"Look, Mastaa. This flexibility — taught to me personally by big sis. I can handle any position you throw at me."
"Mhm mhm. I have no idea what you're saying, but that's impressive."
Tino did the splits a full one hundred and eighty degrees, then flopped her body flat against the floor. The dark hair, levelled at her shoulders, fanned out across the ground.
A flexible body is essential for any Hunter.
It's especially critical for Thieves — someone like Liliz could fold herself up like an invertebrate and squeeze into an impossibly small trunk case.
Despite the fact that they were about to spar, Tino showed zero signs of nerves.
Her daily training was paying off.
Liliz Smart's training regimen was self-taught. They say there are two kinds of geniuses: theoretical and intuitive. Liliz, an intuitive genius, had taken every exercise she'd ever done and made it even more brutal before assigning it to Tino.
Having survived training that bordered on outright malice, Tino was perpetually relaxed. A natural.
A stark contrast to me, who always felt like I was about to throw up. Turns out this adorable junior was a monster too.
Beneath the Clan headquarters, training facilities spanned multiple underground floors.
The facility where Gilbert Boy had come for his trial was on the first basement level.
A single open space roughly one hundred metres on each side. The ceiling stood five metres high — designed so that even those who excelled in three-dimensional combat and spent a lot of time airborne could move with relative freedom. The floor was as hard as real combat conditions, so anyone slammed into it without bracing would take damage regardless of their Hunter status.
Gilbert Boy was watching Tino and me with gleaming eyes.
Tino, sprawled flat on the floor — her legs spread wide, thighs fully bared, the nape of her neck barely visible through the curtain of her hair — had something almost provocative about it. But the way he looked at her was pure hostility.
He looked absolutely certain he could win. Youth was a wonderful thing.
He reminded me a little of Rook from back in the day.
"...You think you can just laugh at me...?"
"For reference, she's Level Four."
"Wh—!?"
"Mastaa, please stop giving people my information."
Gilbert Boy's eyes went wide for a moment. He probably hadn't expected them to be the same level.
Tino, when she kept quiet, had a cool beauty about her. Her build was slight, and she was small even compared to Gilbert Boy, who was compact for a male.
But you couldn't let your guard down. Gilbert was a swordsman. For a swordsman, lacking physical power and having a small frame were liabilities. For a Thief, it was the opposite.
For those who served as the vanguard, a light body was a weapon in itself.
Tino finished her stretches, stood up, and looked at Gilbert Boy.
"As for me, compared to Mastaa, I'm nothing but dust and chaff..."
"What am I in Tino's world, then?"
The way she flattered him was beyond normal.
Tino unclipped her belt and tossed it to the ground along with the short sword and item pouches hanging from it. She apparently had no intention of using weapons.
Gilbert's eyes went wide. Tino shrugged.
"I'll hold back so I don't kill you."
"Ha—!?!"
Veins bulged on Gilbert's forehead. Tino really was gifted at getting under people's skin.
Ruda hurried over and whispered with a worried expression.
"Is she going to be okay?"
"Mm...? Probably."
Their certified Levels might be the same, but Tinno Shade was, without question, an exceptional talent.
She was still a Solo, which was why she was still at Level Four, but if she'd been raising her level in a Party, she might have been at Five by now.
After all, my childhood friend had been watching over her development.
That said, in principle, a swordsman held unrivalled superiority in head-on combat.
The Explorer's Guild's Level certification wasn't a joke. Gilbert Boy had strength befitting Level Four, so he couldn't be underestimated.
On top of that, Gilbert Boy's weapon — that greatsword — was a Treasure Weapon.
Treasure Weapons varied enormously in performance. Depending on the weapon, it could be a true trump card capable of easily overturning a Level gap.
From what I'd seen during the Party recruitment, he didn't seem to have any unusual abilities, but the difference those weapons made was enormous.
Tino didn't have a Treasure Weapon (she had the Finger Shot I'd given her, but that thing wasn't remotely practical for combat), which put her at a significant disadvantage.
That said, she was experienced in fighting humans, so she probably knew to be wary of that.
Well, from my perspective, they were both monsters anyway.
As I was thinking this, Gilbert — apparently fed up — hurled the greatsword he'd been clutching far away.
He cracked his knuckles, making the bones in his hands pop.
