The Eminence in Shadow, Vol. 1 (Light Novel)

by Daisuke Aizawa

  And yet, that doesn’t stop him. He continues to pursue victory, even as none of his attacks land. Grease misses by a hairbreadth each time.

  On the other side, Alpha is focused on eliminating unnecessary movements and calculating the trajectory of his sword to sidestep oncoming assaults.

  And all the while, Grease’s arms are slashed, legs cut, shoulders sliced.

  But none of his wounds are fatal.

  Grease sneers when he realizes she won’t kill him until she gets intel out of him, and a new path to victory comes into view. After he slices through nothing again and again, he’s finally slashed in the chest, causing him to retreat.

  “Let’s not waste any more time,” says Alpha.

  Grease doesn’t answer, kneeling and clutching his wounded chest. A smile then spreads across his face…and he swallows something.

  “What…are you doing?!”

  His body doubles in size—his complexion darkens, his muscles bulge, his eyes glow red. And most importantly, his magic capacity increases…dramatically.

  “Unnh…!”

  Grease’s steel sword zings through the air without warning, which Alpha manages to block instantly. But she grimaces on impact, using the momentum to leap back and create distance between them.

  “Interesting trick,” she notes, shaking her arm as pins and needles shoot through it. She cocks her head to the side. “Based on the wave frequency, I’m guessing it’s a magical overload…that’s been forcibly induced…”

  “Lady Alpha, is everything all right?” asks a voice from behind, surprised to see Alpha back down during a fight for the first time.

  “It’s fine, Beta. Just a messy situation… Hmm?”

  When Alpha turns her gaze back to Grease, there’s no one in sight. Well, more accurately, there’s a rectangular hole in his place, leading to a lower level of the facility—a trapdoor.

  “…He got away.”

  “Yeah…let’s go after him,” Beta responds, ready to leap in behind him.

  Alpha stops her in the nick of time. “That won’t be necessary. He’ll take care of it.”

  “He…? Now that I think about it, Master Shadow said he’d go ahead of us… No way.”

  “Yeah. I have to admit I was worried he’d get lost when he sprinted down a different route.” Alpha giggles.

  “He knew this would happen… He’s done it again.”

  Their eyes glow with respect as they peer down the hole together.

  “I’m lost,” I mumble to myself in an empty underground facility.

  It was all fine and well when we infiltrated the hideout, but I got sick of fighting off small fry. I thought I’d go ahead and kill their boss, which brings us…here. Bummer. I mean, I even practiced what I’d say when I faced their leader and everything.

  Anyway, this place is huge. I get the vibe of a group of bandits living in an abandoned military facility.

  “Hmm?”

  I sense someone running toward me from the other side of the tunnel. It takes a few beats before the figure notices me, too, leaving a wide gap between us.

  “You’ve been expecting me…,” he assumes.

  He’s super-jacked, and his eyes have a crimson glow for some reason or another. He looks…really friggin’ cool. I can imagine him shooting laser beams with his eyes.

  “But if it’s just you, this should be a breeze,” he remarks with a twisted smile on his face.

  Then he vanishes—well, more like moves fast enough that an average person would’ve thought he disappeared.

  But I parry his attack with one hand. As long as I can spot the course of the attack, I’m not scared by the velocity of the assault. Even power is all about how you use it.

  “Nnr!” he yelps.

  I push him away in the shoulder and retreat.

  His magic is incredible—much stronger than Alpha, if I’m being honest. But his command over it is dismal, unfortunately. He’s nothing but a dope jacked with magic.

  I’m not a big fan of people who go bananas with their magic, getting yoked with spells and moving at unimaginable speeds, and I don’t like relying on physical force. Not that I’m trying to reject it. I mean, if I was forced to choose between strength and technique, I’d take strength in a heartbeat, since advanced tactics without the power to back them up are useless.

