As he sank into depression, he faced falling blood with his entire body. Among that blood, goblin entrails, and wolf hide stained with blood, a brush passed him.
'Ah... what a cruel twist.'
Having given up everything and truly accepted being buried by time with his heart, achieving detachment, yet another opportunity came like this.
It made him so angry, but such emotion couldn't surface outwardly. Though it seemed like it would blaze like an active volcano inside, it was enough for a mouse-tail-sized flame.
Because he'd sunk infinitely for so many years, even emotions didn't go as his heart wished.
Like an unused rusty faucet, anger didn't arise but appeared stiffly like water droplets falling drip drip.
'Luck follows him, but it won't always be so.'
Luck seven parts, skill three parts.
Those who fought tooth and nail yet failed are as plentiful as stars in the night sky.
The emptiness felt by those who slip simply from bad luck is unspeakable, and the exhilaration felt by those who succeed simply from good luck pierces the heavens.
He knew this better than anyone.
His right hand squirmed and leisurely rose upward. Though it had no form, anyone seeing that scene could tell it was a right hand. 'He' was an existence with a contradictory appearance.
The right hand became black droplets and stretched upward.
When it would be transmitted to the connected opponent was unknown. It could be fast, or it could be slow.
This space made it so. And this was also a place where even calling it a space was strange.
He, existing in a place where nothing was certain, closed his eyes again.
***
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
'The sound makes me think of crispy fried chicken.'
Rowan, the 15-year-old greenhorn, climbed a hill. A forge existed there, and it was also where blacksmith Malrux resided.
'Dirt hill.'
Not a single blade of grass lived on the hill. No matter how strong the life force, mixed with iron powder, where the smell of iron vibrated with rain when rain fell once, it was too much for life to bloom.
Even climbing this desolate hill, the metallic smell carried on the wind wasn't good for Rowan.
Rowan grabbed his heart that grew frighteningly cold.
Going through real combat, Rowan discovered himself becoming strangely cold when smelling iron. The speed was so fast it caused a strange illusion of his heart growing cold. It was an effect many would consider a good phenomenon.
But Rowan wasn't one of them. He considered this a mental illness and wanted to escape this phenomenon by walking around the village leisurely or quietly immersing himself in meditation.
Because it was abnormal.
From the open forge's windows and door, blacksmith Malrux was roughly making farming tools. Especially, he was making large farming equipment pulled by horses with iron, firmly fixing six very thick hooks with tongs, placing them on a separately made fixing stand below, and working hard to shape them by pounding.
"Malrux!"
After shouting twice, Rowan quietly sat in a chair.
Hisssss!
Leaving the large farming equipment in water, Malrux washed his face, hung a towel around his neck, and came outside. The wind blowing from the top of the hill was quite strong, and he felt cool.
"Greenhorn. What's up?"
"I'm pretty interested in metal armor."
"Got money? Haha."
Rowan smiled faintly.
"Received plenty from Rakson."
"From Rakson?"
To him asking back with interest, Rowan avoided answering.
"Never mind that, just show me the armor. Arm armor specifically."
Malrux reached out his hand.
"Never mind what? Just give me your hand."
He grabbed Rowan's right arm and kneaded it, then clicked his tongue.
"Ow."
Since the wounds hadn't healed yet, Rowan felt pain because he'd grabbed so roughly.
"A kid who still has a long way to grow caught a few goblins and got all cocky."
"What's that got to do with metal armor?"
"Metal doesn't suit a kid who's gonna grow a lot more. The unit price is high, so it's pointless. You won't even be able to use it next year, right?"
"Hey. We'll just make it one size bigger."
"Think it's the same as leather? It's a different dimension!"
"That's exactly why I'm asking you to tell me about that stuff."
After bickering back and forth, exhausted Malrux finally nodded.
"Fine. But I'd like you to tell me why Rakson gave you money."
It wasn't difficult.
"How much work did I do during the hunting competition? It was money I deserved to receive."