"I... don't need... a weapon... to deal with... a woman who fights bare-handed!"
A swordsman throwing away his sword — what kind of move was that? Was he an idiot?
For the record, he'd also tossed away his knife as though it were some handicap, but Tino was the type who preferred to settle things with her bare hands. She was especially skilled with kicks.
The distance between the boy and Tino was roughly five metres.
"Mastaa, let's go get ice cream after this—"
"I never agreed to that..."
Tino sang out in a cheerful tone, stepping lightly as though dancing.
Gilbert Boy ground his teeth. No matter who the opponent was, Tino's attitude would be infuriating.
She hadn't made any such promise... but it was true that Tino had only ever received one-sided orders from her. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to indulge her once in a while. She'd be providing an escort too.
"Well, sure. If the request wraps up safely, that is."
"! Yaaay!"
The instant she answered, Tino's steps shifted in a heartbeat. The gentle, dance-like movement became sharp and lethal. From an off-balance pose that had been about to spin, her body suddenly burst into top speed.
Her eyes transformed from innocent to the razor-sharp gaze of a predator locking onto its prey.
Even watching from a distance, it was a magnificent change of pace.
Swordsmen excelled in power; Thieves prized agility.
In a Treasure Hall, their role was primarily lock-picking and reconnaissance, but they were far from useless in combat. They were shapeless, godspeed warriors who closed in silently, in the blink of an eye, and struck their opponents down.
The five-metre gap shrank by a single step. By the time Gilbert's eyes registered it, Tino's spear hand was already hurtling toward his neck.
No signal, no warning — how underhanded. At this rate, she'd probably goaded him into throwing away his weapon on purpose.
"!?"
Still, he was Level Four after all. He couldn't have been completely off guard. Gilbert barely managed to take one step back and dodge. Flowing with the motion, Tino drove her knee into his stomach.
The movement was feather-light, yet the impact it carried was devastating. Gilbert was blown away effortlessly, with no recourse.
It was nothing short of a rout. Without any armour equipped, Tino's slender arms and legs were more than sufficient as lethal weapons.
At the event that unfolded in an instant, Ruda and Gregg-san were struck speechless.
Tino didn't so much as glance at the sent-flying Gilbert. She turned to me with a faint smile.
"Mastaa, did you see that? Divine punishment."
"I'm... not done... not done yet..."
Gilbert slid a good several metres across the floor before pushing himself upright. He coughed once, staggered, but wasn't incapacitated.
He was tough. A human who constantly absorbed Mana Material and was strengthened could surpass even wild beasts in durability — even without armour. Bone, flesh, even the blood flowing through him was different from an ordinary person's.
Tino snorted at the glaring Gilbert Boy, who radiated something almost like killing intent, and casually swept her hair aside.
"I think you already know this, but I held back. I could have broken your neck. If you've learned your lesson, don't talk back to Master anymore. Worship Master as a god, face the Clan headquarters three times a day and offer prayers, bring me tribute on a regular basis — I'll pass it on to Master."
"!!"
Without a word in response to Tino's absurd demands, Gilbert charged. His small frame surged forward with a force befitting Level Four. The sheer momentum and fighting spirit made me take a step back without thinking.
Tino pivoted around it. As his palm lashed out to grab her arm — she'd been expecting it — she lightly deflected it with the back of her hand and drove a palm strike into his temple.
A dull, stupid sound echoed through the hall. Gilbert, who should have been sturdy, staggered several steps and crumpled. He desperately tried to rise, but his eyes wouldn't focus.
Had his brain been rattled? That he could still move in that state was something to be impressed by, I supposed. If it were me, I'd definitely be vomiting.
Tino clapped her hands off and said proudly: "Look, Mastaa. Look at my growth! Thanks to you, Mastaa, I've grown this much."
Shouldn't she be saying that to Liliz, not to me, who had done absolutely nothing?
As the decisively one-sided match drew toward its close, Gregg-san's lips trembled. Ruda, too, was muttering under her breath, seemingly comparing herself.
"She's strong... Gilbert, even bare-handed — to completely overpower a swordsman in a straight fight... More than anything, she's used to fighting. And she's still a teenager — is this terrifying, or what? Is this the power of 'Footprints'?"
"A bare-handed fight... I've never experienced that. Could you teach me?"
