Sherin Giselle Aste Hasra had the sort of appearance no one could forget after seeing her once.

Her blue-black hair sometimes evoked the night sky, sometimes a rolling sea. Her long, narrow, provocative eyes, tilted slightly upward at the corners, were somewhat removed from the traditional ideal of beauty, but gave her a haughty, strangely serpentine allure.

Her enemies would denounce her looks as those of a man-devouring temptress, despite her youth. Compared with her half sister, Princess Cassia, who was as delicate as a flower, they said she was nothing but brash and vulgar, utterly lacking in dignity.

Here at the Magic Society, however, neither her status as the king of Pendia’s second daughter nor her captivating looks made Sherin special.

The mages revered the inventive ideas her mind produced and the keen intuition with which she pierced to the heart of a matter. A genius who could, with just a few casual exchanges, point the way forward on a problem that might otherwise demand years or decades of deliberation—and even provide clues to its solution? She was a dream come true for any researcher!

“Your Highness, magic stone fusion research is the very path Pendia must follow. If we could only create the ultimate colossal golem...”

“It’s inefficient. I would recommend researching the opposite approach: dividing magic stones into smaller pieces.”

“But that would make their duration far too short to be practical!”

“As it happens, there has been meaningful progress in that area lately, so you should consult Professor Guyton...”

As Sherin walked, conversing with a mage in her retinue, her gaze met a boy’s.

Making eye contact with someone while out beyond the palace was hardly unusual. Wherever she went, everyone watched her.

What was unusual was that Sherin was not the object of the boy’s ardent gaze.

Keenly attuned to other people’s attention, she realized that he was staring, half entranced, not at her but at the knights guarding her. Their eyes had merely crossed for a moment in the process.

Curiosity stirred in her reddish-brown eyes at this wholly unfamiliar situation.

'What’s this?'

The boy, his green eyes wide, was slender and about half a handspan shorter than she was. He clearly did not come from a knightly family. Judging by his fine clothes, perhaps he was the son of an administrator or merchant.

Yet, in contrast to his utterly mild appearance, the eyes roving over the knights burned with greed.

Like a man coveting a scantily clad beauty, his gaze was blatant and persistent, without the slightest pretense of modesty...

The desire in it was so primal that she felt embarrassed even though it was not directed at her.

“Is something wrong, Your Highness?”

“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

When her halt drew a puzzled look from one of her guards, she shook her head and resumed walking.

She was far too lofty and busy a person to spare her attention for some peculiar boy who merely happened to have no interest in her. Today, too, there were countless people to meet and materials to study.

* * *

“Princess Sherin, is it? Never seen her this close before.”

Only at Roden’s murmur did Shan turn his gaze away from the princess’s party, which had disappeared beyond the automatic doors.

“Roden, did you see that?”

“The princess?”

“No, the knights beside her! I don’t know how it was made, but they were wearing full plate armor and barely made a sound when they walked!”

“Oh. That.”

Who would have imagined he had been studying the guards’ equipment while the princess passed by? The entirely unexpected answer made Roden smile wryly.

“It’s probably enchanted armor. Perhaps the princess came here to buy some for her guards.”

“So if you become the princess’s guard, you can buy all the enchanted things you want.”

Shan recalled what he had just seen.

Armor like a work of art, covering every part but the joints without impeding movement in the slightest, its pieces fitted so perfectly that there was not even the sound of metal rubbing together.

Sword grips finished in fine leather of some unknown kind, which looked as though they would sit snugly in the hand, and pommels cut into facets like jewels.

Thanks to the luxuries he had enjoyed over the past week, Shan had acquired an eye that let him imagine just how good fine things would be to use. Before, he probably would have noticed nothing more than swords at their waists.

The appearance of the princess standing among them had left no impression whatsoever.

Had her hair been blue? It might have been yellow.

“Maybe that day will come eventually. For now, let’s see what we can afford.”

“Right!”

His enthusiastic nod was short-lived. Shan’s face clouded as he looked at the display.

“Roden?”

“What?”

“Read this for me.”

“I keep telling you to at least learn to read.”

Despite his grumbling, Roden stood beside him and read out the items’ descriptions and prices.

