Chapter 11
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Saint
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Four silver coins.
After paying for a week at the inn, laundry, a bath, and some new clothes, I still had money left over.
I ordered the cheapest food at the inn.
A watery soup and bread that had been sitting around unsold for days came out.
It wasn't delicious, but dipping the hard bread in the thin soup made it tolerable, even if it hurt my jaw.
The crusty bread scraped at my throat as it went down.
I let out a sigh and stretched, murmuring to myself as I recalled yesterday's events.
"I had way too much I didn't know..."
Traveling with Ban had made me realize just how much I didn't know.
Since I'd chosen to become an adventurer, I'd undoubtedly end up working with all sorts of people in the future—whether I wanted to or not.
I couldn't afford to hold them back, so building up at least basic knowledge felt essential.
"Grandpa taught me a lot, but he didn't cover everything."
Grandpa Leon had been a soldier.
Even to my untrained eyes, he hadn't seemed like an ordinary one, though he'd introduced himself as such.
Either way, his knowledge was naturally biased toward that world.
He'd taught me about adventuring, but there were still plenty of gaps.
There was no internet in this era.
The limits of one person's knowledge were clear, so this was inevitable.
"What Ban told me boiled down to 'don't trust anyone,' but it was definitely useful."
Ban didn't strike me as a bad guy.
If he were truly rotten, he wouldn't have settled up properly and left after showing his disgust yesterday.
Recalling what I'd gone through in Diran, a bad person wouldn't just hand over money—they'd beat me senseless and toss me into a goblin-filled pit on top of that.
He'd choked me and flung me away, sure, but that seemed like he'd held back as much as he could.
If we met again, I couldn't pretend to know him, but I'd still be grateful.
If I hadn't teamed up with him then, I'd be sleeping rough right now.
"For today, I'll rest... and starting tomorrow, I'll get back to work."
My skin stung from being dragged across the ground when Ban tossed me yesterday, and running downhill during the escape had taken its toll too.
My ankle was swollen too.
"All done eating? Can I clear this now?"
The innkeeper's daughter approached quietly and asked. I nodded that it was fine.
Then I headed to the back door of the inn, checked that no one was around, and drew my sword.
"...My foot hurts, though."
But I couldn't skip sword training because of that.
I had no talent.
So I had to make up for it with effort.
Everyone knew that simple truth, but it was hard to act on.
Without talent, people didn't work harder—they gave up.
Not because they were weak, but because they couldn't see the fruits of their labor.
Those with talent moved like they were strolling moonlit streets.
The moonlight pierced the darkness, lighting their path.
The talentless just groped through the dark.
No sense of direction, not even sure if they were moving forward.
Maybe they were even walking backward without realizing.
"But not me."
I had no talent, so no path lit before me—but my destination was clearer than anyone's.
My trait had made me that way.
💪 Military Swordsmanship E
Your small stature and constitution that resists building muscle make you ill-suited for swordsmanship, and your talent lags behind others in every way.
However, through your efforts and guidance from an excellent teacher, you've advanced one step, enough to barely qualify as wielding 'swordsmanship.'
This trait had grown once before.
From F-rank to E-rank.
What better proof of growth was there?
What clearer validation of effort's value?
I knew effort led to growth, so there was no reason to quit.
So I swung the sword.
As Grandpa had taught, following the forms.
"...Ugh."
The blade wavered.
Maybe from yesterday's strain—my whole body creaked and screamed in protest.
This morning, once the tension eased, I could barely move for nearly 40 minutes.
Muscle soreness hit hard.
The injuries stung, burned, throbbed.
But skipping meant the sword would rust faster without talent, so no choice.
Deep breath. Grip tight again.
The tip didn't shake.
The basics of swinging: keep the tip steady.
Only then could you move on.
Condition's bad today.
Just focus on holding steady, sword in hand.
They say those with talent keep the tip steady from the first grip. Why am I still like this?
A regretful sigh messed my breath; the paused blade trembled.
"Grandpa looked so sharp whenever he gripped his sword."
Even at his age, with muscles faded, he'd merge with the blade, radiating fierce aura.
No matter how I thought about it, he wasn't just some regular soldier.
