Long after a great war, the land lies ravaged. Iron is precious, and decent weapons come only from traveling merchants or ancient battlefields. Each settlement keeps a few self-defense warriors, scraping by.
Orvan, a silent warrior, saves his comrade Puyis from a superior monster by deflecting its attack with his weapon. The weapon shatters, but Puyis survives.
Thus it begins. Each deflection costs him something. The more he protects, the more vanishes from his hands. Orvan seeks things to def
Parry of the Void - Loss —The Right Hand Being Shaved Away—
The bonfire's light flickered in the plaza of the settlement of Ordith.
The night after repelling the vanguard. Thick clouds covered the sky, and almost no starlight reached the ground. Even so, the plaza was bright. Two, three bonfires burned, and around them gathered the vigilante warriors and the residents.
"You did well today! We drove back that many monsters—you can be proud!"
"It was Azmariya's leadership that did it. Without her, the settlement would've been finished by now."
The smell of alcohol drifted on the wind. It was a cloudy liquor made from fermented barley, said to have been passed down since the Ash-Iron War. The warriors raised wooden cups and shouted loudly.
Azmariya stood at the center of the plaza. Short-cropped black hair. Sun-bronzed skin. An iron sword on her back. People naturally gathered around her.
"Today's victory belongs to everyone's strength. But don't get carried away. The main force hasn't arrived yet."
Azmariya's voice carried well even through the clamor of the celebration. The warriors nodded at her words.
"Even so, let's drink today! Tomorrow's problems can wait until tomorrow!"
Laughter rose. Firewood was fed into the bonfire, and sparks danced upward.
No one spoke Orvan's name.
---
A corner of the inn "Weary Foot."
Orvan sat alone, breaking hard bread. When he put strength into his fingertips, the bread crumbled with a dry sound. He brought a fragment to his mouth. It barely had any taste. He washed it down with water.
The inside of the inn was quiet. The clamor from the plaza came through like distant waves. The proprietor, Gares, was wiping dishes behind the counter.
"...You don't want a drink?"
Gares's voice was low and blunt. Orvan didn't answer. He just pinched another fragment of bread between his fingers and brought it to his mouth again.
"You fought too, didn't you. I can tell just by looking at your face."
Orvan gripped the bandage on his right wrist with his left hand. Beneath the bandage, an old wound pulsed quietly.
"...I didn't fight to be celebrated."
Gares said nothing more. He simply placed a wooden cup filled with water in front of Orvan.
That was when it happened.
The inn's door flew open with force.
"Orvan-san!"
Puisu came running in, his left arm still suspended in a cloth sling. His flax-colored, springy hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His blue-gray eyes flickered, reflecting the bonfire's light.
"Please come! The plaza—it's incredible! Everyone's talking about today...!"
Orvan stopped his hands from breaking the bread.
"I'll tell them properly how many monsters you drove back, Orvan-san! Then everyone will understand!"
Puisu's voice was fast and slightly trembling. Perhaps enduring the pain in his left arm, he grimaced from time to time.
Orvan looked at Puisu's face.
"I'm not going."
It was a short phrase.
Puisu's smile vanished in an instant.
"...Why? Orvan-san, you fought so hard today. If you were there, everyone would—"
"Don't talk about me."
Puisu was left speechless.
Orvan shoved the last fragment of hard bread into his mouth. He washed it down with water. His throat made a sound.
"...Why is it like this? I was saved by you, and then—"
"I saved you because I chose to."
Puisu bit his lip. His blue-gray eyes were moist.
"...I understand."
Having said only that, Puisu turned his back. The inn's door closed slowly.
Orvan sat alone.
(This is fine.)
He repeated it in his mind.
(If I let people close, the number of people I have to protect increases. If the number of people I have to protect increases, the number of things I can lose increases too.)
Orvan stared at the bandage on his right wrist. The old bandage, rewrapped many times, was frayed in places.
(I don't resent him.)
(I just can't let anyone get any closer.)
Orvan stood up. He placed a single copper coin on the wooden cup.
"Thanks for the meal."
Gares nodded silently.
Orvan left the inn.
Outside was wrapped in the darkness of night. From the direction of the plaza, laughter and singing could be heard. The light of the bonfire cast wavering shadows on the inn's walls.
Orvan did not head toward the plaza.
He walked toward the outskirts of the settlement. The stone-paved road changed to a dirt path. The lights of the houses grew sparse.
He headed for the watch position. The northeast watchtower. The settlement's boundary line.
(If I'm going to protect, it's there.)
Only Orvan's footsteps echoed in the silence of the night.
---
The northeast watchtower was a crude wooden tower standing at the edge of the settlement.
When Orvan arrived, one of the scouts was standing atop the watchtower.
"...Orvan? What's wrong, not going to the feast?"
"I'm relieving you. Get down."
The scout looked surprised for a moment, but said nothing and climbed down the ladder.
"...Sorry about that. Thanks."
Orvan silently climbed the ladder.
Atop the watchtower, the wind was strong. From a gap in the clouds, the moon showed its face faintly.
Orvan looked down at the southern side of the settlement. He could see the roof of the food storehouse. Beyond it, the bonfire light of the plaza flickered faintly.
(Under that light, everyone is laughing.)
(That's fine.)
Orvan put his hand to his waist belt. The pieces of wood and stone fragments tied with cord rattled.
(If I can protect them, that's enough.)
The wind blew.
---
By the time the feast reached its peak.
Atop the watchtower, Orvan's eyes caught movement in the southern darkness.
Something moved.
(...What's that.)
Orvan strained his eyes.
The southern edge. Near the food storehouse. Shadows moving low through the darkness. One, two, three—.
(Humanoid monsters.)
Orvan's body tensed and stiffened.
Below the watchtower, another scout raised his voice.
