I woke at the crack of dawn, rising before the sun had fully crested the horizon.
I stretched my limbs and pulled myself upright. I was no longer the layabout who did nothing but indulge in idle slumber while rotting in a church bed. By resuming my training to the extent my prosthetic leg allowed, my internal clock had reset itself. I had reclaimed the rhythm of life I’d known before my injuries.
In other words, it was time for morning drills. Alright, let’s give it everything today, I thought, stoking my resolve. But first, there was one thing I had to do.
"Fumyuu..."
I had to wake my Master, who was currently snoring softly beside me.
Naturally, it would have been simple enough to sneak out and leave her to her dreams. Morning training had always been a routine for the frontline fighters, excluding Master; she was a night owl by nature and usually slept soundly until breakfast. Under normal circumstances, there would be no harm in letting her rest.
But those circumstances had changed the moment I lost an eye and a leg.
Now, if she woke to find me gone without warning...
Back in the city of Luther, I’d done exactly that once, and Master had nearly brought the house down in a panic. Apparently, the idea of me "disappearing without her knowing" triggered a deep-seated trauma. Since then, we’d made a pinky swear: I would always wake her before my morning training, and she would do her best to actually get up.
I reached out to gently shake her shoulder, but then I paused.
"...Hmm."
Yulitia and Atri would be waking soon, and they’d head to my room once they were ready. I decided to use the intervening time to practice zazen.
I climbed out of bed, flipped the door sign from 'Sleeping' to 'In Room,' and left the latch unlocked. Then, I deactivated Accessorize to manifest my sword. Sitting cross-legged on the mattress, I rested the blade across my lap and sank my consciousness into it, visualizing myself falling deep into the steel.
I had a reason for this sudden bout of meditation.
I wanted to use this silence, this time before the world stirred, to synchronize my mind with the blade. To put it in the pretentious terms of a martial artist: I wanted to deepen my dialogue with the sword.
I felt like I could go deeper than ever before.
Surviving the life-or-death struggle with the Life Reaper had changed me. I felt as though I could now attune myself to the sword at a level several stages beyond my previous limit. But there was still more. I could fall further into the depths—I felt that truth in my bones.
Consider an extreme hypothesis: could a person cut every single thing within their field of vision simultaneously?
If you were like Atri and swung a weapon the size of a slab of iron, it might be possible in a literal sense, but that wasn't what I meant.
I meant remaining perfectly still, and with a single quick-draw flash, severing everything in sight.
Logically, it was impossible. Even in a fantasy world of swords and magic, the idea was absurd. If I mentioned it to anyone, they’d laugh in my face or look at me with pity, convinced I’d finally lost my mind.
However, what if I could visualize that moment of total severance with absolute, unwavering conviction?
There is a mundane, obvious logic to martial arts: you cut what you intend to cut, exactly as you planned.
If I pushed that logic to its ultimate conclusion, couldn't I say that if I can perfectly visualize the cut, then the act of swinging the sword is merely a formality?
(Ah, I see—)
My consciousness, falling through the void of the blade, felt my metaphorical fingertips brush against something solid.
I understood now.
The realm beyond this was one where the very concept of 'cutting' changed.
'Cutting' was no longer merely the physical act of bisecting an object with an edge.
It was using the physical motion of the swing as a trigger to overwrite reality with the 'cut' future held within the mind.
I almost wanted to laugh. I was thinking like a madman.
(But—)
The sensation of the moment I cut the Life Reaper was etched into my nerves.
The memory of the strike that felled Staffio was burned into my mind.
(—...)
I shifted my perception of the world.
I visualized. The world was a void of black. The bed, the floor, the nightstand—starting with the objects closest to me, I began to overwrite every space I could 'see' being cut with strokes of brilliant white.
Cut.
Cut.
Cut.
Cut.
I expanded the white domain inch by inch, transforming the 'pre-cut' black world into a 'post-cut' white one. If I could eventually dye my entire field of vision a pristine, blinding white—
(—Yeah, no. That’s impossible.)
