Edan Rhapsody asked, his voice cold. “What happened?”
“I—I am so sorry. Please, forgive me.”
Edan didn’t flinch. “I am not asking for your guilt. I am asking for an answer. What happened?”
“The young master… he lied.”
“…”
“H-he suddenly looked up at the sky and confessed that his oath was a lie. He said he swore falsely… in the names of the Nine Goddesses and the Seven Chief Gods…”
It was a rambling, frantic explanation, but Edan understood the situation immediately. He stood perfectly still and closed his eyes.
“I see.”
His younger brother had fed a lie to the family. And the great Rhapsody family had acted upon it without cross-referencing or verifying a single word.
And what was the result?
Innocent people had died.
Men who deserved respect were insulted, and the faithful were forced to bear the weight of sins they never committed. The weak had trembled before senseless violence, and the righteous had cried out against the unreasonable. Everyone had chosen to believe only Toma’s words. No one had listened to the pleas of the powerless.
Except for one fighter.
He alone had stood against the massive wave. Like a hero plucked from the pages of an epic.
“…”
The humble fighter of the earth had been right. The great Rhapsody had been wrong.
The response of the Nine Goddesses and the Seven Chief Gods was the ultimate proof.
Faced with this reality, Edan Rhapsody simply stood there with his eyes closed. Seeing his master’s silence, the knight bowed his head again. “I am sorry. I failed to protect the young master.”
“Raise your head, knight.” Edan opened his eyes. “You have done nothing wrong.”
“…”
“The one who committed the sin is Toma. The one who committed the sin is Rhapsody—your master. You merely followed our orders faithfully. Therefore, the responsibility for this sin shall be borne by your master as well.”
Edan turned his head. He looked at his brother, who was suspended in the air as if time itself had frozen. Toma was separated from the world by the wrath of the Seven Chief Gods and the Nine Goddesses. Watching his brother stare blankly at the sky, Edan murmured softly.
“Many people commit sins. Only a few of them repent. Fewer still confess, and only a rare few among those actually bear the responsibility for what they have done.”
“…”
“It was an act worthy of a Rhapsody. Splendidly so.”
The sky was a deep, mocking blue. The sun continued to shine down upon the world as if nothing had happened.
“You’ve become an adult before I knew it, Toma.”
Edan Rhapsody stood before his brother, his own body battered and broken. “…But why? Why did you do it?”
To commoners, an oath is a promise that can be broken at any time—morally condemned, perhaps, but without physical consequence. However, to a member of a Great Family, an ‘oath’ is a sacred bond that must never be taken lightly. Especially an oath guaranteed by the gods themselves.
“I am asking why, Toma.”
With great power comes great responsibility. The burden borne by the five most powerful families on the continent exceeded the imagination of commoners. This was even more true when the entities demanding accountability were the Nine Goddesses and the Seven Chief Gods.
Edan looked at his brother. “Were you not taught? Did you not know how heavy the responsibility we carry is? No matter how much trouble you caused in the past, you never crossed this line.”
“…”
“I am curious, brother.”
One of Edan Rhapsody’s eyes had lost its light. The blood flowing down his face was hot. From now on, Edan would have to live seeing only half the world. If he sought treatment from a family priest, it might heal in an instant, but the stubborn second son had no intention of doing so. This was a wound that served as proof of a mistake that must never be forgotten—a scar he would endure for the rest of his life.
Looking with his remaining eye, Edan spoke. “…Was it truly just a boy’s childish whim?”
It wasn’t a question he expected an answer to. It was a question he threw at himself.
In this moment, Edan recalled countless laws and rules. He thought of his brother’s behavior within the family. Even their great father had not suspected Toma’s words were a lie. That should have been impossible. There was no way the absolute senses of a Swordmaster of seven swords could fail to detect a mere boy’s lie.
Toma had truly, firmly believed it was the truth. Because in Toma’s memory at the time, it was the truth.
Edan’s suspicion turned razor-sharp. He was a powerful swordsman and the second son of a Great Family. A high noble of noble blood must possess mental fortitude to match their physical power, and Edan was a man strong enough even without his sword.