A swordsman without a sword wasn't really a swordsman anymore.
"Not... done yet... I can still... fight..."
Gilbert Boy wobbled to his feet. He had no visible injuries, but his equilibrium hadn't returned — his eyes were still unfocused.
The truth was, the moment he'd let himself be goaded by Tino into throwing away his weapon, he'd had no chance of winning. Miracles didn't exist.
Yet he kept getting up. Was that pride as a Hunter?
Had I, back when I still carried the passion for being a Hunter, possessed that kind of grit?
To be forced to your knees by an overwhelming opponent and still stand back up — that was a talent in its own right. It seemed he genuinely had the qualities to become a Hunter.
Recklessness was, at times, a rare quality. Some things could only be gained without the brakes on.
Tino was making a thoroughly exasperated face. I clapped my hands to encourage her.
"Tino, humour him. We never set victory conditions. Beat him up until there's no bad blood left — it'll be a good learning experience."
You people always end up becoming friends after a fistfight anyway, don't you?
§ § § Gilbert Bush was a genius.
From the moment he became aware of the world, he'd been handed a sword on the grounds that strength was necessary in this era — and he'd been celebrated ever since.
Effort never lies. Sometimes he trained under a master, sometimes he thought for himself, and he kept swinging. Those years of dedication steadily bestowed strength upon the boy. By the time he passed the age of ten, he had grown so strong that no one in his village — adults included — could hold a candle to him.
People's talents took many forms, and among them were the absorption rate and tolerance limit for Mana Material.
The faster you absorbed it, the faster you grew. The higher your tolerance, the further you could climb.
Gilbert exceeded the average person by a wide margin in both categories. Just living in a village where the ambient Mana Material content was low, he was already gaining more power than ordinary people.
It was only natural, then, that a young man like Gilbert Bush would take up the profession of Treasure Hunter.
Clearing the ever-multiplying Treasure Halls, breaking through the ranks of Phantoms and Monsters that filled them, earning fame — it was the quickest way to obtain everything the world had to offer. And by exploring Treasure Halls brimming with Mana, one could attain a level of strength impossible to reach while living in a village.
And so, the moment Gilbert turned fifteen and was recognised as an adult, he defied everyone around him and set out alone for the Imperial Capital — the holy land of Hunters.
The Imperial Capital, which he visited for the first time, was incomparably wider and more overflowing with things than his village. It satisfied him in every way.
Foods that could never be obtained in his self-sufficient hometown. An endless array of towering buildings.
Streets wide enough for several carriages to pass abreast, packed with so many people every day that one might mistake it for a festival. And more than anything, he saw people everywhere dressed in the gear of Treasure Hunters — a sight virtually unknown in his village.
After registering with the Explorer's Guild and beginning his exploration of Treasure Halls, Gilbert's unstoppable advance continued.
Among new Treasure Hunters, Gilbert was rare — he'd never neglected his training even before becoming a Hunter, and he had talent.
More than anything, he was brave enough to draw warnings from the Explorer's Guild about recklessness. And he had... luck.
Five newcomers formed a Party together, and in the blink of an eye, Gilbert ramped up the difficulty of the Treasure Halls they explored.
The greatsword he'd stumbled upon by chance in their very first Treasure Hall cut down with ease the Phantoms that newcomers were supposed to struggle against, and kept the swarming Monsters at bay.
The Golden Generation. For the past few years, whispers had spread that a new cohort of genius Hunters was emerging among the newcomers.
Gilbert was considered part of the second wave.
Being second place gnawed at him, but among Hunters there existed beings who defied common sense.
The longer one accumulated experience — clearing countless Treasure Halls and absorbing Mana Material — the more unbelievably strong one became.
Even from Gilbert's current perspective, there were many people he absolutely could not defeat. But there was no impatience.
Given time, he would catch up. He was certain of it.
His future was radiant. At that time, the staircase to glory had been clearly visible in Gilbert's eyes.
The shadow that began to creep over that vision — it had started a few weeks ago.
§ "Now you're revving the engine. At this rate, the request should go smoothly too. As expected of Mastaa — your judgment is simply admirable..."
A relaxed voice drifted down from above.
Gilbert glared up at Tino, who stood looking down at him with ease, while his entire body screamed in protest from the beating it had taken.