Once I had dyed about half the room white, my visualization hit a wall. No matter how I tried to expand it, I couldn't go further.
The conviction that I couldn't do any more had eclipsed the conviction that I could cut. Perhaps this was my current limit, or perhaps I needed to refine my mental efficiency... or perhaps I simply needed to sink deeper into the sword.
—God, this was becoming fun.
The feeling of my heart racing reminded me of the days when I was obsessed with mastering the quick-draw. It was that restless, thrumming impulse—the need to think and experiment until the ideal in my head became a reality in my hands. If I could actually manifest this visualization, I might just master the most 'fantasy' sword technique in this entire world.
My blood was practically boiling. I could feel my excitement spiking.
(I really can't walk away from this. Not ever.)
I truly was my grandfather’s grandson.
Mastering the quick-draw had been a dream since my previous life, but the fact that I’d survived the old man’s hellish training and still wanted to swing a sword even after losing an eye and a leg—that had to be the 'Sword Demon's' blood speaking.
I wondered how far the old man had walked across this infinite horizon.
He was a monster who could fell a forest with a horizontal swing and split the earth with a vertical one. He’d never said a word about any of this to me, but perhaps the old man had also possessed a private world he’d reached at the end of his path.
His back still seemed so far away.
But that was how it should be. If I caught up to him easily, it would have been a disappointment.
Regardless, I had a new research project. Having reached a meaningful stopping point, I ended my zazen. I let my heightened concentration slip away and allowed my vision to slowly return to the physical world.
"—Haa,"
I heard a soft, breathless gasp, followed by the muffled thud of someone hitting the floor. I turned in surprise to find Yulitia sitting flat on her backside, looking utterly dazed.
Beside her stood Atri. She wore her usual mask of indifference, but her eyes were sparkling with an unusual intensity. What was going on? I’d left the door unlocked, but when had they come in? I’d been so immersed in my meditation that I hadn't noticed a thing.
"...Wol-Wolka,"
Even Master—who was notoriously bad at mornings—was awake, blinking at me with a bewildered expression. What on earth was happening?
Yulitia, still sprawled on the floor, spoke up.
"I-I'm so sorry. I did knock, but..."
"My fault. I didn't hear you. You should have shouted."
"Um... I did shout..."
"...Sorry."
Seriously? I hadn't noticed even that? I must have been too deep. The thought of them watching me while I was lost in my own head was a bit embarrassing. I hope I didn't have a weird look on my face.
...
Wait, Yulitia’s breathing was unusually ragged. Why was she panting? Her face was flushed, too. Was she sick?
"Yulitia, are you alright? Do you have a fever?"
"N-No, I'm perfectly fine! It's just, well, um... oh my..."
She let out a long, heavy sigh. If anything, she looked... satisfied? I really had no idea what had happened while I was meditating.
Atri leaned toward me on the bed, her curiosity piqued.
"Wolka... what were you doing?"
"Just zazen."
"But... um... you were really focused."
"...That’s the point of zazen."
It was a meditation technique; of course I was focused! What was she getting at? I was more confused by the second.
"It felt like you were looking at a different world."
A different world? Ah, she must mean the way I was trying to perceive the room through the visualization of the cut. It wasn't that big a deal. It was just a mental exercise; I wasn't actually seeing another dimension.
How was I supposed to explain this?
"Well... I felt like I could sink deeper into the sword."
"Sink... into it?"
"Yeah. And I was thinking about what 'cutting' really means..."
I was met with blank stares and metaphorical question marks from everyone. Naturally. Telling them this out of the blue made me sound insane. I tried to clarify.
"I was thinking that 'cutting' isn't just about swinging the blade. It's about taking a future you've imagined and forcing it to become reality—"
I bit my tongue. Wait. To anyone else, that sounded like the unhinged ramblings of a total crackpot.
As expected, their expressions shifted from confusion to complete incomprehension. I’d really stepped in it now.
