「What do you think is the first thing taught in swordsmanship?」

One day, Master had asked me that out of the blue.

["How to form a mana heart?"]

「No.」

["How to build stamina?"]

「Not that, either.」

["Then how to keep hold of a sword?"]

In answer to his question, I listed what I considered the fundamentals of swordsmanship. But Master shook his head at every answer.

「All wrong, young descendant.」

I could not understand his response.

Everything I had listed was something Master always stressed as a fundamental of swordsmanship, something I had learned before anything else. Yet he said they were all wrong.

Then what was the answer?

「Everything you named is something I taught you at the beginning. How commendable that you remember it all, young descendant.」

["Yes, I remember everything. But why do you say none of those is the answer?"]

「Because every answer you gave was wrong.」

Master's words contradicted themselves.

If those really were all things he had taught me, why were they all wrong?

The answer was actually simple.

「I have never taught you the first step in swordsmanship.」

Because he had never taught it.

["What do you..."]

「Young descendant, I have no intention of teaching you that first step in the future, either.」

["Why not?"]

In response to his young pupil's question, Master spoke again.

「The first thing taught in swordsmanship is how to fall safely.」

["..."]

「Not only in swordsmanship. In teaching any martial art, the very first lesson is how to fall safely.」

How to fall safely.

「Every martial art devoted to honing oneself begins by teaching the proper way to fall. Why is that?」

The right way to fall.

Come to think of it, Master had never once spoken of how to fall.

「Because you must know how to fall properly before you can rise properly and strike back.」

["..."]

「The foundation of martial arts is refusing to break. Having the will to rise and try again even after falling. Seeing defeat not as an absolute defeat, but as nourishment for the next challenge. Treating defeat, too, as part of your training, and using it as a stepping stone. That is the martial way. That is swordsmanship, young descendant.」

["..."]

「Then think again, young descendant. Why do you suppose your master never taught you how to fall? And why do you suppose I said I would never teach you?」

Falling meant defeat.

Master had not taught me how to rise from defeat.

「You must not learn through defeat. You must not grow accustomed to it.」

["..."]

「You must regard each defeat as a death. Be furious with yourself for losing. Hate yourself, loathe yourself, feel your helplessness in full, and obsess over victory to a ruthless degree.」

["..."]

「You must not lose, young descendant. Never abandon that thought.」

I had not taken up a sword for something like self-cultivation.

From the moment I decided to wield one, my purpose had always been the same.

「Only then will you be able to achieve your purpose.」

Revenge.

* * *

Fighters of different races were locked in combat.

"You things lower than vermin! You came here as fighters representing your races, to display your pride! Yet you hide in a corner of the forest for fear of death! Lepri, the goddess who guards justice, will laugh at you! Do you, trembling with fear like this, even deserve to call yourselves fighters?"

An orc's vicious axe split a tree.

Red blood sprayed. Screams, roars, groans, and, following all those voices, the deafening clash of weapons. The sounds of a battlefield.

"You inferior orc bastards! Do you think we still live in an age of war? Must a fighter always stake his life on a duel? Not everyone is like you! We, too, would close our eyes contentedly if we gave everything we had and met death in defeat. But if we left like that, what would become of those we're responsible for? The families waiting for us at home, the people who need our help?"

"Nothing but excuses!"

"Excuses! Goddess Lepri loves glorious fighters. But what of the orphans in the slums who live on whatever they can beg each day? My newborn son, who can barely open his eyes? Who will care for my elderly mother, too frail to live without nursing? The nine goddesses and seven chief gods grant us their sacred words, but they do not look after the weak who need help right now!"

Race clashed with race.

Intelligent beings who had led different lives collided.

"If Goddess Lepri hates me, I will gladly let her. If I don't deserve to call myself a fighter, I will gladly give it up. I'll stay alive and take on menial work. Rather than end my life in a brief, fiery duel, I'll live a long, dishonorable life."

"..."

"I cannot leave this world early, abandoning those I'm responsible for. Unlike you orcs, whose whole tribe cares for one another even if one of you dies a pointless death, humans aren't like that. We don't look after each other even when we live next door, and we exploit the slightest weakness we see. So, as a cruel, selfish human, I intend to keep living, you inferior orc."

Conviction clashed with conviction.

"I respect that resolve. But the duel must continue."

"You're insane."

"They've said that of us ever since orcs first appeared on this continent."

Axe met sword.

"Damn, my joints ache like hell. If I move any more, I'll suffer for a hundred years."

"Let's call it a day and return to the World Tree. That filthy stench of sweat makes it hard to think straight."

"Hoho, refined elves like us have no need to get tangled up in that fight."

Afraid of getting hurt, the elves lost their nerve and pulled out.

"I can't decide when to step in for a stylish finale."

"When would be the best moment to unveil the most magnificent Hell?"

