Taking the box, I smiled at my uncle and started opening it right away without even saying thanks, since I was far too eager to see what the gift actually was. Whatever it was, Father had called it "the reward of blackmail" and Uncle Bram had clung to it a moment too long, and that alone told me it wasn't some ordinary trinket bought to please a nephew.
Seeing this, they didn't interrupt and let me open the box, though I could feel both of their eyes on my face, as if they were waiting for a show.
Opening the box, I saw an old but well-kept manual lying on a piece of soft cloth. The cover was worn at the corners and the paper had yellowed slightly, but there wasn't a single tear or stain on it. It was obvious that whoever had owned it had treasured it for years. On the cover, a name was written in firm, sharp strokes.
Ghostveil Technique
Just from the name, I knew it had to be quite an extraordinary technique. I didn't know what level it was — the books I had read at home only talked about legends and battles, and never laid out how techniques were graded — but seeing my father go through all this hassle, even half-blackmailing his old comrade, this technique had to be something really good and unique.
While I was mesmerized by the manual, my father said,
"This is a Warrior-level technique."
My eyes widened.
Warrior-level. To be honest, I didn't know what a Warrior-level technique actually meant — where it stood, what was above it or below it, or how many people in this town even had one. But the name alone sounded like something no ordinary person would ever touch, and my father had practically blackmailed his old comrade, a famous hunter, just to get it out of his hands. That was enough to tell me that this was something amazing.
Father smiled.
"But it's different from most techniques at that level. Even an ordinary person can begin practicing its first stage."
He paused.
"As you progress, though, you'll understand why your uncle became famous for it."
Hearing this, I was even more excited. Whatever Warrior-level meant exactly, from the way Father said it, it was clearly not something a butcher's son should have been holding in his hands, and the part about an ordinary person being able to start on it was even better. I hadn't even begun cultivating yet, which meant that with most techniques I would have to wait, while with this one I could start right away. I quickly got up to thank my uncle, who just waved his hand at me while saying to my father with a look of exasperation,
"Well, I'm not that famous, I just made some name using tricks. Rather, it's your father who has..."
My father cut him off here and said, with a slight sternness in his voice,
"It isn't time yet for him to know about us. Once he has actually started cultivating and reached a certain level, he will definitely learn about us — and that will also be when I think about whether to pass my technique on to him or not."
Hearing that there was an even better technique in my father's hands, but that I wouldn't get it now, I was slightly disappointed. A technique that a father who had dragged a famous hunter's unique art out of his comrade's hands considered "better" — I couldn't even imagine what kind of thing it was. I looked at him as if being wronged, but he simply ignored me and took a sip of his booze.
There was clearly something going on between the two of them. This was the second time today that Uncle Bram had started talking about my father's past and the second time my father had stopped him, and both times Uncle Bram had obeyed immediately, like a junior obeying a senior rather than a friend being teased.
Whatever secret they were hiding would still be there when I became strong enough to uncover it myself.
After the trade and the gift were settled, we had quite a lot of fun. Most of the time the two elders did the talking while I just listened, as they gave me instructions on what to do and what not to do in the Martial Hall, how to start cultivating, some basics about martial arts, and so on — don't provoke people you don't know, don't show off, don't owe anyone favours you can't repay. At the same time, they talked about the hunters, some recent rumours, and how everyone in their old hunting crew had been doing since the separation. Although they didn't let slip any information other than the crew's separation, and everything else was something I had already read, heard or seen, I still listened carefully to every word. Most of it was useless to me now, but the names of people, places and beasts might come in handy one day.
We left after 2 hours of chatting, having lunch, receiving instructions, and being collectively teased by the two of them.
After we returned home, Father told me to pack my things and be ready to report to the Martial Hall tomorrow morning. Although I felt that everything was happening quite fast — a few days ago I had only been dreaming about the Martial Hall over my books, and now I was going there tomorrow as an inner disciple — it was exactly what I had yearned for, so I didn't complain. I just nodded to show that I understood and walked off to my room to pack, while he went off with the demon bull cart to return it to its owner. That night I packed a bundle of clothes, my notes and the Ghostveil manual, then read the first few pages of the manual twice before forcing myself to sleep.
