Awakening the Great Chapter 97

Chapter 97 — Return

The morning air was clear.

Before the midday heat arrived. The shadow of the mountain range was still cool, and the wind blowing across the plains carried the thick scent of moss and wet bark.

Calix slowly opened his eyes.

As leaves cast their shadows over the tent, shouts mingled with the sound of clashing tal rang out from a distance.

'They're fighting again.'

He rose to his feet and moistened his lips. Pushing aside the cloth and stepping outside, a dull thud was followed by a short groan. The source of the sound was an open clearing at the center of the temporary encampnt.

Two n were rolling around on the grass. One was a dwarf who had recently joined, and the other was a mid-ranked Mountain Rabbit, Romance. Around them, so ten n stood in a circle, clapping or hurling jeers.

Naturally, there was no intention of breaking it up. This was an outlet for frustration and conflict. Above all, now that the Mountain Rabbits had begun to take an active role, the fights had at so point shed the skin of re brawls and taken on the face of competition.

'They've definitely changed.'

Calix watched Romance's nimble movents and gave a slow nod. Community spirit was important, but the individual growth in ability was equally impossible to overlook.

After receiving the 'Sacred Leaf' procedure through Luen Silius, the Mountain Rabbits' neural accelerator output had risen sharply. That was likely why they were mixing it up with the newcors. If one's strength had grown, it was only natural to want to test it.

And so they stepped forward eagerly for sparring matches, even welcoming it when others picked fights with them. And, unexpectedly, this shift in attitude seed to have won over the hearts of those around them.

"Next! Get in here, quick!"

"Human, that was already your third opponent."

"I know, so just get in here!"

"No, I'm saying you've lost three tis in a row. How long do you want to keep losing?"

"……Anyway, get in here!"

"Hmm, but the spirit's there, I'll give you that?"

They couldn't easily claim victory due to the gap in experience, but those they had fought alongside ward to them quickly. That held true regardless of nationality or race—Viale and Kalahim, elves and dwarves alike.

"I'll go next."

When the desert warrior suddenly stepped in, the mood grew awkward. Romance wiped his sweat-drenched face and tapped the hilt of his sword.

"Hurry up and get in here! I'm unbeatable right now!"

The boastful shout drew laughter from among the soldiers. Calix watched the scene and felt a strange kind of relief.

'Different people are blending together in a single space.'

Royce's advice had been right. The friction born of cultural difference was dissolving naturally, in the Mountain Rabbits' own way.

And at the far edge of that process, there were those hamring at the wall.

Clang!

Vice-captain Marik crossed swords with soone. His opponent was a middle-aged man with a muscular build, among the more seasoned of Kalahim's warriors. Neither wore armor over their bodies, yet their movents carried the tension of a real fight.

"For soone from Astria, your skill is quite sothing!"

"And yours as well!"

When they followed it up by clashing with live blades instead of practice wooden swords, sparks flew from the steel in an instant—a fierce collision erupted.

Whoosh—

Marik's sword cut through the air with clarity, yet without excess. Without wasting a single ounce of force, the dust on the ground rose of its own accord. His movents were unmistakably different from before. Where the line had been drawn, sothing like a living shimr flickered in its wake.

Then, soon after, a grinding sound of steel on steel rang out, and real sparks flew.

Tick, ta-da-dak!

'That's……!'

It was not an unfamiliar sight to Calix.

The threshold of Falling Fire.

Vice-captain Marik had unmistakably set foot in that realm. Until now, he had pushed himself to such extres that those around him tried to stop him—and at last, he was on the verge of reaping the fruits of that effort. It was a rough current, still unrefined, but the edge was there.

"The Iron Sinew Comrade won't be long now. Before much longer, he'll shatter the wall and climb up."

Gregor had, without anyone noticing, drawn near and muttered softly. It was well ant, but Calix found himself asking without thinking.

"……Iron Sinew Comrade?"

"He takes on all the thankless work, yet stands firm and heavy through it all. A man like that doesn't break easily. Quiet on the outside, but solid at the core."

A strange turn of phrase fitting for an old man who had lost his mories, but it was impossible to disagree.

Just then.

"Hey."

A familiar voice shot in from behind the two of them.

It was Volga.

He had stripped off his shirt, and held a thick iron club in one hand.

"……Look at my swordsmanship for a bit."

"I don't really know clubs."

"Just give it a rough look! I'm not asking for anything grand."

Beneath the grumbling tone lay a thin vein of embarrassnt. Asking a peer for instruction required its own kind of courage.

Calix understood this as well, and promptly gave a nod.

"What are you wondering about?"

Instead of answering, Volga settled into a stance and readied himself to swing the club. The neural accelerator at the nape of his neck gave off a faint blue glow, and then mana flowed across the surface of the iron rod.

