Three days had passed since leaving Cedrica. From the night he'd passed through the royal capital's gates and headed north before dawn, Halden Owen had walked in silence. Had King Vales III come to the training grounds the next morning? What expression had crossed his face when he opened the door to the Silent Blade Chamber and found it empty? Just imagining it caused a slight ache in his chest. But he couldn't bring himself to stop walking. The Northern Road was dusty. Once the stone-paved streets of the southern districts ended, the ground became dry and mixed with gravel. Low trees lined both sides, and with each gust of wind, their leaves carried a powdery scent. As the sun climbed higher, the temperature rose, and the inside of his coat grew humid. Owen carried only one piece of luggage. Consumables purchased from the blacksmith in Talbo, and preserved food for three days. That was all. His sword was at his hip—a plain longsword without a name, one he'd carried for over fifty years. The hilt and scabbard bore no decoration. But for Owen, that was enough. From Cedrica to the southern edge of Granveld was approximately four hundred fifty kilometers. With a horse, it would take ten days, but Owen had no horse. On foot, the calculation came to over twenty days. Two hundred kilometers to the relay town of Harmunde, then crossing the Regnas Pass and continuing north. The further he went, the worse the security became. Granveld was a lawless territory beyond the reach of national governance, effectively controlled by the largest mercenary company—the Iron Fang Corps—with roughly three hundred members. And recently, there had been talk of a mysterious swordsman named Volkan appearing there. *(No need to rush,)* he thought as he walked, when a small settlement came into view ahead. The settlement was called Garun. A tiny place of only about twenty houses along the Northern Road. It was known as a place where travelers stopped, thanks to a well with fresh water. Since Owen's water skin was running low, he decided to stop. As he entered the settlement, the morning sunlight cast sharp shadows on the ground from the stone buildings. A few chickens wandered lazily along the roadside. An elderly man was mending a net in front of his house; he glanced up as Owen passed, then looked back down. The well was in the middle of the settlement. The moment Owen turned down an alley toward it, he stopped. --- Three men had cornered a girl against a wall. The men were well-built. They wore crude leather armor and had swords and knives at their hips—the sort of bandits commonly encountered on the road. Their eyes were cold, and all three wore twisted smiles. And pressed against the wall was a single girl. She had long water-blue hair, loosely braided. Her bright golden eyes now reflected both anger and fear. A small silver earring glinted on her left ear. She was perhaps one hundred fifty-eight centimeters tall, around sixteen years old. Slender, utterly outmatched in build against the men. Yet she had drawn her sword. She had a stance. Her blade pointed toward the men. But even to an untrained eye—no, trained or not—that stance had problems aplenty. Her feet were too close together. Her center of gravity was too high. Her sword hand was gripping too tightly, the blade trembling slightly. And most of all—her legs were shaking faintly. "[laughing] Hey, look. She's got a sword." "[laughing] Cute, isn't she? Just hand over your stuff and you won't get hurt." The men laughed loudly as they slowly closed the distance. Toying with her. Unhurried. They knew she couldn't escape, so they were enjoying it. "[angry] Don't come any closer!" The girl spoke with bravado. Her voice was stronger than expected. But Owen didn't miss the slight tremor in it. Owen stepped into the alley. He wasn't in any hurry. There was no need to hurry. He approached the three men's backs slowly, with his usual stride. He lowered his water skin from his shoulder, holding it in one hand. "You're in the way." His voice was low. The leader spun around in shock. A single white-haired old man stood there. Black swordsman's garb and a coat. An old scar on his left cheek. A silver belt with vine-pattern embroidery. He could have been any old man, but something about his bearing caught the eye in an odd way. "[angry] What's your problem, old man? Get lost." The leader clicked his tongue and reached for his sword. He took a step forward—and slashed. Owen didn't draw his sword. His right hand moved. That was all. The leader's wrist was seized. Twisted upward. To an angle where bones should break—but stopped just short. A strangled "hic" escaped the leader's mouth, and his sword fell to the ground. At the same moment, Owen's left hand moved. Before the other two could react, his fingers touched each of their necks. Just a light touch, it seemed. But both men froze instantly, as if electricity had run through them. All three collapsed where they stood. "I... with just one finger...!?" The leader's face had gone white, past blue. The other two, hands pressed to their necks, had vacant stares. None of them tried to stand. "[gentle] You should go." When Owen stepped back, all three scrambled to their feet and fled. One stumbled, but kept crawling away. In moments, they vanished from the alley. Two chickens flapped their wings and scattered. Silence fell. "..." The girl stood motionless, mouth agape, sword still in hand. Her golden eyes traced the old man from head to toe, then back again. *(Who is this old man?)