Episode 16

The atmosphere in the training ground was a bit awkward. On the surface, the energy was just as intense as yesterday, with heat radiating from every corner. Yet, beneath it all, everyone’s attention was quietly fixed on one place.

On the young masters of the noble family they served.

“You need to warm up properly. Otherwise, the risk of injury increases.”

“Ugh… like this?”

Deo had taken on the task of overseeing the young masters’ physical training. He was the only one still using injuries as an excuse to slack off, but more importantly, despite his temperament, he was skilled enough that Derga trusted him completely. His duties likely included keeping an eye on Ian and dealing with any problems immediately.

“Brother, stretch your arm further back.”

“Ah, I can’t! It hurts too much.”

Still, Ian appeared to be diligently helping Chel. With Deo around, every move they made would reach Derga’s ears. It would be foolish to cause misunderstandings, and wise to avoid letting their guard down.

“We’ll start with basic endurance. No quitting halfway. After about an hour of running, I’ll check your wooden sword stance.”

Chel’s nose was damp with sweat as he pouted miserably. The sun was only going to get hotter as time passed. Deo glanced at his watch and then at the two boys’ faces.

‘If I push them too hard, they’ll quit after a few days.’

It wasn’t just a matter of annoyance. In the long run, neither of them should even be near the training ground. Ian was being sold off to the Cheonryeo tribe, so that was one thing. But especially Chel—he’d be assisting Count Bratz more and more as time went on. If the command over the mercenaries shifted, it would be like losing his own livelihood.

“By the way, what about the knights?”

Ian, slowly stretching, asked. He’d been thinking about it since yesterday—most of the trainees gave off a rough, unrefined vibe. There wasn’t a single one with the polished air typical of knights.

‘Well, Deo himself isn’t a knight, so that figures.’

Deo seemed to have no title. The household servants all called him by different names, but none ever used “knight.” He hadn’t even been seen wearing the family’s crest.

“They’re considered too noble for this place. They train separately in their own grounds. This lot? Just guys who used to wield pickaxes and now hold swords. Why? Want lessons from a knight?”

Deo tapped the ground with a stick and laughed. His teeth looked unusually black today. His rough tone made him seem like he was just waiting for someone to pick a fight.

“That’s enough. Everyone has their own teacher, right?”

Deo’s words were a polite way of saying Ian was only fit for beginners. But Ian didn’t seem to catch the hint; he just scratched his ear indifferently and turned away.

“Alright then. Let’s run.”

No territory was without knights. Every domain had elite knights. The Bratz domain was no exception. They surely carried out secret protection and orders.

Thwack!

‘At the border, there might be about ten at most.’

Due to the imperial court’s restrictions on local forces, nobles could only keep a limited number of knights. A true knight was recognized for skill and experience—battle-tested against monsters or in wars with other nations. They were in a league far above the ragtag farmers turned swordsmen here.

‘They must be pretty good.’

Especially since they were stationed at the border, facing the Cheonryeo tribe. And despite nearly two weeks here, Ian had never sensed their presence. They were truly shadows of Derga.

“Keep running!”

“Huff… huff…”

Chel dragged his feet, drooling. They were only on their second lap. Ian caught his breath lightly and moved ahead.

Deo, walking wearily, glanced at Ian.

‘He even knows how to regulate his breathing.’

Not exactly in great shape, but smart in how he moved. Unlike Chel, who was falling behind, Ian steadily kept pace behind Deo.

Meanwhile, on the other side.

Two kids sparred with wooden swords.

“Arrgh!”

“Beric, you crazy—no!”

Thwack! Thwack!

Beric swung his sword relentlessly. His opponent stepped back, not because of overwhelming strength, but simply reacting to the onslaught.

Beric’s expression soured.

“Damn it!”

Something was off. Last night, his body felt light as if it could fly. Now, it was like the effects of some drug had worn off. Desperately, Beric thrust his sword to hold onto the fading sensation.

“Hey! Take it easy!”

Thwack!

His sparring partner snapped, annoyed. Their swords clashed in a wide arc. Beric finally stopped to catch his breath, and the other spat, calling him unlucky.

“I told you I don’t want to do this!”

“You lost the bet this morning, Meiral.”

No one wanted to spar with Beric. He never took it easy. His ferocity was so real that some trainees had gotten hurt.

The others laughed and teased Meiral, who muttered curses and retreated to the rest area. Left alone, Beric picked up his fallen wooden sword.

“Beric.”

The voice was familiar now. Beric looked at Ian with red eyes. Sweaty, Ian smiled brightly.

“What is it?”

“You’re not telling me to leave anymore.”

“…When did I ever say that?”

“Looks like you really were out of it back then. You don’t even remember what you said.”

Actually, Ian had just realized earlier that the one who poured water on him in the past was the illegitimate son, Ian. The family’s retainers kept gossiping about the young masters showing up at the training ground, and Ian had overheard it without meaning to.

Ian smiled and tapped Beric’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s fine. Everyone gets a bit dazed under the scorching sun.”

Beric had no intention of replying. His attitude was more like, “Say what you want.” After all, what could a young illegitimate son do? Slowly dragging his sword, he moved toward the shade, with Ian following.

Beric frowned and glanced back.

“Chel brother’s going to take a while to get here. I’m just going to rest and walk slowly.”

Behind them, Deo was roughly dragging Chel along. He kept helping him up whenever he collapsed, utterly exhausted.