  That said, I absolutely despise half-baked strategies that solely depend on physical abilities—like power alone, or speed alone, or reaction time alone. They overlook and disregard the subtleties of battle.

  You see, strength is natural, but mastery requires effort. Shadowbrokers never lose when it comes to skill and expertise. And I want to be the same. My techniques will bolster my strength. My ingenuity will dictate speed. My reaction time will let me scope out potential attacks. Physicality is important, but I’d never screw up a fight by relying on it. That’s all part of my battle aesthetic.

  If I’m being honest, this hulky slugger is starting to piss me off.

  Let’s teach him a lesson…about the right way to use magic.

  “Lesson one.”

  I wield my slime sword and walk forward—one step, two steps, three.

  On that last one, he takes a swing at me, which means I’m in his fighting range and is my cue to speed up. I take the tiniest quantity of magic possible, focus it in my feet, compress, and then release it in one shot. That’s all there is to it, and you can create an explosive impact with the smallest magical force.

  His sword slices through the air.

  And now he’s in my range.

  I don’t need speed or power or magic. I graze his neck with my ebony katana, slicing through the topmost layer of skin and leaving the veins untouched.

  I back up. His blade scathes my cheek at the same time.

  “Lesson two.”

  I make my move as he readies his sword again. I don’t use magic, letting his movements stay quicker than mine. But he can’t attack and move at the same time—no matter his speed.

  Which is why I can get closer and take one tiny step.

  It’s a distance that’s too long for me and too short for him.

  There’s a moment of silence that follows.

  I see him looking uncertain of his next move, but he ultimately chooses to back away.

  I knew he was going to do that, based on the shift of magical energy inside him, and I close the distance before he has a chance to back up.

  This time, my sword scrapes against his leg, cutting a little deeper than the last laceration.

  “Gah…!” He groans in pain and continues his retreat.

  I don’t pursue him.

  “Lesson three.”

  I’m just getting started.

  Have I ever felt this overpowered before? Grease wonders as the ink-black sword continues to break skin.

  Even when he fought Alpha the elf, even when the princess claimed victory at the Bushin Festival, Grease didn’t feel weak. In fact, the last time he’d felt a power imbalance…was when he was a kid. It was the first time he’d ever held a sword and squared off with his mentor—an adult versus a child, a champion versus a novice. It was hardly anything that could be considered a fight.

  Grease is experiencing that same feeling right about now.

  The boy in front of him doesn’t look tough whatsoever. At the very least, he doesn’t emit the same menacing aura as Alpha when Grease fought her. He’s a total natural; his stance, magic, and swordsmanship all seem to come effortlessly. In fact, his strength and speed are unremarkable, honestly—nothing special at all. But his strategy perfects his swordplay. And he manages to stand against Grease’s powers of mass destruction using that alone.

  Which makes Grease feel an overwhelming sense of defeat.

  He knows the only reason he’s alive is because the boy allows it. If his opponent wanted it, Grease would be dead in an instant.

  But Grease could regenerate his body as long as he didn’t suffer fatal wounds. Of course, there are limits and nasty s
ide effects. Meanwhile, he’s shed pails of blood and had his bones broken, his flesh shredded, which means he’ll need more time to fully recover.

  But even in this time of crisis, Grease survives.

  No. It’s more accurate to say he’s been spared.

  Grease lets out a single question: “Why…?”

  Why are you letting me live?

  Why are we enemies?

  Why are you so strong?

  Why?

  The young boy shrouded in black looks down at Grease. “Lurk in the darkness and hunt down shadows. That’s the only reason we exist.”

  There’s a distant sadness to his voice.

  And that’s all it takes for Grease to understand the situation.

  “Are you going up against them…?” he asks.

  There are certain people in this world who the law cannot touch. Grease knew this and considered himself above that threshold—special concessions, privileges, and those with hidden personas. After all, the light of the law doesn’t shine to the very edge of the world.

