Chapter 11: 11. Saint

4 Silver Coins.

After paying for a week’s stay at the inn, buying laundry service, a bath, and secondhand clothes, I still had money left.

I ordered the cheapest meal at the inn.

What arrived was watery soup and bread that had been sitting unsold for several days.

It wasn’t delicious, but dipping the hard bread in the thin soup made it somewhat edible, though my jaw ached from chewing.

The crusty bread scraped against my throat as I swallowed.

I sighed, stretched, and muttered to myself while recalling yesterday’s events.

“There’s too much I don’t know…”

Being with Van made me realize how ignorant I was.

Since I’ve chosen the path of an adventurer, I’ll inevitably have to work with others-even if I don’t want to. I can’t afford to hold them back when that happens, so gaining basic knowledge feels crucial.

“Grandfather Leon taught me many things, but he couldn’t teach me everything.”

Grandfather Leon was a soldier.

Even to my inexperienced eyes, he didn’t seem like an ordinary soldier, though he always introduced himself as one.

Regardless, his knowledge naturally leaned toward military matters.

He did teach me about adventuring, but much was still lacking.

This era has no internet.

It’s natural that an individual’s knowledge has clear limits.

“Van’s advice was mostly ‘don’t trust people,’ but it was still useful.”

I don’t think Van is a bad person.

If he were truly bad, he wouldn’t have properly calculated and left me my share of the money yesterday after showing his disgust.

Considering what I experienced in Diran, he could’ve beaten me and thrown me into a pit full of goblin corpses instead of giving me money-but he didn’t.

He did choke and throw me, but that seemed like maximum restraint.

I probably can’t act familiar if we meet again, but I’ll still be grateful.

Without Van yesterday, I’d be homeless by now.

“For today, I’ll rest… Starting tomorrow, I’ll work hard again.”

My skin still stung from being thrown to the ground yesterday, and my ankle was swollen-likely from overexertion while running downhill.

“Are you finished? May I clear this?”

The innkeeper’s daughter approached quietly. I nodded permission.

Then I headed to the back door, confirmed no one was around, and drew my sword.

“…My foot hurts, but-”

I can’t skip swordsmanship training.

I have no talent.

So I must compensate with effort.

Everyone knows this obvious truth yet finds it hard to practice.

Those without talent don’t persevere-they quit.

Not because they’re weak, but because they can’t see the fruits of their labor.

For the talented, learning is like walking a moonlit path at night.

The moonlight illuminates the darkness, showing the way.

But the untalented walk in pure darkness.

No sense of direction, not even knowing if they’re moving forward.

They might be walking backward.

“But not me.”

Though no talent lights my path, my destination is clearer than anyone else’s.

My trait made it so.

[Military Swordsmanship E]

Your small frame and difficulty building muscle make swordsmanship unsuitable for you, and your shallow talent leaves you lagging in all aspects.

However, through your effort and an excellent teacher’s guidance, you’ve advanced one step and can now barely claim to practice ‘swordsmanship.’

This trait once grew.

From F-rank to E-rank.

What clearer proof of growth exists?

What better demonstration of effort’s value?

Effort brings growth. Knowing this, I have no reason to quit.

So I swung my sword.

As Grandfather taught, following the forms.

“…Ugh.”

The sword wavered.

My whole body creaked and screamed from yesterday’s strain-I could barely move for 40 minutes this morning.

The muscle pain was severe.

My injuries stung, throbbed, ached.

But resting would let my sword rust, and without talent, I have no choice.

I took a deep breath and gripped the sword tighter.

The tip steadied.

The most basic swordsmanship principle is keeping the tip still.

Only then can you progress.

Since my condition is poor today-

I’ll focus solely on keeping the sword steady.

They say the talented hold a sword without wavering from day one-why am I still like this?

I sighed in disappointment, disrupting my breath-the still sword trembled.

“Grandfather looked so sharp holding a sword.”

Even aged with withered muscles, he became one with the blade, radiating sharpness.

Thinking back, he clearly wasn’t an ordinary soldier.

Having learned from him, I pride myself on solid fundamentals-even without talent.

“My only problem, besides talent, is one thing.”

Lack of muscle.

Without muscle, I can’t grip properly or swing correctly.

