Baldo pushed open the double doors and sauntered into the gants1.

A man who looked to be the shopkeeper was preparing food behind the counter.

He stole a glance at Baldo but continued his work nevertheless.

These actions were quite an affront to a knight, one of the noble class.

Of course, though there was a sword at his waist and armor on his person, both were old and covered in grime.

Certainly this knight did not look the part.

Baldo himself wished not for the attention.

Though not far from the Pacra domain, he had never before set foot in this town.

He wanted to see just what kind of place it was before leaving these lands behind.

Pacra was but five days away, and yet it took him a month to arrive, for there was much that caught his attention on the way.

It was a strangely peaceful place for one so close to the gap in the Great Wall.

Baldo showed the man behind the counter two corlulose and negotiated their price.

He was in fact the shopkeeper after all.

Compared to other wild fowl, the corlulose was not in the least bit gamey and tasted quite fine.

They were hard to catch, being few in number and so timid.

Their feathers were beautiful and prized as accessories in the city, it was said.

The two corlulose were deliciously plump.

Not a scratch could be seen on their hide.

Not a drop of blood remained inside.

After a moment of discussion and with the promise of two nights of shelter, food, alcohol, warm water aplenty to bathe his body, horsefeed, and dried meats and bread, Baldo handed the shopkeeper the two corlulose.

This place was a gants, a shared dining hall and inn.

They were often built by the owners of mines or farms.

Occasionally were they funded by a collective of those who wielded authority in their respective towns.

Laborers were provided a set number of meals a day there.

For a certain price, travelers would also have access to the food and board.

“Clean yourself off before going up to your room, sir,”

said the owner, so Baldo left the building.

A girl thirteen or fourteen years of age followed him outside and proceeded to brush him off.

On his month-long journey through the mountains and fields, a great deal of dirt coated his clothes.

So too were his shoes caked with mud.

The girl continued to help him, and soon he was clean enough to go inside.

The rooms were all on the second floor.

Baldo ascended the stairs, belongings in hand, and went to his room.

He placed the items on the floor; he removed his armor and cloak.

He sat down on the bed; he took off his shoes.

Slowly he massaged the soles of his feet.

With the flow of blood came pain and fatigue.

Though his horse joined him on this journey, rarely did he ride it.

The horse came with him in tow and carried his belongings.

Baldo’s horse was even further along in its years than he was.

Years ago, it had retired from service.

Any longer, and it would surely be slaughtered for its meat.

For that reason, he had chosen this horse to be his travel companion.

2

In a small corner of the continent’s eastern frontier, the two houses Coendela and Norra had fought for many a year over the Great Lord’s seat.

House Coendela had recently triumphed over the Norras, claiming the title of Lord of the greater Giguenza region.

The house Telsia that Baldo served too had no choice but to acknowledge their rightful authority.

The Coendelas called a meeting of lords and demanded that the earnings of the Zaliza silver mines be used in the reconstruction of the areas ravaged by the conflict for the next ten years.

A preposterous demand, truly.

The bounty of the Zaliza silver mines and Repozia bronze mines had both been under the jurisdiction of House Telsia since time immemorial.

As those who ruled over the Pacra domain—located at the gap in Jhan Dessa Roh2—it was their duty to repel all manner of cursed beast that might attempt entry.

The thought that one might try to plunder the coffers of the house tasked with that burden was absurd.

Not to mention, the lands ravaged by the conflict had been razed by the very Coendelas no less, so to claim that it was for “reconstruction” seemed laughable.

All they could do for now, however, was silently yield to the Coendelas’ insistence.

Baldo served four generations of Telsia lords, and deeply he respected the strength of their will.

So too did these lords generously reward Baldo’s bravery and loyalty.

However, Baldo declined every of their offers of additional land.

No longer did he have family.

Never did he marry.

Upon hearing of what came to pass at the meeting of lords, Baldo wrote a letter to his lord conveying his intent to retire from service, surrendering his estate and finances thereupon.

Without so much as waiting for a response, he paid each of those employed by him a handsome bonus, secured their livelihood thereafter, and then left on his journey.

The sum that Baldo left behind was to give the house Telsia a moment of respite.

This journey had no destination.

It was but a trip for Baldo to meet the end of his life.

3

The water’s ready! he heard the girl shout, so he retrieved his equipment and headed downstairs, to the area behind the gants.

Next to the well was a gravel-laid washing basin, and further behind it was a large barrel filled to the brim with warm water.

Heavens, it seems they have a bath at the ready.

This will be much appreciated.

He leaned his sword against a small fence beside him and took off his clothes.

As he did, the girl handed him a wooden pail and said, Use this if you’d like.

He scooped some of the barrel’s water with the pail and poured it over his head.

Over him came a sensation of pure bliss as the water flowed down his hair, beard, and body.

He scooped water once more and used it as he scrubbed himself clean.

After this, he lowered himself into the washing barrel.

Copious amounts of water spilled over the edge for Baldo possessed a towering figure.

Wow, your body is so large, the girl exclaimed with wide eyes.

With a great crackle did his his legs, hip, back, and shoulders all loosen up.

It can be said a knight’s most essential of qualities is that of withstanding pain and suffering, yet it seems a month of walking and camping will still certainly take a toll on the body.

The pain he had repressed, ignored, and eventually forgotten came to life once more throughout all his body.

This is what it means to be alive, however.

Though Baldo reveled in the happiness of his receding exhaustion, the oncoming pain caused him to wince.

Does it sting? the girl asked him.

Baldo’s body was covered with scars.

Doesn’t the water hurt with those wounds? the girl worried.

Baldo smiled softly and said back to the girl,

These wounds are ages old—long since have they hurt.

The bathwater felt divine, and it gave my body a jolt is all.

A scrub fashioned from a dried porpos fruit lay nearby, so he used it all across his body.

The water grew ever so dirty.

Cleaning this will be troublesome I’m sure, he thought apologetically towards the girl.

She washed his boots and garments atop the gravel.

