Editing Tales of Leo Attiel:Volume1 Chapter2 (section)

===Part 3===


The boy introduced himself as ‘Kuon’.

It was a strange name. That the boy himself turned aside and almost spat it out was probably because he had been laughed at every time he had given it since he was here. In this area, ‘kuon’ was the sound used when imitating a dog’s bark, and puppies especially might childishly be called “kuonkuons”. 

He said that he was from the mountainous region south of the Kesmai Plains.

''That place?''

Percy felt that things made sense now. He had never been there himself, but maps of the principality depicted a mountain range known as “the Fangs” beyond those plains. Because of how rugged and inaccessible they were, these mountains were cut off from the surrounding countries, and he had heard that they were inhabited by people with unique customs, commonly referred to simply as “the mountain people”.

They made their living by hunting and by fishing in the bay that lay further south of the mountain range. The young men also had another task. Bandits, outlaws being chased by their countries, the occasional group belonging to fallen nobles... – exactly like Conscon Temple, there were plenty of people who tried to invade that land which lay apart from other countries. Every time, the young men would pick up their swords and guns. Because they had constructed a small harbour in the bay, they had their own independent trade routes, and so it was easy for them to obtain weapons. They were a tribe which did not accept being ruled by others: they had a strong sense of autonomy, and they would bravely oppose any group that threatened their way of life.

Kuon probably also had a history of taking arms and fighting invaders. The precision of his movements suddenly made sense if it had been honed through actual combat. 

When he asked him his age, “Eighteen,” was the answer he got back.

“That’s a lie to make it easier to get yourself hired, isn’t it?” Percy retorted as they walked alongside each other. “I’d put you at about sixteen.”

Kuon didn’t reply but, for a second, his eyes opened wide. ''Bull’s eye'', Percy decided.

It was the morning after the brawl. Percy Leegan had waited outside the temple for Kuon to be released. If he left him by himself, those bandits might aim for him. Although aware that he was meddling, Percy had paced around waiting for him since early in the morning, feeling that he was acting precious. Perhaps it was a way of refuting Camus’s accusation that he looked on coldly at other people’s affairs. 

Kuon had appeared, escorted out by two warrior monks armed with spears. The second he had seen Percy, his eyes narrowed. He had not forgotten the previous day’s grudge.

''Here I was, waiting in the same frame of mind as I would a lover, and you’re being so cold…'' Deciding not to say that, Percy lined himself up beside the boy and took a look at him.

His frame was small, but judging from yesterday’s affair, those arms and legs concealed unexpected amounts of strength. He was still only a teenage boy. If he grew well, he would probably fill out impressively within two or three years. 

Although his features still had a trace of childishness, his eyes smouldered with constant irritation and dissatisfaction. Be it Camus – the young monk that he had met the previous day – or Percy himself, there wasn’t a single young man who would feel anything except displeased over the current situation, but Kuon’s displeasure seemed particularly pronounced.

As they walked, Percy tossed him what he had been holding.

“Breakfast,” he explained, and produced his own portion.

It was a kind of orange that grew on the mountain, commonly called ‘Raya’s fruit’ in honour of a saint from the temple who had become famous in his own lifetime. The skin was comparatively cold and had a very sour taste, so children tended to spit it out as soon as they put it in their mouths.

They started to walk side-by-side.

“Raya’s fruit has hard skin,” Percy took out a knife and deftly peeled his orange. Just as he was about to offer to do Kuon’s too, the boy started to gnaw at the peel directly with his teeth, chomping as he rotated it.

''Cute'', thought Percy.

“What? Why are you grinning? It’s creepy,” Kuon said as he spat out the orange peel. Since earlier, he had been walking fast to try and leave Percy behind, but Percy had matched him and stuck with him.

“Heh. I was just thinking about my lover.”

“That so?”

Percy chuckled as he turned his eyes away from the boy who was glaring at him again. He understood perfectly well why he was interested in the kid.

Yesterday’s incident had surprised Percy, but at the same time, he had found it – ''interesting''. At the very least, it wasn’t the sort of thing that could have happened in the normal course of Percy Leegan’s life up until then.

