Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: The Beginning of Hell
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Sherin Gisel Asthe Hass was a woman whose appearance no one who saw her even once could forget.
Her deep blue-black hair sometimes resembled the night sky, other times a rippling sea.
Her long, narrow eyes slanted provocatively upward at the corners, far from conventional beauty, yet exuding a haughty, serpentine allure.
Her enemies slandered her youthful features as those of a demonic seductress who devoured men.
Compared to her fragile half-sister, Princess Kasia—like a single delicate flower petal—they called her crude and vulgar, utterly lacking dignity.
But what truly set Sherin apart in the Magic Academy was neither her status as the second daughter of Pendia's king nor her bewitching looks.
The mages revered the creative sparks from her brilliant mind and her razor-sharp intuition that pierced straight to the essence.
A genius who, with just a few words of conversation, could pinpoint the direction of problems they'd agonized over for years or decades—even providing crucial clues?
The stuff of every researcher's wildest dreams!
"Princess, magic stone fusion research is the path Pendia must pursue. If we can just create the ultimate super-large golem..."
"Inefficient. I'd recommend researching ways to split magic stones finely instead."
"But that would make the duration far too short for any real practicality!"
"There have been some meaningful breakthroughs in that area lately, so consult with Professor Gayton..."
As she walked, conversing with her attendant mages, Sherin's gaze met that of a certain boy.
In truth, locking eyes with someone while passing through the palace grounds wasn't all that special for her.
Wherever she went, all eyes were on her.
What was unusual was that the boy wasn't staring intently at Sherin herself.
She had a keen sense for others' gazes, and she realized he was looking half-entranced at her escort knights, not her.
Their eyes merely brushed past each other in that moment.
In this utterly novel situation, curiosity flickered in Sherin's amber eyes.
'What?'
The boy, with his round green eyes, was about half a head shorter than her, slender in build.
Clearly no knight's son at a glance, and his fine clothes suggested he might be the scion of some official or merchant.
Yet, unlike his innocently soft features, the way he eyed the knights burned with fiery greed.
Blatantly obsessive and relentless, like a man leering at a nude beauty, utterly devoid of pretense...
Even as a mere bystander, she felt an embarrassingly primal desire radiating from him.
"Is something the matter, Princess?"
"Nothing at all. Let's go."
As her halted steps drew puzzled looks from her escort knight, she shook her head and resumed walking.
She was far too exalted and busy to spare a glance for some odd boy who showed no interest in her.
Today, too, she had piles of people to meet and research materials to review.
"Princess Sherin, huh."
Shan finally turned his gaze from the princess's entourage, now vanished beyond the automatic doors, at Roden's mutter. It was his first time seeing her this close.
"Roden, did you see?"
"The princess?"
"No, the knights beside her! Full plate armor, but they walked almost silently—how'd they manage that?"
"Ah, that."
Roden gave a wry smile. Who could've guessed he'd be fixated on the escort knights' gear amid the princess's passage?
"Probably enchanted armor. Maybe the princess came to buy some for her own guards."
"So if you become a princess's guard knight, you get free rein with magic items, huh."
Shan recalled what he'd just seen.
Armor that perfectly sealed every part except the joints, allowing fluid movement without hindrance or the slightest metallic scrape—an artistic masterpiece.
The grip wrapped in luxurious, unidentified leather that seemed to mold perfectly to the hand, the pommel faceted like a gemstone.
Thanks to the week of luxury he'd enjoyed, Shan now had an eye for appreciating fine goods and estimating their worth.
Before, he'd have just thought, "Oh, swords on their hips."
The princess standing among them? Her looks hadn't stuck.
Blue hair? Or was it yellow?
"Someday, maybe. But for now, let's check stuff we can actually buy with our money."
"Yeah!"
He nodded eagerly, but his face soon clouded over as he eyed the display shelves.
"Roden?"
"What?"
"Read this for me."
"You really need to learn to read."
Grumbling, Roden still read off the items' descriptions and prices.
The wares were varied: a kettle that auto-filled with water, a torch that glowed without flame, a staff that amplified the voice manifold...
All subtly useful—or not—in that vague, miscellaneous way.
Listening to the explanations, Shan shot Roden an incredulous look.
"What the— so expensive? And most are single-use junk after a few tries!"
"Small magic tools like these don't take magic stones, so they're disposable, kid."
A mage standing across the magic tool display chuckled as he explained.
Magic engines with magic stones naturally recharged with mana for reuse, but tools without were one-and-done.
Yet priced outrageously.
