My nickname, 「Sewing Gypsy」, spread quite far. Far enough that several prominent guilds approached me to ask whether I would consider joining them.

Once I grew accustomed to life as a mercenary, I began to take pride in my skill. Perhaps I was famous not merely for being a female mercenary with an unusual sword, but because I really was a swordswoman of some standing.

That was a foolish delusion. The world was larger than I knew, and it held many monsters.

One man first taught me that lesson: a knight of the Red Hawk, based in the steel city of 「Perma」 in the eastern Iron Kingdom. I no longer remember his name, but I still cannot forget his sword.

"They call you Gypsy, I hear."

My swordsmanship had improved during my mercenary years, and I had long since surpassed Hegel, the master who taught me. That had made me somewhat arrogant. Since I had surpassed Hegel, a wandering knight from the Free City, perhaps I had become a swordswoman strong enough to defeat a knight easily in a duel—or so I arrogantly thought.

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

My Needle snapped helplessly before true steel. As I sat slumped on the ground, covered in dust, the knight seized my hair and spoke.

"Had you not been a woman, you would have died here. Give thanks to the 「Red Hawk」. The Red Hawk never takes the lives of women or children."

He spoke the truth. The only reason I survived that day was that I was a woman.

An insurmountable wall stood between a wandering knight and a true knight. Hegel had been a traveler with a sword, a human being struggling to survive.

But the man of the Red Hawk—how should I put it? To be honest, he did not seem human. He seemed like an implement made of steel.

Perhaps all those people called 「knights」 were like that. At least, every knight I encountered during my mercenary years was a monster. Monsters who seemed to inhabit another world.

It was only somewhat later that I learned their level of attainment was called 「sword walker」.

.

.

.

Faced with killing intent so overwhelming it threatened to shatter my mind, the swordswoman Mary's memories flashed through me like lightning. Judging solely by the memories held in her sword, Mary had been a far more seasoned and accomplished swordfighter than I was now. Yet even she had suffered a crushing defeat before a true knight.

My heart was pounding violently—so violently that I almost imagined it might burst. My breathing grew labored, and my vision blurred strangely.

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

At the same time, a pulsing vibration spread from my chest, making my whole body shudder. In that state of extreme tension, the world before me took on a strange blue hue. I felt a fullness filling not only my belly but my entire body. Was this what it would feel like to sense the blood flowing through my muscles?

A prickling sensation struck my skin, as though needles were piercing me all over. At the same time, I saw blue energy wavering around the stranger. It extended in every direction, some strands perfectly straight, others winding curves, like roads laid through a developed city. I knew instinctively. That was his 「path」.

Amid concentration so deep I nearly lost myself, Liam's voice rang like an echo.

「With that wretched body you were born with, I thought you had no aptitude for martial pursuits at all. But you have an exceptional talent in another direction.」

I had no time to focus on his words. Gripping Needle tightly, I watched the man's movements. He still had not moved; he simply stood there looking at me.

「Unceasing suspicion. A sensitivity bordering on illness... Flaws if you live as an ordinary person, but exceedingly rare talents for someone who wields a sword.」

The man had drawn a longsword, a long, sharp two-handed blade. Unlike me, he maintained a steady stance, ready to swing at any moment. He was my complete opposite: I held my sword in one hand, my body contorted into an unnatural stance designed to deliver a swift opening thrust.

"Why were you watching me? Answer without resistance."

Maintaining the utmost concentration, I began to question everything.

"... To determine whether you were a guest or an unwelcome intruder."

Even as I spoke, I did not ease my tension. If the rhythm of his breathing changed, I had to question it. I had to question the movement of the muscles in his toes that I could see beyond his boots, the angles at which his shoulders and wrists moved, and every second's shift in his eyes. That was my most powerful weapon. Just as Master had said.

* * *

"... To determine whether you were a guest or an unwelcome intruder."

A guest or an unwelcome intruder? At this unexpected remark, the man, Petel, frowned at the boy.

He had known for some time that the boy was watching him. The boy was adept at concealing his tracks, like an experienced forest ranger, but the 「path」 extending in every direction had still alerted him to the boy's presence.

"That is unclear. Explain in more detail."

He had left the boy alone because he saw no need to approach him. Petel had come to this village seeking a place without people, and he had been content with its quiet. It was not complete solitude, but he could leave one boy be. He had never wanted a commotion. He liked the stillness.

But approaching this close was another matter. Petel narrowed his eyes and examined the boy.

'A wretched body. At a glance, you could believe he was a girl. But he isn't entirely untrained. There are signs of at least four years of rigorous training. Has he attended an academy?'

His speech also carried the distinctive refinement of nobility. Was he some noble's child? Perhaps the son of a fallen house. The Iron Kingdom's princes had fought over the throne, costing countless nobles their titles and castles and driving them to the fringes. It was common for those exiled nobles to live quietly on the outskirts.

