Mid-Rank Priest Volkman (3)
“Have you ever considered joining the Sword Church?”
Faced with Volkman’s proposal, Najin fell silent.
The tone was light, yet he knew this was no casual offer tossed out on a whim.
It was a good offer. There was no denying that.
Perhaps the priest standing before him was simply exceptional, but sparring with Volkman had left Najin with a favorable impression of the Church. Pure, unadulterated passion radiated from the man.
Even when Najin copied his techniques right in front of him, even when he dismissed a lifetime of training as if it were nothing more than a single moment, Volkman never showed the slightest resentment. Instead, he unveiled even more techniques—almost as if daring Najin to steal those as well.
Having absorbed every one of them, Najin could not help but feel gratitude toward Volkman. Something close to awe, even. The way the man immersed himself in the sword—as though wallowing in inferiority, jealousy, or emptiness would only be a loss—was something worthy of respect.
…It was, without question, a tempting proposal.
Not every member of the Church would be like Volkman, of course, but it was a place where only those truly devoted to the blade gathered. Background and origin meant nothing there. Joining might mean protection and stable growth.
…
Najin deliberated. Merlin remained silent.
Merlin was a guide, not a tyrant who forced paths upon him. Choosing which road to walk was solely the privilege of the one who walked it.
A tempting offer. An easy, secure path.
Staring at the well-paved road laid out before him, Najin eventually gave a bitter smile. He already knew the truth.
“I’m sorry.”
He knew full well that this road would never take him where he wanted to go.
“I can’t accept that offer.”
Najin bowed his head to Volkman.
Belonging to the Sword Church, training against walls, steadily raising one’s realm—that was the easy, simple path. But Najin did not want it.
He had only just stepped into the world.
He needed to see more, experience more.
Only by experiencing the world and learning from it could he reach farther places. Only by walking rough, dangerous roads instead of easy ones could he climb higher.
Just as King Arthur once did.
Arthur’s path. That was the road Najin had sworn to walk. When he lifted his head again, Volkman was smiling at him.
“If that’s how you feel, then so be it. It’s a pity, but you have your own way of doing things.”
He did not look disappointed by the refusal. If anything, he seemed to have expected it. Volkman stroked his scruffy beard, then let out a short “Ah” of recollection and spoke again.
“Ivan, you plan to stay in this city for a while, don’t you?”
“Yes. At least a year, I think.”
“Quite a specific timeframe. Got a goal in mind?”
After a brief moment of thought, Najin answered. Declaring an ambition was something he no longer needed to feel self-conscious about.
“Reaching White Horn rank.”
White Horn rank. The pinnacle of Cambria, the City of Opportunity—the grade that held Sword Seeker-level powerhouses. Hearing the young man’s ambition, Volkman burst into laughter.
The youth before him had only just dyed his plaque black—a complete novice among novices. And that novice was claiming he would stand at the summit of this city within a single year.
It was a wild delusion, the kind of statement everyone would mock.
Yet Volkman did not mock him. Instead he laughed heartily and clapped Najin’s shoulder with a rough hand.
“Hell yes. Dream big.”
After all, the young man had talent.
Reaching White Horn within a year might be impossible. But it would not take this youth long to reach the city’s peak.
From the looks of it, he’s already near Sword Expert…
Volkman had not seen him project aura, so he could not be certain, but how many years would it take this young man to become a Sword Seeker? He tried to estimate, then shook his head.
Applying ordinary standards to a genius was pure stupidity.
And more than anything, the youth seemed to be hiding a great deal. Name, age, even his true realm—nothing about him could be taken at face value.
Suspicious, sure…
But that hardly mattered.
Because the young man was sincere about the sword.
Crossing blades with him, Volkman had seen it clearly. His attitude toward learning was earnest, and the tenacity that drove him past his own talent all the way to the limit was unmistakable.
“In that case,” Volkman said, for he had taken a genuine liking to Najin, “I’ll give you a hand.”
“…Pardon?”
“I often come to this city looking for places to test my blade. Not every week, but about once a month. Each time I do, I’ll take a look at your sword.”
“That’s…”
“I’m offering to become your swordsmanship instructor. Though, well, it seems you’ve already cleaned me out of everything I had today.”
Volkman gave a wry smile and shrugged.
“Things will be different once you start projecting aura. I still haven’t shown you swordsmanship that uses it.”
“I’d be truly grateful if you would… but…”
Najin hesitated.
“Why go this far for me?”
The offer was far too advantageous for him alone. What did Volkman stand to gain? Sensing the question in Najin’s eyes, Volkman crooked a corner of his mouth.
“You claimed to know the Code of the Sword, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you only memorized the parts useful for challenging me to a duel.”
Najin flinched and lowered his gaze slightly. Volkman chuckled. He had already known the youth had used a shallow trick to drag him into a spar. He had simply had no reason to refuse, so he had crossed blades.
“There’s a line in the Code of the Sword that goes like this.”
Volkman rested a hand on his hilt.
“There is no high or low when seeking instruction.”
Whether the opponent was an unmatched genius, a back-alley vagrant, or a disciple one had raised oneself… as long as they held a sword, there was something to learn from them.
“Sparring with you helped me as well. My blade feels sharper for it. So if anything, I’m the one who’d like to ask a favor of you.”
“In that case,” Najin smiled and clasped the hand Volkman offered, “I’ll be in your care from now on.”
“That’s my line, Ivan.”
“I somehow ended up with a sword instructor.”
The Knights of the Round Table really loved guys like that. Bedivere especially went absolutely wild whenever he saw one.
Merlin muttered as if she found the whole thing absurd.
Said it was romantic or something. That watching someone go completely mad for a single thing made their hearts race.
