The Reborn Swordmaster
Chapter 21
The following morning.
As the milky-white light of dawn spread across the world, Haral emerged from his quarters with an enormous yawn.
Then he stopped, doubting his own eyes.
"What... is that?"
The fighters, who should have been running laps as part of their morning exercise, had instead gathered in the middle of the training ground.
Haral was the senior instructor. He was the one who had established their training schedule.
If it wasn't being followed, there were only two possible explanations.
Either the slave fighters had started a rebellion, or someone higher up had issued new orders.
Of course, it wasn't the former.
Every fighter was standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back.
And standing before them was a figure Haral could recognize even from a distance.
Black clothing and unusually white hair.
You again...!
Feeling a headache coming on, Haral approached the instructors who had gathered in small groups to watch the scene.
"Hey."
"Oh? You're awake, Senior Instructor."
"Yeah. But what are those guys doing?"
"I don't know either. All I know is that the director ordered it."
"You don't know?"
"That's right. You know that fellow, Riyan? The director told us to leave the fighters in his care for a while."
"Director Berka said that himself?"
"That's what I'm telling you."
What's he scheming this time?
Uneasiness began creeping into Haral's eyes.
Meanwhile, Riyan examined the fighters lined up before him and silently nodded.
Every one of them looked puzzled.
Naturally, they were confused. A fellow fighter had suddenly summoned them, made them stand in formation, and was now inspecting them from head to toe.
However, their expressions showed more bewilderment than distrust.
It seemed they knew that he had defeated Yavrik.
Perhaps that was why a few fighters were even looking at him with open admiration.
Of course, not everyone felt that way.
The ones who looked up to him were generally younger or had only recently become fighters.
In any case, after lining up the fighters of the Rodus Training Center, Riyan examined the roster in his hand and gestured toward several men.
"You, you, you, and you two. Step forward."
"..."
Once the five men had come forward, Riyan compared their appearances with the roster and addressed the one closest to him.
"Gaze, born in Britas. Is that correct?"
Britas.
It was an island across the strait to the north of Bellance.
The barbarians who occupied it were constantly sailing across the water to raid Bellance, making the island a persistent headache for the Empire.
True to his birthplace, the fighter named Gaze had the rugged appearance of a sailor who looked as though he practically smelled of seawater.
His blood apparently ran true, because he rolled his eyes and answered rudely.
"Yeah. What about it?"
Hawk! Spit!
He even spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground.
Riyan shook his head.
"That's not right."
He approached Gaze and met his eyes.
Gaze was a head or two taller than Riyan, so Riyan naturally had to look up at him.
Gaze sneered.
He clearly wasn't pleased with the situation.
Although many fighters respected Riyan, those who had been at the training center for a long time or retained their barbaric habits generally reacted much like Gaze.
Riyan calmly informed him.
"From now on, you'd be wise to show me some respect."
"Respect? Why should I?"
"Because I'm going to be the one teaching and commanding all of you."
"What a load of..."
Before Gaze could finish his indignant reply, Riyan's hand shot forward.
He struck Gaze in the throat.
As the man's waist bent instinctively, Riyan caught the back of his head and slammed him into the dirt.
"Ghk...!"
Riyan then raised his boot and pressed it firmly against the back of Gaze's head.
With a deep, unreadable look in his eyes, he raised his head and addressed the next fighter.
"Cutler, born in Corinthes, Graice Province. Correct?"
"What? Are you going to throw me into the dirt like that too?"
Even after witnessing what had happened to Gaze, Cutler bared his teeth defiantly.
Riyan smiled.
"Sailors really are all the same."
He then extended his hand toward the remaining three.
"Bjorn, Varg, and Yarik. All three of you are from Nord."
Nord.
Beyond Bellance, far to the northeast, lay an unexplored region where snow-covered mountain ranges stretched endlessly, resembling enormous white giants.
The barbarians who lived there were a deranged group of pirates who believed they could reach heaven only by dying in fierce battle.
True to their beliefs, the savage expressions they directed at Riyan were quite a sight.
With one exception.
"Ah, Yarik. You and I have met before, haven't we?"
The bald fighter named Yarik flinched.
He had been the leader of the men who had attacked Riyan during his initiation when he first began living at the Rodus Training Center in his new body.
"How's your hand? Has it healed?"
At the mention of the hand Riyan had pierced with a broken spoon, Yarik's eyebrows trembled.
However, as though trying to erase the memory of that day, he clenched his teeth.
"...I was just careless back then."
"Oh, really?"
Tap!
Riyan lightly nudged Gaze's head with the tip of his boot, rousing the man he had been standing on.
Then he nodded.
"Then I suppose you won't make the same mistake today."
"..."
As Gaze regained his senses and got to his feet, Riyan gestured toward the fighters who weren't among the five he had selected.
"Form a circle. We're going to have a pankration match."
Pankration.
It was a form of combat that had originated in Graice before spreading widely across the continent.
Under the principle of fighting with every ounce of one's strength, participants were permitted to use their bodies to punch, kick, twist joints, throw opponents, and choke them.
Practically anything was allowed.
The sport supposedly commemorated a legendary hero who had defeated a monster with the head of a lion and the body of a lizard using only his bare hands.
Whether that story was true or not, pankration was one of the most brutal and popular forms of combat.
Naturally, the fighters were all familiar with it.
They immediately began forming a circle.
"Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!"
"Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!"
The fighters forming the circle started chanting.
It had originally been a traditional ritual unique to the Graice region, but over time, it had become the customary way for spectators to cheer during pankration matches.
