Chapter 45 _ The Tavern, the Meta, and the Way of a Leader
The deathly struggle against the Sphinx—
and the settling of an old score.
Released from extreme tension,
we returned to the city of Irrablatis,
our bodies weighed down by exhaustion and an even deeper hunger.
Naturally, we headed for a tavern—
one filled with the smell of sizzling fat and freshly poured ale.
“…Ahhh! I’m alive again!”
“Another round over here!”
Wilfred and Hans downed their mugs one after another,
as if water were soaking into cracked desert soil.
Having avenged their fallen comrade
and purged the bitterness lodged in their hearts,
their faces looked lighter than when I had first met them.
As we ate—
Iris stared anxiously at the slender blade resting beside her.
“…Hey… what should I do about this sword?”
She gently touched the foil.
“I used it in the fight… and I just brought it back with me.”
“Of course you should use it,” I said without hesitation.
“I’ll explain things to Adnan.”
“…Can I really?” Iris murmured.
“And… I still have the staff my mother bought for me…”
Her uncertainty was palpable.
“It will work,” Wilfred said firmly.
“A foil is a thrusting weapon—
perfect for someone with less physical strength.”
He continued, slipping naturally into explanation.
“Swinging a sword relies heavily on brute force.
But thrusting concentrates power efficiently with minimal strength.
I’ve heard the original Sword Saint Irrablatis was a woman.
From the start, I suspected it would be a rapier or a foil.”
“The foil is a one-handed weapon,” he added.
“Even if you hold your staff in your off-hand, it won’t hinder you.
In fact, you can use the staff defensively.”
“…So the Sword Saint was a woman,” I said, impressed.
“Yes. Appearances deceive.
Irrablatis herself was said to be slender.”
I tilted my head.
“By the way… how does one become a Sword Saint?”
Wilfred exhaled tiredly.
“It’s not something you become.
It’s something you’re called.
People decide it based on achievements and strength.”
“So… there can be more than one at the same time?”
“Exactly.
I don’t duel for sport, but challengers come anyway.
I just knock them aside.”
He sighed.
“That’s why I was wary when Adnan’s servant approached us.
He didn’t look like a swordsman—
but looks mean nothing.
History proves that.”
While we talked swords,
the cat beside us sat muttering with a deeply troubled expression.
“…Hmm… no… wait…”
(Ah. This pattern again.
Here comes the troublesome one.)
(Still… letting her vent is probably part of leadership too…
Man, being a leader is exhausting.)
I sighed inwardly.
“What’s wrong, Frey-chan?”
“It struck me during the Sphinx fight,” she said.
“…I barely did anything, didn’t I?”
“But your barrier protected us from the fireballs,” I replied.
“We’d have been incinerated without you.”
“…Hmph.
That kind of contribution is only noticed by
highly perceptive readers who can read between the lines!”
She slapped the table
—softly, since it was a paw.
(There it is. The reader argument again.)
“Highly perceptive readers?”
“Mario,” she demanded,
“describe my current condition.”
“…Your true body is maintaining the spacetime barrier against the Demon King.
This form is only a limited projection…”
“Exactly!
And yet there will always be fools who say,
‘What kind of hero just stands there casting barriers?’
Without understanding my circumstances!”
She fumed.
“Well… maybe we should just let people say what they want?”
“You fool!
Imagine a popularity poll right now!”
Her voice grew heated.
“‘Ooh, let’s vote for Iris—the blonde, beautiful, overpowered spellblade!’
There are idiots like that everywhere!”
“I… see…”
“I want to shout this at editors everywhere,” she declared.
“Don’t trust popularity polls alone!”
“…Now we’re criticizing readers and editors?”
“No!
I’m saying—judge me properly,
taking my situation into account!”
She finally took a breath.
“…I was thinking about the future.”
She muttered to herself.
“Blonde. Spellblade. Unlimited potential.
Iris’s attributes are stacked to the heavens…
and she’s only just begun.
How am I supposed to compete…?”
“From where I’m standing,” I said dryly,
“you’re pretty stacked yourself.”
“In what way?”
“Ancient being.
Mentally an old man.
Master of sarcasm.
Obsessed with popularity polls.”
“WHO ARE YOU CALLING CRAZY!?”
“…But seriously,” I continued,
“you identified the Sphinx instantly
and reacted without hesitation.
That ‘sage’ role is yours alone.”
“…A sage?”
“Ohoho~”
Her mood flipped instantly.
“Yeah.
You’re our sage.
Let’s keep working together, Sage Frey-chan.”
The cat purred smugly and hopped onto Iris’s lap.
(Whew… crisis averted.
She’s always so easy to manage.)
(Still… leadership really is hard.)
After dinner,
we carried the completely drunk Wilfred and Hans back to the inn.
Then, with Frey perched on my shoulder,
I returned alone to Adnan’s estate.
Borrowed things should be returned.
Or at least, properly explained.
That was my idea of a leader’s way.
“…A Sphinx, you say?”
Adnan murmured, studying the foil with fascination.
“I’m glad I didn’t attempt this myself…”
“And this… is the sword of Irrablatis.”
“Adnan-san, I must apologize,” I said, bowing deeply.
“As a matter of courtesy…
we’ve decided to let Iris wield this blade.”
“…Isn’t the young lady a wizard?” he asked.
“She was.
But in this battle, she awakened as a spellblade.”
“A spellblade!
How extraordinary.
Such individuals are nearly nonexistent.”
He looked genuinely impressed.
“Then… as a replacement,
might I acquire her staff?
With Wilfred the Sword Saint
and Iris the spellblade,
its provenance would be impeccable.”
“I’m sorry,” Iris said gently.
“This staff was bought for me by my late mother…”
“…I see.
Then that cannot be helped.”
Adnan nodded without protest.
“Should you require anything else in the future,
please come to me.”
“Yes.
When the time comes.”
Negotiations concluded,
we stepped back into the cool night air.
Our single request had been fulfilled—perfectly.
The next morning,
bathed in golden sunlight,
we set out north once more.
Iris walked with a new gleam at her waist.
Wilfred’s expression was lighter, unburdened.
Once, I had barely managed to carry my own life.
Now,
I was carrying the future of
these strongest—
and most troublesome—companions.
Strangely enough,
the weight felt good.
