Volume 01 - Chapter 1: A Chance Meeting Between Man and Blade (Part 04)

Having traveled outside my village ten times at most, I’m forced to rely on a map to guide us to Gamaloth. Of the ten I’ve studied dreaming of faraway lands in my spare time, only one remains legible, the rest moth-eaten or faded.

Halivaara is the southernmost province of Seiren, with my village near its center. As our population doesn’t exceed fifty, the provincial government doesn’t permit our village a name but counts us as part of Gamaloth.

But the villagers, caring nothing for the minutiae of politics, all refer to our village as Sundance. An embarrassing name invented by my younger sisters and insisted upon by my father.

Moonlight serves as our guide as we travel north along the sole dirt path out of Sundance. Deep grooves cut into the earth by countless caravans prevent grass from reclaiming the road. The gentle trickling of water from Haalivara’s largest river resounds in harmony with croaking frogs and buzzing crickets.

Courtesy of said caravans carrying the occasional well-educated merchant, I bought books, newspapers, and maps from the capital. Given my farmhand education, I couldn’t read most of their contents but bought them anyway. The ones mostly composed of illustrations, that is…

Twenty minutes pass in silence before Excalibur matches my gait. Her steps are firm, but exhaustion smolders in her eyes.

“Servant boy.”

“Yes?” Why am I responding to that like it’s my name?

“I have questions. This era, your kingdom, its history.”

“With pleasure—ask me anything.” Not that I know much beyond the basics. Only those in the capital cities receive a proper education. Anyone from Halivaara is lucky if they can count past ten.

“Let’s start with the king…if there is one.”

“Easy. Asterkane, the eighth Seiren king. A rare case—he’s only fifteen. The last king, his father, was murdered three years ago.”

“Three?” She frowns. “By who?”

“Can’t say.”

The assassin was never caught. Neither was the cause of death ever determined. No external wounds; no sign of poisoning. The newspapers claimed his organs stopped functioning for no discernable reason. Not that the Royal Guard’s investigation lasted long enough for them to discover much of anything. His funeral and subsequent burial took place a mere three days after his death.

“So, the kingdom is governed by a child?”

“Officially, yes. The king’s consorts handled the important matters for a while. Many have their doubts as to the truth of the matter, but Asterkane apparently makes all the major decisions on his own now.”

“What of the other countries? Are you at war?”

“Not since this country’s birth.”

A century and a half ago, Seiren used to be three different countries composed of countless tribes. All were at odds with each other and in constant wars vying for territory. A man from the north known only as Seiren conquered each and unified the country under his rule, bringing about a peacetime not yet ended.

“The three were Garea, Shahin, and Lodan, yes?”

“So, you do have a clue.” For this, I receive a glare.

“I’ve been alive much longer than my appearance suggests. Anyway, that tells me where I manifested. Meaning there are four other countries surrounding this one. Remind me their names.”

“Four? Maybe before the unification. Only two exist now. Dakine to the east and Kaalima to the south.”

“And the pointy-eared, forest-loving elves are in Dakine, while the squatty, bearded, mountain-dwelling dwarves are in Kaalima, yes?”

“And you’re back to being clueless. That said, you’re not totally wrong.”

Dakine is home to elves, but they’re a far cry from the long-lived, graceful variety found in fairy tales. Those dwelling in the sunless swamps of Dakine are known as the Sandalfi: blood elves. Little is known about their race as none dare cross the border into Seiren, and any humans foolish enough to enter Dakine disappear without a trace.

The most popular rumor is they were once storybook elves, but an ancient curse bound them to live in darkness, feasting solely on blood. Should they expose themselves to sunlight, they either burst into flames, transform into hideous monsters, or just get a bad sunburn; no one’s too sure on that detail.

As for Kaalima, the dwarves are no longer as they once were. Half the height of the average human, yes, but few sport beards, and the mountains they once called home have been drained dry of resources or outright leveled in pursuit of their collective calling: the art of weapon forging.

Not every dwarf crafts weapons, but every dwarf is raised to be a blacksmith from birth. Yet weapons are what most specialize in, especially swords. Some are so obsessed with blacksmithing they’ve replaced parts of their bodies with their creations. Hands swapped for hammers and iron feet are common sights in their cities comprised of metal mansions and steel streets. This bizarre practice has led to other races referring to them as ‘the Forged’.