There was quite an assortment on display: pitchers that filled themselves with water, torches that shone without fire, staffs that amplified the voice severalfold...

Every last one was a miscellaneous curiosity of dubious usefulness.

After listening to the descriptions, Shan looked at Roden in disbelief.

“Why are they so expensive? And you can’t even use them anymore after a few times!”

“These little magical tools don’t contain magic stones, so it can’t be helped, young fellow.”

The mage standing across the display explained with a genial chuckle.

Magical devices containing magic stones naturally replenished their mana and could be used again, but magical tools without such a medium were ultimately disposable.

And yet their prices were astronomical. Even pouring in everything Shan had earned from the troll hunt would buy him no more than a couple of water pitchers.

Roden shrugged, confirming the mage’s explanation.

“Why do you think we don’t use magical tools at home? If these things were cheap and convenient, all our servants would have lost their jobs long ago.”

That was a fair point. Shan finally understood the remark that magic mostly focused on ingenuity, falling short of priests’ miracles in practical utility.

They later consulted a mage who enchanted weapons and armor, but those effects were temporary as well. Apparently, permanent enchantments existed only on certain relics of the old Alto Empire—objects excavated from within the Demonlands.

“Then those knights’ armor earlier...”

“The royal mage keeps renewing the enchantment whenever it wears off.”

Crushed by this dreadful reality, Shan ended his shopping with a dejected purchase of a few medicines from the alchemy section. One was a wound salve made by simmering troll bones, the same kind Roden had once applied to his chest.

“I’ll use it next time I get hurt.”

“That has an expiration date too, so check before you buy.”

“What’s an expiration date?”

“It means it goes bad over time, like food.”

“Oh.”

Honestly, every last one of these magical things was absurdly fussy.

Fortunately, the capital of Hasra had plenty of worthwhile sights besides the Magic Society: a historic arena and library built during the old Arman Empire, the great temple that was a holy destination for pilgrims of the faith of the Goddess, and clothing shops carrying the very latest fashions from neighboring Libert.

Of course, Shan had little interest in history or religion and enjoyed exploring the blacksmiths’ street in one part of the city far more.

The clang of hammers on metal came from every direction, and every shop displayed well-made weapons and armor behind glass windows. He hardly knew where to look.

Sadly, nothing matched the fine equipment of the royal guards he had seen earlier, but these were enjoyable to admire in their own right.

After wandering for quite some time, Shan spent every coin left after buying medicine on a respectable longsword, a small shield, and an order for a suit of mail fitted to his body.

Having spent all the money he had earned for the first time, he felt both the satisfaction of acquiring wonderful things and a sense of emptiness.

“I’m broke again...”

“Well, you’ll have to earn more once your training’s over. Still, at least you don’t have to worry about food or a bed, right?”

“That’s true, but...”

Kalion Wievers had agreed to provide only the costs of knight training and Shan’s food, clothing, and shelter. Shan could hardly ask him to sponsor arms he did not immediately need, simply to add to his collection.

On that point, Shan and both Wievers men were in agreement.

From the day he brought his weapons home, Shan practiced with his longsword alone whenever he had time. His practice ground was the mansion’s courtyard garden, and his models, naturally, were the two knights who had fought the troll.

'Was this the stance? Why hold the sword like this? The movement seems inefficient...'

Each time he revisited their stances, new questions arose, but unfortunately there was no one to answer them. Most people in the mansion had nothing to do with proper martial arts, and even Roden, who had some experience, had stopped at the level of a knight trainee.

Someone who could finally provide answers arrived three days later.

* * *

“You remember what to say when you meet him, right?”

“What was it... As one who walks the warrior’s path, I wish to serve one who is ahead of me?”

“One who walks ahead of me.”

On the day Sir Darkal was due to visit, Roden went over the proper greeting with Shan once more. It still needed some work, but this was far better than before.

Just then, a thunderous shout rang out in front of the Wievers mansion.

“Open the gates! I have arrived!”

“What a loud voice...”

Why shout like that when he could simply knock and ask to be let in? Puzzled, Shan went to the front entrance, where Kalion was already greeting the visitor.

“As spirited as ever, Sir Darkal. It seems time passes you alone by.”

“Hmph. This is nothing.”