He reasoned it out. If Toma had lied intentionally, divine punishment would have fallen immediately. Every word from a descendant of a Great Family carries immense weight. But Toma’s lie was not punished by the gods until he confessed it was a lie. Why? Because he truly believed it was the truth.
Self-suggestion alone wouldn’t make that possible. Even a defense mechanism triggered by mental shock wouldn’t be enough to fool a Swordmaster’s absolute sense. To pierce through deception and find the truth is the essence of a Swordmaster. If his father had failed to see through it, there was only one conclusion.
Someone had intentionally manipulated Toma’s memory.
Who was this ‘someone’? There was only one possibility. A Swordmaster.
Since the dawn of the continent, the only ones who could kill a Swordmaster, deceive a Swordmaster, or evade a Swordmaster’s blade were other Swordmasters.
The moment he reached that realization, Edan’s logic became cold and precise.
A Swordmaster superior to my father. A Swordmaster who has forged more than seven swords. A Swordmaster staying near the Iron Kingdom. A Swordmaster who could gain political leverage through such an act… or one connected to a being who could.
There was only one person who fit every criterion. The only one among the existing Swordmasters. A Swordmaster who served a monarch. The Iron Prince’s executioner. The Foremost Sword of the Continent.
“…Swordmaster Carlos.”
Based only on the evidence before him, Edan Rhapsody had reached the truth. He knew ‘who’ had stirred the whirlpool his brother was caught in, though he still didn’t know ‘why.’ While his mind raced, the knights approached him.
“You must treat your wound first, Master Edan. If you don’t act quickly, you might lose that eye forever. To lose an eye to a wound inflicted by a lowly fighter, what a disgrace…”
The knights lacked the insight to read the situation. They were mere chess pieces, not the ones who moved them. Edan did not bother to rebuke them.
“It is fine. More importantly—”
Thud!
A pure white sword plunged into the earth between Edan and Toma. It was a flawless, snow-white blade without a single speck of black—a beautiful object that looked more like a work of art than a weapon meant for slaughter. The moment he saw it, Edan’s eyes wavered.
“Keep your distance, Great One.”
A grave voice echoed.
In the next heartbeat, dozens of swords plunged into the ground without a sound. Along with them, a flag appeared—a banner engraved with a pure white pattern that looked as if a winter landscape had been woven into the fabric. A chilly silence fell as the flag fluttered. Out of that silence, figures in pure white emerged.
“You have violated the strict laws of the continent. You made a false declaration of war, put forward a false justification, committed dishonorable acts, and insultingly trampled upon the small things that should have been respected.”
Everyone present knew what that flag meant. They knew the identity of the white figures who had dropped into the center of their legion. In all the continent, there was only one group that used such swords and wore such attire. Pure white swords, helmets, and armor. Beings who symbolized flawless justice. The righteous Watchers and the guardians of order.
“According to the ancient laws, you must be punished for your sins and bear the responsibility. The ancient Watchers declare: from this moment on, no one may have contact with Toma Rhapsody. Until the moment the Seven Chief Gods and the Nine Goddesses deliver their final judgment, Toma Rhapsody’s custody shall be managed by us. In accordance with the duty inherited by ‘White’.”
One of the Great Five Families—”White”—had intervened.
Feeling the freezing chill of winter, several people froze in place. However, there were those who had lived only in the Six Free Cities and did not truly understand the weight of “White.”
A knight who had lived like a frog in a well spoke up, his voice trembling with rage. “Step aside this instant! This is Rhapsody business. To point a blade at us and the young master… you’ve completely lost your minds—”
“Stop.”
Edan Rhapsody cut him off.
“Their words are correct. Furthermore, nothing good will come of opposing them. It is best to withdraw for now. Now that the Watchers have stepped in, there is nothing more we can do. Everything will be carried out according to the will of the gods.”
“But…”
“But what?” Edan said, his face flat and expressionless. “Are you going to fight them?”
