Chapter 64
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: Swordsmanship Variety Store
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“The Captain is still…”
At Dylan’s words, Berman clicked his tongue.
Captain Aron, who had disappeared somewhere, was getting pummeled by a massive old man in some house's backyard.
They'd never imagined seeing Captain Aron get beaten and sent rolling across the ground, so they watched from their hiding spot.
Everyone had always said they wished they could smack Captain Aron in the head just once, but now that they were actually seeing it happen, it didn't feel so great.
Every time Aron was struck by the sword and sent tumbling to the ground, Berman found his own fists clenching, a fiery anger surging in his chest as if he’d swallowed embers.
Captain Aron was crude, but he wasn't stupid. He just preferred to use his strength if a problem could be solved with it, rather than bothering to use his head.
‘The problem being, most things *could* be solved with his strength…’
In any case, if Captain Aron was putting himself through this, he must have a good reason.
And so, Berman bit his lip and suppressed the urge to charge in.
Just then, Kel had cursed and drawn his sword, and Berman had barely managed to stop him, even having to drag back Pul and Dylan, who were scattering in opposite directions.
A groaning Captain Aron, his face swollen and bruised, pushed himself to his feet and went at the old man again.
They exchanged blows at a blinding speed, and he was knocked down. He got up, was knocked down again... It was a cycle.
Sensing they might be a distraction to their captain, Berman led the others away.
And that led to now, resting in a house they had found.
The sun had already set, and with no sign of the captain's return, it looked like they would be spending the night.
“Seriously, there ought to be a limit to one man's stupidity.”
Kel said, clicking his tongue and taking a sip from his waterskin.
Berman nodded in agreement. He'd never had proper sword training, but he knew that mindlessly crashing forward like that couldn't possibly be the right way to learn.
“He's the captain... He must have his reasons. Here, have a drink.”
“Yeah, thanks, Pul!”
Pul and Dylan really did look like brothers.
“Let's stop worrying about a captain who could chew up demons for breakfast. Let's drink.”
Kel said, raising his cup. The others followed suit.
Berman only took a small sip, knowing it would be dangerous if everyone got drunk.
The mood was a bit heavy until Dylan suddenly brought up their 'Conquest of Aron Kessedic' plan. At that, they all put their heads together, adding new details to the scheme.
The meeting came to an abrupt end when Kel muttered under his breath, "Don't you think the captain will fall for her even if we do nothing?"
“But... is the Captain going to get even stronger from this?”
Dylan muttered into the quiet atmosphere.
The implications were so terrifying that everyone gulped.
“Nah, no way. He already smashes through walls as it is. If he gets any stronger...”
Kel's stiff voice trailed off after a moment of silence.
“...The Captain using Aura?”
Another silence descended at Dylan's muttering.
Berman pictured Aron wielding Aura with a sinister "Hee hee hee..." and shuddered.
That was a very dangerous thought.
“No way... If there's a god, would he really pull a stunt as crazy as giving Aura to a bastard who's already that strong? Besides, only knights can use Aura! Right! Only knights! A bastard like him becoming a knight...! Does that even make sense?!”
No one could answer Dylan's anxious shout, merely swallowing hard.
***
‘Second time.’
I shook my head, trying to clear my blurred vision.
The old geezer was hitting me in the head, but he seemed to be holding back enough that my eyeballs weren't bursting.
It just hurt like a son of a bitch.
Still, it was tolerable.
An opportunity like this didn't come often.
It had been a long time since I'd met a true master, but finding one who wasn't trying to kill me and was willing to spar was a chance as rare as winning the lottery.
So, I forced my hazy mind back into focus.
The scorching sun had set and the moon was past its zenith, yet the old man stood there as calmly as if he were out for a walk.
“I'm coming again.”
The old man nodded at my slurred words.
I charged again—.
I followed the pattern the old man was blatantly showing me, clashing swords with him.
I soon reached the point where I got stuck.
The old man moved his sword just as he had before.
It was as if he were saying, *Watch closely and copy me.*
‘Third time.’
My sword traced the same fluid arc as his, pushing his blade aside.
“Good.”
The old man, who hadn't shown a shred of emotion until now, laughed heartily and twisted his wrist downward.
It was a move I'd never seen before.