Sir Darkal was an old man with a strikingly bald crown and a wrinkled face. His build was fairly ordinary, yet his body, well conditioned despite his age, somehow made him seem larger.

What surprised Shan was Kalion’s attitude toward him. It was hard to believe this was the same man who acted like such an intimidating magnate before Shan and Roden. In front of Sir Darkal, he smiled ingratiatingly, rubbing his hands together and bowing his head.

Seeing that servile display, Shan could understand why Roden had been shocked by it.

After basking proudly in Kalion’s flattery, Sir Darkal turned his gaze to Roden and Shan.

“There’s my dull-witted former pupil.”

“Present!”

As the dull-witted pupil Roden raised his hand with a sheepish grin, Sir Darkal snorted and stared at Shan with downright rude intensity. Suspicion and interest mingled in his eyes.

“Are you the Altoan brat who supposedly killed that troll?”

“Yes. So... As one who walks the warrior’s path, I wish to serve one who walks ahead of me.”

It would have been better without the “So,” but it was still a passing effort. As Roden privately congratulated himself on teaching Shan so well, Sir Darkal strode toward the boy with his eyes wide.

“Just as I heard, you don’t look Altoan at all in broad daylight!”

After gazing at Shan’s gentle-looking green eyes, which drooped at the corners, he suddenly brought his head smashing down.

Shan had no reason to let it hit him and slipped aside, leaving the bald head wandering through empty air without a target.

“Why are you suddenly trying to headbutt me?”

“Impudent brat! How dare you dodge your elder’s headbutt!”

Was he insane? Dumbfounded, Shan glanced aside. Roden, Kalion, and everyone else looked equally astonished, so ramming one’s head at a stranger evidently was not standard etiquette.

“Because it would hurt.”

“Yes, getting hit hurts... Hmph. It seems the story wasn’t entirely a lie. An ordinary fellow couldn’t have reacted at all to such an unexpected attack.”

A satisfied smile spread over Sir Darkal’s face, making his earlier bellowing seem unreal. He had thought the visit worthwhile if even half the lavish praise in Kalion’s letter was true. Judging by this, it was not all false.

He also liked that the boy did not turn servile when an elderly knight abruptly shouted at him.

“Guildmaster Kalion. You called me here because you wanted this boy trained?”

“I merely hoped you might take a look at him! Of course, if he pleases you enough to accept him as your squire, it would be an honor...”

“Spare me the long speech. The terms will be the same as when I taught Roden. I’ll decide whether to recommend him for knighthood once I’ve seen the results.”

At this ready agreement, Kalion bowed deeply. However frivolous his speech and conduct might appear, this old knight was no commonplace retiree who would take anyone as a pupil for a few coins.

“Thank you, Sir Darkal!”

“Then there’s no reason to waste more time. You, boy! Follow me!”

Sir Darkal immediately beckoned to Shan with a bellow and marched inside. Shan stood blankly for a moment, then turned to Roden.

“Is he always like that?”

“Yes. You just have to get used to it... He isn’t a bad person. Really.”

“If you say so, Roden.”

Sir Darkal led Shan to the very courtyard garden where he had been practicing alone. Apparently, he intended to plunge straight into training without even changing out of his travel-soiled clothes.

Seating himself on a large rock at one side of the garden, he gave Shan a thoroughly bizarre first instruction.

“First, we’d better examine your body. Strip!”

“My clothes?”

“You can hardly take off your skin! Those absurdly luxurious velvet trousers and that shirt you’re wearing! You can keep your underwear!”

Shan tilted his head briefly, then promptly shed his clothes. Back in Willow Village, he had been stripped naked and forcibly washed on several occasions, so he had no particular qualms about exposing his body.

Sir Darkal’s expression did not change as he surveyed the body covered in all manner of scars. He merely gave a satisfied hum.

“Not bad, not bad! A man who would be a knight must know how to endure pain! Youngsters these days are brought up far too softly, that’s the problem. Whining at the slightest ache...”

Muttering to himself, the old knight reached out and began thoroughly feeling over Shan’s body: his neck and chest, shoulders, back, abdomen and waist, thighs and legs.

Had anyone witnessed the scene, he could have instantly lost every scrap of honor he had accumulated as a knight and been brought to trial.