“…”
“We have no justification. We committed dishonorable acts based on false information, and there are actual victims. If we act wrongly, the other four Great Families might join the fray. Or the Sky Empire might move.” Edan’s voice was dry. “Besides, even putting all that aside, it is never a good idea to make them our enemies. In the history of the continent, Winter Fortress has never fallen. Not once.”
There was no act more foolish on this continent than opposing “White” when they were fulfilling their duty. No one recorded in history had ever escaped their blade. No one.
Edan Rhapsody whispered the old maxim:
No one can defy winter. No one.
*
I was born of war.
Swords, spears, and shields. Children who returned from the battlefield as corpses, screaming parents, graves increasing day by day, and the tombstones driven into them. Dented helmets and broken swords, love and hate, life that does not breathe, and a sky that does not answer.
The Nameless One said: The life of every living thing is a war. And this harsh world is a battlefield without a right answer.
I agree with the Nameless One’s words. My life can be explained by war.
My immature mother described the moment she gave birth to me as a battle. I was a half-blood, inheriting half the blood of a dwarf and half of a human. My body was far too large to be born from a dwarf mother’s body. I was unusually large for a dwarf, and after giving birth to me, my mother suffered many wounds—wounds far too serious for the midwives of our crude, humble Sky Mountain Range village to treat.
My mother died.
Her tombstone was a pathetic piece of iron forged, polished, and hammered out by my blacksmith father. On that pathetic piece of iron, a pathetic life was recorded in a single line of text. My mother was a life that died within her own war.
A half-dwarf born by burning his mother is not recognized anywhere. Even my father did not recognize me. To him, his son was a hateful creature who had murdered his wife the moment he was born. In the year I turned seven, my father threw himself into the blast furnace and ended his life. I stared at the furnace my father had jumped into for a long time.
Swords, spears, and shields. Flames and blood, parents and children. Hope and screams, the ballads of bards. Dying young men, grieving old men, infants who know nothing. The shape of a harsh world, unrewarded goodwill, unacceptable trials, and unreasonable violence.
None of the dwarves in the village made a tombstone for my father, who had been human. The unloved seven-year-old son, standing before the furnace his father had jumped into, made a tombstone for his last blood relative himself. Just as his father had made his mother’s.
With small hands, I gripped the hammer and struck the iron that had not yet hardened with clumsy skill. With insufficient strength, I endured the heat and struck the iron again and again. With a face flushed red, I looked at the hateful sky. The sky was clear, and the sun shone brilliantly. Looking at that ever-so-cheerful sky, I asked:
Do the gods truly exist?
No matter how earnestly I asked, no one answered. To obtain an answer, one had to be qualified. One had to rise to a position so high that all living things looked up, the whole world took notice, and even the Seven Chief Gods and the Nine Goddesses could not ignore it. For only a great being with the proper qualifications could seek the answer to such an impious question.
The Nameless One said: A phoenix rises from the ashes.
That day, I pulled up my mother’s tombstone. I stopped making my father’s tombstone. Instead, I melted down the tombstones of my departed family and began to forge a blade. Still with small hands, I gripped the hammer and began to strike the heated iron as if to crush it. To create a single object.
A blade with a long edge. A weapon with a short hilt and a long blade, used for slashing or stabbing an opponent. An object the world calls a sword.
On the tip of that crude, humble, and pathetic object, I carved a mark in crooked letters. Hoping that one day, that name would echo beyond the continent and reach the gods.
I wrote it there.
Liam Caravan.
. . .
“Gasp—!”
I opened my eyes with a jolt. The moment I sat up, I looked down at my hands. They were trembling. It felt as if I had been holding a hammer and striking iron repeatedly until just a moment ago.
It’s vivid. Incredibly so.
What I had just glimpsed was a memory contained within the fragment. Liam Caravan. A memory of the life my master had lived. That memory was more realistic, intense, and sharp than anything I had seen before—to the point where I couldn’t tell if it was a dream or reality.
「Are you finally awake, young descendant?」
As I caught my breath, Liam spoke. He looked down at me and murmured.