The Demonkin, obsessed with looking impressive, had no desire to join the dogfight. Nobles of the night valued dignity over their lives; theirs was a race as notorious for madness as the orcs.

"Hold the fortress!"

"You f***ing bastards!"

"Those animal bastards keep squeezing their way in!"

The dwarves were busy banding together to hold their ground.

The Beastfolk tore through the battlefield, hunting those who had grown weakest. They followed the 「Blood Paths」 that only they could see. The scene unfolding in this Pitch-Black Forest truly suited the name 「Racial Duels」. Each race's characteristics were on display in a scene that was at once utter chaos and a piece of theater. The continuous battle, with so many powerful fighters entangled in it, was a spectacle.

"You had the greatest advantage, so why did you have to charge in and turn everything upside down? Do you hate a smoothly unfolding duel that much, you green lumps?"

"Because you were all watching each other and doing nothing interesting! Wahahaha! We thought giving you a shove would liven things up, so we did! Puhahaha!"

The battle was loud and evenly matched.

The six races' distinctive traits stood out as they fought without retreating, each making use of their own weapons. At a glance, the melee seemed as though it would last forever. A precarious balance had formed. So long as it held, the battle seemed impossible to end.

And then.

"... Hm?"

That balance broke without warning.

"Has the wind in this forest always been so fierce?"

A gale swept onto the battlefield.

* * *

『The dawn that day was a deep blue.』

『The faces of the legion that had come to the labyrinth city all looked blue, as though steeped in the dawn.』

The wandering swordsman's memories were tranquil as flowing water.

『There were more of them than ants gathering around bread crumbs.』

『It was impossible for me to win an overwhelming victory against them.』

『They were different from a swarm of ants.』

『They were loyal soldiers, with a purpose to fight for, who had endured grueling training and followed an organized chain of command.』

The wandering swordsman's surroundings were not tranquil.

Yet even as the fierce noise of battle battered him, his heart remained undisturbed.

『I have no right to judge them.』

『There is no absolute justice on a battlefield.』

『Everyone fights to uphold their own justice.』

Strangely, within the sword's memories, the wandering swordsman wavered. He wavered like shimmering heat haze, like smoke rising from a fire a woman had kindled.

『I must not think of swinging my sword to cut them down.』

『It is impossible to cut through those countless legions with my insignificant blade.』

『Then what must I do?』

For a brief moment, I became the wandering swordsman.

The forest battlefield became a desolate plain. Behind me stretched the deep-blue walls of the labyrinth city. Within an old, elegant building inside those walls, a simply dressed woman slept. A woman who would be tossing and turning in fear of tomorrow, of what tomorrow would bring. Dorothy was there.

『I must sweep them away.』

『To sweep them away, I must become the wind.』

If I cannot do it, you will have to do it tomorrow.

Pure-hearted as you are, you will weep in anguish as you take lives one by one. Your life will be ruined. You will no longer be able to smile, no longer enjoy the breeze with an easy heart, no longer speak of the beauty of dawn. I do not want that.

『And so I became a gale.』

My heart beat hard.

It was not only the heart that pumped blood that raced. My second heart raced with it. What my second heart, my 「mana heart」, spread was not red blood but transparent Mana. It granted me superhuman strength through my 「path」 rather than my veins. That superhuman strength circulated through my body. As it circulated again and again, the power awakened in a new form.

"What the—"

The arcane.

Mana went beyond circulating within my body and began to affect the world outside it. The Mana flowing through the atmosphere was twisted by a single individual. An artificial wind surged, and darkness began to bend. I saw 「paths」. They were indistinct. The Gale I unleashed had bent the 「paths」, blurred them, and tangled them into intricate knots.

Only then could I begin to understand, however dimly, the power held in Gale.

『A gale that sweeps across the world.』

Distortion.

This sword's power did not simply make the wind blow.

『A wind that can blow anything away.』

The power to make wind blow.

The power to twist every existing 「path」 and scatter it into disarray. The power to ruin an undisturbed flow and sweep it away as I wished. A sword that could blow anything away without a trace, like the whirlwinds that came every summer.

"Whew."

I breathed in.

At the same time, I saw the currents pervading my surroundings.

Thrusting swords, swinging axes, incoming arrows, powerful magic mingling elements, charging orcs, Beastfolk baring their teeth. All of them looked like winds blowing from different directions.

I simply swung my sword toward those approaching winds.

The winds gathered along the direction of my swing. Once gathered, they whirled around me. Colliding with and pushing against one another, the swirling currents scattered outward.

"Urgh."

"You, fuck—"

The gathered forces collided chaotically.

CLANG! CLANG!

The metallic clashes rang out one after another, and the fighters, not knowing what had happened, were hurled into the distance or lost their balance and fell.

I was the only one who had not been swept away.

In other words.

『The heart of a whirlwind is always calm.』

I alone stood there on my own two feet.