Next day,
After having our breakfast, we borrowed the demon bull cart again and rode off to the West Zone of the town, where the Martial Hall is located. Unlike the East Zone, the West Zone was quiet. There were no loud groups of martial artists on the streets, no shouting and no one pushing past anyone, only the sound of the bull's hooves and the wheels of the cart.
It made sense that the Martial Hall had been established here. Training hundreds of martial artists in the middle of the town's most chaotic district would be asking for trouble, and the students would spend more time fighting in the streets than training.
Most of the West Zone is taken up by the Martial Hall, the houses of the Hall's families and the shops the Hall owns, and the Martial Hall itself is quite big, with its own enclosed, town-like facilities. The rest is serene and full of greenery, with some old people living there as well — many say they are the ones who retired from hunting, or who went out into the world to make a name for themselves and, after exhausting themselves, came back here to live out the rest of their days in peace.
Reaching the Martial Hall's entrance, I saw that it wasn't packed like I had imagined. It was rather desolate, and very few people were even walking around the whole block. I saw only two guards outside, and both of them were dozing off.
Seeing this, I glanced at my father, but his face didn't change at all, as if it had always been like this. Seeing me looking at him, he just shrugged and drove the cart right up to the entrance.
Only then did the guards wake up, their muscles tensing and their grips on their spears tightening as they opened their eyes. Seeing my father on the cart, they loosened their grips slightly and gave him a small nod.
(I should have expected this — that even the Martial Hall's people recognize him. I think most of the town, and its top people, must know about him too. That would make sense, given the respectful looks he has been getting since yesterday.)
I thought this to myself as I saw the respect in the guards' eyes when they looked at my father.
Handing them the letter, my father pushed me forward and said,
"This is Kael, he will be studying at the Martial Hall from today. This is his recommendation letter. Take him to the registration office and complete the process."
Taking the letter, the guards glanced at the seal, nodded and asked me to follow them, while I gave my father a hug and said, with some reluctance,
"I will work hard and won't let you down, and I will come back to the shop every month."
(The Martial Hall allows you to return home once every month.)
Seeing my reluctance and hearing my words, my father's eyes softened as he said in a warm tone,
"You don't need to think too much, just do what you want. Anyway, you have your father to take care of you. You can come back to the shop whenever you want."
Hearing this, I smiled and gave him another hug. Whatever he had been in the past, to me he was the man who had spent 100 silver coins and his old connections without blinking just because his son suddenly wanted to walk the martial path. I followed the guards with a smile on my face, excited about what was coming next.
Walking along the road, the guards introduced themselves enthusiastically, as though they wanted to get into my good books, and all I could think of was my father's influence. They also pointed out the buildings around us: the Boys' Hostel, the Girls' Hostel, the Martial Library, which held all the martial arts techniques, the classrooms where we would have our classes, the training grounds, and so on. I memorized the directions as we walked, noting which building was next to which. Getting lost on my first day, in front of people who already resented me, was not something I wanted.
Finally, we reached the registration office. It looked just like any other old office, but it had a strange, wild feel to it that I thought didn't suit a place like a registration office. Entering, the first thing I saw was a giant flaming lion, with literal fire burning in its mane and tail, sitting off to one side, while an old man sat on a chair beside it with a register on the table in front of him. The temperature in the hall was strange — not high, not low, and not normal either, as if it kept fluctuating from moment to moment.
Seeing us enter, the old man turned to look at us and said, with a serious face,
"What are you doing here? We don't do registrations at this time, don't you know?"
Hearing this, the guards quickly explained,
"Sir, this is Kael, who was introduced by Lord Garrick, and he also has a recommendation letter."
(Lord Garrick, Huh!) I thought to myself.
Hearing this, the old man and the lion, which had been ignoring us until now, immediately turned their attention to me. While the old man looked at me curiously, the flaming lion looked quite irritated, its tail flicking and the fire in its mane flaring up, as though it and my father had some history.
Ignoring it, I looked back at the old man as he said, in the same serious voice,
"Garrick it is, then. Kid, I don't think you should join the Martial Hall."