Chapter 29 - Training

The next day, Bera stepped into the clearing in front of the hut where he lived and drew his sword to train.

He trained so that he would never again feel the helplessness he had felt when only Bargo’s help had allowed him to escape Terdan’s grasp. So that Renée would never again have to overexert herself using her divine powers.

Sword in hand, Bera considered a question.

'What am I lacking?'

What was missing from his swordsmanship?

Whenever he posed that question, the answer was always the same.

'Nothing.'

As far as Bera could judge, his swordsmanship lacked nothing. It had already reached the level of a master.

In a sense, that was only natural. Bera had talent. Talent for wielding a sword. Talent for killing an opponent. Talent for recognizing those who meant to kill him. Talent for controlling his body. He possessed talent for every other element necessary for battle, too.

From the moment he first held a sword, Bera had understood how to swing it and what he could accomplish with it. He knew those things instinctively.

That was why his swordsmanship had no form.

A sword wielded by instinct. A sword built solely on experience. There were no codified principles within it.

That was why Bargo had called it the swordsmanship of a “fucking dog in heat,” and why Bera had been unable to refute him.

Yet that was also why it lacked nothing. His swordsmanship already possessed every element necessary for actual combat.

That was precisely why it had remained unchanged throughout his four years in the Holy Empire. The moment he imposed form upon it, its possibilities vanished. His sword became trapped within a limited set of movements, and a stifling sensation clung to his body every time he swung it.

For that reason, Bera had failed to correct his swordsmanship.

Once more, a question arose within him.

'Nothing is lacking. Then does that mean improvement is impossible?'

Had he already reached the limit of his growth? Could he advance no further through the sword alone?

This time, Bera pondered those questions for a long while before tightening his grip on the hilt and arriving at an answer.

'... No.'

It was possible. He could reach a higher level.

He had already seen with his own eyes that a realm beyond this existed. There was no reason he could not reach it.

As he pursued that thought, Bargo’s recent strike came to mind.

'Highly compressed divine energy.'

The skill that had made Bargo’s strike possible.

That vicious, blood-red mace, which crushed all the space around it, had been formed by compressing Bargo’s divine energy into a single place.

'Discharge toward a single point.'

The released divine energy had erased every substance in its path because the compressed energy traveled in a single direction without dispersing.

'And then...'

An explosion at the point of impact. An explosion that even Terdan, the Mountain-Pushing Giant, could not withstand.

'Intent.'

That was what made the skill possible. Bargo had placed his intent to confront Terdan within a defined form, making the condensed divine energy explode at the targeted point.

SHING.

Bera raised his sword.

He could tell. The move Bargo had demonstrated that day had undoubtedly contained both form and intent.

If this was not some nebulous theory but something truly possible, there was no reason he could not do it.

'I cannot use the same method as His Holiness.'

That was not his method. It was a move designed for Bargo, one only Bargo could execute. A move that could rightfully be called the path of domination.

Bera would have to imbue his sword with a form and intent different from Bargo’s.

'What should I put into it?'

His thoughts continued. A sword he could wield, a sword toward which he must strive.

Ever since his life had been rewound, he had had only one goal.

'A sword for the Saintess.'

A sword to protect Renée.

To that end, the sword he had to create was...

'Flawlessness.'

It had to be a sword without weakness, one that would never falter under any circumstances. A sword that would show no weakness regardless of the situation or the opponent.

But...

'That is impossible.'

Bera knew just how arrogant a word “flawlessness” was.

And so he envisioned a sword only he could wield, one that came infinitely close to flawlessness.

'Ten Thousand Changes.'

A skill that mimicked flawlessness by using ten thousand different styles of swordsmanship in ten thousand battles.

He had to accomplish it.

'I already have a starting point.'

Sanctuary.

The sacred art he had created by weaving together his divine powers. If he used it to manipulate the conditions of battle themselves, this was entirely achievable.

His swordsmanship had to be able to take tens of thousands of forms in response to the penalties imposed each time, allowing him freedom from the restrictions within Sanctuary.

An unchanging center amid ever-changing constraints.

In other words, he had to create a form capable of Ten Thousand Changes.

Bera erased every sword technique he had accumulated through experience. He had to return to a blank slate and build anew from the beginning.

Closing his eyes, he recalled the many formidable fighters he had encountered, beginning in his previous life. He recalled their swords, their martial arts, their methods of combat.

Not to engrave them into his body. He had already tried that and failed.

'Leave only the most basic movements capable of countering all of them.'

Slash, thrust, block.

He erased everything but those three elements.

Then he recalled how the formidable fighters he had encountered had fought. Who were the powerful opponents he might have to face with this sword?

He did not have to think long.

In his previous life, he had lived with the entire world as his enemy. Of all the powerful fighters he had encountered in that life, if he had to name the absolute best...

'The heroes.'

The heroes who had slain the Demon King. He had to create his swordsmanship with the assumption that he would face them.

He could defeat them even if he fought them right now. But that did not mean their swordsmanship was crude compared to his.

Bera knew that he could defeat them only because he possessed a sacred mark. Judged on swordsmanship alone, it was fair to say that his sword was inferior to their martial arts.

Thus, the swordsmanship he rebuilt had to be capable of overcoming their swords—and the entire history of swordsmanship they had built upon—through swordsmanship alone.

Bera recalled the heroes’ swords.

'Albrecht.'

Albrecht de Frich, the Empire’s second prince and the Knight of Reverence.

He recalled the sword that had been called unbreakable.

'Its essence is flow.'

An overwhelming suppleness that deflected any attack. He recalled that sword, the most troublesome of all to face.

