Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: A Strange Gum Stuck to My Life That Should Be Free
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"Master. So this is where you were."
Shura's voice came from outside the alley. I hurriedly pocketed the money and stood up.
"Oh. You're here? What's up?"
Shura approached, dropping to one knee and bowing deeply. Her eyes gazing up at me brimmed with admiration. It was the reverence reserved for a Master swordsman.
Of course, the gap between Shura at the pinnacle of Expert and me at the entry level of Master was paper-thin. But that sliver made all the difference—like the distance between a mountain and the heavens. The pinnacle of Expert was a realm anyone diligent with mana training could reach. Master, however, was the pinnacle of purity, attainable only by those who infused their swordplay with their own philosophy.
That's why so many who crested the Expert pinnacle spent decades, even centuries, mired in despair, unable to ascend further. Weaving one's personal philosophy into the blade was no simple task.
"Your lodgings for the night are all prepared, Master. Allow me to guide you."
"Ah, got it. Lead the way."
I gave Shura a quick once-over.
She was an elf woman with straight golden hair cascading down past her waist. True to her kind, she was tall and statuesque, her eyes burning with a fierce crimson glow. She had the classic features of a wood elf—except for the golden hair. Wood elves typically had black locks.
Yet her beauty made my heart race. Beneath her form-fitting leather armor, her legs stretched impossibly long and slender, giving her upper body a delicate, almost fragile appearance. Her face was the epitome of elven beauty—petite and exquisite. Even without makeup, her skin glowed with a pale bluish tint, and her lips shone a vivid purple, as if stained with deep lipstick.
Her proportions and features were like a living masterpiece. She seemed pure at first glance, yet exuded a demonic allure; intellectual, yet radiating a mystical sensuality more captivating than any woman I'd ever seen.
As I drew closer, a subtle, intoxicating scent wafted from her. Not perfume, surely—why would a woman who wore no makeup douse herself in it?
All in all, she was a stunning elf woman.
But she was an elf. And no matter how beautiful, female elves weren't my type. They came with an infuriating racial trait.
As I brushed past her, I said,
"By the way, you."
"Yes?"
"I caught a glimpse earlier. You're at the pinnacle of Expert, right?"
"I am humbled."
"Good. You should be. Honestly, for a pinnacle Expert swordsman, what was that swordplay? All speed and mana power, no finesse or blade sense—not even on par with a fresh Expert novice."
Shura bowed her head deeply.
"My apologies."
"No mentor, huh?"
"No."
"Then Master should come easier for you than most."
Shura's eyes widened as she looked up at me.
"Pardon?"
"Truth is, a mentor can only guide you up to pinnacle Expert. After that, you're on your own. That's what makes Master... Master."
"Then...?"
"Yeah. You've clawed your way here solo, so the solo path to Master should feel relatively smooth. Kids with great mentors struggle because they lean too hard on them. Rely on anyone—person, family, bloodline—and you grow weak. Master isn't some lightweight realm for the dependent. Only those who forge their true path claim it. Remember that."
"Yes. Thank you for the wisdom."
I paused my steps briefly, then resumed, tossing one last bit of advice over my shoulder.
"Your fundamentals are solid, but you lack experience. Can't blaze your own trail without knowing the world, right? You need to see the wide world, scrap with folks till you bleed—that's how you build savvy. Tough in a backwater village like this. Anyway, good luck."
Shura seemed lost in thought for a moment, then rose and hurried after me.
"Master?"
"Yeah?"
"What path do you follow, then, Master?"
"Me? Life itself. The joys, sorrows, loves, and hates you feel while living it."
That was why all my sword arts revolved around survival. You had to stay alive to live, after all.
"I see."
"So find your own path quick. Can't move forward without one. Otherwise, you're just spinning your wheels. Get me?"
"Yes."
I gazed at the distant sky and let out a sigh. I'd spouted off like a know-it-all in front of Shura, but truth be told, my own road ahead was foggy. For a Master entry-level swordsman, far rougher paths loomed: the realm of the mind in Mind Master, and beyond that, the soul in Soul Master.
Yeah. I was barely a toddler taking its first step from the crib. And Shura? She was still a helpless infant, blind to the world beyond.
Dusk settled over Eim Village. Word of the battle's end must have spread, because smuggling caravans were rolling in, setting up camp. Normally, they'd be rowdy, shaking off the road's weariness—but everyone moved with caution. They'd heard who was in town from the villagers.
Of Jess's Mercenary Group—over two hundred strong—only the dozens who fled survived. A few gravely wounded ones had been gasping earlier, but they'd all bled out soon after, bound for the afterlife. No injured meant no mercy from me, and in an Eim Village hosting someone like that, no one dared party hearty.
Huhu. What a polite little village. I like it.
Lying alone on the spacious inn bed, I couldn't sleep from anticipation. Earlier, passing the village hall, I'd eavesdropped on the elders: to thank their savior, they'd picked a pretty village girl to warm my bed. True to remote backwoods, their hospitality ran deep. I hadn't asked for it, but their gesture touched me.
Of course, rejecting honest gratitude would sour things.
I hugged the blanket, waiting. Exhaustion tugged after a sleepless day-plus, but it was bearable.
Took a while, though. Probably every village girl volunteering, making selection a hassle. Ah, this damn popularity never fades.
Knock, knock, knock.
The knock came. Finally. I sat up and called toward the door.
"It's open."
The door creaked open slowly, and a woman slipped in. Lit by candlelight, it was none other than Shura. She wore tight leggings and a wool sweater.
Shura approached, kneeling on one knee and bowing low.
"It's me, Master."
I glanced toward the door, checking for anyone else. Nope. Just Shura.
I scratched my nose with my index finger.
"What's the deal this late?"
Shura swallowed dryly, tense.
"I have something for you, Master."
"What?"
Shura pulled a pendant from around her neck. Two crossed arrows; she detached one and offered it.
"Here."
I took the arrow pendant, frowning hard. Infusing mana, the arrow twitched, pointing at Shura. A location tracker.
These spells came standard on most sub-tier-2 divine relics stored in the Hall of Divinity. Relics below the Seven Divine Artifacts didn't auto-return to the Hall upon their owner's death, but trackers let priests pinpoint them. That's how they recovered most.
But they had an unexpected use: lovers tracking each other.
"What's this?"
"A keepsake from my mother. She said to give it to the one I'd serve for life."
Hundred percent confirmed. The village's "gift" was Shura.
"I'll kill every last one of these villagers!"
I snatched my sword from the wall, bellowing. Female elves pledged lifelong devotion to the man they gave their purity to. For Shura, this wasn't a fling—it was her whole life on the line. Even if she wasn't local, forcing this on her was unforgivable.
As I stormed toward the door in rage, Shura blocked me urgently.
"Master, this was my choice."
I hesitated.
"Yours?"
"Yes."
"Why the hell...?"
"You're my lifesaver, Master. In repayment, per elven law, I offer myself to you."
I rubbed my face. Elves did have that custom.
But they prized blood purity above all. They'd never allow mixing with outsiders, no exceptions.
That's why half-breeds like Shura got shunned.
Frankly, she'd been born in freewheeling Kalligo Kingdom, so exile was her worst fate. In high elf society—staunch light faction zealots—she'd have been killed at birth.
A Strange Gum Stuck to My Life That Should Be Free.