The Leegan family had, for generations, owned a residence in Tiwana, Atall’s capital city. Although they were a fairly prestigious family within the principality, they did not have a fixed territory. As the second son, Percy would neither inherit the residence nor become the head of the family, so instead, his father had recommended that he assist his older brother, who would one day inherit both.

“You could be a scholar. You have the eyes to bravely see to the bottom of things,” he told his son, but Percy was unable to meekly go along with it. Ever since he had been very young, he had been the sort of boy to prefer exhausting himself at martial arts rather than at studying. He could brag of being above average at the handling of sword, spear, horse and gun.  

Seven years ago, he had taken part in his first military campaign. Both his body and soul had been throbbing with excitement. However, because it was his first campaign, he had been stationed on standby in the rear, and he was only entrusted with meaningless tasks such as conveying messages even further back, or scouting out areas that the enemy wasn’t anywhere near. In the end, he had barely sniffed the air of the battlefield before Atall and Allion had reached a peace agreement. 

Percy had cursed his bad luck. Thirteen was not too young to take part in his first campaign, but it was far too young to be able to take the head of an enemy general. Perhaps Atall’s fighting spirit had been crushed in that war, but from then on, there had been no other opportunity to go to war. A year passed, and then another, and while his body grew sturdier, he was left with bitter feelings. 

''If only I was given a place to shine, I would accomplish more for the country than anyone.''

His hazy longing for the battlefield wreaked havoc on his heart and mind. The few years of his mid-teens were a past Percy did not particularly want to look back on. He had gone to the pleasure quarters with several other youths who felt the same kind gloominess as he did, got into fights, and paid frequent visits to the house of a prostitute who was more than twenty years older than him. 

That prostitute had taught Percy a lot. People would probably have roared with laughter if they had known that she lived according to certain religious precepts. He had seen her laugh scornfully at herself for that very reason, yet among the many things that she had taught him, she had passed on a great many good-luck charms to him. Still, there was no denying that most of the things he had learned from her were related to night-time activities.

The pleasure of debauchery and the boundless self-confidence that came from wanting to believe that he was special: those two elements competed within him for three years, during his period of puberty. 

It was also around about that time that he had met his now fiancée, Liana.

He had got to know her at a ball held by her father, who was one of the vassal lords. Her wisdom, her liveliness and, above all, her beauty caused mayhem among the young men of his age. As bad luck would have it, that day, Percy had gotten completely drunk. Egged on by his companions, he had written Liana a love letter as a joke. He had lined up magnificently intricate phrases, which were ostensibly quoting masterpieces from poetry of the ages, but which actually had been filled with hidden sexual metaphors. He and his companions had laughed uncontrollably as they passed it around. 

He had not thought that they would actually convey the letter to her. 

When he found out about it the next morning, Percy had turned pale. After thrashing the friend who had sent the letter, he had hurriedly requested to meet her. Kneeling before her, he had apologised for his rudeness. All the alcohol he had drunk the previous evening turned into a cold sweat that dissipated from his body. After this, he would have had no room to complain even if his house had disowned him. He would have brought it on himself.

“Please lift up your head,” Liana had said. “And first of all, please don’t worry. Since I’m a very lazy student, I really don’t know understand these ‘words of unparalleled vulgarity’ that you are apologising for. I was impressed by the person who had written such a difficult, fastidious and old-fashioned letter. Since I am so lacking in education, won’t you go over and explain your lines one-by-one?”

Although he couldn’t say that it had completely transformed him, that was definitely when something in him had changed.

Having reached twenty, he had managed a reconciliation with Lady Liana, with his parents – who had deplored his debauched ways –, and with his own childish inner turmoil, but the blood still boiled inside him.

Which was why he had been excited when he had received orders to “go to Conscon Temple as reinforcement”.

His position would be a platoon under the command of Lord Nauma Laumarl. In the Principality of Atall, only nobles had the right to lead troops. Percy was able to bring fifty men from the soldiers that his house had in its employ. Compared to other houses, which had hired soldiers temporarily, his men had honed their skills through training. He was certain that he would definitely be able to play an active role in the fighting.

