In the silent dining hall, Goethe stared at Vlad, unsure of what to do.
"Captain."
Simultaneously, countless glances in the dining hall began to turn toward where Vlad was sitting, filled with various forms of disdain.
Everyone was expecting something.
"..."
A yellowish mass floated on top of the soup Vlad was eating.
It was a piece of someone's saliva.
"Sorry. I thought this was a trash bin because it smelled like garbage."
"Hahaha!"
Three squires standing behind Vlad burst into laughter.
Sooner than he thought.
Vlad wasn't angry with the squires for making fun of him.
He simply nodded, knowing what was coming.
He expected this to happen someday.
House Bayezid was a prestigious family, even in the North.
Even a brief stay in such a place was a significant step in one's career, and each of the squires here now came from a good family.
Naturally, there would be a reaction to the arrival of an unwelcome guest in a place that was home to a series of masters who, while not nobles, were still quite valuable.
It had happened before in the garrison, so Vlad decided to endure it for now.
'I'm used to it.'
Scorn, disdain, and ignominy were always familiar to him.
Of course, familiarity didn't mean it didn't hurt, but Vlad decided to let it go this time.
So, silently, he picked up his spoon.
"Captain..."
He picked up the spit floating in the soup and spread it on the floor.
Then, as if nothing happened, he picked up the spoon again and started eating the soup.
"..."
"..."
The dining hall squires chuckled at the planned harassment, but they all stopped laughing at the determined look Vlad had just directed at them.
A strange silence fell.
"What the hell, this guy."
None of the newcomers had behaved like this.
Angry, scared, or just smiling.
But this alley guy was acting beyond their expectations.
"..."
In the involuntary silence of the restaurant, Vlad thought of Jager's words.
"Be careful about what you do from now on; everything is directly related to Mr. Joseph's reputation."
Knowing Vlad's temperament, Jager had warned him to be careful about his behavior.
'They've given me something, so I'll have to endure it.'
Vlad knew he had been given a golden opportunity.
So, if he could, he would stay quiet for the sake of Joseph's dignity.
"What should I do?"
He couldn't help but think of the ugliness that lurked from the streets.
That's why, even though he was deliberately passing the soup, something spontaneously sprang up.
Blue eyes that made Vlad recognizable even in the wildest streets.
Those eyes burned.
"Arrogant bastard."
When things didn't go as he wanted, the squire growled and approached Vlad.
"I'll see you later. I'm going to beat you up."
"What's your name?"
He had intended to intimidate him with his bravado, but the boy was reacting in a way he hadn't anticipated.
"What?"
Vlad slowly turned his head, his voice hoarse.
"What's your name?"
Confronted with the boy's burning blue eyes, the squire felt his surroundings darken for a moment.
There was a look in those eyes that was even more intimidating than that of the knight he now served.
"I-I'm called Sovanin."
Sovanin stammered, unable to speak.
The impulse was there.
"Sovanin."
Vlad chewed his soup, silently repeating Sovanin's name.
A dog about to bite doesn't bark.
Those who wish to kill don't get angry.
"I'll remember that."
He stared, silently.
Finally, Vlad finished his meal and stood up with an empty plate.
"I'm looking forward to the ceremony."
Sovanin heard Vlad's voice as he passed, realizing that something was wrong.
"Hey, who does this street rat think he is?"
He spat out the sharp words, intending to see his pride crumble to the end, but Vlad simply returned the plate to him and left the dining hall in silence.
Even when Goethe persuaded him with a look and followed him out, an eerie silence fell in the dining hall.
***
"Captain, are you okay?"
"I don't feel well."
"What are we going to do now? I asked the servants, and it seems that Sovanin is the leader among the vassals."
"He is the leader?"
Vlad asked, and Goethe vigorously shook his head.
"Alright."
"Be careful."
Squire and servant.
As they parted, Vlad gestured to Goethe with his hand, then headed in the direction he was going.
"I'm a bastard."
Even in the restaurant, with dozens of people around, Vlad was as carefree as if he were eating at home.
"That's why I'm sure I've been hearing ghosts and such."
Maybe it's a natural reaction.
He had seen things too terrifying to be seen, so what is a small threat from his peers?
"That's why you have to play in big places."
When Vlad's figure disappeared at the other end of the hallway, Goethe followed him.
There would be no need to worry.
He is not one to stop in a place like this.
