Chapter 72
“Many members requested a spar with you, didn't they? Sir Maximov included?”
“That is correct. Sir Maximov, in particular, was a remarkable knight, unlike any I have ever seen.”
Owen sent a grateful look to Karl, who had indirectly indicated that Maximov was not a traitor.
“Truly thankful news.”
The sound of sipping tea was heard again.
“What kind of person is the other Sword Master?”
“He's like a wolf. His name is Shylock.”
“How did you two meet?”
Owen calmly opened his mouth, his characteristically chilly face unchanged.
“He is sort of… like a disciple of mine.”
“A disciple?”
“He was a fellow solely faithful to his instincts. He didn't enjoy slaughter. It was just that, despite his young age, he didn't hesitate to shed blood to survive. His skill back then was around Sword Expert level, I believe…. Of course, he wasn't a knight either. To put it kindly, he was an unaffiliated mercenary.”
The man with the cold face drinking tea before me might have been, contrary to that face, a person with affection.
Of course, that wouldn't change his snake-like mind.
“I spoke to such a fellow. I told him to follow me. I said I would make him a knight. Do you know what he said to me then?”
“I do not know.”
It was completely unexpected.
“He asked if becoming a knight meant he could obtain everything he desired. So, I told him that was largely true.”
“He must have followed immediately.”
“Yes, because he had nothing in his hands. He had always been preoccupied with surviving, constantly watching those around him.”
I understood.
The reason street thugs lived like there was no tomorrow was because they couldn't guarantee their heads would still be attached the next day.
Perhaps the man named Shylock had been constantly observing his surroundings and being cautious with his less-than-stellar skills.
Unless he wanted to die, he would have had no choice.
“Does he wish to be your successor?”
“Why do you ask such a thing?”
“Please answer first.”
Owen glanced briefly at Karl, who was suddenly asking strange questions.
His eyes were serious.
“I don’t know either. The possibility isn't non-existent, I suppose.”
“Did you not call him a disciple? Doesn’t that mean you intend to pass things down?”
Looking at the slightly cooled tea, he spoke softly.
“Our master-disciple relationship wasn't very good. And crucially, he doesn’t have the capacity to be the head of an organization.”
Watching Owen, who seemed somewhat lost in thought, Karl downed the cooled tea in one go and rose to his feet.
“I shall take my leave. It seems it will take a long time to look around again.”
Owen Shaw, the head of Alcantara, watched the door Karl had exited through, recalling the eyes that had looked straight at him just moments before.
“He really is an interesting fellow.”
He thought once again that he must acquire the man named Karl Meyer.
He needed a successor.
Maximov was too old, and Shylock was not suited to be the Knight Commander.
There was nothing wrong with strong personal martial ability, but the position of Knight Commander was not one that solely demanded the greatest martial prowess.
In contrast, Karl was perfect in every aspect.
Strong martial power, an excellent mind, and an unshakable spirit.
Owen looked in the direction Karl had left, sipped the reheated tea again, and savored it.
***
Inside a luxurious room, a dark-skinned man sat with three women attending to him.
Across from this man, Shylock, sat a figure wearing a robe pulled low and a spider mask.
“The time has finally come, Sir Shylock.”
“What time?”
“The time for you to become the master of this Alcantara.”
Shylock showed a wry smile at the man’s appearance.
“Master of Alcantara? I have no interest in such things.”
“If you possess Alcantara, you will be able to live a new life.”
“Hmph.”
At the man's cynical reaction, the one wearing the spider mask, seemingly accustomed to it, paid no mind to Shylock's response and spoke again.
“If you become the master of Alcantara, you will be able to live as you wish.”
“Is that so? What do I wish for?”
“Don't you want to live as you please, without caring about anyone's gaze? If you become the master of a knight order like Alcantara, that could happen. Freedom is not free. That too must be seized by force.”
Shylock closed his eyes for a moment.
The women beside him pressed into Shylock's embrace, but he remained indifferent.
“Yes, strength is everything. Strength, indeed.”
Shylock opened his eyes halfway and looked at the spider mask.
The spider mask explained the future course of events to Shylock in detail.
After Shylock left the premises, the spider mask looked at the women before him.
“Was there anything different from usual?”
“There was nothing.”
“If you notice even the slightest difference, report it immediately.”
“We will keep that in mind.”
The women bowed their heads deeply, and the spider mask departed.
***
The time Shylock left the place was approximately dawn.
He headed towards the training ground with staggering steps.
Since becoming a Master, he could sober up whenever he wanted, but Shylock had no desire to correct his drunken state.
“Ha.”
His vision blurred.
The bandits who raided his village in his childhood had beheaded his father.
And before his very eyes, they pierced his mother’s heart, killing her.
It was a turbulent era, an era where countless people experienced things similar to Shylock.