But when he heard about things in detail, it appeared that the identity of Atall’s troops were to be concealed. He was given strict orders not to hoist the flag of the principality – naturally – but also to avoid flying any flag bearing the crest of the House of Leegan. 

''Which means I won’t be able to increase either my military fame or my family honour.''

Percy’s plans had fallen through. There was, of course, no splendid seeing off of the troops. The five hundred soldiers under Nauma Laumarl’s command each left, concealing themselves from public view, and met up in a forest someway apart from the highway, before silently carrying on towards the temple. Most of the soldiers did not talk even when they stopped to take rest. Only their commander, Nauma, had cracked cheerful jokes.

“I wonder if we should also wear masks to hide our faces. That’ll make us look much more mysterious and threatening,” he had suggested to the retainers. The story about being descended from one of the noble families of the Magic Dynasty was also an idea that he had dreamed up during the march.

On top of all of that, what Percy was the most fed up with, was how Nauma Laumarl took every opportunity to summon him and give him chores to do. He would order him to gather firewood, to draw water from tiny brooks, or to do yet another head count of the soldiers.

From time immemorial, the people of Houses Laumarl and Leegan had been on bad terms. It was said that back in the days of Percy’s grandfather, while heading together towards the same battlefield, they had been so zealous about tripping each other up that the sovereign-prince had eventually given them a direct reprimand.

Since they were both proud families, they had, in recent times, avoided letting things come to a head, but two years ago, at a horseback joust held in Atall’s capital city, an unfortunate opportunity had arisen. 

Crowds of representatives from each house, or their proxies, took part in that tournament. Percy, who had only just put the vices of his puberty behind him, had also been told to participate by his father.

He had always been confident in his own martial prowess, and he was proven right when he won in the quarterfinals against Nauma. There were many who knew about the relationship between the two families; the enthusiasm swelled to fever-pitch on the competition grounds, and that excitement had set young Percy’s blood boiling.

The two armour-clad opponents drove their horses towards one another, carrying blunt spears. Contestants received a point if, after they struck them with their spear, their opponent was either unseated from their horse or their posture was thrown too greatly off-balance. Whoever was the first to earn two points was the winner. 

Percy brilliantly took the first point. If he had wanted to, he could easily have taken the second as well. However, Percy went through the motions of swinging his spear, but when Nauma flinched, he did not strike him, and instead, when they were passing by each other, he had plucked the feather attached to Nauma’s helmet. He then brandished it towards the surroundings that burst into cheers and applause. What particularly appealed to them was that it could only have been done if there was a considerable difference in skill between the contestants.

Percy had absolutely not acted out of maliciousness towards Nauma or the Laumarl House. It was simply that he had wanted to respond to the excitement on the competition grounds, and that it was the perfect opportunity to dispel his own gloomy feelings. Naturally, however, the other party did not see it that way.

“That was obnoxious.”

With that declaration, Nauma had dismounted and left the competition grounds. It was not a gracious withdrawal, but Percy’s attitude had not been praiseworthy either, and as a result, the verdict that was handed down was that both families were to be banned from the tournament for a year.

Since then, the relation between the two houses had grown stormy again. 

For Nauma, who harboured a personal hatred towards Percy, this mission was an unexpectedly lucky opportunity. Even though his unhappiness at having to hide his family name was identical to Percy’s, the main point was that the man he detested had been placed under him. The consequence of that was the above-mentioned treatment that Percy was receiving.

''If this continues throughout the war…'' Percy bitterly resented the entire situation. To make matters worse, when they arrived at the temple, they found that its troops were lacking and were, to put it bluntly, a disorderly mob. Nor could they expect any further reinforcements.

''We’re going to lose.''

That was his honest opinion. If Allion took up battle positions and advanced, forget a month, they wouldn’t last ten days. It was true that the temple had positioned canons on the high ground and had deployed soldiers armed with guns by the main gates, so they did have something resembling a battle formation, but at the end of the day, because they had widely recruited mercenaries, there were plenty of people of dubious origin here, and among them there were probably – or rather, there were absolutely certainly – any number of spies from Allion.

