"Get married."
It was when Elric was fourteen.
It was unmistakably a political marriage.
In Elric's memory, his father, Hoben Portman, had delivered those words with an emotionless, icy expression.
"The bride is the lady of the Weibin baron's family. She's sixteen, with outstanding beauty. Moreover, she's a gentle girl who enjoys gardening as a hobby, so she shouldn't be a bad match."
Elric couldn't understand his father's words.
Not only the sudden command to marry, but above all, he couldn't fathom why a noble would ally with the Portmans, an ordinary merchant family.
He asked about it, but his father gave no answer.
His questions to other adults yielded the same silence.
In the end, the boy who didn't even know what a woman was got swept up in a current he couldn't control and ended up marrying her.
The wedding day arrived right in the heart of autumn harvest season, when the territory was at its fullest.
Even ten years later, that day remained vividly etched in Elric's mind as a fresh shock, a glimpse into an unfamiliar world that could only be described as an awakening.
"I am Tyria Weibin."
Her gentle blonde hair, reminiscent of the wheat fields of the Weibin territory, came first, followed by softly drooping eyes and sprout-green irises that evoked tenderness. Her fair skin was like flour, and her lips were vividly red, as if freshly plucked cherries had been attached.
Her voice was soft-spoken, but her pronunciation was clear and deliberate, with strength at the end of each word, making it easy to understand.
Her upright posture and demurely clasped hands seemed fragile enough to snap if gripped tightly, yet carried a stubborn dignity that exuded grace.
In a word, she was mysterious and elegant.
She was a girl who brought to mind a fairy dozing peacefully inside a flower bud.
There must have been a better way to express it.
For the first time, young Elric regretted his past of avoiding books and getting into street fights.
"Elric, say hello."
"Hello..."
Only a shrinking voice came out.
Though she was just two years older, shame surged within him at the stark contrast between her and himself.
It felt like someone had shoved a burning coal into his chest, or like his hair was being yanked and shaken.
Everything was utter confusion, and amid it all, one thought surfaced.
That he would live with this person for the rest of his life now that they were married.
At the time, he didn't know the words to define that strange, ticklish sentiment, but looking back, it was his first love.
The wedding, attended only by both families with no other guests.
The sixteen-year-old girl entering in a pure white wedding dress had awakened in Elric the very concept of reason.
Elric awkwardly pulled down the corners of his mouth, embarrassed by the laughter bubbling up unbidden.
When they exchanged rings, he couldn't hold back the grin and scowled fiercely to suppress it.
Once that moment passed and he was alone, curiosity overflowing to the brim, he asked the butler.
"Why is she marrying me?"
Anxiety.
That was probably it.
What if she didn't like him and called off the marriage?
What if he never saw that girl again?
In that panic, Elric grabbed the butler's collar and shook him, desperate for the truth, and the butler reluctantly spoke.
"It's a political marriage."
The truth was shocking.
At least to the fourteen-year-old boy, Elric Portman.
"The Weibin baron's family is poor. They lack even the funds to sustain a noble life and are drowning in debt. In exchange for the family head repaying their debts and providing funds, they demanded the marriage. This way, we join the nobility."
How could a boy grasp the tangled web of interests that made such a deal happen?
Elric, who had a knack for pinpointing the context and core of words, grasped only one fact.
"Th-then... she was sold? To me?"
The butler didn't answer.
He was likely just avoiding an inappropriate remark to the young master, but to the child Elric, that silence felt like tacit affirmation.
Elric felt like the villain at the center of a sinister deal buying and selling a girl.
It was the greatest despair and guilt he had ever felt in his fourteen years.
To a boy dreaming of becoming a knight, the act of holding a girl's life hostage was utterly horrifying.
Elric wanted to explain.
Though no one had urged him to, he hurried toward the bride's room as if chased.
And he heard it.
"Sob..."
From beyond the closed door came a small sniffle.
There was no doubting whose it was.
The girl's greeting still lingered in Elric's ears, tickling his insides.
Even her sobs were soft-spoken and clear.
Now, instead of her greeting, her crying was searing into his heart like a brand.
His heart pounded like twin mallets, and Elric fled the spot immediately.
He tried to think of why she was crying.
Maybe she was sad to be sold off. Maybe leaving her family hurt.
There were plenty of reasons if he thought about it, but at the time, Elric was tormented by an even worse assumption.
'She doesn't like me!'
Probably, her husband-to-be didn't meet her standards, so she was crying.
She would suffer looking at his face her whole life.
So, he couldn't become the villain tormenting her.
If things went on like this, she might hate him.
That fear swallowed Elric whole.
Looking back, it was absurd thinking, but to Elric then, it loomed as life's paramount crisis.
Thus, Elric resolved to invalidate the marriage.
He went straight to his father, but the answer was predictably a refusal.
"Don't act like a child."
His father turned away after that single icy remark.
Clinging to his trouser leg did nothing.
It was just like the father who had never once smiled at him in his life.
A child born from devouring his mother.
Elric knew all too well that was how his father saw him.
He had heard endlessly, horrifically often, how much his father had wept at his mother's funeral.
That story still served as gossip fodder for the servants.
When Elric wouldn't give up, his father said.
"You're a noble now too. Act like one."
"But..."
"Be cold. Prioritize reason over emotion. Don't waver for anything."
That day, unusually, his father spoke at length.
And every word dripped with a chill that could freeze you solid.
"Earn your keep."
Elric couldn't grab his departing father.
He should have spat his resentment, but he held back.
What could he do about a relationship he'd long given up on?
Rather than wallow in hatred for him, Elric focused on saving the girl.
Seeking his father's help had failed, so next he turned to the household servants.
But naturally, none would aid him.
Who would heed a fourteen-year-old boy begging to call off a marriage?
He felt utterly alone in the world, yet he couldn't give up.
In the end, Elric took an extreme measure.
He ran away.
'If I disappear, the marriage will be void. She won't have to be sad because of me. She'll return to her family. Father will be in real trouble.'
It was childish heroism, born of a fragile heart terrified of being hated.
It was also revenge against the father whose sharp words had stabbed his chest raw.
'Take that, you bastard.'
Elric stuffed about three gold coins in his pocket, strapped on the iron sword he'd received for his thirteenth birthday, and fled into the night on his wedding night.
Trembling with soul-shaking guilt and fear, desperately hoping she wouldn't hate him.
Not even properly evading his father's eyes, he crossed the territory and fled the kingdom.
His innate decisiveness proved helpful then.
He didn't agonize over what to do.
Fortunately, Elric knew swordsmanship and mana operation taught by knights.
He could just swing a sword for a living.
"Hm? You want to be a mercenary?"
Elric became a war mercenary.
And,
"The name's Kasha. That's me."
He discarded the name Elric Portman.
He lived that way for ten years.
It wasn't because of that impulsive vow to save the girl.
That had long faded.
The reason Elric still haunted battlefields was resentment toward his father for never searching for him after his flight.
He knew it was shameless of the one who left first, but human hearts are sly like that.
With no way to quell the rage growing like wildfire, he used it as fuel—not swinging his sword to live, but to vent the frustration building inside.
At some point, it became a sword swung to die.
Elric threw himself into every war without regard for his own life, surviving to become the terror of enemies.
A mercenary wandering graveyards, swinging a sword ignorant of defense.
It was the origin story of Kasha, the Sword Ghost, one of the continent's Seven Strongest.
A secret known only to Elric.