From Serf to Swordmaster, Chapter 2
From Serf to Swordmaster, Chapter 2
The place Berak entered was one of the huts lined up at the edge of the logging camp. It was where the serfs dragged in for forced labor were gathered.
"Gathered" was exactly the right word. It was nothing more than a place to pen them in and let them sleep, with no other function whatsoever.
Once inside, Berak saw straw scattered in patches across the floor. And men sprawled on top of it. There was nothing else.
The air was thick with the musty smell of damp straw mixed with sweat. He could also hear the snoring of those already asleep.
The spots on the straw were already full. Five men lay with legs and arms overlapping, and the only remaining space was the corner by the wall.
The straw didn't reach that far. The dirt floor lay exposed and damp there. Wind seeped through the gaps, spreading cold air and the smell of earth.
It was so cramped he couldn't even stretch out to lie down. The adults' legs were extended everywhere. Berak had to squeeze his body into the gap. One shoulder touched the wall. He could feel the texture of the dirt.
Just then, one of the men lying beside him glanced at Berak.
"Hey, kid. What village are you from?"
"Stonehill."
"Stonehill... Ah, near that southern creek, right?"
The man muttered to himself for a moment, then turned his head away indifferently.
Hearing that answer, the man across from him shifted and muttered.
"...He's younger than my son."
It was a simple observation with no emotion behind it. The moment he finished speaking, the man turned his head away without lingering. Soon everyone was asleep.
Berak did not sleep. He stared quietly at the ceiling.
It was cold, uncomfortable...... and though the space was more cramped than sleeping at home, Berak's mood wasn't bad. Because of those letters flickering before his eyes.
[Stamina: 248]
[Strength: 14]
[Dignity: 0]
New letters had appeared. From his experience so far, he knew this was a good thing for him. As for how it was good, he could just keep watching steadily, like farm work.
Amid the excitement, a worry suddenly crept in.
'[Stamina: 248] [Dignity: 0]. This was "getting sturdy."'
Because Berak couldn't read, he always thought of those two as a single bundle.
But today, [Strength: 14] had suddenly wedged itself between them. As if "getting sturdy" had been split in half.
Surely this wouldn't make him less sturdy.
The worry that had suddenly appeared kept Berak awake for a long time, all the more because he had so much stamina that he couldn't fall asleep right away.
He was still too young to push away pointless worries.
* * *
The work at the logging camp was too demanding for him to dwell on the worry he had failed to resolve overnight.
"Push it in deeper! We need to turn it!"
"Get out of the way, it's coming down!"
The workers' shouts echoed, tangled with the thunderous crash of falling trees.
Berak's job was clearing small branches, same as yesterday, but the atmosphere left no room to relax.
Thunk.
He brought the axe down on the twigs tangled like a spiderweb.
Thunk.
The next branch. Then the next.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
Bark and wood chips flew up. Some dangled from his collar, and some struck his cheek and stuck there.
'Ugh.'
Before he knew it, a burning sensation spread through his whole arm. The tendons from shoulder to elbow pulled as if about to snap.
It was the same as yesterday. Even overflowing stamina couldn't mask the pain in his muscles. Except today there was no one suggesting he do something else, like yesterday.
Berak gritted his teeth and endured all the remaining work.
「Strength + 2」
「Dignity - 2」
Then the letters appeared without fail. Even through the pain, Berak felt a sense of pride. The letters were both a reward for the day's hard work and proof that change was coming.
The next day, the trembling in his arms subsided. When the axe blade bit into a branch, it no longer bounced back out from the recoil like before. A little deeper. It sank in more firmly.
「Strength + 2」
「Dignity - 2」
A few days later, he realized the burning sensation when lowering his arm had lessened. Before, his shoulder felt like it was on fire after just a few swings, but now it took much longer for the pain to set in.
「Strength + 2」
「Dignity - 2」
As the days passed, the difference grew clearer.
Branches that once took at least ten blows to cut through now snapped off with one or two clean thunks.