“Want some?”

Ian pulled out some well-dried jerky from his pocket. The servants had packed it so they wouldn’t go hungry during training. Winning someone’s favor often starts with the basics—fulfilling their needs is the most effective way.

But—

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“There’s no reason to eat it.”

Beric brushed it away without hesitation.

It was unexpected. No matter how much Derga focused on expanding the mercenary force, orphaned soldiers like Beric wouldn’t be living comfortably. At best, they were just scraping by compared to when they were outside.

“Step aside. Sijo.”

“That sounds weird. If you’re going to be polite, do it properly.”

“…”

Still, Beric was firm. Even knowing Ian was the illegitimate son, he didn’t change his behavior. He thoroughly rejected kindness and goodwill.

Ian thought it was a bit difficult at first, but then realized this was actually a good thing.

‘Right. I need limbs, not loyal followers.’

If someone isn’t interested in trivial things, they probably have their own principles. As long as those are met, you can make a clean, straightforward contract.

Of course, the ideal is to build a master-servant relationship based on trust and faith.

Rrrip.

Beric wrapped his right hand and wooden sword tightly with bandages. Without hesitation, he opened the rest area door and called out to his comrade—Meiral, the one he’d just been sparring with.

“Meiral. Come out.”

“Did you lose your mind? Where did you get that name from…”

“The match isn’t over.”

Was he really crazy? Meiral frowned sharply, and a burly man across from him stood up instead. He looked twice Beric’s size.

“…You’ve been acting up since yesterday, huh?”

“Get lost. I’ve got no business with you.”

“Meiral says he’s got no business with you either!”

Bang!

The man grabbed Beric’s head and slammed it against the wall in an instant. Beric, seemingly used to it, didn’t flinch and swung his wooden sword back.

“Get lost!”

Smack! Thud!

Ian chewed on his jerky, watching the scene unfold.

Beric’s temperament was definitely not normal. He seemed fearless of violence and obsessed with strength and winning.

Smack! Thud!

What was unfortunate was that reality was harsh despite his spirit. No matter how much Beric fought, he couldn’t beat a man twice his size.

“Crazy bastard! Cut it out already!”

Smack! Smack!

Thwack!

The man kicked Beric hard in the stomach like a ball.

Oof. That must hurt, Ian thought, worried, as Beric collapsed. The man dusted off his hands and chuckled.

“Keep acting up and you won’t last long. Would be nice if you died early, haha!”

“Ugh…”

Beric lay flat, gasping for breath. Ian crouched down beside him. Golden hair spilled over Beric’s face.

“Want me to teach him a lesson?”

Ian whispered. Beric closed his eyes.

“…Get lost, damn it.”

“Why? Don’t you want to win? There are many ways to win in this world.”

Even as an illegitimate son, Ian could easily handle a trainee like Beric with just a word.

But Beric raised his middle finger.

“That kind of thing doesn’t mean anything.”

Raw strength. That was the only measure by which the world was lived. Even when his entire family knelt and begged under his father’s violence, even when their home was soaked in blood from a ruthless robber’s blade, Beric could do nothing. All he could do was watch.

Ian didn’t know the full story, but he understood the meaning behind it.

“Yeah. That’s what you mean.”

Just then, Chel collapsed backward in the distance. Deo and the other men gathered around, shaking Chel’s body anxiously. Beric, still with his eyes closed, replied without opening them.

“Say one more word to me, and I’ll kill you.”

“But look at you… tsk tsk.”

“Damn it—”

Ian placed his hand over Beric’s eyes. Beric was crouched low, head bowed, so no one else could see his face. And with Chel falling backward, everyone’s attention was drawn away.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea for you.”

Beric’s gaze burned beneath Ian’s palm—fiery, intense. It was no coincidence his pupils glowed red.

“That strong power you want? I can give it to you.”

“Bullshit. You’re crazy.”

“If I give you what you need, you’ll have to give me what I need in return.”

His voice was serious, almost solemn. When Beric stayed silent, Ian chuckled softly. It was surprising that Beric didn’t respond. If he couldn’t even brush off a casual remark, then beneath his rough tone, he must be a serious person.

Zzzzzing.

Without hesitation, Ian poured magic into Beric—just a bit more than yesterday. Still, it wasn’t enough to awaken him fully. Since a magic swordsman’s apprenticeship lasts at least a year, Beric would need to invest that much time as well.

“…!”

Beric’s fingertips twitched. The pain that had consumed his body washed away like water. The coolness was refreshing, awakening his mind. He heard his pounding heartbeat in his ears and suddenly sprang to his feet.

“Whoa.”

Ian pulled his hand back in surprise. In that moment, their golden eyes met. The connection lasted only a moment.

Beric slowly turned his head. It was as if dead nerves were coming back to life—everything felt sharp and sensitive. The man who had knocked him down was standing with his arms crossed, watching Chel.

“Tsk tsk. If only you’d been like this from the start…”

“That’s why Count Bratz…”

The words lingered in Beric’s ears. His eyes sparkled, and instinctively, he lunged forward. The wooden training sword felt cumbersome, so he threw it aside and threw a punch.

Smack!

“Aaah!”

“…?”

The man turned his head at the shout. What met his eyes was Beric, covered in blood, charging at him. For some reason, though there wasn’t a breath of wind, Beric’s hair whipped wildly.

Only Ian knew—that was the flow of magic.