Not Quite What He Hoped For
Though his tongue was rough, the old man secretly wished them the best. At his age, even if he couldn't play matchmaker, meddling in a budding young romance would be downright shameful. He watched them with a quiet, observant gaze.
Both Ivan and Elena kept their eyes awkwardly averted, faces flushed crimson, yet their fingers remained tenderly laced together. Whatever had transpired between them overnight, they had clearly made substantial progress.
"...Goddamn it."
He hadn't hoped for things to go this bloody well. A ripe curse slipped from the old man's lips.
A week went by. In that brief span, the way Ivan carried himself changed beyond recognition. Where he had once simply wielded his overwhelming physical gifts on raw instinct, he now moved with complete, deliberate command over his own frame. Watching such absurd growth left the old man astonished, but it also raised a lingering question.
"Come to think of it, why don't you ever use a sword? You're not one of those idiots who thinks bare-knuckle brawling looks cooler, are you?"
"Nothing like that. Swords just snap too easily when I swing them. A friend gets replacements for me whenever I ask, but I feel bad breaking them every damn time."
"Hmph. A truly fine blade is hard to come by, that's certain. Here, take a swing with this."
The old man unstrapped the sword slung across his back and tossed it over. Ivan caught it out of the air without batting an eye. Its hilt bore the unmistakable patina of age, yet the blade itself—steeped in a faint, crimson sheen—flowed in a flawless curve, pristine and untouched by wear. Even someone completely ignorant of weaponry could tell at a single glance that this was a masterwork.
Gripping the hilt with both hands, Ivan brought the sword down in a clean vertical cleave. The air shrieked with a chill resonance.
"...Whoa."
As Ivan stared at the weapon in rapt fascination, the old man spoke with complete indifference.
"What are you gawking at? Hand it back."
"Wait, you weren't giving this to me?"
"Bullshit. Do you have any idea how precious that thing is? You couldn't buy a sword like that with a mountain of gold."
"Then why let me hold it in the first place? Just to tease me?"
"Obviously. Why else?"
"......"
Of course. Petty old bastard. With a deep sense of lingering regret, Ivan passed the blade back.
"Besides, who swings a sword like that? You looked like a baboon."
"I've never had formal training. For an amateur, wasn't that pretty damn good?"
"Good, my ass. Keep your eyes peeled and watch how it's done."
Gripping the hilt, the old man swung the blade exactly three times: a vertical cleave from overhead, a horizontal slash across the center, and a forward thrust into empty air. They were the simplest motions imaginable, yet simultaneously contained the totality of swordsmanship—a depth so profound it defied measurement.
"Did you catch that? Now swing it again."
An ordinary person might spend years, or even a lifetime, without grasping so much as a fragment of that insight. But Ivan was not ordinary. On his first swing, the form took root. On the second, he grasped the underlying principle. By the third, he reproduced the lesson in its entirety. Reading the flow with his eyes, comprehending it through pure instinct, and recreating it flawlessly with his superhuman frame—it was nothing short of overwhelming talent.
Lowering the blade, Ivan met his master's gaze with shameless confidence.
"Honestly? That wasn't as impressive as I thought."
"Look at this cheeky brat. Spoon-feed him one bite and he acts like he invented the meal. How's an old teacher supposed to make a living? Get into stance."
The old man drew another blade he had prepared. While not quite on par with the first masterpiece, it was still an exceptional weapon. An ominous prickle ran down Ivan's neck.
"Uh... you're not planning what I think you're planning, right?"
"The hell else would I be planning? You've learned the motions, so now it's time to beat them into your muscle memory. Dodge if you've got the chops."
"Wait, holy sh—!"
Before Ivan could even finish his curse, a razor-sharp edge lunged straight for his throat. Panicking, he barely managed to parry the strike aside.
"Oho, blocked that, did you?"
"Go easy on me, damn it! You're actually trying to kill me!"
"Hard training is good training. If you die, well, that's just tough luck."
Ivan's frantic protests fell on deaf ears. The relentless clash of steel dragged on until sundown. Having spent the entire day dancing along the precipice of death, Ivan returned home on the verge of complete collapse.
Fucking crazy old bastard...
"You're back. You look exhausted today."
Elena welcomed him warmly at the door, her gentle presence melting away his fatigue in an instant.
"Exhausted? Nah, just another ordinary day."
"You have blood on you. Hold on..."
Though his minor wounds had long since regenerated, the crimson stains lingered on his skin. Elena stepped close and lightly flicked out her tongue, lapping up the trace of blood. Never anticipating that kind of contact, Ivan jumped back in sheer shock.
"Wh-what was that?!"
"It would be a waste to wash it off. To a shaman, your blood is no different from a miraculous elixir."
"Ah... had me worried for a second. Should I draw some in a cup and give it to you, then?"