Crack.
The sensation of the axe blade biting in clearly reached his hand. At this point, there was no mistaking it.
'It's strength. My strength is growing.'
There was no big change in the "sturdiness" he'd worried about. Only his strength was growing.
[Stamina: 248]
[Strength: 40]
[Dignity: 0]
'The shape that changes every day is [Strength]. So does that mean "strength" is power? But why does [Dignity] stay the same? It appears together with "strength."'
Frustration welled up in his chest.
Of course, it was amazing that his body was changing, and he was glad for it. But now he wanted to know the reason. If those shapes appearing before his eyes weren't mere illusions, there had to be a way to read them.
'If I could learn letters, would I be able to know?'
It was an opportunity never given to serfs. No one in the village could read. Including the village chief.
But Berak didn't want to live his whole life not knowing, like them. He wanted to know for certain what was happening to him.
'I need to learn letters. But where can I learn them?'
Even as his thoughts continued, his hands didn't stop. His strength had risen enough for that now.
"Hey, kid."
Berak looked up, startled. His reaction was stronger because he'd been thinking about something he didn't want anyone to discover.
"What are you so surprised about?"
The man who had approached leaned against a nearby tree. Berak had already roughly guessed, but the sight confirmed the man's status.
'He's a freeman.'
The workers weren't all in the same situation. They were divided into serfs mobilized for forced labor and freemen who received wages.
The freemen had separate quarters. Unlike the serfs lying stacked on damp straw, their quarters had a small brazier and plenty of straw spread on the floor.
Some didn't even use the quarters. They lived in nearby villages, walked in each morning, and returned home in the evening.
Meals were the same. The serfs shared leftover grain porridge, but the freemen were given better portions. A little meat or bread was added.
Even the overseers' attitudes differed. With serfs, beatings and shouting came first, but with freemen, their tone was a bit softer.
Striking up casual conversation during work like this was also only possible because he was a freeman.
"What's your name?"
"Berak."
"You can call me Martin."
Berak stared blankly at the man's face. Of all the people who had asked his name here, he was the first to give his own name in return.
Martin pushed off the tree and came over to sit down beside Berak.
"So, was it you or your parents?"
"What?"
"Come on, no need to play dumb. You've already been dragged all the way here. It's not like things can get any worse."
"I don't...... understand what you mean."
"I'm asking whether it was you or your parents who committed the crime. You must have seriously gotten on some noble's bad side, right? It's not my first time seeing a kid at a logging camp, but it is my first time seeing one all alone like this."
This logging operation had started at the end of winter and was long work that would continue for months. That was why the workers were mostly all adults. Berak, the only boy mixed in among them, stood out.
"It wasn't because of a crime. They said they brought me because I work well."
"Well, they say you're a kid who works without getting tired....... Who believes that? I heard last time that someone among the overseers even asked the forest warden directly. Whether, since you're a 'kid who doesn't get tired,' they should just work you without rest until you drop dead. Whether that's what the higher-ups want done with you."
For Berak, hearing this for the first time, it was a rather chilling story. He was confident in working long hours, but if it meant no sleep and no rest? He had no idea what would happen.
"Hmm. But if what you say is true, you didn't commit a crime. And so far they're just working you a bit harder than the other serfs. So don't tell me it's real? You really don't get tired no matter how much you work?"
"It's not that much. My body's just a bit sturdy."
He hadn't been out of breath and panting for some time now, but he just said that.
Somehow he felt he shouldn't fully reveal what only he could do. It was the same reason he hadn't told anyone about the letters.
"Well, being sturdy is a good thing. Isn't it?"
Martin brushed it off so casually that Berak's tension felt pointless.
Crack.
Even while talking, Berak's arm kept moving. Watching that, Martin cut in.
"Hey. Let me see that hatchet for a second."
Martin took the hatchet, stood beside the thick branch Berak had been striking, and lightly raised the axe.