Hwooong!

With a single swing, the air was compressed and burst with a sound. Calix made no effort to hide his admiration. He could tell at once what his friend had been wrestling with.

He had swung into empty air, yet a straight line of a mark was left trailing along the ground.

Wind's Scar.

His friend, too, had by now been reaching toward the next step.

"Did you see it?"

"Yeah, congratulations. You've started working with mana."

"Wh-who asked you to congratulate ? I asked if you got a good look."

He stumbled over his words and flushed red at the sincere praise. But that lasted only a mont—once Calix fell silent, an anxious gaze followed close behind.

'It's the sa struggle I had before.'

The flow itself was far from bad. His control of force and weight distribution was, without doubt, outstanding. But sothing was missing.

"It's excellent as it is, but I think a few things could be improved."

"So I'm done for."

"What I an is——"

"So what is it? What should I fix?"

Volga bristled with pride yet swallowed it at the sa ti, and so Calix recited word for word the advice Gregor had once given him.

The words that had beco blood and flesh—the foundation from which his skill had grown.

"Cut through softly, centering on a single point, and your feet must follow where your body has moved forward. It's not the sword that chases the wind—it's the wind that flows in the sword's wake. In your case, it would be the club instead of the sword."

But for so reason, the other man's brow furrowed hard.

"What kind of nonsense is that? Your feet follow where your body has moved forward? That doesn't make sense."

"You're right. It might sound abstract right now. But……"

"No, no. Think about it. How do you relieve yourself without lowering your pants? You have to pull them down to do it, don't you?"

"……"

In that instant, sothing snapped inside his mind with a clean crack. Astonishingly, a single retort had toppled his composure.

That too, if anything, was one of Volga's gifts.

This had happened because of a fundantal difference in aptitude. For Calix, it was simply sothing one did—closer to a ntal approach than a technique. Volga, on the other hand, had absolutely no grasp of the concept.

Even taking out his sword to demonstrate directly made no difference.

"Why does it have to go forward? Can't it go backwards?"

"Does that matter?"

"If an enemy charges from behind, then I'd have to lead with my rear end first. If you're telling

the real secret and not just ssing with , then I should practice it in advance."

"……"

The way his friend shrugged his shoulders was more than a little irritating. He was poking holes at the one who'd given him advice, as if the fault lay with the advice for not being understood.

But very occasionally, gems erged from among the things that seed useless.

"But I'm asking in earnest. Why does it have to go forward? I clearly used the sa stance as you, cut at the exact sa timing. But my sword gets pushed back, and yours moves forward. We swung the sa way—so why are the results different?"

Calix moved to answer again, then stopped. He pressed his lips together and asked himself first.

'It's not a wrong question. What is different about it?'

At first, the principled answer ca flowing out.

It was not that the body had moved—the flow had ford in the direction the will had pointed. That was how the wind had responded.

After that, when the mind had grown clear, flas had blood. The characteristically erratic movent was because his destination had not yet co into sharp focus.

And what that implied was, in truth, unmistakably clear.

'Without realizing it, I'd been fixating on the flow alone. I was absorbed in refining the technique, in polishing the movent. But the real core was never that.'

Calix quietly closed his eyes.

The path cos into being only after the will is set. The flow follows naturally on its own, and the sword is simply carried forward upon it.

'It's not about moving your heart toward a fixed direction. It is only when an unwavering resolve is established that body and mind, that the right flow, cos into being.'

In truth, Falling Fire was not a simple single strike. It was the first flow—a single starting line that defined the direction forward.

Then what was Blazing Fire—

'The point at which all those flows beco a torrent, kindling a fla that shakes the very grain of the world.'

Yes.

That was the na of the path he was walking toward.

[Bloodline Ability Change Detected]

[Ashapel's Instinct/Avatar of the Battlefield '3%' increase, currently '52%']

[Ranita's Heart/Nature Attunent '36%', Divinity '46%' reached]

Calix gathered the revelation within himself and slowly opened his eyes. Within his gaze, gratitude toward Volga shone through. He had received unexpectedly great help.

And standing directly in front of him was soone whose pride had been severely wounded.

"You rotten bastard, you truly rotten bastard, you rciless bastard. Like a crane spreading its wings and soaring into the sky just as the sparrow tries to trot along behind it."

"……"

"The kind of bastard who, having a field of gold, would sneak into my backyard and pick every last apple. Who, owning a reservoir, would still secretly haul out a bucketful of water. I asked you to move a single stone, and you go and steal the coins hidden beneath it! This is too much!"

Volga's bitter torrent of curses carried a rhythmic beat almost like the words of a lively song, but even Calix had nothing to say in return. He had understood the other man's impatience.

"……Sorry."