After that, Shylock was dragged away by the bandit group and lived as their drudge.
There, Shylock, who obeyed when told to crawl and barked when told to bark, learned swordsmanship by watching over their shoulders, and after growing up, he slaughtered all the bandits with his own hands.
He thought his heart would feel lighter after achieving revenge, but reality was different.
He was lost.
He didn't know what to do, nor did he know what he wanted to become.
At first, he wandered aimlessly.
Since his skill with the sword was still quite decent, reaching the level commonly called Expert, he had some confidence in his abilities.
Wandering like that, Shylock realized that with his level of skill, he couldn't grasp anything meaningful or live enjoying the freedom of choice.
Mid-level Expert was certainly enough skill to make a living with a sword, but there were too many on the continent far superior to him.
Constantly watching his surroundings everywhere, focusing only on continuing to breathe without dreams or hope, he met a man one day.
Despite not having outstanding skills, all his decisions were resolute and firm.
Even in simple gestures like extending a hand or turning his head, confidence could be felt.
Shylock felt a strange attraction to the man who was completely different from himself, who swayed, influenced by everything.
“Have you ever thought of becoming a knight?”
“…I hear things about chivalry and whatnot… That’s not my style.”
“I said become a knight, who asked you to become a hero?”
“Aren’t all knights like that originally?”
“Knights are just people too. The only difference is that they are people who possess power.”
“What changes if one possesses power?”
“One gains the ability to choose. You can eat what you want, have what you want. Then, if you wish to protect someone, you can protect them. If you wish to punish someone, you can punish them. You become a little freer than others.”
“Do what I want. Become free.”
Shylock's eyes sparkled for the first time since he was born.
For the first time, he had a goal.
Gain power, become free.
He repeated those words to himself for a long time.
And so, Shylock became Owen's knight.
‘Am I free?’
As he walked staggering, he posed a question to himself.
Does possessing power make one free?
He had reached the Master level, acclaimed by all as a great realm.
But was he truly free now?
‘Am I not free because I possess less power?’
He asked himself.
No answer came.
The spider mask told him he could become free if he possessed the Alcantara Knights.
Was that truly the case?
Lost in thought, Shylock's steps had unknowingly reached the training ground.
Whenever his mind became this complicated, he always came to the training ground to swing his sword.
Whoosh! Swish!
He heard the sound of someone already swinging a sword during the dawn hours, which were usually his alone time.
This place, located farthest among the several training grounds of Alcantara, was a spot unused by anyone at dawn.
‘…’
Shylock felt his body unknowingly stiffen at the sight of the man’s swordplay, wielded without a speck of Aura.
The man swung, cut, thrust, retreated, advanced, leaped up, and landed, repeating endlessly.
Shylock distractedly followed the movements of that swordsmanship.
‘Ah…!’
He momentarily thought the swordsmanship was beautiful.
It was ridiculous to find beauty in a sword meant for cutting people, but it was truly so.
“I heard from Sir Maximov. That your rapier is truly fierce.”
Lost in watching, Shylock snapped back to reality at the voice that suddenly reached him.
It was the first time he had stared so intently at someone else's training.
Since Shylock was rarely surprised, he grew even more embarrassed, his face turning red.
“I did not intend to spy.”
“…”
His words were cold, but their content was far from coldness.
As he looked with strange eyes, the flustered Shylock cleared his throat.
“Anyway, I apologize for appearing to have spied.”
It was when he turned his body to leave the training ground.
“Are you just going to leave?”
Shylock’s body turned back.
“Since you’ve come all this way, wouldn’t it be good to cross swords at least once before leaving?”
Karl, 20 years his junior, issued a provocation.
He too had heard the rumor that the Knight of the Lighthouse was a knight who had reached Master level, but he considered him nothing more than a novice.
“Arrogant. Or perhaps, confident.”
Despite his muttering, Karl simply let his sword hang loosely and just stared at Shylock.
Shylock silently drew his rapier, held a main gauche in his left hand, and quickly charged towards Karl.
A short while later, lying sprawled alone on the training ground floor, an incredulous laugh escaped Shylock's lips.
“Heh…”
In the end, Shylock won.
However, he won uncomfortably.
If it had been a life-or-death struggle where they bet their lives, not a spar, he might have been the one whose head fell.
‘Did he say he was only twenty-five?’
Shylock was inwardly astonished at Karl's age.
A Master at that age was already hard to believe, but having skills comparable to his own was even harder to believe.
[I don't know what troubles you, but the tip of your sword wavers. Being a Master and all, surely you wouldn't put your worries into your sword. Your path is already contained within the Aura you bloom. Next time, I wish to face your true sword.]
After the spar ended, Karl's words as he left felt like lightning striking him from the top of his head.
‘My path is already contained within my Aura?’
He quietly closed his eyes and sank into meditation.