Chapter 23 - Because He Did Not Give Up (2)

In the middle of the dining hall wrapped in silence, Got was looking at Vlad, at a loss for what to do.

"B-Boss."

At the same time, countless gazes from the dining hall began to turn toward the place where Vlad sat, each filled with some kind of sneer.

Because everyone had been waiting for this.

"..."

A yellow lump was floating up in the soup Vlad had been eating.

It was a glob of someone's spit.

"Sorry about that. It smelled like trash, so I thought this was the trash can."

"Hahahaha!"

There were three squires standing behind Vlad, laughing loudly.

'Earlier than I expected.'

Vlad did not get angry at the squires provoking him.

He merely nodded, feeling that what was bound to come had finally come.

He had expected a situation like this would happen someday.

The Bayezid Family was a prestigious family even in the North.

Simply having set foot there for a time was enough to become an impressive credential, so the squires here were all sons sent from decent families.

Even if they were not nobles, this was a place where young masters of some standing had gathered, and now a boy from the back alleys had entered, so naturally there would be backlash.

He had already gone through something like this once at the encampment, so Vlad decided to endure it for now.

'I'm used to it, too.'

Contempt, humiliation, and disregard had always been familiar to him.

Of course, being used to them did not mean they did not hurt, but Vlad decided to let it pass this time.

So he quietly lifted his spoon.

"Boss..."

He scooped out the spit floating in the soup and scattered it onto the floor.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he lifted his spoon again and began eating the soup.

"..."

"..."

The squires in the dining hall had been watching with snickers at the planned harassment, but at Vlad's composed behavior just now, all of them stopped laughing.

It was a strange silence.

"... What the hell is with him?"

None of the newcomers they had seen until now had acted like this.

They got angry, became frightened, or at least put on an easygoing smile.

But that boy from the back alleys was acting outside their expectations.

"..."

In the dining hall that had fallen silent without his intending it, Vlad thought of what Jager had told him.

'From now on, understand that every single thing you do is directly tied to Lord Joseph's reputation.'

Jager, who knew Vlad's temper well, had warned him again and again to be careful with his behavior.

'I've received something, so I should put up with this much.'

Vlad knew very well that he had been given an opportunity far beyond what he deserved.

So if he could endure it, he intended to let it pass quietly for Joseph's dignity.

'How should I fuck him up?'

However, as someone from the back alleys, there was nothing he could do about the viciousness writhing inside him.

So even though he was calmly swallowing his soup, there was something that naturally flowed out of him.

The blue eyes that had etched Vlad into people's minds even in the back alleys, wild as they were.

Those eyes were burning an icy blue.

"Arrogant bastard."

When things did not go as he had intended, the squire who had picked the fight growled and approached Vlad.

"I'll see you later. I'll give you one hell of an initiation..."

"What's your name?"

He had intended to frighten him with a threat, but the blond-haired boy was reacting in a way completely different from what Sovanin had intended.

"... What?"

With an eerie voice, Vlad's head slowly turned.

"I asked what your name was."

The moment the squire met the boy's eyes, burning blue, he felt as if the world around him had gone pitch-black.

There was a gaze there that gave off an even stronger pressure than the knight he currently served.

"S-Sovanin."

Before he knew it, Sovanin had stammered.

That was the kind of presence it was.

"Sovanin."

Vlad quietly murmured Sovanin's name as he chewed and swallowed his soup.

A dog that is about to bite does not bark.

One who is about to kill does not get angry.

"I'll remember it."

He only glared in silence.

Before anyone knew it, Vlad had finished his meal and stood up with his empty tray.

"I'll look forward to that initiation."

As he listened to Vlad's voice brushing past him, Sovanin realized that something had gone wrong.

"D-Do you even know where you are, you lowborn orphan bastard from some back alley?"

He spat out sharp words to protect his pride from being crushed to the very end, but Vlad merely returned his tray in silence and left the dining hall.

Even after Got, watching the mood, followed Vlad out, only a strange silence lingered inside the dining hall.

* * *

"Boss, are you okay?"

"I feel sick."

"What are you going to do now? I asked the servants, and it seems that guy Sovanin is like the boss among the squires."

"That bastard's the head?"

At Vlad's question, Got shook his head hard.

"Got it."

"Be careful."

Squire and servant.

At the fork where their paths had to split, Vlad gave Got a wave of his hand and walked toward the place he was supposed to go.

"He really is something else."

Even in that dining hall where dozens of people had surrounded him, Vlad had only been as calm as if he were eating at home.

"I guess that's why he could cut down things like ghosts."

Perhaps it was only natural for him to react that way.

He was a boy who had cut down terrifying beings that were hard even to look at, so how much could threats from boys his own age matter?

"This is why people need to play in bigger waters."

When Vlad's figure disappeared at the fork at the far end of the corridor, Got also moved his feet.

There was no need to worry.

That boy was not someone who would stop in a place like this.