With a sincere expression he offered the apology, but the person in question was the one who fell silent in the end. He shrugged his shoulders once, then the corner of his mouth twitched as he opened his mouth.

"Forget it. Honestly, it's not sothing you need to be sorry for. I was just being an idiot for a mont. All I can do now is just try. My turn to laugh will co eventually."

Within the words at the end lay an entirely different feeling. He had already shaken off the tangle of emotions, and instead admitted his own fault.

That was Volga's way.

"Captain!"

At that mont, a shout from outside the encampnt cut the two n's conversation short. It was Hadiya. With a sweat-soaked face, she delivered the scouting report without even a mont to catch her breath.

"Beyond the ridge to the southeast……. Imperial Army banners have appeared! Their numbers are approximately 9,000. It's regular forces that include a knight order. They know about the existence of the allied army!"

The laughter vanished in an instant.

Calix turned his gaze to the front.

The battlefield had co right to their doorstep.

* * *

The setting sun draped itself over the mountain ridgeline.

The crimson hue descended along the foot of the mountains and stained the entire plain, and within that light was an army clad in golden armor. Their perfectly ordered battle lines, gleaming shields, and sharp spearheads were flawless to the eye.

Yet within, they were slowly rotting away.

"……Eastern Astria is on the verge of falling, practically speaking."

The voice cutting through the silence drew the gazes inside the tent to a single point. A viscount, conscripted into the 'Northwestern Astrian Defensive Force', relayed the news once more from the east.

"Not long ago, the third defensive line also collapsed. The remaining forces there number fewer than 3,000. And yet the number of refugees has surpassed ten tis that."

Silence.

They were still carrying on a war against the Astria Kingdom, yet no one spoke of the kingdom's forces or the resistance.

By now, even they knew.

That the true enemy was drawing near through the darkness.

The eyes of the Supre Commander, Marquis Karnel, trembled faintly.

"And His Majesty……. Have we submitted a report?"

"Yes. However, His Majesty said that 'Astria raising a smoke signal is, on the contrary, an opportunity'. He did not grant permission for troop movent."

"So there is to be no retreat……"

The faces of the knights were plainly marked with disbelief. A long while later, the adjutant glanced around cautiously and whispered quietly.

"His Majesty……. Appears to have made a mistaken judgnt. I've heard that even the Elvra Holy Empire in the northeastern part of the continent has completely collapsed. That ans our holand, which shares an eastern border with them, is also in danger, does it not."

"……He cannot see the reality of it. How could one look down upon the entire front from the Imperial capital."

"Then—"

"Even so, an order is an order. If catastrophe cos, then that too is our fate."

But fate was crumbling faster than expected.

The command was wavering between orders and reality. Among the soldiers, guilt and confusion were spreading as well. Desertion had yet to occur, but every night the number of n gathering behind the barracks to talk had grown.

"What in the world are we even here for? Dying in a fight would be better than this. Wasting our days in the rear……. Damn it all."

"I hear the holand is in danger too."

"Exactly! This has beco a war where we can't even face our families with our heads held high."

So brewed alcohol in secret and grumbled over it; others laid down their sharpening stones and offered prayers to the gods instead. There were still none who had gone against orders, but blind obedience could no longer be expected.

This was why each day was agony for Marquis Karnel.

An honorable high noble, dispatched to the northwest as Supre Commander in the Emperor's na. Even he felt conflict beginning to sprout within his chest.

The fracture was invisible, but it was certainly there.

And the following day, near dawn.

The signs of an irreversible change ca rolling in from beyond the hill.

"Enemy forces!"

"It's the allied army! They've really co!"

Countless banners surged up over the ridgeline. At first the movent was irregular. Each flagpole stood at a different height, and the designs and colors were all different. Kalahim's various tribes raised their separate banners, and Viale flew its own emblem symbolizing the alliance. There was no unified system whatsoever.

Even so, the gazes of the Imperial soldiers converged on a single point. At the very front of the allied forces, the banner raised by Volga stood out in a way that was hard to ignore.

Against a backdrop of three mountain ridges, a single Mountain Rabbit leapt powerfully into the air.

A na passed down only by rumor. One that had wandered mouth to mouth from place to place, inflated into sothing like a myth. But in this mont, it took on a form and appeared in reality.

"The Mountain Rabbits……"

Soone murmured under their breath, and then confusion spread instantly through the entire legion.

"……Calix, Calix is coming!"

At the sa mont, the fracture found a na. He was not a simple enemy. He was fear, and lantation, and punishnt itself directed at those who had chosen the wrong path.

Puuuuu!

Just then, the horn of the allied forces sounded out loudly.

The note was low, but it spread in a deep, resonating press, reaching even the nearby riverbanks and salt mines.

Yes.

The very place where the Imperial Army had first tasted fear—where the battle against Master Imran Akran had been fought—

He had returned.