From Serf to Swordmaster, Chapter 17
From Serf to Swordmaster, Chapter 17
Berak pressed a hand to his side.
It still throbbed, but not enough to keep him from moving.
"I'll go now."
"You sure you don't need more rest?"
"No, I'm fine."
Berak was already getting down from the cot.
"Good. I'll take you as far as the door."
The vice-captain stopped in front of the captain's office.
"Here."
He knocked briefly on the door.
"I've brought Berak."
"Send him in."
The vice-captain opened the door. Berak entered alone.
The room was tidier than he had expected. There were no displayed weapons or leather ornaments, and a low bookshelf stood against one wall.
Berak's gaze naturally moved deeper into the room.
The captain was there.
Berak briefly forgot how to speak. The captain's face was clearly unlike any he had seen before. It felt as though there was some fundamental difference between this man and everyone Berak had seen until now. If he had to sum it up in one word—
'...He's really handsome.'
His somewhat muted blond hair was slightly disheveled. Even without the light catching them, his blue eyes were vivid.
His gaze was closer to admiration for something unfamiliar than to staring.
"...Done looking?"
At those words, Berak snapped back to his senses.
"Sit."
The captain gestured to a chair. Berak slowly pulled it out and sat.
Looking again, the captain seemed very young. He looked younger than anyone Berak had met in the mercenary company.
"I'm Kyle. And you are...."
"Berak."
"Right, that was the name."
Those blue eyes settled quietly on Berak.
"I thought Varkan had been uncharacteristically boastful. But seeing you in person, I understand. Even calling you young isn't enough. You're too young. Considering what you accomplished, it's hard to believe."
"I already proved myself to the vice-captain."
Kyle waved a hand lightly.
"I'm not saying I don't believe it. I don't believe you—I believe Varkan. He's not the sort to pass along lies about something like this."
"Varkan?"
"Seems you don't know yet. That's the vice-captain's name."
Berak nodded.
He thought the name suited the man's build, which looked well over two meters tall.
"I heard you wanted to see me."
Kyle answered the question with one of his own.
"You're from Branvalt?"
"......."
Kyle gave a short, derisive laugh. Perhaps because of his handsome face, even that reaction came across as composed rather than flippant.
"If you want to hide that, you'd do well to change your accent as soon as possible. Plenty of people can recognize it. It doesn't take long for them to notice that way of speaking isn't a regional dialect."
Berak straightened his posture and looked directly at Kyle.
"Right. You asked why I called you here."
Kyle leaned back slightly against the chair.
"You want the benefit of the Silver Hawk name without accepting its control. Not many people make such shameless demands under our banner. I needed to see for myself whether that was just a child's recklessness or whether you were actually worth that much."
Berak's brow tightened almost imperceptibly. A strange unease ran down his spine.
He hadn't even brought up any specific demands yet.
He had planned to build achievements and gradually expand the scope of his 'autonomy,' but Kyle spoke as though he could already see the final form Berak had envisioned.
Kyle stopped speaking and laced his fingers together with a relaxed motion.
The question 'So now that you've seen me yourself, what's your judgment?' rose to the tip of Berak's tongue, but he swallowed it.
The man's gaze seemed to dig into his innermost thoughts, and Berak had a feeling that the moment he opened his mouth, he would lose the initiative.
Kyle, who had simply been watching Berak for a while, suddenly spoke.
"Fine. You pass."
"What?"
"I made a fuss about the Silver Hawk's name and all that, but the verification was already finished at the vice-captain's level. If he already willingly approved the terms, there's nothing more for me to add. Because that's what it means to trust him."
Kyle looked at Berak's expression and chuckled.
"You've got a face that says, 'Then why did you call me here separately?' No need to worry. What comes now is the part I need to see and decide for myself."
And then.
The easy atmosphere vanished in an instant.
The blue eyes flashed, and the air in the room drew taut.
"Berak."
Berak did not avert his gaze.