Percy’s cause for bitterness just kept growing deeper. Yesterday, Camus had told him that: “I feel that you are keeping your distance from other people’s affairs, and that you have the attitude of a sulky child,” but it was only natural that Percy’s heart should be far from elated at the prospect of a basically useless battlefield, where he would have no chance of gaining fame, and where defeat was clear from the start.

''Still…''

Percy looked towards Kuon, who was eating an orange next to him. His clothes and the area around his mouth were covered in juice. Percy was seized by the impulse to personally wipe it off. 

Could you call it paternal love? Smiling at his own ridiculous thoughts, he continued his conversation with Kuon.

“When did you leave the mountain?”

“Who knows.”

Cold.

Considering that he didn’t seem used to this area, though, Percy guessed that it couldn’t even have been a month since he had left his native land.

“Why did you leave?”

“Who knows.”

“Are you thinking of making your fortune with a sword?”

“Who knows,” Kuon repeated again.

Percy did not give up.

“It doesn’t look like you have any weapons. Did you leave with nothing but yourself?”

“I brought a sword and a bow. But the bow got broken along the way, and the sword… I got so hungry, I sold it in a village while I was travelling.”

“You sold it? That not…” Percy shrugged, genuinely at a loss. “Stop by my unit later. I can give you a sword at least. I’ll lend you a bow, too, if you need it. And with that, you can forgive me for yesterday.”

“I really don’t get it.”

“What’s that?”

“The one who was wrong was that big guy who acting like an idiot. So why was I the only one caught like an escaped monkey… dog, and shoved into a cellar?”

Percy grinned in spite of himself. He felt like he knew why Kuon had corrected himself when he said “monkey”.

“Well, that, huh? If Camus and me hadn’t seized you back there, things would have gotten a lot worse.”

“I wouldn’t have lost.”

“That’s not what it was about.”

Percy’s smile was starting to get strained again when Kuon stopped.

Camus was in a grassy patch to the left of the mountain path that the two of them were walking along. He was swinging a spear by himself. He almost seemed to be soaring as he shifted the position of his feet, and he was repeatedly adjusting his grip and jabbing at the empty air. There was whistle of wind as he did so. He was stripped naked to the waist and sweat was flying from where his muscles were vigorously flexing and contracting. He stopped when he noticed them.

“Ah, Boy. Were you let out? That was quick. Oh, Sir Percy as well.”

“Even though I went out of my way to go and meet him, he’s been giving me nothing but indifference.”

Perhaps because of what had happened the previous day, both Percy and Camus had unbent a little. Incidentally, aside from Kuon being sixteen, Percy was twenty and Camus, according to what was said yesterday, was apparently nineteen. Probably because his eyebrows were constantly set at a stern angle, Camus tended to look five or six years older than his actual age.

Percy introduced the boy to Camus as ‘Kuon’.

“Well then Kuon, you have us to thank. You came from the countryside so you probably don’t know your way around at all. But if you let your instinct get you into fights, then sooner or later, some bandit or another will catch you napping and kill you. Or maybe you’ll find yourself left with only the shirt on your back, and I wouldn’t be surprised if two or three days after that, you didn’t end up joining a band of ruffians and working as a robber yourself.”

Kuon flushed red.

“Don't you call me a robber. I’ve already carved up any number of those bastards.”

“In the case of enemies, obviously, killing them isn’t a problem,” said Percy. “But everyone here is, more or less, an ally.  Since we’re going to be facing a powerful foe, it’s best not to quarrel with friends, you know?”

“As soon as he made fun of me and threw food at me, that guy became an enemy,” Kuon erupted angrily. “He wouldn’t have had any right to complain even if I’d killed him on the spot.”

“That must be how things are done where you’re from,” Camus’s spoke in a vaguely interested tone as he wiped away his sweat. “But when you go to a different place, the way of doing things is, naturally, also different.  In your case, you probably have neither creed nor faith, so you need to learn how things are done here if you want to live long. With your way of doing things, you’ll make ten new enemies in a day. In ten days, there’ll be a hundred. Even you can’t cut down a hundred or a thousand enemies.”