  While Grease enjoyed certain privileges, he was trampled and crushed by those at the top, which made him yearn for more power…and led to his downfall.

  “Even if you… Even if your gang of twats becomes stronger, you’ll never defeat them. The darkness of this world…is a deeper abyss than your wildest dreams,” he says—not to warn the boy but to express his diabolical hopes.

  Grease wants the boy to get pulverized, lose everything, and become totally disillusioned with society. But, overcome with petty envy and spite, he frets that this wish is out of reach.

  “Then we dive deeper,” offers the boy without a hint of eagerness or ambitiousness.

  But Grease can sense his steadfast resolve and unshakable confidence.

  “It’s not easy.”

  Unacceptable.

  Utterly unacceptable, thinks Grease, who’s doomed for attempting to take them down himself.

  This is the moment he decides to cross the final frontier. He removes a pill from his breast pocket and swallows it whole when he realizes he’s not going to survive. If that’s the case, he thinks, I’ll use this life to teach him the truth.

  The truth about the darkness of this world.

  The aura surrounding Grease changes.

  Until now, his magical energy had been rampaging around his body, but it starts to withdraw, replaced by its densely compressed twin. His veins rupture and burst with blood, his muscles tear, his bones shatter—but his body heals instantly. He defies the physical limitations of a human form and hosts an immeasurable amount of magical power.

  The Cult calls this the “awakening.”

  Once one assumes this form, there’s no turning back. But in return…one is bestowed with Herculean strength.

  “Aaaaghhh!” Grease roars in a beastly fashion before vanishing into thin air.

  The dull sound of impact hangs in the air. In the same moment, the boy in black is flung off his feet toward a wall, which he kicks to shift his body and land on the ground.

  But Grease continues swinging at him, propelling the boy back again.

  “Too slow! Too flimsy! Too frail! This is reality!” Grease aggressively hounds him.

  With another thump, the boy is catapulted backward by more of Grease’s attacks—quick, heavy, and merciless. It’s all because he possesses an overwhelming force.

  Grease thinks he has it all figured out: The tiger doesn’t have to be cunning to kill a hare. He just needs strength. By pushing back, it makes it impossible for the boy to fight—and he’s destined to fall apart.

  But this is all wrong.

  “Hgh?!” Grease whines as blood erupts from his chest.

  He takes notice of a laceration—one that breaks past the surface of his skin. Grease halts in place for a split second, but he recovers fast enough to knock his enemy back in the next instant.

  “It’s hopeless! You can’t get me!!” he shrieks, even as his flesh is shredded down to his bones.

  But his wounds begin to bubble up and heal in the next beat.

  “This is true power! This is true strength!!” Grease starts to accelerate, slashing his weapon through the air, even as blood spouts from his body.

  He appears as a flash of scarlet light.

  Ebony and crimson—the two colors clash, causing the one in black to get slung back and the one in red to spew fresh blood.

  Their battle is too quick for the human eye to catch, and the afterimage of crimson and the backward movements of ebony are the only indicators of something uncanny in the making.

  Their skirmish doesn’t last long. There’s a clear power imbalance, and it’s easy to guess that the figure in black would be the one to break. It’s a fight that the one in red shouldn’t have lost—slinging his sword on repeat and pulverizing the other into submission with his cataclysmic strength.

  But why?

  Why does he look unfazed…?

  “Why…why can’t I hit you…?”

  The boy in black hasn’t changed from the beginning of the fight. He’s barely unleashed any magic or moved on his own accord, instead choosing to go with the flow and let Grease fling him around. It’s as if he’s a fallen leaf swept away in a rapid stream.

  Except he’s not completely passive. He uses the momentum of these blows to land a direct hit—without seeming showy or expending any unnecessary energy.

  It’s natural. As if it’s supposed to happen.

  “Terrible,” states the boy in black, staring down Grease and looking as if he can read his thoughts.