"Why are you so determined to break away from discipline?"
"Does there need to be a reason?"
"It could, and it couldn't."
It was hard to make sense of immediately.
"As far as your qualifications for the exception clause go, your answer no longer has any bearing."
Kyle continued calmly.
"But this is different. I'm asking as one warrior to another. What kind of man you are is for you to choose and show."
He paused briefly.
"I simply want to know that."
Berak drew a breath a beat late.
He had already heard that even if he answered wrong, he had nothing to lose.
Even so.
Avoiding the question here felt somehow unpleasant.
"...Because I want to be free."
"Free?"
Kyle echoed the question.
"I don't want to be interfered with, and I don't want my life to be at the mercy of someone else's orders. I want to be a mercenary who does work I choose for myself."
It wasn't just a matter of wishes.
Berak knew.
What the Record Sheet demanded wasn't doing a lot of just anything—it was the most efficient action for him right now.
He couldn't have that choice if he remained attached to a mercenary company, waiting for orders.
Kyle, who had been listening, spoke after a brief silence.
"Is that all?"
"What?"
"I mean, is there no other reason?"
"No."
Kyle leaned back in his chair. The air in the room relaxed again.
"Then what if the Silver Hawk guaranteed that freedom you want in advance?"
"Guaranteed... in advance?"
Kyle lightly interlaced his fingers.
"You join the Silver Hawk. But we won't interfere with your movements. We have no intention of sending you orders. We won't take issue with commissions you take on personally, either."
Berak stared at Kyle instead of answering. The unease he had felt earlier had now taken concrete form before him.
It was a right he had planned to earn slowly by building achievements. Kyle was offering all of it from the very start of the negotiation.
"......The terms are too good. Suspiciously so."
Faced with an offer he had thought impossible, Berak's mind instead went cold.
"I came here intending to become a member anyway. You could just work me with reasonable tasks and grant things one by one. So why are you offering to give me everything from the start? You're not planning to force me into something more dangerous or something I don't want to do later, are you?"
Kyle gave a low laugh. His expression said he quite liked Berak's wary question.
"Sitting in the captain's seat, you see all sorts of people. Among them, there were occasionally ones who, though not in your way, tried to get firm answers about their own rights before even joining. Most of them were arrogant bastards overestimating their own skill......."
Kyle leaned forward slightly, his gaze seeming to pierce straight through Berak.
"You're a bit different. You're not trying to show off your skill—your eyes already know that the organization is a set of clothes that doesn't fit you. Try to force a bridle on a man like that, and in the end he'll either snap the line and leave, or break down from the inside."
Kyle drove the point home.
"If it's a blade that will only cut my own hand no matter how hard I try to grip it, then my judgment is that it's better to let it be swung freely. Because that's the surest way to keep you under our name."
Berak's eyes wavered faintly. It was because the captain, whom he had assumed was merely trying to use the situation, had returned an answer that affirmed his very nature. Kyle added lightly.
"One more thing—having a talent like you stolen by someone else would sting quite a bit as captain. I'm saying you're a blade I want badly enough to go this far to set things up just to keep you at my side. Does that answer your question?"
"More than enough."
Kyle continued.
"I do have one condition. From time to time, could you answer the company's requests? As captain, I need at least that much justification."
"The company's requests... aren't orders?"
"Orders presuppose obedience. I don't expect obedience from you. I only hope that when you wish it, we can fight together."
Berak sank into thought for a moment. If the promise was truly kept, it was a fairly good offer. No, it was close to the best possible outcome.
"Do you need time to decide?"
At Kyle's words, Berak raised his head.
"Could you... put the terms you mentioned in writing?"
Kyle answered as if it were nothing.
"Of course. That's what a contract is."
"Then I'll join. The Silver Hawk."
"Welcome to the Silver Hawk. The contract will be delivered once it's completed. Go rest now."
As Berak reached for the door handle, Kyle added.