“If I kill them on the day they become enemies, then there won’t be a hundred after ten days.”

“What’s this? This guy has an answer to everything.”

They traded retorts. By no means did Camus seem like a patient person, and his eyebrows were already starting to bristle. Sensing that fact, Kuon jumped backwards.

“You want to bring it on? You meddled with my fight yesterday, so that means that you’re also part of the enemies I made yesterday.”

“Aha, ha, ha, ha,” Camus bent his head backwards and laughed heartily. That was probably because Kuon’s taunts sounded completely wrong in his high-pitched voice. No doubt Camus found it cute. 

Kuon, however, was sensitive to being laughed at after yesterday. His expression changed entirely and he leaped towards Camus.

“Oh!”

Camus avoided the fist at the last second, but his expression had changed. He spun the spear he was holding and aimed its handle at the bridge of Kuon’s nose. The way Kuon suddenly drew back his head and avoided it looked, just as Sarah had said, more like the movement of a wild beast than of a warrior.

“Don’t mess with me, boy. Next time, I won't miss.”

“You didn’t miss, I dodged. But same here, next time, I’ll bloody your face for you.”

“This guy’s always got more to say,” Camus, half-wrathful, half-astounded, seemed genuinely fascinated by this almost feral boy. His expression changed once more.

“You really seem like a lost cause, but it is to ignorant men like you that we need to preach God’s teachings. Kuon, would you not receive baptism and the revelation of God? Your hardened heart may find some comfort from them. Through that comfort, your heart will be nourished and, with an enriched heart and mind, you will be able to find meaning to your life. If you continue on in this situation, biting anyone around you, only the life of a stray dog awaits you.”

His appeal at least had the effect of leaving Percy flabbergasted.

“God, huh? The mountain had a mountain god,” for some reason, Kuon’s tone grew even more vicious and he shook off the hand that Camus was about to touch his shoulder with. “Even though God uses people to carry out the punishments that he hands down, he never grants the desperate prayers that people send up.”

“It is not for God to grant prayers, Kuon. To love God is first to face oneself. Once your heart is filled with modesty, it will be emptied and, in every phenomenon that you encounter, you will be able to find God.”



On the evening of the day that strange exchange took place, another incident occurred. One that again involved Kuon, Camus and Percy.

Percy had returned to his unit for a while to check on the soldiers. Nauma, his superior officer, had been summoned to the temple. It was for a council of war, but Percy did not know what exactly they were meeting to talk about. Broadly speaking, it was Bishop Rogress who was in full command: the warrior monks were certainly full of spirit, but they were amateurs in actual military affairs.

Once Percy returned to town, he found that Kuon and Camus were still together. 

''Oh? Is really is trying to make Kuon into a servant of God?''

A brand-new sword was hanging at the boy’s back: Percy had given it to him, just as he had promised. Camus, a book in one hand, was about to launch into some sort of impassioned speech, whereas Kuon had was resting his chin in his hands and was staring absentmindedly at where children were playing in front of the houses. 

''You can preach, but he isn’t listening to a single word.''

Percy’s lips formed into a smile. Still, when he was daydreaming, Kuon looked defenceless and very young. The irritation and displeasure that were constantly blazing in his gaze seemed to lose some of their intensity. Percy could remember: young people sometimes didn’t know what to do with the forcefulness of their emotions, and would go as still as a cat sleeping in the sun.

Percy was about to call out to the two of them but swallowed his words before he could do so. The people walking along the street had stepped back to either side of it, making way for the band of ruffians who were swaggering boldly down the centre. It was the same bunch that had stirred up trouble with Kuon the previous day.

''Rigaund, wasn’t it?''

After what had happened yesterday, Percy had been gathering information. Their chief was called Rigaund, and he had previously been a mercenary in a different country. However, when it had come to light that he was secretly receiving funds from the enemy, he had promptly escaped over the border. There, he had joined a group of bandits and, in barely a year, he had gathered two hundred subordinates. 

