Chapter 47
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: The Saint
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Until the madness in the capital subsided, my cohabitation life with Shan began.
Originally, I had planned to just pass the time with training.
I didn't have anything particular to do, and my talent was so lacking that skipping even a single day of training showed immediately.
Skip one day of training, and the sword felt slow.
Skip two days, and the tip of the sword trembled.
Skip three days, and the sword felt heavy.
Skip more than a week, and swinging the sword itself felt unfamiliar. For me, training was an absolute routine I couldn't skip.
No matter how much it might help in my utterly unreasonable situation, it was better than whining and doing nothing. At least this way, I could make excuses to myself, so I couldn't stop.
After all, failing despite effort felt completely different from failing without trying, even if the result was the same.
However, Shan advised me to cut back on my training time, saying, "Training in a distraught state is just meaningless self-torture."
Then he dragged me around to mountains or valleys, trying to cheer me up.
Whenever I wasn't training or eating, I stayed in some dim corner staring at the wall, so I guess I was worrying him.
"Your current training time is still too long. You need to reduce it further."
"...You've been nagging so much that it's already halved, and now even more?"
"Even halved, it's still four hours."
"I have no choice. Others might think four hours is a lot, but I have no talent, so I have to put in more effort than them. If I cut it any further, my skills won't regress from mental turmoil—they'll regress purely from lack of effort."
"...You're right that you lack talent, but you're not the absolute worst, so three hours should be enough."
"How much do you think repeating the same thing will work? It went from eight hours to seven, seven to six, six to five, down to four, and I can't yield any more."
"Tch."
I knew why Shan kept insisting on shortening my training time, so I let out a sigh along with my words.
"Not training and doing something else won't magically fix my distraught mood anyway."
I knew I was creating a bad atmosphere and felt sorry about it, but this wasn't something I could control just by knowing.
In fact, I knew it too well, which made it impossible to fix.
If I hadn't known this world was a game, I might not have felt this way.
But I did know, and I clearly understood my problem.
So I kept pushing forward with effort, but it all felt futile, leaving me inevitably depressed.
"Then I won't keep insisting."
Shan seemed to give up on my words and turned away.
I stared blankly at Shan's retreating back, then looked up at the sky.
It was a clear day without a single cloud.
Not good weather for training.
I preferred days with heavy clouds blocking the sun and a cool breeze blowing.
"...Gonna sweat a lot today."
Even as I drew my sword, trivial thoughts popped up.
I only had two outfits: the ones I wore before the capital and the ones I bought there. No matter how cleanly I washed them, they were already fraying and starting to smell in places.
Once this was over, I'd have gold coins.
Better to stock up on at least five outfits.
Given my line of work, clothes got smelly and worn out fast, which was troublesome.
"Might as well buy armor too while I'm at it."
My stamina was so low and didn't improve much, so I avoided heavy gear, but I'd heard good armor wasn't that heavy.
Even the suit Shan favored was a type of armor, so maybe I should look into it.
The more I doubted my own skills, the more my thoughts turned to equipment.
Weapons were fine: Grandpa's sword and the sharp custom one.
Both excellent, but everything else was pathetically bad.
Clothes aside, my shoes were downright unwearable.
The leather gloves I'd splurged on because my hands sweat a lot were still decent, but after hours—sometimes over ten—swinging the sword daily, they were wearing out fast.
Still barely usable, but I'd need new ones soon.
Among what I wore, only the cloak seemed okay to keep using.
It was too big for me, so the hem dragged on the ground and got beat up, but the quality was great and warm, keeping me cozy during camps.
"...Need a haircut too."
Once I started nitpicking, everything bugged me.
The sword didn't feel right in my hand.
Hard to explain.
Like how your room feels filthier than usual when studying for exams—not sure if that's apt.
"It's all Shan's fault."
Because he kept shortening my training time, my mind was wandering everywhere.
I furrowed my brow, grumbled about Shan, and sheathed my sword.