"Taking a future you've imagined... and making it reality?"
"Se-Senpai? What exactly does that—"
"Forget it. Sorry. It was just a delusion..."
See? They were looking at me like I’d grown a second head. I’d just spouted some top-tier edgelord nonsense, and they were clearly weirded out. I needed to end this conversation immediately.
"Wolka, what in the world are you—"
"It's nothing. Just forget I said anything. Look, we’ve got morning training to do, right? I need to change, so wait outside."
I flatly shut down their questions and ushered them out of the room. Listen, everyone, when someone says something that embarrassing, you're supposed to just let it slide. Trying to keep the conversation going only hurts both of us.
Wolka, you're just a man who puts off his friends with accidental weirdness.
I changed my clothes, weeping silently on the inside.
A short time earlier.
Yulitia had woken at the crack of dawn, almost exactly when Wolka had. She rubbed her right eye and sat up slowly.
"Nn... ngh..."
She stretched toward the ceiling before going limp and sighing. She sat blankly for ten seconds, then—
"...Alright!"
With a burst of motivation, she launched herself from the bed. This was their first morning back in the Holy City and their first scheduled training session. This was no time to linger in the haze of sleep.
Yulitia tidied her hair in front of the mirror, grabbed a change of clothes, and stepped into the hallway. She knocked on the neighboring door.
"Atri-san, are you awake?"
She knocked again. After a moment, the door creaked open.
"...Nn."
A half-asleep Atri emerged.
She was dressed only in her black undergarments.
"A-Atri-san! You can't just wander out like that..."
"No one’s watching. And I don't care if they see."
"That isn't the point..."
These were the garments Atri usually wore beneath her tribal gear. Atri was a bit lax when it came to such things, so she tended to sleep in her underclothes. Given how thin her tribal clothing was, she was practically showing them off half the time anyway, but still...
"Atri-san, you need to realize that you're a beautiful girl!"
"...Am I?"
"Yes! Even if you don't mind, men will... well... they’ll definitely look at you in a weird way!"
Whether it was a difference in personality or culture, Atri—raised in a foreign land—was far too indifferent to how others perceived her. Then again, if someone did look at her strangely, she’d likely just beat them senseless with one arm, so perhaps it really wasn't worth her concern.
"Anyway... good morning, Atri-san. You're joining us, right? Grab your clothes and let’s head to the showers."
"Nn."
Yulitia got Atri dressed and led her toward the showers. The women were staying on the third floor of Le Bouquet, which was reserved for females. The showers were located in the common area on the first floor, separated by gender.
Since they were about to sweat during training, a pre-drill shower might have seemed redundant, but it was a matter of a young woman's pride. She wanted to be clean when she stood before Wolka.
However, the trip to and from the showers required a degree of tactical planning.
Yulitia had no desire to run into Wolka at this specific time of day. Passing through the second floor—the men's floor—or the common area on the first floor carried the risk of a chance encounter.
As they hurried down the stairs, Atri spoke from behind her.
"...Do you really hate Wolka seeing you that much?"
"Ugh... I'm just embarrassed, alright?"
Like anyone else, Yulitia wanted to be able to relax in her own room. Naturally, that meant she didn't want to wear anything restrictive.
Specifically—a sarashi.
When she wanted to rest, the binding was a major nuisance.
However, without it, even her loose-fitting sleepwear couldn't hide the curve of her chest.
"Sigh. Why am I the only one like this? It’s embarrassing, it gets in the way of my swordplay, and I don't even want them..."
"Liesel would have a stroke if she heard you say that..."
"I’d gladly give them to her if I could."
"Don't ever say that to her face."
And so, Yulitia didn't want to see Wolka until she had showered and properly tidied her appearance.
She wished, from the bottom of her heart, that her height would increase instead. She ate the nutritious meals Roze prepared and drank her milk every day, yet only that part of her seemed to grow.
