Chapter 5: One Who Understands the Three Worlds (5)

Though blind, Goffrey usually kept his eyes open. It was a symbol of his resolve to leave the knight's life behind and devote himself to faith.

Now, he closed his eyes.

Eugene, who understood what that meant, carefully steadied his breathing.

'So I had been seeing him through rose-colored glasses too.'

A benevolence glimpsed like moss beneath a rock-like solemnity. That was the impression Eugene had held of Goffrey.

It vanished.

No longer the knight who revered honor and justice, but the visage of a sword-demon obsessed with the blade itself, like the warriors of the southern continent.

Eugene glanced sideways. He could slip into the reed field with only a few steps, but there was no deceiving his master's ears with such petty tricks.

—More than a few men tried to lure me into places like that. They only blinded themselves and ended up dead.

He remembered the story his master had told him once.

"I can hear your eyeballs rolling. Don't even think about cheap tricks."

"You can hear that?!"

He had rolled them slowly, just in case, yet still got caught. Truly, his master's hearing was in the realm of the divine.

"That was a joke. Even I can't hear that far."

"No, even a joke needs the right timing..."

Whoosh!

A blade flew at him without warning.

A frontal thrust rising at twenty degrees. A swift strike that would have taken the heart of any ordinary swordsman before they could even react.

Once the initiative was lost, dodging was impossible. Whether the target stepped back or dodged sideways, the blade followed. To the victim, it felt as though Goffrey wielded a flexible sword.

And if he blocked with his sword? The blade would ride up and sever his wrist.

There was only one sure way to deal with it. Smash through with overwhelming violence.

Eugene channeled the sensation of crushing a monstrous boar's skull and exploded with force.

CLANG!

A sound rang out that could not be believed to come from two swords meeting.

Thud!

The blade tip that should have reached Eugene's chest drove into the ground, and Goffrey knelt on one knee.

"Good, that's it."

He staggered as he pulled his sword free, then steadied his stance again and aimed at his disciple.

"Once a fight begins, never let your guard down. Always choose the best course."

"Were you never criticized for fighting dishonorably in your days as a knight?"

"No. I never used it in tournaments, and everyone who saw this died."

"I feel as though I am learning many new things about you in just one day, Master."

"Does the same not apply to you?"

Both master and disciple smiled.

Countless sword strikes came and went like that.

It was more than simply drawing out Eugene's limits—it was a comprehensive test of everything Goffrey had taught.

Flash.

Goffrey angled his blade to reflect the sunlight. The glare stabbed painfully into Eugene's eyes.

Eugene shut his eyes, pushed every sense to its limit, and dodged.

Goffrey's blade missed Eugene's armpit by a hair. It cut only two centimeters from his sleeve, but an ordinary knight would have been bleeding heavily from beneath the arm.

"People instinctively raise their arms when their eyes are attacked. Armored men are easy to kill if you strike the armpit, though someone who can smash through armor hardly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠needs the trick."

"I remember all of your teachings."

With every exchange, Eugene recalled everything Goffrey had taught him from childhood to the present.

That blindsiding ambush just now was something he had learned two years ago.

—Your vision can vanish at any moment. Whether your eyes get cut on the battlefield, dirt or dust gets in, you are poisoned, or struck by magic. There are even fools who die in a duel because a drop of sweat from their forehead dripped into their eyes.

—What a ridiculous way to die.

—To avoid dying like that, do not rely on sight alone. Hone and refine all of your senses.

Eugene had trained according to that teaching rather than relying on sight alone. He had followed the path his master had taken.

CLANG!

Goffrey's sword was terrifying when he fought in earnest. It was extraordinarily fast, and its course changed without warning.

It felt as though one sword was delivering two attacks with a time lag between them.

The moment Eugene's muscles prepared to block or evade the first strike, Goffrey heard the movement and altered his attack.

Since the sword in hand could never move before the muscles, Goffrey could not help but stay at least one move ahead.

Clang!

Just now, the instant Eugene prepared to parry a diagonal strike, it changed into a thrust aimed at his shoulder.

It was surely not for nothing that he had been called the Knight of Prophecy.

Clang!

Once more, he deflected an attack that was coming in at a bizarre angle.

Eugene thought this was the hardest fight he had ever been in, and the same went for Goffrey.

'If this were a real fight to the death, I would already be dead.'

He concealed it from his disciple, but that was Goffrey's honest assessment.

Cold sweat streamed down his back, but not from exertion. His body was so thoroughly trained that even age's wrinkles seemed forced back by muscle.

