Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

176 – Catfight

“…Uhm…”

“Is there a problem? You old mad-eye of Gwang-an.”

“…Call me Gwang-an, or whatever you like,

but…”

Gwang-an, literally meaning mad-eye,

was, to be frank,

a rather impolite nickname

to bestow upon a person.

Mad(狂)

His very presence alone

A character most unsettling indeed

was affixed to that name.

Of course, everyone knew this,

and would sooner perish than

attach such a label to

any other moniker, but

Duke Reinhardt deemed this

elder before him quite worthy

of the appellation: “Mad.”

“To barge into a man’s home

without so much as an explanation, what…”

“So? You harbor discontent?”

“..A sigh, let us at least speak..”

Old man assault included, of course.

To outside eyes,

the treatment appeared unduly harsh, clearly,

but to hear this old man’s name spoken,

those very opinions would quickly

vanish into thin air, unspoken.

“Mad-eye,” Shiremu.

The name of the elder

now standing before him,

once a custodian of magical artifacts

within the Imperial Household.

His wondrous eyes could discern

the key to any magical tool’s

enhancement, and his knowledge

rivaled the very archives

of the Central Library itself.

Though now, by way of “that incident,”

he had become a wanted criminal,

an enemy of the Empire,

he was found within the Reinhardt estate,

taken in by the current Duke,

and cast out to rot in these slums.

Thereafter, under the pretense

of protection from the Imperial Guard,

he devoted himself to

the Reinhardt family’s

development of magical artifacts.

Clearly, over the course of things, he had

fashioned magical implements at the Duke’s private behest,

and he assumed this was a matter of similar import.

That is, until the Duke, arriving unannounced,

suddenly thrust his sleeve forward.

“I fought, and surrendered my arm to escape, so I must have it reattached.”

“Hmph, you lost?”

“Outnumbered, admittedly,

but yes, one could say I lost.”

*Hmph, indeed… a fellow who knows no defeat, yet his arm… what a wretched expression he bears.*

Just look at that face.

Even with his arm severed, there’s no hint of vengeance,

no emotion at all, etched upon

that face of stone.

One might perceive it as a

beautiful acceptance

of the outcome,

but the Duke Reinhardt he knew was surely not that sort.

He was, in truth, simply

unmoved by the

loss of his arm.

For reasons unknown,

from their very first meeting,

he seemed to care for nothing

save his lineage.

More madman, even,

than he considered himself.

Doubtless the scoundrel treats even his own kin thus.

And soon enough,

his house will crumble…

Such thoughts were brewing when,

like a bolt of lightning,

a notion struck Shiremu:

*’…That rogue, though I harbor

little fondness, his martial prowess places him

amongst the top three I’ve ever witnessed…’ *

And yet, now he is…

One arm was undeniably gone.

He, who had lived a considerable time,

who, even by his own reckoning, belonged to the

ranks of the rather strong.

“So… you’re telling me you’ve come

to me to ask for a new arm?”

“Yes, or what else could it be?”

“…Forgive me, but isn’t that

something you should be asking

the priests of the Order about?”

Yes, this part too was absurd.

He could understand that the man was injured.

Though undeniably superhuman,

he was still, after all, only human.

Perhaps many strongmen had come for him, or

some unknown, reclusive master

had attempted to kill him.

But what he simply could not grasp was,

he was, undeniably, a man who had only

ever worked with magical artifacts,

so why was this man coming to him with

such a grievous wound?

Surely he, who had lived his life

as a swordsman, wouldn’t surrender his

own hand…

“I came to get a prosthetic,

what else would it be?”

“Pffuuuh!!”

Completely unprepared for that reply,

the liquid that Shiremu had been drinking

to moisten his throat

exploded out of his mouth,

and was launched directly towards the

Duke Reinhardt’s

face.

“….”

“M-my apologies, I was so surprised…”

“….”

“Ah… no, until now…”

“How can I *not* be astonished when the one who wielded the sword asks for a new arm?!”

Anyone else, perhaps I wouldn’t be so taken aback. But *he* is a swordsman.

Everything flows

from his fingertips.

A swordsman.

And now, suddenly, he’s giving up his own hand like this?

Judging by the state of the wound,

it doesn’t appear as though he’s even sought

any treatment yet?

So many swordsmen would sooner abandon their blade

than entrust it to the cold steel of a prosthetic,

yet here he was, speaking as though he didn’t care about such things in the slightest.

“I don’t need it. If I can become

stronger by attaching a prosthetic, I will.”

“No, it’s not as easy as all that… Usually, it takes an age just to adjust—”

“I *can* do it.