More than half of them, though, had originally belonged to a different band; Rigaund had killed their chief and absorbed the rest of them into his own group. The bald man who was currently sauntering at his side had once been an underling in that other gang, and it was said that he had been the one to help Rigaund. Perhaps in recognition of that service, he had been appointed as his vice-chief.

Kuon eyed them with hatred. He clearly couldn’t stomach yielding the road to them. 

“Humans intent on serious matters do not concern themselves with trifles,” Camus grasped him by the shoulder and pulled him back.

Noticing Kuon’s presence, Rigaund’s lips curved into a supercilious smile.

“Oh-ho, yesterday’s monkey? That was a lot of fun. Don’t you want to play today?”

Kuon didn’t answer. He seemed to think that the previous day’s uproar might have been a bit overboard.

“Lost your nerve, I see,” this time, Rigaund laughed out loud. “The beast is chained up and howling from its cage.”

Just as he was about to go past Kuon, someone stepped out into to middle of the road from among the crowd of people on either side.

“Oi!” Camus raised his voice.

Since they were right in front of him, Rigaund had no choice but to stop. 

“What?” yet although his expression was threatening as he asked that question, he did not appear particularly angry. Which was understandable, given that the person who had stepped out was a woman – or rather, it would be more appropriate to call her a girl.

It was Sarah, Camus’s younger sister. She was smiling, and her smile was resplendent enough to turn the darkness into light.

Rigaund responded with a vulgar smirk. “Little miss nun, why don’t you come play with us instead? You’ll have a way better time than with that ball-less brat.”

Camus’ expression started to darken. That was hardly surprising since his little sister was being treated like a prostitute. Sarah, however, continued smiling with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Isn’t there someone else you should be playing with before me?” she spoke teasingly. Who knew what she was thinking.

Rigaund was still smirking but the mouth hidden beneath his black beard soon shut when Sarah leaped towards his chest with startling agility and whispered something his ear.

“… she’s called. You get on well with her, don’t you?”

It looked like she had given the name of someone he knew. While Rigaund remained silent, Sarah once again seemed to jump lightly, this time away from him.

“The place you’re lodging at is a convent, right? Apart from the servants, the sisters also take it in turns to go and help do the cleaning and the laundry, right?”

Rigaund looked away. The fifteen or sixteen men following behind him exchanged glances.

There was a convent a little way away from the temple grounds. Normally, it was where the nuns and novices lived, but currently, as Sarah had just said, it was being used as a lodging house for soldiers. 

“Is that how you came to have an eye on her? That girl is still only a novice, but before that, she used to be the wife of a blacksmith who lived at the foot of the mountain. She came here after losing her husband when she was young. Maybe that’s why she’s unusually sexy, even though she doesn’t wear any makeup. It’s no wonder she caught the eye of a man like you.”

Kuon, Camus and Percy watched with suspicion as the conversation unfolded. Only Sarah was still smiling brightly.

“We’re friends, her and me.”

“Yeah? That’s nice. Oi, we’re leaving,” Rigaund called out to his men, clearly unhappy with this conversation. Sarah, however, stood directly in his way.

“I wanted to thank you for getting along so well with her. To thank you for using the excuse that your clothes were torn, then pushing her down as soon as you got her alone.”

“Shut up, nun,” Rigaund finally barred his teeth. “Move it. Or do you want me to make it so that you can’t stand on your legs either?”

Rigaund’s men were getting noisy. It didn’t look as though they were enjoying his joke. Percy watched them carefully. Rigaund had pretty much admitted that he had raped the woman. They were originally bandits, and that kind of group wasn’t likely to censure him for something like that. They had come here as mercenaries, however. The fighting had not yet begun, and so they had not yet been paid. Percy noticed that a somewhat fed up expression flitted across the men’s faces.

''Something similar has probably happened before. And more than once. That Rigaund’s caused a mess and they’ve had to look for work elsewhere without getting paid'', Percy felt an instantaneous conviction.

