Seeing the face from the photograph in the flesh gave Yujin a massive headache. While he was glad he had managed to leave a good impression, it was clear that revealing he had been specifically looking for Raquelamalin was a bad move. To her, a stranger appearing with her likeness would look like nothing more than a bounty hunter sent to drag a runaway back to her cage.
If she grew wary, she would vanish into the shadows of the city. That was the worst-case scenario.
"Is that why you were hiding under that suffocating cloak...?" Yujin asked, steering the conversation to a safer topic. He looked at her horns, which rose like a crown of thorns.
"It couldn't be helped. Our horns are... distinct. It makes us very easy to identify," Raquelamalin said, her fingers grazing the jagged bone. Indeed, a Banshee‘s horns were rare enough in Terra that anyone with a shred of knowledge would recognize her race instantly.
"Where have you been staying?"
Her status as both an Infected and a citizen of Kazdel would have limited her options significantly. The world looked down on the Infected, but it held a special brand of loathing for the Sarkaz.
"Nowhere pleasant. But we‘ve always lived that way, haven't we?" she replied with a bitter smile.
Yujin and the girl had only just met. There were many things they couldn't yet discuss.
"Regardless, I wanted to thank you. I didn't expect to run into one of our own here."
"I wouldn't have acted this way if we weren't of the same blood," Yujin replied.
He intended the words as a sign of solidarity, but for a split second, Raquelamalin‘s gaze turned icy.
"There are far more Sarkaz who wouldn't act like you than there are those who would."
"…Is that so?"
"Who knows? Maybe you‘re just the exception. The 'kind' one."
The woman, whose expressions were sparse and controlled, offered a final nod before preparing to depart. But Yujin reached out and caught her attention once more.
"Since we‘re here, why not trade names? I might be able to help you again later."
He was desperate to leave at least one thread of connection. Raquelamalin hesitated, weighing the risk, before finally speaking.
"Larin. You can call me Larin. I don't know if we‘ll cross paths again... but if we do, I hope it‘s under good circumstances."
With that, she vanished into the darkness. The raven that had guided Yujin let out a sharp cry and followed her, leaving only a single black feather behind on the pavement.
"…I guess I should be satisfied with this for now."
Sarkaz sorcery and Arts were capable of many extraordinary things. For now, it was better to build rapport slowly without triggering her suspicions—much like Larin had just vanished, he needed to be patient.
Yujin scratched his head and turned back. Too much had happened today; he needed to head back to the inn and sort his thoughts.
One week passed.
Yujin hadn't seen Larin again, but his meetings with Kisha continued. They had grown quite close; he would often buy her food, and she would hang around him before disappearing back to wherever she was staying.
As Yujin‘s search for Raquelamalin hit a stalemate, he found himself spending more time at the park with Kisha. Recently, their primary source of entertainment had been a small "brat" who showed up daily.
It was a bright afternoon, and Yujin sat on their usual bench with Kisha, watching a boy practice with a wooden sword. The boy‘s forms were atrocious. He swung the blade with such reckless abandon that Yujin worried he‘d tear a tendon or dislocate his own shoulder.
While a wooden sword was light, the way the boy used it was nothing more than a series of crude, club-like swings—the kind of movements a street thug might use in a brawl. Yet, the boy had been repeating this "training" for a week straight. He looked exhausted, pushing his body to a point that seemed counterproductive.
He was a golden-haired Kuranta, his locks shining in the sun. Every time Yujin looked at him, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu.
"Why is he doing that?" Kisha asked, watching the boy stumble through another swing. She sounded genuinely curious as to what would drive someone to work that hard at being that bad.
"Who knows. Maybe he dreams of being a knight. Or maybe he just wants to get stronger."
Watching the boy, Yujin was reminded of his own past. Had he ever looked that desperate? He remembered his days with Theresis and Theresia, running through the dirt, doing anything to survive. Before he met Aorn, he too had practiced with a pathetic wooden stick. Because he didn't know the right way, he had to carve his own path. No matter how crude his methods had been, he had clung to them with a death grip.
"…Old man?"
"Don't call me that. Call me your brother, or even just 'sir.' Not 'old man.'"
"You‘re an old man to me."
Yujin sighed at the label. He‘d have to fix her attitude later. For now, he stood up and approached the boy.
