Normally, no one would have noticed Esper squeezing her way out of the wall of people.
But reality had other plans.
Just as she was about to reach the edge of the crowd, a hand clapped onto her shoulder, pulling her half a step back.
“Hey.”
Esper stopped in her tracks.
She turned around. Three people, all dressed as adventurers.
Leading them was a red-haired young man in his early twenties, sporting a silver Rank B badge on his chest. Behind him stood two companions, a man and a woman, both wearing rather unfriendly expressions.
The red-haired man swept his gaze over her from head to toe.
“You were the one laughing just now, wasn't it?”
Esper stared at the hand resting on her shoulder, then raised her eyes.
“...Take your hand off.”
“Answer my question.”
“Take your hand off, and I'll answer.”
The red-haired man's brows furrowed, but he withdrew his hand anyway, crossing his arms over his chest.
“The Commander has been risking his life in the north for years for this city and all of humanity. Even if he didn't succeed in drawing the sword, that still...”
“I know,”
Esper interrupted him.
“So what?”
“So you shouldn't have laughed! Even if the Commander didn't succeed, he shouldn't be ridiculed by the likes of you!”
“I wasn't ridiculing him.”
“You laughed. Everyone heard you.”
Esper fell silent for a moment.
She had indeed laughed. And she really shouldn't have. But that scene had just been so...
“Pfft.”
She laughed again.
Several more people around them turned, glaring at her fiercely.
The female adventurer behind the red-haired man took a step forward.
“If a nobody like you tried to pull the Holy Sword, you wouldn't even be able to budge it a single inch.”
“Well, obviously.”
Esper's blunt response caught the other woman off guard.
“...You're admitting it just like that?”
“I'm only Rank C. Even the Grand Commander of the Holy Spirit Knights could only pull it out halfway. What could I possibly achieve if I tried?”
The red-haired man and the female adventurer exchanged a look.
“Wait. You said you're Rank C?”
“Yeah.”
“In Avalon?”
“Yeah.”
“What's your name?”
“...Esper.”
“An outsider?”
“What about it?”
“Penniless trash.”
Esper thought she heard someone in the crowd spit out the curse under their breath.
The red-haired man tilted his head and gave his male companion a look. The companion immediately reached into the leather pouch at his waist and pulled out a thin booklet.
It was a copy of the sword-drawing registry.
The Adventurer's Guild updated it weekly on the bulletin board. Some people copied it to carry around, using information like how far someone had pulled the sword or who had tried it as idle gossip over drinks.
The man flipped through a few pages, sliding his finger down the list until he reached the section starting with 'E'.
“Esper... Esper...”
His finger stopped.
“Not here.”
The red-haired man raised an eyebrow.
“There is no Esper on the list.”
Even more people around them began to turn their heads.
“So... this girl hasn't even tried to pull the sword once?”
The female adventurer's voice wasn't loud, but under the scrutiny of the surrounding crowd, it sounded exceptionally clear.
“A wretched outsider, freeloading here in Avalon while the Holy Sword has been sitting in the square for over a year, and she hasn't even tried once?”
“And she has the nerve to laugh at the Commander?”
“Too cowardly to try herself, yet she has the cheek to mock others?!”
Voices began rising from all directions.
A word here, a comment there—like throwing kindling onto a fire, the indignation burned brighter and hotter.
“Go pull it then!”
A gruff voice shouted from behind the wall of people.
“Let her try!”
“Yeah! If you're so brave to laugh at others, show us what you've got!”
“Pull! Pull! Pull!”
The jeers snowballed, spreading from the dozen people around Esper to dozens more, and then to hundreds.
The pent-up emotions in the square, accumulated from Constantine's half-pull, had finally found an outlet.
Surrounded by the crowd, Esper stood with her eyes half-closed, her lips pressed into a thin line.
The clamor buzzed in her ears like a swarm of flies.
“...Boring.”
Her voice was very soft, drowned out by the shouting, and only the red-haired man closest to her heard it.
His lips curled into a smirk.
“Useless trash.”
“...”
Esper looked at his smug face, then turned around and walked toward the iron railings.
The jeering paused for a split second when she took her first step, before erupting into an even greater clamor of whistles, applause, and mockery.
The wall of people parted automatically, and those on both sides craned their necks as if watching a play, some even standing on their tiptoes.
