"I wonder where he is now?" Kyle mused, standing with Favela in the back alley where the three of them used to gather.
"..."
Favela seemed distant, lost in thought. Kyle could only offer a wry smile.
"You really clam up without him around, don't you?"
"…Is that so?"
"It is."
"So it is."
The conversation dwindled. With Al, Kyle, and Favela together, there was never a lull in their chatter. But with one missing, this was the state of things. No, it must be because Al was there—
"Favela, if he comes back... don't try to stop me."
"…?"
Favela tilted her head, puzzled. Kyle furrowed his brow.
"I know how he repaid those five years of kindness with nothing but betrayal."
Favela looked away, giving no indication of whether she knew or not.
Kyle continued, "He went through you to hire the Assassins guild... to kill the shopkeeper and his wife. He burned down the shop to destroy the evidence. They even went so far as to prepare a corpse for Al, didn’t they?"
Without meeting Favela's eyes, who likely had a hand in the murder, Kyle continued his monologue. For Favela, not being blamed felt far worse.
"I thought it was too lenient a plan for him. What does he mean by 'taking a break'? To burn everything, including himself, to erase all memories and records, and call it perfect?! Ridiculous!"
Kyle was indignant. Favela looked uncomfortable.
"It's a good thing you're not the military or the patrol, Kyle."
A voice that should have been impossible to hear at that moment reached the ears of both. They turned in astonishment towards the voice. There stood—
"Heya! What's with the dumbfounded looks, you two?"
It was Al, who had left the country to do something. Neither of them had expected him to return so soon.
"Al? Didn’t you leave the country?"
Even Favela's voice trembled. A mix of surprise and joy, and various other emotions, swirled within her. Seeing this, Al grinned triumphantly.
"Who said I'd be gone for a long time? I said it was temporary, didn't I?"
He hopped over a step and approached the two.
"Man, I've had enough of that sea of filth. Never going back to a place like that—"
As Al shrugged his shoulders—
"Sorry, Al."
Kyle punched him. Al flew into the water channel, his face contorted in surprise and pain.
"What the f*ck are you doing?!"
"That man... he said you were like family to him. That one day you would take over his shop as his successor. Since he had no son, he wanted you, you—"
Kyle trembled. What Al had done was unforgivable — morally, ethically, and legally. The shopkeeper who had hired Al five years ago, when he was illiterate and knew nothing. The benefactor who had given Al wisdom. There must have been a mountain of debt.
"Ah, he was a good man."
Al, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, muttered regretfully. Kyle's hand paused.
"He was a good man."
If there was a hint of regret there, there was still a chance to make amends. If there was even a sliver of regret, the sin could be atoned for.
"He was very... convenient for me."
If there was no regret—then there was no hope for redemption. Not even a speck.
"He gave me wisdom. He gave me knowledge. He gave me a place to learn. He was a very good man. I'm grateful. I hope he lives happily in the afterlife."
Kyle couldn't comprehend the person before him. He wanted to rise above, to avenge his sister. That was understandable. But what about the monster before him? It sought to consume even more.
"To me, the only family is my sister Arlette. My only friends are you two. Everything else doesn't matter. Whether they serve me or become my stepping stones, that's all."
Over these five years, Al had twisted and bloated into a monster. It was beyond Kyle's understanding.
"Always has been, always will be."
Al pulled a parchment from his bosom. It was a single document. A ticket to the future.
"This is... a third-class citizen's ID. How did you...?"
Third-class citizens. From first to third class, it was proof of citizenship in this royal capital, in this country. Something a slave couldn't obtain in a lifetime, a miraculous proof.
"Right, you guys can't read. This is... I took it from a guy named William from Lusitania."
Kyle and the others couldn't read. They could tell it was a third-class citizen's ID from the pattern on the paper, but they couldn't know the name written on it. That's why they didn't realize. The name written there wasn't Al.
"Take it, you say? Then what about this William?"
"Who knows? Maybe he's at the bottom of some dark hole?"
Al showed no remorse. On the contrary, his expression seemed to say, "Isn't it impressive?"
"An ID has detailed physical characteristics, fingerprints, and other verification items. Impersonation is difficult."
Favela was surprised for a different reason. She had seen forged certificates several times. However, they were often discovered. Even in the deepest underworld, obtaining a perfect citizen's certificate was difficult. Occasionally, someone else's certificate would circulate in the black market, but they were of little use and had little demand.
"Yes, that's right, Favela!"
Al looked at Favela as if he had been waiting for this.
