Chapter 118
Chapter 118: Qualification and Declaration
The old snake had been cornered.
A thin sliver of sunlight descended along the gray stone pillars, pressing heavily down upon the long table. Duke Saitz sat at its far end. On either side of him were the royal representative and the high-ranking nobles under his command.
Roderick Saitz, the old man known as the cunning snake, forced himself to maintain a composed expression. Yet anxiety seeped through the cracks.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
His wrinkled fingers drummed against the armrest. His eyes swept across the figures seated opposite him. What he saw were non-humans, desert savages, and lowly mercenaries.
His shoulders trembled faintly before he managed, with great effort, to open his mouth. He felt wretched and humiliated by his circumstances, yet this was the result of accepting cold, hard reality.
"……I will grant you the Royal Sanction. It will serve you well in waging war within the Astria Kingdom. This includes the authority to conscript and requisition."
No one responded.
"I will also provide the ducal house's knight order and two thousand troops. I would give more, but the practical limits are clear. We have been at war with the Niboria Empire since last year. The people are weary—I ask for your understanding."
He tried to meet the eyes of Belmar Robertis, Master of Latia, but only a cold gaze was returned. Even this man, who had been nearest to neutral, had turned his back.
Not a single person seated at the table was on his side any longer.
In the end, he had no choice but to lay down nearly everything he possessed.
"I will guarantee…… full and unconditional rights to the southern breadbasket region. I believe I have shown more than sufficient goodwill. Does the Alliance not need the Astria Kingdom as well?"
Only then did Calix unclasp his interlaced fingers. But the answer that followed shattered his expectations without mercy.
"Star Haven cannot hold any longer. We must either boldly pull back the front line, or drive straight into it. Fortunately, the main forces of Viale and Kalahim are expected to arrive in time."
"What do you mean—"
"Master Belmar, would you be able to take charge of defending the Astrian front?"
The old man's face flushed crimson. His counterpart had outright ignored his words and directed a request to the Master of Latia.
His clenched fist trembled. Even so, he had no means to counter it. Even his close aide, Count Entang, merely moved his lips before looking away.
At that moment, Belmar replied with an unhurried expression.
"Leave it to me. If those wicked things return, they will not emerge unscathed. But what of the Alliance? Do the Mountain Rabbits have a separate plan?"
Calix nodded immediately.
"Yes. As soon as our preparations are complete, we intend to move independently."
"Understood."
That single word solidified the atmosphere in the meeting room entirely. Duke Saitz stared in disbelief for a long moment, then finally spoke, his fingertips trembling.
"……What does that mean, exactly? Are you saying the conditions I have offered are insufficient?"
The Duke's voice was low, but it carried undeniable fury and unease. It was Belmar who answered in his stead.
"It is those with the proper qualification who have the right to decide."
It was a remark devoid of sympathy or hostility—one that conveyed only an infinite sense of distance.
At this, the western nobles of the kingdom, represented by Count Mozak, let slip sneers of contempt. There was no one left who would remain at his side. Some turned their gazes away with indifference; others bit their lips and quietly shifted their bodies.
Duke Saitz looked once more at Calix's face.
His power, and the weight of his position, slipped through his fingers. Something he had held in his grip for so long was slowly making its way to the floor.
The meeting, with that, was over.
***
As for Calix, he had not refused Duke Saitz's proposal out of any old grudge. It was simply that the man was not needed.
"Give us a little consideration. A thousand trained soldiers is no small number. They need to have neural accelerators implanted—and those aren't devices one can come by so easily."
Inside the Alliance camp, a delegation composed of Royce, Barakh, and others was receiving the key nobles of the Astria Kingdom.
According to Volga, as the saying goes, the one in need is the one who wags their hips. The moment they sensed the old Duke's fall, each of them had come seeking out the Mountain Rabbits on their own.
"Then forget it."
"Pardon?"
"You're saying you can't do it. Then that's fine. I have nothing to lose."
When Barakh, the Kalahim commander, made to flip the table, Count Entang's face drained to white. It was around then that Volga smoothly stepped in and eased the tension.
"Come now, why all the fuss? The Count was merely testing the waters. You mentioned your domain borders the southeast, didn't you?"
"Th-that's right. A very fertile place, I assure you."
"Fertile…… well, I don't even know what that word means, to be honest. But anyway, Gardia is being reduced to rubble as we speak—do you think a place nearby would fare any better? The living have to keep on living, after all. I'm sure you said all that out of desperation. Isn't that right?"
"……."
