Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 042
Chapter Title: I Trust You Because You Trust Me
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As always, Shan pulling out Thousand Forms in front of the princess wasn't the result of some ridiculously complex and intricate calculation.
Even if their first impression had been a bit rocky, Shan held quite a favorable view of Princess Sherin. After getting to know her, she'd consistently shown kindness to them—to him, specifically.
From knighting him without even requiring an oath of loyalty, to pulling strings so he could receive buffs whenever needed, or providing powerful magic tools.
Of course, Calion had received the same treatment, but the difference was that Sherin had exposed several of her closely guarded secrets in the process. Secrets like ambitions that could get her dragged to a religious trial and burned at the stake the moment they leaked, or even personal matters involving her own family.
The clincher was her consideration even after learning they possessed a massive haul of true silver. Shan hadn't weighed every single point meticulously, but he felt a vague obligation to repay that trust in some way. And since she was a mage like Jerpo had been, he figured she'd be thrilled to see Thousand Forms, so he'd simply brought it out.
"What's this?"
The chill-inducing azure blade tinged with cold energy, etched with ancient Altoin-era magic runes. As she removed her amethyst glasses for a closer look, her usually languid rust-red eyes widened dramatically.
"Kageto, Ravana, Abiuhr... Ah, like this? Really?"
Her gaze roamed over the blade as if licking it, filled with shock and excitement. Her crimson lips, chewed in intense focus, somehow felt provocatively sensual despite her age.
Shan held the sword steady before her with a blank expression, watching impassively, which only amplified the vibe. Roden found himself averting his eyes without realizing it.
For several minutes afterward, Sherin lost herself in examining the blade before letting out a small scream. She'd accidentally brushed her finger against it, slicing deep enough for red blood to trickle down.
"Ah!"
Seeing this, Shan quickly set the sword aside and pulled out a handkerchief to wrap her injured finger. She waved him off, applying a thick ointment from her hood's pocket instead, and the bleeding stopped almost instantly.
"That'll do. But... what is that thing, exactly?"
"An artifact we excavated from an Altoin city while delving the Demon Realm recently."
Seemed like something you'd enjoy, Shan murmured softly. Most of the magic runes were on the blade side, so he'd presented it that way, but in hindsight, handing over the hilt while gripping the edge would've been safer.
Hearing this, Sherin let out a nervous laugh.
"That's not the point! You just... pulled out a treasure like that because you thought I'd like it? Do you even know how incredible it is?"
"I heard it's worth an entire kingdom."
She'd half-suspected he was clueless about its value... but no.
Sherin thought to herself. If she'd coveted it, what would he have done? Was it a calculated risk, figuring a powerless princess like her could only scheme from the shadows anyway? He'd already secured the knighthood he wanted—what did he plan to demand in exchange for showing such a priceless item?
But those thoughts evaporated in an instant as she met Shan's green eyes. There was no trace of such scheming in those docile-yet-unbreakable gaze of firm resolve and stubbornness.
This Altoin boy had shown it purely because, as he'd said, he thought she'd want to see it.
"...Who else knows about this weapon?"
"Roden and I, plus the mage and priest who explored with us."
"And how did you seal their lips?"
"I didn't do anything special."
He'd simply given them the lion's share of the initial expedition profits from the ruins. A pittance compared to Thousand Forms' true value.
As Shan pondered retrieving the rest of the artifacts buried near Shedil City someday, Sherin sighed deeply after hearing the story, voicing her honest inner thoughts without realizing it.
"If it were me, I'd have killed those two on the spot. No question."
"That..."
"Maybe even Roden too, to cover up everyone who knew. A little poison in the food on the way back, and you'd be dead—leaving me with the world's most powerful weapon. It's astonishing none of you four even considered it."
Jerpo had briefly mulled it over when he first saw the weapon. But he'd dismissed his own foolish notion when Shan suggested splitting the true silver four ways.
For some reason, Sherin's mood soured upon hearing that. The intellectual ecstasy she'd been lost in just moments ago, poring over the magic inscribed on Thousand Forms, had vanished.
"How can you... do that?"
"Pardon?"
"Doesn't it scare you? Trusting people so openly and getting betrayed?"
In truth, Shan had never experienced betrayal since birth. Back in Willow Village, people either despised and looked down on him or pitied him—nothing more.
Even after venturing into the world, meeting Roden, and going on adventures, it was the same. By sheer luck, everyone who'd shown him kindness had parted on good terms with smiles.
If anything, the mercenaries who'd died trying to steal Awin barely counted; he could hardly recall their faces anyway.
"I didn't think you'd do that, Princess."
"I..."
"Besides, you've already placed your trust in us."
Sherin sharing her secrets or showing vulnerability had all been deliberate, born of thorough analysis and contingency plans. Betray her, and Shan and Roden would've paid a far harsher price than they could imagine.