"...Ah, right. There's an initiation ceremony."
Berak turned back slightly.
"A ceremony...?"
"It's a tradition separate from the contract. You can think of it as a gathering where we confirm to each other that your name has been added to the Silver Hawk."
Berak thought for a moment, then nodded.
* * *
Back in the infirmary, Berak received another visit from Vice-Captain Varkan.
"I heard you've now become one of us."
A large palm rested lightly on Berak's shoulder.
"I spoke with the captain."
Berak looked up at Varkan and continued. He remembered the captain saying he trusted the vice-captain's decision completely.
"The terms you proposed were far better than I expected. Did you happen to know the details in advance, Vice-Captain?"
"I didn't."
Varkan shrugged lightly.
"How would I know every little detail? I just told him to grant your opinions whenever possible."
"Then...... in the end, it was you looking out for me. Thank you."
"It's the least I could do."
Berak didn't fully understand the reason behind "the least I could do." Hadn't Varkan already taken care of the mission reward separately? It felt as though the vice-captain had some other reason for paying attention to Berak.
"Will you go look at weapons? Your axe was completely destroyed this time. Of course, you can rest more until your body fully recovers."
"No. I want to see them right now."
The absence of an axe at his side bothered him more than the pain in his body.
The path he followed Varkan along led to the upper part of the mercenary company grounds. As they climbed the gentle slope, the training grounds and buildings gradually came into view below.
"Do I have to buy the weapon?"
"Depends on the situation."
Varkan spoke evenly.
"In principle, it's personal responsibility. But if a weapon is destroyed in circumstances beyond the announced mission difficulty, it's only right for the company to take responsibility."
He glanced at Berak.
"In your case, it seems fine to just issue one."
"Thank you."
"However."
Varkan's voice lowered slightly.
"I saw the broken axe. The impact was severe, but the way you handled it was rough from the start. Once you receive a new weapon, learn how to use and maintain it first."
"...Understood."
While they were talking.
Air heavy with the smell of iron and heat stung his nose.
A large circular forge and anvil.
Iron glowing red.
The dull sound of hammering echoed through the heat.
"Old man! We've come to look at weapons!"
At Varkan's voice, a man walked out from inside.
His hair and beard were streaked with gray, but the muscles of his soot-darkened arms and shoulders were still firm and alive.
The old man narrowed his eyes and spoke.
"Who...... Varkan, is that you?"
His gaze shifted toward Berak.
"Hm. A son you've been hiding? When did you raise him this big? Who's the mother? Seeing as he doesn't resemble your hulking frame at all, he must take after her side."
"Stop talking nonsense and show us some weapons. The new kid here will be using one."
"What, a new recruit? This little runt?"
The old man snorted.
"At his age, what he should be carrying around is a wooden stick, not a blade. You come by for the first time in ages and you're making jokes that aren't even funny?"
"It's not a joke."
The old man's amused expression slowly hardened.
"If it's not a joke."
The old man's gaze moved to Berak.
"Then you're saying you'll treat the things forged by these hands as a child's toys."
His voice wasn't loud. But it carried a hardness like the iron around them.
"A weapon is a weapon. It doesn't get lighter just because the hand holding it is small."
Varkan studied the old man's expression and spoke.
"Wait, old man. This one is—."
Berak, who had been watching, stepped forward. This wasn't a problem someone else could solve for him.
As he took one more step into the forge, the heat hit him hard.
"Hey, you brat! Where do you think you're going!"
The old man lunged to stop him, but couldn't catch up to Berak's steps.
Inside, Berak looked around. Then he spotted a lump of iron leaning against the wall.
"That's scrap that can't be used anymore, right?"
Berak pointed to a corner of the forge. Practice steel swords lay there awaiting disposal, their edges blunted beyond use or their balance ruined. They were heavy weapons carved from solid steel purely for weight.
The old man nodded blankly, and Berak approached.
"May I use a little strength for a moment?"
