Chapter 8 : Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Sword Beginner (3)

My nickname, 「The Sewing Gypsy,」 has spread fairly widely. Some notable guilds even approached me first, asking if I would consider joining their ranks.

After growing accustomed to mercenary life, I came to pride myself on my skill.

Not because I was a woman mercenary wielding an unusual sword, but because I thought—perhaps foolishly—that I had become a swordswoman of real worth.

That was a naïve delusion.

The world was wider than I knew.

There were far too many monsters.

And I first realized that because of one man.

A knight of the Red Hawk, based in the steel city of 「Ferma」 in the Iron Kingdom’s east.

I could not remember his name, but I could never forget his sword.

“They call you Gypsy, don’t they?”

During my mercenary years, my swordsmanship had grown. I had long since surpassed my master, Hegel. And with that came arrogance.

Having surpassed Hegel—the wandering knight of the Free City, who was nothing more than a swordsman traveling with his blade and fighting to survive—I thought myself strong enough to defeat any knight in a duel.

“You are nothing but a worthless mercenary, you fire-scorched wench.”

My Needle had snapped powerlessly before true steel.

That knight had grabbed my hair as I sat collapsed in the dust and said:

“Were you not a woman, you would have died here. Thank the Red Hawk. The Red Hawk never takes the lives of women or children.”

His words were the truth.

The only reason I survived that day was because I happened to be female.

Between a wandering knight and a true knight lay a wall that could not be crossed.

Hegel had been a traveler with a sword, a man who flailed merely to keep living.

But the man of the Red Hawk… what was he? To be honest, he hadn’t even seemed human.

He was like a tool forged of steel.

Perhaps all those called “knights” were such things.

At the very least, every knight I had faced in my mercenary life had been a monster.

Monsters who seemed to live in another world entirely.

It was only later that I learned the name of their realm: 「Sword Walker.」

.

.

.

Before me now was a killing intent so strong it nearly blew my mind. And like lightning, the memories of the swordswoman Mary surged forth—the ones carved into the sword I had consumed. By memory alone, Mary had been far more seasoned and skilled than I was now.

Yet even she had fallen miserably to a true knight.

In this moment, my heart thrashed violently.

I thought it might burst.

My breathing grew ragged, my vision swam.

A sharp ringing pierced my ears.

Alongside it, the pounding from my chest rippled through my body like a shudder.

Amidst the extreme tension, the world before my eyes shimmered with a strange blue hue. At the same time, I felt as though not only my belly, but my entire body was brimming with fullness. Was this what it felt like to sense the flow of blood within one’s muscles?

A prickling sensation, like countless needles piercing my skin, tingled across my body.

And then—I saw it. The flickering blue energy that rippled around the strange man.

It spread in every direction. Some strands were straight lines, others were winding curves. Like roads laid across a great city. Instinctively, I knew.

That was a 「Path.」

Within near-trance focus, Liam’s voice echoed like a reverberation.

「So you were born into a wretched body with not a shred of martial talent… and yet you carried an extraordinary gift in another way.」

I had no room to dwell on his words. I only tightened my grip on the Needle and kept my gaze locked on the man.

He had yet to move, standing motionless, staring back at me.

「Unyielding suspicion. A sensitivity bordering on illness… In ordinary life, it would be a flaw. But for one who grasps the sword, it is an exceedingly rare talent.」

The man drew his sword—a longsword, long and keen, a true two-hander.

Unlike me, he stood steady, perfectly prepared to strike at any moment. His stance was built for thrusting a swift opening blow. The complete opposite of me, gripping my sword one-handed in a warped posture.

“Why have you been watching me? Speak honestly.”

I forced my concentration higher still and began my suspicion.

“……To distinguish whether you were a guest or an intruder.”

Even as I spoke, I did not relax my guard. I suspected every shift of his breath, every twitch of the toes visible beyond his boots, the angle of his shoulders and wrists, the slightest dart of his eyes with each passing second.

That was my greatest weapon. As my master had said.

***

“……To distinguish whether you were a guest or an intruder.”

A guest? An intruder? With such absurd words, the man—Fetel—knitted his brows as he looked upon the boy.

He had known for some time that the boy was observing him. Like a skilled forest ranger, the boy had hidden his traces well, yet the countless Paths stretched in every direction had betrayed his presence.

“Hard to understand. Explain further.”

The only reason Fetel had left the boy alone was because he hadn’t seen the need to approach.

He had come to this village seeking solitude, and he had been content in its silence.

Though not perfect solitude, one boy was tolerable.

He hadn’t come for trouble.

This quiet had pleased him.

But having the boy draw near—that was different.

Fetel’s eyes sharpened as he studied him.