The boy was so focused he didn't notice Yujin‘s approach. Only when Yujin stepped within his striking range did the boy finally register his presence.
"You're swinging that wrong."
Yujin‘s blunt remark made the boy‘s face scowl. He ignored Yujin and continued his haphazard training, but Yujin didn't leave.
"A wooden sword is light enough that you won't feel it now, but if you swing a real blade like that, you‘ll rip your palms apart."
The boy began to tremble with frustration as Yujin continued his critique, but his mouth didn't stop.
"Tch. You‘re just developing bad habits."
That was the breaking point. The boy threw his wooden sword into the dirt and rounded on Yujin.
"What do you know?! How can you just stand there and lecture me?"
"I know a hell of a lot more than you do. That‘s why I‘m saying it."
"I've never seen your face in Kazimierz! You're not a Sport Knight, you're not a Campaign Knight...!"
"So you only consider Kazimierz citizens to be knights? How narrow-minded."
The boy flinched. Kazimierz wasn't the only land with knights; other nations held similar ranks. One of the most famous examples was the Steam Knights of Victoria.
"…Then what kind of knight are you?"
"Technically? I'm a Knight of Kazdel."
It wasn't a lie. Yujin held a formal title within Kazdel‘s military structure, even if it was largely symbolic.
"Where‘s Kazdel?"
"Ah."
The boy didn't even know the name. I guess 'The Land of the Sarkaz' would have been clearer, Yujin realized.
"Whatever. I'm going back to training. Just... don't interfere."
"Is it interference, or is it advice?"
He was a bit of a brat, but seeing his younger self in the boy‘s eyes made Yujin smile. He watched the boy from the side.
"Do you even have the skill to back up your big talk?" the boy challenged.
Yujin laughed. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be standing here."
"What does that—!"
The boy moved to step forward, but his feet froze.
A cold edge was pressed against the hollow of his throat. He hadn't even seen the draw. The tip of the sword was simply there, as if it had existed in that spot since the beginning of time.
"How‘s that?"
"..."
The boy stared at Yujin with eyes wide with terror. Before Yujin could sheathe the blade, Kisha ran over and kicked him in the leg.
"Ow!"
"Are you crazy, old man?!"
"I was just showing him..."
"If the police see you drawing a blade on a child in the middle of a park, they'll drag you to prison!" Kisha shouted, hitting his arm. Yujin sheepishly slid the sword back into its scabbard.
The boy remained frozen, staring at them both, unable to process the speed of the movement he had just witnessed. As Kisha continued to lecture Yujin, the boy—who had spent his life reading stories of wandering masters—suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Yujin‘s leg.
"Wait, what—?"
"I'll call you Master from now on! Please, teach me how to use a sword!!!"
A hidden master encounter. It was a classic trope from his old novels. The boy had decided he was in the middle of a legendary origin story. Yujin tried to shake him off, but the boy clung to him like a leech.
"Aaaagh!"
"Wait, weren't you just being a brat a second ago? What happened to the attitude?"
"I'm sorry! I was being an idiot! Please, teach me the blade!!!"
Yujin, who had only intended to offer a few pointers, was caught off guard by the boy's 180-degree turn. No matter how much he tried to pull away, the boy possessed a surprising amount of strength and refusal to let go.
Seeing the sheer desperation in the boy‘s eyes, Yujin finally let out a long sigh.
"I‘ll think about it... let go for now!"
"I don't need you to think! I need to learn! No one else will teach me!"
"Then go be a squire for a knight!"
"No one will take me! Not even as a squire!"
Yujin finally pried him off and tried to make a run for it, but being a Kuranta, the boy was unnaturally fast. He stayed right on Yujin‘s heels. Eventually, Yujin gave up and sat back down on the bench.
"Fine. I‘ll teach you. But the moment I see you have no talent, I'm done. Understood?"
He had time now, but he didn't know what the future held. He needed to set clear boundaries.
"Thank you! Thank you, Master!" The boy bowed until his head nearly touched the grass.
Yujin rubbed his temples. "Give me your name first."
"Ah, well..." The boy hesitated for a second, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. Yujin didn't miss it. "Kiril. You can just call me Kiril."
The boy with the golden hair and sun-like eyes grinned as he spoke.
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