The Sword Sanctum.
About an hour's walk north from there, an unnamed cape.
A single girl was there, practicing her swings.
They were not any particular kata of the Sword God Style—just plain practice swings.
The girl's name was
"…………"
Eris Greyrat swung her sword.
She swung with her mind empty.
Alone, in a space with no one else.
Empty—completely empty.
Practice swings clouded by stray thoughts were meaningless practice swings.
Practice swings that merely traced a form held no meaning.
But if the sword was swung with an empty mind, free of distraction, then with every swing she would hone herself.
She would sharpen herself by the thinnest membrane—so thin you could see clearly through it on the other side.
Sharpen herself by one membrane's thickness.
Grow stronger by that much.
How many times would she have to stack that up?
How long would she have to continue before she could reach
Eris did not know.
No one knew.
—Or perhaps, no matter how much she carved herself away, she might never reach Orsted.
Thinking that was itself a stray thought.
"...Tch."
Eris clicked her tongue once, shook her head, and sat down.
And then she thought.
It was troublesome.
She wanted to defeat Orsted.
But the more she thought that, the further Orsted became.
Once, Eris's master Ghylaine had said to her.
Think, she said.
But Eris was no good at thinking.
No matter how hard she wracked her brain, she could not arrive at a conclusion.
The second master,
'Do you understand?' he would ask.
Without a word, he would beat her down, and simply ask—do you understand?
Over and over, again and again, until Eris understood.
So that she could reach the same place without needing to use her head.
She respected Ghylaine.
She respected Ruijerd too.
The Sword God's teachings, frustratingly, contained the best qualities of both people she respected.
Simply swing your sword with an empty mind.
When you grow tired from swinging with an empty mind, sit down and rest—think.
When you grow tired of thinking, stand up and swing your sword again.
The Sword God had ordered Eris to do precisely that.
Eris did as she was told. She swung her sword.
She swung, and sat down. She swung, and sat down.
When she got hungry, she ate something.
She repeated the cycle of swinging and sitting.
At first, she had done it in the dojo.
But before long, someone always came to bother her.
The ones who bothered her were mostly the other women at the dojo.
Come join the morning sparring session.
The food's ready, so come eat.
Accompany me in some practice for a bit.
You smell, so go take a bath.
They got on her nerves, so Eris left the dojo.
She walked straight out of the dojo.
Found a cape where no one was, and practiced there.
For meals, she ate whatever she had taken from the dojo kitchen, or occasionally defeated a magical beast that attacked her and ate that.
When it was cold, she brought a few logs from the dojo and burned them with magic.
When she grew sleepy, she went back to the dojo and slept as long as she wanted.
Eris had been living this way for half a year now.
She swung, she thought. She swung, she thought.
There was one thing Eris had come to understand.
Swinging a sword was difficult.
When she was small, she had thought it was far simpler than studying and suited her far better.
That thought had not really changed.
Studying was not her thing—swinging a sword was what she was made for.
But it was not easy.
Thinking back, perhaps studying was simpler in the sense that someone could just teach you.
All you had to do was raise the sword and bring it down.
That simple act stubbornly refused to come out right.
She should be able to raise it faster.
She should be able to bring it down faster.
She thought that as she swung.
She had surely gotten faster than herself six months ago.
But Ghylaine was faster.
Ruijerd was faster.
The Sword God was faster.
And Orsted was far, far faster.
Eris sat down.
She thought.
She thought about how to swing her sword.
She recalled the Sword God, Ruijerd, and Orsted.
How the Sword God had moved.
How Ruijerd had moved, and how Orsted had moved.
She tried to imitate the movement of every cell from their fingertips to their shoulders.
And from imitation, she aimed to go beyond.
To surpass them.
But she did not know how.
She did not know.
There was no way she could know.
Eris was no good at thinking.
When she grew tired of thinking, she stood up and swung again.
She swung her sword without thinking about anything.
She raised it and brought it down.