Those cold, calculating eyes — looking at him as though he were nothing more than an insect.
She was strong. They looked the same age, yet she was terrifyingly strong.
Every strike was fast and heavy.
The blow he'd launched with all his might — enough to wound even a Phantom — hadn't so much as grazed her. Every one of her attacks found its mark.
The thugs who'd challenged Gilbert before were nothing compared to this.
More than that, Tino's movements were clearly designed for fighting humans.
Against the Phantom, whose body was far tougher than a human's, techniques like rattling someone's brain or deflecting palm strikes weren't used. Against a human, though — those were devastatingly effective.
And above all, she still had room to spare.
He'd heard that the 'Footprints' Clan gathered promising young Hunters, but the reality exceeded his expectations.
The first strike had caught him off guard, but after that, he hadn't let his guard down. It was simply that her true strength was on a plane far beyond what a shared Level could convey.
For a boy who had never lost to anyone his age, it was a shock.
The excuse that his usual sword was unavailable didn't hold water. He'd thrown it away himself, and his opponent was equally unarmed.
He had no intention of making excuses.
His goal lay beyond this.
"...Still conscious?"
He tried to stand, but his body wouldn't respond. He had no sensation in his fingertips. His arms and legs refused to cooperate. Even if he could stand, would he be able to move properly?
Gilbert's body was tough enough to keep going after taking several gunshots. He'd been injured during hunts before. But this was the first time he'd been beaten this badly without his opponent using a weapon.
"Dam...mit..."
"You can use that sword, you know."
Tino said it in an exasperated voice. Gilbert's main armament — the Purgatory Sword — had been thrown aside by his own hand at the start of the match and now sat right at the edge of his field of vision.
The Purgatory Sword.
A Treasure Weapon obtained from a Level One Treasure Hall, the 'Old Warrior's Training Ground.' This was the powerful armament that had single-handedly supported Gilbert's career as a Hunter from the very beginning. For Gilbert, who had arrived in the Imperial Capital virtually penniless, it was the single greatest stroke of fortune he'd ever known.
He glared at the blade with its faint reddish tint and screamed from where he lay face-down on the ground.
"Who... the hell... would use... that thing!"
It was pathetic. The Purgatory Sword was undeniably a powerful armament.
When he'd first obtained it and had it appraised at the Explorer's Guild, the examiner had been stunned — it was a weapon far superior to the rank of Treasure Weapon one would normally expect from a Level One Treasure Hall.
But that was precisely why, in this very moment, Gilbert could not pick up the sword.
If he picked it up now — against an opponent his own age, and one fighting bare-handed at that — everything he'd accomplished so far would feel like proof that it had all been the weapon's doing, not his own.
Tino didn't follow up. Perhaps she'd given him a moment to recover, or perhaps some time had passed — Gilbert managed to get to his feet once more.
Tino furrowed her perfectly shaped brows and spat: "Pathetic pride."
Her stance showed no openings. She showed no signs of fatigue, not a single drop of sweat. And yet, against an opponent far beneath her, there wasn't a shred of carelessness.
He knew. If she'd been serious, he'd already be dead. He was confident in his physical durability, but the woman before him had the power to shatter it if she chose to.
He forced his ragged breathing under control, enduring the dull pain coursing through every joint, and lowered his stance.
He couldn't afford to waste energy on roaring. He glared at her with beast-like intensity.
Where was the opening? What should he do? Tino's body was slender. His durability was probably higher — if he could land just one solid hit — But he couldn't hit her. Gilbert's attacks were being completely read at every range.
As he desperately searched for some fragment of a chance, Thousand Transformations' voice reached his ears.
The same languid tone as before the match began.
"Why don't you call it here? The purpose of this was to gauge your strength, and you know that."
"..."
"You've left every Party you've been in of your own accord, haven't you?"
"!?"
Gilbert involuntarily looked toward Thousand Transformations. A thin smile played across his face.
The same unimposing bearing as always. Black hair, dark eyes, utterly unremarkable features.
He had none of the aura that marked a Hunter who had accumulated vast amounts of Mana Material.
The Footprints emblem that was supposed to be worn by regulation was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the Party emblem of the 'Mourning Specter.' Without even the black cloak, he wouldn't look like a Hunter at all.
