*Content Warning: This chapter contains mature themes, violence, blood, and morally dark actions. Reader discretion advised.*
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The first light of dawn slipped through the wooden shutters, painting thin golden lines across the floorboards. Leon opened his eyes slowly. The mat beneath him was still warm from the night's fire. The scent of fresh bread and simmering herbs drifted from the small kitchen area. He sat up, rubbing the stiffness from his shoulders, and saw the old man already moving quietly — setting a simple breakfast on the table: thick slices of dark bread, a small bowl of stewed roots, and a clay pot of steaming tea.
The old man glanced over with his usual gentle smile.
"Good morning, Leon. You slept like the dead. Come, eat before it cools."
Leon rose without a word and joined him at the table. They ate in comfortable silence — the bread crusty on the outside, soft within, the stew earthy and satisfying. The tea was bitter and herbal, waking the mind without haste. Outside, the forest remained hushed, as though the world itself was still asleep.
When the meal was finished, Leon carried his empty bowl to the window. He leaned against the sill, gazing out. The wind had picked up during the night — fast and restless, bending the tops of the tallest trees in long, sweeping arcs. Leaves spiraled downward in frantic little dances before vanishing into the undergrowth.
"Hm… where did the old man go?" he muttered, frowning.
He stepped outside.
The porch was empty. The broom leaned against the rail where it had been left the night before. Leon walked around the side of the house and stopped short.
Behind the building lay a small, well-tended garden — neat rows of flowers blooming in defiant colors against the morning chill. The old man knelt among them, silver hair catching the light, watering can in hand. He moved with the same deliberate slowness, pouring thin streams of water at the base of each bloom as though performing a quiet ritual.
Leon stepped forward, boots soft on the mossy ground.
"How are you even doing so many things at your age?"
The old man looked up, eyes crinkling at the corners. He chuckled — low and warm.
"Hahaha… that's just how I've always been. No — to begin with, that's just how I've been living up until now. So it's no longer a problem for me… nor for my old bones."
Leon smiled faintly and stepped closer.
"Anyway, old man… want some help?"
The old man's smile widened.
"Yeah… that would help a lot. Please do."
Leon found a second watering can beside the rain barrel. He filled it from the spout — the water cold and clear, carrying the faint mineral bite of deep earth. Then he knelt beside the old man and began watering the flowers.
They were strange and beautiful. Some had petals like black velvet edged in silver, glowing faintly even in daylight. Others unfurled in deep crimson, veins pulsing with a subtle inner light. A few were pure white, so delicate they seemed made of frost, yet they stood tall against the wind. Each bloom drank the water greedily, leaves trembling as though in gratitude.
Leon paused after a while, can still in hand, and looked sideways at the old man.
"Hey, old man… why do you always give water to these flowers? I mean… is there a reason you're doing it?"
The old man suddenly stopped watering. He set the can down gently. His gaze drifted across the rows of blooms, soft and distant. Then he turned to Leon, a wide yet kind smile spreading across his lined face.
"No… there isn't a special reason. But if I have to put it, I would say my master used to love flowers a lot. That's why I'm doing this."
Leon froze. His expression shifted — shock flickering through his eyes, mouth parting slightly.
"Huh… old man… seriously? You had a master before?"
The old man flinched, then burst into laughter — warm, genuine, rolling out like distant thunder.
"Hahahaha! What exactly did you take me for? But yes… that is right. I had a master before."
Leon's curiosity sharpened. He set his watering can down and turned fully toward the old man.
"Hm… then where is he now?"
The old man lifted his face to the sky.
The clouds were thick and beautiful that morning — layers of silver and gold drifting slowly, edges gilded by the rising sun. A strong breeze moved through the treetops, carrying the clean scent of pine and distant rain. The wind felt alive — restless, almost joyful.
"He died of old age," the old man said quietly. "And I am glad that he died of old age. Even though he died… I am glad he didn't die by someone's hand. I am glad he didn't have to die while suffering. And I am glad that when he was dying… there was someone with him."
Leon stared at the old man for a long moment. Something soft flickered in his expression — sorrow, yes, but also a strange kind of peace.
"That is good," he said finally, voice low. "A human should die of old age. I would also prefer to die of old age… when the time comes. No blade. No betrayal. Just… time. Quietly. With someone who cares nearby. That would be enough."
Leon then said while looking at the old man.
"Then is there something that your master of yours taught you?"
The old man smiled warmly while looking at Leon.
"Yes… he did. He trained me with a sword. He was a great warrior, and at the same time I can say one thing for sure — he was one of the strongest. He taught me how to wield a sword, and I am still living up until now because of him."
He continued talking while looking at his house, his gaze softening as though seeing memories in the weathered wood.
"If at that time he had not taught me about the sword… I would have died long ago."
Leon looked at the old man, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Well… by the way you were talking about him, he seems kind of strong. I am quite jealous of you, old man."
The old man scratched the back of his head, letting out a low, genuine laugh.
"You are jealous of me? Hahahahaha… why are you saying something like that? Didn't your master also teach you something?"
Leon's gaze drifted to the flowers.
"Yeah… he did. He taught me three techniques to survive. After that, he said I should go out into the world and gain experience. And after that… I haven't met him. It's been quite long now."
The old man smiled kindly — wide, warm, full of quiet understanding.
"Well then… what do you say, Leon? Want to learn swordsmanship from me?"
Leon blinked.
"Huh? Huh… n-no… what are you even talking about?"
The old man's smile didn't waver. It grew brighter — kind, happy, almost mischievous.
"If you want to become better with a sword… you can just tell me, you know. I am quite good with a sword too… just like my master."
Leon looked around him — at the silent forest, at the beautiful flowers drinking their morning water, at the old man kneeling in the dirt with the patience of centuries.
He mumbled to himself, barely audible.
"What the old man said isn't wrong… I can't even say that I know about swords, even a little. When I was fighting the God of Lightning… I wonder what would have happened if I had mastered a weapon. Would that have helped me? Or something?"
He continued, voice dropping lower.
"And I got my answer… yes, it would have. If I had known how to wield a weapon properly… I'm not expecting great things from the old man… but even so… if it can help me improve even a little… then I will gladly do it."
Leon straightened. A confident smile spread across his face — small, but real.
"Yes, old man… please teach me how to wield a sword."
The old man's eyes crinkled with quiet joy.
"Good. Then we begin tomorrow at dawn."
He rose slowly, brushing dirt from his robes.
"But today… let us finish watering the flowers. They have waited long enough."
Leon nodded.
Together they returned to their task — two figures in the garden, one ancient and nameless, the other scarred and searching — pouring water onto roots that had endured far longer than either of them.
And the forest watched in silence.
Waiting.