Elena's expression turned stern instantly.
"No. Never."
"Why? It's nothing to me. Doesn't even really hurt."
"I refuse to wound your body for that. What we have right now is more than enough."
It was a response far sweeter than he could have ever hoped for. A goofy grin tugged at the corners of Ivan's mouth.
"Is the old man sleeping outside again tonight?"
"It seems so. Just like usual."
For all his cranky, eccentric habits, the old bastard was surprisingly considerate when it came to things like this—one of the very few moments Ivan felt genuine gratitude toward his master.
"Then let's get to sleep. I'm dead tired."
"Alright."
They slipped beneath the covers, their arms finding each other in a natural embrace. While they had flushed crimson at first, repeated nights together had made the intimacy second nature far faster than either expected. Not that it had grown routine—Elena could clearly feel Ivan's heart thudding furiously against her chest.
"...Pervert."
"It's a biological reflex! Besides, your heart is pounding too."
"Mine is reacting to spiritual resonance. It's completely different from yours."
Ivan flashed a sly smirk.
"Really? You sure about that?"
"Hush... don't say another word..."
Elena buried her face into his chest. Chuckling softly, Ivan let her have the final word. Wrapped closely together, sharing each other's warmth as though they were a single body, they soon drifted off to sleep.
As cool moonlight bathed the room, Elena stirred, sensing a profound shift within herself. The extraordinary spiritual growth she had cultivated over the past several days finally surged past its threshold. Like a reservoir bursting through a dam strained to its limit, energy erupted in an overwhelming cascade. The restriction branded onto her very soul—that abhorrent leash—shattered.
"Ah..."
A soft, feverish breath slipped past her lips. Pure, unadulterated liberation flooded her senses. At long last, she was completely free from the shackles that had bound her life. When she first took this path, she had merely considered it a gamble worth taking, but now... it was real.
Once the rush of emotion settled, Elena gazed down at Ivan, who lay sleeping peacefully beside her. She had never intended to leave lingering attachments behind. Their relationship hadn't begun out of pure goodwill, and they had only shared a little over a week together. She had already been away from her post for far too long; she could not court further danger over personal feelings.
Gently untangling his limbs from around her, she slipped out from beneath the blankets and rose to her feet. Leaning over the sleeping barbarian, she whispered softly into his ear:
"...Still, I was truly happy. I mean it."
She forced herself to say nothing more. If she lingered any longer, she knew her resolve would crumble.
Just as Elena quietly unlatched the door to step out, a low voice spoke from behind her.
"Are you leaving?"
"...How long have you been awake?"
"A little before you whispered in my ear."
In other words, he had been awake the entire time. Embarrassment flared in her chest, though she kept her composure.
"Are you going to stop me, then?"
"No."
Curiously, rather than relief, an ache of disappointment tightened in her chest. Perhaps, deep down, she had secretly hoped he would seize her hand and beg her to stay.
"Does it truly mean nothing to you if I walk away?"
Hearing the faint tremor of moisture in her voice, Ivan replied in an even tone.
"You have something you have to do, don't you?"
"...I do."
"Then I have to let you go. It's not my place to decide your life for you. But let me ask just one thing."
Elena gave a silent nod. Ivan hesitated for a beat, drawing in a deep breath as if steeling his nerve.
"Will I ever see you again?"
Elena blinked in mild daze, then burst into a soft laugh. For a warrior capable of beating a giant to death with his bare hands, he looked remarkably innocent. She loved that about him.
"Come here. I'll whisper it to you."
Ivan stepped forward, bending his towering frame to bring his face level with hers. Elena reached out with slender hands, hooking her arms around his neck as she pushed up onto her tiptoes. Then, with clumsy tenderness, she pressed her lips against his.
"Is that answer enough?"
When Ivan froze entirely, stunned into silence, Elena reached up and nudged the corners of his lips into a smile with her fingertips.
"Until next time, then."
Ivan stood rooted to the spot, watching her silhouette slip through the doorway and vanish into the night long after she had gone.
"Good grief. What in the world she sees in a blockhead like you is beyond me. Lucky bastard."
"Gah—?!"
The old man's sudden interjection nearly made Ivan leap out of his skin.
"Master?! When the hell did you get in here?!"
"Don't you know the older you get, the sharper your ears get at night? Live another fifty years and maybe you'll understand."
"...Just how much of that did you hear?"
"From the moment you started acting like a tragic hero. I almost puked right on the floor."
Any lingering solemnity vanished into thin air. Ivan sank back down, completely drained of tension. Still, the lighthearted banter wasn't so bad. After all, they were going to see each other again.
"What are you grinning like an idiot for? Have you lost your mind?"
Letting his master's grumbling slide right out the other ear, Ivan smiled in quiet contentment.