The Anomaly (1)
Ludwig was exactly forty-nine years old, on the verge of fifty. For a human in this world—and a soldier at that—he had lived a remarkably long life. The depth of experience and renown forged across those decades commanded unquestioned respect, and Ludwig knew it well. He considered himself someone who had survived far longer than most.
A seasoned veteran who had witnessed firsthand the rise of both the Previous Generation Hero and the current Hero, he had fought through countless live-or-die campaigns. Against humans, beasts, undead, and monsters alike, he had battled across every front to defend the Holy Kingdom of El Dorado. Though age had eventually pulled him from the vanguard, his martial prowess had not diminished in the slightest. Those who mastered mana tended only to grow stronger with age; even as the physical body degraded, mastery over Mana Cultivation Methods or Internal Cultivation Arts more than compensated.
In that regard, Ludwig could easily be called an ideal instructor.
Yet even a master like him was not prepared for what lay before him.
Just what in the world is this man?
It went far beyond marvelous—it was downright bizarre. That was the verdict Ludwig reached after thoroughly assessing Grylls's capabilities. Just as every person required clothes tailored to their frame, martial arts worked the same way. Every warrior had a weapon that suited their hand, and every weapon demanded a different discipline. Ludwig himself could wield any weapon at will, yet he chose the sword simply because it suited him best.
Teaching a gorilla would be far less of a headache than this.
At the very least, a gorilla had a single pair of arms and a single pair of legs. Aside from an absurdly massive frame, you could still tailor human clothes to fit it. But Grylls wasn't like that at all. It was as if he had sprouted extra limbs in entirely wrong places, rendering conventional garments utterly useless.
To explain why Grylls possessed such a grotesque martial framework, one had to look at a few factors.
He certainly isn't bad at fighting. If anything, his talent is quite good.
First: judging purely by observable aptitude, he bordered on a natural-born prodigy. Setting aside off-the-charts calamities like the Hero or Ash, he possessed more than enough talent to make a name for himself as a rising star anywhere on the continent. While the full depth of his potential remained to be tested, he was unmistakably a rough, unpolished diamond.
There's some clumsiness in his fundamentals, but that can easily be corrected.
The glaring signs of self-taught combat actually factored into Ludwig's high evaluation. Grylls moved his sword and shield based purely on whatever scraps he had seen or heard. Best of all was his gaze. His eyes never stopped moving—constantly reading his surroundings while never losing track of his target.
The problem is his aura.
Here lay the second issue, clashing violently with the first: his mana—his aura. The sheer volume of Grylls's aura was downright unnatural. It was reminiscent of that Sword Saint from the past, famous for being so idiotically, stupidly strong.
Just what on earth did he do to bloat his aura to such a grotesque size?
Even Asella or Ash, whom Ludwig had once crossed blades with, adhered strictly to the orthodox path. Forge the martial discipline, harness the mana, and refine the aura. That was the established rule.
Yet this bizarre creature followed no such process. He had completely skipped every single foundational step. It was like a plant that never bore a single flower or fruit, yet whose vine kept relentlessly ballooning outward. What was worse, that stem was unimaginably thick and iron-hard, defying all reason.
Could it be because he lived in the Forest of the Four Seasons, surrounded by countless mythical herbs?
If eating rare herbs produced a monster like this, every noble and oligarch on the continent would be built the same way.
In nearly fifty years of life, Ludwig had seen countless prodigies. Some had been force-fed precious spirit elixirs since infancy. Yet even those scions only extended the duration their aura could be sustained; none had ever expanded its raw physical scale to this absurd degree.
Do I say he has talent for aura, or none at all...?
If it were merely deficient or unrefined, an instructor could correct it. But here, the sheer excess created an insurmountable headache.
And worst of all, that wasn't even the end of it. The truly horrifying part remained.
Crack, crackle!
"What do you think? Pretty neat ability, right?"
"..."
The final and most decisive dilemma: Grylls's frost energy.