"The certificates of this country are complex and precise, forgery is impossible, and someone else's is meaningless. There are fingerprints, after all. It's still the Seven Kingdoms. But that's not necessarily true for other countries!"
Kyle looked at Al sluggishly.
"I've seen many certificates from my experience working at the bookstore."
Al eagerly revealed his secret.
"Every country has certificates, but no two are the same. Some are more complex than Arcadia, others are simpler. And Lusitania is one of the simpler ones. Just a name, address, the country's seal, gender, age, status in that country, that's all. And those... are no obstacle to someone who takes their place."
It was a method unthinkable by the people of this country. Identity certificates from other countries are unseen except by those well-versed in such trades. Al knew this. That's why he could do it.
"Lusitania is a mountainous nation. A collection of settlements. There's little disparity in status, and most are born and die in their settlements. There are certificates for external use, but they're not important. That's why they're full of holes."
Al licked his lips. Among the candidates he had listed, Lusitania was one of the most likely. A vulnerable target of the same age had come to him. It was extremely fortunate.
"But I was quite nervous when I passed through the main gate. If there was any oversight, it would be over, probably in death. But once I passed through and exchanged this foreign resident certificate, those worries disappeared. Now, I'm finally at the starting line!"
Favela clapped expressionlessly.
Al had indeed achieved a great feat. He had grasped something a slave could never reach.
"Al, did you have to take this path?"
But that miracle was built on the corpses of others.
"Kyle, what's wrong with you? Don't worry about outsiders. No matter how many of them die, strangers are just strangers."
Favela nodded in agreement. Favela's opinion was more in line with Al's. The line was drawn clearly, and whatever happened to the rest didn't matter.
Kyle glared sharply, and Favela shrank back.
"Hey, listen. I don't want to say this, but you're a gladiator, right? You've killed one or two people, haven't you? Favela is a thief. She has that kind of experience. So why am I the only one being blamed? Don't you think that's contradictory?"
Kyle looked down and Al snorted with a "hmmph."
"…Ah, yes. No matter the job, it's surely not forgivable. Someday, I will receive retribution, and so will Favela. What goes around comes around, that's how it is."
Al shivered, feeling his skin prickle with a sense of dread. Kyle's aura had transformed completely.
"But you were the last person I wanted to see enter this place… You had finally become a freed slave. You were a free person, the heir to a bookstore. I wanted you to live an honest life!"
Kyle reached for the sword at his waist. The moment the blade was exposed from its sheath, a murderous intent overflowed.
"It's still not too late. Live an honest life while regretting your sins. I was too late to stop you. But there's still time. Please. Use that certificate... and live honestly from now on."
Kyle wanted Al to turn back. It wasn’t too late, even now. It was no longer possible for Al to legally repent for his sins. No matter how things turned out, the only outcome was the death penalty. That's why Kyle wouldn't ask for the impossible. But at the very least, at least in spirit...
"You’re joking, right? I’ve just begun. I won't choose my means from now on! I'll rise to the top without taking any detours! I’ll trample over everybody!"
Hearing this, Kyle drew his sword. To crush one's nature, sometimes force must be used. That’s what friendship was.
Al trembled. The atmosphere was entirely different from when he had been trained. He had never seen the Grim Reaper, but Kyle now seemed comparable.
"Then, I'll stop you. This blade is blunted. It won't kill you... but it will hurt."
"Stop it, Kyle. There's no reason for us to fight."
Favela tried to intervene.
"It's fine, Favela. I was getting annoyed as well. Always preaching to me. Being so high and mighty... How long do you plan to act like my elder?"
Al too drew his sword. It was a Lusitanian sword, crafted by William's father—a rare treasure seldom seen in this country.
"That's a fine sword. Did you steal it too?"
"Yeah, it's a parting gift from William. This one isn't blunted, Kyle!"
Al threatened.
"So what?"
A sense of being looked down upon, of being crushed, assaulted Al. No man suited brute force as much as Kyle did. And in terms of experience, Al was no match. Such was the strength of Kyle.
"Don’t blame me if you die!"
Al lunged with his sword raised. His movements were sharp, unlike someone who had been buried in books. Rational, meticulous, yet delicate—it was a reflection of Al's character. But...
"Don't worry... you can't kill me."
Kyle moved at a speed far surpassing Al's reaction time—
"Ga, ha?!"
He struck Al with the flat of his sword. A single blow, yet Kyle's strike was of a different magnitude; it was sheer strength. Overpowering any technique, Al was slammed against the wall. After all, even in technique, Kyle was superior.
"Give up. You can still turn back."
"Damn youuuuuuu!"
Al rose to face him again. He was excellent. He was fated to rise to the top.