After parting from Got, Vlad headed to the training ground where Jager would be, according to his fixed daily routine.

"Did anything happen?"

"No."

"Then pick up your sword."

After lunch, there was a short sparring session with Jager.

It was not very common for a knight to spar with his squire every day.

Unless the squire he had taken on was the child of an important family, or his parents had handed over plenty of money.

"But there's one thing I'm curious about."

"Say it."

Vlad wiped his nose and opened his mouth to Jager.

"Let's say I'm surrounded by several people. What should I do then?"

"Run."

"What if I can't run?"

"How far are you assuming your opponents are armed?"

At Jager's question, Vlad glanced around the training ground and said,

"Well, wooden swords, maybe? Let's say a few of them have small shields mixed in, too."

"... Is that so?"

At Vlad's answer, Jager's eyes narrowed as if he had noticed something.

"Well, the swordsmanship you use certainly isn't suited to multiple-opponent combat."

"Really?"

At this assessment of his swordsmanship, which he was hearing for the first time, Vlad's eyes widened.

Looking at Vlad like that, Jager drew a line on the ground with his wooden sword and answered indifferently.

"You learned from this master of yours without even knowing what kind of swordsmanship he used?"

'... Even the one teaching me doesn't know who he is.'

After grumbling inwardly for a moment, Vlad answered.

"I don't know. Honestly, I was in a position where if someone said they'd teach me anything, I just had to be grateful and learn it."

"I suppose you were."

Jager, who had drawn a long cross-shaped line on the ground, swung his wooden sword and shook off the sand clinging to it.

"Your master was probably a duelist. Your swordsmanship is specialized not for multiple-opponent combat, but for one-on-one close combat."

[Oh!]

The voice, having obtained a clue about itself in an unexpected place, let out an excited exclamation.

[Ask more!]

"A duelist?"

Seeing Vlad look somehow excited, Jager wondered if this kid liked things like this and decided to explain a little more.

"Not all knights are the same. There are household knights like me, bound to a family, and there are also knights-errant who have earned only their knighthood and wander around. Duelists can be considered one type of knight-errant."

Jager gave Vlad a nod.

"Usually, knights who participate as proxies in duels of honor are called duelists. Do you want to know more?"

"Then who are some famous duelists? Or someone who used to be famous but whose whereabouts are unknown now?"

Looking at Vlad's sparkling eyes, Jager thought he should cut it off here.

A boy's curiosity was endless, but today's time was limited.

"You only learn one thing a day. Should I tell you about famous duelists, or should I teach you the basics of multiple-opponent combat?"

[Famous duelists!]

"Multiple-opponent combat."

The voice begged him to reconsider the answer he had just given, but to Vlad, what was about to come down on him right away was more important.

"Good. Step in."

Following Jager's gesture, Vlad stood at the center of the cross.

"The basics of multiple-opponent combat are angles. Right now, you are exposed in four directions: east, west, north, and south. If that happens, you have to defend against attacks from at least four people."

"What should I do, then?"

"Use the terrain and objects around you."

Jager grabbed Vlad by the shoulder and stood him at the end of the cross.

"If you put one place at your back, then now there are three angles left, right? That means you've blocked one person."

"That's way too obvious. What if I fight somewhere with no blocked sides?"

"Then you'll be fighting in an extremely harsh situation. If possible, fight in a place as advantageous as you can."

"What if there really isn't a place like that?"

At Vlad's persistent question, Jager shrugged and answered.

"Then you have to make an obstacle yourself."

"With what?"

At Vlad's question, Jager grinned and said,

"With your opponent's corpse."

There was an indescribable weight in Jager's smile.

"A human corpse can make a fairly good obstacle. It's heavy, has volume, and after some time passes after death, it stiffens."

At Jager's practical teaching, Vlad nodded and his eyes shone.

"As I just said, the basics are not giving them angles, and the second most important thing is timing. The point is to keep your opponents from coming in all at once."

SHUFFLE.

As he said that, Jager moved quietly over the cross mark.

"Huh?"

Vlad was briefly flustered as he watched Jager's movement.

It was because Jager seemed as though he would move to the right, but when Vlad opened his eyes properly, he was standing on the left.

It was an advanced technique that deceived the opponent with the shoulders, gaze, and position of the feet.

"To create that, you must guide your opponent's movements."

[He means control your opponent with your own movement.]

Hearing Jager's explanation and the voice's interpretation, Vlad nodded.

"You mean I should guide my opponent's movements with my own?"

"... Good. I don't have to say it twice."

Looking at Vlad, who understood his words even without a detailed explanation, Jager thought the boy was clever as well.

In truth, the voice dwelling inside his soul had been breaking it down and explaining it in detail.

"To do that, you have to keep moving without pause."

"Moving?"

"All swordsmanship begins with footwork. Today, according to your request, you will learn footwork for multiple-opponent combat."

Jager gave a broad grin toward the boy whose eyes were shining as he looked at him.

