From Serf to Swordmaster, Chapter 19
From Serf to Swordmaster, Chapter 19
Clang!
The greatswords collided.
Berak's swing still resembled the way he used an axe. It was crude, a motion meant to drive the blade down with sheer force.
"Don't chop!"
The shout came with an impact.
Thud!
Kicked in the stomach, Berak's body lurched sideways. He flailed his greatsword through the air and barely regained his balance. His heels scraped against the ground as he came to a stop.
"Again!"
This time Berak consciously relaxed his strength. Instead of chopping down, he thrust the sword forward.
"Your body isn't keeping up!"
The greatsword slid along the flat of Berak's blade and drove inward. The tip of Berak's sword was forced upward. The massive blade closed in right before his nose.
It happened in an instant. Berak swallowed.
"If you're going to relax your strength that sloppily, you'd be better off swinging it like an axe. Again."
Berak charged in once more.
Clang! Clang!
Before he could even try to hold his ground, his sword kept getting knocked away. It flew off in directions he never intended.
Thud.
Each time, Varkan's fists and kicks landed all over Berak's body.
"Again."
Berak bit his lip, his eyes flashing. As the pain spread, a strange heat wrapped around his body. It was a different kind of heat from the lingering warmth of pain.
Fighting spirit.
He could accept losing. But he could not accept being this helpless. That was something the pride of Berak, who had fought desperately to survive, would not allow.
Within a frightening focus, the vibrations of the sword gradually began to imprint themselves through his palms and into his brain.
「Swordsmanship Proficiency + 1」
Clang! Clang! Crash!
At some point, the exchanges began to last two, three beats. The swords met and then broke apart.
「Swordsmanship Proficiency + 1」
Berak was experiencing this sensation for the first time: a weapon swung with all his strength meeting another squarely, head-on.
'This is.......'
The corner of Berak's mouth curled upward before he knew it.
'This is fun.'
* * *
Varkan felt a chill as he watched the corner of Berak's mouth curve upward.
'Look at this one.'
He had already experienced the boy's monstrous strength. He had confirmed his decisiveness and practical combat instincts.
But what Varkan was facing now was something on a completely different level from the information he already knew.
'...Did he just read my sword path and react?'
At first, it had looked like he was using the greatsword like an axe. That was probably the most efficient habit Berak had carved into his body.
But in that short span as the sparring continued, the crudeness gradually vanished from the boy's sword path.
When Varkan slid along the flat of the blade, the boy immediately shifted his center of gravity and prepared for the next exchange. When Varkan mixed in punches and kicks to break his stance, the boy used the reach of the greatsword to fill the gap.
He was erasing the axe instincts he had used for so long and overwriting them with the principles of the sword in real time.
Clang! Clang!
'I expected it to some degree, but....'
Once their swords began meeting properly, it grew harder and harder to withstand the boy's strength. And this was Berak—someone who had believed no one could push him back through raw strength alone.
Without realizing it, he drew up his Anima and accelerated his physical abilities.
Whoosh—!
It was not a trajectory a beginner could react to. But Berak, eyes wide open, twisted his head toward the tip of the sword. The greatsword in his hands followed immediately.
Clang!
Their swords tangled in the middle. A thin line of blood ran down Berak's cheek. Varkan lowered his sword there.
"Stop."
Varkan withdrew his sword and steadied his breathing, pretending to be composed. He had already known about the boy's talent when he began teaching him. But what he had seen today was too much to explain with the word talent alone.
'...He finished in an hour what should have taken a month to teach.'
Varkan discreetly hid his throbbing wrist behind his back. The boy's final strike — the combination of that monstrous strength and a refined sword strike — had been quite heavy.
Varkan spoke with deliberate calm.
"As expected, the greatsword seems to suit you well. Next time will be harsher."
Berak wiped his cheek and nodded calmly.
"Yes."
* * *
"Here. The captain told me to deliver this."