While scrubbing the boots back and forth, back and forth, she asked him for the name of his horse.

It goes by Staboros,

he responded, to which the girl asked, What does it mean?

Someone I know bestowed upon it the name.

I never asked the meaning,

he answered.

I’ve already fed and given it water, she said, and I’ll be sure to wash it later, though is it alright that its horn is so small?

Horses possessed horns, and so did many livestock.

They became smaller with age, and once they became too small for the eye to see, occasionally they brought with them a fit of madness.

There’s nothing to fear,

Baldo replied.

Once an excess of dirt and filth had piled up at the bottom of the barrel, the girl opened it partway to release half of what was inside and once more filled it to the brim with clean water.

Baldo watched her carry the barrels of water around behind the gants, grunting as she did with her sleeved rolled up, and the scene brought no shortage of peace to his heart.

Truly, what a fine bath.

Hah-hah-hah!

The girl seemed happy as well to witness Baldo’s merriment.

He stepped out from the bath, returned to his room, and laid flat on the bed, quickly descending into slumber.

Downstairs, the gants was teeming with activity.

Baldo retrieved his sword, descended the stairs, and sat down in an unoccupied seat.

Before long came the shopkeeper with stew, bread, a jar of distilled alcohol, and a cup to drink it from.

Taken aback at the generous size of the jar, Baldo poured some of the spirit into the cup and took in a hearty quaff.

The liquid burned his throat, settling deep into his body.

Before long, the warmth bore into his stomach, and his insides squirmed about.

The stew was made with meat and freshly picked vegetables, so a succulent smell started to drift about.

He scooped some with the wooden spoon and brought it to his mouth, chewing ever so deliberately.

Wonderful.

It was corlulose meat.

To an immaculate tenderness was it cooked.

As such, every bite brought with it further savoriness.

The vegetables too had thoroughly absorbed the flavor while remaining firm still.

An absolute masterpiece.

The man sitting across from Baldo turned to the shopkeeper and said,

“Gimme some of what he’s having.”

The shopkeeper said to him it was a special dish and so it came with a special price and then announced that very price.

“That’s way too expensive!”

the man exclaimed.

Baldo brought another spoonful of the stew to his mouth, and this time, he took a sip of the spirit before the flavor would fade away.

The deliciousness of the stew only brought out the taste of the alcohol.

As an indescribable bliss descended upon his body, he sighed,

Ah…

The man watched Baldo, gulped, and then finally yelled,

“Bring me the damn stew already!”

Similar voices started to come from the various tables all ordering the stew as if spurned on as well.

The girl ran busily around, delivering the bowls of stew and collecting payment.

It was not long before the shopkeeper announced he had no more left to sell.

As Baldo finished eating the stew and bread, the shopkeeper brought a small plate over to him.

On it were pieces of corlulose skin, grilled to a delicious crisp.

Basking in the envious stare of the man sitting across him, Baldo took a bite of the skin.

The taste of salt sprinkled atop provided an exquisite balance, and the addition of juice from some citrus-like fruit worked to eliminate the unpleasant oiliness, paving the way for satisfying aftertaste.

Paired with the spirit, it was a masterful union.

The man across the table inquired as to the price, and the shopkeeper responded with a figure even higher than that of the stew before.

For a good amount of quality charcoal was required in its making, was the reason the shopkeeper gave.

The grilled skin sold out more quickly than even the stew before it.

Neither did the alcohol lose out in popularity.

Lastly, the shopkeeper brought out a small bowl filled with stewed ingredients.

Unsure of the contents, Baldo inquired the shopkeeper as to what it was, and the man responded that it was in fact stewed corlulose giblets.

Can one truly eat something like that, Baldo wondered, but the skills of the shopkeeper were long-since evident, and the dish appeared truly delectable.

He ate a single piece.

I say!

There was nary a trace of pungency nor acridity.

It had thoroughly absorbed the light taste of the broth—perfection manifest for any and all who savor alcohol.

He took another bite even before he could come to his senses.

Mm-mm!

It tasted differently than that of the meat before.

Utterly and entirely different.

So was the consistency different, and so was the way the meaty juiciness exploded in the mouth on a wholly different level.

It was a flavor that seeped into every recess of his body.

It felt as if present in this dish was a taste completely different from the stew, bread, and grilled skin in his stomach.

Baldo was in a state of shock, and so the shopkeeper explained:

“This is all because you drained the blood so expertly, sir.

After seeing it done so well, I just knew I had to try making it.

I changed the water countless times and did my best to skim off all the impurities.

These are innards we’re talking about, so of course there’s gonna be a ton of crap inside.

But then again, cleaning them is what I do best.

The finishing touch was our local specialty, rock salt.

Depending on the ingredients, you see, the meat ends up smelling something fierce.

I can say this stewed dish here is the finest thing to come out of my kitchen in years.

With innards, you see, each part tastes differently.

Stuffed in this tiny little dish is a whole world of flavor.”

The man sitting across the table ordered the stewed giblets.

The shopkeeper responded with the price.

It was even higher than that of the grilled corlulose skin.

Not often is one presented with the opportunity to try a taste so rare, after all, and especially one made from ingredients of such a caliber.

The man paid the price no heed and had the shopkeeper bring him the dish.

Amazing! he exclaimed after a single bite, and the shopkeeper then drowned in the deluge of new orders.

The girl ran around, bounding with energy, and in the blink of an eye, there was no longer any left.

The shopkeeper ended up making a hefty profit this night.

Baldo was entirely satisfied as well.

Just as he thought to wrap his meal up, however, the bustling shop suddenly grew silent.

All stared at the entrance.

Three men had just strolled in through the open doors.

They had the demeanor of scoundrels, of those who caused only storms in their wake.

At the front stood a large man of considerable girth.

His left ear was deformed, and a large scar stretched across his left cheek.

He scanned the room with a repulsive glare and shouted,

“Well, well!

I’m ever so pleased to see you all in such high spirits!”