All his troll-hunting earnings would barely snag a couple water kettles.
Roden shrugged, confirming the mage wasn't wrong.
"Why do you think we don't use magic tools at home? If they were cheap and practical, the servants would've been out of jobs ages ago."
Made sense on reflection.
Now he got why magic emphasized cleverness over the raw utility of priestly miracles.
They even consulted an enchanter about weapon and armor enchantments, but those were temporary too.
Permanent enchantments were relics from the old Alto Empire—dug up from the Demon Realm, that is.
"So those knights' armor..."
"Court mages reapply whenever it wears off."
Crushing reality.
Dejected, Shan wrapped up his shopping by buying a few alchemy potions.
One was the troll bone salve Roden had smeared on his chest before.
"For next time I get hurt."
"Those have shelf lives too—check the date."
"Shelf life?"
"Spoils like food over time."
"Ah."
Magic crap was nothing but picky hassle.
Luckily, the capital Hasra boasted plenty of tourist spots beyond the Magic Academy.
From venerable Arman Empire-era coliseums and libraries to the Goddess Faith's grand cathedral—a holy site for pilgrims—and shops stocked with the latest Libert trends.
Shan, uninterested in history or religion, preferred the blacksmith district on the city's edge.
Hammering echoes everywhere, fine weapons and armor gleaming behind glass—enough to make his eyes spin.
No ultra-elite gear like the guard knights', but plenty to ogle.
After wandering, he blew his potion money on a decent longsword, small shield, and commissioned custom chainmail.
Spending his first earnings brought pride in the haul—and hollow emptiness.
"Broke again..."
"Gotta grind hard after training ends. But hey, no worries about food or bed?"
"True, but still."
Kalion Webers covered only training costs and lodging.
Couldn't beg sponsorship for non-essential collector's pieces.
Shan and the Webers family agreed there.
From the day he got his weapons, Shan swung the longsword daily whenever free.
Practice spot: mansion inner courtyard garden.
Textbooks: naturally, the two knights from the troll fight.
'Was it this stance? Why hold sword like that? Movements so inefficient...'
Replaying their postures sparked questions, but no one to answer.
Mansion folk mostly distant from proper martial arts; even Roden, who'd dipped a toe, stalled at trainee level.
The answer arrived three days later.
"Remember what to say at first meeting?"
"Uh... 'As one walking the warrior's path, I seek to serve the forerunner'?"
"Forerunner."
On Sir Darcal's arrival day, Roden double-checked Shan's etiquette with him.
Still a bit rough, but way better than before.
Right on cue, a booming roar echoed from the Webers mansion gates.
"Open up! I-have-arrived!"
"Voice like thunder..."
Why bellow instead of knocking? Puzzled, they headed to the main gate.
Kalion was already out greeting him.
"Still as hearty as ever, Sir Darcal. Age seems to have skipped you entirely."
"Hmph, this much is nothing."
Sir Darcal was a striking old man: bald pate, wrinkled face.
Average build, but so well-trained despite his years he seemed oddly imposing.
Most shocking was Kalion's attitude toward him.
The terrifying titan from Shan and Roden's eyes now grinned obsequiously, rubbing hands and bowing.
Seeing that fawning display, Shan got why Roden had been shocked before.
Enjoying Kalion's flattery with a shrug, Darcal's gaze shifted to Roden and Shan.
"Dull old disciple's over there."
"Yessir."
Roden waved with a sheepish grin; Darcal snorted and stared Shan down—rudely so—with eyes mixing doubt and intrigue.
"You the Altoin brat who bagged that troll!"
"Yes. So... as one walking the warrior's path, I seek to serve the forerunner."
'Without the "so" it'd be smoother,' but passable.
Roden inwardly patted himself on the back for good teaching—till Darcal bulged his eyes and strode to Shan.
"Like the tales say, you don't look Altoin at all in broad daylight!"
Staring into those docile, droopy green eyes, he suddenly swung a headbutt.
No reason to take it; Shan slipped aside, leaving the bald dome swinging at air.
"Why the sudden headbutt?"
"Insolent whelp! Dodging an elder's headbutt!"
Crazy old coot? Shan glanced aside.
Roden, Kalion, and others looked equally baffled, so apparently not standard greeting.
"It hurts."
"Yeah, it'd hurt... Hmph, not total bullshit then. Normal kid couldn't react to such an out-of-nowhere strike."
Incredibly, a satisfied smile lit Darcal's face, belying the earlier bellow.
