Volume 5. The Men in the Kingdom.

Prologue

Translator: Sene9ty

Editors/Proofreaders: JcqC, Ferro, TaintedDream, Namorax, Skythewood

Lower Fire Month (9th Month), Day 1, 14:15

He raised his face and saw the darkened clouds covering the sky bleed out a fog of rain. Seeing the world of gray spread out before his eyes, Warrior Captain Gazef Stronoff clicked his tongue.

If only he had left a bit earlier, perhaps he could have avoided this rain.

Although he scanned the skies for a clearing, the thick clouds completely enveloped Re-Estize, the Kingdom’s capital and showed no signs of abating even if he were to wait.

Having abandoned the notion of waiting it out inside the palace, he donned the hood attached to his coat and stepped out into the downpour.

He passed through the palace gate’s guards with only a flash of his face and headed towards the center of the capital.

Normally, the place would be overflowing with life, but the usual bustle of activity was nowhere to be found. Instead, it was replaced by the scant number of people moving about, careful not to slip on the wet surface.

Seeing his empty surroundings, he could guess how long this rain had been falling.

Can’t be helped then. Leaving a bit sooner wouldn’t have made a difference.

With his coat steadily growing heavy from the water, he brushed past the other pedestrians in mutual silence. Although his jacket was able to serve as a raincoat, the wet sensation of it clinging to his back made it uncomfortable. Gazef quickened his stride and headed for home.

As his house grew closer, the fact that he would soon be liberated from his drenched coat brought a sigh of relief to Gazef’s lips. Suddenly, his senses were drawn to the side. His vision shadowed by a thin veil, a narrow road veering off to his right. There, seemingly uncaring of his soaked body, was a ragged man plopped down on the side of the road.

Appearing to have roughly dyed his hair, patches of his natural hair color could be seen all over his head. His hair was drenched and clung to his forehead, dripping droplets of water from his locks. His face was slightly bent downwards and hidden from view.

The reason Gazef stopped his eyes on the man was not because he thought it odd for someone to be outside without a proper coat in this rain. Rather, he felt that something else was out of place. His eyes darted especially to the man’s right hand.

Like a child grasping onto the hand of his mother, the man held a weapon that did not match with his ragged appearance. It was a very rare weapon called a ‘katana’, crafted in a city located within a desert in the far off south.

He’s holding a katana… A thief…? No. This feeling I’m getting from him is different. Am I feeling glad to see him?

Gazef felt that something was off, like a coat with mismatched buttons.

With his feet planted, Gazef stared earnestly at the man’s profile. At that moment, his memory resurfaced like a surging wave.

“Is that you… Unglaus?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, his mind was filled with doubt.

The man he faced in the finals of the palace tournament, Brain Unglaus.

Even now, the appearance of the man with whom he fought a close match was engraved in Gazef’s mind. Quite possibly the strongest opponent he has faced since first picking up the sword and living his life as a warrior— and even if it was one sided, it was the face of a man he considered to be his rival.

That’s right. The man’s gaunt profile matched almost exactly with the face from his memories.

However— that was impossible.

Without a doubt, their faces were very similar. Even if the passage of time changed his appearance, traces of his past self were still apparent. But the man from Gazef’s memories did not have such a pitiful countenance. He was a man who was filled to the brim with confidence in his sword and a fighting spirit that burned violently like fire. He did not have the look of a wet dog like this man before him.

With the sound of splashing water, Gazef walked towards him.

As if responding to the sound, the man slowly looked up.

Gazef felt his breath fall short. Looking at him from the front, he was now certain. This man was Brain Unglaus, the genius of the sword.

However, the light from the past was gone. The Brain that was in front of him was a defeated man with his will completely broken.

Brain staggered to his feet. This dull, languid movement was not that of a warrior. It was difficult to even call it the movement of an old soldier. With eyes downcast, the man turned around without a word, trudging away.

As his back grew smaller in the rain, Gazef was struck by an ominous foreboding that if they parted here, he would never see him again. He closed the distance that grew between them while shouting.

“Unglaus! Brain Unglaus!”

If the man denied it, he would decide that the two simply looked similar and admonish himself. However, a tiny voice flowed into Gazef’s ears.

“…Stronoff.”

It was a lifeless voice, one that could not possibly have belonged to the Brain of his memories whom he crossed swords with.

“What, what happened?”

Dumbfounded, he asked.

Just what exactly was happening?

Of course, anyone could have their life ruined and fall on hard times. Gazef had seen countless examples of such people. A man who always chose the easy way out could lose everything from just one failure.

But was he such a man? The sword genius, Brain Unglaus; it was completely unthinkable. Perhaps this was simply born from his own sentiment of not wishing to see the strongest opponent of his past reduced to such a disgrace.

The two men met eyes.

How can he make such a face…?

With gaunt cheeks, he had dark bags under his eyes. His eyes were deathly pale and devoid of all energy. The man was like a corpse.

No, even a corpse would be better than this… Unglaus is dead on his feet…

“…Stronoff. I’m broken.”

“What?”

From his words, the first thing Gazef looked to was the katana that Brain held in his hand. But he soon realized that wasn’t it. What was broken wasn’t the katana, but—

“Hey, are we strong?”