Eighteen: Fraternal Trifles

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My former master, Orchide, once told me about the ancient organization known as the Sword and Shield Order.

He said, “When we first join, our rank is Shield, equivalent to a knight’s squire; then comes Dagger, the rank of a knight; after that, Warhammer, akin to a baron; then Spear, which stands for viscount; next is Longsword, the rank of an earl; above that is Double-bladed Axe, the position of a marquis; above Double-bladed Axe is Sword and Shield, matching a duke in status. And above Sword and Shield is Scepter, which is akin to a king.”

Orchide had once reached the rank of Longsword. In his old age, he chose to retire to the countryside and was posthumously honored as Double-bladed Axe. Because of him, I once dreamed of joining the Sword and Shield Order and studied their insignias in detail. Now, I can see that Myrse has already become a baron.

Myrse saluted me with the gesture of a duel and said, “Longinus.”

I replied, “Myrse.”

I knew Myrse had always been stronger than me; during our training under Orchide, I seldom bested him. I admit I was jealous of his excellence, and I always believed Orchide favored him more. I felt like a neglected, resentful bastard, boiling with grievances yet powerless to change anything. No matter how hard I tried, I could not make Orchide value me more.

Did I ever feel friendship toward Myrse? I cannot say. When he was chosen by the Sword and Shield Order and taken away, I was consumed with jealousy—and yet, in that instant, I also felt as if a mountain had lifted from my shoulders. I won’t deny my ambition; I would rather be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix. Myrse joined the Sword and Shield Order? So be it. While he struggled to climb their ranks, I would earn Orchide’s respect, inherit his true teachings, and become the ruler of Waterless Village.

But then disaster struck.

I truly believe: Had Myrse been there, perhaps he could have prevented the catastrophe. But he left us early, abandoned us. He never experienced the terror and torment I endured; he never saw all our kin transformed into grotesque, flesh-bound monsters. Now, he’s a lofty baron, climbing higher than anyone.

But tell me, Baron, do you still remember the master who cherished you? Do you remember Dali, who adored you in secret? You bask in glory and safety, while I shoulder guilt, agonizing memories, and the inescapable fish!

At last, Myrse spoke: “How did the village come to that? What happened to Father and Dali, and to everyone else—why did they die so horribly? Longinus, tell me the truth!”

I answered, “You are no longer one of us. Does it concern you?”

Myrse declared, “They are still my people! Waterless Village is part of the Sword and Shield Order! I have a right to know everything, a right to mourn them!”

Easy to say, of course—doing is another matter.

Myrse said, “I hate myself for being absent! Everything that happened at home haunts my nightmares! I cannot sleep for sorrow, and ignorance burns me from within—I have no peace!”

Then why didn’t you die with them? Where has your knightly spirit gone?

Myrse said, “Die? Only cowards seek death! The ruins of my home are filled with unrecognizable corpses, but I believed you were still alive! I had to find you, to answer the questions that torment me! You have already encountered Count Joron, and their deaths are eerily similar to the tragedy of Waterless Village! Longinus, you owe me an answer! You must tell me!”

But have you never heard of trauma? My fragile heart forced itself to forget those days of suffering.

Myrse drew a long breath and said, “Perhaps pain will help you remember.”

Oh, Myrse, I have suffered more pain than I can bear. I only wish you would taste it too. You were once one of us; this is your fate and duty.

Myrse gripped his sword in both hands, holding it at his side. I raised a dagger in each hand before my chest.

Myrse said, “Are you mocking me? Our master taught us the upright Eight Forms of the Sword, not these sneaking assassin’s tricks.”

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The number of demons that have died by my daggers is no less than those slain by your sword.

Myrse replied, “But how many did you kill face to face? Don’t forget, you’re standing before me now.”

I began to run. He thrust his sword straight at me; I parried with both blades, but his strength rivaled even Lamia’s. My daggers were forced apart by his raw power and his sword pressed on. I rolled to the side, dodging his attack and countering from his right. Myrse reversed his sword with a flourish, the point suddenly aimed at my nose; I instantly broke off my assault and dodged aside.

Myrse shouted, “You mean to kill me?”

Why hold back now?

Myrse said, “Because you are still my brother!”

You know I’m jealous of you. You enjoy my envy; I’m only a shadow to set off your shining virtue.

Myrse said, “Your heart is still so dark.”

Of course it is—your light only makes my darkness deeper. If I do not become the shadow, I cannot survive.

Again, I attacked, daggers sweeping left and right like a bull’s horns. Myrse swept his sword at an angle, the blow so powerful it seemed a wall impossible to breach, one that could smash a man to pieces. This was the Iron Lotus, a move Orchide had taught us—he still didn’t want me dead, hence this feigned mercy.

