Sword Beginner.
Fledglings who had barely taken their first steps onto the path of the sword.
It was a trivial realm, populated by young nobles learning the blade as a hobby, or freshmen who had only just entered the academy.
In his life, Petel had seen countless Sword Beginners.
Without exception, their swordsmanship was pathetic, clumsy, and so fragile that it seemed a mere tap would shatter it. It was only natural. Hardness is something forged through the accumulation of years; it was impossible for a fledgling who had just picked up a sword to possess it.
That was why, at this moment, Petel could not believe his eyes.
Throughout his life, he had dueled and defeated many knights.
They were “Sword Walkers,” skilled swordsmen who had dedicated their lives to the blade.
Yet, he was feeling something now that he hadn’t felt even when clashing steel with those experts.
For a fleeting moment, Petel saw an illusion superimposed over the boy standing before him. Just for a second, the boy became steel. Not a soft human made of flesh and blood, but tempered steel that would not break no matter what it struck.
At the center of that steel was a heart.
The source of that hardness.
If he had to put it into words: a heart of steel.
Has my mind finally gone soft?
The thought suddenly occurred to him.
Were the grim rumors that a ghost lived in this village actually true?
Was what he was looking at now a pitiable boy? Or was it a phantom that could not leave this world after death, wandering the village?
Just then, the boy’s figure in Petel’s vision wavered violently.
In an instant, the boy’s face changed.
It became the face of a woman of indeterminate age. Her features were distorted and mottled with burn scars, as if cursed by a demon. Her eyes glittered with a chill like the moonlight.
Petel felt it instinctively.
Another strike was coming.
Tightening his grip, Petel muttered to himself without realizing it.
“…Perhaps I really am fighting a ghost.”
*
My heart pounded.
The new heart that had formed inside my body beat with incredible strength.
While a normal heart feels like it might burst when it beats fast, this second heart throbbed so powerfully it felt like it would blow my entire body apart. With every surge, a tremor ran through my frame.
I knew the moment it formed.
This was a “Mana Heart.”
It was a glorious moment that came after long training, but I couldn’t afford to simply rejoice. The guest before me had drawn his sword and even swung it at me.
Now—let’s think.
That man is a Knight.
He likely has more combat experience than I do, and his realm of the sword is higher than mine.
I managed to parry the first attack, but that was closer to a miracle.
Without letting my tension slacken, I had continuously observed the guest, predicting the shift of his muscles and visualizing the trajectory of his sword in my mind to wedge the tip of my blade in advance. Moreover, it was thanks to the vivid memories of the swordswoman, Mary, surfacing within me.
As a seasoned Knight, the guest wouldn’t hold his sword loosely this time. He would put more strength into it and swing far more ruthlessly than before. He would ensure his blade wouldn’t be deflected by a mere piece of metal thrust by a Sword Beginner.
Therefore.
I must not expect a second miracle.
Besides, how did it feel when our swords clashed?
It felt like being hit by a runaway carriage.
The moment the blades touched, it felt as if every bone in my body was splintering. I nearly coughed up blood, and the strength drained from my hands and legs.
If I hadn’t held onto my consciousness, I would have dropped the sword and collapsed on the spot. To me, the existence of a Knight—the realm of a “Sword Walker”—was that far out of reach.
There is only one reason I am still standing after clashing swords. It is because I am a Caravan.
Because another heart, coiled in my chest as Liam described, is firmly in place like tempered steel.
「Once again, it is proven that my training was not in vain, young descendant.」
I glared at the guest and regulated my breathing.
Since the formation of the Mana Heart, my breathing didn’t just take in oxygen; it drew another element that filled the world into my body. Mana. As the source of mystery seeped in, it awakened my fading spirit.
“Whew, haa.”
I looked past the sword the guest was leveling at me, straight into his wavering eyes. Human eyes always say a lot. Even a superhuman would be no different. Within the guest’s eyes, I read several emotions.
Panic, agitation, doubt about the situation, and confusion.
The moment I read those elements, the voice of the swordswoman Mary echoed.
『Just as a strange enemy is an unknown entity to me, I am also an unknown entity to the enemy. There is a massive difference between fighting while knowing that and fighting without.』
『You must remember. Just as I fear an enemy I do not know, the enemy will fear me because they do not know me.』
My muscles tensed with strain.