Faster.
She raised it and brought it down.
Faster.
She repeated it dozens of times, hundreds of times, thousands of times.
And then the stray thoughts crept in again.
The thoughts came when she was tired.
"...Tch."
She clicked her tongue once and sat down.
Her hands hurt. Her calluses had burst.
She pulled a cloth from her pocket and wrapped it around her hand haphazardly.
Eris did not think it was painful.
She could always remember what had happened at the Red Dragon's Lower Jaw three years ago.
Compared to that, she felt she could endure anything.
So it was not painful.
Not the pain, nor the hardship, nor the frustration.
And being alone right now—the fact that he was not beside her.
"...
She murmured softly.
But she would not think beyond that.
Eris was no good at thinking, after all.
She could not simply think optimistic thoughts.
If she thought too deeply, she understood that she would break.
"Hoo..."
Three years.
She thought she had gotten stronger, but she was still far from enough.
Eris rose once more and began to swing her sword again.
--- When Eris returned, fighting back her drowsiness, a strange man was standing at the entrance to the dojo.
He was an outlandish fellow.
A rainbow-colored coat, short pants that did not reach his knees, and four swords at his waist.
He had a peacock tattoo on his cheek, and his hairstyle flared out like a parabolic antenna.
When he spotted Eris, he lowered his head slightly, as if to greet her.
"I am the North—"
"Move."
Eris had a single word for the man who was blocking her path into the dojo.
She had no energy for anything more.
Eris had been honed to her limit by the practice swings.
Wild-beast eyes, burning with a feral gleam.
A searing killing intent radiating from every inch of her body.
A wild creature that would suffer no one to approach stood there.
"...!"
The man drew his sword in a flash.
"I said move."
Eris took one step forward as she spoke.
To her, the man before her was nothing but an obstacle.
A troublesome pebble standing in the shortest path to her den.
"W-What the hell is this...?"
At first, the man did not realize that Eris was speaking.
Before him stood a starving beast.
He had the misfortune of encountering a beast on the prowl for prey.
That was what his experience told him.
He could not fathom that a beast would speak.
But after a few seconds, when he saw Eris raise her sword, he finally grasped her true nature.
She appeared to be human—and a swordswoman, at that.
"I am Obert of the 'Peacock Sword.' I can see you are a disciple of the Sword God Style, so if I may ask you to convey my regards to the Sword God—"
"I said move."
Growing more irritated, Eris took another step forward.
She was saying "move."
But the man calling himself Obert could not hear those words.
Only the killing intent reached him.
No room for discussion.
Those were the words that surfaced in the man's mind.
With the next step, she would enter his range.
Sensing this, Obert gripped the sword in his right hand and moved his left hand to the hilt of the short sword at his waist.
But his grip was reversed from the usual.
He presented the flat of the blade—no cutting edge facing her.
She entered his range.
In that instant, Eris decided to remove the obstacle before her.
"Shh!"
Eris's sword shot forward.
The 'Light Blade,' honed to perfection through her practice swings.
A decisive technique of the Sword God Style that ordinary people could not even hope to defend against.
"Huh!"
That was, against ordinary people.
Obert caught the blow, a sword in each hand, and deflected it.
Eris sensed this keenly and swung a counter-cut.
"...!"
Her sword was pinned by Obert's left blade.
Obert fought with one hand; Eris wielded hers with two.
The power was not even close.
Eris's blade was swept aside with ease.
It passed by, slicing only the tip of the man's parabolic-antenna hair.
Eris's body flowed with the momentum, her lead foot stepping back a pace.
In that instant— Obert's right blade moved.
Straight for Eris's neck, at tremendous speed.
"Tch!"
Eris released her sword and threw herself to the ground, rolling.
Obert's blade swept through the space where her neck had been.
Eris twisted her body like a cat.
Her target: her own sword.
Obert immediately kicked Eris's sword away.
It was buried in the snow.
Match over.