Even half the flowery praise in Kalion's letter true was worth the trip; this proved it wasn't all hot air.
Liked that he didn't grovel at the shouting elder knight too.
"Kalion guildmaster. Called me to teach this one?"
"Just a peek, sir! If you take him as squire, it'd be an honor, but..."
"Spare the prattle. Terms same as with Roden last time. Recommendation after I see results."
Smooth agreement; Kalion bowed deeply.
His speech and manners seemed flighty, but this old knight wasn't some hack taking any apprentice for pocket change.
"Grateful, Sir Darcal!"
"No time to waste then. You, brat! Follow!"
Darcals beckoned curtly and stormed inside.
Stunned Shan turned to Roden.
"He always like this?"
"Yeah. Gotta get used to it... He's not a bad guy. Really."
"If you say so."
Darcal led Shan straight to the courtyard garden where he'd been swinging solo.
Didn't even shed travel-grubby clothes—straight to training, apparently.
Perched on a big rock at garden's edge, his first order to Shan was bizarre.
"First, inspect that body. Strip!"
"Clothes?"
"Can't flay you alive! That gaudy velvet pants and shirt you're wearing! Underwear optional!"
Shan cocked his head, then casually shucked everything off.
Back in Willow Village, forced naked scrubbings multiple times killed any body-shame.
Darcal impassively scanned the scar-riddled frame, face unchanging.
Just a satisfied "Hmph."
"Not bad! Not bad at all! Aspiring knight must endure pain! These modern softies are the problem—whine at a scratch..."
Muttering, the old knight began palpating Shan's body head to toe.
Neck, chest, shoulders, back, abs, waist, thighs, legs.
If seen, it'd torch his knightly rep and land him in court.
"Bones straight, muscle form surprisingly ideal. Strength lacking, though. Unbelievable without proper training... But why so unnaturally light?"
"Always been on the light side."
"No such thing as 'always light'! Same height, muscle, fat—light means cause: weak bones, missing guts. We'll check later."
Tests continued.
Spot jumps, garden lap run, side-to-side leaps.
Shan pushed at full strength against Darcal's hands; the old man marveled at the force.
"Felt it in motion, but damn strong... No, you know how to apply it right?"
"Exactly!"
First to spot that; interest lit Shan's eyes.
Darcal bellowed at Roden nearby.
"Roden! Fetch my sword!"
"Right here, master!"
Prepped ahead, Roden handed a blade from Darcal's luggage.
As the old knight gripped it two-handed and assumed stance, Shan felt the air shift.
No bellowing geezer—only a warrior forged in endless blood and steel.
"Watch my forms."
With that, Darcal slowly demonstrated sword techniques one by one.
Wide-legged diagonal slash, horizontal raise to block overhead strike, low right then upward diagonal...
After twenty-odd moves, he exhaled long.
"Well?"
"Hmm... Best sword work I've seen."
No opponent to test, but higher polish than the troll knights'.
Criterion: power loss minimized, seamless flow.
This old knight compensated lost muscle with exquisite skill against time's tide.
But awe-inspiring? Nah.
Shan in that body could mimic faster, harder.
Prime unknown, but now? Ten seconds to kill longsword duel, no clashes—factoring presence.
Reading those thoughts, Darcal grinned instead of raging.
"Yeah, that's about your level. Last one—watch."
Smile vanished from the knight's face as he eyed Shan.
Venomous glare like at a parent's killer.
Physical pressure in the stare; slowly raised sword, quick twist-thrust.
Empty air, yet clearly blocking a downward strike into counter.
"Whoa..."
That one move: zero waste.
Ideal power flow, like Peonil Black Spear Knight's thrust.
This old man matched that master's realm.
Sweat-soaked, Darcal wiped his gleaming pate with his hand.
"Well?"
"...Perfect."
"Learned from my master—forty-plus years without missing a day. Has to be!"
Satisfied with the answer, Darcal concluded.
"Anyway, your forms could teach me. Every motion follows ideal principles—never thought I'd live to see it!"
Praise, sorta; Shan grinned sheepishly.
Darcal's face held ambiguous joy—or regret?
"You just need a few tricks and a stronger, tougher body!"
"And presence."
"Presence comes naturally pushing your limits—no sweat! Speaking of, you eaten?"
"Yes."
"Good!"
Why ask about food?
As Shan puzzled, Darcal toed the rock he'd sat on.
Those once faintly lonely eyes now gleamed with sadistic cruelty.
"Listen up!"
"Yes?"
"Hands overhead—full stretch! Till I say drop!"