Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 156

Meditation. The East defined it as the sinking of thoughts. However, it should not be understood that way. What must be stilled were only the distracting thoughts and obsessions that disturbed true thought, while thought itself must be sunk deep, with even the five senses closed off.

Thus, meditation could also mean “to think deeply.” It began by finding a quiet place, closing the eyes, and severing all outside stimulation. Of course, if one had true mastery of the self, one would not be limited by one’s location or environment.

It’s dark, Leon thought.

When the chatter of stray thoughts cleared from his inner world, all that remained in the void was silence and darkness, just like a night sky without a single star. Like the floor of the ocean, where even the currents had ceased to move.

Entering the inner world was not the privilege of mages alone. Warriors could do it as well. In fact, it was something they had to do when the time came. That thought brought back old memories.

—Just as magic does not focus only on stillness while neglecting movement, martial arts must also embrace the methods of stillness if one hopes to reach higher realms. If you devote yourself only to movement, it may grow larger and more dazzling, but it will lack depth.

El-Cid had always been like that. Words spoken lightly, in passing, always returned to guide him at crucial moments. As if leading Leon, wandering without direction, El-Cid’s voice resounded from distant memory.

Why was it that in this inner world, where not even a step ahead could be seen, that voice alone shone like starlight, illuminating the path before him? When had it begun? Leon was walking, though he knew not where to.

—'Cultivate yourself, put your household in order, govern the state, and bring peace to the world.’ Something like that? Well, this isn’t quite the same, but dealing with your inner world is no different. If you can’t even manage yourself, how can you presume to speak of the world beyond your body? Your psychic power is only the basics of the basics. To advance to deeper stages, you must first ‘know yourself.’

Know thyself. Who first said it, he didn’t know, but it was a famous saying. The first time Leon had heard it, he thought it wouldn’t be difficult.

And why would he? When he left the Academy, he had already cast off the lingering regrets and feelings of inferiority he had carried for years. Even the faint traces that remained, he had overcome after leaping over trials and hardships.

I’ve overcome my past.

Or so he had thought. Until he heard that voice.

“I just want to give it all up.”

Leon instantly recognized whose voice it was. There was no room for mistakes.

No way.

And so, he didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to look upon the pitiful boy crouched only a few meters behind him. Just as his heart, calm as a lake, began to ripple, a familiar voice set his heart straight again.

—Do not turn away from weakness. Being weak doesn’t make you worthless, and being strong doesn’t make you great. Only with soft places can the hard places exert their strength. Accept your weakness and make it the foundation of your strength. If you don’t understand fear, you’ll never awaken courage.

Not knowing fear isn’t courage?

—Nope. That’s just being reckless.

Recalling his younger days, Leon couldn’t help but chuckle.

I guess I was never reckless.

However, as he turned his head, steadied heart already shaken again, he found it was at least better than before. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself, and Leon finally looked behind him.

There he was.

“I want to quit. This nonsense, no matter how many years I keep at it, is meaningless.”

His training sword split in two and thrown aside, the boy sat on the ground with his head buried between his knees, broken by futile effort and repeated defeats.

“I’m not special...”

The Academy uniform. Hair shorter than it was when he wore it. A body and heart worn to tatters, reaching their limit—his younger self, from years ago, sat slumped there, a damp, faltering voice spilling out like sobs.

“I wish I’d been born a noble.”

Each word tore at Leon’s lungs and heart. It hurt all the more because they were his own thoughts. Words he’d never spoken aloud, but had thought and swallowed down, now overflowed from the mouth of his past self.

“I wish I were better looking than Lyon. I wish I’d been a prodigy with the sword. I wish there was no one better than me...”

He had always thought those weaknesses were ugly, so he’d locked them away. Now, the past pierced him sharply, the hidden duplicity from the deepest reaches of his inner world rising to the surface.

The boy who muttered that hard work was meaningless, even as he insisted it would be rewarded. The boy who swore he could beat Lyon, even as he believed he never could. The boy who pretended to understand Chloe’s feelings, while resenting her, thinking she would only choose someone rich and noble.

It’s too painful to look at... Leon thought as he fought the urge to turn away. So, my heart was this full of ugliness.

He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to acknowledge that this pettiness, this ugliness, this weakness was part of himself. Even after defeating Lyon in a duel, leaving the Academy, overcoming trials again and again, the scars of long ago still lingered in his heart.

And because Leon did not turn away, the scene of his inner world shifted once more. This time, he appeared in the garb of an adventurer.