He slammed the battle-ax he had been carrying in his right hand on the floor and then belted, his face now contorted with malice,

“Of course, I’m certain your festivities tonight will prevent none of you from showing up to work on time tomorrow.

Oh, how about this!

Since all of you are having such fun, surely you wouldn’t mind if I shortened your breaks by half tomorrow!”

One by one, the customers in the shop stood from their seats and left the establishment.

The man with the battle-ax suddenly beckoned with his chin towards one of the men about to leave.

One of the scoundrels took the man to the corner of the shop and started talking to him.

It seemed to be particularly nasty conversation, one of debts and taking little sisters for the night.

The man with the battle-ax then approached Baldo, sitting by himself.

He glared at Baldo’s face and at the sword resting by his side.

Baldo sat upright in his chair, always ready to move, and kept his left hand free, always ready to draw his sword.

The man with the battle-ax then stared at Baldo’s hands.

A knife and fork.

Most of the customers ate with their bare hands or with things like wooden spoons or skewers.

That was the norm.

What Baldo possessed at this moment was quite the item, however.

Each utensil was made of metal.

The knife in particular had upon it etched a beautiful, intricate design, and its surface radiated a silvery sheen.

It was grossly out of place in a countryside gants such as this.

Baldo brought the final bite of stewed giblets to his lips, unaffected by the man’s bloodthirsty glare, drank the last bit of alcohol in a single gulp, and then finally heaved a sigh of satisfaction.

The man’s bloodlust subsided as if put off by the display, and with the men who accompanied him he left the gants behind.

5

The shopkeeper came round to where Baldo sat with another cup and jar of liquor.

He filled Baldo’s cup to the brim.

Was it as thanks for the night’s profit or perhaps as recompense for the troubles that had previously transpired?

The shopkeeper sank deeply into one of the chairs, and he filled his cup too with the spirit, downing the liquid.

Little by little came the shopkeeper’s story of this town.

The area here rose to prominence by the cultivation of rock salt.

Following the death of the town’s head, whom all respected dearly, a man named Brando arrived and wound up in charge.

Brando was himself a man of skill and magnanimity, however the five sons of his who were tasked with supervising the work lorded over the workers with an iron fist, terrorized the townsfolk for all debts they incurred, and in all their actions exhibited tyranny unjust.

Brando’s estate possessed ample men of caliber, however it seemed in comparison with them the sons all paled.

The shopkeeper gave up on this place for it had no future and thus arranged to send his foster daughter to live under his cousin’s wing, to the town of Mithra in the Palzamic Kingdom.

There was a school in Mithra.

The shopkeeper had exhausted all of his savings in paying the tuition and succeeded in trying to get her enrolled.

The girl was the daughter of his late sister, he said.

She would depart by carriage to the river town Lints tomorrow afternoon.

The one who would drive it was a friend dear and old, he said.

He would take her across the Orva River in a trading ship of the lord of Lints and then bring her along in a trading caravan to the town of Mithra.

He knew an official in the Lints domain and had requested all this of him.

Once his contract with this gants had expired, the shopkeeper too wished to travel to Mithra and open up a restaurant of his own.

Thanks to the corlulose you brought, I’ve come across a good sum, said the shopkeeper as he poured Baldo the last of the spirit.

Baldo saw in the shopkeeper’s countenance the loneliness of a man sending away his precious niece and so he shared some of the drink in his cup.

6

Baldo upon returning to his room removed his sword from its scabbard and inspected the blade.

He put the lamp alight and shone it along the metal surface.

Here and there on the blade were the faintest traces of tarnish.

And so he took a cloth and gently removed it all.

This was the ritual Baldo observed at the end of every day, no matter how tired he was.

Once finishing his maintenance, he tried swinging the blade with his right hand.

When brandishing the sword upwards in a large swing, both his elbow and shoulder cried out in pain.

It appears yet again his old wounds would throb.

Swinging the sword from top to bottom would not work well either.

Baldo then tried swinging the blade up from left to right.

This approach would not bring pain it appeared as long as he did not overextend his right elbow.

If came the time he must use his sword, then this approach would prove best.

Surely if necessary he could ignore the pain altogether, but why purposefully maim one’s self?

Baldo sheathed the sword and embraced slumber.

He did not wake until the afternoon of the next day, at which point he peacefully passed the time by taking care of his horse and inspecting his belongings.

If missing any supplies, he would buy more in town.

He would stay the night today as well and then depart posthaste on the morning of the third day.

7

There was a ruckus on the first floor of the gants.

Baldo left his bed and opened a fraction the door to his room.

He overheard this exchange downstairs:

“Don’t be like that, keep.

Doncha think you’re being awfully cruel here, tryin’ to send such a cute girl away to the city without even telling us?

You do realize our old man owns this place, right?

Don’t forget ‘bout a little thing called manners.”

The shopkeeper with traces of anger in his voice insisted, It’s time for the carriage to leave, but the other men present clearly did not intend on listening.

The townsfolk had meant to keep the departure a secret as to hide it from the scoundrels, but the carriage driver had apparently let slip the truth.

Baldo started to equip himself.

Quick were his actions.

A strong light shone in his eyes.

Old were his traditions, that in moments of true he would waste no time in preparing for the fight.

He no longer felt any fatigue or pain.

“Half a year should do it.

Send her over to work at our old man’s place.

Do that, an’ we’ll look past how rude you’ve been bein’.

We’ll even go an’ pay her for the work.

There’s a lot were gonna be teachin’ her.

A lot.

So?

Whacha think?

Not a raw deal, ain’t it?”

one of the men added, and vulgar laughter followed.

Baldo listened to the exchange downstairs, and he put on his boots, equipped his armor, attached his sword, donned his cloak, slipped on his gloves, wore his cap.

Let me go! Stop! Don’t touch me! he heard the girl shout with a heart of iron.

Baldo finished his preparations expertly yet with composure undaunted and with a loud thud did he swing open the door.

All those downstairs then looked up at Baldo.

