Chapter 42: Déjà Vu and the Masked Swordsman
The man who stepped forward with a sigh glanced at his companions sprawled on the ground and muttered coldly, “Can’t you tell? He’s not someone you can handle.”
Then he turned to face me.
In his eyes lingered both exasperation toward his companions and a quiet fighting spirit.
“I’ve got no grudge against you, and it’s obvious we’re the ones in the wrong. But… they asked me for help. Don’t take it personally.”
With that, he slowly—yet fluidly—drew the longsword at his waist.
I, too, quietly drew the spare sword I had borrowed from the workshop.
“Rowena, stay back.”
I lightly pushed her behind me, urging her toward cover.
Step by step, we closed the distance, measuring each other carefully.
He moved first.
Clang!
A sharp overhead strike came down with a powerful step forward, and I caught it with my blade.
For several exchanges, the dry sound of steel echoed as we tested each other’s strength.
His swordsmanship was far sharper—and heavier—than those of the men before him.
In the midst of it, I caught sight of one of the earlier thugs trying to sneak around behind me.
I clicked my tongue and, with my free left hand, drew one of the throwing knives I had just bought.
Whoosh—
The knife cut through the air and embedded itself in the ground just a few centimeters in front of the man’s feet.
“—Don’t move.”
At my cold voice, the man let out a shriek and collapsed where he stood.
The skilled swordsman I was facing barked at him, “Don’t pull that kind of stunt!”
Then the clash resumed.
He repeatedly pressed with attacks from above.
After several exchanges, he unleashed his sharpest strike yet—a diagonal slash from the right.
But it wasn’t just a simple downward cut.
As the blade sliced through the air, his body sank low, like a powerful spring being compressed to its limit, every muscle tensing.
And then—
At the very instant the diagonal strike reached its end—
That stored power exploded.
From the lowered stance, he kicked off the ground, sending a sharp upward slash arcing in the opposite direction, as if to pierce the heavens.
A two-hit combination.
That was the true essence of the technique.
An ordinary opponent would focus on the weight of the first strike and fail to react to the instantly reversing blade, getting cut down in the process.
But I had seen this sword style before.
At a martial tournament I once entered while hiding my face behind a mask, a noble-born knight I fought in the finals had used a nearly identical technique.
The first strike draws the opponent’s focus downward, then the stored momentum is released into the second.
A deadly surprise attack—but it doesn’t work twice.
I deflected the diagonal slash with minimal movement and lowered my body at the same time.
The returning blade passed just above my head.
As he lost his balance and left himself wide open, I slipped behind him.
The cold tip of my blade touched his neck.
“…I yield. My loss.”
The man admitted it cleanly and sheathed his sword.
Then, as if recalling something, he stared at my stance.
“…That movement… I’ve seen it somewhere…”
Before he could say more, I retrieved my throwing knife, took Rowena’s hand, and quickly left the scene.
For the next few days, while my sword was being serviced, we spent our time quietly at the inn.
Rowena diligently practiced her letters, munching on the herbal candies from the apothecary and the baked sweets we bought from the dining hall.
One day during a walk, she found a round, sparkling stone by the riverside and ran over to me.
Holding it out, she clearly said—
“Edo… pretty.”
It was the first time she had properly connected two words together.
I felt a quiet sense of emotion at her steady improvement in speech.
A few days later, when I returned to the workshop to retrieve my sword, the craftsman let out a sigh of admiration as he handed it back to me, polished to a shine.
“It really is a fine blade… Say, could this sword have anything to do with that masked swordsman who used to dominate the martial tournaments in the capital?”
I tilted my head without changing my expression.
“Haven’t seen him in years, but when he showed up, it was overwhelming. The strongest fighters back then were tossed around like children. The craftsmanship of this sword, the way it’s been maintained—you can tell the wielder’s skill just from that. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a blade and its user match at such a high level.”
In high spirits, the craftsman added, “Here, take these as thanks,” and gave me a few smoke bombs and other small tools.
Then, as I was leaving, he added one more thing.
“By the way, those thugs you had trouble with the other day—they’ve been sniffing around asking about you. You’d better be careful.”
That was the final deciding factor.
We couldn’t afford to stay in this town any longer.
Returning to the inn, I immediately began preparing for departure.
The laundry we had hung in the room was now completely dry.
“Rowena, how’s your foot?”
When I asked, she jumped in place, grinned, and gave me a thumbs-up.
It seemed she was fully recovered.
With a warm send-off from the innkeeper, we left the riverside town of the Apon River behind.
Our destination—
The southern city, “Vaide.”