A sword style completely different from what he'd been showing me.
*Clang—!*
With a heavy clang, my sword was knocked aside.
The flat of his blade shot through my opening and smacked me across the cheek.
I collapsed sideways in a pathetic heap.
‘Reset. First time.’
I closed my eyes for a moment, replaying the old man's move in my head.
The arc his sword had traced was nothing like the fluid motions from before—it was a style full of sharp, angular breaks, like a bolt of lightning.
It made my mouth water.
‘This guy's a complete swordsmanship variety store.’
Just when I thought I was getting the hang of it, he'd pull out something new. There seemed to be no end to his repertoire.
I tried to get up, but my arms wouldn't obey.
I took a deep breath, let out a grunt, and forced my body to move.
That was good enough.
“A strange technique you have.”
The old man, looking fresh without a single drop of sweat—a stark contrast to my battered state—spoke up. He sounded like a shopkeeper trying to make a sale, which made me feel strangely pressured.
“I'm just built for rote learning.”
“There's no single path to mastering the sword, but your way will only lead to a stiff and rigid style.”
*Stiff and rigid... Not a bad thing.*
I smirked and readied my stance again.
“I swore I'd never take another student.”
The old man muttered, clicking his tongue.
“My list of masters is full, too.”
The old man's eyes widened slightly at my response.
“That's enough for today.”
The old man suddenly declared that the shop was closed.
“On second thought, I have some openings. They tend to vacate their positions when they die. About three spots...”
“Forget it.”
The old man's eyes were still clear, but they held a hint of discomfort as he looked at me.
I was disappointed, but I couldn't exactly throw a tantrum when the shop owner was closing for the day.
I'd already stolen a satisfying amount, and my body was at its limit anyway.
“Honest, but dull. Too perfect to be a simple trick. How can you mimic the form so perfectly without understanding the principle?”
The old man began to ramble, as if lost in some early morning sentimentality.
“It's amazing that you can replicate a move after seeing it three times, but the most important part—the principle—is missing... You're like a mix of genius and dunce.”
The old man offered his half-hearted assessment.
“...Still, you're the most impressive young man I've seen in a long time.”
The old man had suddenly become quite talkative.
I closed my eyes and reviewed what I'd stolen today.
The old man's swordsmanship was like Tai Chi. Instead of meeting an opponent's blade head-on, he would press its center and naturally divert its path—.
*I wonder if that would work on Aura? By not confronting it directly...*
Come to think of it, my blade had never actually met his.
It looked like a sword style designed specifically to counter Aura.
Of course, whether that was actually possible remained to be seen…
I peeked open my eyes and saw the swordsmanship variety store looking at me with a complicated expression.
*Looking closer, he kind of looks like a pushover...*
My body ached, but I couldn't stop smiling at the feeling of my wallet getting fatter.
I had to struggle to keep from grinning at the serious face of my swordsmanship variety store.
***
*What a strange one.*
The swordsmanship variety store—no, the Knight Hunter—muttered to himself as he looked at the fellow sprawled nonchalantly on the ground.
At first, the man had been wary, like a cornered animal, but now he wasn't paying him any mind.
He gave a wry smile and gently stroked his sword.
The man's build and the look in his eyes were promising, so he'd looked like fun. The Knight Hunter had only meant to indulge him for a bit.
*But how did it come to this...*
In their first exchange, he had frowned at the man's sword, which reeked of blood.
The man's blade was filled with nothing but killing intent.
Still, its sharpness was commendable.
It was just unrefined.
With that alone, he could probably handle most opponents, but he was no match for the Knight Hunter.
On the second attempt, he'd admired the man's spirit for charging back in despite the overwhelming difference in skill, only to be disappointed by the foolishness of his identical approach.
And on the third, he'd been slightly surprised when the man suddenly parried his attack.
*He copies it after seeing it three times.*
The man's peculiar talent was amusing to watch. It was fascinating how he could perfectly replicate any move after seeing it just three times.
Thinking, *Can you copy this one too?*, he had continued, demonstrating progressively more difficult techniques—.
By the time he came to his senses, he had shown the man his most prized techniques—ones he had never even taught his own disciples.
They were empty shells, lacking the underlying principles, but by collecting all those shells, the man had somehow assembled a plausible imitation of the art.
