"Here. These will be your quarters."
"Oh... it’s much better than where I was living."
The room was perfectly sized for one person. A futon was neatly folded in the corner, with a wardrobe and a desk standing beside it. Warm sunlight streamed through the window. Compared to picking through back-alley trash or sleeping on old newspapers, this felt like a five-star hotel.
"I’m glad you find it adequate."
"What about Lee Sang? Does he sleep here with me?"
"Given our mentor-mentee bond, I’ll take the first watch. Otis will oversee your training, so be prepared."
Otis—that Forte tribeswoman with the rigid posture from earlier.
"But Lee Sang, I have one question."
"What is it?"
"I’m Baekhyun. You’re Lee Sang. But why do the others go by names like Meursault, Sinclair, Faust, and Otis? They all sound... foreign."
"The Sword Sect was formed when sword aficionados—more precisely, those who relish the act of cleaving and piercing in combat—came together. There is no requirement for members to be native-born, and almost no one uses their birth name during operations."
So it really is just a den of lunatics...
"Then is 'Lee Sang' not your real name either?"
"I am Lee Sang, but if that identity isn’t genuine, can I still be called Lee Sang? From the start, there is the concept of my identity and my chosen name. Which one am I truly living as?"
Lee Sang has glitched. What a strange man—he won’t even respond when I call him, just mutters things like 'aspirin' or 'adalin' or some other drug names. Should I just slip out on my own?
"You’re here. Shouldn’t you still be inspecting the buildings with Lee Sang?"
"When I asked him, ‘If Lee Sang isn’t Lee Sang, then what is he?’ he suddenly stared at the sky and began mumbling."
"I see. Understood. Then let me guide you through the remaining buildings."
Faust closed her book and stood up. Behind her, shelves groaned under the weight of countless volumes.
"What are all these books?"
"These are records of the Sword Sect’s techniques. They are written in various languages, some even in extinct grammatical systems. I oversee the restoration and translation of these documents."
All these books? The walls—save for the entrance—were packed from floor to ceiling. My head began to spin.
Hmm... this looks a lot like English.
I knew Danguk’s script resembled Hangul from poring over newspapers as a child, but I never realized parts of it resembled English. Is this the language of Columbia, or Victoria?
"Hmm... ja... buk? beop??"
Is that how you read it? The meaning seems to be “law,” but some words don’t parse.
"Faust, how do you read this? Faust...?"
Her eyes were slightly intimidating.
"You came from the back alleys, didn’t you?"
Am I being suspected?! A spy from another faction?!!!
If Meursault is the leader and the strongest... if I fought Faust and won, could I make it?
"I picked up letters bit by bit in the back alleys. Why?"
I should have grabbed my sword... Could I dash forward and snatch the blade at her waist?
"I see... Stay here a moment."
Still suspecting me? Instant execution? Then maybe I should strike first—!
"...?"
"I’m giving you this. You seem talented with languages; you’ll pick it up quickly. If you have questions, come to me or Lee Sang and we will answer them."
Surprisingly, the book Faust handed me was an elementary-level vocabulary list. I completed high school in the Republic of Korea... and now I’m back to grunt work?
"Where do you think you’re going?"
"No... I want to leave...!"
"You entered at your leisure, but you will not leave on your own terms. Now, this word..."
"I hate studying!!!"
And so, I was force-fed a chaotic torrent of new knowledge.
"It’s already dark. Let’s stop here for today."
Thankfully, the words themselves weren’t too difficult, and they didn’t differ drastically from the grammar and vocabulary I already knew—plus, Faust’s patience helped me learn quickly.
"I’m hungry... sleepy..."
Not that I enjoyed it—every time we resumed the lesson, sleep slammed into me like a freight train.
"Oh? How far have you gotten?"
"I’ve been with Faust here for hours. Lee Sang is weird."
"Weirdness is expected of Lee Sang. More importantly, have you tested your sword yet?"
"No. Instead, he studied language. Baekhyun, you have an unexpected gift for languages."
"‘Unexpected’ isn’t exactly a compliment, is it?"
"Ahem... I’ll head to the mess hall first. You two should check out the training grounds."
"Stop dodging the question—right?!!!"
"Good idea, Miss Faust. Let’s go, Baekhyun."
I’ll remember that clever lunatic.
"This is the training ground."
It was a flat plateau at the mountain’s summit, with several wooden dummies set up.
"This is... just an open field?"
"Form follows function, not aesthetics. This space is frequently used by me and others."
True—if someone like Meursault swung a blade indoors, the building would likely collapse.
"Now can we go eat? I swear I won’t cling to the ceiling or walls."
"Hmm. Let’s go. I’m getting hungry too—it's dinner time."
"Mmm, this is good."
"I appreciate a palate that isn’t finicky, youngster."
Dinner consisted of rice with soy sauce, gim, and a few side dishes. I was grateful for even this.
"You eat with such gusto! I like it!"
"If I don’t eat now, who knows when I’ll be rifling through dumpsters again."
".................."
"Did I let that slip?"
But it was true. To get a decent meal, you had to raid a back-alley office with some reputation or scavenge through the trash. I had practically lived in dumpsters until I was seven.
"Here. Eat this too. Whether plant or human, growth requires nourishment."
"Th-this is... well, it’s meat, but okay! Please, take it! Quickly!!!"
"You’re gripping it so hard it’s tearing—Don Quixote?"
"If this is okay, would you like some?"
"Youngster, don’t try to sneak vegetables to me on the sly."
"Ugh... it’s not that..."
I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d had such a lively meal.
I was... happy.
For now, that was enough.
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