The Swords That Were Sold Are Trying to Come Back

The smell of the back alley reeks of the slums.

I was born in a poor neighborhood with a nauseating and stuffy sewer, without even knowing my parents’ faces.

I couldn’t remember how I managed to survive in a place where death was always a possibility.

Just memories of stealing from others’ pockets to stay alive day by day.

And the time I almost died trying to pickpocket a nobleman’s purse came to mind.

Especially the cold blade that was pressed against my neck was unforgettable.

If I had tilted my head a little more forward, my flesh would have been sliced off.

Someone would have fallen backward, someone would have hesitated and sat back down, but I was different.

I, who had long accepted death, stared blankly at the man.

“I don’t know if you’re ignorant or brave, but at least have the dignity to die.”

“Alright. Whether it’s dignity or whatever, just give me the money.”

“Huh! Have you ever seen such a cheeky brat?”

“You said you would pay a high price.”

“Well, you’ve made me speechless. Fine, since I said I would buy it, I can’t go back on my word now. Follow me, your dignity cannot be bought with money.”

“If it’s not money, then I don’t need it…”

“Stop talking nonsense and follow me. I guarantee it’s more valuable than money.”

With the expectation that it might be gold or treasure, I followed the nobleman.

But there was no treasure as I had imagined, and the nobleman just threw a sword at me.

At first, I was dissatisfied, but later I realized the value that could not be bought with money.