*I swore I'd never teach again.*
He'd finally snapped out of it and stopped. It had been so long since he'd seen such burning passion in a young man that he'd been captivated, and in the end, he'd been thoroughly fleeced.
*It's not like I taught him.*
He hadn't corrected the man's posture or explained the principles, so it was more accurate to say the man had stolen the techniques.
The man had stolen them right in front of his eyes, and he hadn't stopped him.
He glanced down at the thief.
*He certainly has a rough look about him.*
The kind of face that told you he'd had a hard life.
“Don't you go walking a crooked path.”
There's enough work as it is.
He swallowed the rest of his sentence and turned away.
As he left the village, walking wherever the wind took him, he had a sudden realization.
*...Did I just get played?*
The memory of the man's faintly smirking lips left a very sour taste in his mouth.
***
When I opened my eyes again, the swordsmanship variety store was gone.
I did some light stretches and circled the village looking for him, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I asked Lunin about it, and he just asked me what I did to his grandfather.
I told him I'd buried his grandpa in a field somewhere and that he'd sprout into hundreds of grandpas by fall. Lunin just cackled, clearly not believing a word.
*He skipped town already. Seemed like he had plenty more to show... Stingy old bastard.*
I licked my lips, disappointed.
Lunin pointed at my swollen face and called me a pumpkin.
So I uncorked a potion and poured it on my face. After a bout of itching and pain, the swelling subsided. A truly expensive way to get rid of puffiness.
Lunin kept laughing and calling me a pumpkin, so I shot back that he was one too. Lunin insisted he'd be incredibly handsome when he grew up, but I knew for a fact his father was bald.
I was in an empty lot, warming up and reviewing yesterday's lessons, when my squad members approached.
Seeing their well-rested faces, they must have eaten and slept well last night.
I tilted my head back and checked the sun's position.
It was an awkward time. If we left now, we'd get back at just the wrong time and be stuck with a shift.
They seemed to know it too, judging by their glum faces.
Since I was getting hungry and we had time to kill, a great idea popped into my head.
“Alright, it's been a while. How about a Squad Four hunting competition?”
I announced, trying to sound dramatic.
They stared back with sullen faces. "A hunting competition?" I briefly explained the rules.
“Two silver coins to whoever brings back the biggest catch. Time limit is noon. We meet back here.”
The moment I said "silver coins," their eyes lit up.
They scrambled over each other to be the first to leave. As I chuckled at their retreating figures, Jones the son approached.
I followed him to his family's home.
Their house was the largest in the village, and the smell of something delicious wafted from inside.
I ate a bland, bean-filled stew and some hard bread. I just picked out the chunks of meat and ate them with the bread.
Jones the son and Jones the father started raising their voices about the village's future, so I suggested they settle it the medieval way—a good, clean fight, winner takes all. The two of them just stared at me with wide eyes and avoided my gaze.
When I turned my head, the nearby women also avoided my gaze.
Apparently, their methods for resolving disputes were a little different from ours in Kessedic.
After a quick meal, I had a pointless meeting with the two now-docile Joneses.
Jones the father told me the villagers had decided to stay.
It was their decision, so I didn't add my two cents.
After that, I walked around the village, making what repairs I could. It was mostly just reinforcing the wooden palisade, but it eased my mind a little.
By the time I'd made a full circuit, the sun was nearly at its peak.
When I got to the meeting spot, Pul was sitting on a huge deer.
“Where are the others?”
“No idea. They scattered as soon as we started.”
Pul got up to show off the deer he'd caught.
Its antlers were so large they looked like tree branches.
A single hole in its head suggested a crossbow bolt. A clean kill.
I broke off the antlers and set them aside.
Pul looked puzzled for a moment but didn't ask questions, simply cutting the antlers and handing them to me.
*How do you eat antlers again? Velvet antlers...*
As I was pondering what to do with the severed antlers, I heard a commotion in the distance.
The other three were dragging a massive boar. All three of them were a complete mess.
“I found it first, so it's mine.”
“Kel, cut the crap. I'm the one who put a sword through its forehead.”
“I was the one who delivered the final blow!”
“Dylan! All you did was hide until the end and give it one poke!”
