘Sword Master.’
A sudden desire welled up. A very primal desire.
In this world, a Sword Master was already considered incredibly powerful.
Humans were incarnations of desire.
The driving force of progress had always been desire.
"If I could grow even further from here……."
However, even if I objectively understood that the limits of growth had been raised, I still couldn’t dare to imagine it.
Was there really a realm beyond this?
So incredible was the level that Rohan had reached that such doubts felt natural.
"……But something is still lacking."
That 'something' here referred to an 'understanding of technique.'
I was Rohan, yet not Rohan.
The swordsmanship wielded over decades remained ingrained in the body like a habit, but every time I used it, it felt as though I were reading the first page of an unfamiliar book.
So my swordsmanship, while seemingly perfect, was subtly clumsy—a work incomplete.
"……I have no choice but to start from the beginning."
Everyone knew that basics were important in both magic and swordsmanship.
From an objective perspective, I had the basics, but they were not yet organized.
To put it simply, it was like a newbie playing a high-performance character in a game.
I knew how to use the skills, but not when or how to use them in different situations.
I entered my home study and began searching for a book to read.
"『The Aesthetics of Thrusting』, 『The Joy of Swinging』……"
For now, these two were the most 'basic' books on swordsmanship. The rest—titles like 『Swordsmanship & Dynamics』 or 『The Equivalence Principle of Mana and Aura』—were advanced theories I could never understand just from the title.
No matter how well I read this world, all of that was nothing more than 'narrative.'
What theories existed, and how those theories gave rise to techniques—none of that was written. Now, what I had to do was 'read again.'
And if it was reading, I had confidence.
“‘Thrusting’ is, along with ‘slashing’ and ‘blocking,’ one of the most important and primal actions for a knight. Depending on where the center point is placed, it can either become a simple target-penetrating 『Pierce』, or an 『Aura Bombardment』 that explodes aura from within the target, dealing a fatal blow……”
I placed the book I brought on the desk and opened 『The Aesthetics of Thrusting』 first.
Placing my index finger on the line I was reading, I deliberately read out loud. From experience, this kind of study helped with memorization.
There were things in the book I already knew. Not from the beginning, of course.
The more my 『Understanding』 grew, the more Rohan’s memories seeped into me. Though not completely, parts of his past came to mind vaguely. So I had no difficulty understanding the contents.
The fact that the book only covered the ‘basics’ also helped.
"……That’s enough theory for now."
About three hours must have passed.
After flipping the last page, I got up from my seat. Thinking of it not as studying, but as reading the setting material of a favorite novel, everything entered my mind easily.
Now that I had acquired the theory, it was time to move on to practice.
I stepped out into the living room and picked up the sword resting on its stand.
"First. Draw the sword."
Sreung.
The blade, reflecting the fluorescent light, let out a cold, sharp sound.
My hand, gripping the hilt with practiced familiarity, still felt somewhat unfamiliar.
I recalled the next step.
"Second. Take your stance⸺"
It was then.
〔 「Growth Lv.1」 Activated 〕
At the same time the message surfaced, my stance was automatically corrected. But it wasn’t the stance from the book.
According to the book, one was to shift the body diagonally with the left foot drawn back, balance with the left arm, and aim with the outstretched right hand.
But the stance I had taken was the exact opposite.
"Rather, the right foot stepped forward. The hilt gripped with both hands aligned horizontally with the eyes, and the center point was…… the lower abdomen."
The right foot stepped forward.
The tip of the sword aimed at the opponent’s vital points—the neck and chest.
That the center was at the lower abdomen, one of the aura’s Cores, signified a killing blow.
It was a distinctly aggressive stance. In the book, thrusting had been described as a counter to slashing—a defensive move. But then, a certain curiosity stirred within me.
What would happen if I thrust the sword just like this?
Before I realized it, that curiosity stimulated my nervous system and moved my muscles.
Sseeeek⸺!
Even before the slicing sound through the air had ended, the sword had pierced the void and returned.
Fast.
So fast even I, the user, couldn’t follow it with my eyes.
In that instant, the aura lingering in the sword’s trajectory scattered, and soon a violent gust swept through the living room.
Paaang!
I looked around at the mess that used to be my living room.
"If that aura had exploded inside an opponent’s body……"
……It was astonishing.
Having used it myself, I was convinced—there could be no better stance optimized for thrusting.
And then the message—or rather, the ‘Setting’—conveyed something beyond what I expected.
〔 Growth Specialization Applied 〕
From within that message, countless theories on thrusting began to rewrite themselves in my head. All of them derived and restructured repeatedly from that one thrusting stance.
It was just a single ‘thrust,’ but the amount of knowledge was overwhelming. Before long, the ‘me’ created in my imagination was pierced countless times—and pierced in return, countless times.