“Oh, no. Here…”

Sarah suddenly brought forward her hands which had been clasped behind her waist. She was grasping a gun. It was small compared to the weapons that infantrymen usually carried, and was the kind of short-barrelled gun that could be used from horseback, although its accuracy was also proportionality reduced. Which was why Sarah had placed herself right in front Rigaund. 

“…have my ''thanks''.”

“W-Wait,” fear coloured Rigaund’s expression.

Percy felt that it served him right, but he certainly did not expect her to unhesitatingly pull the trigger. 

Amidst the wind that carried the colours of dusk, the gun roared. A hole opened in Rigaund’s forehead, and his huge body toppled backwards.

Amidst the wind that carried the colours of dusk, the gun roared. A hole opened in Rigaund’s forehead, and his huge body toppled backwards.

The atmosphere in the streets changed completely: noise erupted, some thought it was an enemy attack, women screamed. And among that commotion –

“Y-You bitch!”

“Now you’ve done it!”

Two of Rigaund’s men who seemed especially hot-headed were about to lunge at Sarah with their broad blades drawn.

Faster than Sarah could react, a whirlwind blew behind her. Just before the wind could hit her in the back, it parted in two.

The right gust turned into Kuon. Unsheathing the sword at his back, he slashed straight through the arm of the man who was brandishing his blade overhead. In a gush of blood, the arm, severed at the elbow, went flying in the sky.
[[Image: Leo_Attiel_Den_v01_110.png|thumb]]
The second gust of wind was Camus. He jabbed the butt end of his spear at the chest of the other man who had sprung towards Sarah.

The men collapsed on either side of her. It happened so fast there was no time even to blink. For a moment, the other men stood there blankly, as though they thought they were hallucinating, and even Percy caught his breath.

''I thought Camus was good, but I didn’t think he was'' that ''good. And Kuon…''

His earlier stillness, like that of a cat sleeping in the sun, had vanished who knew where, and with his naked steel blade at the ready, Kuon seemed as energised as though a fire had surged up from within him.

The flames of irritation and displeasure that had been flickering in his eyes had suddenly dissolved, and those eyes were now simply gazing at enemies. Was that what a warrior looked like? For Percy, who was dragging along his regrets over his first campaign, it was an almost divine sight.

He quickly tore his away from Kuon. This was no time to be lost in admiration: if things went on like this, allies on the same side would end up killing one another.

Looking towards them, he saw that the men were still in shock. 

There it is – this time, it was Percy who stepped forward. He was headed for the men who were belatedly reaching for the weapons hanging at their waists or from their backs.

“Wait, waitwait,” just like Camus had yesterday, he shouted loudly. He spread both his hands out, indicating that he was not going to go for a weapon. “Rigaund went too far. Don’t you agree, Matthew?” he called out.

Matthew was the afore-mentioned vice-chief. The bald man blinked in confusion.

“H-How do you know my name?”

“Because everyone in your group’s been talking about it. Saying that Rigaund guy is too hot-blooded whereas everything seems to go a lot smoother with Matthew. You guys there think so too, no? If you fight to avenge Rigaund here and now, it won’t just be us you’ll be facing, but all the monks at the temple.” 

Making use of his momentum, Percy talked as though his words represented the opinion of the entire temple. And in any case, both Camus and Sarah were wearing clerical robes. The men’s expressions, Matthew’s included, turned hesitant. Rigaund hadn’t been their chief for very long, and there was basically not a single one of them who was willing to risk their life to get revenge for him. For the rest, it was a question of honour.

“Setting that aside – Matthew, if you could gather up the men and talk to them. The temple too would rather have you as their leader than a rapist like Rigaund. I and Camus here will negotiate with the top brass.”

Percy didn’t give the other side time to question anything. As a result, Matthew put away his weapon.

“That’d better not be a lie.”

“I don’t want to make enemies out of you.”

Matthew walked up to the man whose right arm had been sliced through and who was faint with agony, dragged him up by the shoulders, and forced him to stand. He had set look in his eyes. He was a man who had only ever followed and obeyed others, but this was probably the decisive turning point for him. As he was leaving, he spat on Rigaund’s corpse.

