—Kill him.
My brother…
—Cut him down.
I looked at my right hand, which was holding the sword. My hand remained steady.
However, I felt an uncontrollable tremor beginning to take over my body. My mind regained rationality, but my body could not shake off the instincts of a sword demon. If things continued like this, it wouldn't be long before I became one with the sword and lost myself again.
"...It's been so long since I held a sword. I can no longer control it like before."
Sword demon. One who wields the sword, but in reality is controlled by the sword.
—Kill him.
If a sword demon cannot break free from the control of its sword for a prolonged period of time, it falls into a state of "complete assimilation." In this state, they lose human rationality and degenerate into a ruthless sword beast, only capable of cutting everything they see. Once completely fused, the sword demon can never be human again. They were marked as targets and were hunted and killed. There was no other possible outcome.
Can't I completely suppress these instincts if I achieve full unity of body and mind?
—Cut him down.
The loud buzzing in my ears enveloped my mind. These damn instincts... At that moment, a black aura similar to mine brushed my cheek and flew towards the waterfall. The rocks behind the waterfall crumbled and fell instantly.
—Hey, woman. Snap out of it and regain your sanity.
The man, no, Andert, pointed his sword at me with an expression of disgust.
—I'll help you, so get out of there. It'll be a real pain if someone like you completely fuses their ego with their sword, so stay calm. You're not a sword demon crazy enough to want to massacre Westwinterre, right?
—Kill him.
As I slowly slid my finger into the gap of the wound in my shoulder, I replied.
—Well, yes.
The surge of unknown presences rushed towards us at that moment. Three knights who had just arrived were at the waterfall, looking at us.
—Sir Gavroche.
Andert looked at the knights, who seemed ready to attack at any moment, and smiled briefly.
—Don't bother coming down, useless latecomers. Just get lost.
—But…
—But this, but that, get lost. If you don't want to get tangled up in this and die for no reason.
At the chilling command, the knights obediently backed away.
—Ha. Now they're up to no good... Damn, it's getting annoying. How did you manage to stop a sword demon on the brink of complete fusion?
—To stop the fusion, you must maintain their sense of identity by talking to them about anything.
Andert looked at me coldly as I kindly gave him an answer.
—This crazy sword demon... you sure have a good sense of humor. You want me to talk to you? Fine, I'll talk to you all you want. Did you just call me Andert? That's not my name. You're confusing me with someone else.
—Cut him down.
—Are you wrong?
—Yes, it's a mistake. Sometimes people confuse me with "that man." The hero, Andert Fager. It's not that their minds are damaged along with their eyes. Even if it's a mistake, how can you confuse the dead with the living?
—Kill him.
Look at him. He was angry because he confused Andert with Andert.
—Pfft Puh-ha…! Ah, ow.
When a sharp pain ran through my spine, my mouth was sealed. Oh, I wanted to laugh out loud, but I couldn't. The life of a swordsman with a pierced shoulder was so miserable.
—Ah, ah. —I turned my shoulders and shook my feet, withdrawing the fingers that were stuck in the wound.
Andert looked at me like I was a crazy woman. The pain was so intense that it cleared my mind. The life of a sword demon, where pain was necessary to maintain sanity, was truly agonizing.
—Uf ... Mistake? It's not that. It's your mistake to think you're called Gavroche. It's the people who know you as Gavroche who are wrong. You are not Gavroche. You think I wouldn't know?
The man I was facing at that moment was Gavroche, not Andert. Gavroche Berkley-Gratten. The most promising heir of the Berkley-Gratten family. A young man with exceptional talent, even if compared to the celebrated Jean Berkley-Gratten, known as a sword genius. And perhaps the one who stole Dian Cecht's Diary under the sword master's command.
Then I looked again at Andert and not Gavroche. Another Fager. A boy who enlisted in the Imperial Army to protect his hometown, Queen's Island, at the tender age of less than twenty. He died in battle after a year, but his body was never found in the burning ruins of Queen's Island. And my only family.
