Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: A Child's Heart (1)
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Orphanage dormitory, four-person room. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, staring into the mirror.
A mop of unkempt blond hair grown wild like a stray dog's. Sunken blue eyes dulled with exhaustion. Baby fat still clinging to my cheeks. Height under 170 cm, but proportions I'm pretty proud of.
This is me at eighteen.
Normally, eighteen marks the end of growth for most people, and their bodies don't stray far from the foundation built by then. But not me.
I'll grow taller. Stronger.
Ironically, it's all thanks to the dantian cancer.
As the cancer cells in my dantian multiply, they spew out a special mana called 'division mana,' messing with my growth plates and musculoskeletal system to force unnatural 'tertiary sexual characteristics.'
Of course, it doesn't go on forever. Eventually, my body adapts to the division mana, building up resistance.
Anyway, I'll shoot up nearly 30 cm from here. My bones and muscles will toughen, and my already decent proportions will hone into the ideal fighter's build.
That was the reason I could claw my way up from the bottom.
Rotten inside, but tough on the outside.
"...Three days."
I glanced at the calendar. The match was right around the corner.
I'd trained hard in the meantime. Built up my core muscles over the week, loosened my body enough to adapt to the workouts, and subscribed to more channels.
Boxing from [Sengun], judo from [BodyAwkwardnessConqueror Degel], swordsmanship from [ActiveKnight A].
Look-See-Do had been steadily applied through it all, and I was convinced this was the passive effect of Notebook.
[33 / 100]
Capacity gained in the last 24 hours: +3
I hadn't memorized a damn thing, yet my capacity jumped by 3.
"Ugh, my body aches."
Even with Look-See-Do, perfecting movements still takes practice, effort, and time.
That said, there's a way to skip it all and 'borrow' proficiency.
Pump in some mana.
For example, just targeting a 100m sprinter with Look-See-Do won't make me dash it in 5 seconds flat.
My athletic ability sucks. No muscles built for sprinting.
But add mana assistance, and it gets close—'forces' it, basically.
The price? Brutal muscle pain.
"Time to head out."
I checked the time on my smartphone and stood up.
Training-slash-appointment time was almost here.
I had a promise to keep.
"Hey. Sion."
The moment I sat on the orphanage park bench, someone called out. A tanned guy.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and plopped down next to me.
"You got some balls being this chill?"
His voice gritted through clenched teeth.
I shrugged.
"Only three days left. You guys should ease up and manage your condition too."
"...No, fuck. What the hell's wrong with you? You weren't like this before. You'd grind solo without us telling you to!"
I looked at him. Freckles buried under bronze skin, wavy black semi-curls, tall and lean build.
Distinctive guy, but his name wasn't coming to me.
I muttered with a sigh.
"Can't train like that anymore. Too old. Body's giving out."
"You nuts? Old my ass."
Physical training is poison to me. My time for intense movement is limited from the start. That's how it is with dantian cancer patients.
You'd know if you had it.
"Whatever, asshole! Even if we age out and go independent soon, those kids still gotta stay here."
He pointed to the playground in the corner of the park.
Kids swinging on swings with tiny hands and feet, climbing jungle gyms, playing cops and robbers, hide-and-seek.
"We lose, everything falls apart. Adoption's a miracle; otherwise, who knows which orphanage they'll scatter to. You know that. They could even get sold overseas!"
He ranted, slapping my shoulder.
"...Ah. Right. You're Tellun."
It hit me suddenly.
Tellun.
I knew this guy.
When I shaved my head for brain tumor surgery, some orphanage kids mocked me. This was the one who played tough, saying 'That's childish as hell.'
"Knight was your dream, right?"
"...Ancient history."
Tellun furrowed his brow slightly. I eyed the sword at his waist. A broadsword.
"Planning to fight with the sword?"
"What else? Got praise from Instructor Dent too. Not like you, though. Your dad's a Libra knight."
A Libra knight.
That's what my father was.
If you count low-rank knights.
I gazed at the playground and asked.
"...You like Libra?"
"Huh? They're our benefactors, man. We're here because of them."
"Yeah?"
Of course. That's the normal reaction.
My grudge is mine alone.
"Ugh, fine."
Tellun brushed off his butt and stood.
"You're a huge letdown."
"Save the disappointment. Not planning to lose."
"...Yeah? Guess I'll trust you. Got nothing else to do."
Tellun pouted. I smirked inwardly.
Mature for eighteen. Very much so.
Waaaaaah—
Then, two toddlers appeared from the walkway. Three and five years old. Familiar faces now, mouths wide, calling my name as they ran over.
Sion—.
Tellun tilted his head.
"Berry and Bell? What's with them? You tight with those two?"
I checked my smartphone. Exactly 10:30.
"Promised them thirty minutes of smartphone time a day."
"What? Phone? Like, what phone?"
"This."
I pulled it from my pocket.
"...Where'd you get that? Can I see?"
Tellun's face mirrored Berry and Bell's as they charged from afar.
February 25, 2013.
Noon on the day of the match to decide the orphanage's fate.
In the sunlit training grounds, I'm lined up with Tellun and eight others.
"...All set?"
The orphanage air hung heavy, laced with inexplicable hope born of faith.
All from the kids. They believed in 'our home' like kids do.
"No need to tense up. Just show what you've built. They're not unbeatable."
Dent said. I scanned around. Short kids and taller ones sat in the stands. Lots of orphanage teachers too.
They meant to cheer, but it just added pressure. Six hundred of them. Our nine warriors were already shaking.
"Incoming."
Tellun clenched his fist, staring off.
—Vroooom.
A mercenary truck rolled in through the orphanage gate. They parked neatly in the corner and piled out.