Studying under him meant my foundations were solid, talent or no.
"Excluding talent, I have just one problem."
Not enough muscle.
No muscle, can't grip right, can't swing right.
Muscle's part of talent too, but I had an excuse.
With such poor food, how could muscle grow?
"Yesterday's earnings need to cover living costs, and I gotta save emergency funds, so can't spend more now. But going forward, when I make money, I shouldn't skimp on food."
I don't know my exact age here, but surely 139cm isn't fully grown.
Believe there's growth potential—stock up on nutrients now, can't hurt.
"Not dreaming of 160cm, but 150cm would be nice, for real."
Can't fight up front with a body that'd fly away from a kick.
I swung irritably.
The form was childishly scribbled, visibly crooked.
Arm numb.
Sheathed the sword, sat under a tree for a break.
"Did a bit yesterday and I'm this wrecked..."
Yesterday: climbed mountain 3 hours, scouted traps 2 hours, approached goblins to draw attention, leaped down a near-cliff slope.
"...Huh."
Looking at it, I did a ton yesterday. Isn't this fatigue normal?
That thought led straight to the lame temptation: After all that, rest today, right?
Shook my head, but the heaviness was real—the temptation sounded sweet. I shuddered, then yelled.
"Uwaaaaaah—ack!"
"Quiet down!"
"Sorry!"
Trying to shout away laziness, but the innkeeper stormed over from the back and yelled.
Apologized quick, used sword as cane to force myself up.
Reminding myself to work hard, yet here I was loafing in the shade after how much?
Drew again.
Last time Rie logged in briefly, she compared her new character to me.
"The one I made three days ago already has Swordsmanship B."
Whether she'd reached B in three days of learning or grown an existing skill, the gap to that character was vast—and real.
"Plus, not starting as an orphan like me—she said upper class, so at least commoner, maybe noble?"
A slum orphan yelling revenge lived in a different world.
Not broken by it, but a sigh escaped anyway.
"Effort will get me there."
I knew how hollow those words sounded, but I had to believe.
What else could I do?
Swing as Grandpa taught. Step as Grandpa taught.
That was my best effort.
Body bruised, wounded, creaking—didn't follow perfectly, but endured enough.
No—had to endure, to accomplish anything later. I believed that.
"...If this world had internet streaming, my cute looks could've gotten me free rides."
Body aching led to wild fantasies.
"But no."
Gripped, thrust high to the sky.
Slammed down hard.
Form messy, but momentum solid—I thought.
"You know training while injured just hurts yourself more, right?"
Familiar voice.
Knew who instantly. Sheathed, slowly curled into a ball without turning.
Like a pillbug.
"...What're you doing?"
His baffled voice; I felt odd, voiced a question.
"Here to hit me?"
Ban.
Ban had come looking.
This time, squeezed eyes shut—no eye contact, even by mistake—whispered meekly.
"Me? Hit you?"
"Yeah, you, me."
"...Still creeps me out, feelings haven't faded, but I came to apologize after asking around."
"...Huh?"
"Those eyes—a curse, right? That's why you hid them, avoiding my gaze. We locked eyes by mistake, and it happened. Couldn't make sense of it, thought it over, reached that conclusion. How's that?"
"...Uh."
Curse? Maybe.
Didn't know, stayed silent; Ban tsked impatiently, spoke.
"No denial, so yeah. Sorry. Emotions surged beyond control—couldn't see straight."
"...It's fine."
First time anyone's apologized like this.
That should've been enough—but Ban continued.
"Words alone feel cheap, though. Heard a hot rumor lately, came to share."
"...Rumor?"
Rumor?
"A saint appeared."
"Saint...?"
"Been buzzing lately. Shot to fame these past months—master swordsman, divine powers, cures any disease or curse."
Sudden rise of a mysterious genius...
Strong sense of incongruity.
My silence—he took it some way, kept talking.
"Word is, too kind-hearted to pass by folks in trouble. If your eyes are cursed, I'd recommend meeting the saint."
"...Thanks. Do you know the saint's name?"
"...Rie, I think? Girly name for a guy. Anyway, I'm off—sticking around'd just make you uncomfortable."
Ban fled like.
Sudden info—thoughts flooded.