Amid the tense silence came but the sound of Baldo’s boots as he slowly walked.

Near the counter stood a man with a battle-ax.

Surely he was Machius, eldest of the brothers Brando.

The one sitting atop a table sequestered in a corner of the gants was likely the third son Geronimus.

Supposedly he was versed in the throwing knife.

Then the man at the entrance who in his grasp held the girl captive must be the fifth son Cainen.

In his left hand was a bow and on his back a quiver with arrows.

Baldo descended the stairs, creaking with his every step.

And he too carefully watched the scoundrels.

It appeared these men had predicted Baldo’s entrance.

Were he to continue his descent, he would find himself on three sides surrounded.

His approach did not grow timid, however, and he now stood on the first floor.

The third son on the left glanced over.

Into the fold of his shirt he reached his right hand.

Baldo caught a brief glimpse of the man’s suspenders and the throwing knives hanging from them.

They were rather large for knives meant to be thrown.

Next to the counter on the right, the eldest son reached for his battle-ax.

Standing at the front entrance, the fifth son let go of the girl and from his quiver retrieved an arrow.

Upon regaining her freedom, the girl rushed into the embrace of the shopkeeper who stood in front of the counter.

The three scoundrels directed their focus all onto Baldo.

It was then that a playful glee welled up in Baldo’s heart.

For in this situation, he could make sport of his fierce swordplay and rob the scoundrels of their fighting spirit.

Failure would reward him with life-threatening injury, but Baldo did not hold his life dear.

This journey was after all one that would lead Baldo to the end of his life, so would doing so while saving the innocent common folk not be a fine way to go?

Would he receive terrible wounds regardless, Baldo would continue until all three were struck down and the last of the life left his body.

However, if at all possible…

It should go without saying that he would rather he could eliminate the men with minimal damage to his own body.

To the left Baldo turned and glared with intensity at the third son.

The third son gulped and tightened his grip on the knife.

Suddenly Baldo looked away and took three steps toward the entrance.

Taken by alarm, the fifth son notched an arrow.

Baldo looked away from the fifth son as well and stopped moving facing the eldest.

At this moment were the eldest son, Baldo, and the third son all in a straight line.

The third son was doubtlessly searching for opening into which he might throw his knife.

Then Baldo threw up his cloak with a loud flourish.

As the left part of the cloak hung over his shoulder, the sword hanging to the left of his waist was bared for all to see.

All who laid witness to this thought Baldo did so as to render his blade easier to draw.

His left flank was consequently now more susceptible to attack.

Baldo additionally untied the string holding up the left side of the cloak.

In doing so he revealed his left flank to even those behind him.

There were certain places one should aim a throwing knife.

These were for the most part anywhere in the stomach, chest, or back, and if the distance was sufficiently close, the face and neck too.

Baldo’s cap, cloak, armor, and boots at this moment covered all of his body aside from his left flank.

The third son was surely resting his gaze upon that very exposed part of Baldo’s body.

The eldest son then spoke as if no longer able to bear the heavy silence,

“Explain yourself, you senile fool.”

Though his tone was ever contemptible, so too was it almost hoarse, for perhaps the man was weary of his mysterious opponent or predicted an arduous fight ahead.

Baldo never broke the silence and took yet another step forward.

The third son behind him showed signs of activity.

Is he preparing a knife, Baldo wondered.

“You really wanna do this, huh?

All by yourself?”

Baldo took yet another step.

He must not be too eager.

The moment to strike shall be decided by the opponent.

“Well alright then.

If that’s how you wanna play it…”

The eldest son signaled the third with a momentary glance.

Now!

“Draw your blade!”

shouted the eldest son at the very moment he jumped to the side, but Baldo in that instant had already begun to move.

To the right he twisted the lower half of his body, and with a thud, he slammed his ironclad boots atop the floor.

The toes on that foot pointed towards the third son.

That very third son had already begun to throw the knife.

The moment the knife left his fingertips was his face painted with shock at Baldo’s actions.

Though Baldo drew his blade in that moment with ample force born from the rotations of his hips, his eyes drew steady watch over the throwing knife’s trajectory.

The knife would not stray from its path, so he but needed to guide his blade with the right timing that the two might collide.

Clang!!

came the clash of iron, and the stricken knife pierced deeply into the floor.

Baldo continued the rotation of his hips yet as if he had never stopped and stored his blade back into its scabbard.

His cloak once billowing about with the wind beneath its fabric now came back down and covered his body.

Time froze in that moment.

The eldest son stared at Baldo, battle-ax still in both his hands.

His eyes were open wide.

His mouth agape.

Slowly did the reality of what transpired start to finally dawn upon the troublemakers, surely.

Out of the corner of his eye, Baldo saw the fifth son lower his arrow in shock.

The eldest son’s expression finally betrayed his fear, or perhaps something akin to awe.

The third son behind Baldo surely looked the same.

One cannot blame them.

For by spinning around and striking down a throwing knife did Baldo show them an incredible feat.

Furthermore, it appeared to these scoundrels that he had turned around only after sensing that the knife was about to be thrown.

Though seen in the realm of storytelling, one might find it hard to believe such a thing was possible, moreso after seeing it with one’s own eyes.

Baldo fearlessly turned his back to the third brother, armed as he was.

Though the eldest and fifth sons had their weapons at the ready, he still sheathed his blade upon striking down the knife.

This was nothing but a display of pure confidence that he could deal with attacks from any which direction.

Though clad in shabby attire, might this old man be a knight of great repute?

The three of them could not begin to cross swords with such a man.

Furthermore, If they made an enemy out of a vassal such as him, their entire lineage would face naught but destruction.

Such were the thoughts that raced through the minds of these scoundrels.

Baldo, though clad in calm demeanor, truthfully felt concern deep down.

The knife that flew at him was far larger and heavier than he had dared imagine.

By the sound it produced, he judged the material to be of high quality as well.

That which Baldo possessed was naught more than a light, short blade, one appropriate for a long journey.

He had left all of his treasures back at the manor.