'He holds a sword, but he won't pose a threat. He has balance, yet his stance is unstable. A style that commits everything to the opening attack. Swordsmanship meant to compensate for his physical shortcomings? An incomplete style that would only work against untrained barbarians. He looks to be a sword beginner at best.'

Petel's assessment was swift and concise. Soon, the boy spoke.

"I originally lived here. But when I returned from a brief trip to another city on business, the villagers had vanished like smoke. I don't know whether a plague struck, or an evil dark mage used magic to sacrifice them to a demon."

"..."

"At first, I was frightened and intended to leave too. But I stayed because this precious village holds my memories. Foolishly, I couldn't let go of my attachment."

Foolishly, he couldn't let go of his attachment. Petel's hand gave an involuntary twitch at those words. The circumstances that had brought him to this remote village were similar.

"But some rumor must have spread, because barbarians and boys from the slums began breaking into this country village and causing havoc. They threatened my life and insulted my deceased parents. I dealt with all those intruders myself. That was why I needed to determine whether you were another intruder or a guest visiting this village for a short stay."

"... You needed to determine that, you say."

"But you seemed far too strong. So I kept my distance and observed you for a while. You didn't seem like someone who would threaten my life, so I approached to find out whether you were an unwelcome intruder or someone who might become a good neighbor. Do you understand now?"

The boy's explanation was easy to understand. Petel eased his killing intent a little, but did not withdraw it entirely.

"I understand."

The reason was this:

"Now that I have heard your story, I believe it is my turn to tell mine. If we are to be neighbors, we ought to explain our circumstances to each other."

"..."

"So lower the sword you are pointing at me. Drop that unusual blade on the ground, and I will put away my sword and begin."

The boy was still pointing his long, slender blade at him. And it gave off an edge too keen to ignore.

After a brief silence, the boy spoke.

"I cannot."

"Why? Surely you can feel that you are no match for me, whether you hold a sword or not."

"I can. That is all the more reason I cannot lower it."

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

"I still cannot trust you completely. You could swing that sword at me at any moment, couldn't you? If you do, I need this blade to give me at least some means of defending myself."

"... That blade is as insignificant as a needle. Having it or not makes no difference."

"If it makes no difference, please put away your sword first. Suspicion is a habit of mine."

Petel let out a short laugh despite himself.

"When both parties have drawn their weapons, putting away my sword first would violate a knight's honor. I must uphold my honor."

"And I cannot discard my sword, because I no longer wish to back down."

The moment he heard the boy's voice, the smile faded from Petel's lips. As the boy spoke, his eyes blazed like the sun.

"To surrender to fear, to give up, before I even fight—I never want to do that again."

Petel saw a flame in the boy's eyes. A flame that neither his reasoning nor halfhearted killing intent could ever extinguish. At the same time, he felt a private admiration. What could this little boy have experienced to carry such fire in his eyes?

'Half measures won't do.'

Petel stopped trying to talk. He had no desire to converse while they faced each other with drawn swords, so he intended to knock the boy's weapon far from his hand, even if that meant using somewhat rough force. He meant only to disarm him, not hurt him. That was the best he could do as a knight bound by honor.

'An unbalanced stance, one-handed swordsmanship, a slender sword. Even a slight touch will snap it in half.'

To a swordsman, a sword was more than a mere tool; it held a deeper meaning. Petel therefore did not want to damage this little boy's needlelike blade, but having seen his resolve, he believed there was no other way.

Having reached his decision, Petel slowly raised the longsword in his hand. He took a shallow breath, and Mana in the air seeped into his body and began to circulate. The Mana he absorbed soon filled the 「path」 extending throughout his body. In the next instant, Petel became superhuman.

And then—

"...?"

Something unbelievable happened.

"What..."

Sparks flew. The sword Petel had swung horizontally rebounded in the opposite direction. What had it struck? As his eyes shifted, he saw a long, slender blade. A fragile sword resembling a needle.

That sword had neither broken nor suffered any damage to its edge. It was impossible. Petel's eyes wavered. The boy's figure flickered in his unsettled gaze.

The boy had adopted a peculiar stance, as though performing acrobatics. Holding that ready stance, he drew breath with exaggerated force, loudly enough for Petel to hear his huffing breaths.

And with every breath the boy took, the blue energy drifting around him surged as if shuddering. The flow of Mana was rippling. From a single breath of a mere sword beginner.

Petel doubted his own eyes. He could clearly see a blue light on the left side of the boy's narrow chest. There was a heart there. A mana heart, the mark of a sword beginner.

That tiny mana heart, which looked as though it had only just formed, had a peculiar shape. It was unlike anything Petel had seen in his life. Rather than the usual soft, supple form, it was astonishingly hard.

The boy's heart was—how should he put it? Like steel.

'No, it isn't peculiar. That is—'

Steel that would not suffer so much as a scratch, no matter what struck it.

'... Something special.'

And so the Caravan mana heart, forgotten for hundreds of years, was reborn.