Chapter 22

Mad Swordsman of the Shadow World (22)

“A proposal... you say?”

Theron asked cautiously.

The bewildered face of a twelve-year-old.

But beneath the desk, the fingertips resting atop his knees remained perfectly calm.

The chief instructor’s office was spacious, but there was hardly anything that could be called decoration.

A single map of Hell Island and one sword hung on the wall.

Only neatly organized documents sat on the desk.

The austere room resembled its owner’s temperament perfectly.

‘Nothing has changed.’

It had been the same in his previous life.

And so had the way the owner of this room handled people.

“...”

Berton did not answer Theron’s question.

Taking a sip of tea, straightening a document, and using silence to pressure the other person was simply his way.

An ordinary young trainee would already have sweat beading on his forehead from this silence alone.

Theron kept his gaze lowered toward his knees and subtly moved the tip of his foot as though nervous.

Because acting lived or died by the details.

Instead of answering, Berton slid a document across the desk.

It was an enforcer’s report.

“Two nights ago. This is the report regarding the duel that took place in the rocky area.”

“...”

“Isaac of Section 3. The instructors on this island unanimously call him a talent that might appear once in ten years. And yet I hear that even after releasing his mana, he was brought to his knees without being able to do much of anything.”

Berton slowly tapped the report with his finger.

“His opponent was Theron of Section 5. A trainee who has not even been here half a year and, according to the records, amounts to nothing.”

“I was lucky.”

“Luck.”

Berton smiled faintly.

It was the kind of smile that never reached his eyes.

“The enforcer under me has been wielding a sword for twenty years. Do you know what he wrote in his report?”

Berton placed a fingertip on one line of the report and slowly read it aloud.

“The swordsmanship displayed by the trainee in question bears no relation to this training camp’s curriculum, and his level of proficiency appears considerably high.”

Silence descended over the office.

“Quite a generous assessment for a trainee known as Idiot Theron.”

Berton’s eyes bored into Theron.

“Where did you learn it?”

There it was.

Theron steadied his breathing inwardly and gave the answer he had prepared.

“...My father was a mercenary.”

“A mercenary.”

“I watched him from the side ever since I was young. After my father died, I practiced alone using what I remembered. There was nothing you could call a proper system. I just... learned it to survive.”

It was a plausible story.

The sort of common tale that suited an orphaned trainee.

Berton listened to the answer, then slowly leaned back in his chair.

“That’s a lie.”

“...!”

“A sword learned by watching a mercenary from the side cannot toy with the greatest talent on this island. You should know that better than anyone.”

Theron did not answer.

He neither denied nor admitted it, merely lowering his gaze slightly.

Pretending to be flustered.

But in truth, he was reading the next move.

‘Making excuses here would be the worst choice.’

The more lies overlapped, the thinner they became.

It was better to leave empty space with silence and allow the bastard’s imagination to work on its own.

A child with a past he wished to hide.

That was how Berton would be seeing him now.

It was an observation that chilled the heart.

But Berton’s next words went in a direction Theron had not expected.

“However... it doesn’t matter.”

“Pardon...?”

“Whatever its origin, the fact remains that you possess such skill.”

Berton leaned forward.

“When a dagger is lying around, people search for its owner. But when a famed sword is lying around... whoever picks it up becomes its owner.”

His cold eyes swept over Theron.

They were the eyes of a man appraising a blade.

“I’ll get to the point. Become my direct subordinate.”

“Your direct subordinate...?”

“A special trainee. You will remain assigned to Section 5, but half of your training will be conducted under my authority.”

Berton folded down his fingers one by one as he listed the conditions.

“I’ll allow you to use the advanced cultivation room. You’ll also have access to the advanced martial arts library, which ordinary trainees are forbidden from entering. You’ll be exempt from trivial matters like meal grades and chores as well.”

“...”

“Since this island was established, fewer than five special trainees have ever been chosen. And all five of them... upon graduating, began from positions that would normally take others ten years to reach.”

It was an extraordinary offer.

To a trainee rolling around at the bottom of Hell Island, the conditions were no different from a lifeline lowered from heaven.

But Theron knew.

‘It isn’t a lifeline... it’s a leash.’

Berton was not the kind of man who gave something without demanding a price.

Every one of those conditions was an investment.

And was it not their way to snap a blade without hesitation once it had outlived its usefulness?

Besides, Theron... had already experienced exactly that.

But if he refused... it was obvious Berton would dig deeper into his suspicions.

Berton might be smiling with interest now, but if he were rejected, he would certainly show another face.

Theron knew all too well that the man’s true nature was persistent... and cruel.

“...”

Theron lowered his head in silence.

He had already decided on his answer, but he needed to appear as hesitant and anxious as possible.

Only then could he avoid at least some of the bastard’s suspicion.

“Would... that truly be all right?”

“Of course. There is no one above me on this Hell Island. Take my hand, and I will guarantee your future even after you leave this island.”

At those words, Theron rose from his seat and bowed his head toward Berton.

“From now on, I will follow the chief instructor’s orders.”

And at those words.

Grin.