If muscle is part of talent, I’ve no excuse-but I can explain.

My poor diet gives no chance for muscle growth.

“Yesterday’s earnings must cover living expenses and emergency funds, so I can’t spend more now-but going forward, I’ll prioritize food when I earn money.”

I don’t know my exact age setting, but surely my 139cm height isn’t final.

Believing I can still grow, I should consume nutrients now.

“I won’t expect 160cm-just 150cm, please.”

This body looks like it’d fly away if kicked in frontline combat-unacceptable.

I swung the sword irritably.

Even a glance showed my form was crooked like a child’s scribble.

My arm went numb.

I sheathed the sword and sat under a tree to rest.

“After just that little work yesterday, I’m this exhausted…”

Yesterday’s work: hiking mountains for 3 hours, scouting trap locations for 2 hours, luring goblins, then jumping down a near-cliff slope.

“…Huh.”

Now that I list it, I did quite a lot-no wonder I’m tired.

This thought immediately tempted me: “After all that, wouldn’t resting today be reasonable?”

I shook my head, but my heavy, exhausted body made the temptation sweet. Trembling, I suddenly shouted-

“Uwaaaaaaah-!”

“Keep it down!”

“Sorry!”

Trying to shout away lazy thoughts, I drew the innkeeper’s scolding. I hastily apologized and used my sword as a cane to stand.

I’d vowed to work hard-what was I doing resting under a tree?

I drew my sword again.

When Rie briefly logged in before, she compared me to her new character.

‘The character I made three days ago already has Swordsmanship B,’ she’d said.

Whether that meant reaching B in three days or leveling existing skills, the gap felt insurmountable.

“Plus, they started as upper class-commoner at least, maybe nobility?”

A slum orphan crying for revenge lives in a different world.

Not that I’m discouraged, but sighing felt inevitable.

“Effort will get me there.”

I knew how hollow those words were, but I had to believe.

What else could I do?

I swung the sword-as Grandfather taught. Moved my feet-as Grandfather taught.

That was my best effort.

My bruised, wounded, creaking body barely obeyed, but I endured.

No-I must endure to achieve anything later.

“…If this world had internet streaming, my cute looks could get me by easily.”

Exhaustion breeds wild fantasies.

“But that’s not the case.”

I thrust my sword skyward.

And slashed down hard.

The form was messy, but the spirit felt strong-I thought.

“You know training while injured just wears you down faster?”

A familiar voice.

I recognized it instantly. Without turning, I sheathed my sword and curled into a ball.

Like a pill bug.

“…What’s this?”

The bewildered voice made me curious enough to ask:

“Aren’t you here to hit me?”

Van.

Van had come to find me.

I kept my eyes tightly shut to avoid accidental eye contact, whispering timidly.

“Me? Hit you?”

“Yes, Van, me.”

“…You still irritate me, and that feeling hasn’t faded, but I came to apologize after asking around. Your eyes-they’re a type of curse, right? That’s why you hid them to avoid eye contact, and my mistake caused that incident. After much thought, that’s my conclusion. Accurate?”

“…Uh.”

Could this be called a curse?

Unsure how to answer, my silence made Van click his tongue impatiently.

“No denial, so I’ll assume yes. Sorry. My emotions surged uncontrollably-I couldn’t see straight.”

“…It’s okay.”

He was the first to ever apologize to me.

That alone felt sufficient-but Van continued.

“But a verbal apology feels lacking. I came to share a rumor I heard recently.”

“…A rumor?”

A rumor?

“A Saint has appeared.”

“A Saint…?”

“It’s trending. They emerged suddenly months ago-excellent with swords and unmatched Divine Power. They say no illness or curse is beyond their healing.”

A mysterious genius appearing abruptly…

A strong sense of dissonance hit me.

As I stayed silent, Van misinterpreted it and added:

“They’re ridiculously kind-can’t ignore anyone in trouble. If your eyes are cursed, I recommend meeting the Saint.”

“…Thank you. Do you know the Saint’s name?”

“…Hmm, ‘Rie,’ I think? Feminine name for a guy. Anyway, I’ll go now-my presence probably makes you uncomfortable.”

Van fled like escaping.

The sudden information flooded my mind with thoughts.