"……Kh!"
The imagery training felt almost real.
My muscles and aura were contracting and expanding, following the images rising in my mind.
As if I had completed decades of training in just a few seconds, once the 『Growth』 ended, my sweat-soaked body collapsed.
"……Ha."
But instead, I smiled in satisfaction.
〔 Growth Complete: Swordsmanship·Thrusting 〕
It was the moment I had been rewarded for my choice.
***
A room under nightfall. A figure cloaked in solitude sat quietly at a desk.
"Father……"
That figure was Ariel Lippenstein. In her hand was a letter, illuminated by the desk lamp.
The letter was filled with words, impossible to tell whether truth or lie.
[The current emperor ‘Adela Historia’ is hiding a secret. My beloved ‘treasure,’ this is the truth meant for you.]
Had it worn away little by little each time she read it, perhaps she wouldn’t be able to read the words anymore.
The letter began with that sentence.
[I am not a pro-Aristocrat. I simply turned my back on the Empire—for ‘them.’]
On that small piece of paper, the Empire’s great ‘evils’ were recorded one by one. In that irreversible truth, Ariel closed her eyes. Then, fingers emerging from the darkness pointed at her.
‘……Even so, I’m still the daughter of a traitor.’
Not once had she ever forgotten her father. And not once had she ever resented him. Her life, burdened by her parents’ sins, had been stained with pain.
The large and small wounds were etched into her body.
The unrecorded pains were vividly engraved in her memory.
"Father was wrong. Truth is what everyone believes to be true. ……Even if it’s a lie."
The Empire’s history was always written by the victors.
Even if they killed and conquered, if they won, they became heroes.
Conversely, even if they saved people and restored what was stolen, if they lost, they were villains.
The Empire’s history was always like that. And the present-day ‘Habledown Empire’ was written from such lies.
"Grace Euclid……"
Ariel whispered the name as if murmuring death.
"……Liar."
She deceived people, deceived the Empire, deceived her father……A woman full of falsehoods.
That’s what Ariel believed. But even she didn’t know what the truth was.
To Ariel, the world—everything—was a lie.
When she reached the final sentence of the letter, she muttered a longed-for title under her breath.
"Father……"
[Please, kill Grace Euclid.]
‘Just how many more have to die?’
[If you do that, her severed head will become a trumpet and sound the truth to the world.]
‘Will this war finally end?’
[Our ‘Leaderstone’ family will reclaim its former glory. I believe in you.]
‘Could these sentences be lies too? ……I don’t know.’
[⸺To my treasure, ‘Dorothy Leaderstone.’]
"……I’m not Dorothy anymore……"
In a solitude as neatly arranged as her room, Ariel buried her face in the desk. No tears came. Like a living mummy, all emotion had long since dried up. And yet, there was still something that hadn’t dried up. That was someone’s name.
"Rohan……-nim."
In that moment, one person’s face began to fill the emptiness in her chest.
An old face.
And one she could never forget.
‘Does he not remember me?’
Even now, after all this time, it remained unforgettable.
A day in hunger, wounded and dying.
"I wanted… to return it…"
Following her tilted head, Ariel’s gaze rolled to the wrapping placed at the corner of her desk.
Scattered in disarray around her, inside that wrapping she had bought bread while thinking of him.
―Please, forgive me.
"……"
―I’m sorry.
It was the same then.
―I could only promise you a world like this……
Even then, he told me—
―……I’m sorry.
"I'm the ally of the one who ruined my family……"
……And yet, my savior, Rohan.
It was a life she had tried to sever countless times.
Dozens of times a day, she wanted to carve out her life.
No matter how much pain the world threw at her, she never got used to it.
But what let her barely cling to life each time was that one word she heard that day: “I’m sorry.”
‘If I can just have Rohan…… I don’t care what happens to me.’
The ‘revenge’ for her family, the ‘truth’ of the world, the lost ‘me.’ None of it mattered to Ariel.
But not anymore.
"……Grace."
The moment she saw Rohan beside Grace, Ariel felt her blood boil.
‘You threw my life into misery, and yet you alone get to be happy?’
It was unfair.
Unlike her, who had lost everything, Grace lived on with everything.
And now, even the ‘meaning’ of her life seemed to be taken.
‘……No.’
Old hatred and resentment surged.
Her hollow void was being filled by such dark emotions.
Something she could never forget or let go of—vengeance.
‘At least not that woman.’
The darkness in her eyes slowly trickled down.
That was ‘mana.’
‘I won’t be hurt anymore.’
She would no longer merely endure.
The past her no longer existed.
The moment she met Michael Lippenstein.
That day, Dorothy had essentially died atop a pile of reeking garbage.
The past self was erased. She was now ‘Ariel.’
‘Because he⸺ is my world.’