[9] An Opportunity More Precious Than Life (5)
The large training field.
Shirone arrived on time. Rian was already there, waiting.
The fight felt already underway. The two kept their distance and watched each other from afar.
"Let's begin."
Rian's weapon of choice was the same long sword Shirone held.
Ozent swordsmanship, with its brash, forceful style, favored a greatsword over a long sword. But that was from the days when schemata were available—so rather than out of consideration for Shirone, Rian had simply chosen a weapon suited to his own approach.
Shirone took the poised, motionless stance taught in beginner swordsmanship. It was a simple posture, but even Rian could see that Shirone's center of gravity was far more stable than before.
Could that really be possible…?
Rian saw Rai in Shirone again. A thought came to him: maybe the boy really hadn't been formally taught swordsmanship.
How could he be so calm? Isn't he afraid of dying?
Even Rian, who'd trained with the blade for sixteen years, feared death. That fear was precisely why he drove his body to its limits to build confidence.
Shirone had none of Rian's bravado. He loved peace and hated fighting—he was a herbivore among animals.
But intellect always seeks the most efficient path. Shirone analyzed the fear of a real blade as the duel's greatest risk and worked to find a solution. At last, he found an answer.
If you can't overcome fear, understand it.
In sword philosophy they called it "jumping off the cliff." Anyone can jump off a cliff—so long as they stop picturing the moment of death.
There are people who feel no fear: tycoons, merchants, criminals—their professions differ, but they share one trait: they don't imagine the outcome beforehand. A serial killer seeks a fleeting thrill and doesn't think about being caught. Some dictators can dine calmly even if rebels have breached the city gates. For them, the future is a phantom that doesn't exist even for a tenth of a second.
Shirone pictured himself at the cliff's edge. He extended his right foot into the void and then pulled his left in after it.
He didn't fall. If you don't imagine the future, the space beyond the cliff is just the moment before a fall.
You haven't fallen until you fall. You're not dead until you die.
Intellect can be more terrifying than courage because it reduces danger to its essence.
That frozen composure in Shirone's mind, in turn, dramatically increased the stability of his Spirit Zone.
"Here I gooo!"
The instant Shirone entered the Spirit Zone, Rian closed the distance and came within striking range.
A streak of light seemed to slash across Shirone's vision. This was swordsmanship on a different scale from a woodsman's axe—bold and unrestrained.
But Shirone had his own Spirit Zone.
His synesthetic perception let him feel the sword's arc vividly; he widened his eyes and evaded the attack.
Rian's expression flickered with confusion. Seeing the movement of a real blade with the eyes alone was something a novice should never do.
Still, swordsmanship is endless. There were movements Shirone couldn't predict. When a blade skimmed past his chest, his Spirit Zone wavered for an instant.
Shirone felt his heart drop. If this went on, he'd be finished.
Then Rian's follow-up struck with unexpected violence, and Shirone narrowly escaped by flinging his body aside.
Why that kind of attack?
A short, decisive cut to the ribs would have done the job—no grand motion needed. But Rian, as if unaware of Shirone's wavering, committed to a large, decisive strike.
Could his understanding of swordsmanship be worse than I thought?
Shirone's assessment was accurate. Skilled in technique but lacking insight, Rian knew how to swing a sword but hadn't grasped its essence.
Shirone lowered his estimate of Rian's ability. Setting an enemy too strong was foolish—it left no room to counter. To win, he had to accept risk.
When Shirone launched his counter, the tension of imminent death spiked and Rian's stamina drained rapidly. Dozens of exchanges later, Rian was aghast.
"Damn it! This can't be! This can't be happening!"
His opponent used only basic cuts, yet they were hard to block—he struck at the moments that couldn't be parried.
Rai's face flashed through Shirone's mind. Two years earlier, his brother had subdued Rian with one hand. The cruel curl of Rai's lip still burned in Shirone's memory.
"Don't be ridiculous! I'll be the world's greatest swordsman!"
The more recklessly Rian charged, the more Shirone wondered. Who was this boy? Didn't he want to win? Why insist on being stubborn? Did he even think?
Huh? Uh—?
Shirone slowly realized he was losing ground. At some point, Rian's moves became unreadable. The conviction in Rian's swings began to present Shirone with an unpredictably baffling challenge.
"I won't lose! I'll definitely surpass you!"
Riding his momentum, Rian pressed the attack. Shirone's stamina hit the floor fast. He'd been conserving energy, but the absolute gap between them couldn't be closed. It felt as if his sword had grown heavier.
"This ends now!"
Rian lowered his long sword and charged, then drove it upward in a strike aimed to split Shirone's jaw. Shirone, using the last of his strength, brought his blade down.
With a ringing clang, one sword flew up and landed in the far side of the training field.
Silence settled.
Both panted and glared at each other.
Rian slowly lowered his gaze and saw Shirone's blade pointed at his sternum.
Just before the blades met, Shirone twisted his wrist like a whirlwind and slapped Rian's sword upward from below. The added force and Rian's depleted stamina made him drop his weapon.
