Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: The Beggar Knight, Gunther (3)
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Gunther is a knight.
But his life was neither as just nor as glorious as the ones sung by the bards.
The Beggar Knight.
That was the name the world had given him.
It hadn't always been this way.
He, too, had a promising youth.
But everything changed after the “Star-catching.”
To choose one of the countless stars in the sky, make it your guardian constellation, and take a vow.
Looking back, it was all bullshit.
They talked of star-catching and choices, but in the end, it was the star, not the Vow-taker, that did the choosing. The contents of the Vow, too, had to follow the star's will completely.
Of course, there must have been Vows filled with glory and justice.
His just wasn't one of them.
Of all the stars to connect with, he had to get a strange one. Of all the vows to take, he had to take a wicked one. And the power he received in return was one he could never use properly.
At first, he tried his best to uphold it.
He clung desperately to what little, unusable power he had and wielded it.
But that didn't last long.
It was a garment that never fit. So he cast it off.
The star that had constantly whispered to him no longer spoke.
All that remained was the empty title of a knight.
It wasn't bad.
At least it wasn't as torturous as the days when he wore shackles he hadn't chosen, singing praises to a master he didn't care for.
He wandered the world without purpose.
Then he met a twelve-year-old boy.
He was much smaller than his peers, with a filthy appearance. Yet, his round, large eyes were quite endearing.
He looked destitute and weak, and to top it off, he was cute.
A kid like this could get an extra half-loaf of bread from others.
He was the perfect talent for begging alms.
“I would like to take your child as my squire…”
“A squire? Take him. I was just wondering what to do with all these mouths to feed. Good riddance.”
The father didn't care in the slightest whether the man taking his son was a real knight or a con artist. He handed the boy over with a relieved expression, as if getting rid of a troublesome burden.
It was clear that if Gunther didn't take him, the boy would be abandoned.
Gunther took the boy as his squire right then and there.
“What is your name?”
“Yan! It’s Yan!”
“Alright. From now on, I am your Master.”
“Yes, Master!”
That was six months ago.
The twelve-year-old boy was now thirteen.
His smaller-than-average frame and shaggy, ash-gray hair remained the same, but his demeanor had completely changed.
If the boy before had a submissive air that made you want to protect him, the boy now was…
“Ugh. This is disgusting, I can’t take it. I need to quit this gig, and fast.”
He swaggered like a seasoned mercenary.
“Always making me work while he just sleeps. I heard this kind of thing is illegal in the southern cities of the Empire.”
He seemed to think he was whispering, but to the ears of a knight, it was all perfectly audible.
No, to be honest, Gunther couldn't be sure.
Considering the boy's recent rebellious streak, it wouldn't be strange at all if he’d said it loud enough for him to hear on purpose.
“Master. You know, the knight’s code. It says you have to be especially nice to children. No, I’m definitely not saying this because I’m annoyed that a poor squire is being overworked while his Master just sleeps.”
He’d picked up the knight's code from somewhere and brought it up constantly, until Gunther's ears felt like they were about to bleed.
“You brat. Stop talking nonsense and go beg for alms.”
“Yes, yes. I’m going. Off to beg.”
And yet, he always did as he was told, which was strange.
The boy’s vibrant energy seemed fitting for his age now, which was a welcome sight.
But despite his feelings, there was something that worried him.
The boy was changing too quickly.
It wasn't just his demeanor; it was his eyes and skin that were the problem.
His round eyes had become unnecessarily bright. His once sallow skin now had a healthy flush, and his exposed flesh was unusually smooth.
The boy no longer looked destitute.
This would inevitably create a huge problem for their begging.
In fact, the amount of food the boy brought back was gradually decreasing.
Gunther's own hunger was not the issue.
The problem was the boy.
He had no intention of making the boy a real knight.
Unlike an established family or knightly order that could select a constellation matching a squire's aptitude and arrange a Vow, a free knight could only connect his squire to the same being he himself had Vowed to.
And the constellation he had Vowed to was the worst of the worst, one that forced a wicked Vow.
He did not wish for the boy's life to become as wretched as his own.
He planned to let the boy go in a suitable city once he was a bit older.
But for that to happen, the boy needed to eat and grow well.
A frail man was not particularly welcome in this harsh world.
Gunther pondered.
Should I smudge some soot on the boy's face so we don't starve?
Fortunately, the day he would have to forcibly smudge soot on the boy's face never came.
“Here, eat. I already ate, so you don’t have to save any for me.”
The amount of food, which had been dwindling, suddenly started to increase again.
It wasn't just once or twice. It was almost every day.
Gunther wondered what kind of magic the boy was using. So, he decided to follow him in secret.
A den of dirty, filthy beggars, the kind found in any city.
“I told you not to mix the food up. It’s a pain, but bring it separated.”
“Dog food is a beggar’s delicacy…”
“Am I a beggar? Huh? You think I’m a beggar?”
The boy sat arrogantly atop a broken cart, ordering around beggars much larger than him with a tilt of his chin.