‘A frail body. A face so delicate one might mistake him for a girl. But not wholly untrained. I see the traces of at least four harsh years of training. Did he attend an academy?’

Even his manner of speaking bore the dignity of nobility. Perhaps the son of a fallen noble family.

With the Iron Kingdom’s princes warring for the throne, many nobles had lost their titles and lands, cast out to the frontiers. It was common for such nobles to live hidden on the fringes.

‘He holds a sword, but he is no threat. His balance is fair, but his stance is unstable. He pours everything into a single opening strike—swordplay meant to overcome physical weakness. That might work against untrained savages. At best, he’s Sword Beginner level.’

Fetel’s judgment was swift and simple.

Then the boy spoke.

“I was originally a resident here. But when I returned from a trip to the outer city, the villagers had vanished like smoke. Whether it was plague, or some foul sorcerer sacrificing them to demons, I do not know.”

“……”

“At first, I wished to flee. But I had memories here. Foolishly, I could not abandon them.”

Foolishly, he could not abandon them. At those words, Fetel’s hand twitched. His reasons for coming to this remote village were not so different.

“But then barbarians and slum youth began to invade, making havoc. They threatened my life and even mocked my deceased parents. I slew all those intruders myself. And so I had to discern whether you too were an intruder, or simply a guest who had come to stay for a time.”

“……You had to discern, did you?”

“But you seemed far too strong. So I lingered at a distance, watching. You did not appear to be one who would threaten my life. That is why I approached now—to confirm whether you were an intruder or a neighbor. Do you understand now?”

The boy’s explanation was clear enough.

Fetel eased his killing intent, if only slightly.

“I understand.”

But he did not relent completely.

“Then it is my turn to speak. If we are to be neighbors, we must share our circumstances.”

“……”

“So lower your weapon. Cast aside that peculiar blade of yours, and I will sheathe my sword and speak.”

For the boy still pointed that long, needle-like sword at him—radiating a sharp aura too strong to dismiss.

A silence passed before the boy answered.

“I cannot.”

“And why? Surely you know, sword in hand or not, you cannot stand against me.”

“I know. And that is why I cannot.”

The boy’s gaze was as sharp as a blade.

“I cannot yet trust you fully. At any moment, you could swing your sword at me. Then this blade, at the very least, is needed for me to defend myself.”

“……That needle of a weapon? Whether you hold it or not makes no difference.”

“If there is no difference, then you should put away your sword first. Suspicion is my habit.”

Hah. Fetel chuckled before he realized it.

“For two to face one another with blades drawn, the first to sheathe dishonors his knighthood. I must preserve my honor.”

“And I, who refuse to retreat any longer, cannot cast aside my sword.”

Hearing the boy’s voice, Fetel erased his faint smile.

The boy’s eyes burned, fierce as the sun.

“To surrender to fear, to give up before fighting—I will never do so again.”

From those eyes, Fetel read flames.

Flames no logic nor half-hearted killing intent could ever extinguish.

And inwardly, he marveled. What had this small boy endured, that he carried such fire in his gaze?

‘No half-measures, then.’

Fetel abandoned words.

He had no wish to chatter with swords raised. He would instead strike, forcefully if need be, to knock away the boy’s weapon—without harming him.

That was the best concession he could give, as a knight bound by honor.

‘Unstable stance. One-handed grip. That slender blade… a mere touch and it would snap in half.’

To a swordsman, the sword was more than a tool. Yet Fetel saw no other way.

Decision made, Fetel raised his longsword slowly.

He drew in a faint breath. Mana seeped into him, circulating through his Paths.

In the next moment, Fetel became a superhuman.

And then—“……?”

An impossible thing occurred.

“What….”

Sparks flew.

The sword he had swung sideways was deflected.

Deflected—by what? His eyes darted, and there it was.

A long, needle-thin sword.

Like a fragile Needle.

Yet it had neither broken nor dulled.

Impossible.

Fetel’s eyes wavered. In them, the boy’s figure flickered.

He had assumed a bizarre, almost acrobatic stance, breathing deeply, audibly—“hoo, ha.”

And with every breath, the blue aura circling him quivered and pulsed.

Mana itself was flowing in waves.

From a mere Sword Beginner’s breath.

Fetel doubted his eyes. But he saw it clearly.

A faint blue light, left of the boy’s chest.

There was a heart.

A Mana Heart—the mark of a Sword Beginner.

And this Mana Heart’s form was strange. Not soft and supple as usual, but astonishingly hard.

The boy’s heart was…Like steel.

‘No, not strange. That is—’

Something unscathed no matter the blow.

Steel.

‘……Extraordinary.’

Thus, the long-forgotten Mana Heart of the Karavan was reborn.