"Ah~ Well, well. Nice to meet you."
A bald man who seemed the leader approached Dent. Neat leather armor.
"Blue Talon Mercenary Corps Vice Captain Rohas."
"Orphanage instructor, eight-year low-rank knight Dent."
"Yes. Heard about your plight. Ten of you, right?"
Dent nodded. The vice captain eyed us over.
"We balanced our side too. All rookies with under a year of combat experience. Here's the proof."
Bald guy's talking shit.
"Green as they are, we've got our fee and win bonus on the line. Won't half-ass it."
His bullshit flowed naturally, but his demeanor was gentlemanly. Posing as mercs, but active knights.
The bald vice captain turned to us.
"Prove your worth, protect what you want, seize your future."
Swooooosh—.
A quiet hum mixed with his voice, distinct from the truck.
Three luxury sedans glinted in the sun, gliding into the orphanage. Two stopped first; chauffeurs opened rear doors.
Familiar faces emerged. Libra heavyweights—no unknowns to me.
Butler 'Henry' leading Jedric's retainers.
"... ."
My face hardened. Veins pulsed.
I ground my molars, holding back.
I eyed the last sedan. No sign of anyone getting out.
Probably Zia Selcien Libra Rein inside. She avoids public eyes like the plague.
"Honored guests have arrived."
The vice captain's words ratcheted up the tension in Tellun and the others. Meanwhile, Henry and crew fetched fancy chairs from trunks.
Brought their own seats, huh.
"Who goes first?"
The vice captain asked. Dent looked to us.
Tellun shot his hand up.
"I'll lead."
The vice captain smiled faintly at his brave face.
"Good. Hey! One of us?"
"I'll do it."
Female mercenary. Heavy makeup, obvious green dye job. Even a mask—merch maybe?
"Oh, a lady."
Tellun blushed briefly. She smirked.
"Swordsman?"
"Y-Yes. I use a sword."
"Me too. You first."
Tellun swallowed, gripping his broadsword. She raised a curved blade. Scimitar.
I watched quietly.
What would they show in this match?
"Judges will be me and Instructor Dent."
"Yes."
"International sparring rules. Yield means loss. Judges intervene if lives are at risk. It's a match, not combat."
"Agreed."
Dent nodded.
"Then."
Ahem. The vice captain cleared his throat and bellowed.
"Forward—!"
Tellun and the mercenary stepped onto the central arena.
"Ready!"
She offered her hand first. Tellun gripped it tensely.
Brief handshake.
They turned, ten paces apart.
"—Begin!"
Despite the shout, the start was probing. Neither moved rashly.
Live steel.
A graze could kill; a slash could end it.
"...Here I go."
Soon enough, Tellun politely announced it.
Three steps forward, textbook swing. Solid fundamentals.
She parried easily.
Clang—clang—clang—clang—clang—
Blades meeting.
No—too monotonous, patterned for 'meeting.'
"Tch."
No need to watch further.
Beyond letting him land hits—they were putting on a show. Matching his level, killing time.
"Hya!"
Tellun didn't notice. Skill gap too vast, her acting too pro.
"Ngh!"
Amateur vs. stage vet. Blades dancing in air. Clang—hollow echoes trading real and fake.
"Raaah!"
Sweat flew from his bronze skin. Blood trickled from his sword grip.
Tellun poured everything in. Will strong, heart pure. All of it real.
But the play was to fool the real.
"Hah!"
Suddenly, Tellun drew a deep breath. Stamina low, going for broke? He twisted, slashing overhead to low.
Heavy strike.
She backstepped barely, counterthrusting.
Shwick—!
One stab shattered his guard. Scimitar tip at his throat.
"... ."
"... ."
They froze, staring silently. Like an agreement.
Hah, hah—
Ragged breaths mingled. Sweat dripped from his chin. She chuckled breathlessly.
"Yield or I stab?"
"...I lost."
Tellun bowed through gritted teeth. Kids sighed.
The remaining fighters consoled him as he stumbled down.
"Good work."
"You fought hard. I saw. You did great."
"...Sorry."
Even Tellun seemed somewhat relieved. Felt rewarded for his effort, maybe.
I was pissed.
It was deception.
No—insult beyond that.
"Blue Talon Mercenary Corps wins! Next!"
No breaks. Matches rolled on.
One after Tellun, two, three, four... Their pacing flawless every time. Everyone watched breathless, but outcomes predictable.
Feint push, feint pull. End.
End. End. End.
All nine down.
"...Oof. 0-9."
Vice captain scratched his neck awkwardly.
The losers sprawled. Grounds filled with kids' cries.
"Last one's you, knight's son."
He pointed at me.
"Sion Askal."
Dent looked too. I knew what it meant.
Show them.
Or at least you show them.
"Funny coincidence—our best guy's left too..."
"Here."
I held out my hand to Tellun. Despair on his face, he blinked, then handed over his broadsword.
"...Sion, you said you wouldn't lose."
"Said that. Doesn't mean I won't."
"What?"
Tellun frowned. I mounted the arena. Opponent waited opposite. Brown shaggy hair, camo cream between eyes.
He asked.
"Swordsman?"
I gripped the broadsword silently. Heavy. His matched. He dangled his low, grinning lax.
"Cute. Knight's kid, huh? But hey, world's changing. More knights ditching swords these days."
—Ready!
Enemy's strong.
How strong? Unknown. Maybe beyond my reach now.
So, he'll drop his guard for sure.
I'm an infant hiding a pistol. No caution—just worry I'll trip.
Hell, maybe sees me as a newborn.
Begin—!
Odds of winning.
Not zero.