[664] Insufficient Five Senses (3)
"That won't do."
Shirone cut him off before Rian could answer.
"The examiners are us, and we pick the recruits. The one who has to prove himself is you, Mr. Wig, not Rian. If you don't like that rule, you're free to forfeit the evaluation."
Wig had no retort—Shirone's words were unassailable.
But his pride wouldn't let him stop with a blade already leveled, and he was sure Rian would react differently from Shirone.
"Even if the mage's judgment is like that, would the knight of Maha really think the same?"
A knight wasn't only muscle and reflex; some people would sacrifice efficiency for conviction.
Having made a name for himself as a rising swordsman, he couldn't back down from a challenge.
"Of course he wouldn't."
Rian's answer brought a smile to Wig's lips.
"But if my lord refuses, I won't do it."
Wig knew the weight of a knight's oath.
"Why not look at it another way? If you back down here, you'll stain your lord's honor."
This time Rian tilted the corner of his mouth.
"You… haven't taken your knight's oath yet, have you?"
"I have not."
"A knight does not make judgments for himself. If Shirone orders you to strike, you strike; if he orders you to be struck, you'll willingly accept it. No words can sway the will behind my actions—that will isn't mine to claim."
Wig's blade slowly lowered.
"Mr. Wig, I understand how you feel, but read the situation. This is my mercenary company, and I decide who passes or fails. If you truly want to contest Rian…."
"Contest?"
"Prove to me why you're indispensable. If you make me feel I must have you under any circumstances, then I might allow Rian a real duel."
"...Understood."
Confronted with logic, Wig bowed deeply.
When he lifted his head, his usual easy smile was gone; his face was cold.
"Then I'll show you my swordsmanship. I am Wig of the Gale."
If his goal was to catch the examiners' attention, his opening had worked. The three watched him with cool, scrutinizing eyes, curious how impressive he might be.
He began dual-swordsmanship.
After showing the basics, Wig quickly shifted into flashy maneuvers that slashed in every direction as if he were bored.
He ran, leapt, landed and spun, and the blades' trajectories never broke—in fact, they accelerated.
"Truly astounding mobility."
Wig could operate four schemas, a level high even among duelists.
Someone who hasn't opened any schemas can't even feel how their body moves or what posture they hold during a simple vertical cut.
That's why Rian practiced endlessly in front of a mirror to iron out errors.
If you can sense the four domains of physical change at once, you can not only correct your stance but even rank which of your ten toes is applying more force, from one to ten.
"Is this enough?"
This was the boundary of raw talent.
Wig began to use his schemas in earnest.
"Mitochondrial Build."
The Mitochondrial Build, which enhances overall bodily activation, favors balance. It branches into regeneration and acceleration; since Wig's movements quickened, he'd chosen acceleration.
"Fold here."
To "fold" a schema is to fold it in half, concentrating control; folk tales say reach seven folds and efficiency explodes by 128 times.
From then on one transcends humanity into a godlike realm—only the great-blade hero Kadel ever reached it three hundred years ago; no one has since.
Wig's limit was three folds, and as he folded the mitochondrial schema, each motion whipped up gale-force winds.
"Whoa."
Even Shirone couldn't hide his surprise.
Beyond what a bandit crew could display, the efficiency leapt eightfold, and even with Armand's neural enhancements, afterimages flickered.
"This ends now."
As centrifugal force increased, Wig's body began to whirl like a vortex.
With bodily activation as the base and muscular, nervous, and sensory systems controlled in unison, a terrifying gale tore through the clearing.
He swept the space in an instant and, finishing his stance before the examiners, a chilling cracking sound pierced the three pairs of ears like an awl.
"That's all."
Wig sheathed his swords, rose slowly, and stepped back to his place.
"Rian…."
Shirone waited carefully for a judgment.
Even a layman could see it had been superb, but because of that it was Rian's decision that mattered.
"Impressive skill. The reputation of 'Wig of the Gale' is not undeserved."
"Thank you."
Wig said, sliding his twin blades onto his back.
"I'd like to hear Shirone's opinion too. Am I accepted?"
"...Yes."
Shirone, who had stressed fairness up to now, could not lie.
"Then let me make a proposal. If you want me in the mercenary company, there's one thing you must address. You may be the captain, Shirone, but could I really risk my life under a lieutenant weaker than I am?"
Shirone scratched his cheek.
He hadn't seen every applicant's specialty yet, but aside from Kuan, none matched Wig's skill.
"Shirone, don't hesitate."
Rian said.
"If he's someone you need, take him. That's all I care about."
As if he'd expected the answer, Rian rose from his seat.
"And no duelist will follow a weak commander."
Feeling Rian's resolve, Shirone nodded.
"Fine. I permit a real duel. It may be presumptuous, but don't let it interfere with missions. You're professionals; I trust you to keep it under control."
