CHAPTER 13

A scruffy-looking child was glaring at someone in a muddy back alley.

This child stood out due to an unusual color amidst the street where everyone was dying miserably.

"That kid..."

"Leave him be. He looks hungry."

A man who was eating skewers sold at a street stall beckoned to the boy who was staring at him.

"Come here. Yeah, you with the blue eyes."

"....."

The boy approached as directed by the man, looking just as disheveled as one might expect from a child living off scraps in the back alleys.

"Where did you come from, all beaten up?"

His eyes were black and bruised, and the shabby clothes that could barely cover his body were torn here and there, evidence of a recent fight.

"That's a good look you got in your eyes."

Despite his wretched appearance, the child's eyes still held a spark of life.

The man found it appealing.

"Here, have another skewer."

The burly man received a skewer from the stall owner and handed it to the scrappy-looking kid who seemed like a beggar.

"Eat."

It was a simple act of sympathy.

However, the fact that he could evoke sympathy from the people living in this alley meant he had earned his meal.

"What are you waiting for? Take it."

"..."

The scent of the grilling meat made the beggar boy's mouth water.

"I told you to take it."

The boy was hesitant, contemplating.

And it seemed like he had made a decision.

Instead of taking the skewer, the boy spoke to the man.

"I can do something well."

"What is it?"

"Anything."

The boy looked at him, not at the skewer that man was offering.

"I can do anything well. Just give me a task."

The man who hands the skewer to the boy, he appeared to be a shining star in the back alleys.

"What's your name?"

The man, who had been observing the boy, became curious.

Who is the back alley beggar who confidently talks to himself instead of grabbing the food that will get him through the day?

So he asked the name of the boy who looked like he had rolled in the mud and mute, but his eyes still had light in them.

"Vlad."

It was only now that the man met the boy's eyes, which were blue.

The man also liked that color.

"Will you come to my house?"

And so, he decided to take the boy with him.

Because that color reminded him of someone he had left behind a long time ago.

The boy's blue eyes resembled stars.

※※※※

"Ha, Ha."

Vlad woke up in the dead of night, while everyone was asleep, and he was breathing heavily.

"...I've slept enough."

It was a dream from a long time ago.

It was from a time when even surviving each day was a struggle.

Vlad woke up and looked around.

The tent was filled with the pungent scent of unfamiliar men and the sounds of snoring.

"I still smell the scent of Rosa's Smiles in this barren land."

Knowing that sleep would not come easily, Vlad picked up his sword and stepped outside.

[Maintaining the best possible condition at all times is a basic requirement of a swordsman, Vlad.]

"..."

Vlad didn't respond to the voice.

"Who's there?"

"Riemann."

"Where are you going at this time of night?"

"For praying."

"...Riemann, you're more suited to be a priest than a mercenary."

Vlad revealed his whereabouts to the personnel on watch, and headed towards the hill illuminated by the moonlight.

Then he held the sword and closed his eyes.

[You have survived through many hardships.]

"Have you seen it?"

The voice seemed to have glimpsed Vlad's dream.

[Because dreams are the manifestation of strong wishes.]

"What did I wish for?"

The voice didn't answer.

"I miss it, though."

There was a man praying under the moonless sky.

He had fair blond hair, fluttering in the cold winter wind.

"...But how long do I have to keep talking to myself like a lunatic?"

[Until you create your own world within your soul.]

"Create a world? Who do you think I am, a god?"

[Simply aligning your intentions with your thoughts is already doing that. Only a strong will can make your world express itself.]

He appeared to be pretending as such.

"I guess I'll have to keep doing this crazy thing for a long time."

[That's up to you.]

Praying Riemann.

It was a method he thought of as a last resort because he couldn't mutter to himself in front of others.

"Do all knights do that? Have a world within their souls?"

[Those who handle aura.]

"Well, now that you put it that way, I have nothing to say."

And unintentionally, this method was quite effective.

The act of praying allowed Vlad to have some uninterrupted time alone, but it also set him apart from the other mercenaries, creating a sense of uniqueness.

Uniqueness compared to others.

It was another form of expressing something precious.

"But earlier, I did it just like you said, but it didn't work properly."

[Why didn't it work?]

However, now the boy was regretting it.

[When you raise your sword and lean your body, the opponent goes whoosh. Then, you go swoosh. No matter how many times I say it, why don't you understand?]

"... Really now?"

Because what he was trying to achieve through prayer was failing.

There is a saying that no matter how excellent a swordsman is, not all of them can be excellent teachers.

That saying was correct.

Vlad doesn't even know if the voice was a great swordsman.

"Do you really think I can understand this?"

[...No, I told you to make the swoosh sound when you sway.]

"Oh, Lord. Please take away this scum of a devil who can't even speak properly."

A bulging vein appeared on Vlad's forehead as he listened to the absurd explanation.

"Kill it or spare me."

[I hear everything.]

The voice seemed to be aware that it was terrible at explaining, and it answered in a strangely defeated tone.

"Just show me once now."

[You might end up as a puddle of goo, you know?]

"I said I wasn't going on the expedition tomorrow."

What was somewhat fortunate was that there were other ways for the boy to learn from the voice.

[Okay. Close your right eye.]

Vlad followed the voice's instructions and closed his right eye.

"Mmm..."

Then, Vlad felt as if his vision was receding for a moment. It felt like taking a step back and looking at the world.

[Feel it well.]

Vlad closed his right eye and quietly drew his sword under the moonlight with a different attitude and atmosphere than before.

Right now, Vlad seemed like a different person, overwhelming everything around him, including the blowing wind and the ground he stood on.

[Sneak in with an unexpected move.]