Esper didn't think she could pull it out, but she intended to try anyway.
Living like a hollow shell for a year had almost made her believe she had long forgotten her former self.
Impulsive, arrogant, and excessively prideful.
She faintly recalled the feeling she used to get when she was angry.
And so, she stepped up to the stage.
The knight in charge of registration coldly swept his eyes beneath his visor over Esper as she approached.
“Attempting the sword?”
“...Yes.”
“Name.”
“Esper.”
“Rank.”
“C.”
“Strength Rank?”
“Rank Three.”
The knight's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he stepped aside from the railing's entrance, scribbling a few lines in the registry with his quill.
Esper stepped over the iron railing.
The space inside the railing was much quieter than the outside. Most of the Holy Spirit Knights' formation had already dispersed, following Constantine, leaving only four sentries standing at the four corners of the black rock.
The black rock sat at the dead center of the square, and the sword was embedded right in the center of the rock.
Motes of light like fireflies drifted across the metallic surface of the blade, gathering, dispersing, and gathering again to form a living, breathing mist.
Unlike the holy light, this was something far more special, far more wondrous—something that did not fill Esper with dread.
The hilt pointed upward. It was a simple metal grip, the crossguard curving slightly like a pair of outspread wings.
There were no gems, no engravings, nor any superfluous decorations. It looked barely any better than the rusty piece of junk at her waist.
Esper stood before the rock, looking down at the sword.
The jeers outside the railing continued, but across the distance of a dozen paces and through the silence of the four Holy Spirit Knights, the noise grew muffled, as if filtered through water.
She reached out.
Her fingers hovered over the hilt, pausing for a second.
Now, her palm held only thick calluses, worn into her skin by a year of adventurer life, covering the traces of her past.
With this hand, she gripped the hilt.
The cold metallic touch seeped into her palm, yet it carried a constant warmth, like a body temperature.
The gray aura peeled away from the blade's surface, crawling up the sword until it touched Esper's fingers.
It spread from her fingertips to her palm, and from her palm to her wrist.
It was different from how it had reacted to Constantine.
The motes of light continued to climb up Esper's wrist.
From her wrist to her forearm, from her forearm to her elbow, and from her elbow to her shoulder. The gray light spread across her skin, seeping through her clothes, dyeing her black robe into a translucent, grayish white.
The light enveloped the girl's entire body.
All sound vanished.
A profound silence fell, as if Esper were the only person left in the world.
An artificial voice, devoid of life or emotion like an inorganic machine, rang in her head, shattering the silence.
“『δύναμις』
『σοφία』
『πίστις』
『θύελλα』
——『ἐλπίς』”
Each time the voice spoke a word, a ring of light—visible only to Esper—manifested upon the Holy Sword.
A ring of gray light, plain and devoid of any ornamentation.
“...”
Rafina continued to pull upward.
“—Fina?”
The jeers outside the railing died down.
Esper felt dazed for a brief moment. Without applying any real strength—with a gentle lift, no more effort than picking up a cat—the blade slid smoothly out of the black rock.
Not a single mark was left on the surface of the black rock; the crevice closed up the instant the blade departed.
Esper stood in the very center of the square, holding the sword aloft.
The speed at which the motes of light scurried across the blade was much faster than before, like a silly dog wagging its tail.
“...Eh?”
Out of the thousands of people in the square, not a single soul spoke.
It was even quieter than when Constantine had pulled it halfway out only for it to slip back in.
Esper looked down at the sword in her hand.
The hilt rested snugly in her palm, like one hand holding another.
The flowing gray light of the blade reflected in her brown pupils, which faintly revealed a ring of crimson beneath.
“...Ah.”
Esper's lips parted slightly, letting out a meaningless syllable.
She had drawn it.
Completely.
Outside the railing, the red-haired man's mouth hung wide open. Behind him, the female adventurer's canteen slipped from her grasp and clattered to the ground, water gurgling out of the opening and wetting the white marble pavement.
The four sentry Holy Spirit Knights dropped to one knee in unison.
“The Hero!”
They cried out in a resounding chorus.
Esper stared blankly at the sword. The hollow void in her chest, empty for a year, twinged with pain the moment the gray light flooded into her.
It felt as though she had lost something all over again.
Rate on N.U.
