"Good night."
"Yeah. I'll try to get some sleep."
Lying under a warm blanket in a darkened room felt more comfortable than sleeping in those back alleys.
When I first lay down… ugh…
The first time I slept on the street, all I did was cry. I'd been hit by a truck and woke up a wreck in a world that might well have collapsed.
I cried until the other homeless started complaining, forcing me into ever smaller corners. But once I started cutting people and claimed my own turf, they slithered away into those tight spaces. Back alleys, after all.
"Training starts tomorrow," they said…
If I worked my ass off, could I reach that level? Even in that brief exchange, there was an insurmountable barrier between Meursault's blade and mine. Could I ever become that strong?
If I got that strong, I could join a decent mercenary outfit and climb the ranks. Or maybe just head off to Rhodes Island?
I can't tell if this is before or after the original timeline. This place is so backward. Danguk existed only in lore—I have no idea if there's a single operator here. If there was, at least I could spar.
I've already forgotten the whole storyline…
I remember fragments, but I binge-played it from the start and skipped most cutscenes. I shouldn't have. All I know is it begins with the Doctor waking up in Ursus.
"How do I even get from here to Ursus?"
No, and even if I reach Ursus, I'll end up sleeping in back alleys anyway. First, I need to build strength here. Learn everything I can.
I was lost in thoughts like that until I slipped into sleep.
"Hey, looks like someone's got time to laze around, rookie!!"
"Huh..? Is it morning already?"
"Yeah. I'll give you ten minutes to get ready and be at the training grounds. If you're late, training starts without breakfast."
No way! I've got to eat breakfast!!
"Ugh… good morning to you…"
Heehee!!
"Wash your face like that and you'll tear the skin right off…"
"You assassin, wake up too!"
"No way. I'm sleeping more."
Lucky. You can still sleep.
"What are you spacing out for! Stop acting like a slug and get dressed, now!"
"Ah, yeah!"
Hah... hah...
"If you get winded from something this minor, you're sullying the Sword Sect's name."
No, isn't that thing a cat, not a fox? How did it climb up here without even gasping for breath?
"You okay..?"
"Uh, my back…"
Ugh, I haven't eaten, my stomach's turning inside out...
"Hmm! Good to see such energy this early!"
That creature… that was definitely Don Quixote, wasn't it.
"First, grab both of these."
"Oof! If you eased up, I'd bruise less…"
Something hard slammed into my head... a sword? A new one, at that.
"A homeland blade. It's the foundation of the Sword Sect's swordsmanship. This sword is the form best suited to that style. You'll use it for the rest of your life—so don't stare at it too long, you'll grow sick of it."
Sssrrrr
"Oh….."
I'm no connoisseur of blades, but I know this isn't one you can buy off the rack. It looks custom-made by someone of renown. But there's one thing that bothers me.
"Otis, the grip—!"
"Do not call me by my name so casually."
"Sigh... I just haven't learned, that's all..."
I do know how to use honorifics, but before I died I was already in my mid-twenties. I was at least as old as Otis, and now I've aged a few more years—how could those formalities come naturally?
"At the very least, call me 'Otis-san.'"
"Then, Otis-san... was this sword previously used by someone?"
It looked crafted like a new sword, but the handle felt slightly worn, as if several hands larger than mine had gripped it countless times.
"Noticing that means bringing you here wasn't a mistake. Yes. This blade was used by former members of the Sword Sect."
"When you say 'former'... what happened to them?"
"They died. While running from the trackers."
"Trackers? We got driven out?"
Never heard that before. If we were on the run, we're living in too nice a spot.
"We'll talk about that later. For now, pick up those swords, you fledglings."
Right. Both of us are Liberi, after all.
"Got it, Otis-san."
"Good. Now, attack."
"What? With real steel?"
"Why? Afraid I'll cut you?"
What kind of group spars with live blades? This place is really a bunch of lunatics.
"No. I'm afraid I'll cut you."
"Ho ho. Fine. A rookie needs guts, after all. Then step in."
Despite how I look, I've been in every brawl big or small in those back alleys. At least I can match form.
"Then!! Sinclair, spar with me!!"
"J-just take it easy..."
"No chance!! Here I come!!!"
"Whoa!! Really?! You're really going for me?!!"
"Ho ho. Seems the 'Specter' nickname isn't just hot air."
To reach top speed, you have to push your heart to its limit first. When fighting Meursault, I was already warmed up from earlier duels, so I hit it quickly. Now, it might take a bit.
"They're getting faster and faster. Is that enhancement-type Arts?"
Arts. The 'magic' users on Terra can wield come in many types and applications, using Originium as a medium. Those afflicted with Oripathy can channel stronger Arts, but the drawback is they die faster.
"If it's enhancement-type Arts, that speed makes sense."
A speed unthinkable from a child. Otis hesitated at the unexpected pace, but she wasn't someone who'd be beaten by something this minor.
"Now I'm at top gear!!!!"
My top speed. Having reached this velocity, thoughts of losing refuse to surface.
'In front... no, to the side.'
Clang!
'They disappeared... this time above!'
At the very moment Baekhyun lands, he vanishes. Otis can't afford to slack off any longer.
'With his hand on the blade?'
That was when I noticed a blue aura swirling around the sword.
"An Art?"
The swords merely clashed, but the recoil on my end was strong enough to break my stance.
"No. It's not an Art. It's a technique."
This time it glowed orange. The sword's target was—
'The heart...!!!!'
So much for holding back... more importantly, that posture...
'The book Faust gave me!!'
It was definitely the jabbing technique!
I understood the blade's method of attack. I had to block it, but nothing fit. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
The sword's path—if I could just deflect that trajectory with my blade...!
'...!'
'I win—!'
For a moment, blades drove toward each other, but my sword couldn't reach. The orange-glowing blade slammed into my shoulder blade, driving me backward into a tree.
"Cough...! Cough...!"
I had them right there!!
"Mmm. That was an excellent blade technique, Sinclair!"
"You alright, Sin...clair...?"
"Are you... hurt...?"
Look at us both. I've got a sword stuck in my shoulder bleeding, and Sinclair's got cuts all over, blood seeping.
"That's enough sparring. Go see Faust for medicine, eat, and return here. If you're late, you'll have to run to the summit and back."
"I came here to live, and yet it feels like I'm dying..."
"Take my hand. Let's go eat."
"Wait a moment... I'm overloaded."
My body can produce explosive bursts of speed, but when I exceed my limit, my strength drains just as abruptly.
"By the way, how was Don Quixote?"
"He was incredibly strong... even while holding back, I never felt like I could win."
"Same here. And what was with that blade glowing blue and orange? He called it a technique. Do you know? Sinclair?"
"I'm not sure... I don't really..."
What was that? It wasn't a normal sword. I got pushed back without being hit, and I felt recoil just from blocking.
"Hmm... I don't know! Let's just go eat!!"
"Fi... first, the medicine!!"
"So, Otis, why did you use that technique? I can chalk the intercepting form up to defense, but I didn't know you'd use the jabbing technique too."
Meanwhile, Don Quixote and Otis were discussing their impressions of Sinclair and Baekhyun, respectively.
"Sinclair... there's something in his blade that hesitates... or maybe that's not quite right. In any case, I'd say his potential for growth is exceedingly high!"
"That kid Baekhyun... is he really twelve years old?"
That look in his eyes. Not just unhesitating murder—a momentary glint that suggested he lives to kill.
"That boy. If he grows up right—or if he grows wrong—he could very well earn the title of 'Assassin' as the youngest ever."