The Indiscernible Master's Challenge
The place we arrived at after following the Old Man was the training grounds inside the castle.
Coming here meant his goal had something to do with my combat skills.
After all, there was only one use for a training ground.
Sparring, or honing sword techniques.
No way there'd be some noble lady spreading out a picnic blanket and munching on lunch boxes here.
In a sweaty hellhole like this, full of rough guys.
Sure, there were female knights too, but they usually practiced in private training rooms.
Anyway, if there happened to be a lady with that kind of peculiar taste, I'd offer my sincere apologies in advance.
Come to think of it, maybe some come to check out the guys' muscles.
A bunch of random thoughts crossed my mind, but I shook my head and quickly shoved them aside.
Getting away from the Old Man standing right in front of me unscathed was more important.
I didn't know his goal or his identity.
Normally, people introduce themselves like, "I'm a Runner-level expert from such-and-such place," but this old guy had skipped all that. Super suspicious right off the bat.
Something about him gave me the chills... like getting tangled up with him would be a total pain in the ass.
And while becoming a disciple of a real expert was tempting, I wanted to learn from someone more trustworthy and well-known.
How do I wriggle out of this...?
I started racking my brains.
With the eye for people I'd honed over years as a mercenary, judging the Old Man's face told me he already knew everything about me.
Probably not just a feeling when he'd stared right through me earlier—he'd actually sized me up.
Against someone like that, intentionally losing or going all-out to win would both be insanely tough.
Throw the fight on purpose to kill his interest?
He knew my skills, so he'd see through any bullshit intentions in a heartbeat.
That'd just backfire and drag me deeper into this mess.
He'd demand a rematch, saying, "Show me your real strength."
So, beat him and say, "You don't have what it takes to teach me"?
......
Yeah, right.
There's a famous saying among folks in weapon-based jobs like ours:
"Beware the elderly, women, and children."
Especially old folks—you gotta watch 'em close.
If they lack raw power, they've got wisdom, street smarts, and killer instincts for survival in any situation.
If they have power, it means they're so damn good they've lived this long.
The old man in front of me was clearly the latter type.
As I said before, his presence was blurry.
Naturally, the aura radiating from him was faint too.
Like a plant, almost.
But let's think logically.
How many people in this world have an aura like a damn plant?
In my experience, this was the first—the old guy I'd met today.
Normal people all have some kind of presence.
Sadness, anger, joy.
Or... killing intent.
Something, anything.
But his was so faint it felt plant-like?
Means he's a master way beyond what I can read.
Alright, let's sum it up.
Can't throw the fight on purpose, can't beat him and send him packing.
Only one option left.
Lose, but fight well. The classic "good fight loss"—or lost well fought, for short.
Not an intentional throw, not a win.
Make him think, "My expectations were too high."
It's an advanced technique requiring some seriously tricky finesse.
"Draw your sword."
As expected, the Old Man ordered me to unsheathe.
Why didn't anyone say I had to hand over my weapon entering the castle...?
"Hoo..."
I let out a deep breath and slowly drew my sword.
Shing.
I'd come straight from battling monsters without a break, so my blade still had bits of their blood and flesh stuck to it.
The state of my sword might make someone think I was slacking on maintenance.
But anyone with a trained eye—or even one who's hunted a beast before—would know.
Despite slicing through monster bone and muscle, my blade hadn't chipped or dulled.
To a real expert, especially a mercenary, it was nothing surprising.
Your weapon is your lifeline—gotta be ready to swing it anytime.
Yeah, anytime.
Like right now.
Crack—!!!
Without any warning, an invisible blade came flying at my left shoulder.
"Guh!"
I barely deflected the Old Man's attack, riding its momentum for all it was worth.
On the surface, it might seem like I just took a hit, but blocking that was way harder than it looked.
For starters, it was a total ambush, demanding insane reflexes.
And it was invisible, so I had to guess the position by feel.
Even worse, my guess was off—not right side, but left. Precisely my left shoulder.