There was a sense of dominating the world.

[Control the battlefield with insight, one step ahead.]

And he swung the sword.

[That is the secret of killing with one strike.]

There was a flash of light under the moonlight that should shine alone.

It was a momentary brilliance.

But Vlad could feel the flow of air splitting for a moment.

The tearing and howling scream of the wind.

[Open your eye, Vlad.]

Vlad, who opened his right eye again, staggered and fell to the ground.

"Ugh, that was intense."

Vlad grimaced and clutched his aching calf.

It had only lasted a very short time, but he felt a sharp pain in the muscles that were overloaded beyond their limits.

[Did you feel it?]

But Vlad was smiling even through the pain.

"I get it roughly."

He had seen it, felt it, and also had a glimpse of it.

The unknown voice had temporarily injected vivid experiences into Vlad's body.

And the clever boy was able to learn by following the traces left behind for him.

"I think I can do it next time."

[You said the same thing last time.]

To experience it firsthand teaching was on a different level compared to teaching through words and demonstrations.

Talent by birth and vivid teaching were propelling Vlad's rapid growth. It was as if it was predestined to be this way.

"The moon is exceptionally bright tonight."

Vlad, holding onto his trembling legs, gazed at the night sky.

"Now, it reminds me of that guy whenever I see the moon."

[......]

The knight who resembled the blue moonlight. He was the first world the boy saw, and he was the one who destroyed Jorge, his own world.

"...... I'll destroy the moon one day."

[You will be able to do it.]

Vlad was a boy who always looked at the shining stars, even before he saw the star crafted by the old blacksmith.

"I will avenge Jorge."

That star was the most imposing and gigantic star in the back alley. The boy held the broken star he longed for in his heart.

"That's enough for today."

[All right.]

And the star bought with the girl's tears was draped over his shoulder.

The blue moonlight was watching the back of the boy going down the hill carrying the star on his shoulder.

※※※※- Part 2

"······So you were able to deal with the hobgoblin through your improvisation."

Late at night, Josef sat leaning on a chair, looking at the knight reporting to him.

With his broad cheeks, a bulky body not hidden by armor, and a rather timid gaze, he appeared unsure if he was truly suited to wielding a sword and living as a knight.

"Sir Vordan."

"Yes, Lord Josef."

Josef swallowed a sigh that almost slipped out and spoke.

"Do I seem like an idiot to you?"

"······"

Josef knew that he should be furious in this situation, but instead of anger, he found himself wanting to burst into laughter.

"How ridiculous must I have looked for you to make a report like this?"

"Lord, Lord Josef..."

The knight before him was mocking himself. It was unclear whether it was to protect himself or to boost his own image, but he was spewing lies in front of Josef, the commander of the expedition.

"Over twenty mercenaries followed you. Do you think not a single word they said reached my ears?"

"······"

He remained silent.

Zayar, who was standing next to Josef, was breathing heavily as he watched Vordan rolling his eyes.

Josef knew that if he were to order Zayar to kill Vordan right here, that ugly face would end up rolling on the floor.

"······Remember my words today."

"Thank you for your forgiveness, Lord Josef!"

However, Josef could not tell him to kill the knight called Vordan. It was because this incompetent, stupid, old damn bastard was one of the few knights in the family that followed him.

"Trash..."

As soon as Vordan left the tent, Josef clasped his head and let out a sigh of exasperation.

Even though the Bayezid family revered the military, not all of their knights possessed remarkable skills. The term "knight" referred to someone who wielded a sword, but it was also a title.

"I wish my damn family would just collapse into ruin, then I would behead him without hesitation."

The Bayezid family had a high threshold, and having the money and connections to overcome it meant that knights like Vordan could emerge.

That can also be said to be strength and skill.

"Does my father see me as a trash can? Is that why he pushes only garbage in front of me?"

Now, with a boiling anger, Josef stood up and spoke with trembling lips.

"Please calm down."

"..... I need a sword. A sharp sword, not the kind of trash sword."

In Josef's shadowy eyes, there was a fiery desire like flames.

"If I have that, there's no reason for me to be left behind by my brother."

He sighed heavily.

He admitted that he lacked skills, but he couldn't bear to be judged for something he was born with that he didn't have.

All of the heads of the Bayezid family so far were among the knights representing that era.

His father, Peter Bayezid, was no exception, and his brother Rutger Bayezid was also a person with the talent to become a knight representing the next generation.

"God doesn't give everything. Lord Josef, you have much more than what you lack."

Zayar's words were accurate. 

Josef was not born with a healthy body, but he was carrying weapons that Rutger did not have.

He did possess many other things. A sharp mind, a calm demeanor, a strong spirit. And even great support from my maternal family.

Of course, all these qualities were considered secondary in the Bayezid family, which revered the military.

"Did you find it?"

"Yes."

Josef thought.

If he couldn't become the sword himself, he would become the one who wielded the sword in place of it.

"Is he a noble?"

"No."

"Or is he a promising member of some swordsmanship guild?"

"He is not tied to any particular group."

Josef's lips curled up in response to Zayar's report.

"He is a man without a master."

"That's right. They say he's from the back alleys of Shoara."

If there was no sword for him to wield, he would create one himself if he had to. As long as it could be perfected.

"Alright, it's late now, so I will meet him tomorrow."

"Understood."

Josef sat back in his chair as he watched Zayar quietly exit the tent.

Alone in the tent, he carefully considered his options.

"What do you want, Vlad."

Josef never gave up.

"What must I offer you so you won't refuse me, Vlad?"

He was always the one fighting to survive.

In the flickering candlelight, his eyes held a strange desire.