The corners of Berton’s lips stretched upward.

But at the same time, Theron’s expression, hidden by his lowered head, turned cold.

‘For now...’

He would follow him, but Theron intended to extract as much as possible from this arrangement.

The advanced cultivation room.

The advanced martial arts library.

And access to the main building.

Everything Berton had offered was something Theron needed.

‘I’ll let myself get caught in the net. Instead...’

He could not simply accept it too readily here.

It was somewhat dangerous... but obeying so meekly would fail to hold the bastard’s interest.

Theron raised his head.

“However... I have conditions.”

“Hah.”

Berton’s eyebrow twitched.

A trainee attaching conditions to the chief instructor’s offer.

Berton looked at Theron with sunken eyes.

A gaze more frightening to the trainees than any demon from hell.

But Theron met that gaze without wavering.

Before long, one corner of Berton’s mouth slowly rose.

Theron’s presumptuous attempt to add conditions irritated him, but curiosity came first.

Berton spoke.

“Conditions. Let’s hear them.”

“First. Please guarantee that Section 5’s meal grade and treatment remain at their current level, regardless of my own results.”

“...You want to look after your section’s share rather than your own?”

“If things behind me are noisy, I won’t be able to focus on your training, Instructor.”

“You said ‘first,’ so it seems there’s a second. What comes next?”

“Please ensure that the contents of my special training and reports concerning me end with you. Not only from the other instructors, but also... from outside the island.”

Berton’s eyes narrowed.

“Outside.”

“I would rather not stand out. I want to learn quietly and grow stronger quietly.”

“Why?”

At Berton’s question, Theron answered calmly.

“When someone strong stands out, people become jealous. When jealous people appear, troublesome matters increase.”

Outside the island.

Because he absolutely had to prevent his name from reaching Valenruke’s ears too early.

Berton considered that answer for a moment, then nodded.

A brief silence followed.

Berton tapped his fingers against the desk as though pondering something.

But before long.

For the first time, something close to a genuine smile appeared on Berton’s lips.

“You know your own worth.”

Normally, he should have found it offensive.

Yet strangely, he liked that arrogance.

A man who knew his own worth would not betray the master who paid him properly.

“Fine. I accept both.”

“Thank you.”

“However, I also have a condition.”

Berton rose from his seat and walked toward the window.

“Do not object to anything I order you to do. Whatever it may be.”

His silhouette, standing with his back to the window, spoke in a low voice.

“It may be training, or it may not be training. Can you do that?”

‘...As expected.’

There was no such thing as a free meal.

The bastard intended to wield him someday.

It had been the same in his previous life.

Berton’s special trainees had always grown faster than everyone else, and they had been used for tasks others knew nothing about.

And Theron had only learned what those tasks had been... after becoming a Shadow Knight.

What kind of dirty work Berton would use him for remained to be seen.

‘Thanks to that, I’m already familiar with the cards he holds.’

No gambler loses at a game whose cards he already knows.

“Yes. I will keep that in mind.”

Theron answered without hesitation.

If he had to pretend to walk within the bastard’s palm anyway, it was better to stride confidently.

“Good.”

Berton turned around.

“Starting tomorrow. Once your morning schedule ends, come to the underground training hall in the main building. An enforcer will deliver your access pass.”

“Yes.”

“You may leave.”

Theron rose from his seat and headed for the door.

And the moment he grabbed the doorknob, Berton’s voice came from behind him.

“Theron.”

“...Yes.”

“Your sword.”

A brief pause.

“I know it isn’t a mercenary’s sword. But someday... I suppose I’ll hear the truth from your own mouth.”

Without turning around, Theron gave a short reply.

“I will live up to your expectations.”

The door closed.

The office was left empty.

Berton stared at the closed door for quite some time.

“...Interesting bastard.”

Twelve years old.

And yet the way he negotiated was like a mercenary captain who had survived countless battles.

Fear and greed alike, all stopping at exactly the right point.

‘I can dig into his origins someday. There’s no need to rush.’

What mattered was whose hand that blade rested in.

And as of today, the hilt had entered his grasp.

‘I’ll raise you well from now on. And... I’ll decide where you’re used as well.’

Wasn’t he already someone who could not betray him because of the Death Sigil?

As it happened, places where such a blade could be used were beginning to appear one after another.

Berton’s gaze shifted toward the desk drawer.

Inside it rested a single sealed letter.

It was not yet time.

But before long, the stage would be set to test that young blade.

A satisfied smile appeared on Berton’s lips.

_______________

A faint smile also rested on Theron’s lips as he left Berton’s office.

Half the bundle of keys he needed for his escape had just rolled into his hands from that room.

Moreover, the title of special trainee would serve as the perfect shield to conceal Theron’s rapid growth from now on.

Because the entire training camp would say the same thing.

That bastard is getting stronger because of the chief instructor’s special guidance.

‘He probably thinks he has the hilt in his grasp.’

Theron lightly rubbed the bracelet around his wrist.

But it did not matter.

Because deciding where the blade attached to that hilt would point... would be his choice.

His steps back toward the dormitory felt lighter than ever before.