With my head so scattered, swinging it now might cause an accident.
Right then—bam!—a sound rang out, and birds suddenly fled from the forest.
I wasn't startled.
Just Shan chopping down a whole tree.
We had plenty of firewood, but Shan would chop trees in his spare time and whip up simple furniture.
He'd done woodworking before adventuring and found it suited him, turning it into a hobby.
I'd heard if he retired, he'd open a workshop.
"The future, huh..."
Maybe that's why I felt so stuck and listless now—worries about the future.
I wasn't from this world.
I wanted to go back to reality.
But I'd realized long ago that was impossible.
So I'd used anger and resentment as fuel to push on.
Streamer Rie and Saint Rie.
I harbored hostility toward those two, blaming all my circumstances on them to deceive myself.
"I know it in my head—why can't I accept it?"
Streamer Rie was just playing a game.
No malice toward me personally.
So not someone to resent.
Saint Rie was just a character created by Streamer Rie, like me.
I couldn't be sure until meeting her, but she was hailed as a new star by everyone.
So not someone to resent.
Besides, she'd never directly harmed me.
I knew all this.
But I couldn't stop resenting.
If I didn't blame someone, I'd go mad.
"...Haa."
But no matter how much I resented, I knew in my head they weren't the targets, and the motivation squeezed from resentment didn't last long.
Over the past few days, I'd introspected and figured out my state.
I was like a candle burned out to the wick—flame extinguished.
The targets of my resentment blurred, I couldn't trust myself, and this frustrating injustice just annoyed me.
With my drive for the future snapped clean off, what should I use as fuel now?
Hating this world meant no dreams, and no dreams left me just lamenting like this.
Would everything solve if I got strong, like Marshal said?
Would having money make things comfortable enough to think calmly?
Thinking of the future choked me.
I'd developed what people call a mental illness.
Just blank, no motivation.
Shan forcing my training shorter created this spare time, letting these weird, weak thoughts invade my mind.
Training sweated them out; afterward, exhaustion led straight to deep sleep without deep thoughts.
That's why I'd clung to training, but shortening it filled my head with clutter, complicating everything.
"...Ugh."
Shan suggested shortening it, but it was just advice, so maybe I should go back to normal hours.
But ignoring advice from a silver-rank adventurer made my chest tighten.
"...This is so frustrating!"
I yelled timidly, but my voice was too small—even Shan didn't react.
Staying like this would tangle my thoughts more, so sword in hand, I sought Shan.
I pointed my sword at him as he emerged from the forest, whole tree on his shoulder.
"Shan!!"
"...What?"
"My head's a total mess, and it's all your fault, so spar with me."
Moving the body was the easiest way to clear stray thoughts, and better with someone to vent on than solo training, so I declared boldly.
Shan stared at me, set down the log, and gripped his axe.
We locked eyes in focus, and I struck first.
I charged sword-first and thrust.
It was a sharp true sword unfit for sparring, but I trusted Shan's skills—upper silver-rank.
His expression unchanging as he parried my strikes, he lightly kicked my calf.
The impact nearly toppled me, but I braced with my hand, sprang up, and regained balance.
Still dizzy-headed, I lunged again.
Then Shan's gaze shifted elsewhere.
"...Why during sparring...?"
I followed his gaze.
Wondering what he was looking at.
Where our eyes met, a beautiful young man in pure white uniform and silver armor walked toward us.
Even his walk exuded elegance, and oddly, he evoked a deep fondness like reuniting with an old friend.
His sunlit armor sparkled, creating an illusion of him literally glowing—one glance showed he was no ordinary person.
"...The Saint?"
I scowled at the young man— the Saint—as the words slipped from Shan's mouth.
The white-haired, violet-eyed Saint approached, looked at me, and flashed a bright smile.
"Are you Ellie? I brought a gift for you!"
Why was he here?
How did he find me?
What gift?
Nothing made sense.