When Ludwig first saw it, his mind had gone blank. He had already noticed the bizarre color of the aura, but the moment it made contact with an object, the target froze solid. If the rest defied common sense, this was completely beyond comprehension. Even Asella and Ash operated within the established boundaries of martial discipline. Grylls did not.
This is... magic.
It functioned like magic, yet it wasn't true sorcery. Throughout history, no mortal had ever imbued elemental attributes directly into raw aura. Perhaps a handful of mythical weapons spoken of in ancient legends possessed such traits, but even then, the power resided in the artifact, never manifested from a warrior's own flesh.
A man nowhere to be found in history—a complete anomaly. Had surviving in the Forest of the Four Seasons caused him to mutate to suit the wilderness itself?
First... whew...
Ludwig wiped a hand across his weary face. He had no idea what kind of garment to weave for this man, nor what size to even begin measuring. Was this how a scholar felt when stumbling upon an undocumented species in the wild?
The only silver lining was that Grylls hadn't literally grown extra physical limbs. Since nothing could be done about the aura for the time being, it seemed best to focus on martial fundamentals first.
A sword-and-shield fighter has good balance, but it can easily turn into a jack-of-all-trades, master of none.
A sword-and-shield style offered remarkable balance between offense and defense. Aside from balance, however, it possessed no distinct edge. It was an archetype best suited for standard infantry or novices.
Still, until he learns an aura shield, holding a physical shield is far safer.
In the Central Plains, that advanced technique was called Protective Astral Aura—a high-level skill that could only be attained after mastering the Aura Blade. Until then, wielding a sturdy shield was vastly more efficient. In the civilized world it might be a different matter, but here in the Forest of the Four Seasons, survival had to come first.
Better to start him on the fundamentals and teach him the underlying principles.
That was Ludwig's conclusion. Drill the core concepts into him and let Grylls figure out how to operate his grotesque extra limbs on his own. There was plenty of time anyway; once his injuries fully healed, he could conduct a deeper analysis.
...The question is, how do we communicate?
That brought them to the most glaring obstacle: translation.
Instruction required clear communication, which was currently impossible. While Ludwig wished he could learn the young man's tongue, language was not something mastered overnight.
Writing will be better than speaking.
Ludwig gestured to Grylls, requesting paper and a pen. Once they were handed over, he quickly jotted down his assessment and the current variables:
"Your abilities are far too grotesque. I do not mean they are bad, but trying to teach you martial arts feels like instructing someone with an extra arm. I will do my utmost, but internalizing the teachings will be up to you."
Strict and uncompromising as ever, Ludwig's assessment was thoroughly objective.
Grylls immediately uploaded a photo of the note to the Gallery. After reading the translation provided by the forum users, he blinked in disbelief.
Is he saying I'm so damn stupidly strong that he doesn't even know how to begin teaching me?
He couldn't decide whether to be flattered or insulted. Being strong was fine, but that particular phrasing stung. Still... it wasn't bad news. At the very least, it meant he wasn't a hopeless case.
Since he promised to teach me, I should wait until he's fully healed.
Whatever came next, Ludwig's recovery came first. Grylls continuously fed him honey to speed up the process. Not only was it packed with calories, but this forest honey also possessed minor restorative properties. For Ludwig, who was still restricted to thin porridge, it was the perfect supplement.
"It is far too sweet."
"Tasty, right? You've got to keep eating it."
Though the language barrier caused a mild misunderstanding, Ludwig diligently forced the honey down spoon by spoon.
After tidying up so Ludwig could rest, Grylls stepped outside. Evening was drawing near, which meant it was time to head up to the river.
"Kyuuuu~!"
"Kkiii-ing!"
"Snort."
Stepping into the clearing, he saw the giraffe had awakened, looking far healthier than its master. Wonmo and the baby raccoon were sliding down its long neck as if it were a playground slide. The giraffe didn't seem displeased in the least; it wore a gentle expression that almost looked like an amused smile. Seeing the animals hit it off so quickly was a heartwarming sight.
There really are a lot more mouths to feed now, though.