Next...

'Hegrion.'

The sword of Hegrion Tresia, heir to the northern Duchy of Tresia and the Grand Duke of the Bitter Cold.

What his sword embodied was...

'Weight.'

A steadfast sword that would not yield to a raging blizzard. He recalled that sword, whose downward blows forced him to his knees.

Finally...

'Aisha.'

Aisha Dragnoff, wielder of the demonic sword.

What the demonic sword she wielded contained was unmistakably speed. He recalled that sword, whose onslaught came so swiftly it grated on his nerves.

Then he envisioned his own technique, one that could counter all of them without losing in a clash.

'Change.'

An ever-changing sword. He had to build his swordsmanship toward that goal.

Bera opened his eyes.

At some point, ashen divine energy had filled his surroundings.

He had decided which direction to take, but he had yet to properly establish even the framework of his swordsmanship. This would be an arduous undertaking that would naturally demand a great deal of time.

Yet even as those thoughts occurred to him, his spirits were rising beyond measure.

He could see a path. He was not yet complete. He could become stronger than he was now.

Bera’s fighting spirit was one that knew how to delight in such growth.

'Actual combat is best.'

For Bera, actual combat was the most efficient form of training. Facing an opponent directly and making corrections moment by moment would be the quickest path to perfecting his swordsmanship.

'The problem is how to find actual combat in the Holy Empire.'

Unless Renée left, he could not leave either.

'Then I must find opponents within the Holy Empire...'

As he was deep in those thoughts, a shout reached him.

“Bera!”

He turned to look in the direction it had come from. In the distance, the people he had summoned were approaching.

The twins, Rohan, and Trebo.

As he watched them, an idea flashed through Bera’s mind.

He had originally summoned them for some “education” for Renée’s sake, but that did not have to be the sole purpose of this gathering.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

'... Two birds with one stone.'

Such sturdy punching bags had come to him at just the right time. Shouldn’t he put them to use?

* * *

Two days later, Renée walked down the corridor with Bera for her scheduled lesson in the sacred arts.

The steady rhythm of her cane and their footsteps. The warmth reaching her through her fingertips.

She walked for some time, taking in those sensations, before the awkward atmosphere grew stifling enough that she spoke.

“We’re meeting the apostle of wisdom today, aren’t we?”

“Yes. Trebo.”

“I see...”

After responding to his brief reply, Renée felt a hint of resentment toward Bera as silence began to settle over them again.

She did not truly resent him. For some reason, she merely felt hurt that he kept his mouth shut and said nothing.

It was an emotion she herself could not understand.

A sulky look crept onto her face of its own accord, and her grip on her cane tightened, turning its light taps into sharp cracks.

“Saintess?”

At Bera’s call, Renée flinched, then lowered her head slightly and answered.

“Yes.”

“Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, I’m not.”

Another sharp crack of her cane rang against the floor.

Only after speaking did Renée wonder, 'Was that too snappish?' She tried to gauge Bera’s mood.

There was no change in the feel of his hand, the sound of his footsteps, or his breathing. Still, startled by her own behavior, she wondered whether she might have angered him. She squeezed her eyes shut and blurted out an apology.

“I’m sorry. I was too sharp with you.”

“Not at all. I sensed nothing of the sort.”

“Um... I didn’t sleep very well...”

“Ah, the seasons are changing, so that is understandable. I will speak to Hella and ask her to pay particular attention to the temperature of your room.”

“Okay...”

Renée’s head drooped deeply.

She silently offered a small apology to Hella for the trouble she would be put through.

'Why am I acting like this?'

Had she simply not adjusted to the Holy Empire yet? Unable to make sense of her own behavior, she eventually reassured herself, 'I’ll be fine once I get a little more used to it,' and steadied her breathing.

Meanwhile, silence settled over them once again.

Repeating 'Stay calm. Stay calm,' to herself, Renée forced her voice to sound cheerful and asked Bera a question.

“The apostle of wisdom... What is Trebo like? Is there anything he dislikes people doing?”

The question that emerged concerned Trebo. Renée believed it was a matter of courtesy to learn about someone before meeting them.

Bera considered her words for a moment, then replied in a quiet, measured tone.

“He is an eccentric.”

“Pardon?”

“He also shows some perverse tendencies. He is not someone you ought to get close to, so I would recommend keeping your distance.”

For once, he was speaking at length. Renée felt grateful that he was saying so much, yet his harsh assessment of Trebo made her tilt her head.

“Uh...”

Unable to find anything to say, she let the sound slip out. Bera continued speaking ill of Trebo.

“He takes an interest in men’s bare skin, so one could call him a lover of men. However, there is no guarantee that his perverse tendencies are directed only at men, so I would like you to exercise particular caution, Saintess. Ah, if Trebo should ever ask to see your sacred mark, you must never, ever show it to him.”

This was unlike Bera.

A faint irritation colored his voice. It was a rare display of emotion, and Renée recalled seeing him like this once before coming to the Holy Empire.

'Ah, the oddballs.'

He had used precisely that tone when speaking about the people of the Holy Empire back in Remeo.

'So he’s one of the oddballs Sir Knight mentioned.'

She gave a small nod, understanding dawning within her.

Still, for some reason, Renée felt it was not right for Bera to speak ill of someone like that.

“Um, Sir Knight?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it’s good to speak ill of people behind their backs...”

Bera’s expression abruptly froze at her words, and he turned his gaze toward her.

She had spoken with a slightly troubled expression.

Certainly, certainly, she was right, but...

“... I apologize.”

“No, I was only saying...”

Bera felt wronged.