Every time he struck at Eugene, his instincts sounded a death knell. That was what made the sweat flow unbidden.

Clang!

Every strike that had killed seasoned knights in real combat was being stopped.

Even formidable opponents lost control of their hands and judgment before his unusual combinations, then lost their heads. None of it worked on his disciple.

Clang!

It was because linking strikes was itself impossible.

Stagger.

Every time Eugene blocked, the overwhelming force disrupted Goffrey's stance and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breathing.

So to bring his disciple down, he would have to finish it in one blow, a single decisive strike...

'How am I supposed to defeat someone who surpasses me in stamina, strength, speed, and talent?'

Experience was a weapon more lethal than anything, but when that was the only thing one had over an opponent, the story changed.

Clang!

On top of that, his disciple made up for his lack of experience with an innate sense and animalistic instinct.

He was the kind of man who could wield even an unfamiliar weapon with skill after only a few swings.

Their sword dance continued until twilight faded and the moon had crossed the sky.

Eugene had regarded this as his graduation exam, so he engaged the fight with a defensive focus.

But at some point, he realized that there were no more problems left to solve.

"Huff! Huff!"

Hearing his master's ragged breathing, he understood the time had come to leave the examination ground.

The mental scabbard Goffrey had built for him had already been torn apart.

BOOM!

Goffrey's stance was obliterated, and his sword went spinning through the air to fall dozens of meters away.

Eugene halted his blade before his kneeling master's throat.

"Hah... hah..."

He waited for his graduation score, but it seemed the last strike had dealt a heavy blow.

Gripping his torn, bleeding palm, Goffrey trembled and dragged in ragged breaths.

"...Kill me."

"That joke was a bit funnier this time."

Eugene smiled, sheathed his sword, and supported his master.

"That first ambush was also a joke, you know?"

"People call that cheating."

Eugene brushed the dirt from his master's knees and shins.

"Enough, I can do it myself."

"This is one of the few acts of filial devotion I have left to offer. Please accept it."

Thump!

Instead of an answer, Goffrey slumped down.

"Facing a monster of a brat in human skin has left me barely able to stand."

"Not a monster's brat. A witch's son."

"Yes, yes, it is good to see you have pride in the mother everyone curses. Truly a filial son."

Goffrey teased him lightly.

Eugene sat beside him. Master and disciple cooled their overheated bodies in the night breeze.

Eugene grabbed Goffrey's wrist.

"Let me see the wound. You were bleeding."

"It's nothing. A scratch."

"Even a tyrant crumbles to a small boil, and a lion starves to death from a single thorn in its paw."

"I trained a knight, not a bard, as I recall."

Despite his words, Goffrey docilely offered his hand to his student.

Eugene retrieved a water pouch from the luggage he had set aside.

"This will sting."

"Save such talk for when you're tending a noble young lady's hand. I've been stabbed in the gut three times in my life."

"And yet you live."

Clean water soaked Goffrey's torn palm. But he did not so much as blink.

Next, what Eugene brought out was a thick-leaved medicinal herb.

"I thought you'd just wrap a bandage around it. Clearly you are different."

Eugene bunched together several leaves. The proper usage was to twist them like a braid to extract the juice, but with his monstrous strength applied, the juice poured out with tremendous force.

Onto this, he sprinkled powdered medicine as though seasoning with pepper.

"What trickery is this? The pain suddenly subsided."

"It is mushroom powder with analgesic effects. A rather precious commodity. I trust you'll understand why I applied it last."

"You truly are talented. Should you ever be crippled, you could make a living as an apothecary without trouble."

"Give your thanks to Homi. She is the one who gathered it."

Goffrey smiled.

Eugene had seen through Goffrey's unspoken gratitude and embarrassment.

Physique, swordsmanship, skill, perceptiveness. A complete man possessing everything necessary stood before him.

Finally, after wrapping the bandage, Eugene held Goffrey's injured hand with both of his own.

"There's still more?"

"Yes."

Eugene closed his eyes and moved his lips softly. It was a peculiar resonance, neither conversation, nor recitation, nor song.

A mysterious sensation, as though each of Eugene's words took on form and seeped into his grasp.

"Y-you, don't tell me you can perform miracles?"

Goffrey was just as astonished as when Eugene had felled the monster boar.

It was said that truly exceptional priests could perform wondrous miracles. But their numbers were exceedingly few.

Even among the Orthodox Church priests in the village, only the abbot could do so.

Eugene shook his head.

"How could that be? I have no faith and I am the child of a witch. I cannot heal wounds as a famed bishop can."