「Recover first.」
Looking down at me indifferently, Liam slowly turned his gaze toward the world outside.
「There is a long way to go. This is not the end; it has only just begun, young descendant.」
A strange emotion resonated in Liam’s voice.
「You resemble me. Prepare for the coming storm. Do not run away; face the storm.」
And then, the same words I had heard from the voice within me poured out.
「A phoenix rises from the ashes. If you do not break, you can soar.」
Liam’s eyes turned back toward me. They were as sharp as a blade, without a hint of wavering.
「I did it, young descendant. So, you can do it too. For the blood of steel flows in your body.」
*
A palace of blades built upon steel.
The most noble young man among the precious ones staying there—the sole heir to the Iron Kingdom of Chervil and the only one who inherited the royal bloodline—the Iron Prince, Ian Chervil, took a sip of wine with a relaxed expression.
“Iron Prince.”
A man spoke to Ian Chervil, who was enjoying his leisure. He was a man who did not suit this palace. His hair was unkempt, he wore tattered rags like scraps of cloth, and his face was covered in dark stains.
“The boy you told me to watch has survived.”
“Is that so?”
“He overcame unreasonable trials, achieved victory over an unbeatable enemy, and proved his qualifications. Just like a scene written in forgotten history.”
“Heh… ha… hahahaha!”
At the man’s words, the Iron Prince set down his glass and burst into laughter. The laughter started small but soon became an uncontrollable, mad cackle that echoed through the vast palace. After laughing for a long while, the man asked Ian Chervil:
“Are you satisfied?”
“Satisfied? Yes, of course I am satisfied.”
“…Are you not afraid?”
“Afraid? Unfortunately, I am not afraid yet. But please! I hope that one day I will be. I hope that I will be so terrified that I tremble, scream, and lose sleep at night. I want to feel that emotion desperately. Very desperately!”
Facing the Iron Prince’s mad gaze, the man bowed his head. He felt an indescribable, instinctive revulsion. Hiding his fear, the man murmured, “Then, what will you do if that boy’s blade reaches you?”
“I, for one, hope it does. I hope that blade reaches my throat. If I am lacking, my throat will be pierced and I will die. I will die and roll around pathetically like my brothers. If such a moment comes, I will face it with a smile. For it means there is a being superior to me.”
“…”
“But you see. That won’t happen.” The Iron Prince’s gaze turned toward the man. “Because I am the greatest on this continent.”
The man heard the arrogant, unwavering words. It was a confidence bordering on madness—a complete belief in himself. Looking into the Iron Prince’s bizarre eyes, the man bowed his head.
“…Your words are absolutely correct.”
When the man bowed, the Iron Prince stopped laughing abruptly. Then, with a dry face and a voice devoid of any emotion, he spoke.
“Now go back and do what you must.”
“…What about watching the boy?”
“You may stop for the time being.”
Having said that, the Iron Prince picked up his glass again and drank his wine. He looked out the window, far beyond the castle walls that rose like jagged blades.
“…I shall do so.”
Confirming that Ian Chervil’s interest had waned, the man bowed deeply once more. Then, he dissipated on the spot like black smoke. As the man vanished, the Iron Prince’s executioner, who had been waiting outside, entered.
Swordmaster Carlos.
Looking straight at his master, Carlos asked, “Your next command.”
Hearing the short question, the Iron Prince kept his gaze fixed on the horizon. The Iron Kingdom was too small to contain him. This kingdom was insufficient for him—the greatest and most superior. An empire? An empire was also insufficient.
In Ian Chervil’s mind, there was only one thing that suited him: The world.
This continent created by the Seven Chief Gods and the Nine Goddesses. A vast land split into kingdoms, empires, archipelagos, and free cities. The seven races living under the wide sky. He would only be satisfied once he held all of it in his grasp. Every single bit of it, without exception.
“Carlos.”
“Yes.”
Now, it was time to take the first step of that arrogant plan.
“Slay my father.”
“…”
“It is time for me to sit upon the Iron Throne.”
To Ian Chervil’s words, his executioner replied calmly.
“…Gladly.”