Of course, he hadn't received it. Since he couldn't antagonize Rakson, who'd teach him a few secrets, it was no different from working almost for free.
This was nothing more than acting to carry out what Rakson had requested.
"Really?"
"That's enough, right?"
Rowan could escape from Malrux only late in the evening. He'd firmly corrected his terrible knowledge of metal armor. Inwardly, it was because Malrux thought that if Rowan matured in the future, he could become his customer.
Since the furnace on the dirt hill had weak firepower to reduce iron's impurities, Malrux devoted his heart and soul to folding even when making farming tools.
Rowan would naturally purchase armor from him and head to the outside world. Though saying he didn't know blacksmithing techniques, he had read all sorts of blacksmithing novels that were one stream during the fantasy novel boom in modernity.
If folding was effort, heat treatment was a habit. Malrux, who frequently took breaks and ate immediately when hungry, was also a master of quenching, one of the heat treatment traditions. Unable to bear sweat's stickiness, Malrux frequently poured water over himself, and during that time would dunk his work in water to quench.
The farming tools made from that material had to have very good heat treatment. The reason Rowan highly valued Malrux's work wasn't because of the steel's quality.
It was because of the very frequent quenching while taking frequent breaks. It was because of raising prices while bragging sincerely through folding.
'Worth purchasing.'
Since he couldn't obtain a high-temperature furnace, Malrux was faithfully carrying out the trend of considering the folding process best.
At the Youth Association meeting held a few days later, Rakson entered with obvious tension. That expression quickly brightened.
"Rakson is the one who promised Rowan compensation and had him hunt wolves from two weeks ago, and instructed preliminary work installing sound-making strings in the deep forest."
It was the moment when Malrux, who'd been raging that they should pay compensation to the families of the four deaths from the hunting competition Rakson hastily held, withdrew his demand for Rakson to pay reparations by saying so himself.
Since Malrux handled various metals from the village's agricultural products and arrowheads, he could oppose Rakson, but when he withdrew by saying so himself, the victim compensation Rakson had to pay was instantly decided to be borne by the entire village together.
It changed from victim compensation to consolation money, and the amount was cut in half.
Even in this mountain village, everyone knew private property was alive and well, and since they couldn't force it, the target amount was also crossed out on the parchment and disappeared.
'Good.'
Rakson inwardly praised Rowan with a gentle expression. Without him, he would've been stuck paying silver coins monthly to Alec and Kiten's families for nothing.
'What nonsense.'
Though Rakson wielded great influence in the village and was even considered a local notable, he couldn't consider the villagers like family.
He was a field commander in the mud who'd cowardly survived countless battlefields. The blood on him could form a lake. Rakson, who'd spent that hellish time always having to possess something, wanted to spend his later years prosperously, not become a good person spreading happiness to people.
The responsibility for the four deaths someone definitely had to shoulder flowed away so emptily without anyone shouldering it.
It was just a common occurrence in this place, a village not even known to the city, that only peddlers who barely came around, thinking of losses, would know about.
"We convey our hearts to Alec and Kiten's families."
They collected funds for a week. Though not a tremendous amount, both families expressed gratitude and said they'd become happy as quickly as possible. Villagers exchanged well-wishes with each other.
Rowan wasn't among them.
Because he thought it wasn't his place to be.
'Now I understand why Rakson made that request of me.'
The Youth Association was a convenient control device for Rakson. Since those responsible for the village's industry and active in the field belonged to it, holding leadership in the Youth Association meant extending influence throughout the entire village.
That's why he'd cleaned up his scheme to prevent physical assets from reaching Alec or Kiten's families through Rowan.
'Leaves a bad taste.'
Rowan felt stuffy at heart. Committing evil acts wasn't as pleasant as he'd thought. He'd obtain a transcribed copy of Rakson's secret technique collection, but he didn't feel good at all. He realized his actions had made the four deaths even more meaningless.
Though it wasn't what Rowan wanted, it had ended up that way.