Us regular swordsmen sheath on the left.
Simple reason: most are right-handed, so drawing left-to-right is easiest.
But he'd targeted my left shoulder.
Meaning, to block, I had to draw left-to-left.
Not at an angle by tilting the sheath—no, straight perpendicular draw to parry.
That was the only way to counter his strike.
Anyway, the moment I deflected it, I snapped my eyes back to the Old Man.
On a real battlefield, the enemy doesn't wait while you recover.
Follow-ups come fast—that's basic common sense.
But,
What??
As if mocking my prediction, the Old Man didn't follow up at all.
He just stood there, same as when we'd first entered the grounds.
And the shocking part? That attack had come without a weapon.
How could I tell?
His hands—clear in my vision—held nothing.
Instead, the air around his fingertips shimmered faintly.
"...Aura."
The Old Man was drawing out aura from his fingertips.
Usually, you channel aura through a weapon.
I hadn't learned the details myself, so explaining's tough, but I hear it's about mental imagery.
To use aura offensively, you shape it with intent, and the weapon's visual cues help form that image.
Anyway, based on that, this monster was visualizing something ridiculous—like slicing a person in half with his bare hand—and making it real.
Without that strong an image, aura won't respond properly.
"What the shit..."
Boom! Boom!!
I'd cleared my head before this one-sided beatdown even started, but damn if I wasn't inwardly impressed anyway.
If I'd been even a split-second slower, that strike would've separated my upper and lower body for good.
Krunch—!!!
After that, the tricky attacks kept pouring in relentlessly.
The damn monster finally stopped, seemingly satisfied, about an hour into the "spar."
The aura at his fingertips is completely gone.
He was so ghostly faint in every way—stealthy ambushes, invisible strikes.
Honestly, you could call it psychological warfare... but now I was just exhausted.
Kill me if you're gonna.
If he'd really wanted me dead, I'd be gone already.
Luckily, he halted and spoke.
"It's you."
"Pardon?"
After pounding me senseless, this dementia geezer hits me with cryptic nonsense.
"You'll learn the sword from me from now on. No choice in the matter. Fate's already set."
"Hey, if I can learn from a powerhouse like you, I'm all in—but you know your explanation's kinda lacking, right?"
He let out a faint sigh at my question and fell silent.
"The answer to yours will come naturally with time."
Vague as hell, just like that.
No point pushing—he wouldn't spill more—so I fired off my second question.
"So, do I have to quit mercenary work to train under you?"
"No. One week. That's enough."
Hmm...
Learn from a master like that in just a week?
I gotta do this, no matter what.
I'd planned to refuse earlier.
But a high-level expert changes everything.
So what if he's weird, unknown, untrustworthy?
Probably some hermit master or whatever.
"Got it. Starting today?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll swing by the mercenary group real quick. Gotta tell 'em I'm taking a week off."
The Old Man nodded without a word.
I confirmed his reaction and headed straight for the group.
"Back already? What's up this time?"
Mari, handling admin for our mercenary group, greeted me with her usual smile.
"Some weird old guy was waiting. Wants to teach me the sword."
"You turned him down nicely again, right?"
"Nah. This one's the real deal. Stronger than our captain, even."
"What??? For real?????"
Mari's eyes went wide as she peppered me with questions.
"Yeah, legit. So I'll be away from the group for about a week—cool?"
"Uh... hold on."
Luckily, vacation procedures were usually a hassle, but since I'd never taken time off before—and had just wrapped a job— we sorted it in ten minutes flat.
"Everyone's gonna miss you, Evan."
"Psh, those guys? They'll manage fine."
After a quick goodbye with Mari, I grabbed my gear and stepped out.
"Whoa, you were waiting right out front?"
The Old Man was standing in front of our mercenary group's building—Dawn's Torch.
"Go."
Again, just his cryptic line, no more.
He didn't wait for my reply, just started walking off somewhere.
Would it kill him to respond properly? Whatever—I was here to learn swordsmanship, nothing else. Didn't sweat it.