The moment Berak stepped out of the training ground, a piece of paper was thrust in front of his face.
"Ah, thank...."
The man who delivered it turned and walked away before even hearing the thanks. Berak looked down at the stiff parchment.
'Personal Activity Guarantee.'
From now on, he could accept personal requests with this.
Where...? That was a question he could answer for himself.
The Guild.
Roban had said mercenaries had to follow the Guild's rules. Demein had told him that mercenary companies not registered with the Guild were called "Rogue Companies."
If that was the case, then it was only natural that work would gather at the "Guild" that managed all of it.
'Then there's no reason to put it off. Should I go now?'
How personal requests were received.
How efficient the Record Sheet's rewards for working alone would be.
The sooner he confirmed whether such requests actually existed, the better.
Hellvern was a complicated city. This time, he properly asked Demein for directions to the Guild before setting out.
Listening alone had its limits, and he briefly took a wrong turn along the way. Still, he noticed quickly and found his way back.
After walking a bit more, the shortcut Demein had told him about came into view.
Berak's steps stopped.
For some reason, the scene caught Berak's gaze and held it.
Before him, a vast golden reed field rippled along the currents of the wind. The river, catching the midday sun, sparkled like finely shattered jewels.
There was not even a trace of anyone here. Only peaceful stillness remained.
Then Berak noticed something had changed. A red light was flashing from deep within his chest. He hurriedly took it out.
"What?"
It was the artifact. The one the vice-captain had given him separately as a mission reward. A leaf-shaped stone that had always glowed faintly. For the first time, that usually subdued light was blazing intensely.
Berak's brow furrowed. He could not blindly rejoice over an effect of unknown nature. If it was dangerous, he would rather throw it away. As he was deliberating, clear letters rose over his retinas.
[Special Event: Autumn Vacation]
[Rest condition met while carrying the 'Falling Magic Core' amid the atmosphere of autumn]
「Charm + 50」
"......?!"
The light of the artifact — no, of the 'Falling Magic Core' — died down in an instant. It did not even leave behind its faint glow. It had now returned to being an ordinary leaf-shaped stone.
'Charm, of all things.'
First, the completely unexpected effect surprised him. Then the enormous increase of 50 surprised him again.
There was no immediate sensation he could feel in his body. But a way to confirm it was not far away.
As if entranced, Berak ran to the riverside and looked at his own face reflected on the clear water.
'This is...'
The face reflected in the water was unmistakably his. Brown hair and eyes. The arrangement of his features. Anyone who looked would still recognize him as Berak.
But there were also clear changes.
The skin roughened by labor and training had become smooth and healthy. Now clean and flawless, with a faint sheen to it, his features looked sharper and more refined.
His eyes had changed too. The light in his pupils was clearer and deeper than before, strangely drawing the gaze.
The boy had grown handsome enough to make a favorable impression on anyone.
"......I should get going soon."
He could not sit by the water forever. Berak straightened his clothes and quickened his pace again.
He truly felt the change when he left the riverside wetlands and entered the bustling outer market. The streets of Hellvern were still noisy. A porter pulling a cart blocked Berak's path and scowled fiercely.
"Hey, you little...."
From the man's attitude, Berak expected a stream of harsh words. But the porter's next words died strangely on his lips. He looked at Berak's face, then turned his cart aside with an uneasy expression.
"...Tch, watch where you're going."
A curt rebuke instead of curses. Berak shrugged, puzzled.
It happened a few more times. A merchant about to shout at him to get out of the way lowered his voice.
Passersby he met on narrow streets subtly drew their shoulders in and let him pass first.
'Is it because of the greatsword?'
Berak reflected anew on the weight on his back. Certainly, the sense of intimidation had increased compared to when he only carried an axe.
But there was a strangeness that could not be explained by that alone. The looks people gave him were far softer than before — too soft to be wariness toward a child carrying a weapon.
'Or is it really because of that stat?'