Wig readily accepted, though inwardly he thought differently.
"Because you're professionals, you can't concede."
He'd applied to Shirone's mercenary company to raise his fame—he had no intention of going easy.
"There isn't much time."
Rian slowly drew his greatsword and stepped into the clearing.
"Just five minutes."
"He's completely ignoring me. Selling out his friend and yet—"
Wig had risen to fame around the same time as Maha's knight.
Still, Rian was qualified to judge him because Rian was Shirone's knight and a candidate of the ivory tower.
"But does he know? From now on your proud lord can't protect you."
The twin blades slid free with a rush of air, and Rian aimed the greatsword with one hand.
"Come."
Wig's strength was obvious, but he had no particularly outstanding trait beyond that.
"He has quite a few openings."
Raised by natural talent, Wig relied more on aggression than caution and immediately triggered a schema, springing forward.
"Taha!"
This was a level of refinement far beyond a mere demonstration; Rian twisted with a look of surprise.
"What the—?"
Wig had prepared a counterattack, but his initial reactions were somewhat clumsy.
"Could he really be all bluff?"
The real test began, and the gale-like swordplay assaulted Rian without mercy.
Rian parried and dodged, but the technical roughness was immediately apparent.
"Pathetic."
That clumsiness surprised Wig.
"He doesn't seem to be using schemas properly."
Control of schemas is vital because it allows precise bodily management.
Even a single swing requires center of gravity, posture calibration, distribution of force—countless sensations working together. Watching Rian, Wig felt he was just following instinct.
"A supposed knight of Maha? Can I even see him?"
From the next fold onward, efficiency would inevitably halve, but for someone who could use four schemas, Rian's swordsmanship looked like a novice's.
"Every swing traces a different path. He doesn't know how he's cutting."
Sloppy duels always leave a bitter aftertaste.
Irritation flared, and Wig pressed in to finish it.
"Five minutes."
Rian's words drew a snort from him.
"What nonsense."
Five minutes was more than enough to expose Maha's knight as a fraud.
"Tahaaaa!"
As Wig charged with his twin blades held horizontally, Rian rotated with a speed unlike any previous reaction.
Perfect.
The word flashed through Wig's head like lightning. There wasn't time to think before a grim feeling rose.
"This technique—only at this exact moment is it perfect."
Muscle memory.
An action practiced so many times it's engraved into the body.
If most adults have "walking" mastered, this motion had been practiced comparable times—and that made it possible.
"Just block it—!"
He told himself he had to.
That was Wig's single miscalculation; there were no more chances.
The broad face of the greatsword crashed into his twin blades and consciousness fled.
In the last thoughts before blacking out he realized the strike's speed couldn't be explained by schemas, and that if he flew onward, he'd die.
"This is Maha—"
His body shot like an arrow and slammed into a building wall. No scream escaped; the wall split like a spiderweb and Wig fell through the gap.
"Wig!"
Shirone rushed over and checked him; fortunately his breathing was steady.
Rian sheathed the greatsword. "I snapped his neck just before he passed out. If the impact had been a moment later, he'd be dead."
His skull would have been crushed.
"Sorry. I couldn't go easy."
"No, it's a relief it turned out like this. To be honest, I wanted to settle ranks properly before we departed."
Though Rian had felled him with a single blow and there were no visible wounds, his mood wasn't good.
"I only won."
He tried to steady himself with that thought, but fighting someone who emphasized technical skill like Wig left a nasty aftertaste.
"Shirone, continue."
They carried Wig out on a guild stretcher and the evaluations resumed.
From Silverring, Con passed. One passed from the war-chariot, and another from the Blood Roses.
With an archer, a survival-and-trap specialist, a spearman, and a healing mage added, the mercenary company began to take shape.
Number 199, Kuan, didn't even need to draw his sword—his presence was enough to send Ariya slipping from her chair. Finally, the last candidate for the second evaluation, Meirey, stepped in.
Shirone, who'd been curious for some time, paused the evaluation to ask.
"You said you can hear Ra's voice?"
"Yes."
"Can you hear it now?"
Meirey pressed her hands to her ears and tilted her face to the sky without answering.
"...Yes. I can hear it."
They didn't know why Ra's voice drifted like an electrical signal, but Shirone wanted to know what it said.
"Ra's voice isn't always clear. It's mixed into a lot of noise."
"What kind of noise?"
"Screams."
Meirey narrowed her brow and analyzed the sounds.
"Cries of pain, howls of rage. Always he—"
She twitched her eyebrows and stopped.
"Why did you stop?"
"Wait. He's speaking."
Slowly lifting her eyelids, Meirey relayed what she heard.
"Carte mu cielre, Cartision ve Raveca Perbel."
Ariya tilted her head.
"I don't know it. I've never heard it before."
"It's an ancient tongue. Very old. It means..."
If you seek me, find the hell within you.