Anyway.
Merlin let out a short breath and continued.
That earlier bit was pretty good.
What bit?
You know. When you turned down that priest Volkman’s offer. That was decent.
When Najin looked completely lost, Merlin answered a little awkwardly.
That thing you said to yourself. That the hard, rough path has real value. That part was good.
You heard that?
I hear almost everything you mutter inside your head. So don’t even think about badmouthing me.
Sneaky damn mage…
I can hear you, you know. You got a death wish?
Najin laughed at Merlin’s threat.
Chatting with her, he stepped up to the guild counter, submitted the sack containing the orc’s head, and collected the completion reward.
Click.
When he slotted his plaque into the magic tool on the counter, the numbers rose and his information updated. Operating the device brought up the full list of commissions he had completed so far—still nothing but trivial errands.
I should start taking proper commissions soon.
It was time to raise his rank.
Higher rank meant higher-level commissions and more varied experiences.
Black. Purple. Blue. Green. Red. White.
Six ranks in total.
The method for climbing to the next goal—Purple—was not particularly difficult. Keep stacking commissions like this and it would come soon enough.
But he had no intention of taking it slow.
He already possessed basic knowledge of the outside world. He was steadily building both his mana cultivation method and his swordsmanship, and he had a decent grasp of how this city operated.
This was enough, Najin decided.
He had no plan to keep hiding his strength forever, and even less desire to settle for simple commissions. What mattered most to him now was experience—the kind only real combat could give.
Even if he kept Excalibur and its platinum aura hidden, letting out fragments of aura should be fine.
I’d love to take higher-rank commissions…
The problem was that Najin was unproven.
Simple jobs could be accepted freely, but mercenaries and adventurers ultimately lived on trust. A certain track record was required before anyone would hand over real work.
Right now, Najin had none.
Even if he suddenly displayed fragments of aura, no one would entrust him with anything important without a record of results.
Still, if I look hard enough, there should be at least one…
While Najin was scanning the commission board at the guild counter, he sensed someone approaching from behind. A light tap-tap landed on his shoulder.
He turned his head.
A familiar girl stood there. Unlike last time, when her light-brown hair had been loose, it was now neatly tied into a single braid. And those gleaming, golden, snake-like eyes.
“We meet again.”
The owner of the Dieta Merchant Group, Dieta Arvenia, smiled at him.
“Looks like you’re hunting for a decent commission.”
She pointed to the plaque pinned to her chest.
The guild-certified head of one of the three greatest merchant houses in the city. He had not realized it at their first meeting, but now Najin knew exactly how much power the girl before him wielded here.
“Want to make a deal with me?”
She peeled off her gloves one by one and extended a bare hand toward him.
“You won’t refuse this time, will you?”
The headquarters of the Sword Church.
Returning late at night, Volkman dropped his luggage and headed straight for the training hall. During the entire carriage ride he had replayed his spar with Najin over and over in his mind.
I want to swing my sword!
An insight so fragile it might vanish if he so much as exhaled.
To carve that insight into his body at once, Volkman ran to the training hall and began swinging. Late into the night, alone in the empty hall, he cut the air for a long while.
The youth he had met in Cambria, the City of Opportunity.
He might have been a stroke of fortune for the young man, but the young man had been a stroke of fortune for him as well. Thanks to that spar, the arcs his sword drew had become far more precise. Volkman could feel it.
“Haa…”
After swinging to his satisfaction and wiping away the sweat, a voice sounded behind him.
“Training the moment you return. That’s just like you.”
“…You were here?”
Volkman turned.
He had sensed no presence, yet his old friend stood there. A swordsman the same age as Volkman—mid-forties—yet looking young enough to pass for his twenties. The man stroked his chin and narrowed his eyes.
“Your blade’s sharper. Had an epiphany?”
As he spoke he shook the liquor bottle in his hand—an invitation to drink. Opening a bottle inside the training hall would normally earn a scolding from the high-ranking priests, but Volkman simply laughed and accepted the cup the man offered.
Even the high priests would not dare say a word to the man shaking that cup.
“I seized a good opportunity and gained some insight, yes.”
“Oh? A good opportunity?”
“Indeed. I met a certain youth in Cambria…”
Draining his cup, Volkman spoke.
Ordinarily he would never have told anyone about the young man he met in Cambria. The youth’s talent was dangerous; someone might envy it and try to force him into the Church.
But the man before him was different.
Volkman knew he was not that sort of person, and his vessel was far too large to envy another’s talent.
“An extraordinary youth. Claims he’s in his late twenties, but no matter how I look at him he seems like a teenager.”
“Is that so.”
“He cleaned me out completely. Watched him copy every sword technique I’ve spent a lifetime refining right in front of my eyes. Left me speechless. He’s going to become something great. His hunger to learn is fierce, too.”
The man listened with clear interest, smiling as he tipped his cup.
“Fascinating. If you’re praising him that highly, he can’t be ordinary.”
He knew his old friend almost never spoke this way. Volkman was a priest who swung his sword plainly, never one to exaggerate.
“You said you’ll visit once a month?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Then next time you stop by that city, I’ll come along. I’d like to see this youth for myself at least once.”
“…You?”
“Cambria, the City of Opportunity—I passed through there myself once, long ago. A visit after all these years sounds pleasant.”
Beyond the wide-open window of the training hall, six stars glittered across the vast night sky. They were the stars that belonged solely to the man gazing upward—stars that shone only for him.
The master of the Sword Church.
The one who had shattered every record to become the youngest Sword Master in history, the absolute peak of the order.
“You never know, after all.”
The six-star swordsman—Sword Saint Caron—smiled.
“That youth might become a stroke of fortune for me as well.”