Had this blade met squarely with the knife, it likely would have shattered.

It was truly harrowing.

After staring for a moment with unmoving eyes at the eldest son, Baldo turned to the shopkeeper, indicating towards the door with a nudge of the head.

The shopkeeper nodded with a sigh of relief and went with the girl towards the entrance.

The fifth son moved with a jolt as the shopkeeper tried to pick up the luggage, but a glance from Baldo stopped him in his tracks.

And so were the shopkeeper and the girl able to leave the gants.

Baldo took a step.

The three scoundrels immediately stiffened.

Baldo walked slowly forwards in the direction of the front doors.

The fifth son moved back, clearing a path.

Upon swinging open the doors and stepping outside, he was temporarily blinded by the afternoon sun.

The shopkeeper and the girl were dashing towards the horse-drawn carriage, stopped in the middle of the town’s central plaza.

As he squinted his eyes, he was able to make out the face of the girl as she looked back at the shopkeeper every now and then.

It was glowing with happiness.

Outside were a number of townsfolk, watching the situation unfold with baited breath.

As if surrounding the girl they moved, blessing her with congratulations countless.

The carriage finally started to move as the last of the riders had boarded, and those that saw the carriage off waved their hands and shouted with vigor, lamenting the pain of a farewell.

The shopkeeper did shout as well, screaming the girl’s name.

For him it wasn’t enough, as he quickly set out, running after the carriage.

Be well! Be wary of the water you drink! he yelled, his voice now nearly a sob.

Send her off with all you have.

You have indeed raised that girl well,

whispered Baldo in his heart, and he removed his cap with his left hand and held it up high, bidding the carriage farewell as it disappeared beyond the cloud of dust.

Suddenly the fishing pole jolted.

It seems a fish took the bait.

Following a brief battle of endurance and the eventual triumphant victory, Baldo was in good spirits when a familiar voice entered his ear.

“It brings me great joy to see you are well, great Sir Rhowen.”

Baldo turned around and saw kneeling in the grass of the dry riverbed a knight by the name of Cedelmont Expenglar.

The two individuals behinds Cedelmont, both kneeling in similar fashion, were also familiar faces.

Behind them, however, was a rather unexpected figure, glaring down at Baldo from the horse he remained perched atop.

A knight named Yotish Peyn.

He was said to be the right-hand man of Cardos Coendela, lord of the domain of Dorba.

One would suspect Cedel might come, but Baldo never imagined House Coendela would send a messenger as well.

Not to mention one of such repute.

“Sir Peyn, I ask you dismount your steed.”

Speaking down to a dismounted knight atop one’s horse in times of peace was considered a breach of etiquette.

As such, Cedelmont’s words were but a reminder of the obvious.

Yet Yotish’s mouth curled in clear displeasure.

“Sir Expenglar, this man is no longer a knight.

He has cast aside the lord he once served.

One who is not a knight has no need for a knight’s courtesy.”

“Sir Peyn, the great Sir Baldo Rhowen has not cast aside his lord as you say.

In his Knight’s Vow, he swore to take the commonfolk as his lord, and never once has he broken it.”

“Hmph.

I suppose you’re right.

‘Galdegarsh Gwera,’1 was it?”

Yotish said while dismounting.

In his mannerisms was thinly-veiled ridicule.

Even Yotish, however, had to show restraint before Cedelmont, or rather House Expenglar behind him.

The name Expenglar carried weight in these lands.

Baldo told the three kneeling knights to stand.

Cedelmont remained kneeling yet, however, and staring directly into the eyes of his mentor, he said,

“Great Sir Rhowen, I beseech you return.

Lord Galiera is racked with grief.”

I do not doubt it,

thought Baldo.

The current lord of Pacra, Galiera Telsia, was a deeply compassionate man.

He saw Baldo, the man who served four generations of Telsia lords, as dearly as a brother.

With the passing of the previous lord, Vorra, two years prior, Baldo was Galiera’s most trusted of friends.

“Sir Baldo Rhowen, my lord as well thought you left with inadequate notice.

We have prepared land for you.

Houses Coendela and Telsia require your service yet,”

Yotish said, to which Baldo thought,

Quite the nerve to say those words.

Baldo knew not where these lands were located, but he knew they were without doubt part of another domain, certainly not under the Houses Coendela or Telsia.

Declaring the leadership of said land could only lead to conflict.

Baldo’s fame had spread far too wide.

Never have the walls under his watch fallen, never has he succumbed to insurmountable odds.

He was undefeated.

Though retainers of House Telsia were few in number, they repelled all cursed beasts, fought off all invaders, came down upon all the villainy in their lands, and Baldo was said to be instrumental in it all.

Yet now that reputation proved only a hindrance.

The current head of Coendela, Cardos, was a man of insatiable greed.

After obtaining the title of lord of the region he so desperately coveted, surely were his eyes now set on other domains as well, wishing for their taxes.

Years of conflict have exhausted his lands, however.

Though he mobilized endless waves of troops in the final months of his campaign, his coffers were now undoubtedly dry.

He had no choice but to keep the peace.

Had he Baldo in his employ, however, things would be different.

According to the resolution of the Meeting of Lords—though merely a pretext—Baldo and House Telsia were to be sent to cruel war and made to fought until the last of their blood.

This was the strategy he drafted.

Were he to remain in good health, Baldo would fight to the limits of his strength and could possibly secure the benefits of war for House Telsia.

However, Baldo had grown old as of late.

It would be not long before he met the end of his days.

There would be no greater disloyalty than to die and leave house Telsia embroiled in senseless war.

What if Baldo was not there?

A strategic piece would be lost, and the plans could not come to fruition.

Would house Telsia be used for everything they had without Baldo, no longer would the cursed beasts be held at bay.

Were that happen, Coendela and all the other lords would find themselves in cruel conflict with beasts both cursed and not.

He would likely lose control of the Great Seat.

Thus Baldo decided to part with House Telsia.

He could buy the house some time if he did.

