Chapter 32: The businessman Freyley was once a scholar

“Lord Eugene.”

“Sword Saint.”

Seeing the old Sword Saint arrive, the two knights stood up and placed their right hands over their chests in salute.

“I don’t need to introduce him, right? This kid is Akai, the hero who drew the Holy Sword. From now on, everyone should teach him well.”

“Isn’t the Sword Saint personally instructing him?”

One knight scratched his head, not believing anyone in the knight order could be stronger than the Sword Saint.

“He has a lot to learn. I can only teach swordsmanship. To become a true hero, learning just that isn’t enough. So please, don’t be stingy.”

“Yes! Lord, I will teach him well!”

“Ha! Then in the future, I can say I taught the hero!”

Another man burst out laughing.

He wasn’t wearing armor, and the lines of muscle on his body were well defined, making him look sturdy and powerful.

“Of course.”

The Sword Saint nodded.

Though it was a joke, he didn’t deny it.

If you want to nurture a hero who surpasses all those before, you must let him learn more.

Everyone rooted in the knight order has their own secrets, each one precious.

These are people who have survived the baptism of war.

The old Sword Saint walked away with Akai.

Besides arranging food, clothing, and shelter, he felt this child should have a proper name.

In some families outside the borders, there are no surnames, only given names, and because the parents are uneducated, the names tend to be very plain.

“Master, what should I do today?”

“Today, give yourself a name first. Will you choose it, or should I?”

“Then… can I be called Kane?”

“You can. Kane is a good name.”

The old Sword Saint seemed lost in thought.

He didn’t know if it was a coincidence, because his most beloved disciple was named En.

Actually, it wasn’t a coincidence at all.

The knight Akai admired was Silver Eagle.

If not for that knight, he would have become a thief by now.

“En Edwin… I want to become a respected knight like him.”

“Is that so? You know your senior brother?”

“Mm, I do…”

Akai recounted everything about meeting En.

If the cultists hadn’t attacked the city then, he might have already left the gang by now.

“So the one En talked about was you… He told me about it before we set out, but I didn’t pay much attention.”

The old Sword Saint shook his head regretfully.

As a Master, he always failed to listen closely to what En said.

To him, En was an outstanding disciple and a true knight.

“From today on, you’ll be Kane Eugene. Since you have no surname, I’ll give you mine. I hope you never bring shame to it.”

Having just a name isn’t enough.

To become a knight, a hero, or someone accepted by this country, the most important thing is gaining noble recognition.

Eugene understood well how hard the road ahead was.

But this was reality—commoners had little power.

“Yes. I’ll train hard from now on!”

Akai didn’t betray the name his parents gave him and followed his heart.

From now on, he would be Kane.

Kane Eugene.

From an orphan to the Sword Saint’s disciple, all because he drew that sword and became a hero.

In the end, it was the sword that chose him!

—

Inside a moving carriage, Mel Carlo lounged comfortably.

“Why do you still dare come to me? Aren’t you afraid I’ll catch you and sell you for money again?”

The merchant smiled at Mel Carlo.

“Because you’re a merchant, and you only gave him 2 silver coins. I spent 3 here.”

“Can’t it be that I spent the silver coins?”

“No. Your business isn’t that good, and you didn’t leave quickly. So you must have been waiting for me, or perhaps for the money in my hand.”

Mel Carlo leaned against the carriage wall.

The atmosphere among the three wasn’t tense—in fact, it felt relaxed.

After a brief silence, the man spoke again.

“You killed someone, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Mel Carlo didn’t deny it.

Given how flustered he was at the time, how could the man in front of him not figure it out?

But he still couldn’t quite understand.

Knowing he was a killer, why was this man so calm? Wasn’t he worried about him harming him or his daughter?

When Claire heard this, she was shocked at first, then became wary.

No matter what, she couldn’t imagine a child about her age capable of killing.

“I think you should know… For me to find you, the one who took the silver coins from you is already dead.”

Mel Carlo took out two silver coins he had gotten from the gang investigator—what he’d spent on paper and pen with the merchant earlier.

“Mm. You don’t need to be nervous.”

“When I killed for the first time, I wasn’t much better off than you.”

The merchant remained calm, hands on the reins.

He could see this brat had been forced to the edge before killing, just like himself back then.

The man had once been an honest scholar.

But he was born in a Southern Small Country, where nobles were gods.

A noble coveted his wife’s beauty.

His wife was defiled and eventually took her own life.

He gave up his scholar’s life, seized an opportunity, and smashed the noble’s head in with a hammer.

Then he fled with his daughter, became a wanted man, and wandered from place to place.

He couldn’t stay anywhere long, so living as a traveling merchant suited him.

“This is 1 gold coin, consider it my deposit. I’ll pay the rest when we reach our destination.”

“What’s your name, brat?”

“What about you?”

Mel countered.

He and the merchant weren’t close—there was no trust between them.

“I’m Fuleili Bernardo. This is my daughter, Claire.”

“Your daughter’s really dark-skinned?”

Mel Carlo teased.

“It’s close to her mother’s color. Her skin has a reddish hue, typical of the southern coasts—maybe it’s the climate.”

Fuleili didn’t mind.

Unfortunately, she didn’t inherit her mother’s orange hair but had dark hair like his.

If it were orange, it would look even better.

“We’ll need some mutual trust between us, so let’s share our stories. Of course, say only what you wish. The journey is long.”

“I’m Mel Carlo.”

“Mr. Fuleili, I’d like to hear why you killed.”

Mel Carlo could tell the merchant before him wasn’t a murderous fiend.

But his words didn’t seem like a threat, either—they sounded genuine.

Even if he had only killed out of desperation, his heart had pounded violently.

That fear or thrill—was the soul’s taboo against killing one’s own kind.