“The cur caused far too much trouble.”

Matthew called out to the men and, one after another, they crossed the street, following after him. Only the corpse and the crowd about to break into a commotion were left. Among them –

“Sarah, what were you planning?” infuriated, Camus walked up to his sister. “Were you even thinking? What would have happened if we hadn’t been there?”

“I’m sorry,” even while apologising, Sarah was laughing breathlessly. “But of course I was thinking. After firing once, I was planning to run and hide behind that building, then pick of the guys who gave chase one by one.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to keep up that level of shooting. You’d have been caught in no time.”

“I hid guns all over the place. So I ''could'' have kept up rapid fire.”

The argument seemed to be veering off in a somewhat strange direction. Percy watched the two siblings, his heart throbbing. He had helped to carry corpses and seriously wounded soldiers from the battlefields during his first campaign, but this was definitely his first time actually witnessing a woman shoot someone down.

And yet, what left him dumbfounded was Sarah’s smile and insouciance. Thin trails of gunpowder smoke wafted through the surrounding air, and the smell of blood started to assail his nostrils. A point in Percy’s chest burned hot. It was partly also because of having witnessed Kuon and Camus’s martial prowess right before his eyes. For a second, Percy felt dizzy from the strange sensation that all his different, jumbled-up emotions were melting into that heat and being boiled together in it.

No, it wasn’t just the feelings coursing through his blood that were cast into that heat, but all of those days that he had spent as the second son of the Leegan House. All that time during which he had been protected by stone walls, during which he had read, trained, taken part in jousting tournaments, played pranks with other youths his age, and burned with regrets that were appropriate to his age, all of those experiences, seemed about to turn into bubbles and burst.

Meanwhile, Kuon, who had been silent until he had wiped the gore from his sword and returned it to its scabbard, now started muttering just deliberately loud enough to be heard.

“Makes sense,” he carefully enunciated each word, probably conscious of how thick his accent was, “Is this what you guys mean about thinking ahead before you act? Is she acting like how things are done here, and is that god’s way of doing things? At the end of the day, it’s not a bit different from how I do things.”

Camus grimaced at the obvious sarcasm.

“My younger sister is still only partway there. Just like you, she needs to spend time from here on studying God’s teachings and…”

“Yesterday, that one who’s ‘partway there’ called me a monkey and stepped on my face.”

Camus had nothing he could say in response to that. Percy’s instincts were telling him that for all this boy called Kuon had been brought up differently than he would have been in a town, he was no fool.

“What’s this,” Sarah’s always slightly slanted eyebrows tilted at a sharper angle than usual. “And here I was planning to thank you. Are you never happy unless you’re kicking up a fuss?”

“What your big brother said was right. If you’d been alone, you’d be dead. Tortured to death at that. If you want to live long, you need to change the way you live.”

“…”

They had only met the day before, but Percy reflected that people who were able to shut both siblings up were probably rare. 

Just like yesterday, a stream of monks came running. Percy and Camus were pressed into explaining the situation to them. As though to say this had nothing to do with him, Kuon was slipping away by himself, out from the ring of people. Sarah, who should have been the main person concerned by it all, also stole quickly away from the group.

“Kuon,” she called out to him. 

The boy looked back, startled. The girl dressed like a nun gave him a broad grin. “I heard your name from my big brother. Anyway, this is just to say thanks. Thank you for earlier.”

“Don’t need it. They were pissing me off too. So much, I wanted to kill the big guy myself.”

“You really seem offended,” Sarah’s smile was replaced with an irritated expression. “If you’re saying that I’m the same today as you were yesterday, then please, by all means, you should drag me down and trample all over my head and neck,” she stuck out her chest with a challenging attitude. She was probably unyielding by nature.

“I’d be stupid to do the same thing as a little girl,” was all that Kuon said before walking away down the street and disappearing from sight.

Sarah stood standing there in silence for a moment, but, after a few seconds, a torrent of insults that were incredible coming from the servant of a god started spilling at terrific speed from her plump, shapely lips.


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===References and Translation Notes===
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