In an age when everything passed by word of mouth, rumors became badly distorted. Tales of divine miracles were especially prone to embellishment.

But Eugene, having lived in the monastery and occasionally witnessed the abbot's miracles, knew that it was not all false.

"My mother once told me. She said that while priests blindly serve the god dwelling beyond this world, witches attempt to understand the beyond itself."

Goffrey felt a sensation that the herbal concoction applied beneath the bandage was somehow moving.

"A talented witch, she told me, can sometimes summon something from the other side and let it dwell in this world."

"My palm feels as if something is crawling around inside it. It itches."

Eugene saw his teacher's frightened face for the first time. Neither the stab of a blade nor death could shake him, but superstition, it seemed, terrified him.

"Would not living juice work better than mere juice?"

Eugene grinned.

"Remove it this instant, you wretch! That wine incident back then was no coincidence after all!"

"At the time, I was surprised as well. It was not intentional. It must have been my mother's blood within me, manifesting on its own."

Eugene pointed to Goffrey's bandaged hand.

"It is good for the body, so rest easy. It will not burrow into your flesh and devour you like maggots."

"!!!"

Eugene had to wrestle quite a while to stop his teacher from tearing off the bandage.

When the howl of wolves sounded in the distance and dawn was not far off, the two bade each other farewell.

"Will you truly depart alone?"

"I am taking the pilgrim's road. I seek no worldly wealth, honor, power, or vassals. Traveling together would only hinder both our dreams."

Goffrey pointed to the armor laid to one side.

"Those are yours now."

"What about you, Master?"

"Armor is a luxury for a pilgrim. A hooded cloak is enough for me."

At some point, Goffrey's clouded eyes had opened. The impression of the Sword Demon had vanished, and the usual ascetic had returned.

"I understand. I shall use it well."

"You'd think you could at least pretend to refuse once instead of accepting without hesitation."

"I know well that you detest such sentimental theater."

"Yes, yes, you're so clever. While we're at it, take one more thing."

Goffrey tossed a ring to his disciple, who watched him with sparkling, expectant eyes.

"What is this?"

"It is the family seal ring of my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠teacher, Sir Rein Meyer. He has already passed away, so from now on, it is your family."

"What? Suddenly what do you mean?"

"Once you rob the Sealed Shrine, you will leave the village. You will need a respectable identity. Wherever you go, a noble knight will receive an extra loaf of bread or piece of meat over a commoner."

"Impersonating a noble is the gravest of crimes. It is a hanging offense without trial."

"It is not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exactly impersonation. Sir Rein was the last survivor of the family."

Goffrey narrowed his eyes as if reminiscing.

"Everything belonging to him, who had no children, was inherited by me, and now it is merely being passed on to you. A family with nothing but a name remaining is better than having none at all, I suppose."

Eugene swiftly agreed. He knew all too well how advantageous noble status was in itself in this world.

"Then I am Eugene Meyer from now on."

"In any case, it is a distant, extinct family, so there will be no means to verify. Your accent, your appearance, your skill, and moreover..."

Goffrey turned his face toward the forest.

"Even your squire is excellent, so you will not be suspected."

"You truly want Homi for yourself, do you not?"

"A disciple is someone to whom one bequeaths, not someone from whom one plunders."

Then he tore off the bandage wrapped around his hand.

"Ah! You must not do that yet."

"The sensation of something crawling about was so dreadful I could endure it no longer!"

Goffrey examined his palm.

"Heh, remarkable."

The torn wound was half-healed. The blood that should have soaked through had cleanly vanished, as though something had consumed it.

Goffrey picked up his fallen sword, sheathed it, and silently faced Eugene.

Whoooosh...

Only the night wind rustling through the brush moved between them.

Goffrey seemed to want to say more, but they had already said everything that mattered. Eloquence had never come naturally to him.

"Will you not perform the knighting ceremony?"

A knight could appoint a new knight.

It was a right handed down from ancient times in the form of customary law, and thus could not be used carelessly. Knights were sometimes punished by their liege for it.

Of course, if it were a knight of Goffrey's renown bestowing it upon his sole squire, none could raise an issue.

"Forget it. Such sentimental nonsense. Just be a knight from now on."

"..."

Goffrey, who had hesitated for a moment as if to speak, turned sharply and approached the horse tethered nearby.

Eugene supported his staggering master, weakened from severe exhaustion, and helped him onto the horse.

Then he took the reins and led him to the road outside the village. A few jokes passed between them along the way, and that was all.

That was their parting. Thus the master departed, and the disciple remained.