Chapter 4
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Needlework and the Sword Zealot
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Early dawn.
When the sky's tailors were stretching and just beginning to snip away the veil of night.
I had already risen early and was deep in meditation.
"Hoo..."
Today's buildup of poison qi within my body was satisfying.
With them bringing me spirit elixirs on their own, how could I not feel good?
Soon, my dantian would open, healing this damaged body, so I needed to shape the vessel properly.
Finishing my circulation, I opened the wardrobe.
Inside were all sorts of clothes neatly arrayed: swallowtail coats, formal wear, and more.
The common thread was the eagle emblem wrapping around a sword—the mark of the Pador family.
None of them appealed to me.
They were far too cumbersome for wielding the Sichuan Tang Clan's martial arts.
I might as well alter them myself.
Fortunately, the estate had its own sewing room, so I headed there to make the modifications.
I grabbed a suitable outfit, slipped it on, then bundled all the clothes on their hangers and opened the door.
The servants were quietly cleaning, as it was still early.
"Young master...?"
One servant greeted me but tilted her head at the armful of clothes in my hands.
Who would expect someone who never rises at this hour to suddenly emerge from his room with garments in tow?
"Good morning."
"Ah... yes."
"Oh, by the way, where's the sewing room?"
"The sewing room? If your clothes are torn, just leave them with me..."
"No, I want to go there myself. Just tell me where it is."
The servant looked a bit dazed for a moment but soon kindly gave directions.
"Um... follow the left corridor out of the building, keep going straight, and you'll see a structure with a statue of a nursemaid holding a baby. The sewing room is on the second floor there."
"Got it. Thanks."
Walking the halls, I really felt how vast it was.
It wasn't much different from the Sichuan Tang Clan stronghold.
Over ten such buildings, and the grounds alone rivaled our clan's—no, they didn't fall short.
To stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Sichuan Tang Clan, one of the five great martial families and once the world's foremost?
The Pador family's prestige hit me anew.
Lost in such thoughts, I soon arrived at the sewing room.
Old servant women were already stitching away, not a trace of morning drowsiness.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"...Who is it?"
The old woman straightened at the sound of my knocking.
The door was open anyway, so I poked my head in.
"May I come in?"
They were servants, so I could speak casually, but I used polite speech out of respect for their age.
"Oh...? Y-Young master?"
The old woman and the others froze in surprise, halting their work.
"What brings you to the sewing room...?"
I shook the clothes draped over my arm.
"These feel uncomfortable. Could you alter them for me?"
"Of course!"
The old woman signaled to the maids around her.
"Hurry now, take the young master's clothes so he doesn't have to carry them."
"Yes!"
After the maids took the garments, the old woman politely clasped her hands and bowed.
"How would you like us to alter them?"
"Make the sleeves a bit longer, enough to cover half my palm. And add pockets inside the cuffs for storage. About this long?"
The maids blinked in confusion. My description was far from ordinary attire.
This was the style of Sichuan Tang Clan warrior robes.
Tang warriors always carried hidden weapons on their person.
So their robes couldn't be ordinary.
In truth, they needed to accommodate hundreds of large and small projectiles, designed for easy attachment and detachment.
Expecting full Tang Clan battle robes from this sewing room was greedy, but I could at least imitate the basics.
Finishing my explanation, I clapped my hands.
"What do you think? Can you do it?"
They still seemed unclear, so I had no choice but to demonstrate.
I pulled a needle from the pincushion.
"Like this..."
Shiiik...!
In an instant, I altered a garment with the needle.
I embroidered leather straps inside the sleeve to secure flying daggers, and tweaked several other spots to my liking.
"Something like this?"
The old woman and maids gaped like crucian carp.
"The young master... has such skills...?"
They were shocked to see a knight family's son sewing so deftly.
To me, who had wielded daggers more nimbly than my own fingers, this was child's play.
But doing it... it was kind of fun?
I should have tried it sooner.
With a bit more development, sewing could make for decent training.
I humbly downplayed it to the old woman and maids.
"Just a rough imitation. Nothing more."
"It's... truly impressive."
"Anyway... think you can manage it?"
"Yes, yes, of course. But young master, is there a reason you're having these clothes made?"
"Nothing special. Just want places to store things."
"Ah... yes."
Perhaps she thought pressing a count's son further might be disrespectful.
Or maybe she chalked it up to boyish whimsy.
Either way, the old woman asked no more.
"We'll get started right away."
"Thanks."
As the old woman and servants dove into the work, I plucked another needle from the bristling pincushion.
The familiar feel.
This was it.
The Tang Clan's hidden weapons were mostly this shape.
Perfect timing—I needed practice tools to train my hidden weapon arts.
The Pador estate overflowed with swords, but hidden weapons? Nowhere to be found.
Thankfully, Tang martial arts worked with anything in hand.
A coin, a pen—it could be anything. But for something common, dagger-like, needles for sewing were ideal.
These would do.
Easy to obtain, perfect for training.
"Could I get some of these needles?"
"Young master, sewing isn't bad, but... if the patriarch or other young masters find out, they'll scold you severely."
"Fair point."
The Pador family was a house of knights and nobles.