"Look. If you just chop straight down like you're doing, the wood keeps bouncing back and your arm only hurts more."
Martin set the axe blade at a slight angle, then swung diagonally toward the base of the branch. With a soft thock, the branch was cut clean off.
"You have to strike at an angle along the grain like this for it to bite properly. Don't just chop straight on like an idiot. Think of it as digging in from the side."
He immediately aimed at another branch. This time he swung twice in quick succession. The first blow split the bark, and the second split the inner wood. The branch dropped with a thud.
Martin held the axe back out to Berak.
"Here, try it. At an angle, like I just did. Watch the grain and the angle."
Berak took the axe and imitated what he'd just seen. He raised his arm and tried to swing diagonally, but he put too much force into it and the blade just sank straight in.
The branch split only halfway and hung stiffly from the axe blade, swaying.
"Hmm."
Martin watched for a moment, then let out a chuckle.
"You think it'll be the same from the start? Just swing while thinking about what I said. Don't just use force."
With those words, he walked off elsewhere.
Berak gripped the handle again. It felt like something more than just the man's words remained in this spot.
Berak had never been treated this way by anyone before.
Someone who demonstrated first, explained kindly, and didn't yell or hit him when he failed.
Thwack.
Because his thoughts had scattered, he put even more force into the swing for no reason.
* * *
After that, Martin often came over to talk. Hey, how's it going today? That sort of thing.
Sometimes he would give Berak a little bread or meat, saying it was "leftover."
Berak sometimes imagined what it would have been like if this man were his father or older brother.
Adapting to the logging camp went smoothly too. There were rest days, and days when the letters didn't appear even after working, but either way, the shapes kept changing steadily.
Once [Strength: 80] appeared, small branches snapped off easily with a thunk. Berak couldn't tell whether it was because he'd learned the technique Martin taught him or because his strength had grown too much.
From then on, Berak was assigned to the work of redirecting trees as they fell.
A big tree didn't fall where you wanted just by cutting it down. If it broke wrong, it crashed into other standing trees and brought them down too, and sometimes wrecked the logs tied in rows.
At worst, it crushed people. The weight and speed of a single tree falling in the forest was more terrifying than a wild beast charging.
That was why the woodsmen attached ropes, drove in thick wedges, and used levers to turn the direction. Everyone shouted so as not to miss the moment of falling.
Berak's role was right in the middle of it.
The moment of setting the lever or pulling the rope. A position that required short but intense bursts of strength. The greater the pushing force, the more the falling tree turned toward the desired direction.
Berak performed that role excellently. When his hands joined in, moments that had been overwhelming became manageable. As it happened again and again, word quietly spread among the people. That he was dependable for his small frame. That several trees had fallen without anyone getting hurt thanks to this kid.
But even that didn't last long. Once [Strength: 120] appeared, his main work changed.
It was cutting down the trees directly. Since it required cutting deep into the large trunks, it was mostly work for strong laborers. Among the serfs, only Berak was chosen for it.
"Huh, that axe is more than half the kid's height."
"Still, if it's him, you can trust him with it."
And at some point, Berak began to control his strength.
It was axe work that others did dozens or hundreds of times. But he felt like he could cut a tree down in just a few swings. If he went all out, maybe even one or two.
The reason he didn't was that he couldn't control the speed at which the tree fell.
No, maybe that was an excuse. He could just clear the people around him.
He already drew a lot of attention, and he felt that if he showed that much strength, he'd be treated as something "strange." That reason was bigger.
'Oops.'
He'd relaxed his focus for just a moment, and the axe had already sunk halfway into the trunk. He quickly pulled it out.
[Stamina: 248]
[Strength: 252]
[Dignity: 0]
Looking at the kind of letters he could check at any time... Berak continued his axe work with light, tapping strokes.
"Hey. Strong kid."
Berak, who had been holding back as if it were a game, turned his head with a guilty start. It was another worker with a large axe slung over his shoulder.
"Shift change. The forest warden is looking for you."