"What? That's too heavy for a child to lift...."
The old man's words hadn't even finished. Berak gripped the handle of the iron lump with one hand and the thick center with the other.
Screeeeech—!
The scream of metal burst out immediately. Without a change in his expression, Berak bent both arms inward. The thick solid steel began to yield inside Berak's grip.
Each small knuckle pressed in as if digging into the iron. Berak's handprints were carved clearly into the smooth steel surface.
Crrrunch... crack!
At last, the metal's limit arrived. The rigid iron bar folded more than halfway over. When Berak twisted his wrist one final time, it became a hideously warped lump of scrap.
Berak dropped it at the old man's feet with a thud.
"It's too soft to use as a toy. Show me something much harder than this."
"Th-th-that......."
The old man's mouth hung half open, frozen.
The finger pointing at Berak trembled.
He made several attempts to speak, but no words came out.
Varkan shrugged.
"I told you, old man."
Only then did the old man seem to recover his senses and shout.
"You should have told me he was this kind of monster beforehand, you bastard! I thought my heart was going to stop!"
Then he turned his back brusquely and strode inside. A moment later, he glanced back at Berak and asked.
"Fine. You're not someone who'll be swung around by a weapon. What kind of weapon do you use?"
"An axe."
"An axe......."
The old man swept his gaze around the forge. His eyes passed over the weapons as if skimming them.
Soon he brought out several axes and laid them on the floor.
"Pick each one up."
Berak first picked up an axe with a wide, gleaming blade. He flicked his wrist lightly, then immediately frowned and set it down.
"It's uncomfortable. If I swing it once, the next movement feels like it'll be late."
The old man's eyebrows twitched noticeably. Without a word, he stared intently at Berak's hands.
The second axe. Berak gripped the handle and sent a short horizontal cut through the air.
Whoosh—
Berak tried to recover the axe in a continuous motion without stopping, but when the end of the haft grazed his side, he immediately shook his head.
"This one's too long. It keeps getting in the way."
This time the old man let out a low groan. Now he was leaning toward Berak, wetting his lips as if intrigued.
The last one, the third. Berak picked up an axe that had been stuck in the corner—crude, but with a thick blade and a short haft.
Swish—!
When Berak swung the axe, a completely different, sharper sound tore through the air. The axe blade traced a precise path without the slightest wobble. Berak adjusted his grip on the haft with satisfaction and spoke.
"This one fits my hand best. It feels just like my own arm."
As Berak settled on the axe, the old man approached with a hearty laugh.
"Ha, would you look at that. I deliberately shortened the haft and shifted the blade's weight back on that one. I designed it to produce the shortest, most concise trajectory possible. In exchange, it's heavy and a pain in the ass to handle, so nobody ever picked it up."
The old man took the axe from Berak's hands and carefully examined the blade. As if replaying the trajectory Berak had just swung, admiration settled in the old man's eyes.
"Actually, if you'd been indecisive, this is the one I was going to pick out for you myself. And you spotted it right away."
The old man raised one corner of his mouth.
"You instinctively understand how a weapon and a body should interlock and move together. Your eye alone is already that of a finished warrior. Good—a masterless weapon has finally met its master. Take it."
He hesitated a moment, then added.
"...Hey, kid. If this axe ever starts to feel light, or you feel it can't contain all your strength, come back anytime."
"What?"
"With a body like yours, you won't need something off the shelf—you'll need a 'real' one forged from the very frame to match the grain of your muscles. You make me want to properly craft a weapon that fits a man like you perfectly."
At that moment, Varkan, who had been watching from behind, cut in.
"Wait."
Berak raised his head.
"Since we're already here, how about having one made right now? Custom-fitted to you."
"Why? I like this axe."
A faint note of amusement entered Varkan's voice.
And he tossed out a single light remark.
"What we're making isn't an axe. It's a sword."
"A sword... all of a sudden?"
"Yes. Take this chance to learn swordsmanship, too."