I have before.”

“….”

“So you, you just need

to create a prosthetic for me.

Before I inform the Imperial Court

of your location, that is.”

Of course, even Duke Reinhardt at his current station

would be in a difficult position

if he summoned the Imperial Army,

but Siremu, having spent his days sequestered

in the slums, tinkering with magical devices,

had no way of knowing that.

“…Alright, alright… Are there any

particular functions you desire?”

“If there’s a function that can prevent

my opponent from using magic, that will do.”

“…Then, I suppose I could implement

a sort of dispel… Alright, be gone now.”

“I will remain here,

so I can take it as soon as it’s complete.”

“…Couldn’t you just let me

“Couldn’t you have contacted me separately?”

“It’s my whim, now get started already.”

In that instant, the killing intent

scattered through the air,

and he sighed, a heavy sound,

acknowledging, before retreating into the room.

Duke Reinhardt followed

his retreating figure slowly,

and before he knew it, the old door closed itself,

extinguishing

the sliver of light that had entered,

the darkness filling the space once more.

A deep, deep darkness.

*

Yes, even if almost

all of the village was destroyed,

perhaps it could have been

finished in such a short time.

The elves were all so fiercely independent,

that even without a leader,

they could handle

the remaining tasks well enough.

But, even if that were the case,

she would have no reason to

return here, would she?

Especially since this place was filled with

humans, whom they considered so lowly.

“Hmm? Why are you

staring at me so intently?”

“..It’s nothing, truly.”

“You almost embarrassed me, you.”

“….”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t look at me like that.”

He tells me to look at him, then tells me to not look,

I don’t know

what he wants me to do.

The situation

that had suddenly befallen me

made the ache in my head grow sharper,

so I gripped it with my hand.

Once again, a woman drew near, right to my side,

her hair, always and everywhere,

that lovely azure

of the sky.

It was Isabella.

“Excuse me… you seem to be enjoying yourselves, but…”

“…”

Just what part of the previous

conversation could possibly seem enjoyable?

I glanced at her for a moment, but

she, who only moments ago

had been so carefully watching my reaction,

ignored my gaze completely,

as if she’d never done such a thing,

and inserted herself into our conversation once more.

For a fleeting moment,

it was as if she were the woman

who knew me in days gone by.

“The Professor requests, with some urgency,

that you begin the training as early as

today…”

“…Today, you say?”

“Yes… so I was wondering

when you might have the time

to begin.”

…She had, indeed, been lingering

near me for some time now,

but if that was all,

she could have simply said so sooner.

‘Today… Today… My schedule is…’

Empty.

Quite coincidently.

Well, it was almost time

to start earning again, so

I needed to return to the Magic Tower,

and the materials I used for creation

were nearly depleted,

as were the food supplies

Ella had been gathering…

Everything needed buying separately, of course.

But excluding those details,

time stretched out, vast and empty.

Popping into the Magic Tower wouldn’t take long, either,

and while doing the market run, I could pick up

the other ingredients as well.

Other days, I was frantic with busyness,

but why, of all days, did today have to be so free?

Providentially, almost suspiciously so.

“…Today, aside from needing to visit the Magic Tower and

the marketplace, I don’t have any other set plans.”

Just in case, though,

I relay my schedule to her

with a hope blooming in my chest that perhaps, just perhaps,

I might get a day to rest.

“Young Miss? Why the communication crystal all of a sudden…”

“Just a moment…”

“…?”

“Done.”

“…What’s ‘done’?”

“I quickly contacted the Magic Tower.”

“…?”

“I was going to calmly

explain our situation and ask for their understanding…”

“…Miss, wait—”

“Luckily, it seems they

were already being understanding, and said there was no need for us to visit today…!”

Seeing her smile, so radiantly,

felt like a blow to the head, my consciousness momentarily adrift.

I barely managed to

claw back that consciousness, desperate to ask what in the world

she had just done.

But that wish went unfulfilled.

“Hmm? My dear, are you going on a date, perhaps?”

“…?”

“Y-yes? What does that…”

“If not that, then where on earth do the two of them plan to go?”

…In this situation, shouldn’t *I*

be the one at a loss for words,

no matter how you look at it?

So why, from her expression, no different

than a third party, can I sense

a feeling of injustice? Truly, I wondered.

“Princess…it’s not like that,

Professor Oliver asked us to…”

Thankfully, due to Isabella’s

coherent explanation,

she nodded repeatedly,

seemingly understanding

the situation in her own way—

“Sounds rather amusing?”

“…Pardon?”

“Couldn’t I perhaps come along?”

…like hell.

The situation just got more complicated.