Unlike her, this Altoin boy had revealed it solely to repay the trust she'd given him. No adolescent ploy to attract her interest, no boastful urge to show off his possession.
After a moment of silence, Sherin—face pale—issued a dismissal to the pair.
"Sorry, but that's enough for today. Go on home. I need... some time to think. I'll contact you later."
"She didn't seem as thrilled as I expected. More than with Jerpo, at least."
"For real, I thought my heart was gonna explode..."
On the way back, Shan looked glum at Sherin's lukewarm reaction. Roden, walking beside him, let out a deep sigh.
"I'm in no position to order you around, but please—at least say something first next time. Yeah?"
The moment Shan thrust the sword forward, Roden's mind had raced through thousands of scenarios. It was still a mess even now.
Would that ambitious princess really show no greed for their mighty magic tool? Handing it to another kingdom's king could net her an army to conquer Pendia and claim the throne.
Of course, she wasn't foolish enough for that—or so he thought. Greed had a way of turning even the wise into idiots. Unlike Shan, Roden didn't trust her that much yet.
"Sorry."
He had acted without thinking, so Roden could hardly argue after the apology. He just grumbled in complaint. Her reaction was off, but not like she was about to cause trouble right then.
Anyway, she'd contact them later. They could focus on other tasks until then. Plenty to do, like hosting the guests Calion had mentioned.
The next afternoon, five or six invited knights arrived at Webers Manor via Calion.
Even filtering out xenophobes and Old Faith zealots, plenty of promising knights wanted ties with Shan. Calion managed those sponsored by merchant houses linked to his, profiting handsomely from Shan's fame.
Sure, it cost some Old Faith clients, but most magic stones came from the east anyway. And jewel buyers for ornamentation didn't fuss over that.
After admiring the cockatrice head—now a manor landmark—in the entrance hall, the knights settled into plush chairs in the drawing room for leisurely chat.
"Pleased to meet you, Sir Shan. Ashel of the Dormin house."
"Orind of the Katan house. We crossed lances at the tournament before."
"I'm Garsa of the Alten house."
"Alten house? Related to Sir Peonil, by any chance?"
The young knight who'd introduced himself as Garsa beamed at Shan's question.
"You know him! Distant kin to Libert's Sir Peonil. Their side's the main branch; ours came to Pendia in my grandfather's generation."
"Oh... So, do you follow the Old Faith?"
"My father converted to the New Faith."
"I see."
Makes sense—an Old Faith knight wouldn't bother visiting an Altoin like Shan. Calion wouldn't have invited them either.
"Speaking of which, I heard you're from Libert too, Sir Shan. Ever met him?"
"We crossed lances once, by chance."
The knights perked up at Shan's words. The "Black Spear," Libert's mounted lance tournament record holder, versus the current champion of Pendia's prestigious Hasra Mounted Lance Tournament? Any knight would itch to hear that tale.
"What led to the duel?"
"Just a minor spat."
Shan glossed over the Altoin circus part, keeping it simple: one lance charge each, minor wounds, then they called it quits.
"Sounds straight out of ancient knightly tales—thrilling."
"Two knights acknowledging each other's skill, promising a rematch someday..."
As they eagerly devoured Shan's story, a somewhat gloomy-faced knight asked,
"Sir Shan, you grew up Altoin in Libert, right?"
"Yes."
Bolin of the Anix house, was it? The other knights looked uncomfortable at his words. There was an unspoken rule not to bring up Shan's Altoin heritage. But Sir Bolin ignored the hints and pressed on.
"Must've been tough living as an Altoin in Libert."
"It was. Old Faith country and all. Pendia's much better by comparison. I could even become a knight like this..."
"And the first Altoin knight in Pendia, right?"
"Forever grateful to Princess Sherin. I couldn't offer her my lance due to circumstances, though."
"Planning to take Altoin squires in the future?"
"If they've got talent."
The questions were growing awkward; the mood chilled. Good thing Shan handled it smoothly—otherwise, an outburst or challenge to a duel would've been fair game.
But Shan wasn't offended. Life had been hard as an Altoin in Libert, he was grateful to the princess, and he'd take talented Altoin squires.
No malice in the man's tone or expression either, so Shan saw it as normal conversation.
"I see."
Sir Bolin backed off readily. Soon, another knight deftly changed the subject.
"Heard the Libert civil war's outcome is settling. Varik Count seems poised to win."
"Really?"
"Cousin in the west mentioned it. And Sir Peonil—just talked about—earned a barony from his lord for great merits."
Meant as a pivot, it quickly heated up. Military merit earning a title was every knight's dream.
Hundreds of knightly houses in Pendia, but only a handful of elites claimed such glory. It took skill and opportunity.
Peonil had proven his prowess but lacked a stage until the war launched him skyward.
