“Sword Runner.”
On this continent, that title was the benchmark of the truly strong. Wherever they went, they were treated with reverence, reigning as ghosts of the battlefield.
It was a wall Petel had never been able to scale, a realm that remained his lifelong unfulfilled desire.
“…That is all I know.”
Petel suppressed a rising cough and answered the knight’s questions faithfully. The knight order’s objective would surely benefit the village, and above all, cooperating in the capture of a Runaway Knight was a natural duty for any knight.
“Is that so? My thanks.”
Yet, for some reason, Petel felt a sense of unease.
“Not that it was much help, though. You don’t know the exact location, and we can’t even be sure the bastard we’re looking for is actually there. In the end, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re the ones who have to do the legwork.”
“…I apologize for not being of more help.”
“As long as you know.”
Was it because the knight’s tone was aggressive?
No. He was used to the arrogant speech of knights who had reached the level of a Sword Runner.
There was only one reason Petel felt uncomfortable.
“By the way, your face looks familiar. You’re so battered and worn that I didn’t recognize you at first… but wasn’t your name Petel?”
“Yes. Do you know me?”
“I do. You… I believe you were my senior back at the academy.”
Visiting a village devoid of people.
The lingering regrets in his heart, which he thought he had completely settled while waiting for the day he would die.
“You look miserable. Why? Were you expecting to be treated like a senior?”
“…No, it is fine.”
“It better be. Obviously.”
It was because he had realized those regrets still remained in his heart.
“I remember now. Weren’t you quite famous back then? ‘Loyal Petel.’ A mere Sword Walker, yet honorable, righteous, and a paragon of knighthood who carried out any order without fail.”
“……”
“Though now, you’re nothing but a discarded dog.”
A snort of ridicule escaped the knight.
“I heard you caught an incurable disease. After being abandoned by the Green Deer Knights, were you rotting away in this backwater hole? If you were going to be this pathetic, you should have hidden better. You’ve ruined my mood.”
The insults spat by the knight did not wound him.
The source of Petel’s discomfort lay within himself.
“You’re staring at my wings, Petel.”
“…My apologies.”
“Envious, are you? Are you thinking something like this? If only I had wings, if only I were a Sword Runner, the knights wouldn’t have abandoned me—people would have tried to cure my illness— that sort of thing?”
Petel could say nothing.
Because the knight’s words were the truth.
Even in this insulting, humiliating situation, Petel was madly envious of those wings. Seeing Petel hang his head, the knight chuckled.
“Wake up. You weren’t chosen by the heavens. That’s why your wings never sprouted. And because you weren’t chosen, you’re dying as a filthy cripple.”
“……”
“Even God must have felt sorry for you. Seeing someone with not a shred of talent pathetically clinging to a sword must have been so embarrassing that He’s taking you away early, telling you to hurry up and die so you can return to His embrace.”
The knight continued his barrage of insults.
Since he didn’t bother to lower his voice, Seol-yoon, who had been supporting Petel, heard everything clearly. She glared at the knight as if she were about to snap, but Petel stopped her.
“Don’t.”
“He’s going too far.”
“It’s fine. In the Iron Kingdom, might is law.”
Petel insisted he was okay. Watching this, the knight burst into laughter.
“A cripple with a nurse, I see. A pretty girl from the Eastern Continent—at least you won’t be lonely.”
“…Please, just leave.”
“Fine. I’ve had my fun, so I’ll be on my way.”
The knight turned around and shouted.
“Let’s move! Before the sun rises tomorrow, we catch that runaway dog and take his head! To the mountains!”
With that shout, the knight led his men away, their figures gradually receding. Petel sat there vacantly, watching the knights depart.
And then.
…I am a fool beyond belief.
He thought himself truly pathetic for still being unable to tear his eyes away from the knight’s wings. Yet, even so, Petel continued to stare at them.
At the same time, he imagined himself in that knight’s place. Not as the sickly Petel dying a lonely, miserable death, but as the honorable ‘Loyal Petel,’ finally recognized by everyone, with wings of his own….
After imagining a future that would never come, Petel squeezed his eyes shut and spoke.
“It seems it really is my time to die.”
Ah.
This was why he had intended to just watch the sunset and pass away.
The thoughts rising anew made his head throb. Petel pressed his fingers against his temples.
Then, he suddenly muttered.
The boy who should have appeared whenever such a commotion broke out was nowhere to be seen.
“…By any chance, where did Young Master Arhan go?”
Instead of answering Petel’s question with words, Seol-yoon acted.
The girl slowly turned her gaze toward the mountains.
Toward the mountains behind the village, where the knights were heading.
Petel spoke with a look of disbelief.
“Surely… he didn’t go to the mountains…?”
Seol-yoon nodded.
* * *
Wiping out the bandits, the Red Wolves, was going smoother than expected.
I was a resident who had lived in this village my whole life, so naturally, I knew the mountain paths behind the village quite well—at least compared to the bandits, who were outsiders.
As Liam always said, by acting faithfully on my Doubt, I was able to cook them one by one, like a seasoned ranger hunting beasts. Step by step, without rushing.
The memories of the Assassin contained within Fang were also a help.
Techniques that hadn’t been able to shine in the previous open arena were now lethally cutting the enemies’ throats.
To be honest, I was starting to think it was easier than expected.
But as always, my life never goes the easy way.
[A Runaway Knight. Among knights, they’re called runaway dogs.]