I stamped the ground and leapt high, vaulting over the Iron Lotus’s peak. Then I hurled a dagger at his eyes. I cannot claim my throw was faster than a bullet, but it was far more sudden.

Myrse let out a piercing shout. I saw a flash of fire—my dagger hit the ground. The blade of Myrse’s sword pressed cold against my cheek, not yet drawing blood, but the slightest movement would cut me open.

I heard the crack of breaking trees behind me—Myrse had cleaved through a thick trunk four meters away.

This was the Stone Fir, the ultimate technique of the Eight Forms, Orchide’s final teaching. I was nowhere near mastering it. As far as I knew, Myrse hadn’t learned it before he left, but now things had changed. This move required a will beyond the ordinary, unlocking the human body’s potential and producing so-called sword energy. Orchide called such miracles the “Blade of Thought,” turning one’s intention into a blade and projecting it outward.

Myrse’s voice was cold as ice. “Now tell me everything.”

My long-restrained anger nearly swallowed me whole. I told him, “I’ve forgotten it all! You don’t deserve to know!”

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I thought of the skyscraper haunting my dreams, of my dazzling ambitions and future. I cursed that irrational pride—how many lives have been lost defending so-called dignity? What good does it do?

But am I to kneel before him and beg for mercy?

Myrse would kill me. He had always looked down on me, even hated me. Back when I sabotaged his secret meetings with Dali out of spite, I could see his loathing. All he needed was an excuse to strike.

Myrse sheathed his sword and said, “Put down the gun, miss. I never intended to kill Longinus.”

I turned and saw Lamia lower her rifle. She tossed Joron’s sword back to the Wolf-Armored Baron and said, “As for Lord Joron’s cause of death, we know little. Perhaps he encountered a strange storm. When we passed by, the tragedy had already happened. If you’ve already found their bodies, we probably know no more than you do.”

The Wolf-Armored Baron said, “I believe you, Ranger. In fact, I have met Rangers several times on my journeys. I do not approve of your methods…” He glanced at the rifle, shook his head, and went on, “…but I respect your courage in battle—especially yours, which is truly admirable.”

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Lamia asked, “Then may we go?”

The Wolf-Armored Baron handed Joron’s sword to Lamia and said, “Take it. This is a gift from our king to Skyscraper—a token of friendship between our peoples. I believe that if humanity unites, we can banish the world’s demons and restore paradise.”

Lamia smiled at him, then presented a rifle loaded with a divine sword round to the Wolf-Armored Baron. “On behalf of Skyscraper’s governor, I send you greetings. I trust he’s willing to work with you—for alone, we cannot turn the tide.”

I was still fuming, wondering how to regain my ground with Myrse. Unexpectedly, Myrse clasped my hand. I saw his eyes glisten, and he said, “It’s enough that you’re alive. As long as you remain, Waterless Village still lives.”

Ah, what can I say? Since he’s apologized so sincerely, I might as well forgive him for now. After all, one doesn’t slap a smiling face. I am destined to be a hero of my age—why let petty slights burden my heart?

He lowered his voice and said, “I beg you, tell me the truth. No matter what happened, I’ll never blame you.”

Since he asked so sincerely, I might as well be magnanimous and tell him.

But just as I was about to speak, a sudden chill swept over me. Out of the corner of my eye, I seemed to see a ghostly fish swim by.

It was an omen of ill fortune.

The time was wrong. I could not say. Annoying as he was, he was still my brother. He must not die—so long as he lives, my homeland endures within me.

The moment turned awkward; playing dead was the simplest way out. I said, “If I remembered, I would have told you already. But when it happened, I must have suffered so great a shock that I recall nothing.”

Myrse was disappointed, but did not press me. He was always so easy to fool.

Lamia called, “Fishbone, let’s go!”

Myrse and I embraced. I wore a counterfeit smile, but to outsiders it must have looked perfectly genuine. If the Sword and Shield Order allied with Skyscraper, Myrse would surely be a crucial ally for me within the Order. And if Skyscraper sought to strengthen diplomatic ties with the Sword and Shield Order, I was the obvious choice.

My status would rise with the tide.

All things considered, reconciling with Myrse could only benefit me. He was loyal, easy to sway—a good man.

A blessing from heaven.

Salvador called out, “How strange—what’s happening?”

Jumpy as a startled bird, I asked, “What now? Can’t we just go home?”

Salvador pointed ahead, and I saw that the small hut was now shrouded by a blurry barrier—a dividing line cutting us off from the outside world.