Once she had finished her shower and meticulously adjusted her appearance, Yulitia’s attitude flipped entirely, and she headed straight for Wolka's room.
"Senpai, good morning!"
The sign on Wolka’s door read 'In Room.' She knocked and called out, but—
"...?"
There was no reply. She was certain he’d woken up and flipped the sign. Had he fallen back into a doze? Or had he forgotten to flip the sign to 'Sleeping' last night?
"Senpai—?"
"Wolka—?"
She and Atri called his name, but the silence persisted.
—Wait. Did something happen to him?
Yulitia’s mind made a decision in less than a second.
"Senpai, excuse me...!"
Fortunately, the latch was open. Yulitia tensed her entire body and burst into the room—only to relax instantly.
Wolka was sitting right there on the bed.
"Senpai! Honestly, if you're awake, at least answer us."
"We were worried."
They complained together, but Wolka didn't react at all.
"...Senpai?"
Is he sleeping while sitting up?
Sensing something was wrong, Yulitia approached him, reaching out to poke his shoulder.
But just before her fingertip made contact...
"—!?"
She froze. Her entire body locked up. Her breath hitched.
It was a sudden, violent tension that made every hair on her body stand on end—the same feeling as accidentally brushing against the edge of a naked blade.
She reflexively yanked her arm back and retreated a step.
Wolka was sitting cross-legged on the bed, meditating with his sword on his lap. It was a common sight; any serious martial artist set aside time for mental focus.
What wasn't common was the aura Wolka was radiating.
"Tch...!"
She was swallowed by it instantly. An electric current seemed to sizzle across her skin, and she felt the phantom sting of a thousand tiny cuts. It wasn't real electricity, and she hadn't actually been sliced; it was an illusion born of Wolka’s overwhelming presence. But it was a mental image so dense it felt as real as the air she breathed.
"Wh-wh-what is this!?"
Even Liesel—who hated mornings with a passion—bolted upright in surprise.
Yulitia had heard stories of sharpened martial auras that could overwhelm others, but Wolka’s was too refined to be called mere 'intimidation.'
(Ah—this is just like that time—)
The moment she realized, Yulitia’s heart hammered against her ribs.
This was the same pressure as the flash that had obliterated the Life Reaper and the strike that had felled Staffio.
A sensation of being isolated from the world, of everything being dyed a pristine, blinding white—a silence so absolute it made her ears ring.
"~~~~...!!"
Waves of exhilaration washed over Yulitia, sending chills down her spine.
Was it just a trick of the light, or was a faint spark of lightning flickering in Wolka’s slightly open left eye?
Wolka’s spirit was merging with his blade.
He was stepping even further into the realm he had forced open during his struggle with the Reaper. It was the deepest reaches of the sword—a place only he could reach.
Wolka was simply meditating. But even his meditation was this.
Faced with such a sight from the swordsman she revered and loved more than anyone in the world, Yulitia felt the awe reach the very marrow of her soul.
...Seconds passed, or perhaps it was a full minute.
Wolka ended his zazen. The sensation of being swallowed by the white vanished like a dispersing mist. Yulitia’s legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor.
"—Haa,"
"Whoa."
Wolka finally seemed to realize they were there. He looked at them with a hint of confusion as they sat dazed, still reeling from the afterglow of his meditation.
"I-I'm so sorry. I did knock, but..."
"My fault. I didn't hear you. You should have shouted."
"Um... I did shout..."
"...Sorry."
Yulitia’s heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe, and Wolka was looking at her suspiciously.
"Yulitia, are you alright? Do you have a fever?"
"N-No, I'm perfectly fine! It's just, well, um... oh my..."
She knew she had to pull herself together, but an ecstatic sigh escaped her lips anyway. Her skin was hot, and her brain felt like it was flickering. This was bad; at this rate, Wolka would think she was some kind of freak.
Atri stepped in, leaning toward Wolka as if to shield Yulitia.
"Wolka... what were you doing?"
"Just zazen."
