Chapter 16
Chapter 16
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Sword-Mage
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The atmosphere in the training grounds felt a bit awkward. On the surface, the heat rising from various spots was no different from yesterday, but knowingly or not, everyone's nerves were focused in one direction.
It was the young masters of the house they served.
"You need to warm up your body properly. Otherwise, the risk of injury increases."
"Ugh. Like this?"
The task of building the young masters' stamina fell to Deo. He was the only one still lounging around under the excuse of an injury, and above all, regardless of his personality, his skills were excellent, so Derga had entrusted him with it confidently. His duties surely included monitoring Ian and executing immediate disposal if problems arose.
"Brother. Stretch your arm further back."
"Ah, that won't work? It hurts too much."
But Ian outwardly assisted Chel with utmost diligence. With Deo there, wouldn't every action reach Derga's ears? It was foolish to invite misunderstandings, and wise to lull them into complacency.
"We'll start with basic stamina training, and you can't quit midway. After running for about an hour, I'll check your wooden sword stances."
Chel, whose nose bridge was slick with sweat, pouted like he was about to die. The sun was sure to grow even hotter as time passed. Deo checked his watch while observing the two boys' expressions.
'If I push them hard, this chore will end in a few days.'
It was annoying, but more than that, in the long term, the two shouldn't set foot in the training grounds at all. Ian could be sold off to the Cheonryeo Tribe, fine, but especially Chel. Wouldn't that kid end up assisting Count Bratz more and more as the days went by? If command of the private soldiers even fell to him, it'd be as good as losing their rice bowl.
"By the way, what about the knights?"
Ian asked as he warmed up slowly. He'd thought the same yesterday, but most of the training soldiers were rough and crude-looking. He saw no one with the refined aura unique to knights.
'Of course, since that Deo isn't even a knight.'
Deo seemed to hold no title. The household servants called him all sorts of things. Among the many appellations, he'd never heard "knight," nor had he seen any family crest attached to him.
"Those guys are noble bodies, so they train separately in their own grounds. This side's all just guys who picked up a sword after swinging pickaxes. Why? Wanna train under a knight?"
Deo chuckled, tapping the ground with a stick. His teeth looked especially black today. His rough speech made him seem like someone hoping to be picked on.
"No need. Everyone has their own suitable teacher, no?"
Ian was indirectly saying Deo was perfectly suited for beginners. But failing to grasp that, Deo just scratched his ear indifferently and turned away.
"Alright. Let's run."
No territory lacked knights. In any territory, knights were the elite of the elite. The Bratz territory was no exception. They were surely carrying out covert escorts and orders.
Ta-at!
'Since it's the border, maybe up to ten at most.'
Due to the imperial palace's checks on outlying regions, the number of knights nobles could recruit was limited. Commonly acknowledged knights were those certified by skill and experience. From large and small monster battles to wars with other countries. They were forces incomparable to ragtag peasant swordsmen.
'They must be pretty skilled.'
In the borderlands, facing off against the Cheonryeo Tribe at that. And above all, after nearly half a month here, he'd never once sensed their presence. It meant they were thoroughly Derga's shadows.
"Keep running!"
"Huff.... Huff......"
Chel dragged his feet, drooling saliva. It was only the second lap. Ian breathed lightly, overtaking him.
Deo, trudging along, glanced sidelong at Ian.
'He even knows how to control his breathing.'
His stamina wasn't great, but he knew how to move his body cleverly. Unlike Chel, who was falling further behind, Ian steadily kept pace behind Deo.
And on the opposite side.
Two boys sparring with swords.
"Uwaaak!"
"Berik, you madman, no!"
Thwack! Thwack!
The boy swinging his sword relentlessly was Berik. His opponent retreated, but it wasn't from overwhelming power difference—it was just a reaction to being pushed.
Berik's expression soured upon realizing that.
"Shit!"
It was strange. Just last night, hadn't his body felt light enough to fly? Waking up, it felt like the high from some uningested drug had worn off. Desperate to hold onto the fading sensation, Berik thrust his sword fiercely.
"Hey! Cut it out!"
Thwack!
The sparring partner, unable to endure the irritation, yelled. Their clashing swords drew an arc and flew off. Only then did Berik stop and catch his breath, while his partner spat in disgust.
"That's why I said I didn't wanna!"
"You lost the morning bet, Mayrel."
No one wanted to spar with Berik. He never went easy. Several trainees had been injured by Berik's real-battle ferocity.
The comrades snickered and teased Mayrel, who muttered curses and headed to the break room. Left alone, Berik picked up the fallen wooden sword.
"Berik."
Now a familiar voice. He looked at Ian with red eyes. Sweat-drenched, he smiled brightly.
"What."
"You're not telling me to get lost anymore."
"...When did I say that?"
"Guess you really lost it back then. You don't even remember what I said."
Actually, he'd found out just earlier. That the bastard son Ian had poured water on him in the past. With the retainers badmouthing the young masters coming to the training grounds from all sides, he'd overheard without meaning to.
Ian beamed and patted his shoulder.
"Whatever. Under the blazing sun, everyone's blind anyway."
Berik had no mind to retort. It was an attitude of "bark if you must." What could a young bastard son do anyway? As he slowly dragged his sword toward the shade, Ian followed.