- A future knight doing sewing?
That's the noise they'd make.
They wouldn't tolerate a son—not even a daughter—sewing.
I gave the old woman a fitting excuse.
"I need to practice against assassins who use hidden weapons."
"Ah! Of course."
The old woman bowed deeply.
Nothing more fitting for a knightly house.
"Just finish altering the clothes and send them over."
"Yes, understood."
With decent needles secured, it was time for training.
But... two girls were running toward me from the end of the hall.
"Marian? Nellin?"
Nellin tripping as she ran, Marian supporting her with sleepy blinks.
What brought these unreliable maids here?
Marian stifled a yawn and spoke to me.
"Young master! You should have called us when you woke up."
"You should've slept more."
"How could we sleep knowing you're up?"
Don't speak through yawns.
I'd woken them too, it seemed.
I'd planned to train right away, but seeing Nellin with a nosebleed and Marian pickled in exhaustion, I felt I should show some consideration.
Stretching with a feigned yawn, I rubbed my eyes sleepily.
"Come to think of it, I'm a bit tired. Guess I'll go back and sleep."
"Pardon?"
"Yaaawn. So tired."
Not tired at all, but for the girls' sake, I returned to my room and lay down.
I waved them off, urging them back to bed.
"You two go sleep more too. It's still too early for morning prep."
"Uh... um..."
"Go on. Or I'll start undressing right now if you don't leave."
Marian and Nellin jumped in fright and bolted for the door.
"Good night then!"
"Yeah."
Time for more circulation training.
By morning, the clothes I'd left at the sewing room were returned.
Marian grunted as she hauled them over and asked,
"Young master, did you commission alterations?"
"Yeah, fast work."
"You should have told us. With all the servants in this house..."
"Not everything needs to be handed to others."
"You're so different lately."
Marian hung the clothes in the wardrobe.
Not bad—they'd imitated it well enough.
For proper custom battle robes, I'd need a skilled tailor or designer.
For now, this would do nicely.
I changed into a fine black flexible outfit and had breakfast.
Meanwhile, Nellin jotted in her notebook and recited the day's schedule.
"Young master, you have... classes today. History as scheduled, and..."
Oh, right!
I'd forgotten.
Back when I was young, I'd endured endless lessons until I was sick of them.
Did they help?
Not a bit.
And the grand finale was...
"And young master, there's a new swordsmanship instructor this time!"
Nellin's face lit up with excitement.
Yes. That. That one.
The sword instructor. All my wasted time went to him.
Even thinking about it now...
Wait... a new sword instructor?
"Nellin."
"Yes?"
"A new sword instructor?"
"Yes! The main family sent a knight who graduated top of the Imperial Knight Academy just for you!"
"..."
My head throbbed. Like a snake had slithered in—why the headache?
Then Bator, the estate's head butler, whispered at my side.
"Young master, the sword instructor has arrived."
"Mm..."
"Is something wrong?"
"No."
Had my face darkened without realizing?
Just then, someone entered.
Clank, clank...
The sound of metal-shod boots grew closer.
I sighed deeply, my head drooping as if pulled downward.
Blood seemed to clot, clogging my veins.
The sword instructor—he was exactly that.
"Young master, pleased to meet you."
His voice brimmed with the vigor of a newly commissioned general.
Should I welcome him or not...?
I turned to see the voice's owner.
That face. Yes, definitely him—the instructor.
Red laurel wreath insignia on his left breastplate, the pride of the Imperial Knight Academy he always boasted about.
A head taller than most men, with broad, imposing shoulders.
The epitome of a young knight, inspiring trust at first glance.
I'd actually liked Jayvolg at first, seeing him like that...
The problem? He had a fatal flaw. An incurable one.
Sigh, my head hurts already.
That flaw clashed perfectly with me.
Not enemies, but a connection offering zero benefit to either side.
What to call it...?
If I had to name it, we were like "what comes from the east goes back to the east."
Teacher and student should gain something.
But with him, it was like grasping at clouds.
There he was, bowing with glossy black hair gleaming.
"I am Knight Jayvolg, honored to be your swordsmanship instructor from here on."
Sword instructor Jayvolg.
The man who'd taught me with unmatched passion stood before me again.
A smile formed on his fervent face.
Don't.
We're incompatible.
You know those people?
The ones utterly at odds, no mutual benefit—I want left, he wants right, completely opposite directions.
Not worth stopping, but entangling tires you out.
My aversion to Jayvolg was glaringly obvious and entirely justified.
One word defined him:
- Sword Zealot Jayvolg.
Jayvolg was a fanatic who saw nothing but the sword.
A patient. Incurably so.
I'd wasted half a year on that sword-worshipping invalid in the past.
I'd wanted to learn the sword then, but it didn't suit me.
Even Deyan's body now was perfect for Tang arts—too good to waste on swords.
Telling a Tang warrior to learn the sword?
Me, the clan's top expert?
Like a Mount Hua disciple strutting before me.
His passion was appreciated, but excess passion brings headaches.
Especially if misguided.
Unaware or not, Jayvolg's lips curled up.
"I'll make you the greatest knight, young master."
He's firing up again.
This is going to be exhausting.