Holy Sword Excalibur

I’ve never been a man of many likes or dislikes. That’s mostly because I sort the vast majority of the world into a single category: Who cares?

Still, preferences do crop up. Even if something isn’t particularly important or necessary, sometimes I just like what I like and hate what I hate. No matter how much I try to categorize things with cold logic, I can’t exactly filter my emotions the same way.

I call these my "unimportant likes" and "unimportant dislikes."

The hot spring falls squarely into the "unimportant like" category.

There was a period in my previous life when I didn’t bathe at all. At the time, I felt like the minutes spent in the tub were an utter waste of my life. Of course, I still had a reputation as a background character to maintain, so I’d take a three-minute shower every day, but I wanted to eliminate the inefficiency of soaking so I could devote that time to my training.

Back then, I was hitting the wall of human potential. In short, I had zero room for error. I was busy dead-seriously brainstorming ways to parry a nuclear blast with a right straight.

Well, one thing led to another, and I eventually realized my brain was a bit broken and went back to bathing. The catalyst was a hot spring. The act of soaking in hot water creates a sense of mental space—room to breathe. That mental margin was directly linked to the quality of my training; it was what gave birth to the flexible thinking I needed to find things like Magic Power and Aura.

Which brings us to now. I was currently soaking in a hot spring.

Lindwurm was famous for its baths, and I’d been secretly looking forward to this.

It was early morning. I’ve always been a fan of morning baths. I go at night too, obviously, but the morning is better. Why? Fewer people. If you’re lucky, you get the whole place to yourself.

I’d headed out today hoping for just that, but it seemed someone else had the same idea. Unfortunately for me, that someone was none other than Alexia.

Her long, silver hair was tied up, and she stood there with her red eyes wide, staring at me for a split second. Then, simultaneously, we both looked away.

Since then, we’d been operating under a policy of mutual non-interference, pretending the other didn't exist. This was a bath reserved for high-ranking nobles, and in the early hours when traffic was light, the partitions were pulled back to create a large, mixed-gender area. It was a massive tub with a view of a sea of clouds and the sunrise. Man, this would’ve been the best if I were actually alone, I thought, soaking in the water and the morning rays.

Alexia and I were at opposite ends of the open-air bath—the spot with the best view—watching the sun rise in a silence that was honestly pretty awkward.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her white skin shimmer as ripples spread across the surface of the water.

This is a waste of a good bath, but maybe I should just bail early...

Just as the thought crossed my mind, Alexia broke the silence.

"Are your injuries... okay?"

Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

"They’re already healed," I replied.

Wait, which injuries is she even talking about? I wondered.

"I sort of lost my cool and hacked you to pieces, so... I’m glad you’re alive."

"Uh, thanks."

Oh, those injuries, I realized.

Since I’d known her for a while now, I could tell this was her version of an apology. I wondered if anyone had ever bothered to teach her how to say "I'm sorry" like a normal person, but I guess this was just the Alexia Special.

"I should probably apologize too," I said. "For treating you like a random serial slasher."

Splash! A wave of hot water smacked me in the face.

"Like I'd ever do that!"

"I wonder. So, what are you doing in Lindwurm, anyway?"

"I’m here as a guest for the Goddess's Trial. You?"

"A friend told me there was a fun event happening. I assume they meant the Goddess's Trial, but do you actually know what goes on there?"

I heard Alexia let out a long sigh.

"You really came all this way without even knowing? The Goddess's Trial is a battle held once a year on the day the Gate of the Sanctuary opens. It calls forth the memories of Ancient Warriors residing within the Sanctuary, and challengers fight against them. Any Spellsword can participate if they apply in advance, but there’s no guarantee an Ancient Warrior will actually respond. Hundreds of Spellswords enter every year, but only about ten actually get to fight."

Sounds interesting. Alpha’s probably planning to join in on this.

"What’s the criteria for getting picked?"

"Apparently, it depends on whether there’s an Ancient Warrior suited to the challenger. They usually choose a warrior who is slightly stronger than the participant, which is why it’s called a 'trial.' About ten years ago, a Wandering Swordsman named Venom made headlines when he summoned Hero Olivier."

"Huh. Did he win?"

"He lost, supposedly. But I didn't see it myself, so I don't know the truth. I don't even know if the thing he summoned was actually Hero Olivier."

"I see."

I wonder if Alpha could summon the Hero. If she can, that would be a hell of a show.

"Aren't you participating?" I asked. "I heard you've been getting stronger lately."

"I'm not. I’m far too busy this year. The Archbishop here is the subject of some dark rumors, so I have to conduct an audit."

"Dark rumors?"

"I'm not telling you. If you're that curious, join the Crimson Order."

"Hard pass."

"Join after you graduate, then."

"Still a pass."

"I'll fill out the application for you."

"Don't you dare."

"Stubborn, aren't you?"

The conversation died there.

We sat in silence for a while longer. It wasn't quite as uncomfortable as before.

I saw movement in my peripheral vision. Alexia’s long legs bobbed near the surface, sending ripple after ripple across the tub.

"I expected you to be staring at me like you were trying to lick me with your eyes. Guess I was wrong," she said.

She didn't specify exactly what she expected me to be looking at.

"You’ve got a lot of confidence, I’ll give you that."

"When you're as perfectly beautiful as I am, you get used to being subjected to gazes dripping with lust. It’s exhausting."

For someone who complains about it, she’s being pretty open, I thought.

"I make it a point not to look at people in hot springs. It’s basic etiquette so everyone can enjoy the soak."

"That’s a surprisingly noble mindset."

"Right. So, could you stop stealing glances at my Excalibur?"

"Pfft!"

Alexia snorted. It was a laugh of pure, unadulterated mockery.

"You call that Excalibur? You misspelled 'earthworm.'"

"If you want to think of it as an earthworm, be my guest. I don't really care whether it's called an earthworm or Excalibur. However, let me give you one piece of advice."

I stood up. Kashplash. Ripples surged across the bath.

"You shouldn't judge things based on the surface level. What you take for an earthworm might simply be a blade that has yet to leave its sheath."

With that, I turned around in full-view and stepped out of the water.

"Wh-What is that supposed to mean...?" Alexia stammered, her cheeks flushing a faint vermillion.

"The Holy Sword, once drawn from its sheath, shall unleash its white blade and begin its journey to the Garden of Chaos..."

I tossed out the meaningful-sounding nonsense, then grabbed my wet towel, snapped it between my legs, and let it thwack against my butt.

I love the thing old men do when they get out of a hot spring. There’s no logical reason for it. I just don't feel like I’ve truly visited a hot spring unless I do it. I let out three good snaps—thwack, thwack, thwack—and headed for the changing room.

Just as I finished dressing, I heard a sound from the direction of the bath.

Thwack. Thwack.