Under normal circumstances.
But Eris would not stop.
Seeing that the sword was out of reach, she lunged at Obert bare-handed.
Obert, on reflex, slapped her across the cheek with the flat of his blade.
An impact strong enough to snap a neck.
A line of blood appeared on Eris's cheek.
But— But Eris would not stop.
"Graaah!"
Eris threw a punch aimed straight at Obert's chin.
Obert tried to catch it with his left hand, the one still holding a sword.
"Mmph!"
Eris's hand locked around Obert's left.
Her fingers found the hilt.
She was trying to take the sword.
A chill ran down Obert's spine.
He realized that this beast would not stop unless killed.
He kicked the clinging woman away roughly.
He reversed his grip on the sword he had been holding wrong.
By luck, Eris's sword lay right where she had been kicked to.
Breathing hard, she picked it up.
He had no choice but to kill her.
Just as Obert stanced in earnest and released his killing intent— "That's enough."
A voice arrived, unannounced.
The killing intent froze.
Eris, too, had stopped moving, stopped by that same killing intent.
At the dojo entrance— The Sword God stood there, having appeared at some point unnoticed.
Obert sheathed his sword, and Eris toppled backward onto the ground with a thud.
She lay on her back, breathing hard, staring up at the sky.
Her face was twisted with frustration.
Obert placed his right hand on his chest and bowed his head.
"It has been too long, Sword God."
"You came all this way. 'Northern Emperor.'"
"I received your letter... and that girl there—"
"Right? Pretty amazing, huh?"
"...I have never seen such a ferocious swordswoman. Like a wild beast... Ah, so this is the one they call the Mad Dog."
Listening to Obert and the Sword God's conversation, Eris stood up.
Swaying, like a ghost.
Seeing that, Obert raised his sword— "..."
Eris shot him a withering glare and walked into the dojo.
"..."
Without once looking back at the stunned Obert, she entered the building.
She wiped the blood from her cheek, did not bother to shake the snow off, walked down the corridor, and went into her room.
She hurled her sword onto the floor by her pillow and collapsed onto the hard bed.
She fell asleep immediately, like a log.
The defeat stung.
But for the present Eris, it was a trivial matter.
--- That evening.
Ghylaine came to the reception room.
There sat Sword God Gal Farion, and their guest, 'Northern Emperor Obert.' Outlandish hair, peculiar clothing.
Ghylaine furrowed her brow slightly.
But she showed no sign of letting it bother her and strode right up to the Sword God.
Then she asked, straight to the point.
"Master. Why don't you teach Eris anything?"
The Sword God heard this and let out a short laugh.
"I did teach her."
"Teach her how to do practice swings?"
"No—how to train."
The Sword God answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
His voice held none of its usual roughness.
It was a quiet answer.
Ghylaine did not like that version of her master one bit.
So she wracked her inadequate brain and chose her words carefully.
"Master always used to say. Do everything rationally."
"I did say that."
"Then what is that nonsense Eris does every day? Swinging her sword like an idiot to memorize one thing—how is that rational?"
"Ah...?"
The Sword God looked at Ghylaine with an exasperated expression.
"When did you start saying such troublesome things?"
"Before I came back here!"
"...You're saying you don't listen to your master anymore?"
"But—nngh!"
Before Ghylaine realized it, a sword had been thrust before her face.
To an ordinary person, the sword would have appeared in the Sword God's hand as if by magic.
Ghylaine could see the motion of the draw.
But she could not react.
No matter how one called her a Sword King, one could not mount a proper response against the fastest man of the era.
"Ghylaine. You know, I've come to regret a little bit of how I trained you."
"..."
"You used to be like a starving tiger. Now you're a declawed kitten.
If I'd left you as you were, you'd have become a Sword Emperor by now."
At the Sword God's words, Ghylaine swallowed hard.
Recently, she had felt herself growing weaker.
But she did not think her current self was a bad thing.
True, the growth of her sword had stopped.
