“Could you please show me the big sword just one more time?”
“No. Haven’t you spent three hours just staring at swords today?”
“Just 30 more minutes.”
“It’s not something to be shown that often.”
“…10 minutes.”
“No. I have my own schedule.”
“Okay, 3 minutes! 3 minutes should be fine, right?”
What started as 3 minutes turned into 10, then 30, and somehow it stretched back to three hours, all witnessed by Lac. Shaking his head, he moved on.
“No way.”
“Come on…!”
Ignoring Natida, who was following him closely, Lac quickened his pace to escape. Ever since he showed her the Holy Sword for healing, Natida had been popping up more than often.
‘The first couple of times were fine, but…’
The sight of the saint, dazed and gaping as if high on medicine, was nothing short of alarming. Even Lac, who wasn’t religious, subconsciously felt that the First Holy Sword should not be used in such a manner.
“Ugh…”
Leaving behind the drooling Natida, Lac moved on. He had a lot to do today.
2.
“I’ll teach you, but it’s a bit early.”
“Everything I’ve taught you until now has led to this.”
The fruits of their accumulated efforts.
“Hold tight to the flow of mana, the basics of trade, the application of trade, the principles of spells, the enchantments. The ultimate destination of all these is here.”
A deal with the Star.
Creating a transaction solely for oneself.
“Open your eyes wide and watch closely.”
“This is the spell that constitutes the foundation of what you call battle magic.”
Taking a deep breath, Lac recalled the past.
Before him was a section of the snowfield carved away. Exhaling the heat left in his body, Lac dispelled the spell he had cast.
“Whoa, you’re not messing around, are you, young master?”
Amidst the swirling remnants of mana, Lac turned around at the familiar voice. There stood a face he recognized well.
“Oyakal?”
“Yes, young master.”
One of the 13 greatest warriors of the North, the sharp-eyed Oyakal approached, clapping his hands.
“I heard you needed something.”
Oyakal shook the bottle of alcohol he brought.
Lac grinned and sat down on a nearby rock. They clinked their cups as Oyakal laid out the snacks he brought along with the drink.
“It feels quite strange to drink with you, young master. It feels like just yesterday when you were this little kid.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, time really flies.”
Before long, wrinkles had begun to form on Oyakal’s face.
Rubbing his forehead, he smiled bitterly.
“I taught you how to handle weapons, and I’m pretty sure I’d lose in just one round if we fought now. Have you become that strong?”
“Thanks to having a good teacher.”
“Ahem. I’m honored.”
“No, I meant Professor Rania, not you.”
“Tsk. That’s harsh.”
Lac chuckled as he took a swig of his drink.
As they sipped their drinks, Oyakal spoke up.
“So, you have something to consult about?”
“Yeah.”
“Go ahead and tell me. I can’t promise I’ll be of help, but…”
Oyakal was experienced and had a broad view of situations. Lac often sought Oyakal’s advice and thought to do so again this time.
“What do you think is needed to become a superhuman?”
Lac exhaled deeply.
“Everyone says I’m close to being one. They say I possess physical abilities close to a superhuman and senses that surpass them. But no one calls me a superhuman.”
It was true.
“I feel like something is lacking. But I don’t know what. I’ve been searching for that something for the past few years.”
“Is that so?”
Oyakal took a sip of his drink and pondered.
“To be honest, young master, I haven’t reached the realm of superhumans myself, so my advice might not be very useful.”
However, Oyakal continued.
“But if I were to give some advice, I’d say it’s probably motivation, wouldn’t you agree?”
“…Motivation?”
“Yes, superhumans tend to have strong motivations, don’t they? For instance, there’s the Sword Demon Draka with his thirst for revenge and the Sword Master Kuntel, who sought proof.”
A goal to achieve, a proof to be established, a belief to protect even at the cost of one’s life. Such romantic ideals seem to form the basis of superhumans throughout history.
“That’s why superhumans are born in turbulent times.”
In desperate situations, humans find intense motivation. As Oyakal contemplated, he inquired.
“Do you have such motivation, young master?”
“…I do have some.”
Lac reflected on what could be considered motivation.
Paying back the kindness to Professor Rania.
Fulfilling the legacy of the Grace family.
And merely pursuing strength.
“Not particularly intense, are they?”
Oyakal chuckled bitterly.
Lac had no choice but to remain silent. It was indeed true. The only strong motivation Lac could think of was to repay his ancestors’ debt against Ganikalt, the Death’s Blade…
‘But that’s…’
Not a dream Lac held alone.
It wasn’t solely Lac’s quest, but one planted in him by others. He thought it must be achieved, yet he still hadn’t fully immersed himself in it. It felt like grasping at thin air.
“It can’t be helped.”
“It can’t be helped,” Oyakal said.
“The world is excruciatingly peaceful lately. I don’t mean that being peaceful is a bad thing. It’s just that it’s too serene to possess any intense motivation. All thanks to one hero.”
Even when recalling unbeatable foes.
No matter how difficult the situation might be.
When such a situation arises, humanity holds an alarmingly easy answer. The Hero, Rania van Trias. If she exists, all problems will be solved.
“Why do you aspire to be a superhuman, young master?”
That question left Lac speechless.
Countless sentences flashed through his mind, but none of them could provide a definitive answer. He couldn’t voice it with conviction. Lac ultimately fell silent.