"Ha, what an unusual trick!"

An elf scoffed.

"Neither manipulating elements nor casting magic, yet you control the flow through the arcane alone. And in a form resembling the wind of nature, at that."

"..."

"The sort of trick warriors from the 「Great Land」 in the east might use. Hoho."

The elf gave an unpleasant laugh.

The other elves nearby murmured.

"Elder, what just happened?"

"Something interesting. It seems you young elves would do well not to attack that human rashly. You could suffer serious wounds if you're careless."

"Then perhaps you could step in yourself..."

"Hoho, why should I? What if I injured a joint? Didn't I tell you before we came here? We old folk came to watch over you, so you could gain experience of the outside world without losing your lives. We have no reason to make the first move."

With the elves' attention turned toward me, I could feel the Demonkin watching me as well.

"Wasn't that splendid? What a truly magnificent scene."

"I feel as though we've lost the leading role. Should we play the villains instead? In fantasy novels, I hear villains sometimes become more popular than the protagonist, depending on how they make their entrance."

Those were not remarks I could easily brush aside.

But they did not step forward, either.

"You will only humiliate yourselves if you intervene. Mere barons like you would accomplish nothing but disgrace the Demonkin. So shut your mouths and stay where you are."

Among the Demonkin was one with a familiar face.

The Demonkin who had attacked Seolyun and me earlier.

The one with the unpleasant air about him.

"The Red Count Hartias speaks. You lowly Demonkin of lesser rank than I shall remain still. Curiously, that human carries a Hell in his head as terrible as ours. So do not touch him. There are countless spectators watching, are there not? I will not permit you to damage the dignity of the 'nobles of the night,' my utterly lowly friends."

A single statement from that Demonkin froze the others in place.

And the dwarves? Acting under Dwight's orders, far from attacking me, they were subtly protecting me. Thus, no fewer than three races—the elves, Demonkin, and dwarves—were leaving me alone. My fellow humans even openly joined my side.

"I smell danger."

With things turning out this way, the Beastfolk also pulled back for the moment rather than stepping forward.

Of all seven races, they had the keenest sixth sense for danger. Known even to glimpse the immediate future, they would hardly make a foolish decision.

Amid all this, I caught sight of Dwight's face.

For some reason, he wore a bitter expression.

Perhaps it was because of my actions.

Dwight was far more powerful than I was. Yet he, the strong one, had shown me weakness, while I, pitifully weak, had shown strength instead. Dwight had backed down for fear of Swordmaster Carlos, a threat that had not even arrived yet. But I had refused to retreat before not only Swordmaster Carlos, but the danger before my eyes, and fought it head-on.

For a brief moment here, Dwight's position and mine had been reversed.

For that fleeting instant, he was the weak one, and I was the strong one.

I had proven my unbreakable will through my actions. I could not know how Dwight had interpreted what I did. I had no ability to read minds, nor did I understand how dwarves thought.

But none of that mattered.

I would simply act in my own way.

I had decided that the very first moment I took up a sword.

"... Puheh."

And then.

"Puheh, puheheheheh!"

Amid the subtle tension, booming laughter rang out.

"I came here! Because I hated! The sight of this! And you're doing it again! Cowards!"

THUD!

A heavy footstep resounded.

With it, the darkness parted, revealing an enormous green fighter. He wore a bright smile that fully exposed his sharp tusks.

"You!"

A race that cared nothing for tension, whatever the situation.

Deranged lunatics who would gladly laugh and fight even if all five other races joined forces against them. A race of madness that feared no battle and always hungered for it.

"You seem different from the other cowards!"

Orcs.

"Human! I can tell by your eyes. You won't shy away from a struggle, will you? Your eyes are like an orc's!"

And the orc approaching me was not even one of a manageable strength. The face of the orc speaking with spittle flying was extremely familiar.

In fact, there was no way I could fail to recognize him.

Because that orc was...

"I, Orc Elder Behera, wish to duel you! Behera, the glorious orc king who drew identification tag number 444!"

...the crazy bastard who had taunted everyone at once as soon as the Racial Duels began.

"Valiant Orc Behera! Does not shy away from struggle!"

As his terrifying roar poured forth, I stared Orc Elder Behera straight in the eye. Fortunately, unlike the fighters who could not get used to the orcs' lunacy, I knew how to deal with their madness.

"Is that so? Then why does Valiant Orc Behera keep lying?"

"What did you say? Chwikh!"

"Are you really the orc king?"

"Why, of course!"

Facing the confidently speaking Orc Elder Behera, I reached inside my clothes without hesitation. Then I took out my identification tag. Number 444, proving I was the human king. At the sight of the gleaming tag, every fighter present froze like ice. It had happened abruptly, without warning. Everyone stood still, as though the world had stopped.

Yes.

"Then take out your identification tag, like I did."

Madness was best met with madness.