It was fortunate that a new generation of retainers was being brought up.

Weather the storm, nourish the soil, prepare for the future.

For this, time was of the upmost importance.

Baldo’s pupil, Cedelmont, was likely well aware of this.

Had he not tried once to convince Baldo to return, however, it would only do House Telsia harm.

Frequent are the rumors that twist context and reverse cause.

In difficult times, the House chased away their most meritorious of vassals, old as he was.

Such rumors will always be born.

Thus it was necessary for a retainer of House Telsia to seek Baldo out and beg his return.

To send three knights led by a man of such stature as Celelmont, this display already went far beyond what was excepted for a decrepit old knight born to a small military family in the frontier.

“Baldo Rhowen,

I await your answer.

Do not tell me you intend to refuse.”

This man was the only mystery.

What exactly was Cardos Coendela planning by sending him?

For him to call on his very nephew to try and stop Baldo from leaving seemed an impeccable show of sincerity.

Yet Coendela should have no need for such pretenses.

Stopping him and obtaining a strategic piece came above all.

If he couldn’t be stopped, House Telsia would be given the responsibility to do so.

Now that this man came, however, only Coendela himself would bear the blame of failing to convince Baldo to stay.

Not to mention, this very conduct could only serve to anger Baldo in its discourtesy.

“Sir Peyn,

You must show restraint.

My lord has acknowledged House Coendela as the rightful possessor of the Great Lord’s seat, but that does not imply House Telsia serves under you.

Neither is Sir Rhowen beholden to the wishes of your house.”

For whatever reason, Yotish Peyn did not retort.

What did he come for, truly?

Cedelmont then continued in his attempt to dissuade Baldo from retiring for some time longer.

Baldo merely responded that, being unable to fight any longer, he wished to spend the last of his days in peace.

Though perhaps the wrong thing to say, Baldo couldn’t bring himself to lie that he left due to any sort of ill-will towards the house.

His reason for leaving could only be due to the ever-weakening nature of his physical and mental faculties.

It was imperative that Cedelmont and the two other knights listen intently to these words and spread them to a great many people.

Once his answer came to an end, Cedelmont reluctantly gave up on convincing Baldo and instead retrieved a pouch of money.

“It was Lord Galiera’s wish that should you not choose to return, he would at least bless you with a peaceful journey,”

he said, handing Baldo the pouch.

Hm.

What would happen if I refused, I wonder.

Surely there would be those suspicious that I did in fact harbor grievances towards the lord,

thought Baldo for a moment before he reached out to receive the money.

It was at that very moment.

There was a strange glint that shone in Yotish Peyn’s eyes.

Neither was it directed at Baldo or Cedelmont,

but at the pouch of coins between them.

Though it was generous sum to an old traveler, it was not nearly enough to inspire greed in the nobility.

Once the knights of House Telsia concluded their farewells and mounted their horses once more, Yotish too left with them.

As Baldo placed the pouch in his horse’s bag, he almost felt as if the man’s glare was even from the far distance trained on him yet.

2

In the end, Baldo decided to spend the night in that very spot next to the river.

He began to collect stones as to build a little campfire.

Old Stabaros continued to graze on the grass as it always did.

Just when he finished arranging the stones, he heard the sound of two horses approaching.

One of the figures was Yotish Peyn.

No longer was he attempting to hide his bloodlust.

The other was a man unfamiliar to Baldo.

He looked less a knight, more a mercenary.

Yotish dismounted and said,

“Hey, Sir ‘Galdegarsh Gwera.’

I forgot to mention something earlier—completely slipped my mind.

Hope you don’t mind me coming back.

Let me introduce you to a certain someone.

Someone named Venn Ulir.”

Venn Ulir!

So this is the man!

He was the wandering knight known as the Rolo Spia.2

The stories say he was once a knight of a country in the midlands.

He possessed an unquenchable desire to challenge the strong in combat and before long could no longer remain in his country.

It was said he made his living as a contracted killer, slaying his targets in duels.

Perhaps he is now a borrowed blade of the Coendelas.

In moments of death, an invisible red crow will fly in and land on your pillow.

The moment one sees this red crow is the moment they perish.

They likened him to this folktale, and thus was he known as the Red Crow.

There were many fantastic rumors surrounding this man.

Above all was that he was not human.

That he was half demihuman.

Demihumans cannot bear children with humans.

It happens once in a blue moon, but the infants rarely survive the birth, let alone grow into healthy adulthood.

It was a curious rumor.

Perhaps it was created by one who bore great malice toward the man.

“So you’re Baldo Rhowen, huh?

I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

It was a deep, dark voice.

I’ve never met a man with such a piercing glare, thought Baldo.

There was not a warrior’s spirit in those eyes, however, nor was there any trace of madness.

All that radiated from him was a sense of quiet and rationality.

Tsk-tsk, came the sound from Baldo’s mouth as he removed his cloak.

He had put his sword on his waist the very moment he heard the sound of hooves.

Yotish Peyn and Venn Ulir tethered their horses to shrubs twenty paces away from Baldo and began to approach him.

Now they were but ten apart.

Venn Ulir raised his hand to stop Yotish in his tracks.

Don’t get any closer to him, were the words hidden in the gesture.

“Well then, Sir Rhowen.

About that certain something I forgot to mention—”

said Yotish as he glanced toward Venn Ulir, prompting the man to take four steps further,

“—would you mind dying for me?”

Venn Ulir unsheathed his sword the moment Yotish stopped speaking, and Baldo did the same.

What a fine blade, thought Baldo as he gazed at his opponent’s weapon.

The light that shined off it betrayed its quality.

A masterful work, forged with excellent materials aplenty.

It was a bit longer than Baldo’s blade and a bit narrower.

Baldo’s sword could be wielded two-handed if desired, whereas Venn Ulir’s could be held in but one.

It was the type of weapon fancied by a swordsman who trained in speed and technical prowess.

So too was his armor made of leather, allowing for nimble movement.

Upon first glance, the equipment the two possessed seemed not dissimilar.