Berik turned, frowning.
"Chel brother will take a while to get here. He's walking slowly to rest."
Behind, Deo roughly dragged Chel. Whenever he collapsed saying he couldn't go further, he'd be hauled up, only to fall again—a chaotic scene.
"Wanna eat?"
Ian pulled out well-dried jerky from his pocket. The servants had packed it so he wouldn't go hungry during training. People's favor starts from such fundamentals. Satisfying needs is the beginning, and the more basic, the better the effect.
But.
"No thanks."
"Why not?"
"No reason to."
Berik swatted it away without hesitation.
Unexpected. Even if Derga was focused on expanding private soldiers, an orphaned soldier wouldn't live luxuriously. At best, better than scraping by outside.
"Move aside. Now."
"Your speech is weird. If you're gonna be polite, do it right."
"......"
Still, the boy was resolute. Even knowing Ian was the bastard son, no change in behavior. Thoroughly rejecting kindness and goodwill.
The thought that he was prickly lasted only a moment. Ian realized this was actually perfect.
'Right. I need limbs, not confidants.'
If uninterested in personal matters, high chance he has his own convictions. Satisfy those, and a clean contract without extras.
Of course, the orthodox way is building lord-vassal bonds on trust and faith.
Dr-ruk.
Berik wrapped his right hand and wooden sword tightly with bandages. Without hesitation, he opened the break room door and called a comrade. Specifically, the Mayrel he'd just been sparring with.
"Mayrel. Come out."
"You heat-struck or what, calling my name..."
"Our match isn't over."
Truly a madman. As Mayrel scowled, a hulking guy opposite stood instead. His build seemed twice Berik's.
"...You've been acting up since yesterday. Huh?"
"Get lost. Got nothing to do with you."
"Mayrel has nothing to do with you either!"
Kwang!
The man grabbed Berik's head and slammed it into the wall. In an instant. Berik, accustomed, didn't falter and swung his wooden sword out.
"Get lost!"
Puk! Puk!
Ian chewed the jerky, watching.
Berik's temperament was definitely not normal. No fear of violence whatsoever. Plus an obsession with strong power and victory.
Puk! Puk!
Regrettably, unlike his momentum, reality was harsh. No matter how skilled, Berik couldn't beat a man twice his size.
"Crazy! Bastard! Enough already!"
Puk! Puk!
Pwak!
Like kicking a ball, the man stomped Berik's abdomen.
Oof. That’s gotta hurt. As Ian inwardly worried, Berik sprawled on the ground. The man dusted his hands nonchalantly and laughed.
"Keep acting up and you won't last long? Die early and I'll be grateful. Hahaha!"
"Kuhk......"
Berik lay spread-eagled, gasping. Ian crouched by his face. Golden hair fell into Berik's view.
"Want me to discipline that guy?"
At Ian's whisper, Berik closed his eyes.
"...Get lost, fuck."
"Why? Don't you wanna win? There are many ways to win in this world."
Even as a bastard, one word from Ian could easily deal with a trainee like that.
But Berik raised his middle finger.
"That means nothing."
Strong power. That alone was the criterion for surviving the world. When his father’s violence made the whole family kneel and beg, or when bandits' merciless blades dyed the house in blood, Berik could do nothing. Just watch.
Ian hadn't known the details but grasped the meaning.
"Right. That's your meaning."
Then, far off, Chel collapsed backward. Deo looked troubled, and surrounding men gathered in twos and threes, shaking Chel's body. Berik replied with eyes still closed.
"Talk to me one more time and I'll kill you."
"But look at you.... Tsk tsk."
"Damn it-"
Ian placed his hand over Berik's eyes. Crouched low, no one else could see his face. Especially with all eyes on Chel's fall.
"I've got a really good method for you."
He felt Berik's gaze under his palm. Burning with fierce spirit. No wonder his pupils were red.
"The strong power you want. I can give it to you."
"Bullshit. Crazy bastard."
"If I give you what you need, you give me what I need."
A gravely serious voice. As Berik fell silent, Ian chuckled lowly. Unexpected that he couldn't even brush it off. Despite the flippant speech, he seemed earnest.
Ziiing.
Ian infused mana without hesitation. A bit more than yesterday. Still insufficient for awakening. Since a Sword-Mage serves their master for at least a year, he'd have to invest that much time.
"......!"
Berik's fingertips twitched. The pain permeating his body washed away like in water. Refreshingly cold, awakening his mind. Hearing his pounding heart, Berik sprang up.
"Whoa."
Ian pulled his hand back in surprise. Their gazes met—the boy's golden eyes. Only for a moment.
Berik slowly turned his head. Dead nerves reviving, everything felt acute. The man who'd beaten him stood arms crossed, watching Chel.
"Tsk tsk. If he'd been like that from the start......"
"That's why Count Bratz......"
Voices lingered in his ears. Berik's eyes flashed, and he reflexively leaped. Like a beast charging on signal. The wooden sword a nuisance, he discarded it and punched.
Ta-at!
"Uwaaak!"
"......?"
The man turned at the shout. What he faced was Berik charging, bloodied. Strangely, though no wind blew, his hair whipped.
Only Ian knew it was the flow of mana.