It seemed she would never get any stronger.
But in exchange, she had gained something immense.
Wisdom and knowledge.
Things that swordsmanship alone could never provide.
"I'm done declawing people."
The Sword God sheathed his sword.
As if to say: see? Now you understand.
But Ghylaine, pouting, pressed on.
"I don't understand.
Why won't you give her proper instruction?
It's cruel to Eris, isn't it?"
The Sword God sighed.
Ghylaine was the kind of student who needed everything explained from A to Z.
"Listen, Ghylaine.
If you want to surpass me, pursue rationality to its utmost—you'll get there eventually.
I'm living proof of that, having pursued rationality myself.
Well, of course, if you want to become a Sword God, you'll need the corresponding effort and talent too, but that's beside the point.
What that girl is aiming for is the Dragon God.
The Dragon God Orsted.
He is 'an existence that lies beyond rationality.' A monster on a completely different level.
With my teachings alone, she will never beat him."
The Sword God's eyes softened with nostalgia.
He had actually fought the Dragon God once.
Before he was called the Sword God—back when he was a single, prideful Sword Saint.
The result was a complete, utter defeat. He did not even understand why his life had been spared, let alone why he still had all five limbs intact.
Having had his pride broken, he had aimed for Orsted ever since and trained relentlessly.
That was how he had become the Sword God.
Because of that, he did not want anyone else sticking their nose into this matter.
"Hey, Ghylaine. Training isn't the same as a sparring match, you know?
Especially when there's a goal involved—there's no point in just doing whatever someone tells you. Right?"
"...Master always says difficult things. I don't understand."
"Hah."
Ghylaine answered.
The Sword God snorted.
Right—she was the kind of person who could not understand even if everything was explained from A to Z.
"In short, just having me teach her isn't enough.
That's why I'm setting up all sorts of things for her. For starters—this guy."
So saying, the Sword God pointed at Obert.
Obert bowed his chin to Ghylaine in greeting.
"I am Obert Colvet, the Northern Emperor. In common parlance, I am known as the 'Peacock Sword.'"
Ghylaine grimaced.
A sharp, indescribable scent was wafting from Obert's body.
A strong citrus smell—perfume, most likely.
For Ghylaine, a beast-race member, it was an unpleasant odor.
"What does the North God Style want here?"
"The Sword God asked me to. He wants me to train one of his disciples."
Ghylaine's expression grew even more suspicious.
She turned to the Sword God.
"Why the North God Style? Underhanded tricks like that don't suit Eris."
"Because the Dragon God uses it."
At those words, Ghylaine's suspicion deepened.
She had never heard that the Dragon God was a practitioner of the North God Style.
If he were, then the second-strongest among the great powers should be the North God.
"What exactly is the Dragon God?"
"How should I know...
But here's the thing—whether it's the so-called Sword God Style, or the North God Style...
He has mastered every standard technique those schools have to offer.
Naturally, if we use them, he'll counter them—and he'll use them against us.
So if we don't learn them too, we won't even be able to fight on equal footing."
The hardness fell away from Ghylaine's face.
Learn the techniques your opponent uses.
It was a perfectly rational conclusion.
"I see. So will you be calling in the Water God Style as well?"
"Yep. The letter's already sent."
"I see."
Ghylaine's tail swayed back and forth, clearly pleased.
The Sword God looked at it and let out a wry "Heh."
As long as she got an answer she could understand, she was satisfied.
That much had not changed since the old days.
"Then, Lord Northern Emperor, please make yourself at home."
Having resolved all her doubts, Ghylaine rose and bowed to the Northern Emperor.
She did so on one knee, in the distinctive etiquette passed down through the Sword God Style.
"Mm. Lord Sword King. I appreciate your hospitality."
Obert, too, placed a hand on his chest and returned the courtesy.
And so, Eris's training advanced yet another stage.
--- Eris would receive the rank of 'Northern Saint' one year later.