A knight who committed a dishonorable act and fled for fear of punishment. Or a knight who broke the discipline the order held dearer than life and ran away. A knight who deserted during a war and vanished….
To be precise, it was a derogatory term for knights who abandoned their duties and fled without taking responsibility. However, that dictionary definition focused on the act of “running away.”
I couldn’t afford to get bogged down by the word “runaway.”
[Naturally, whether he’s a runaway or not, a knight is stronger than you.]
Right.
Runaway or not, the important thing was that there was a ‘Knight’ over there.
The “knight” part was what mattered, not the “runaway” part.
Being a knight meant he was at least a Sword Walker.
“…Does the condition that I have to wipe them out alone still stand?”
[Yes, nothing has changed.]
“But.”
Looking at Liam’s firm expression, I hesitated for a moment.
Then I continued.
“I’ve already lost to a Sword Walker twice.”
Successive defeats at the hands of Sword Walkers.
That had bred Doubt within me.
The Doubt of ‘Can the current me actually defeat a Sword Walker?’
Liam seemed to have sensed my Doubt.
[And?]
He looked at me with a grave face.
[Will you run away in fear because you lost? Or will you hide away somewhere and say you’ll fight again only after you’ve become a Sword Walker yourself?]
“……”
[Young descendant, I have told you many times that the path you must walk is very long.]
Liam’s gaze grew sharp, as if piercing through me.
[The Swordmaster you aim for possesses talent that doesn’t fit this era. Reality is different from chivalric novels. Villains don’t just wait around; they are growing stronger even at this very moment.]
He was right.
Swordmaster Carlos was becoming greater by the day.
There was no one on this continent who didn’t know him.
[And those two defeats have become valuable experiences for you. The you before those two losses and the you after are completely different people.]
“……”
[Did I not tell you? A Caravan becomes greater with every battle.]
Liam grinned.
[If you cannot believe in yourself, then believe in me.]
Those words resonated in my chest.
Right.
My master never lied when it came to the Sword.
I would trust him, my great master.
“Um.”
Just as I was repeating that to myself, the Red Wolf member pinned under my knee spoke in a terrified voice.
“Wh-who exactly are you talking to? Th-there’s no one there.”
“……”
“H-eek! I-I’m sorry! I said something st-stupid. A-ask me anything! Anything! Just spare my life, and I’ll tell you anything!”
It wasn’t intentional.
But it seemed I had instilled quite a bit of fear in him.
Well.
“Fine, you have a lot to tell me.”
For now, this wasn’t a bad thing.
* * *
The information I pried out of the Red Wolf member was more useful than expected.
He told me a lot, and naturally, I didn’t let him live. I buried him, his eyes wide with the sting of betrayal, and then gripped Fang.
Wiping the blood off the blade, I thought to myself.
I was starting to understand why Liam had made me devour this dagger.
The way of the Assassin suited me well.
[You understand on your own now without me having to explain.]
They were weak compared to heavily armored knights, brave barbarian warriors of the north, or veteran fighters of the coliseum. In a fair, head-on fight, they would lose to those mentioned nine times out of ten.
But real fights had no rules, nor did they take place in open amphitheaters. Whether you played dirty or targeted the enemy’s weakness, as long as you stopped their breath, you were the winner.
Assassins were those who focused solely on that point.
“Phew.”
They pursued perfection to kill their target.
To avoid mistakes, they caught even the smallest details, and they prepared second, third, and fourth plans in case the first attempt failed.
“Haa.”
What was it that they pursued with such near-obsessive focus to reach perfection? Surprisingly, it was my specialty, and what Liam had called my talent.
Doubt.
To reach perfection, constant Doubt was necessary.
『Doubt everything. Only then can you avoid failure.』
『The only thing you must never doubt is your own sword.』
Hiding in the darkness, I circled the hideout the bandit had told me about, gradually thinning the numbers of those loitering around.
The process wasn’t difficult.
Most of them were just ordinary looters who hadn’t even reached the level of a Sword Beginner, and they died without even knowing why.
Of course, there were those who had reached the realm of Sword Beginner, but they were no different. Having a second heart doesn’t make one a superhuman.
When a blade lunges from the darkness without warning and pierces the neck, everyone meets death equally. Thus, Fang erased lives one by one without leaving so much as a scream behind.
And when the number of bandits I had killed reached thirty-one.
[The leader has noticed something is wrong.]
From the place the bandits used as a hideout, a jagged Path stretched out faintly. Proof of a Sword Walker. I observed that Path intently.
At the end of the Path, I saw the leader, his face flushed with rage. Hidden in the shadows, I watched his every move, not missing a single detail.
The bandit I killed earlier had explained quite a bit, but I had no intention of believing him blindly. What reason did I have to trust him?
Information from the mouth of another can be used as a clue, but it cannot be used as the key to certainty.
Certainty only comes after I have confirmed it with my own two eyes.
“Hmm.”
And….
[What do you think?]
After observing for a moment, I reached a conclusion.
I answered in a murmur.
“I think I can kill him.”
I was certain.
* * *
[Name: Fang]
[A dagger used by a nameless assassin of the Free City Crowde.]
[A sword easy to carry while hidden secretly.]
.
.
.
[Ingestion Effect]
[You acquire the mindset and techniques of an Assassin.]
[Your heart is forged to be worthy of a nameless assassin’s arts.]
[A body with the blood of Steel grows stronger the more it is tempered.]