"No?"
"Y-yes, that's right."
That was probably what it amounted to.
And in the midst of all this, Calix was crossing blades with someone. With the upcoming march requiring a period of preparation, he was making use of the spare time as best he could.
Boom!
Whoooosh!
With a single clash, a shockwave rippled outward and a cloud of dust rose around them. Those watching the sparring session broke into unanimous exclamations of awe.
"Calix is remarkable, but……"
"Right—that's a Master for you."
The Alliance soldiers stood at a distance, doing their utmost to commit the sight of the two men exchanging attacks and defenses to memory. Even if they could not track the speed, they wanted to engrave even one thing more into their minds.
In truth, however, the one most in awe was Calix himself.
‘The form of his swordsmanship is identical to Adrian Deconti's.’
The core of it lay in shifting the center of gravity and separating the upper and lower body. Left-right sway and forward-back recoil were reduced to an extreme, and both offense and defense flowed together like water.
Clang!
Calix cleanly deflected his opponent's downward slash, but no opening was exposed. His toes skimmed the ground as though gliding. A slight pivot of the heel kept the recoil in check.
‘Circular and diagonal movements over straight lines, attacks that trace arcs. Then the lower body is the target.’
At a glance it appeared passive—yet in the decisive moment—
Swish!
"Ggh!"
It revealed a sharp reversal, turning the enemy's attack inside out. He swept aside the strike aimed at his abdomen with the tip of his blade and stepped forward smoothly. In the next instant, the edge was pressed against the back of his opponent's neck.
In a single surging motion that seemed about to sweep everything away, he bored in a half-beat slow and struck where least expected.
He stopped cold.
"……I have learned a great deal."
"Hmm."
The neural accelerator signaled a rise in swordsmanship capability, but Calix had no attention to spare—he was still processing what had just transpired.
It had been like waves crashing endlessly forward.
So this is…… a Master.
Without realizing it, a smile touched the corners of his lips. At the same time, he could not hide his frustration.
[Reality Acceleration 3.0x sustained]
[Temporary output restriction in place for user safety]
His base output reached '3.6' by the numbers, yet he was still recovering and had been unable to meet the fight with full force. Even so, it was more than enough to leave a deep impression.
"Calix, you…… The more I learn of you, the more interesting you become. Strangely, the more we cross blades, the more Latia-style maritime swordsmanship seems to seep out of you. Is it my imagination?"
"That is……"
Perhaps he had not been asking for an answer—Belmar Robertis stepped closer. He peered intently at the fighting fire rising from the tip of the young man's sword.
Then, he set the back of his own blade against it—
Crackle.
"Remarkable."
Shock ran through his composed tone. Merely making contact had shaved away his mana. As though it had teeth, it had bitten off a chunk of his.
It was unsettling because it was unfamiliar, and within that unease, he saw possibility. He came to understand why Midra had been driven to defeat.
After that, Master Belmar continued to meet with him regularly. Beyond mere technical advice on swordsmanship, they also conversed on more fundamental subjects.
"An interesting question, that. How does one know if they are walking the right path—you ask."
"Yes. There was a time when I believed the answer was fixed. Rather than relying on a god, I walked forward trusting in human goodwill. I thought the world was divided in two directions—good and evil. But…… it seems something within me has changed."
Calix's expression hardened.
‘Am I becoming something distant from what it means to be human?’
He recalled the vision he had seen not long ago, in a dream. He did not wish to be swallowed by darkness, like that man of unknown identity.
In the end, that uncertainty came down to one question.
"……If the outcome is right, does it matter what the process was?"
A brief silence followed. The corners of Belmar's eyes curved ever so slightly. Calix wore a heavy expression, yet that very expression was proof of his high character. He had not realized it himself, but he possessed a maturity far beyond his years.
"Humans are beings who spend their entire lives being tested."
The Master answered willingly.
"As children, they struggle to learn to walk; as boys, they measure themselves against their peers. The young man presses forward toward his dream; the man of middle age will, at least once, look back on the path he has walked. And when he becomes old, he will ponder the time that remains and a death befitting his dignity."
Then the eyes of the two men met.
"Yet you…… are moving faster than anyone. Naturally, there would have been no one to hold up against your own position and measure yourself by. Perhaps that is the fear of one who blazes a trail."
Calix thought for a moment before nodding quietly.
"You are saying this, too, is a natural thing."
"That's right. So there is no need to dwell on it excessively. Above all, you must not be too harsh on yourself."
Belmar quietly placed a hand on his shoulder.