Both had leather armor and a shortsword.

The truth of the matter was that the two were extremely different.

If they fought head on, Baldo’s sword would but break in a single clash.

Baldo’s preferred method of combat after all was to be clad in heavy armor, wielding a giant longsword.

For many a moon had he trained in this style.

For Baldo, the strikes of an opponent we not to be dodged.

They were to be received and endured.

There was no way Baldo could receive his opponent’s attacks with his current equipment, however.

Not to mention his opponent was a notorious fiend with the sword and in some manner could be considered a knight.

Baldo seemed destined to lose.

“I ask you for a duel,”

said Venn Ulir.

A tad late for that, thought Baldo, though a small smile formed on his lips to see the man so strangely sincere.

If I am going to die, I might as well fight with ever fiber of my being.

Though my left hand is lonely to be without shield,

thought Baldo as he said, Tsk-tsk, in response, Then I shall take you up on that duel.

Both men held their sword in their right hand.

Venn Ulir’s blade came flying first, crossing the six paces between them in an instant.

Baldo stayed rooted upright in the spot.

Venn Ulir sliced his blade up diagonally from the right.

Swiftly like a gust of wind.

Baldo pulled the left half of his body back and leaned back a fraction, narrowly avoiding the strike.

The tip of the sword passed a hair’s width from Baldo’s left eye, but he did not close it for he kept careful watch over Venn Ulir’s movements.

With nary the slightest drop in speed, Venn Ulir changed the sword’s trajectory and swiped up at  Baldo’s ribs from the opposite direction.

Baldo stepped forward a fraction with his right foot and swung with his sword, deflecting Venn Ulir’s blade with a seemingly effortless swipe.

Realizing he could no longer guide his sword along its intended path, Venn Ulir pulled the blade to the left before the swing was completed and lunged forward towards Baldo’s chest, attempting to finish the strike there.

Baldo had pulled back his sword and positioned it upright along the center of his body, however, so Venn Ulir instead aimed to meet the blade with his own, for he was wary of a counterattack to his head.

The two swords collided with the sound of metal against metal.

Venn Ulir’s blade struck squarely against Baldo’s.

Fortunately his sword did not break.

Baldo could furthermore match Venn Ulir in the contest of strength, so neither was his sword forced back.

In but an instant, Baldo had repelled his attacks thrice.

The Rolo Spia must scarcely believe his eyes,

thought Baldo.

Of course, Baldo was thoroughly surprised himself.

Those three strikes were nigh unavoidable.

The first strike came in a predictable manner, and so Baldo simply gauged the timing and pulled his body back accordingly.

He did not evade it by watching the blade.

He was able to knock aside the second strike as it reversed direction due to a particular technique he learned.

It was a technique he had seen many times forty-eight years ago, when he first learned the basics of swordplay from a wandering knight.

When he dodged the first strike and realized the blade was going to return from the opposite direction, he swung his own sword where he predicted the weapon to be, and by chance did he manage to hit it.

The third strike was an even larger coincidence, or perhaps more accurately the result of Venn Ulir misreading the situation.

This too was a lesson from Baldo’s once-teacher, that if unable to predict the opponent’s strike, one should execute a middle guard and try to perform a feint.

As Baldo did not know what to do, he faithfully brought his sword back into a middle guard, and Venn Ulir misjudged his intentions.

Baldo thought it a funny thing, that he would suddenly remember this lesson from forty-eight years ago and perform it so reflexively.

Baldo also realized something in that moment.

Venn Ulir was a man who was trained in orthodox swordplay.

Furthermore was he a man of extraordinary skill.

The nature of his prowess is fundamentally different from a layman like me, one tempered on the battlefield, thought Baldo.

Strength comes in many forms, one could say.

That was not all.

Though his skill was great, what truly commanded praise was his speed.

Venn Ulir’s blade was frighteningly quick.

When learning to wield a weapon, natural talent plays a large role.

Some find themselves suited to it; others do not.

Speed, however…

The quickness of one’s blade…

These are not things that can be achieved through talent alone.

Only countless hours of blood and sweat could birth a speed that miraculous.

Baldo realized that this battle-crazy wandering knight was the most dedicated man he had ever seen.

Chances were he truly, truly loved the sword.

Chances were he only held interest in the polishing of his own swordplay through life-threatening combat.

It goes without saying that this man was also blessed with talent in the shortsword.

This was not swordsmanship that relied on genius, however.

One could not achieve this level of speed and skill without sacrificing all else.

Venn Ulir gripped his sword with both hands and tried to push Baldo’s blade from left to right.

Baldo responded to the force with but his right hand on the hilt and thought to himself, I see, so that’s what he’s trying to do.

Venn Ulir would apply pressure and then suddenly pull back, causing his opponent to lose balance, and then go in for the final strike.

Where is he going to strike?

The head?

The legs?

The legs, predicted Baldo.

Though it may have simply been a hunch, it was correct.

Correct though it was, Baldo could not evade it.

The sword fiend suddenly pulled his blade back and sliced down at Baldo’s left leg.

With Baldo’s unsteady footing, there was naught he could do to resist.

If Baldo could not evade, however, then he would not evade.

This was a foe he simply could not best.

If he could simply land a single stroke of his blade then he would be satisfied.

From a starting position, Baldo struck forward with his sword, aiming at the top of his opponent’s head.

If he aimed for the center of the fiend’s body, then it was more likely for him to land a blow.

There the sword fiend was—lowering his body, slicing towards a spot below Baldo’s right knee.

There Baldo was—eyes carefully trained on the head as it moved, bringing his blade furiously down.

Even at this moment did the sword fiend react with marvelous speed.

Though he was facing completely forward at the time, he managed to twist his body around in a matter of moments.

Baldo’s sword hit naught but air.

So too did the sword fiend’s strike leave but a shallow wound.

As he placed all his weight behind this fruitless blow, and the fiend’s blade left a gash across both his boots and shin, Baldo fell.