  “You know nothing… Nothing, you bastard!” Grease barks back, pooling every bit of magic into his body and sword before taking his shot.

  He’s ready to eliminate this boy, even if it costs him his life, raring for the biggest assault of his existence.

  “No more games.”

  Grease is sliced in two—by an unconstrained swing of a sword. It’s hurled down on him with the ease of a walk in the park. A singular stroke bisects it all—his sword, his enhanced magical powers, his muscular physique.

  The viscount thought the reason behind the boy’s advanced swordplay was pure skill—not magic, strength, or speed. But he’s wrong.

  “What is this…?”

  It’s a single stroke that destroys everything.

  Grease watches the blade cut through his sword, his magic, his flesh, and his bones as he stands on the verge of death. It’s a strike fortified with impenetrable magic, titanic strength, sonic speed, and most importantly…natural talent.

  It’s perfect.

  The boy in black has everything at his disposal. But he chose not to use all of it until now.

  Nothing could withstand that single stroke containing every ounce of his power.

  “I guess…this is it…,” mutters Grease as blood rushes out of him, and his upper body topples and hits the ground. There’s a beat before his other half crashes to the floor.

  Grease tries to regenerate the bisection, but nothing is salvageable. His flesh is putrid and rotten, excreting black fluid that soaks the area around him.

  Ebony looks down. Grease glances up.

  Having crossed swords with the boy in black, the viscount understands that one’s temperament can be seen through one’s swordplay. His opponent appears as a serious, naive nobody—who trained with blood, sweat, and tears to reign victorious in battle.

  I thought he was just a brat who knew nothing, but I was wrong.

  His enemy had known everything and had still chosen to fight.

  Powerless, he thinks of himself. He’s been powerless for his entire life. He’s tried to succeed but returned empty-handed, while this whelp in black…

  “Mi…llia…” Grease groans, reaching for a dagger encrusted with a blue jewel and closing his eyes.

  As consciousness slips away from him, he sees the smiling face of his beloved daughter who passed long ago.

  Anyway, that’s how we ended our slaughter of some bandits—I mean, ou
r little rescue mission.

  I found my sister totally unconscious, so I undid her chains and left her there, which contributed to her crankiness when she returned home the next day. But she’s a real tough cookie—tough enough that the wound on her hand almost healed overnight.

  After a hectic week or so of hospital treatments and follow-up investigations, my sister finally made her way to the capital—though she pestered me more than usual during that time for some annoying reason.

  The girls in the Shadow Garden were busy, conducting their own research, taking care of the remaining bandits, and other stuff. Oh, right, we’re not calling them bandits. Whatever. The Cult. I mean, they’re all thieves in the end.

  But that geezer with red eyes was outstanding. I mean, he inspired me to come up with “then we dive deeper,” which sounds like something a shadowbroker would say. I owe him my thanks. I would’ve loved to have him play a supporting role to my part as an eminence in shadow.

  This was a must-see performance. My ability to improvise and portray a master puppeteer was off the rockers. It’s a real shame there wasn’t a live audience. But I only have to wait two more years—which is when I go to the capital. You know the one. It’s a world-famous metropolis and the only city in this country that houses one million people.

  I bet protagonists are a dime a dozen, and there might be Final Bosses, too.

  There’s bound to be conspiracies, rebellions, and incidents—none of which would ever happen in the boonies. And that’s when the mastermind bursts onto the scene… Huh. Now that I think about it, I guess I’m just a toad who feels cocky about beating some bandits. At this moment in time, my prologue hasn’t even been written.

  And then one day, Alpha and the other girls gather before me, just as I’m yearning to get stronger for school, which is two years down the line. They want to share their reports on the Cult and lab findings on the curse and all that jazz.

  It’s unusual to have all seven of them in a room at once, especially since it seems they’ve got their hands full as of late.

  Geez, go easy on the research and investigations. I mean, it’s all pointless anyway, I think as I listen to their reports.