"But... you were really focused."
"...That’s how zazen works."
"It felt like you were looking at a different world."
"...?"
Wolka clearly didn't understand what he’d just done to them. He had merely been meditating with a clear mind; he had no idea what kind of vision he’d projected. He tilted his head.
"Well... I felt like I could sink deeper into the sword."
"Sink into it?"
"Yeah. And I was thinking about what 'cutting' really means..."
The philosophical turn caught Yulitia off guard. What did it mean to cut? It was a question she had no answer for, and even Wolka looked as though he were trying to grasp water with his bare hands.
"I was thinking that 'cutting' isn't just about swinging the blade. It's about taking a future you've imagined and forcing it to become reality—"
Yulitia and the others were speechless. They couldn't begin to grasp his meaning.
"Taking a future you've imagined... and making it reality?"
"Se-Senpai? What exactly does that—"
"Forget it. Sorry. It was just a delusion..."
But Wolka cut himself off and refused to say more. Perhaps he realized they didn't understand and decided there was no point in explaining further.
"Wolka, what in the world are you—"
"It's nothing. Just forget I said anything."
He scooped up Liesel and set her on the floor. His gaze was once again calm and steady.
"Look, we’ve got morning training to do, right? I need to change, so wait outside."
"...Understood. We'll be waiting."
By then, Yulitia had recovered enough to stand. She took the hands of the still-unconvinced Liesel and Atri and led them out of the room. She leaned against the wall in the hallway and let out a long breath.
The 'white' sensation hadn't fully left her. A shivering afterglow remained.
"Senpai... just how far do you intend to go...?"
The racing of her heart wouldn't subside.
When Wolka cut the Reaper. When he struck down Staffio. And now. This was the third time Yulitia had felt it with her own skin. And because it was the third time, she understood.
This was the absolute limit, the deepest reaches of the sword that could only be forced open by one who had stared down death and overcome fate itself.
Wolka hadn't just dipped a toe into that realm.
He was walking through it. Even with a body that had lost an eye and a leg, he was looking straight ahead, aiming for the absolute end of that impossible path. And he was doing it with nothing but his single-minded devotion to the sword.
"Making an imagined future reality... not even the legends of my village go that far..."
"I-It must just be a metaphor for his mindset when he swings, right? Because if he could actually do that, it would be beyond the realm of magic..."
Logically, that had to be the answer. It was impossible. If it were possible, as Liesel said, it would be a form of reality alteration that transcended swordplay and sorcery alike.
But.
That flash that had cut Staffio. The silver lightning that had ignored the laws of space and time to perfectly strike down the enemy without harming a single hair on Ruerie’s head.
The rumors said that the Third Seat of the Seven Flowers Canon—the strongest Holy Knight in the kingdom—possessed techniques that regular people couldn't even begin to comprehend.
Perhaps it was simply that Yulitia didn't know.
Perhaps there was a world that only those who reached the deepest reaches of the sword could see.
(..................Senpai.)
It was a common saying that the brighter the light, the darker the shadow. The more Wolka’s sword shone, the deeper Yulitia’s regret and guilt grew.
If only Wolka’s body were whole.
If only Yulitia hadn't just been a girl to be protected—if only she had been strong enough to fight by his side.
If she could have prevented him from losing even that one leg.
Wolka’s name would have spread across the kingdom. He would have been recorded in history as a 'Sword Saint' who had carved out an entirely new horizon for the blade.
A swordsman who had walked through a dark past would finally have been rewarded.
The person who had shattered that brilliant future and turned his path into a bottomless abyss was none other than Yulitia.
It was unforgivable. No matter how many kind words Wolka gave her, she should never be forgiven.
Wolka had protected them with the resolve to throw away his very life.
And he had wished for them to be happy.
And so, Yulitia’s only wish was...
(I want to... do more... for Senpai. Only for him. More, more, forever—)
To repay him with everything she was.
That was the only atonement she had. That was her version of happiness.