Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: The Suspicious Man.
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I was sparring with Shura in the outdoor training grounds, crossing real steel. It wasn't particularly dangerous. There was no way I'd let her blade touch me, and even if we slipped up, we were both wearing protective gear made from fraker leather. As long as we stayed cautious, there was no reason for serious injury.
Clang. Clang-clang. Clang.
Several exchanges passed, and then Shura's Dalahan traced a bizarre curve, thrusting sharply toward my chest. I could have dodged with ease, but it was a decent move, so I parried it aside with Yojjo and counterattacked.
Swordsmanship isn't some math formula or textbook subject. Talking it out won't make your opponent understand anyway. The best way to teach is to let good moves land, show them the taste of failure on bad ones, and let the body learn through experience.
"Good."
I shook off Dalahan and created distance.
Shura gathered Dalahan horizontally at mid-guard and circled me swiftly.
She was hunting for an opening, but it was a fool's errand.
Shura was the one moving; I was just pivoting to track her. In this scenario, she was far more likely to expose a gap first. Why? She was the one expending all the motion.
Mistakes multiply the more you do something.
'Time to teach her a lesson.'
I kept pivoting, then feigned a shift in stance to bait an opening. She took it hook, line, and sinker, charging in. I casually slipped Dalahan's strike and swung Yojjo at her.
But Shura's expression was odd. Even on the verge of an unavoidable hit, she showed no tension—just a thin smile. Then her shout rang in my ears.
"Burst Light!"
A massive storm of blinding radiance exploded toward me in an instant. 'Burst Light' was Dalahan's first-tier spell, unleashing intense light to temporarily blind foes. Her real aim had been a trap in reverse.
It was a solid attempt, but meaningless. By the time the light faded, Yojjo's edge was pressed tight against Shura's throat.
I lowered the arm I'd raised to shield my eyes and stared at her. She looked utterly dismayed that her ploy had failed.
"What the hell was that?"
Shura finally spoke, barely.
"Dalahan's magic."
"I saw that much. I'm not asking about the magic. Why'd you drop your guard at the end? Did you think it was over just because I'd fallen for the trap?"
"W-Well..."
"Never let your guard down until it's done. In real combat, that one slip costs your life. Save the victory smile for after the kill shot. Got it?"
"Yes..."
Shura hung her head, speechless. I gently withdrew Yojjo from her neck.
"Still, the setup was good. If I weren't your opponent, you'd have won. Not bad at all."
"Thank you."
I ended on praise. The outcome was failure, but I loved her sneaky intent to fool even me.
Honestly, I was a bit surprised. Her swordplay now was worlds apart from that clumsy flailing I'd seen before. Her strikes were sharper, and setting traps showed real tactical depth.
All in all, Shura struck me as a textbook genius swordswoman. Some innate talent was clearly at play. Made me wonder who her parents really were.
I glanced sidelong at Dalahan.
"Picked up healing magic too?"
"Not area heals yet, but single-target ones, yes."
"Good work. Healing's damn useful—keep at it. You'll need it someday."
"Yes."
"Sparring's done for today. Do whatever for the rest of your time."
I left her schedule entirely in her hands and headed inside. All I could give Shura was 'technique.' The 'way' she had to awaken in her own heart.
"Hm..."
The office was buried in clothes and bags. A flashy crimson dress lay on the reception table. A black women's suit embroidered with gold thread sat on the desk. Miscellaneous outfits and accessories were strewn everywhere. I'd given Sis Armida 300 riff gold for repairs just recently, and this had been the office vibe ever since.
Sis Armida was in front of the full-length mirror, trying on a new bag from every angle. Spotting me, she bolted over.
"Little bro. What do you think of this bag?"
"Looks good."
"Right? Right? I splurged big time for the Saint Eauroa Day festivities."
She beamed like it was the best thing ever. I headed to the fridge for a drink.
"But aren't Chronos sky-city goods better?"
"Not at all~. Chronos stuff is so outdated. Nothing beats human fashion for clothes and bags."
"Yeah?"
I opened the fridge door to an empty void. I'd stocked up days ago, but it was already cleaned out. With two bottomless pits in the house, no surprise there.
"Sis. Fridge is empty."
"..."
Sis Armida said nothing and vanished via instant teleport, dodging chores no doubt.
I couldn't fathom her logic. Buying groceries was shopping, same as clothes and bags. Why love one and hate the other?
I grabbed a shopping basket. I loved food shopping. Crispy fresh bread and thick-cut meats always sparked pure joy in living.
First stop: the nearby butcher I frequented. The owner's pretty daughter often minded the shop—that helped. Sadly, she was out today.
"Beef's 85 riff per dong, lamb 52."
I was shocked at the butcher's prices. Last time, same amounts were 82 for beef and 49 for lamb. Just days later, up 3 riff each? Prices kept spiking—what the hell?
"Boss, why's meat getting so expensive?"
He looked pained.
"Tell me about it. Suppliers keep hiking prices—it's killing me."
"Livestock plague going around?"
"Nah. The jerky workshops are buying up everything."
Odd. Jerky was a bar snack here and there, but in Kara, it was mostly emergency rations for desert traders. No boom in trade to justify a jerky surge.
I scanned the display. Jerky talk made me crave some. Nothing beats it for snacking boredom.
But no jerky in sight. There used to be.
"Boss, no jerky lately?"
He waved it off like it was hopeless.
"Don't even mention jerky. Can't get it from suppliers."
"But you're making so much it's jacking up meat prices? Should be flooding the market."