"South! Intruders from the southern edge! Seven humanoid monsters! They're heading toward the food storehouse!"
The alarm bell began to ring. Clang, clang, clang—the dry metallic sound sliced through the clamor of the celebration.
From the direction of the plaza came screams and angry shouts. The warriors, sobering from the feast's drink, were searching for their weapons.
(There's no time.)
Orvan slid down the ladder.
"Orvan! Where are you going! Don't leave your post!"
Orvan didn't answer.
He broke into a run toward the southern edge.
---
In front of the food storehouse.
Three humanoid monsters were digging their claws into the wooden door of the storehouse. The sound of wood splintering—gichi gichi—echoed.
Orvan drew a stone axe from his waist belt. An old stone axe, repaired with iron-smelting technique, bought from the old goods dealer Miranda's shop. The blade was dull, and the handle didn't fit his hand.
(This is all I have.)
Orvan approached from behind the monsters.
The first one noticed Orvan. Its red eyes glinted sharply.
"GUGYAAAAA!"
The monster's claw swung down toward Orvan's face.
Orvan thrust the stone axe into the trajectory of the claw.
GAKIN!!
Sparks scattered. The monster's arm was deflected. But in that instant, the stone axe's blade shattered, handle and all.
Stone fragments scattered across the ground.
(Next.)
Orvan drew a fragment of the broken blade from his waist belt. From when the iron sword had shattered days ago. The rusty iron shard bit into his palm.
The second one bared its fangs and lunged.
Orvan thrust the blade fragment in front of the monster's fangs.
GAGIN!!
The fangs struck the blade fragment. The impact ran through Orvan's right arm. The blade fragment shattered into pieces.
Iron dust danced in the night air.
(Still have more.)
The third one launched a body slam.
Orvan searched for a weapon. The wood pieces on his waist belt were gone. The stone fragments too.
(Nothing.)
The monster's body slam closed in.
Orvan's eyes fell on the corpse of the monster lying on the ground. The first monster. Sharp fangs grew from its mouth.
Orvan grabbed those fangs. Pulled them out. Warm blood splattered onto his hand.
(With this.)
The third monster's body slam bore down on Orvan.
Orvan thrust the monster's fang into the trajectory of the body slam.
GAGYAN!!
The fang bit into the monster's shoulder. From the impact, Orvan's body was blown backward.
He was slammed into the ground. He fell on his back. His breath stopped for an instant.
(I deflected it... huh.)
Orvan slowly got up.
The third monster, with the fang lodged in its shoulder, was staggering. In that opening, Orvan drove his fist into the monster's head.
GOH.
The monster collapsed.
Where had the remaining four gone? Beyond the food storehouse, shadows moved.
(Still more.)
Orvan steadied his breathing. His right hand was smeared with monster blood.
That was when it happened.
He felt something wrong in his right wrist.
---
Orvan looked at his right hand.
He tried to bend his fingers.
His thumb wouldn't move. His index finger wouldn't move. His middle finger moved only halfway.
(...What is this.)
Sensation from the wrist outward was half gone. The feeling of being touched—absent. He couldn't tell if it was hot or cold.
Orvan removed the bandage from his right wrist with his left hand.
Beneath the bandage, an old wound appeared.
The inner side of the wrist. An old scar. A wound that had opened and closed, opened and closed, every time he deflected something.
That wound had spread wider than before.
Old scar and new damage overlapped. The skin was split, and red flesh was visible. There was almost no bleeding. Instead, a dark, purplish bruise spread across the inner wrist.
(This is...)
Orvan stared at his unmoving fingers.
(Not a weapon.)
(My body.)
Everything he had lost until now had been a weapon. Iron sword. Stone axe. Blade fragment. Wood pieces. Stone. Those could be replaced. Go to the old goods dealer, and you could buy new weapons. Go to the old battlefield, and you could pick them up.
(But this.)
Orvan tried to clench his right hand.
His grip strength remained. But fine movements were impossible. When he put strength into his fingertips, a sharp pain shot through his wrist. His endurance for supporting something long and heavy had clearly dropped.
(I can't grip a sword.)
(I can't fight properly.)
Orvan struck the wall of the food storehouse with his fist.
GOH.
The wall made a dull sound. The skin of his fist split, and blood seeped out.
Again.
GOH.
His unmoving fingers hit the wall and bent in a strange direction. Pain shot through his wrist.
(Why.)
(Why, even my body.)
Orvan punched the wall a third time.
GOH.
A bloodstain marked the wall. Blood dripped from Orvan's fist.
(Every time I protect, I lose.)
(Not just weapons.)
(My body too.)
Orvan glared at his unmoving right hand.
Anger surged up from the pit of his stomach. A fierce anger he didn't know where to direct.
(Is this the price of因果返し—the karma reversal?)
(So that's how it is.)
Orvan dropped to his knees on the spot.
Blood dripped from his right wrist. A small stain spread across the ground.
(...Still have more.)
Orvan muttered in his heart.
(I can still do this.)
But those words were far weaker than ever before.
---
Midnight.
Orvan sat in front of the food storehouse.
He was rewrapping his right wrist with a bloodstained bandage. He forced his unmoving fingers to bend and fixed them with the bandage.
(With this, maybe they'll move a little.)
Orvan clenched and opened his right hand. His thumb, index finger, and middle finger still wouldn't move as he wanted. But by fixing them with the bandage, he could put in a little more strength.
(A sword is impossible now.)
(A short weapon, maybe still.)
Orvan looked at his waist belt. Only one monster fang remained. He wiped off the blood and retied it with cord.
(With this, I'll make it last until the next fight.)
That was when it happened.
He heard footsteps.
Orvan raised his head.
Shizukurei was standing there.
Her long reddish-brown hair swayed in the wind. Her amber
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