“You’re struggling to answer that, are you?”
Oyakal smiled sadly.
“I believe you should clarify that a bit more. A solid motivation. A clear mindset. Even if someone is talented…”
He said calmly.
“You can’t reach the realm of superhumans solely through talent, can you? You’re still young, so it might be better to think it over a bit more.”
“…That seems to be true.”
Lac sighed.
“Phew…”
The seed buried in his heart.
The place where he should connect with the quest given to him.
Lost in such thoughts, Lac hadn’t reflected on the most important motivation.
“Thanks for your help, Oyakal.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
As Oyakal chewed on his jerky, he sighed.
“I’ve had my share of worries lately too.”
“Worries?”
“Yes, my son is turning five this year. He says he wants to be a warrior like me… but he looks so frail that it makes me worry.”
Ah, here comes the talk about his son.
Sensing the conversation might go long, Lac shrugged as he chewed on the jerky. As expected, Oyakal rambled on for a while about his son, and Lac provided appropriate responses while listening.
3.
Days passed since Lac had talked with Oyakal.
During those days, Lac had been sitting on the snowfield he was protecting, mulling over their conversation. Oyakal had said what was lacking was motivation and determination.
Motivation, motivation…
Something he found lacking in himself.
A firm purpose and intense desire. Contemplating that elusive concept, Lac exhaled slowly. It was likely similar to what Professor Rania referred to as a “trigger.”
“If you desire strongly enough.”
“If you experience the right moment.”
“That which rests in your heart will bloom. It will take you further.”
That which takes root in the heart.
Feeling its faint resonance, Lac took a long breath. While gazing at his white breath, he pondered.
Boom!
The air trembled.
Lac casually glanced at his right hand. The otherworldly space connected to his right hand began to resonate lightly with the sword of the first hero stored within it.
As if it had reacted to something.
And then, at that moment…
Psst!
A red flare shot up into the sky.
Lac looked up at the sky. The flare was fired from the opposite end of the snowfield he was protecting, meaning it was a call for help.
A formidable foe had appeared.
They seek help.
Feeling ominous, Lac began to dash toward the place where the flare was shot. His instincts were ringing alarms. Something was amiss there.
*
What is it that remains unfulfilled?
What will quench this thirst?
What will make me human?
Desire, purpose, determination.
Beautiful yet slimy.
Wandering in search of it, the beast walked. Coming out of the forest, it was greeted by an expanse of white snow. The moment the beast stepped onto the snowfield, it felt it. This was the place.
“My name is Ganikalt van Galatrick.”
A glorious human.
“I shall ask you.”
My overwhelmingly powerful adversary.
“Are you a beast, or do you wish to be human?”
In response to that question, the beast had answered.
With conviction, it had replied, “I am human.” At that moment, it had pride and determination. But the reborn beast had lost all of that.
“Is that so.”
It was no longer like before.
“Then, draw your sword.”
“Prove your pride.”
It couldn’t face him as a knight.
The beast groaned under that realization.
To reclaim what it had lost, the beast trudged endlessly through the snowfield. Moving with memories in mind. How long had it been?
“…”
A human stood in its path.
A relatively small human compared to the beast.
An ordinary human lacking the skills to reach the beast like those at the front lines. The beast looked down at the human. The human’s eyes trembled.
It would probably run away in fear.
Thinking that, the beast raised its arm, only to be met with an unexpected action.
Clang!
The human did something entirely unexpected. After shooting something into the sky, he drew his weapon from his waist. The sound of the blade scraping against its sheath made the beast’s eyes narrow.
Despite the fear.
Trembling with fear.
The human pointed his sword at the beast.
In that moment, the beast recalled the past. It remembered the humans it had loved.
Creeeak…
The beast’s mouth stretched wide. It laughed. The eyes gleamed with an emerald flash. The beast bellowed in ecstasy.
“I will ask you.”
The beast chuckled.
“What is your name?”
The human answered that question.
“Oyakal.”
The human revealed his name, defining himself.
“I am a warrior.”
*
Lac came to a halt.
The flowing blood reached Lac’s toes. He lifted his head to look ahead. The first thing that caught his eye was a broken sword. A treasure the warrior cherished like his second half. The weapon crafted with the blacksmith’s soul.
Half of Oyakal’s sword lay scattered on the ground. Turning his gaze further ahead revealed more than just Oyakal’s sword.
Countless warrior weapons lay broken on the ground. Lac viewed the forlorn weapons abandoned in the snowfield, devoid of their owners. He looked and looked, until at last, he reached the end of the line of weapons.
There stood the beast.
Balanced on two feet, the beast gaped its mouth wide, chewing on something. Each gulp sent blood and flesh flying in every direction.
And then.
Lac saw the body of a human sprawled beneath the beast. Naturally, they were faces Lac recognized. The warriors who had taught him, the warriors he had lived alongside like brothers, now lay sprawled, missing parts of their bodies.
Ugh…
The beast flung aside a half-eaten corpse with a thud. Lac gazed at the dead body that hit the ground with a dull thud. The eyes of the lifeless human were clouded. Even in death, the murkiness of those eyes reflected none of the spiritedness they once held in life.
“…”
Just a few days earlier.
His mentor, who shared drinks and offered him advice, and those who had been like brothers to him. It was the corpse of Oyakal. The moment Lac looked at that body, he felt something snap in his mind.