The raccoon family could forage for themselves, but the rest were a concern. Where he used to stockpile a reasonable surplus of dried fish, the current household devoured everything in a single meal. Once deep winter set in, fishing would become nearly impossible. That meant they were facing a true test of winter survival.
"Hm?"
"..."
Upon returning from his fishing trip, Grylls was greeted by a disturbing sight: Ludwig drenched in cold sweat, looking as though he had contracted some terrible sickness. Though the knight tried to play it cool, the physical reaction was impossible to conceal.
Alarmed, Grylls rushed to his side.
"What is it? Are you sick?"
He pressed a hand to Ludwig's forehead, but felt no fever. Yet a terrible possibility crossed his mind: the amputation. An amputation was drastic enough on its own, but the foot had been pitch-black and rotting with maggots before the cut. A latent infection could very well have flared up.
Even an Elixir can't cure a bacterial disease...
Just as dread seized his chest—
Ruuuuumbleeee!
A thunderous eruption resonated from deep within Ludwig's gut.
"Huuuuaaagh...!"
"..."
Ludwig clutched his stomach, doubling over in agony.
Watching the proud knight cringe, Grylls suddenly realized what was happening. Or rather, a vivid memory flashed through his mind: how he himself had sprinted back and forth to the latrine nonstop after first consuming an Inedia Pill. He had assumed a seasoned knight would handle the digestive purge better, but apparently not.
...All he's had so far is fish porridge and that ultra-potent honey, right?
No wonder his insides were waging total war. Grylls hurriedly hauled Ludwig up and dragged him toward the exit. If nothing else, human dignity had to be preserved! One might wonder how someone who had barely eaten anything could suffer an explosive bathroom emergency, but Grylls had suffered through the exact same nightmare early on.
Gurgle, gurgle!
"Khh-urk...! Urgh...!"
"Hold it in! Please, just hold it in!"
Grylls wanted to cry.
Fortunately, the catastrophic disaster he feared never came to pass.
It was likely the greatest crisis of Ludwig's entire life. The sudden, violent intestinal spasms had incapacitated him so completely that he hadn't even been able to move his limbs. Still, the emergency was averted. Grylls made a mental note to construct a proper outhouse as soon as possible.
"Can you move around now?"
"#%$@%."
Then came another astonishment: Ludwig recovered within a single day. Whether it was the constant nourishment from the honey or the fresh fish, the hollow gauntness had vanished from his features, and he was already walking under his own power. Though he limped slightly on his peg leg, he didn't waver or stumble.
The Elixir did its job, after all.
Perhaps he could transition from porridge to solid fish starting today.
Setting those thoughts aside, I got down to business.
"Here. Take your sword."
"..."
"We're not sparring right away. Just warm up and stretch your muscles."
Through a flurry of hand gestures, Ludwig nodded in understanding. Even after recovering, light exercise was essential—especially when he needed to adapt to his new prosthetic foot. More importantly, winter was closing in fast, and shelters needed to be built for the animals. Time was running short.
I returned to assembling the animal shelter I had drafted yesterday, when suddenly—
"Grylls."
"Huh?"
Whoosh!
Ludwig seemed to call my name before tossing something through the air. First came the Heavenly Demon's Sword, followed immediately by my shield.
Catching them both, I looked back at him with a bewildered expression.
Beckon.
Ludwig tilted his head and curled his fingers over the hilt of his blade, signaling me to come at him. Now that his body had recovered, he intended to give me a practical lesson.
Crossing swords with a patient who had barely gotten back on his feet—and was wearing a wooden prosthetic at that—felt a little uncomfortable, but...
Well, if he insists he's fine.
A quick spar wouldn't hurt. I strapped on the shield and gripped the hilt of the Heavenly Demon's Sword.
Wait a minute. Now that I think about it, these are live steel...
Before the thought could even finish—
Fwip!
Ludwig, who had been standing paces away, materialized right before my eyes.
Hold on, wait—!
Isn't this guy missing a foot?!