“That’s right. Look at the youngest one. This is how you do it. Bread here, soup there. Now it’s edible.”
“Hehe. I went to great lengths to steal—I mean, beg for this to suit your tastes, Boss.”
The excited boy took the food from the beggar called the youngest and transferred it into a pot.
The boy was receiving tribute.
“Huh? What happened to your face?”
“Well… some guys from the next street over suddenly clocked me from behind.”
“What? And you just took it?”
“They came at us with numbers, so we didn't stand a chance.”
Hop.
The boy jumped down from the cart he was sitting on.
“Lead the way. We’re going to mess them up.”
“That’s our Boss!”
The boy led the beggars and disappeared somewhere.
Gunther hesitated for a moment.
He was afraid of what he might see, and his feet wouldn't move easily.
But in the end, he decided to follow.
The boy, with the beggars in tow, headed for the slums.
Coincidentally, a large crowd of slum dwellers had gathered.
Gunther slipped in among them.
Fortunately, his shabby appearance drew no attention among the slum folk.
Thanks to that, he was able to watch what the boy did from a rather good spot.
Seven against four.
Despite being outnumbered, the boy showed no signs of fear. The beggars following him also seemed to have faith in something, standing tall and confident.
“You the ones who did this to my boy?”
“You got some nerve. Do you know where you are?”
After a brief exchange of words between the two groups, the slum boys charged, brandishing clubs.
Their vicious swings showed no regard for whether they cracked their opponents' skulls.
A direct hit from that would mean more than just being bedridden for a few days.
Flinch.
Gunther, who was about to intervene, widened his eyes.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
One precise hit each. The slum boys, struck by the boy, were knocked down in an instant.
He rubbed his eyes.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing—the boy effortlessly subduing older boys, who were half a head taller and raised tough in the slums.
What was even more surprising was the next scene.
An adult man pushed through the intimidated slum boys and stepped forward.
“Listen, kid. There’s a saying: look before you leap. Those who don’t, die. Like you.”
The man took out two daggers from his coat and lowered his stance.
This time, Gunther was sure it was his turn to step in. But the moment he saw the boy's expression, he changed his mind.
Smirk.
The corner of the boy's mouth curled up.
“Since you taught me one of the world's lessons, I'll teach you one, too.”
The boy held out his hand, and the one called the youngest scurried over to hand him a club.
“You have to think before you draw a blade. Something that could end with a few punches can draw blood if a knife comes out.”
“Being afraid of seeing blood, just like a green—horn!”
The man feigned talking and lunged forward suddenly.
My word. How could he be so cowardly?
Gunther, about to step in, outraged by the man's vile tactic against a boy not even half his size, froze in place once again.
Crack!
A thrust as fast as lightning.
“Keuk!”
The man, struck squarely in the mouth, let out a scream, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed.
“Woah! He took down Blood-spray Johnson in one hit! That’s our Boss for you!”
The beggars cheered, praising the boy.
“You all remember this too. When evenly matched guys fight, the one with the longer weapon wins.”
The boy lectured them with a swagger.
“Don’t touch these guys from now on. They’re my precious alms-begging agents.”
Leaving behind a warning, the boy left the slums.
Gunther remained frozen, unable to move.
“That thrust…”
The strike the boy had just shown was seared into his memory, refusing to fade.
It wasn't just a simple poke with a club.
It was an attack that waited for the opponent to enter range, delivered at the perfect moment.
It was a flawless counter-attack that used the opponent's own momentum and weight to compensate for a lack of strength and maximize impact, with not a single wasted movement.
It might not have been sublime, but it was definitely not something a thirteen-year-old boy who had never even held a sword could show against a grown adult.
Perhaps it was possible only after acquiring sense, boldness, and experience.
The first two could be innate, but the last was something that could only be gained through at least some real combat.
But the boy had never even had a proper sparring match, let alone a real fight.
The most he did was secretly swing a staff around at night.
That left only one possibility.
Innate talent.
It meant the boy possessed a talent so great it could more than make up for the lack of trial and error through experience.
Gunther moved.
He leaned against the large tree where he usually slept and waited for the boy.
***
“Those damn bastards made me waste so much time.”
I hurried along, carrying the iron pot.
“He’s not going to throw a fit because he’s hungry, is he?”
I was running late, so I felt anxious.
As I rushed back, I saw Gunther.
“Huh?”
He, who would normally be lazing about and sleeping by now, was awake for some reason.
“Master. Why aren’t you sleeping? Ah, did you wake up because you were hungry since the food is late…”
Feeling guilty, I started rambling when Gunther suddenly held out the staff to me.
“Take it.”
I absentmindedly put down the pot and took the staff.
“I'll count to three, then I’m coming in.”
I just stared blankly at his sudden words.
“One.”
He stood up and looked at me.
“Two.”
A glint flashed in his usually hazy eyes.
“Ma-Master! W-Wait!”
I shouted urgently.
“Three.”
Gunther threw a punch.