"I will set a few conditions."

Gerd, the Empire's Sword Master.

What he wanted was to ascertain what Najin was hiding. Excalibur, a Masterpiece, or, failing those, a star's blessing. Gerd was certain that the boy before him was hiding something.

"As you proposed, I will use neither abilities exclusive to Sword Masters, nor authorities, nor extrasensory perception."

If the boy refused to talk to the very end, Gerd would have to corner him to find out. Push him to the brink of death, and he would eventually reveal everything to survive. But actually killing him would defeat the purpose.

He only wanted to find out.

That was why Gerd set his conditions.

"I will swing to kill, but give you three chances. If you make me take even one step back before you use all three, you win."

"Doesn't that favor me?"

"Magnanimity is a virtue of the strong. With this much of a handicap, I believe I can enjoy the duel as well, just as you suggested."

Gerd slowly raised his drawn sword.

"If you lose to me, you must tell me everything you are hiding. And I will report it to His Majesty. Furthermore, should the Empire need you, you must answer its call."

"Agreed. Then what if I win?"

"I will question you no further. Even if you bring out what you have been hiding to defeat me, I will not tell His Majesty. I alone will remember it. But if, by some chance, you win while still concealing your full strength..."

The corner of Gerd's mouth curled upward, as though daring him to try.

"I will grant you any one thing you desire. I swear it upon my seven stars."

The Empire's foremost warrior. A transcendent being with seven stars.

A promise to grant his wishes from someone that powerful was no small matter. This was a man who truly had the ability to grant anything.

"Do you mean you would give me an opportunity to call upon your sword, Sir Gerd?"

"My sword, status, power, wealth—anything. So long as it does not take the form of rebellion against the Empire."

They were favorable terms.

Najin smiled.

"I accept."

A vast grassland swept by the wind.

Standing within the landscape Gerd had conjured, Najin settled into his stance. Before him stood the Empire's Sword Master, holding a single sword.

The Empire's Sword Master had raised his sword.

Najin felt the full weight of that single sentence. His whole body trembled. His instincts screamed, and the fingertips gripping his sword tingled. But that lasted only a moment. Letting out a long breath, he adjusted his grip.

His sword point no longer shook.

"..."

Watching Najin quietly, Gerd curled his lips upward. The old man settled into his own stance. He had no need to entertain the boy's challenge, nor to impose restrictions on himself. Yet he gladly answered the spirit the boy had shown.

Before he was the Empire's foremost warrior, Gerd was a swordsman.

His sword had not lost so much of its luster that he would reject a duel requested by a brilliantly talented junior. How long had it been since his last duel? And how long since he had encountered a challenger as audacious as this boy? A smile formed on the old man's lips.

Show me, then.

Show me your sword.

2.

Gerd, the Empire's Sword Master.

What sword did he wield?

Gerd had learned the swordsmanship from which the imperial swordsmanship practiced by the Empire's knights originated. It was passed down to him by Alderan Basaglia, the hero who had saved the nation and the previous holder of the title of the Empire's foremost warrior.

The Triumphant Sword.

The sword of a hero who had won on every battlefield, bringing the glory of victory to the Empire alone. Only two people in the world, including Gerd, had learned this swordsmanship. Its characteristics were therefore not widely known, but...

The Empire's histories often described it thus:

An impenetrable fortress wall.

A sword bearing the weight of the Empire's thousand years.

'So that's what they meant.'

CLAAANG!

The moment their swords collided, Najin was driven far back. Twisting his body, he landed in a slide and marveled. That single clash had made him understand the descriptions of the Triumphant Sword at once.

Heavy. Unbelievably heavy.

Gerd alone swung the sword, yet it felt as though hundreds of knights were swinging their swords together. Narrowing his eyes, Najin lowered his stance. He stared at Gerd, who held his sword pointed at him as though inviting him to attack as often as he liked.

One man standing alone in a vast grassland.

This grassland was undoubtedly Gerd's mental image. That was why Najin had wondered when he first saw it: why was the mental image of an old man who knew nothing but the Empire and the sword a boundless grassland?

Only now did he find his answer.

In the distance, Gerd raised his sword, as though he had no need even to take a step. He swung the blade he had lifted high into the sky downward. At that instant, Najin's eyes widened, and he reflexively flung himself aside.

CRACK.

The ground split in a long, straight line. He had done it without even using sword aura. A mere swing of his sword had cleaved the distant ground. A disbelieving laugh escaped Najin at that realization.

'There was no need for images of the Empire or swords to occupy this grassland.'

The old man standing there was the Empire itself.

The sword he swung was the sword the Empire wielded. Was that why he was the empire's greatest swordsman? Najin watched Gerd swing his sword in admiration.

He used no sword aura. No wondrous footwork, either. He simply swung his sword. Steadfastly.

That alone allowed the old man's blade to split even the distant landscape. Though he was holding back, he could not conceal his might. This was the level Gerd had reached. Najin felt pure awe at it.

Where Karon had shown him technique honed to infinite precision, the old man before him exuded fierce stubbornness. A man who had reached transcendence by insisting on one thing alone.

'But...'

Najin stamped his foot down.

THUD.

'I didn't challenge you just to watch tricks that split the landscape from afar. I didn't ask for this duel merely to stand here admiring you.'

He lowered his stance. His eyes opened wide.

'The Sword Saint gave me a sword. The executioner gave me the right to own a Masterpiece. Then I'll have to wrest at least one thing from you, too.'

Najin's heart pounded fiercely with a heavy thump. Had Klaus Aten been there, his eyes would have widened. The stance Najin had assumed matched exactly that of Klaus Aten, vanguard commander of the Blue Wing Cavalry.