There was passion in the boy's eyes, and an even greater desperation.

Inside him was a beast hungry to learn.

"Try to follow me."

The training that began at lunch continued until twilight approached.

He had potential.

He had a reason he had to do it.

And he had two masters as well.

Beneath the red-dyed twilight, the boy was dancing.

"Quit it, you bastard."

"..."

"If you're going to do it like that, just run away. I won't say anything about that, at least."

"... I learned it for the first time today, so isn't it natural that I can't follow along?"

Though that dance was so embarrassing it was painful to watch.

Although he was being scolded, Vlad was smiling a sincere smile for the first time in a very long while.

He was rough, but Jager was considerate of him, and Joseph trusted him.

This was the first time he had felt this emotion since that night when he had shed tears atop a pile of trash.

Suddenly, Vlad looked at the red sun sinking beyond the horizon and thought of the people in Soara.

He missed them.

* * *

"Why is the mud this bad in front of a shop?"

The back alleys of the city, dyed by twilight.

There was a mercenary man entering the only smithy there.

"Who are you?"

"I'd like to ask you something, old man."

Most of the people who came to find the old blacksmith were fixed.

Those who truly wanted something decent would go to the smithies famous even in Soara, so in the end, the ones who came here were people with little money who were looking for something roughly usable.

Of course, the blond boy who had stared at a sword was the sole exception.

"You don't look like someone who would come to a place like this."

"Ah, that's right. I didn't come here to buy anything."

However, the mercenary man in front of the old man looked fairly skilled.

The weapons and armor he carried, and the items shoved here and there, showed that he was an experienced mercenary.

"This is my first time coming to the back alleys of Soara."

"You look it."

"Is this the only smithy in the back alleys?"

"That's right."

"Do you make swords here, too?"

"... Not anymore."

At the old blacksmith's answer, the mercenary man nodded as if he had expected as much.

A shabby, small furnace.

Tools that looked like nothing special.

And above all, an unimpressive old man who looked as if he had been rotting in the back alleys his whole life.

At the man's gaze sweeping here and there around the shop, the old man grew needlessly embarrassed.

"What are you trying to do, asking about that?"

"I want to make a sword."

"You can just pick any smithy and have one made, so why come all the way here looking for a sword?"

Watching the old man click his tongue, the mercenary man also laughed as if he found it absurd.

"I wanted to make a somewhat special sword."

"What kind of special sword?"

The old man was lighting the furnace without even turning back at the man's words.

"One that... can cut ghosts, too."

"Ghosts?"

The old man's brows twisted, wondering what kind of nonsense a perfectly normal-looking gentleman was spouting.

"If it's ghosts, you should try going to a church instead of here."

"No, no, old man. Then have you perhaps heard of Vlad of Soara? I heard he was from here."

"Vlad?"

When a familiar name flowed from the mouth of an unfamiliar man, the old man dropped the coal he had been throwing into the furnace.

"Why that boy... Did he perhaps die?"

"So you do know him! Then he really is from here?"

The mercenary man beamed, as if now they could finally communicate.

"When I asked that friend in passing, he said he had it made at a smithy in the back alleys of Soara."

"Had what made?"

He was alive.

The old man thought that was truly a relief.

But the man's next words were only things he could not possibly believe.

"That brat cut a ghost."

"A ghost?"

"I'm telling you, he did. It was a cursed woman, and his sword shone, then split her in half."

The mercenary man who had entered the old smithy was one of the mercenaries who had barely returned alive from the subjugation force.

The crisis of death, and in that moment, the white flash that had shone.

To the mercenary man, that light flashing in the thick fog was more radiant than anything he had seen until now.

"There's no way that little brat could have used aura. So I figured the sword must be special. He treasured that sword like crazy, too."

"..."

The mercenary man had come to the back alleys of Soara, thinking there was a fairly high possibility.

"So my conclusion is that there must be a mysterious blacksmith here who knows how to make a sword that can cut ghosts. Does anywhere come to mind? If you tell me, I'll reward you generously."

"Ha..."

At the mercenary man's words, the old blacksmith let out a sigh filled with many things.

Brat, what the hell did you do?

What on earth have you been doing that you turned someone like me into a blacksmith who makes swords that can cut ghosts?

"You haven't heard of anyone?"

"There's no way someone like that exists."

"Come on, don't be like that..."

"No one will know even if you ask."

No one would know.

No, no one would believe it.

That the boy who had fallen with the trash that night had created a light that could even cut down ghosts.

That the sword he had made had held that light.

"No one will know."

"..."

That a boy born in a place where the sun did not reach and a sword made in a shabby smithy had created light.

The man left.

The old man stopped even the work he had been doing and sat in place, staring blankly at the front of the shop.

The area before the shop where countless people passed by was a mess of mud, but the old man could see it.

The sad footprints left by the boy who had looked up at the stars.

The sight of that boy always lingering there.