"If His Majesty were hale, we might've joined the fray. But funding our own expedition's tough without coin."
"Too late now. Varik's got the upper hand—no need for extra knights. Join Morayen Duke and lose? Ransom'd bankrupt you."
Captured knights fetched ransom by custom, unless killed. Minor houses with a manor or two couldn't survive their head getting taken multiple times.
Prestigious houses endured generations of that or produced aces who picked winning sides.
Mid-discussion, an older knight glanced around slyly.
"Sir Shan, rumors say you're as good with a sword as mounted lance."
"Whoa, really?"
The young ones gawked; the elder nodded.
"Heard it from your master, Sir Darkal."
"You know my master?"
"Shared campaigns when he was active. I was green then."
The old knight nodded nostalgically, then added casually,
"So, care to exchange insights? A warrior's curiosity, you know."
"Sure. To the garden."
"Bold as the cockatrice slayer!"
"Count me in for a lesson."
Shan sparred with them in the garden using blunted training swords, like those Darkal had used for his lessons.
He deliberately restrained his freakish reflexes to hone the swordsman subtleties Darkal had taught.
Psychological ploys useless against monsters, precise techniques predicting far-future moves in human duels.
Unsurprisingly, Shan won every bout. Parrying thrusts, twisting, pressing, lifting for counters. Never losing a single intricate exchange, he drew constant admiration.
"Whoa, like that again?"
"Got me!"
"Incredible..."
He even placed his blade lightly to avoid injuring opponents—possible only by throttling power and speed several notches.
These masters, trained from infancy in martial ways, sensed how exalted Shan's swordsmanship truly was.
"Fourteen now? By adulthood, who knows how much greater."
"Talent, sure—but backed by insane effort."
Becoming a master swordsman demanded genius and grueling work. Reading foes via subtle shoulder twitches or blade pressure flows required endless beatings to ingrain.
Shan actually just outpaced them with reflexes and thought speed, but onlookers could only assume rigorous training.
"Now I get how you soloed that cockatrice. This swordplay rivals the Protector Duke's—no less."
Shan eyed the bout-initiator.
"Ever crossed swords with Marquis Abel?"
"Five years back, royal sword tournament. Three exchanges, then I lost."
The elder recited his defeat flatly.
"You're strong, Sir Shan, but I can't imagine Marquis Abel losing to anyone. His blade is Goddess-given."
"Blasphemy, no?"
"Heavens, don't report me!"
The knights roared with laughter.
"Anyway, I'd kill to see you two clash. Shame he's Old Faith—no mingling."
Unspoken: it'd be a deathmatch.
After much lively banter, the knights departed Webers Manor laden with Calion's gifts, feeling warmly toward Shan. These connections would prove intangible assets for both Calion and Shan alike.
Oddly, Sir Bolin—the one with the prickly questions—lingered instead of leaving promptly. Staring silently (lest rudeness drive him off), Shan watched as Bolin glanced back and spoke.
"Ahem, Sir Shan?"
"Yes."
"Got something personal to discuss. Spare a moment?"
Wondering what now, Shan nodded agreeably. Claiming it'd be brief, Bolin skipped the drawing room for a stroll through the garden.
Glancing around, he lowered his voice.
"Can you keep what I'm about to say secret?"
Caught off-guard, Shan hesitated before answering honestly.
"Sorry, but if it involves me, I have to consult Roden—my squire."
"Sir Shan, as one knight to another, I ask on my honor."
"Roden's my closest friend before squire. Wiser, more astute— I'd trust him with my life. If he can't know, neither can I."
After agonizing internal conflict, Bolin sighed and nodded.
"Fine. No way to seal your lips anyway. Just keep it from everyone but him."
"Of course."
"Promise."
Bolin emphasized repeatedly before producing a letter from his breast.
"Truth is, among my sponsors are Altoins like you, Sir Shan."
"Altoins?"
Shan blinked in surprise. Pendia had the world's largest Altoin population, but most languished at society's bottom.
Nobles or knights were unthinkable; even merchants or low officials drew side-eyes, hard climbs. Even their servants rarely used Altoins.
Successful Altoins might become smiths or weavers; most scraped as mercenaries or day laborers. Fail that, and it was thugs, pickpockets, prostitutes, beggars.
"Not criminals or anything. Just a group advocating Altoin rights. They want contact with you through me."
Hence the secrecy—being Altoin-backed wouldn't look good. Handing over the letter, Bolin begged again to limit sharing to Roden, then left.
Soon after, Roden—who'd been mingling with squires and tidying—grimaced at Shan's account.
"Altoin group sponsoring knights?"
"Yeah."
"Never heard of 'em..."
He tsked at yet another shady secret society cropping up, like the vampire council. At least the princess would uncover that soon.
The duo sat in the lounge and unsealed Sir Bolin's letter. Fine parchment bore elegant script from someone well-educated.