Smille, Smille (3)
Omega Year 938.
It had already been fifteen hundred years since Anke Ra dismantled the Stem of Ultima City in a single day of drinking.
Even now, in Heaven, a handful of Gaia folk led by McLain Griffin continued to resist.
Countless giants had spread to other planets and spawned new peoples there.
Some returned and became otherworldly species; the River clan that Ozent belonged to was one of them.
"Oppa."
True to the River clan, a woman with water-clear blue hair down to her waist approached Ozent.
"Are you by yourself again today?"
"Smille."
Ozent—who never showed emotion to anyone in the clan—would sometimes give a shy smile in front of his younger sister.
"You only practice swordsmanship, so you're twenty-two and have no friends. If someone has no social life, they turn inward," she teased.
"Because I'm comfortable alone."
Ozent didn't know his exact age.
Of course he was an otherworldly species, but his first memory was of wandering the mountains like a wild dog.
The man who'd taken pity on the young Ozent and adopted him was Smille's father, Damian.
"Go back. If Father finds you here—"
Smille shoved Ozent's chest with her palm.
"Come on, come on! We'll deal with that later. Come with me to the Marang River. Let's swim—it's been ages—and catch something to eat."
If Damian found out it would likely sour the mood again, but no one in the clan could bend Smille's stubbornness.
"Be back before sunset."
"All right, all right."
The Marang River they reached after crossing a low ridge was as wide as the sea.
Beautiful.
Ozent liked looking at the river.
"Come on, come on! Time to show off a bit? Father's been forbidding me from swimming lately."
"My father's been forbidding me to swim," she said. The reason was plain: Damian didn't like the sight of his betrothed daughter splashing about in the river.
"You're an adult now… ugh!"
Smille shrugged off her top in one motion, and Ozent's gaze lost its footing.
"What are you doing?"
"Why? Everyone catches them like this."
The River clan were excellent swimmers; fishing in this state of undress wasn't unheard of.
Smille was the problem, but Ozent couldn't bring himself to judge her.
"No matter how close you are as siblings, you're old enough to be careful. I understand why Father's worried."
"Ha ha! Oppa, you're such a fuss. We even used to bathe together when we were kids—so what's the big deal? You get weirdly obsessive about things. That's why people call you creepy."
"Creepy?"
To the River clan, Ozent was timid, emotionless, and a strange man who only practiced with his sword.
Maybe they were right.
Showing emotion to others was unbearably hard for him.
"So meet some women and make friends. You practice sword every day and you even get embarrassed seeing your sister's body." Smille folded her arms and thrust out her chest.
"Admittedly, my figure is nice." She giggled.
"Don't make disgusting jokes."
Ozent felt a stab of sadness.
It really was starting to feel like they were just siblings.
Smille's bold nature meant she probably didn't notice the tiny changes in Ozent's feelings.
Perhaps his timidity was so extreme that his emotions were hidden perfectly.
I'm a coward.
A coward who couldn't draw closer to her, and yet couldn't simply turn away.
"Anyway, get yourself ready and come in. I'm going in first!"
Smille drew a deep breath and dove from a low cliff into the river, moving like a fish.
I hate getting wet.
Ozent remained seated.
In the sunlit water he watched Smille kick vigorously.
Just watching the river pleased him.
After about thirty minutes of swimming, Smille dove deep and began hunting fish in earnest.
She had no talent for swordsmanship, but her grit was unmatched; she wouldn't come up until she'd caught one.
"Smille, let's go back now."
"One more!"
She shouted and dove again. At that moment the river's current shifted abruptly.
What's that?
Only someone as sensitive as Ozent could have noticed the change.
A moment later a fin broke the surface.
A leviathan-class fish?
An otherworldly creature—an enormous aquatic predator, something that didn't exist in Heaven's ecosystems—well over ten tons.
"Smille! Get out!"
But Smille was already deep beneath the surface.
"Damn it!"
Only when Ozent seized his sword and sprang off the cliff did Smille, below the water, realize what was happening.
A school of smaller fish, driven by those giant predators, was converging on her.
I have to surface!
She pushed with everything she had toward the light—and what greeted her was a huge maw of a predator.
"Smille!"
Just before she was swallowed, a head—severed at the gills—shot upward.
"Oppa!"
Ozent grabbed Smille's hand and, projecting gravity outward, shot into the sky.
Dozens of fish leaped after them, casting shadows across their faces.
"Hold on tight!"
As he radiated gravity, Ozent's body began to vibrate violently.
The leviathans surged at once, and his sword sliced through them like a gale.
"Wow—"
Smille swallowed hard as she watched fresh chunks of flesh fall.
"Looks delicious."
Ozent, however, ran through the air with every ounce of strength and barely made it back to the cliff's edge.
"Hah. Hah."
Smille gave him a thumbs-up.
"Oppa, you're the best!"
"You idiot! You came to the river without knowing it's their spawning season? Where's your head?"
"You didn't know either."