Soon, Riyan stood at the center of the circle, facing the five fighters.
The five men glanced toward the instructors watching from a distance.
When they saw no sign that the instructors intended to interfere or stop the fight, they began grinding their teeth.
"That fucking bastard. Without his sword, he's nothing special anyway."
Gaze, whose head Riyan had stepped on, practically spat out the words.
He gestured to his companions.
"Let's jump him all at once. Twist his ankles until he's crippled."
Of course, Yarik, one of the five, squeezed his eyes shut.
Fuck. Why did I have to get dragged into this...?
Yarik had lost his position as the fighters' leader long ago, after Riyan had thoroughly beaten him during the initiation fight in the dining hall.
Even now, he sometimes woke with a start after dreaming about those terrifying black eyes.
And now he had to face them again.
Still, maybe we have a chance. These four are strong. They're on a completely different level from those lackeys I had back then.
That much was true.
Gaze was a madman whose emotions had been worn away by years of piracy.
Cutler had once been a galley oarsman, and his physical strength ranked among the top three in the entire training center.
The other two were also from Nord, just like Yarik.
They were so powerfully built that one might have suspected they had the blood of snowfield yetis rather than humans.
Perhaps they really did have a chance.
Four men consumed by anger and one who remained rather doubtful began creeping toward Riyan.
They all moved at almost the same time, but Gaze was the fastest.
After circling around to approach Riyan from behind, he suddenly kicked off the ground and lunged forward to tackle him.
Crack!
But Riyan, who had been standing perfectly still, twisted his body as though he had eyes in the back of his head.
He raised his foot high and brought it crashing down.
"Ghk...!"
The descending kick struck Gaze directly in the back of the head.
He collapsed like a frog and lost consciousness.
At the same moment, Riyan's black eyes swept rapidly up, down, left, and right.
He drove his knee into the charging Cutler's chin, knocking him away.
When one of the Nord fighters grabbed his arm, Riyan immediately climbed onto the man's body and applied pressure to his carotid artery, choking him unconscious.
The remaining Nord fighter hesitated, unsure what to do when Riyan used his companion's body as a shield.
Then Riyan leaped and struck his temple with a spinning kick, sending him sprawling.
Ten seconds.
No, had it even taken five?
After dropping four men before anyone could properly react, Riyan looked toward the last fighter.
Yarik had frozen in the same position he'd been in when he was about to charge.
"...Uoooooh!"
As Riyan approached with his dark eyes gleaming, Yarik let out a furious roar, as though squeezing out the last of his courage.
Then he kicked off the ground.
"...?"
Contrary to everyone's expectations, however, Yarik dropped straight to his knees instead of attacking.
An awkward smile spread across his face.
"I-I always thought you were born to be our leader! No, I mean, sir! I always thought so, sir!"
"What are you scheming?"
Haral approached Riyan, who was watching the fighters move busily around the training ground.
"You're here, Instructor."
"Yeah. I've been watching for a while. I heard from the director that you're going to participate in the mock naval battle."
"That's how things turned out."
"You're completely insane. Absolutely insane."
Haral clicked his tongue in disbelief and pointed toward the training ground.
More precisely, he was pointing at the fighters who were busily carrying materials and hammering things together.
"What's that? Looks like they're building something."
"A ship."
"A ship? You're calling that a ship?"
"It's not a proper one. It doesn't need to be perfect."
"Well, I'll be damned. You know how to build ships too?"
"No. I don't know much about shipbuilding, so I selected fighters who came from islands or coastal cities, as well as those who were captured while engaging in piracy. They're supervising the construction now."
He doesn't know much about shipbuilding?
Did that mean there were plenty of other things he knew about?
Haral found himself wondering whether Riyan might actually be a vampire.
No matter how he looked at it, those weren't the sort of words someone Riyan's age should be saying.
In any case, Haral quickly understood Riyan's intention.
"You're building a model ship so you can practice fighting on its deck?"
"Exactly."
"But how useful can training on dry land really be?"
"We'll line up logs beneath the model so it can shift from side to side. By attaching ropes to the bow and stern and using the trees like pulleys, we should also be able to make it pitch up and down to some extent."
Only then did Haral notice the trees standing on either side of the area where the model was being constructed.
"That makes sense... Wait. Where did all these materials come from?"
"I demolished one of the training center's warehouses."
"What? Did you get the director's permission?"
"We were in a hurry, so I tore it down and used the materials. I promised the director that you'd rebuild it."
"When did I ever make that promise to you?"
"You haven't. I thought we could settle that now."
"You shameless little bastard."
Riyan took out a gold coin and handed it to him.
"This should be more than enough to cover the materials."
"Forget it. I'm not even going to argue anymore."
"It would be nice if you could use the change to buy the fighters some snacks or alcohol. Their training is going to be quite demanding from now on."
"..."
Haral sighed deeply, looking as though he had nothing left to say.
Riyan smiled.
"Ah, there's one more favor I'd like to ask."
"You're really determined to squeeze me dry, aren't you?"
"Didn't I show you something wonderful the other day? You also made a great deal of money thanks to me."
"Fine, fine. What is it?"
Riyan turned his attention toward the ship being constructed and spoke.
"Please contact the Verso Training Center. Tell them we'd like to conduct joint training for the mock naval battle, and submit the proposal with my name listed as the training supervisor."
"...Your name?"
"Yes. Don't worry about Director Berka. I'll get his permission."
After all, that was how the Rose Fighter would learn about it and join them.
Of course, Haral knew nothing about Riyan's hidden intentions.
All he could do was sigh.