The unfamiliar reward he had confirmed earlier, 'Charm + 50.' Could a slight improvement in appearance really make people's reactions this lukewarm? Berak found it hard to understand.
'Whatever it is, it's better than wasting time on pointless trouble.'
Soon, the Hellvern branch of the Mercenary Guild came into view.
It was a large three-story stone building that stood out even among the buildings along the main road. As befitting a branch in a major city, the outer walls were neatly maintained, and above the entrance, the Guild's emblem of a crossed sword and shield was clearly carved.
The exterior was tidy, but the air filling the inside was quite different.
Through the wide-open door, the rough conversations and shouts of men flowed out endlessly.
Around the entrance, people with scarred faces smoked tobacco or maintained their weapons while waiting for the next job.
It was a scene where bureaucratic order and the disorderly energy of mercenaries mingled strangely.
Berak stepped into that unfamiliar heat. And before he had even taken five steps, a voice called out to stop him.
"Hey, kid. This isn't a place you come to run errands for your mommy."
A large man leaning against the wall near the door stepped forward and blocked Berak's path.
His companions nearby snickered with greasy laughter.
"Is that a greatsword on your back, or a washboard you inherited? Looks like you're lugging around something too heavy for your own body."
"And what's with that face that's never known hardship? You pick up a sword somewhere and want to play knight?"
"Cut it out. If the kid cries, are you gonna carry him back to his mommy?"
Mocking words poured out. The gazes inside the Guild turned toward them.
Berak stopped walking and looked up expressionlessly at the man blocking his path. The thought he had had just minutes ago while walking through the streets shattered immediately.
'...So much for not getting into trouble.'
Berak swallowed a bitter smile.
He simply stared straight into the man's eyes. He spoke in a calm voice without emotion.
"Move aside."
* * *
It was an observation space set up high above.
Beyond the railing, which was submerged in darkness, the depth was hard to gauge.
A man stood there, leaning against the railing.
A little later, another set of footsteps joined him.
"Where did that go? It was pretty."
It was a woman wearing gloves on both hands. The man answered without raising his head.
"I don't know. It must have rolled off somewhere and disappeared."
A brief silence followed. The man set down the medicine bottle he was holding and continued.
"I kept it because of the name 'Falling,' but in the end, it was an artifact with no function at all."
The woman snorted.
"This place is too obsessed with symbols. If the name sounds good, they'll poke at anything."
She added, as if searching her memory.
"The one we caught last time too—you said you liked that he belonged to 'Blood Snake.'"
"Names are important."
The man's hand rose to the eye covered by an eyepatch.
"They carry power."
The woman shrugged.
"Anyway. Things have gotten a bit noisy because of him, haven't they?"
Her gaze turned toward the man.
"Lord Soberon seems to have gotten badly spooked. Word is a notice went straight to Hellvern next door too."
"No problem."
The man's answer was firm.
"That side has already been handled. There's no possibility of being traced."
"Why did you let him loose in the first place? It still isn't time."
The man paused for a moment as if choosing his words, then answered casually.
"His abilities were good, but he's a failure who can't be used mentally."
His gaze turned beyond the darkness.
"Rather than simply discarding him, wouldn't it be better to draw even a little blood to the continent?"
The woman laughed.
"You talk well. So, do you have a finished product?"
"In progress."
The man was calm.
"There are parts that are harder to apply than I thought. It still needs a lot of time."
The end of his gaze.
A faint movement was felt in the darkness.
Indistinct shapes lurked in the shadows. The pack was breathing in eerie gasps.
The woman tilted her head.
"Once it's complete, where do you plan to release it first?"
The man thought for a moment, then spoke.
"I haven't decided yet. A regular knight order would bring troublesome cleanup, and testing it against rabble wouldn't let me gauge its true performance."
A brief silence.
The woman continued with a light smile.
"Still... shouldn't you sacrifice at least one group with a reputation around here to prove the finished product's worth?"
The man did not answer.
It was neither denial nor agreement.