“No particular deformities in the bones, and your musculature is surprisingly close to ideal. It lacks strength, though. Hard to believe you’ve never trained properly... But why is your body so strangely light?”

“I’ve always been on the light side.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘always being light’! If you’re the same height and have the same amount of muscle and flesh, there must be a reason you weigh less. Weak bones, perhaps, or a few missing organs. We’ll have to examine that later.”

The examination continued. A few light jumps on the spot, a lap around the garden, then hops from side to side.

Sir Darkal instructed Shan to push against his hand with all his strength, then marveled at the force he felt.

“I noticed it while watching you move, but you certainly are strong... No, rather than being strong, do you know how to bring your strength to bear properly?”

“That’s right!”

No one had ever recognized this before. Interest lit Shan’s previously rather indifferent eyes.

Sir Darkal shouted to Roden, who stood nearby.

“Roden! Bring me my sword!”

“Here it is, Master!”

As though he had prepared in advance, Roden immediately offered the sword he had taken from Darkal’s luggage.

The moment the old knight gripped it with both hands and assumed his stance, Shan felt as though the air around them had changed. The shouting old man was gone. In his place stood a warrior tempered by long years of blood and steel.

“Watch my movements.”

With that, Sir Darkal began slowly demonstrating sword movements one by one.

A diagonal cut with his feet spread wide; raising the sword horizontally to receive a descending blow; lowering it to the right, then cutting diagonally upward...

After performing some twenty movements, he let out a long breath and asked Shan a question.

“What do you think?”

“Hmm... I think you’re the best swordsman I’ve seen.”

Without an opponent, Shan could not be certain, but the swordsmanship at least looked more polished than that of the two knights he had seen before. His measure was how smoothly strength flowed through each movement without being lost.

The old knight’s sword compensated for the muscle strength he had lost to age with precise technique.

That did not mean Shan found it particularly impressive or felt any great respect. If he could inhabit the old man’s body and imitate those movements right now, he would be able to execute them faster and more powerfully.

Whatever the knight might have been in his prime, now that he was old, Shan was confident he could kill him within ten seconds if they fought with longswords—provided he avoided crossing blades altogether, to account for spirit.

Despite reading what was going through Shan’s mind, Sir Darkal grinned instead of growing angry.

“Yes, that’s about all it would look like to you. Now watch this one last thing.”

As he spoke, the smile vanished from the old knight’s face. His gaze filled with venomous hatred, as though he were looking at the murderer of his parents.

Staring at Shan with eyes that exerted an almost physical pressure, Sir Darkal slowly raised his sword, then made a single swift, twisting thrust.

Though he was striking empty air, Shan could tell it was a movement that received an opponent’s downward blow and counterattacked at the same time.

“Wow...”

That single movement wasted not a trace of strength. Its flow of force was utterly ideal, just like the thrust Feonil the Black Lance had delivered before.

Shan could see that the old man before him was a master who had attained a similar level.

Now drenched in sweat, Sir Darkal wiped his gleaming bald head with the back of his hand.

“What do you think?”

“... It was perfect.”

“I’ve practiced that movement without fail for over forty years, ever since my master taught it to me. It would be a problem if I hadn’t managed at least that much!”

Smiling in satisfaction at Shan’s answer, Sir Darkal reached his conclusion.

“At any rate, when it comes to movement, I’m the one who ought to be learning from you. A human whose every movement follows the principles of the ideal! Live long enough, and you see everything!”

Shan did not quite understand, but it seemed to be praise, so he gave a self-conscious smile. An elusive emotion lingered on Sir Darkal’s face—whether joy or regret, he could not tell.

“All you need now are a few pointers and a stronger, tougher body!”

“And spirit.”

“Spirit will come naturally once you push yourself to the limit, so don’t concern yourself with it! Speaking of which, have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

“Good!”

Why was he suddenly asking whether Shan had eaten?

As though answering the question in Shan’s eyes, Sir Darkal tapped the rock he had been sitting on with his foot. His eyes, which had seemed almost wistful moments before, now shone with a cruelly sadistic gleam.

“Lift it!”

“What?”

“With both hands, right over your head! Until I tell you to put it down!”