"It's futile."
That conviction, that delusion, crumbled away.
Kyle mercilessly beat down Al each time he charged at him, striking with the flat of his sword to demonstrate the difference in their strength. It was a difficult feat of restraint, both in terms of strength and technique. Yet Al couldn't reach him. Even as Favela tried to stop them, neither Kyle nor Al would cease.
"Stop it already."
Favela was crying. Her expression remained unchanged, yet tears spilled from her eyes.
"How about giving up now? Favela’s crying. We want you to be happy. We want you to live an honest life. Please understand, my beloved friend."
Kyle's face looked as if he might cry too. Looking down at Al, who had collapsed, his eyes wavered with sorrow.
"Don't be ridiculous."
Yet Al stood up again, sword in hand.
"Happy? Live honestly? Don't make me laugh!"
Al roared. A cry from the depths of his heart.
He raised his sword and charged at Kyle. Caught off guard, Kyle had no choice but to receive the attack.
The two clashed swords.
"Who took it first?! Who stole from me?! Where's the reason I have to endure when that person roams free?! I have to kill them. The one who killed my sister, those who conspired with them, this society that allowed it all! Where in this world is there happiness?! Can you bring my sister back to life, Kyle?!"
Al struck wildly, unleashing emotions he had contained since that day.
Kyle had no choice but to receive them. To push back, to strike with the flat of his sword. It was technically possible, but as a friend, he couldn't do that to Al now.
"If you can't do it, then don't stop me. Please don't deny my life. I only have two people left. Those two friends who knew my sister... don't deny me."
Al wailed. It was as if he had returned to five years ago. He was just a child.
"Al, you..."
Finally, Kyle saw the depths of Al's heart. It was vengeance, devoid of anything else. That bloated revenge had swallowed everything, becoming Al's very life. Perhaps it was no longer even vengeance.
"If you're going to deny me, then just kill me. Killmekillmekillme!"
It was simple and thus inescapable. For Al, his sister was everything. They had only been inside of that world, his world, for what would amount to a brief moment. Since most of Al was his sister, it was inevitable that the reverse would turn out this way.
"If you kill Al, I won't forgive you."
Favela, too, drew a dagger from somewhere and pointed it at Kyle.
"We’re friends… right?"
At Favela's words, Kyle had no choice but to lower his sword. Nothing would change with his words. If he didn’t kill him, he wouldn't stop. But Kyle couldn't kill a friend.
"Al, I can’t approve of this. But I don’t have it in me to stop you. I’m tired."
Kyle sheathed his sword. His demeanor returned to the usual Kyle. With an expression of resignation, he began thinking.
Seeing that, Al felt relieved.
"I'll work hard to get your approval, Kyle. We're friends, right?"
Al's words were hopelessly misaligned. Even knowing that neither could do anything about it. Al wouldn't bend, even in death. Kyle couldn't kill his best friend. And so, the two were hopeless.
"So, what will you do now?"
At Kyle's words, Al's face lit up. He sheathed his sword and turned to face Kyle.
"Well, yeah, like I was saying before... If I want to make something of myself, I have to go to war. That's what this third-class citizenship is for. I'll volunteer for the army and be sent to the front lines. There, I'll earn my merits and somehow make a foothold to rise up here."
Al looked at the two of them with a lonely expression. If he was going to the front lines, he wouldn't be able to return for a while. Depending on the situation, it might be years before he could return.
"I see. All I can say is: don't die."
"Good luck, Al. We'll be waiting here for you."
"Thanks, both of you. I'll do my best."
The three were best friends. But being best friends didn't mean they understood everything about each other. Even if they did understand, there were things that were beyond help.
"And Al. That swordplay earlier wasn't bad."
At Kyle's words, Al made a sheepish face.
"As if you didn't beat me up easily."
Al sulked, and Kyle placed his hand on his head and ruffled it.
"I'm strong. Even in the arena, I'm something, you skinny kid."
"Stop it, let go!"
"Ha-ha, no way."
"...Heh."
““Favela laughed?!””
They returned to their usual selves. All three understood that it was on thin ice. Yet, because it was thin ice, they all wished to cherish it. Because they knew it wasn't eternal...
"For now, don't die, Al."
"I know, Kyle."
Al set off. To climb to the top.
This was the crossroads of everything. If there was a chance to stop Al, it was here. Kyle would later regret it. He should have stopped him, even if it meant cutting off his limbs. No, even earlier, before Al took on his karma—
Alas, history doesn’t care for ifs.
Al just moved forward.
He couldn’t stop, even if that path was drenched in blood.