Upon separating from Goethe, Vlad headed to the training ground where Jager would be, following the established routine.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yes."
"Then take your sword."
After lunch, there was a brief sparring session with Jager.
It was not uncommon for a knight to train his squire every day.
Unless the squire in charge was the son of a noble family or their parents were generous with money.
"But I have a question."
"Tell me."
Vlad snorted and turned to Jager.
"If I'm surrounded by a bunch of people, what do I do then?"
"Run."
"If I can't run."
"How well armed is your opponent?"
Vlad asked, looking around the training ground at Jager's question.
"Wooden swords, perhaps, with some guys with small shields mixed in."
"Really?"
Jager's eyes narrowed, as if he had noticed something in Vlad's response.
"Well, your sword skills are certainly not suitable for combat among several people."
"If?"
Vlad's eyes narrowed at this unfamiliar assessment of his sword skills.
Looking at him, Jager drew a line on the ground with his wooden sword and spoke quietly.
"You've learned without knowing what type of swordsmanship your master uses."
"The man teaching me... I don't even know who he is."
After a moment of internal grumbling, Vlad replied.
"I don't know," he said, "because honestly, if someone is going to teach me something, I'll have to be grateful."
"I suppose."
Drawing a long line on the ground in the shape of a cross, Jager wielded his wooden sword, brushing away the sand that had scattered on it.
"Your master was probably a duelist. Your sword skill is specialized in individual combat, not in battles among several people."
[Oh!]
The voice exclaimed excitedly, having gained a clue about himself from an unexpected place.
[Ask him more!]
"A duelist?"
Vlad seemed excited for some reason, and Jager, wondering if this boy liked this kind of thing, decided to explain a bit more.
"Not all knights are the same. There are house knights, like me, and there are wandering knights, who roam the land with nothing but a knight's title. Duelists are a type of wandering knight."
Jager tilted his head toward Vlad.
"A duelist is a knight who fights as a proxy, usually in an honorable duel. Do you have more questions?"
"So, are any of the duelists famous? Or someone who used to be famous but is now unheard of?"
Jager looked at Vlad's bright eyes and thought he should end it here.
The boy's curiosity was unlimited, but his time today was limited.
"One lesson a day. Do you want me to teach you about famous duelists, or the basics of combat among several people?"
[Famous duelists!]
"Multipersonal combat."
His voice pleaded with him to reconsider the answer he had just given, but for Vlad, the immediate task at hand was important.
"Alright. Go ahead."
Following Jager's gesture, Vlad positioned himself in the center of the cross.
"The foundation of combat among several people is the angles. Right now, you are exposed in four directions—east, west, south, and north—meaning you have to defend against at least four attackers."
"What do I do then?"
"Use the terrain."
Jager grabbed Vlad by the shoulders and held him at the end of the cross.
"With your back to the wall, we have three angles left, so we have one."
"That makes sense, but what if we fight where there are no blocks?"
"You'll be fighting in a very difficult situation. Fight from the most favorable position possible."
"And if there really is no such place?"
Jager shrugged at Vlad's insistent question.
"Then you'll have to create an obstacle."
"With what?"
Vlad asked, and Jager smiled satisfied.
"With the other person's body."
Jager's smile had a certain weight.
"A human shield can be a good obstacle. They are heavy, bulky, and harden over time after death."
Vlad nodded, and his eyes lit up at Jager's practical instruction.
"As I said, the basics are not to give an angle, and the second most important thing is timing. It's about not letting the opponent's attack in."
Sigh.
With that, Jager moved silently in the sightline.
"Eh?"
Vlad remained perplexed for a moment as he observed Jager's movements.
It seemed like he was going to move to the right, but when he opened his eyes, he was standing to the left.
It was an advanced technique to deceive the opponent with shoulders, eyes, and foot positioning.
"To create it, you have to anticipate your opponent's movements."
[Control your opponent with your movements].
Vlad nodded as he listened to Jager's explanation and the voice in his head.
"Do you mean to anticipate your opponent's movements with your own?"
"Yes... Glad you understood; I don't like explaining things twice."
Vlad grasped the concept without further ado, thought Jager, considering him a bright young man.
In reality, the voice of his soul expanded.
"For that, you must be in constant motion."
"Motion?"
"All fencing begins with steps. Today, at your request, we'll learn the steps for combat involving several people."
Jager chuckled as the boy's eyes lit up at the prospect.