“I saved Blaine!” shouted the other Leon, puffing out his chest triumphantly. “Lyon never could have done it! Rubena too—I saved it because I was the Hero!”

A base, despicable sense of superiority. Facing it, Leon barely suppressed the nausea that rose in his throat.

“It should have been this way from the start! Lyon was nothing more than a stepping stone for me to become a Hero! Hah! What hardships could some pampered little prince from the palace have ever known?”

Filthy, vile words. Someone bearing his own face was spitting out that contemptible scorn, looking down on others with arrogance. Leon wanted to vomit a dozen times.

However, he held back the urge to say, “No.” He held back the urge to scream, “Shut up.”

For some reason, he felt he mustn’t. To deny and suppress his weakness would mean he hadn’t embraced all of himself.

This time, that Leon turned to him and spoke.

“Hey, you think so too, don’t you? That damned prince got what he deserved because of me! Hero? Hah! He’s lucky if he doesn’t end up licking the Mad Emperor’s feet! Hahaha!”

Leon stared wide-eyed at “him.” At the twisted face that spat venom about Lyon, seeking agreement from another version of himself.

“...”

“What? Going to act high and mighty all by yourself? I am you! The hatred for Lyon, the glee at his downfall—that was all your heart! If you plan to deny it, then—”

For the first time, Leon met his gaze and said, “Thank you.”

“What...?”

Leaving “him” speechless, Leon continued, “Thank you for hating in my place. Thank you for grieving in my place. Thank you for rejoicing in my place. Without you, I could never have become who I am today.”

“N-no, what nonsense...”

“And.” Leon grasped his hands and said, “I’m sorry. For leaving you cast away in the dark for so long.”

At that, “his” expression changed. The eyes and mouth twisted with deep-seated hatred and resentment trembled, as if holding back sobs that threatened to burst out.

Leon didn’t need to look closely. He knew. Because what stood before him was his own heart.

“It’s all okay now,” Leon said.

“Really...?”

“Yes. I won’t neglect you anymore.”

Leon pulled him forward, urging him to come with him. “He” did not resist. Drawn close, he dissolved into Leon as a faint shimmer of light.

This was different from when Leon had strained himself pretending to be strong. Now, he could accept his weakness without denial. Now, he could embrace even the ugliness and vow to become a better man.

“Ah. So that’s it,” only then did Leon grasp the truth of this inner world. “Body and heart—they’ve always been one.”

The heart defined the self. In the physical world, the heart was only the contents of the body. But if the heart could step outside the body, it became something else entirely.

El-Cid had called it the “mind-body”. If willpower were the force that painted over the world, then the mind-body could move through it as freely as flesh. It could not become anything, but depending on how one defined themselves, it could wield power accordingly.

Then, El-Cid asked, —Leon, who are you?

Leon naturally turned toward the Holy Sword El-Cid. Because their link was shared, they could meet even in this inner world.

Leon’s eyes went wide as he looked upon him: El-Cid—or rather, Holy King Rodrick.

And for good reason.

“T-the Sun!?”

In the inner world, beings manifested in the shape their heart defined. One who saw themselves as a predator might appear as a beast, one who thought themselves a free traveler might become the wind.

And Rodrick’s mind-body was the Sun. At some point, the darkness of the inner world had been driven out entirely by that radiance, and the whole world blazed with light.

What kind of absurd...

This was the first time Leon had truly seen his master’s essence. He had been too weak to measure El-Cid’s martial power, too uncomprehending to grasp the greatness of what he showed.

The inner world’s shapes, however, were honest and intuitive. Strength could not be hidden, nor weakness. One’s form was laid bare. The Holy Sword, carrying only a fragment of Holy King Rodrick’s soul, appeared this brilliant.

Leon looked upon him and admitted, “El-Cid, I could never become like you.”

—Well, that’s true.

El-Cid did not deny it. He knew how unnatural his own existence was. A mutant born of astronomical odds—the culmination of all human possibility and talent, brought to its absolute peak. From mankind’s birth to its extinction, another like Rodrick would never appear.

So, he felt no disappointment in Leon’s words. It was only natural.

However, Leon’s next words were unexpected.

“But I’ll chase after you.”

—Are you serious?

Every genius who had lived in Rodrick’s age had despaired, broken by the comparison. And Leon’s talent was a dozen steps beneath theirs.

It was impossible. It could never succeed.

El-Cid’s insight pierced the future as always; certain Leon would never stand at his side. Encouraging him would only lead to deeper despair. And yet...