Like a bowstring pulled to its limit.
『Fear is another blade possessed by a swordsman. It is invisible, but sometimes it swells larger than anything else; it has no substance, but sometimes it stabs the enemy more sharply than anything else.』
『Hegel said: To survive, it is important to handle the blade in your hand well, but it is also important how you handle the invisible blade—the one you don’t hold in your hand.』
“Huu.”
The moment my muscles were pulled to their limit, I lunged. The glint of the shining metal turned from a point into a line. The Needle shot toward the guest like a bolt of lightning, and a “Path” extended from the guest’s body. I felt it instinctively. I could not pass through that Path, pierce it, or overcome it.
As I had predicted, the sword the guest swung this time was more ruthless, thorough, and devoid of openings. It was a true strike delivered by a mature Knight and Sword Walker. A strike capable of snapping a Sword Beginner’s blade in a single blow.
If so, what should I do?
There was only one way.
To create a “Path” of my own.
“Ha—”
It was an irrational thought. A “Path” was the exclusive domain of swordsmen who had reached the realm of Sword Walker; it wasn’t a technique a novice who had just become a Sword Beginner could mimic.
That was why they were called superhumans.
I knew this myself.
That was why I didn’t ask for a perfect Path. Even if it was incomplete, I wanted to draw it for just this one moment. I believed it would be possible if I had a remarkably hard heart—a heart of steel.
Instinctively.
Now.
The moment I inhaled and exhaled to the limit, I squeezed out every drop of concentration.
The world slowed down, and my senses became hyper-sensitive. I scanned every piece of information I could take in.
The target was the guest alone.
Which muscles he was tensing now, how he was breathing, what movement he intended to take, where he was looking, how much oxygen and mana his breath was taking in, how much strength he was investing in his next action, and how much mana he was emitting.
Doubt.
I had to doubt even the smallest element, dig into it, and question it. I couldn’t let anything pass; I had to scrutinize the reason for everything.
Only then could I do it.
『Following Hegel’s words, I went out into the wider world.』
『I thrust my blade at the world with my hideous face and lived as a wanderer. That life of mine was free, and also, lonely.』
Only then—
『Perhaps my sword, thin as a needle, was a blade that projected myself. A self that only felt satisfied when piercing something, a self that would break immediately upon impact, a self bristling with thorns… Mary…』
『A lonely needle, living while leveling itself at everything in the world, becoming even more prickly, even sharper, keeping no one by its side.』
Could I do it!
『Perhaps what I wanted to pierce was the world itself.』
『The world that snatched away my parents, my daily life, and my future.』
After total concentration, total immersion followed.
In an instant, my hand and arm holding the Needle transformed into those of the swordswoman from the past.
『If you ask whether I succeeded in piercing my world, I cannot answer.』
『There is only one thing I can answer.』
A frail arm mottled with burn scars. Following the arm led to a hand covered in calluses, and the twisted hand held a slender needle. Along with the powerful memory, a straight line—whether an illusion or something else—appeared before my eyes.
『I am no longer afraid of the fire or the world.』
A straight line that looked just like a Path.
『Even if I cannot win, I can stand against it.』
『Holding my needle.』
The line was faint, like a haze. I saw several faint lines, but as I concentrated further, the outer lines were erased one by one. Thus, only a single line remained.
The final remaining line was remarkably clear.
『Ah, now that it’s time to die, I remember what I said as a child.』
『Yes, isn’t that what life is?』
The Needle in my hand moved on its own, as if sucked into the line before me. The trajectory of the sword twisted of its own accord. A piece of metal a blacksmith would have forged by hammering a lump of iron. A collection of steel that should have been a mere inanimate object moved as if it had a will, as if it were alive.
“…!”
The guest’s eyes widened.
Agitation, panic, a subtle sense of unease.
Regardless, my Needle surged forward. Like an arrow.
Along with it, the voice of the swordswoman Mary rang out.
『Whether you swing it or thrust it, as long as you can level it at your target, that is enough.』
The swift and exquisite Needle flew to transfix the enemy.
And then…
“──!”