He had left. He'd been forced to. The first Party he'd joined upon arriving in this Imperial Capital — the Party he'd spent nearly half a year with.
Because his companions hadn't been able to keep up with Gilbert Bush's talent.
Goosebumps prickled his skin. Thousand Transformations spoke with that unknowable smile.
A name that even Gilbert Bush, who had been in the Imperial Capital for only a short time, had heard countless times — one of the very pinnacle of Treasure Hunters who made the capital their base.
The leader of the 'Mourning Specter,' composed exclusively of those who bore two epithets — the designation that signified the absolute elite among Hunters.
"Wh...y—"
"I've been through it too, you know... The gap in ability was just too vast. I understand. In the case of the 'Mourning Specter' — we didn't abandon anyone, though."
The conviction behind those words left Gilbert momentarily unable to comprehend what was being said.
But the meaning hit him almost immediately, and his face went rigid.
Only a truly minuscule handful were ever granted two epithets.
It was reserved for Hunters of exceptional talent who had also conquered a great number of Treasure Halls. It was a realm far beyond Gilbert's current reach.
And yet, this man standing before his eyes — the one that everyone unanimously praised for his strength — had abandoned those members of unparalleled, jewel-like talent.
"I think this Party will be a good experience for you. I'm sure you have your thoughts about it, but let's all get along as young Hunters."
His bearing was full of openings. His physical durability was far lower than even Tino's.
When Gilbert had first encountered him, the man had seemed overwhelmingly weak. But now, that fact was terrifying.
At some point, his hands and feet had begun to tremble. His cheeks were drawn tight, his breath caught in his throat. His mouth was dry, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the young man.
Treasure Halls were filled with monsters.
Monsters that devoured people. Monsters that impersonated people.
Some possessed intelligence, some had bizarre abilities, some were simply overwhelming brutes — and some could bewilder you with words alone.
But the man before him was incomprehensible even when compared to those Phantoms.
Thousand Transformations. The name was familiar, but no one had ever spoken of what kind of Hunter this man truly was.
Thousand Transformations walked over to the Purgatory Sword with slow, unhurried steps. Then, without picking it up, he simply touched the blade with the tip of his shoe.
— In that instant, crimson flames erupted and coiled around the sheathed blade.
A roaring sound, like the howling of wind, accompanied the flames as they spiralled upward.
He couldn't understand what was happening. His eyes registered the phenomenon, but his brain refused to accept it.
Gregg and Ruda were watching with stunned expressions.
Amid the vortex of flames, Thousand Transformations — unscorched — spoke.
"Attribute assignment and attack range expansion, I see. A simple weapon, but a good one. Take care of it."
Flames wreathed his arm like armour. Ecstasy gleamed in the eyes that reflected the crimson blaze.
"Th-that's... impossible... You can't... use it...! The Purgatory... Sword... is a Treasure Weapon! It's a Treasure Weapon!"
A Treasure Weapon was a powerful item, but it demanded precise control.
The more powerful the Treasure Weapon, the more training was required just to draw out even a fraction of its power.
The flames writhed, and blazing wings manifested on Thousand Transformations' back.
The humiliation from Tino. The anguish. The regret. The stubborn pride. Forgetting it all, he screamed.
"You didn't even... grip the handle...!? Impossible! There's no way... you could..."
Even Gilbert, the sword's true wielder, had only recently learned to use the Purgatory Sword as more than 'a sword with a sharp edge' — and even then, only to the extent of wreathing the blade in flame.
The difficulty wasn't in the manipulation. He simply had no idea what to do. There was no switch to flip, no instruction manual to follow.
The sheer impossibility of what Thousand Transformations was doing — Gilbert could fully grasp it precisely because this was his own Treasure Weapon.
The young man stood surrounded by flames, yet he was smiling. His black hair caught the firelight and gleamed brilliantly.
Impossible. This was different from Tino, who had reached her heights through nothing but pure, relentless practice.
The path Gilbert aspired to — at its very end, that figure was... not there.
The unknown. A sight he had never even imagined. Words spilled from his mouth without conscious thought. A voice he didn't recognise as his own — trembling. A voice wracked with fear.
"...Monster..."
Tino looked down at Gilbert with no trace of surprise.
The shadow of Thousand Transformations, illuminated by the flames, resembled — just as the name of his Party suggested — a spectre crying out in anguish.