“Whether possible or impossible, it doesn’t matter.”

Flames surged up behind Leon’s back, cutting off El-Cid. Blazing flame, resplendent golden light, surged upward like a pair of wings.

In his inner world, the form Leon defined for himself was wings. Seeing how Leon had chosen to define himself, El-Cid laughed, half in surprise, half in delight.

—Kahaha! So, 'the challenger,’ hey? Are you saying with those pitiful little wings you’ll climb all the way up to the sky where I dwell!?

“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

To soar toward the Sun, he wished for wings so he would not remain complacent in the position of Holy King’s disciple. Even as he stood before El-Cid’s mind-body, Leon did not retreat a single step. He squared his shoulders and cried out with pride.

“You told me once. That the Hero is destined for inevitable defeat.”

—Ah, that I did.

“Then I’ll prove you wrong!”

Right before Rodrick himself, he declared he would surpass the Holy King.

“Even one not born great can achieve it! I’ll prove it by defeating you, that someone born ordinary can create a tomorrow better than today, and the day after better still! I’ll build a world greater than the peace you brought, Holy King Rodrick!”

El-Cid, pleased by such resolve, spoke.

—Hahaha! You really are being serious right now, aren’t you? I like it! Even Kasim, that great clunk of meat, couldn’t move a muscle when faced with my mind-body—yet you dare shout you’ll defeat me? As expected of my disciple! In that spirit, I’ll grant your mind-body a name!

Wings that challenge the Sun. In ancient myth, there had been one who attempted such a feat.

Icarus.

He soared on wings of wax, striving to reach beyond to the Sun, only to fall. A tragic figure, but he had also become a symbol of mankind’s yearning for the unknown, its defiance of limits.

Now, Leon would follow in those footsteps. With talent and birth as fragile as wax wings, he challenged Rodrick—who from birth had reigned in the sky.

Some would scoff, saying the outcome was obvious. El-Cid alone genuinely looked forward to his success.

—I’ll call it Icarus Wing.

From the ancient myths, in that distant age when gods besides the Goddess of Mercy still gazed down from the heavens. He was one who dared rise skyward, knowing the majesty of the divine. Though he failed, his daring spirit was worthy of recognition.

—Do you dislike carrying the name of a failure?

“No, it’s a splendid name.”

Leon looked back over his shoulder as he answered.

Icarus Wings, the wings of golden flame. Though a form manifested only in his inner world, Leon instinctively knew he could wield this mind-body in the outer world as well.

A force free from physical law, because it lacked material substance. He somehow knew it could slash like a blade, shield his body like armor, even carry him aloft like true wings. And if he willed it, he could use it to explosively accelerate his movements.

Icarus.

Even in failure, there had been meaning. In a way, he was like a Hero, too—one who challenges battles that cannot be won, who pursues ideals. Leon, vowing to surpass Rodrick, was as much a challenger of impossible dreams as Icarus had been.

El-Cid continued, —You’ve awakened your mind-body—now only one step remains. The final wall before becoming a true Master: the fulfillment of karma.

“I’ve accumulated no small amount of karma already, haven’t I?”

—If you sought to become a mere ordinary Master, it would suffice.

However, Leon was walking the royal road of martial arts that no longer existed in this age, as the last disciple of Holy King Rodrick. Before even becoming an Aura Master, he had already gained the use of Psychokinesis and mind-body, and he was surely the only one who had done so.

Unlike other Masters, he alone faced no limit on the Aura Blade. Thus, the scale of karma he required was beyond imagining, the kind of burden that would demand a hundred years of ascetic struggle through normal means.

And yet El-Cid spoke as though it were nothing.

—Well, don’t worry. The thing you’re about to face will be more than enough.

“What?! How do you know that?”

—I can’t tell you directly, but most things are visible even from within the Holy Sword. It seems they’re starting to move in earnest now.

Not Leon, nor even the priests of this age, would yet know of this enemy.

—Nephren-Ka... That damned bastard has been summoned.

El-Cid clenched his teeth, sensing the foul, nauseating aura writhing from beyond the desert.

A pawn of an exogod. Once a ruler of an ancient kingdom, he had failed to resist temptation, turning his entire people into shades of the underworld. Judging by the scale of the power, this wasn’t a full summoning, but he was a creature that fed on the living to grow stronger, so no comfort could be taken.

This abomination was also known as the “Black Pharaoh.” A monster who, if devoured enough death to complete his imperfect vessel, could manifest the divinity of a demi-god.