The stance matched. The heartbeat matched.

As Najin kicked off the ground, a deafening crash rang out.

BOOM!

How to sprint with all his strength. How to become a single lance cutting across a battlefield. How to channel the momentum of that charge directly into his weapon. Klaus Aten had taught Najin all of it, though he had never intended to.

And so, even Gerd found Najin's charge astonishing. Frowning for the first time since the duel began, he stared at Najin.

According to the records, Najin had become a Sword Seeker only a few weeks ago. But was this truly a warrior who had only just attained that rank? In the eyes of the Empire's Sword Master, it most certainly was not.

He had his sword aura under complete control. He knew precisely where his body's limits lay and at what moment he needed to concentrate his strength. He understood exactly the bodily structure and mana structure that must have changed with his advancement. These were movements one would expect only from warriors who had spent at least ten years as Sword Seekers.

It was downright absurd. Here was a boy raising his middle finger at everything the world considered common sense.

'Intriguing.'

His curiosity grew. What lay at the very depths of this boy? Gerd wanted to see it. He met the sword of the boy charging straight at him. Even as he received a strike carrying such momentum, Gerd did not budge.

'Show me more.'

He was enjoying himself for the first time in a while. He hoped the boy would not squander his three chances in an instant.

3.

Najin lost his first chance when their swords clashed for the seventeenth time. Gerd's sword slipped through the opening left by his broken stance and cut a handspan across his shoulder. Najin's sword point could neither reach Gerd nor even aim at him; it had been knocked away and pointed skyward.

Without driving the sword embedded in Najin's shoulder any farther, Gerd said, "That's one." His face was expressionless.

The second chance was lost on the forty-third clash. Gerd's sword rested against Najin's neck. Najin's sword had also stopped just before Gerd's shoulder, but there was a gap of one second between the two blades. And one second was enough time to kill an opponent several times over.

"That's two," Gerd said. A faint smile touched his lips.

Najin used his third chance after their swords had clashed seventy-three times.

But this time, Gerd did not say, "That's three." The situation was far too ambiguous for that declaration.

Gerd's mental image shattered. The two were back in the reception room, and the impact of their final exchange within the mental image sent Najin crashing into its door. He smashed through it and was hurled out of the room.

THUNK! SCREEECH!

With his sword driven into the floor, Najin slid a long way. Barely managing to stop at the end of the corridor, he slowly rose to his feet. A smile rested on his lips as he stood.

"Sir Gerd."

Najin looked at Gerd standing inside the reception room.

"Who wins in this case?"

Gerd stood in the reception room.

He had retreated exactly one step from the spot where he had stamped his foot. His retreat had broken the mental image, meaning that the blows exchanged simultaneously at the final instant had fulfilled both sides' conditions.

Najin had exhausted all three chances.

At the same time, he had met the condition Gerd had set.

He had won and lost, lost and won. How should that be judged? That was what Najin asked Gerd, and Gerd laughed aloud in response. His laughter rang out from within the reception room and filled the corridor. It was a laugh of utter delight.

"My defeat, of course."

"Isn't it a draw?"

"The very fact that it is a draw makes it my defeat."

Gerd smiled even as he spoke of his defeat, evidently pleased with both the course of the duel and its outcome. He let out a long breath.

"Whose swordsmanship was that final strike?"

"My first teacher's swordsmanship."

"You had an excellent teacher. It was a steadfast, upright sword—beautiful because it was upright."

The old man stroked his beard.

"It was a fine duel. A fine duel deserves a beautiful conclusion as well. I have not forgotten the reward I promised. Knock on the First Pillar's door whenever you wish."

The First Pillar was the name of the tower where Gerd resided.

With those words, the old man patted Najin's shoulder and walked away. Only then did Najin let out the breath he had been holding and gasp for air. He had swung his sword so much that his shoulders ached.

'Somehow, we managed to get through that.'

-Good work. But I don't think you'll have time to rest.

Merlin grinned.

She flicked her fingers about, indicating that he should look around. Following her fingertips with his gaze, Najin finally realized what situation he was in.

"..."

"..."

"..."

The people who had gathered to recruit Najin.

Representatives dispatched by countless organizations were staring at him wide-eyed, their gazes steeped in shock.

Having fainted from the wave Gerd had released, they had barely recovered when they saw Najin smash through the reception-room door and fly into the corridor. That alone was shocking enough, but what came next?

Gerd had admitted defeat before Najin.

Judging by the context of their conversation, some sort of duel had taken place inside, and Najin had won it. In other words, he had secured victory against the Empire's foremost warrior.

Of course, it must have been a duel fought under restrictions.

But that did not matter.

What mattered was that the boy had earned the favor of the Empire's foremost warrior, and that the great Sword Master of the Empire had acknowledged the boy's victory with a smile.

Sir Gerd, renowned for his solemn, expressionless demeanor, had laughed aloud. And that laughter had been genuine.

The people gathered in the corridor were capable, and precisely because they were capable, they understood what this meant. The youngest Sword Seeker, who had attained that rank at eighteen. It meant that yet another distinction had been added to the boy's already outrageous title.

Acknowledged by the Empire's foremost warrior.

Or, the youngest Sword Seeker who enjoyed his favor.

Najin's already skyrocketing stock climbed at an even steeper rate. The people gathered in the corridor had to scrap every negotiation plan they had prepared and devise new ones on the spot.

Then they rushed toward Najin, each trying to get ahead of the others.

All to secure this utterly unbelievable prize.