With a roar like a thunderclap, my body was flung into the air. A tingling sensation, as if I had been struck by lightning, hammered my entire body. For a moment, it felt as if my whole being was being torn to shreds.
“Uh…”
I couldn’t see anything.
When I closed and opened my eyes, I was rolling on the ground, covered in dust. The Needle I had been gripping so hard that my hand felt crushed was shattered into pieces, and a sharp pain surged through me, making it difficult even to breathe. The sound of my fervently beating heart was slowing down. Thump… thump…
“This… is… truly, surpris…”
The guest’s voice echoed, breaking off intermittently.
The kind voice grew distant, and my vision gradually blurred before being painted pitch black.
And there, my consciousness was severed.
Just like that.
After my consciousness was completely cut off, a voice echoed from within.
『The last thing I remember was the burning mansion.』
The final memory of the Needle’s former master.
*
The last thing I remember was the burning mansion.
Amidst the roaring flames, my mother and father turned into black ash. I don’t know how I survived those savage fires. In that day’s accident, I lost my family, and I lost the rosy life I could have led as a woman. All that remained was a small inheritance and a face and body mottled and distorted by burns, as if cursed by a demon.
I loathed my reflection in the mirror, and I had no will to live.
Well, if there was one fortunate thing, it was that the course of my life wasn’t as pitch-black and depressing as I had feared.
“Ah.”
I met good people, I found the sword, and I spent a time that was freer and broader than the life originally intended for me. If asked if it was a hateful life, I could confidently answer that it was not.
“…In the end, I suppose it is fate.”
I looked around with my eyes barely open. Everywhere was a sea of fire.
The fire that had snatched away my childhood and my future was now trying to take my life entirely.
I should have listened to Neric when he told me to avoid requests that paid unnecessarily well. Perhaps I should have listened to Jeven when he asked me to quit mercenary work and live with him. He was likely the only man who would have loved someone as hideous as me.
“Yes, this must be fate.”
Well, as I said before, I have no regrets.
I entered the enemy’s lair and got trapped in a shack; my Needle is broken, and the surroundings are engulfed in flames, so there is no way to survive. As my mind grows distant, I actually feel relieved.
Yes, this is a common end for a wandering mercenary.
Trivial, and lonely…
“Hegel.”
I dragged my heavy body and slowly stood up. Then, I leveled the broken Needle toward the encroaching flames. The broken blade was blunt, short, and thin.
This was a foolish act. No matter how much I stabbed with the needle, I couldn’t clear the flames. I was just an ordinary blade-wielder, a lowly gypsy who didn’t know how to wield mystery.
But, but still.
“I suppose I’ll see you soon. If the Sergen Cult is right, we’ll meet again in the embrace of the flames.”
Even so, I stand against it.
“When that time comes, I’ll tell you the stories of the freedom I experienced. It’s all thanks to you.”
I held the sword loosely and twisted my wrist.
The flames drew closer.
Instead of backing away, I stepped forward.
Like a moth to a flame.
“I am no longer afraid of the fire or the world.”
That was,
The end of the swordswoman Mary.
.
.
.
“Gasp!”
I opened my eyes, drenched in a cold sweat.
As soon as I opened them, the first thing I did was touch every part of my body with both hands. The horrific pain I had felt until a moment ago was gone.
“Ah, a dream. The sword’s memory…”
Mary’s memory—the memory of burning to death alive—was far too vivid.
My clothes were completely soaked with cold sweat.
As I gasped for breath, I felt a change in my body.
How should I put it? It felt as if my muscles had become softer and more flexible. At the same time, I felt as if I had gained sharper senses, like a feline predator. Like a mercenary who had lived a lifetime in danger.
I could feel it.
The digestion of Mary’s sword, the “Needle,” which had remained in my stomach, was completely finished.
“Ah…”
I was dazed for a moment by that strange sense of fulfillment.
“You’re awake now.”
A deep, dignified voice came from a distance. Turning my head, I saw the guest. He was sitting before a crackling campfire, looking at me.
“There is something I would very much like to discuss with you.”
*
[Name: Needle]
[A long, thin sword used by the swordswoman Mary.]
[A sword specialized in thrusting.]
[Digestion complete.]
.
.
.
[The Steel Blood is hungry.]
[Please consume a new sword.]