I could pretty much picture what happened.
“Captain! You won't believe what these guys...”
The three of them started pleading their cases, each trying to talk over the others.
I put on a solemn expression, stroked my chin, and made thoughtful "Hmm... hmm..." noises.
They took turns making their cases.
“I saw it first, so it's mine, right?”
“I'm the one who lured the boar into a trap and plunged my sword into its thick skull! While these two were standing around gawking, I was the one rolling in the dirt with it!”
“Captain! I delivered the final stab, and the boar just keeled over! The last hit is always the most important!”
The three of them looked up at me, awaiting my judgment.
All of them had valid points, making it a difficult decision. But one fact was indisputable.
“You're all disqualified. It's past noon.”
Following my finger, they looked up at the sun and immediately started blaming each other, squabbling loudly. It was a daily occurrence, so I paid them no mind.
I tossed two silver coins to Pul and gestured to the villagers who had gathered to watch.
“Take it and roast it up. Just save some for us.”
The villagers' faces broke into wide smiles as they rushed forward.
They swarmed the boar and the deer, carrying them off like ants moving a piece of food.
An impromptu festival broke out, and only three people weren't smiling. They were still pointing fingers at each other.
A short while later, a hefty slab of meat was served on a piece of hard bread.
I took a bite. The gamey stench was overwhelming.
It was as if the boar's entire life flashed before my eyes—or rather, my tongue. I could even taste its indignation at being taken down by three idiots.
*Should've brought some spices.*
Pul came over and sprinkled something on my meat.
That made it edible.
Eating this foul meat really made me appreciate what a good cook Hana was.
After the makeshift festival ended, we started back toward Kessedic Castle, pulling the empty carts.
I used the deer antlers as a pillow and lay down comfortably in one of the two carts.
“Dylan, you're the rookie. You walk.”
“Hey now, a good team looks out for its rookie. That's how you build morale. If I get out, you guys will be the rookies. You want to be the rookies?”
The guys fought over who would get to ride in the empty cart until they finally broke a wheel. So, everyone walked. A truly beautiful, egalitarian relationship.
The return trip was much faster, as we weren't weighed down with cargo.
We made it back to Kessedic before sunset. I exchanged a quick greeting with the guards at the gate and headed for headquarters.
The Daejang, dressed only in his trousers, frowned at us as if deep in thought. After a moment's hesitation, he sighed and waved us off.
“Good work. Go get some rest.”
We all went our separate ways in front of headquarters.
First things first, I needed a wash. I headed for the inn.
***
*She can't even manage a simple light spell after two days!*
Swalloitz couldn't hide his exasperation.
It would be one thing if she were just stupid, but the problem was her bright, cheerful disposition, so unbecoming of a noble who should at least try to maintain some authority.
He couldn't reprimand her—she was a noble, after all—but her sunny personality made it difficult to even offer criticism.
She seemed to be trying, but her progress was so slow he couldn't tell if she was just stupid or simply had no talent for magic.
*No, she lacks desperation.*
Desperation was the most crucial element of magic. There was no way the young lady, who spent her time smiling and chatting with her maids, could possess such a thing.
That was the biggest problem. The foundation of magic was desire, a desperate longing for something. There was a reason most mages were orphans.
*Still, after two days of instruction, she's only just barely grasped the basics.*
It would be one thing if she had no mana. But he couldn't understand why a simple light spell—easier than snapping one's fingers—was taking so long for someone who possessed mana.
*Still, her output will be on another level. Spells that were once only theoretical due to their high mana cost... she should be able to cast them.*
...Right?
Swalloitz shook his head, trying to banish the sudden unease.
"Once she masters a single spell, her progress is sure to speed up," he muttered to himself. But why did the young lady's vapid laughter keep echoing in his ears?
“Have you tried the ice beer at the Laughing Rabbit? Tastes completely different from the usual lukewarm stuff!”
“But the price is outrageous, isn't it? You could buy five regular mugs for the price of one of those.”
“My friend, you just don't get it...”
Swalloitz tilted his head, intrigued by the conversation he overheard.
*Is there a hedge wizard even in a backwater place like this?*
Even a hedge wizard who'd given up on his studies was still a wizard. The earnings in a city versus a small castle were worlds apart; there was no reason for one to be out in the frontiers...