* It was written all over her face. Unspoken, but obvious. Owen, without looking at the girl, took his water skin and headed for the well. --- "[gentle] Um, thank you so much!" The girl rushed over. She was fast. Her sword was already sheathed, and she bowed energetically. The trembling from before was gone. She switched moods quickly. "[gentle] It's nothing." Owen answered briefly while pulling the well rope. He filled his water skin. The water was cold and carried a faint earthy scent. Good water. "I'm Lila Vincent." The girl—Lila—introduced herself. She spoke quickly, her emotions flowing directly into her words. "I'm from Toruka in Granveld. Do you know it? It's in the north of the continent, in the lawless wasteland, the southernmost settlement, and—" "I know it." "[surprised] Really? Then you're experienced with travel! I was trying to get back home, walking alone, and I never expected to run into trouble like that." Lila continued talking while observing Owen carefully. An old man, she thought. White-haired, with age lines on his face. But she couldn't get his movements from earlier out of her head. A question mark floated in her eyes. "Why do you want to return home?" Lila's words faltered. Just for a moment. "[gentle] ...I want to see Aunt Gaya." Her tone shifted. Softer than before, but distant. "My mother died of illness when I was young, and Aunt Gaya raised me. She was my mother's acquaintance and runs a general store in Toruka. I owed her so much... so I wanted to go back." The words stopped there. She seemed to search for words about why she hadn't been able to return, her gaze wavering. Then she forced a bright smile and looked at Owen. "Anyway, that's the story! Where are you headed, old man?" "[gentle] Granveld." Lila's expression changed. The brightness vanished for an instant, replaced by something else. Surprise, confusion, and worry mixed together. "[surprised] Huh... alone?" "That's right." "[serious] Wait a minute. Granveld is a den of mercenaries and outlaws, isn't it? The Iron Fang Corps has about three hundred members, they charge tolls, they'll slash anyone they don't like, and recently there's been talk of some dangerous swordsman named Volkan—" "I know." Owen tied his water skin shut while answering calmly. His face was cool. He'd heard Lila's worried words, but nothing about him wavered. That kind of face. Lila watched him silently for a moment. Then: "[serious] I'm coming with you." "No." "[serious] No, wait—did you hear what I just said? It's not a place an old man can go alone." "I know." "[serious] If you know that!" "It's a solitary journey." Owen picked up his luggage and started walking. Lila immediately followed. "[serious] That's exactly why! I'm from Toruka. It's my hometown. I know the lay of the land—the back alleys, where the Iron Fang Corps collects tolls, where you can get water. That kind of information has to be more useful than going alone!" Owen walked in silence. "Think of it as a guide fee. I don't need money. It's free. Completely free. Is that still not okay?" Owen slowed his pace slightly. He let out a small sigh. His feet stopped. "[gentle] Don't become a burden." That was all he said before walking again. "[excited] Leave it to me!" Lila laughed. Her voice was bright. The shadow from before was gone now. She really did switch moods quickly. Owen increased his stride slightly—just returning to his natural pace as a traveler, but it was already close to a young person's brisk walk. "[surprised] Wait, that's fast...!" Lila broke into a jog. Her luggage swayed as she tried to keep pace with the old man. Owen didn't change his speed. *(This is normal,)* he thought, and his mouth curved up just slightly—barely noticeably. --- Evening came. The two decided to stay at a small inn at the edge of Garun. The sign read "Smoky Hearth Tavern." The exterior was plain, but the interior was clean, and the innkeeper—a taciturn woman in her fifties—silently handed them two room keys. Dinner was barley soup and black bread. Lila took a spoonful of soup and said it was delicious. Owen bit into a piece of bread and washed it down with water. There wasn't much conversation. But the silence wasn't uncomfortable. After eating, Lila went outside restlessly. The inn had a small courtyard with open space—the kind used for loading cargo, now empty. The evening sky was stained red, and the mountain ridgeline in the distance appeared black. Lila drew her sword and took a stance. The same stance as midday. Bad in the same ways. Feet too close, center of gravity too high, blade angle off. Everything was slightly wrong. She was serious about it, but to an observer, the fundamental problems were obvious. Owen sat down at the edge of the courtyard and watched silently. Lila noticed and turned around. "[gentle] ...Were you watching?" "Yeah." "How is it?" Owen considered for a moment, then stood and walked into the courtyard. He stood before her, examining her stance from top to bottom. He said just one thing. "[gentle] Turn your right foot's toes out halfway." Lila tilted her head. "My toes...? That's all?" "That's it." Lila did as instructed. She turned her right foot's toes slightly—just halfway—outward. In the next instant. Something clicked into place. Her center of gravity dropped. Her hips stabilized. The tension in her sword hand naturally released. The sensation of stepping forward was completely different from before. She took a step and swung her blade. "[surprised] Huh...?" Lila froze. "What is this? It's completely different!" Her voice jumped. She swung again. And again. The trembling from before was gone, and her blade moved straight. Her body moved as she intended. "[surprised] Why!? How can just the toes make such a difference!?" Owen said nothing. He simply stood there, watching Lila swing her sword. Not satisfied, not proud. As if he'd simply stated something obvious. Sword qi—the technical realm reached only by those who'd honed body and spirit to their limits. A man who'd used it for over fifty years could see the flaws in anyone's stance at a glance. Where it broke, what to fix, how it would change. It came naturally to him. Lila sheathed her sword and leaned her face close to Owen's. "[serious] Wait a second. Who exactly are