It wasn't a move Shirone attempted with full confidence—just a difference in understanding. He'd risked the idea that only an attack capable of cutting him was truly dangerous.
Shirone didn't relax. He wanted to collapse, but he couldn't let the life he'd fought so hard to preserve go to waste.
"Ah, I lost."
Rian accepted defeat with a blunt sigh.
"Ah, I lost. I really did."
He scratched his head in annoyance, but the ferocity had gone. He'd trained to the limit and fought his hardest—there were no regrets.
"You won. Since you won the duel, I can't say a thing even if you kill me."
It wasn't a childish remark. But Shirone found it infuriating. How could someone be so oblivious?
"Are you joking right now?"
"What?"
"If you kill the young master, do you think I get to live? How can you say something so ridiculous?"
"Damn it! What does that even matter? You say that to someone you risked his life fighting?"
"You were the only one who risked his life, young master! I just fought so I could stay alive! This ridiculous duel itself was nonsense—why should I be blamed because you hid to avoid training?"
Rian was taken aback. Normally, after two men fought, some heavy, heartfelt exchange would follow—wasn't that the natural thing?
But this was a full-blown scolding.
"Hey, man! Who's blaming you? It's because your actions were pathetic! Even meeting someone for the first time, in that situation loyalty should kick in!"
"Loyalty my foot!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Shirone bristled. He'd been consumed by the problem at hand for a month and had no time for anything else, but now that it was over his anger spilled out.
"You call that loyalty? Have you ever thought about the burden an ordinary steward must bear between the head of the family's son and the sword instructor? Did you ask me to take that on knowing what it would mean?"
"Huh? Well…"
Rian blinked. Having been on the receiving end of beatings every day during training, he'd never faced this kind of verbal assault.
"If you were really a man of loyalty, you should've been ashamed to put that burden on a single steward and stepped forward yourself in front of the sword instructor. That would've been truly impressive and loyal, wouldn't it?"
Rian fell silent for a long time. From the way he kept smacking his lips, Shirone could read his character.
He wasn't the type to make things up.
If he had nothing to say, he simply didn't speak.
Offended by that, Shirone gave up lecturing and slumped down.
"Haah, I nearly died for real."
Rian watched Shirone grumble. The opponent who had driven him to the edge of fear—and even overcome the fear of death—was gone, replaced by a kid slumped in a seat.
Who was he? A genius, certainly—but he wasn't Rai. Unlike his brother, who had brushed aside Rian's blade with one hand and sneered, this boy had faced him with his whole body.
"What's your name?"
Shirone lifted his head. Seated, Rian looked even larger.
"Arian Shirone."
"I'm Ozent Rian."
It was funny enough that a noble and a commoner were introducing themselves properly, but what made Shirone even more incredulous was this: did Rian really not know the name of the family's youngest son?
Rian ignored Shirone's sour face and walked over. Shirone's chin rose higher. Rian stuck out a hand the size of a pot lid and said in a thick voice,
"Let's be friends. How about it?"
First Step Toward the Dream (1)
It had been a year since he entered the Ozent household.
Shirone had turned seventeen, and more than seven thousand volumes had been taken from the Grand Library.
Temuran was amazed at the astonishing pace, but Shirone had expected it. The fewer books there were to catalog, the faster his efficiency grew.
He felt that everything in the world obeyed acceleration rather than constancy. The start might be slow, but if you persisted without giving up, you reached your goal far sooner than expected.
Of the target 850 history books, only about two hundred remained. His average reading rate was over three books a day, and in a few months the backbone of the knowledge he'd dreamed of would be complete.
He'd also experienced swordsmanship and understood the essence of fear. That had allowed him to vastly increase the durability of his Spirit Zone.
The year had been fruitful and worthwhile.
But no amount of usefulness compared to the true friend Shirone had made for the first time.
"Wow, so many books. I wonder if my family has read all of these?"
Rian, sitting on the floor, muttered as he glanced over the volumes. Once Shirone got to know him, Rian proved affectionate and playful—very much the youngest son of an aristocratic house.
Shirone climbed a ladder to shelve books and said, "Of course. The house head and the young master come to the library often."
"Tch, lucky them. Smart people are the best. They can do so many things."
Rian tossed the book he'd been reading. Shirone climbed down, picked it up, and scolded him.
"Don't throw them around. If you damage even one, I'll die."
"I don't like that. How can books be more important than a person's life? Even if you burned the library down, I'd protect you—so don't worry."
"Just stay still and that'll never happen—so please be careful."
Shirone had never said anything embarrassing before. He was firm and strict, but not cold. Rian liked that about him.
"I like being with you, but being stuck in the library all the time is driving me crazy."
"Why are you holed up here? Training?"
"Just the basics. I said I wanted to study in the library a bit."
Shirone trembled.
"Then study quickly—what are you doing?"
"I'm bored! I'm bored! I'm bored!"
Rian flailed his arms and acted spoiled.
Shirone turned away as if to ignore him and headed back to the desk. He wasn't especially worried about Rian's laziness. If Shirone was water, Rian was fire—once lit, the blaze would grow wildly out of control.