There was passion in the boy's eyes, but more than that, there was desperation.
There was a beast in him, hungry to learn.
"Repeat after me."
The training began at noon and continued until dusk approached.
Promise.
We had a reason to do it.
There was a boy who also had two objectives.
In the twilight, the boy was dancing.
"Come on, do it."
"..."
"If you're going to do that, run away; I won't say anything about it."
"...I just learned it for the first time today; isn't it natural that I can't keep up?"
Although the dance was painfully embarrassing to watch.
Despite his bruises, Vlad laughed from the heart for the first time in a long time.
It was tough, but Jager watched over him, and Joseph trusted him.
These feelings lasted until that night. I hadn't felt this way since I cried on the garbage heap.
Suddenly, Vlad saw the red sun slide below the horizon and thought about the people from the Soara.
He missed them.
***
"What's all this mud in front of the shop?"
In the midst of the streets at dusk.
A mercenary entered the city's only blacksmith.
"Yes?"
"Let me ask you something."
Most people who came to the old blacksmith were predetermined.
Those who wanted truly luxurious things went to the well-known blacksmiths of Soara, and finally, those with little money looking for something to get by came here.
The only exception, of course, was the blond boy who always looked at the sword.
"You don't seem like the type who would come to a place like this, right?"
"Oh, of course, I haven't come to buy anything."
But the mercenary in front of the old man seemed to have some skill.
The weapons and armor he wore, and the items he had hidden in various places, indicated that he was an experienced mercenary.
"It's my first time on the streets of Soara."
"So it seems."
"Is this the only forge on the streets?"
"It is."
"And do they make swords here too?"
"... Not anymore."
At the response of the old blacksmith, the mercenary nodded as if he had known it would be so.
A small, dilapidated brazier. And, above all, an old man with gray hair who seemed to have rotted away in an alley all his life.
The old man seemed unnecessarily cold as the man's eyes scanned the shop.
"What the hell do you think you're doing asking me that?"
"I want to make a sword."
"Why have you come here seeking a sword when you could have gone to any blacksmith and ordered one?"
The mercenary laughed at the old man's ironic comment.
"Because I want to make a special sword."
"What special sword?"
The old man stoked the brazier's fire without looking back at the man.
"I want to make a sword that can even ring those... ghosts."
"Ghosts?"
The old man's eyebrows arched as he wondered what the man was talking about.
"If you're seeing a ghost, go to the church, not here."
"No, nothing like that. By the way, have you heard of Vlad from Soara? I heard he's from here."
"Vlad?"
The old man dropped the embers he was throwing into the brazier when the familiar name sprouted from the stranger.
"Why did he... die?"
"I see you know him, so he's from here, isn't he?"
The mercenary smiled, as if he finally understood.
"I gave him a blow, and he told me the sword was made in a forge in the streets of Soara."
"What."
He's alive.
What luck, thought the old man.
But what the man said next was almost unbelievable.
"The boy cut the ghost."
"A ghost?"
"Yes. It was a cursed woman, and the sword glowed and cut her in half."
The mercenary who had entered the now ruined forge was one of the mercenaries who barely escaped alive from the slaughter.
At the moment of his death, a white blade had shone.
For the mercenary, the light that flashed through the dense fog was brighter than anything he had ever seen.
"It's impossible that that boy could have used Aura, so I thought the sword was special, and that's why he cherished it so much."
"..."
The mercenary had come to the streets of Soara with a good idea.
"So, a sword that can cut ghosts. My conclusion is that there must be a mysterious smith here who can forge it, and if you know of any, I'll make a good payment."
"Ha..."
At the words of the mercenary, the old blacksmith let out a sigh that said a lot.
Kid, what have you done?
What the hell have you been doing that you've turned a man like me into a blacksmith forging swords that cut ghosts.
"Haven't you heard?"
"There's no such thing."
"Come on, go to—"
"No one would know even if you asked."
No one will know.
No, they won't believe you.
That the boy who fell with the garbage that night created a light that could pierce ghosts.
That the sword he forged was imbued with that light.
"No one will ever know."
"..."
A child born in a place where the sun never shines, and a sword forged in a ramshackle forge that created light.
The man walked away.
The old man stopped what he was doing and sat down, staring blankly at the shop's facade.
The display was a mass of mud as people passed by, but the old man could see it.
The sad footsteps of the boy who always looked at the stars.
The boy who was always alert.