The family I couldn't protect.
"But he didn't die. He's alive. But he doesn't remember me. So what if he doesn't remember? If my dead brother has come back to life, does it matter if he remembers me?"
Memories could return when a person was squeezed. That's how my younger brother always was.
—You.
Andert's green eyes looked at me with a murderous expression. That's not scary at all, you damn punk who can't even recognize his sister.
—You know me.
—Of course, I know you very well. Your real name isn't Gavroche. That's probably the name the sword master gave you. It's the worst. It's a name that fits a mountain guard. The sword master has always been bad at that kind of thing. How well do I know you? Shall I start with what I remember? Let's see. Our dear Gavroche has a mole on the back of his neck, right? And, unfortunately, you get uncomfortable when it's sunny. Does drinking milk give you an upset stomach? I think if these details are correct, I must know you quite well. Well? Surely you're curious how I know all this, right?
Andert's expression turned sour. Even his face looked the same as before.
—You're curious, aren't you?
He tried to maintain an indifferent expression, but as a family member, I knew better than anyone. He was so curious he was about to burst.
—If you're curious...
A damp, cold air flooded the space between us. I felt Andert becoming alert on both sides. He was completely focused on every word I said.
"Ah, I want to tease you."
Seeing his feigned disinterestedness, I felt a fervent desire to torment him. A sister's long-lost family love began to awaken within me.
—I'll reveal it after sixty seconds.
—What?
As soon as I finished speaking, something surged from my throat.
—Gag.
Blood welled up like a spring, splashing my chest and dyeing the rocks red.
—Ugh.
My brain and heart seemed to tighten. The axis of my body was beginning to collapse and the strength in my limbs was fading.
—Kill.
Oh, no.
"I thought the conversation was going so well that I came out of that state."
It was a mistake.
"Was the time I lived as a sword demon too long?"
In fact, it was too long and I couldn't stop the fusion with a simple conversation. Heat began to build up in my head. A deafening noise and chaos enveloped the world.
—Kill them all.
There was no other choice. Wiping the corners of my mouth, I pulled out my sword and headed for Andert, whose face was tense.
—That statement from before is canceled. I'll say it again. If you're curious, curious... when I fall, you must take me. Because what you seek is in my head...
—Hey.
I couldn't clearly hear Andert's reply. Before he reached me, the sword I was holding pierced my other shoulder.
I felt dizzy. It was natural, as blood gushed from the pierced hole. My bleeding body slowly tilted to one side. Excessive bleeding was my last resort to avoid complete transformation. In reality, the probability of death was very high, but... I had no other choice. I couldn't fully become a sword demon and kill Andert.
—Most importantly, bring me the blue-haired man who is probably wandering around this area. Another one.
A slight confusion arose in Andert's serene eyes.
—You…
"Don't go. Stay by my side."
My vision darkened. I lost consciousness without uttering those words.
As he stalked away from the scene, Gavroche had a brief doubt. Why were his legs moving on their own? In truth, Gavroche had no intention of following the demands of the demented swordswoman who babbled incessantly in front of him. However, the mind was one thing and the body another. When he regained his senses, he was already holding the fallen woman's head.
She was cold. "It's almost like holding a corpse."
She was in a terrible condition. Apart from the holes in both shoulders, the amount of blood she had lost was too much.
"Is it suicide?"
There were often swordsmen like that, those who chose death just before assimilation. Gavroche had seen it once before. The sword demon, who was once a member of the Berkley-Gratten Knights, had a deep trauma from the war that couldn't be removed. During a simulated training session, he fell into a state of complete transformation and took his own life before completely losing his sanity.
But this case was a bit different. This swordswoman was undeniably skilled with the sword. The fact that she had pierced her shoulder instead of her heart or neck meant she had no intention of dying, at least for now.
—Bring me the blue-haired man who is surely around here.
And to think she would even leave him to clean up the aftermath. A bitter smile drew across his dry cheek.
—No matter how I look at her, she looks like an idiot.