Normally, he would have ignored it, but after suffering through the young lady's incompetence, he found himself curious about this other magic-user.
Just how pathetic must one be to end up selling beer in a backwater town?
Swalloitz discreetly followed the men.
The men headed to a shabby tavern tucked away in a corner. Swalloitz hesitated at its rundown exterior before following them inside.
The tavern was surprisingly crowded, yet strangely quiet.
Swalloitz found an empty seat and slipped into it.
A gruff-looking man soon came to take his order. Contrary to his appearance, he was quite friendly.
Swalloitz ordered an ice beer and scanned the interior. The wizard seemed to be in the back, out of sight.
A moment later, the man brought him a large mug of beer.
The moment he saw the ice in the mug, Swalloitz couldn't believe his eyes.
It contained a piece of ice sculpted into the likeness of a man he vaguely recognized. Swalloitz's eyes widened at the impossible level of detail.
*...What in the world?*
Swalloitz lifted the ice sculpture with his fingers to inspect it from below. He gulped when he saw that even the man's boots were perfectly rendered.
*Why waste such intricacy on ice for a mug of beer?*
Intricacy wasn't highly valued in magic. Most mages focused on greater size and stronger firepower; precision was an afterthought.
But mages who had reached a certain level of mastery understood the importance of precision.
No matter how large the spell, if its composition lacked precision, it could be undone by the slightest impact.
The question, however, was why the ice in his beer was so exquisitely detailed.
*Is it a show of confidence?*
Swalloitz was now thoroughly intrigued by this wizard. Someone capable of such precision could not possibly be a mere hedge wizard.
Swalloitz picked up his mug and stood.
As he headed for the back room, the friendly man blocked his path.
“Can I help you?”
“I'd like to speak with the person who made this ice.”
The moment Swalloitz spoke, the man's demeanor changed completely. His face hardened as if he were about to throw a punch, and he began repeating, "You can't. It's a trade secret."
“That's not my intention. I simply wish to speak with the creator of this ice...”
His calm words had no effect.
In fact, other men from nearby tables came over to block his way. He felt dizzy as they all began chanting, "You can't. It's a trade secret."
Not wanting to cause a scene, he nodded and turned to leave.
Just then, the tavern door swung open, and a familiar figure stepped inside.
The massive frame, the hideous armor, and the equally hideous face.
*The bracelet thief!*
Swalloitz bit his lip, forcibly suppressing the spell that threatened to erupt from his fingertips.
“Oh, if it isn't the bracelet donor.”
It took every ounce of his self-control not to react when the man slung a casual arm around his shoulders with a grin.
Just as his mana began to stir.
*Pat-pat-pat-pat—.*
Something came running from the back room at an incredible speed.
It was a cute little girl with purple hair.
The little girl, biting her lip as if holding back tears, stopped right in front of the thief and thrust out both of her palms.
“Huh? Kanna?”
The bracelet thief muttered, surprised.
A shower of tiny ice pellets shot out from the girl's palms, peppering the bracelet thief. A continuous *pitter-patter* sound filled the air.
*Wind and ice, simultaneously?*
Swalloitz's jaw dropped.
Using two types of magic simultaneously wasn't unheard of. Swalloitz himself could weave three spells at once.
The problem was that this was a child.
To use two types of magic at once required a complete understanding of the properties of each element. Most mages cast spells instinctively and couldn't perform such a feat without formal training at an academy.
That's why most hedge wizards would simply create the ice and then conjure a separate gust of wind to propel it. But this child was doing both at once.
She might have a teacher, but considering her age, it was an incredible feat nonetheless.
However, the force of the wind and the amount of ice were underwhelming. It seemed her innate mana reserves were small.
*The polar opposite of that foolish noble girl.*
He felt a pang of regret. If Mana's blessing had fallen upon this child instead of that foolish noble girl, the very history of magic might have been different—.
*...So this is why they hunt for hearts.*
He suddenly understood the desperation of the dark mages he had always condemned as fools.
Meanwhile, Aron was contemplating while being pelted by an unusually thick hailstorm.
*Why are these ice pellets shaped like me?*
As countless miniature ice-Arons pelted him, Aron seriously wondered where it had all gone wrong.