"That unknown power is also the will dwelling within you. Do not try to force it into submission—listen to the currents within. What it is, and how it will be used—that is for you alone to decide."
Silence fell. Calix, without realizing it, slowly ran a hand along the surface of his fine sword, ‘Srna’. Ripples spread from his fingertips.
A feeling both familiar and strange.
He did not yet have all the answers—but
in this moment alone, he could accept that even the chaos was a part of himself.
***
The Mountain Rabbits stepped away from the whirlwind of war for a time, each catching their breath in their own place. The crisis at the front had not relented, but the brief peace that had arrived after so long brought small changes throughout the camp.
The greatest of those changes was the appearance of the Prince of Latia. Having come to terms with his loss and prepared himself to move forward on a new path, he requested to be accepted as a member of the Mountain Rabbits.
Royce, after some deliberation, accepted the offer. There was no reason to turn down the addition of a top-rank swordsman.
For the existing members, however, the presence of a prince still felt awkward. As they all hesitated, it was Basim who stepped forward, as ever.
Smack!
"Oww!"
The Dwarf struck the back of his head, then berated him with spittle flying.
"Who gave a new recruit permission to sit around with their rear glued to the floor!"
"Oh……"
"Get up there and hang the flag! It's long overdue, but better now than never. It's surprisingly effective, this, you know."
"But my hand is—"
Adrian shook his empty sleeve with an expression of disbelief, but it was no use whatsoever.
"Oh, so you'd like people to pity you openly, would you?"
"……"
His lips clamped shut. Basim, on the other hand, didn't bat an eye.
"One hand is enough. Up you go!"
Not one of the Mountain Rabbits standing nearby offered to help. Even this was a rite of passage of sorts. The young man of noble bearing eventually took hold of the flag with his remaining hand and made his way beneath the eaves.
Atop the mercenary guild building, a flagpole stood tall.
He teetered unsteadily, at times pressing his cheek against the pillar, occasionally even his forehead, as he climbed. Perhaps because he had rested too long, cold sweat gathered at the back of his neck.
"See? You can do it if you try."
Basim gave a snort and turned his head sharply away. What stood up there was no longer the Prince of Latia, nor a warrior who had lost an arm.
He was simply a newly joined Mountain Rabbit.
Shortly after, Adrian climbed to the top and fastened the flag in place. He paused for a moment and looked down at the cityscape below.
There, lay something he had given an arm to protect.
"That damn little shorty……"
Had he perhaps wanted to show him this?
But he would not ask. He knew that Basim would not answer. Soon, the banner bearing the image of frolicking rabbits snapped vigorously in the wind.
It was their own mark—and declaration—that 'the situation has been resolved'.
Though in the midst of all this, there was one thing the veterans had failed to notice.
***
That evening.
The middle-aged man who managed the Mercenary Guild's central branch, and his son, came outside stretching after a long day. They were recruiting combatants at the Alliance's request, but filling the quota was proving to be beyond them.
"Ahhhh—! We spent the whole day writing proposals and the sun's already down."
"I know. The useful ones are already dead or fled across the border—who do they expect us to do anything with?"
In that moment, eyes that had been gazing at the red sky narrowed.
"Oh……?"
Atop the flagpole, an unfamiliar emblem fluttered. The problem was that it was hanging higher than even the flag that symbolized the guild.
"Who—who would dare! Was it you?"
"No, it really wasn't me. But is something wrong?"
"That's a Mercenary Summons! Only a five-knot mercenary band can issue one!"
"A five-knot band…… Doesn't exist, does it?"
"That's exactly why it's a problem! It's small mistakes like this piling up that erode trust! We need to get it down immediately. Go get a ladder!"
As he said—five knots was a rank that had only appeared hundreds of years ago, one that no mercenary band anywhere on the continent had ever reached.
Whether or not the son grasped his father's feelings—the man who had devoted his entire life to the mercenary guild—he only stood there blankly, staring upward.
"What are you doing!"
"No, I mean…… The flag has Mountain Rabbits on it."
"You're always so slow about everything…… What?"
Father and son went completely still. In the agreed-upon silence, they stared for a while without moving. An indescribable expression drifted across the middle-aged man's face.
He looked up without a word for a long moment, then quietly turned away.
"Hey, Father? What do we do about that?"
"……I don't know!"
After that, the flag was never taken down.
And soon, word spread like wildfire. The Mountain Rabbits had issued a summons, and the guild master himself had come in person to tie the fifth knot.