"Why should I have to know that? Anyway, I'm not—"
He wasn't of the River clan.
But saying it aloud made him feel like nothing, so he kept silent.
"Oppa, I'm hungry. Let's eat before we go."
Ozent could only close his mouth.
"Hah, always with the appetite."
They lit a small fire and skewered the cleaned fish on sticks, grilling them until golden.
"Delicious."
"Since it's late, eat slowly. Don't overdo it."
Smille nodded, but her eating speed didn't slow at all.
"By the way, Oppa, that thing earlier—flying through the air like that. Is that swordsmanship?"
"It's a technique for projecting inertia outside the body. Very difficult. Why?"
"Can you teach me that too?" Smille pleaded.
Ozent chuckled.
"You? You can barely handle basic body techniques. Do you really think you could do that?"
There were many capable warriors in the River clan, but for some reason Smille had almost no talent.
"No, really. I'll work hard. Please teach me."
"You have to awaken every sense in your body." Ozent opened his palm.
"Anyone can clench and unclench a fist. But to master your body you have to go deeper."
"How?"
"Move at an extreme slowness. Watch while you eat."
As Smille hesitated, Ozent's gaze calmed.
At first she didn't understand, but after about ten minutes she began to feel it.
"Ah?"
Ozent's five fingers curved slightly.
"Got it? Slowly. Slower. Stretch the time of a single fist clench and divide it into ten hours."
"I'll try."
Smille opened her hand.
"Hmm—"
Watching his sister closely, Ozent added, "If you stop, you're done. Never stop once; keep moving, only very slowly."
"All right. Slowly."
Smille's expression grew oddly serious.
"Ah! No good! I stopped again. This is harder than I thought. Where did you learn this, Oppa?"
"I didn't learn it. I developed it myself. You split the body's sensations into the smallest units."
Ozent had no teacher.
"If I had to name one—"
Smille blinked, waiting for him to finish, but Ozent was already preparing to leave.
"It's late. Let's go home."
With the sun already setting, Smille fell silent and packed up without complaint.
"Smille."
At the path into the village stood an elderly man with sea-colored hair tied neatly, leaning on a staff.
"Father."
Damian, chieftain of the River clan, watched Ozent and Smille walking side by side.
"I'm sorry."
Ozent averted his eyes and bowed; Damian sighed.
Haah, what a headache.
He never showed it, but Ozent was his son in every way except blood, and above all the River clan's finest warrior.
Warrior—if that was even the word.
Compared to the brash swordsmanship of the River clan, Ozent's movements were too delicate and precise.
We grew up together despite different blood—how could we turn out so differently?
Ozent had become a loner partly because of his unmatched talent with the sword.
"Let's go home."
The silence as Damian turned made Ozent's heart heavier.
For the food-loving River clan, dinner was usually a cheerful family time, but tonight the mood was heavy.
"Ozent, the pre-wedding rites are tomorrow. People from the Mountain clan will come. Of course Smille's fiancé will be here too."
"I know."
Before the wedding, it was custom for the bride's side to invite the groom's family and host a seven-day feast.
"I wonder what kind of person my fiancé is. I don't care if he's handsome as long as he's strong. Like Oppa."
"Smille."
Ozent tried to warn her, but Damian's mind was already troubled.
"Ozent, what will you do from now on? The River clan has protected the river for generations. It should be under the command of the strongest warrior."
He was the strongest, but few would endorse someone so individualistic to lead.
"I will leave."
Damian was taken aback.
"You'll leave?"
There was no longer any reason for him to stay.
It wasn't unusual for a chieftain's daughter to marry outside the clan, but this felt sudden.
Because of me, no doubt.
"I'm not telling you to leave. You're a strong warrior and my son. But guarding the river—"
"Has long been entrusted to the River clan. I don't have the qualifications. I have plans."
"Plans?"
"I want to travel and further hone my skills."
"You intend to become a wanderer?"
With Ozent's skill, he could survive even in Purgatory, but as a father Damian felt pain.
So he runs away again, huh?
That was the kind of child he'd raised.
He never spoke up when he wanted something, never said a word when angry, and simply swallowed it all.
That steadiness in the eldest son was reassuring, but knowing how he felt about Smille made it only more painful.
Maybe that's for the best. If I hadn't adopted him, they might never have been able to be together.
"Oppa! Leaving all of a sudden? You never told me anything like this before!"
"Sorry."
Smille raised her voice.
"Does 'sorry' fix everything? You're always like this! You never tell me what's really important. I don't know what you're thinking."
What was he thinking?
Damn it!
If it couldn't be undone, he wanted to shout it as he left.
'Smille, I—!'
He couldn't.
Feeling the boiling anger, Ozent set down his bowl.
"I'll go first."
"Where are you going? Talk to me."
Even as he ignored Smille's plea and stepped outside, Damian didn't scold him.
I must endure.
Rational and cold, Ozent had no courage to step beyond the taboo.
I must grip my sword. Control my anger.
Anger was his only teacher.