However, to fall as such would spell death.

He curled his body into a ball as he dropped, and in his left hand he grabbed a broken branch from the ground, using his momentum and all the strength in his hand to throw the branch where he assumed his foe to be.

The girthy branch flew through the air.

Though a step into his twilight years, Baldo still retained his uncanny strength.

The fiend stepped to the right and avoided the branch, but his breathing could no longer remain composed.

The branch continued on its path, now toward Yotish Peyn instead.

Surely was he caught off guard, originally content to spectate.

The sight of the incoming branch flustered the man, and though he managed to evade, he fell back and landed on his rear.

He was a ridiculous sight.

A look of incredulity appeared on his face for a moment, and in the next was it flushed with rage.

“You old bastard!”

Yotish screamed as he pulled his sword from its sheath and started to rush toward Baldo.

The sword fiend grabbed him with his left hand and stopped him in his tracks.

“It’s not your turn yet.”

“Out of the way, Rolo Spia!

I’m going to cut this bastard down!”

Now! thought Baldo.

Now was the time for him to employ the trick he prepared.

After hearing a certain signal, Staboros had waited on standby behind the pile of stones that Baldo collected.

As Baldo stood up, he shouted,

Gedan!3

and rushed toward his enemy.

The sword fiend was naturally aware of his surroundings, but Yotish had his eyes set only on Baldo.

From behind the pile, Staboros kicked the stones.

That certain signal was when before the duel Baldo said, Tsk-tsk.

He taught it to Staboros when he was young, as a practical joke.

As the stones collected were for a campfire, they were of considerable size.

From the kick, several stones were launched through the air toward the two enemies of Baldo.

The sword fiend was again able to dodge the rocks with aplomb.

As he did so, however, Yotish was released from his grip.

One of the stones struck Yotish square in the back.

Perhaps it was the stone or being released from the fiend’s grip that caused Yotish to lose his balance and tumble to the ground before Baldo.

I hoped to land a blow on Venn Ulir at least once, but alas, some things are not meant to be,

thought Baldo as he slit Yotish’s throat.

There Yotish was—laying face-down upon the earth.

A pool of blood slowly grew from beneath him.

Baldo then entered a fighting stance once more to receive the sword fiend’s offensive, but the man instead coldly stared at the collapsed Yotish, unmoving.

No longer did Baldo sense a desire to do battle from the fiend.

Baldo witnessed the scene with confused thoughts and then asked Venn Ulir,

Are you unhappy to see your employer perish?

“I’m not unhappy to see him die.

Neither is he my employer.

With him gone, though, it’s simply that I don’t know what to do after I kill you.

So I no longer have a reason to fight.

I will put this duel on hold for the time being,”

responded Venn Ulir.

Once the blood stopped flowing from Yotish’s neck, he tied the body to his horse, mounted his own horse, and holding the reins of both, disappeared into the distance.

3

Baldo covered the blood on the ground with dirt and moved to a nearby spot to set up camp.

As he made preparations, he wondered what exactly Yotish had been planning.

They clearly wanted him dead.

But why?

Perhaps they feared Baldo would take action against them.

Yet Baldo could do nothing to harm Coendela, for he was alone and possessed nothing.

Were they worried?

It was not outside the realm of possibility, but employing the services of a man such as Venn Ulir did not come cheap.

There were countless ruffians among their ranks, and with but ten of them could they make swift work of a single old man.

There were even some whose swordsmanship surpassed Baldo’s as he was now.

I wonder if he must keep it secret from his own flesh and blood.

Though, I suppose one would be hard-pressed to send their powerful vassals away.

Baldo himself rarely ventured far from the main castle’s fortifications in his day.

If Venn Ulir truly wished for Baldo’s demise, then how could one explain his peculiar actions.

He said he did not know what to do after killing Baldo, which implied that Baldo’s death was not his aim, but rather something that came after.

Well then.

If they did not attack only to maim and kill me, then what does that mean?

Did they intend to use my corpse for something?

Is it perhaps something in my possession they desire?

But I’ve left behind everything of value that I owned.

Baldo suddenly recalled the strange glint in Yotish’s eyes when he received the pouch of coins.

He had already checked the contents of the pouch but found there was inside naught but money.

So too was the bag itself exceedingly normal.

Baldo did not know what to think.

There was an even more pressing matter to attend to, however.

Dinner was ready.

The freshly-caught fish were sizzling hot.

He ground the delectable rock salt he purchased from the last town he visited and sprinkled it atop.

There was an irresistible smell.

Baldo retrieved a jar of alcohol and a cup from his belongings.

Upon his departure, Cedelmont gave Baldo three jars of spirit and called it a parting gift.

What a considerate fellow,

rejoiced Baldo.

It was surely a fine alcohol and surely as dry as Baldo liked it.

It was truly the most pressing concern of the night—in what manner is this spirit best enjoyed?

He decided to make a soup.

He decided to have just a bit of jerky.

Once the fish was grilled to the perfect extent, he took a small sip of the alcohol.

Incredible!

He bit into the fish.

Firstly into the meat on it’s back.

Wow!

Freshwater fish often possessed a strong smell, but this one was utterly stunning.

Next he bit into the stomach.

Mm-mm!

Nary a trace of bitterness.

In fact it was almost sweet.

Perhaps because it was so fresh?

Perhaps because of the type?

Glistening oil coated the meat of the stomach—it was an inexpressible delicacy.

Such a sweet, fragrant experience could be said to be a privilege solely of the fisherman.

Ah, who cares about all that difficult nonsense.

I hunger, I prepare delicious food and spirit, I savor it all.

There is no greater bliss than this.

The gash on his right leg continued to radiate pain, but with more alcohol in his body would he soon forget it.

His hip continued to hurt, but what could be done about it now?

No longer was he at the age to cower in fear of death.

He had done all he needed to do.

All that was left was to live as though truly alive and then die.

As he gazed at the starry sky and the wind crossed the river to brush against his flushed cheeks, Baldo enjoyed his supper.