"Nah. No jerky on the market, so they're ramping production—that's spiking meat."
"Hm. Makes sense... Wait, no way?"
A sudden hunch sharpened my eyes. Massive jerky production, no other reason, yet none circulating? Hoarding.
I paid up quick and headed to the workshop district's weapon shop. They sold arms to mercenaries and stocked arrows.
"Arrows? Haven't seen those in ages. Prices skyrocketed lately—weirdly."
"Figures..."
"Why, what's up?"
"Nothing. Just wanted a few. Oh well."
Leaving the shop, I chuckled.
In war, rations top the list. No food, no fight. Prices explode at war's outbreak—especially preserved meats like jerky with long shelf life.
And war's scarcest supply? Arrows. From countless battlefields, I knew: you need 'em most when they're gone.
Now those exact items were surging. Someone was stockpiling war materiel. No other explanation.
'Who the hell's hoarding?'
One thing sure: not Kara locals. If someone here sensed war, rumors would leak. None had. Plus, from my past life's memory, Kara learns of the Gaya Robros Kingdom war late summer.
Damn. Should've hoarded myself. Missed opportunity.
'Who is that?'
Heading home, I halted in a quiet alley.
A plainly dressed blonde man lay collapsed on the ground, emaciated to the bone. Skinny didn't cover it—sunken eyes lifeless, skin flaking beyond dry. Like a starvation corpse.
At first, I pegged him for some beggar. Nope. A high-end magic sword with skull engravings hung at his waist, and his aura screamed elite. Straight, sharp—like a standing blade.
'Strong one...'
I recalled my chat with Uncle Jenbe. Another master swordsman in Kara besides us. Had to be this guy.
'Idiot. A master, slumming it in Kara like this? Can't afford food, take merc work. Tsk tsk.'
Shaking my head, I tossed a silver riff coin at his face as I passed.
A parched voice followed my back.
"I'm... no beggar."
I snorted and stopped. Pride intact, huh? Figures—with that attitude, no wonder a master ended up like this.
"Not charity. I never do that."
"Why?"
"Charity killed someone once."
The blonde picked up the coin.
"Then what's this money?"
"Condolence cash. Any swordman hits that low before turning bandit or merc. You're that mess? Means your shitty temper starves you to death. Gotta pay respects. Bad ghosts like you clinging? Life's cursed forever. I got enough already. Take it—don't haunt me."
Life flickered in his dull eyes. He smirked.
"What an ambiguous guy."
"Yup. World's all gray."
He staggered up, hopped in place lightly, then twisted into stretches.
"How long was I out?"
"How should I know? Check your navel clock."
He held a hand to the midday sun filtering through the alley.
"Hm, remember leaving morning... so just hours."
"Hey, you sick?"
"Dunno. Yes? No? Went away, anyway."
Gibberish. I snorted.
"Good you're cleanly mad."
He approached, eyeing my white mask and dyed red hair alternately.
"White mask? You the Kaoyan everyone's whispering about?"
"Yeah, rumors like that. You?"
"Kallen."
I tilted my head. Never heard of a master named that.
"Family name?"
"None."
"Slave or commoner?"
"No."
"Then why no surname?"
"Fake name anyway—why bother fabricating a house?"
I narrowed my eyes.
"You're suspicious."
"Less than you, I bet."
"True that."
Not many matched my sketchiness. Fake name, dyed hair, mask. Tit for tat—no point calling it out. I turned to go.
"Later."
"Here."
Kallen flicked the silver back with his thumb. I slapped it right back with my knuckles.
"Keep it. Rather reclaim tithes than that—returns curse you."
"I'm no beggar."
"Didn't give it for that."
"Right. Condolences. Bit late, but whatever."
He pocketed the coin neatly.
"Late?"
"Nearly died recently. Hence the state."
"Heh. Quack doc?"
"Nah. Benefactor not in that line."
I stared at Kallen. Uncle Jenbe called him honor-bound—expected stuffy elder. Surprisingly flip. Low, heavy voice, but light overall vibe.
"You don't match the rumors."
"You know me?"
"Yeah. Uncle Jenbe spilled."
"That orc food cart guy~? He's Jenbe of the Sacred Oil, right?"
"Yup."
"What'd he say?"
"Honor-knowing, bland type."
Kallen gazed up the narrow alley sky.
"Honor? Knew it once."
"Now?"
"Too busy with greater cause. Absolute, flawless one."
I blinked rapidly.
"Weird. Thought no such thing existed."
"Hm. Me too. But living revealed it."
"What cause?"
"One no being can shoulder."
I waved him off.
"No clue, but shut up. Sermons choke me."
"Sharp instincts. Regret spilling—now my life's heavy as a mountain."
"Drop it. All baggage."
Kallen's face darkened.
"Once lifted, never down."
"Nothing's absolute."
"Yet exceptions exist. Even beyond 'no absolutes' absolute."
That level cause? Only one breed. I grinned sourly, flicking my middle finger.
"This it? Then I respect."
Kallen pondered deeply before replying.
"Hm, bit short."
"Whoa, really?"
I was stunned. What cause outdid even night duties in justice? Night work was among humanity's few survival absolutes. Demonize it, stop—extinction.
Kallen brushed dust from his clothes.
"Anyway, got business. Till next time."
"Sure."
"Bye."
Kallen gave a curt nod and vanished into the alleys. Kallen. Weird through and through. Talk was off, looks worse. More zombie than man.
The Suspicious Man. End