The price of being manipulated by Rakson without knowing the full situation was only the stuffiness of heart, but it felt large.
Only then, realizing the freedom of heart that honesty brings, Rowan could tell he wasn't such a bad person. But he didn't just regret and throw away the benefits obtained through evil acts.
To solidify conviction, Rowan was nothing more than an ordinary person. He didn't yet have the boldness to refuse a bundle of money just because he regretted it.
"You did well. From now on, whenever you have time, come and transcribe the secret technique collection. I've already prepared parchment. And this is something called the Word Manual."
It was a thick book as thick as a legal code.
"I taught myself with this. It's written in great detail, so there won't be any difficulty self-studying. After the middle part, there are words only nobles use, so you don't have to reference that far."
At Rakson's explanation, Rowan's eyes sparkled. It was a better item than expected. Though the words about self-studying didn't please him much, it was detailed like a dictionary, so he could just carry it around.
"Let's quietly keep the previous request secret."
"Request? What request?"
At Rowan's shamelessness, Rakson let out a loud laugh. Perfect even to the finish. After saying that, Rowan's expression was dark as he came out carrying only the thick Word Manual.
Making a transcribed copy of Rakson's secret technique collection took half a year. There were many pictures, and since he had to add explanations Rakson gave like annotations—it was just making something new.
While doing so, naturally, the year passed.
Even in winter, Rowan's activity didn't decrease at all.
Shooting the bow 100 times a day also continued to increase as skill and know-how began to stick.
Proficiency in secret techniques steadily developed too. Though Rakson was someone with dirty thoughts, his swordsmanship skill was on par with that of knights. While learning all sorts of secret techniques, naturally, his thinking about force itself had elevated to knight-level dignity.
Thanks to that, technique occupied a large proportion of Rowan's fighting method too.
If a third-rate warrior's fight consists of weight and strength, a second-rate warrior's fight consists of technique, and Rowan, merely 14 years old, already had a second-rate warrior's mindset.
The knowledge Rakson gave Rowan was more tremendous than expected. But Rowan disliked him.
For him who'd lived a modern person's life, Rakson, who bore responsibility for four deaths, gave them nothing and gave little compared to what he possessed. Even if cursed for contradictory and narrow-minded thinking, Rowan couldn't shake off such thoughts.
Though it was something he'd participated in making, Rowan had to push Rakson away like that.
As a result, though Rakson and Rowan maintained their relationship, it didn't deepen.
'Secret technique swordsmanship requires various weapons. But that's impossible.'
The secret techniques Rakson had obtained haphazardly from battlefields all used different weapons. Thanks to that, Rowan felt the necessity to readjust them to one weapon.
He didn't have the money to use all sorts of weapons. And he wouldn't be able to use them later either because it seemed ineffective.
"Improving secret techniques?"
His place to lean on was Rakson, whom he'd pushed away in his heart. He thought a retired veteran would have ideas, but Rakson shook his head. Though there was no harvest, Rowan could set one big goal.
If he could make twelve secret techniques wholly spew out with one weapon, that alone would bring a tremendous combat power increase. Since secret techniques like martial arts forms had very clear purposes, Rowan decided to pay attention to that too.
Stier Hupfen (Bull's Charge), which required width and length beyond a longsword, was the first reform target.
'I enjoy using shortsword and shield.'
Extending the shield straight, checking the opponent while disturbing the space they had, pushing while gaining advantage in the space fight, then wounding with the nimble shortsword—that was Rowan's basic fighting method.
Added to this, Stier Hupfen, a longsword secret technique based on the high guard, used the longsword's long reach plus the high guard to check the enemy's head, then cut like lightning to behead or use the twisted visual sense of the enemy concerned about the head to slash the wrist.
Stier Hupfen was a secret technique exploiting the human optical illusion of feeling objects near the head more threatening and closer.
'Implement this with shield and shortsword?'
The difficulty was great. Days of pondering continued.