“The Sandalfi and the Forged…I know neither, nor do I wish to meet either. What of the west? There should be a landmass across the sea.”

“There is, but the whole place is uninhabitable. It’s an infertile desert until it shifts into an inhospitable tundra.”

She gasps, recoiling. “Does anyone live there?”

“Nobody. But there are rumors Seiren sends its criminals there lest they fill up the dungeons and waste us taxpayers’ coin.”

“…It must have been…no, that would mean…” Mumbling, she presses a hand hard to her cheek. “No helping it now, I suppose…Tell me about this place, Hali…Halibaaga.”

“Halivaara. As you can see, mashing those three countries languages together didn’t end well.” I shrug. “There isn’t much to say. Most of it’s farmland, riddled with tiny villages like mine. The only landmark worthy of note is the capital city—Dragonwall.”

She raises an eyebrow at the name.

“It comes from a legend. The wall surrounding the city is said to have kept out an angry dragon centuries ago.”

“And this dragon’s name?”

“Do they normally have names? Anyway, I say ‘legend’, but it’s more of a rumor. Whether the name comes from the story or if someone invented the story because of the city’s name—none can say.”

“It’s no rumor. I’ve never heard of this Dragonwall, but a family of dragons occupied this area at one time. In any case, I’m making that our primary destination. The ideal place to gather information about my fragments would be a large city.”

“Fine by me.” Excalibur is sick in the head for all I know, but at least I get to travel more than an hour outside my hometown. “Any other questions?”

“Not at the moment. You’re handier than anticipated, servant boy. You have my gratitude.”

“Were you actually grateful, you’d stop calling me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever I wish. You swore yourself to me, so I reserve the right to refer to you as my servant.”

“Oh? Seeing as you swore yourself to me, I have every right to call you my servant girl.”

“Watch your tongue lest you find it ripped out and stomped into the dirt where it belongs.”

“Uh-huh…What about your name?”

“What about it?” She glowers, balling her fists.

“N-Nothing bad, just that…it’s too hard to pronounce. Can I call you something else?”

“No. My name holds more significance than you could possibly imagine. Avoiding or shortening it would be an egregious sin.”

“How about I give you another name?”

“…Meaning?” She stops, seeks my gaze.

“Another name would keep me from potentially tarnishing your true name by mispronouncing it, which I definitely don’t want to do.” A brilliant excuse if I say so myself.

“Hmm…what did you have in mind?” She faces the ground, hands held behind her back as she sways.

“Huh?” She wasn’t supposed to agree. I have no idea. Lake, girl, sword, something relevant, no, don’t look around; nothing’s here except grass and dirt. If I give her a stupid name, I might really spend the rest of this journey missing my tongue. “How about…Mizuka?”

Her eyes shift from dull to sparkling. Red creeps into her pale cheeks, and she smiles. A beautiful smile brimming with the joy of having found a wonderful something one did not expect to find.

“Mizuka,” she whispers to herself, over and over. “That will be fine.” She coughs once and composes herself. “I accept your offering, but you’d better not forget my true name.”

“I won’t…but, Mizuka.” I step close to her.

“Y-Yes?” She recoils, but stays in place.

“Seeing as I’ve been so kind as to give you a name, you calling me by mine is only fair. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Geh…I mean, yes, of course, that would be fair, servant boy.”

“Why don’t you try saying it?”

“Fine, fine, I suppose that is the least I can do for my faithful servant.” She breathes deep, grabs my shirt collar, and pulls my face close to hers. “Listen up, Leo. You’re my servant, and I’m yours. As you help me reclaim my power, I’ll help you become the greatest hero this world has ever seen, got it?”

I nod as my cheeks reach boiling point.

“Good. But never forget: I’m the boss, not you, Leo. If you ever try to tease me or order me around like you’ve been trying to do, I suggest you prepare yourself for something infinitely worse than any punishment your father ever gave you, understand?” She grins an evil, hideous grin far worse than any my angry mother or sisters ever bared and pushes me back.

“…Understood.”

“Then let’s go. I expect a three-course meal and a soft bed when we arrive.” She breaks out in a stride, stretching her arms high as she yawns.

Sighing, I follow, wondering if my paltry funds will even buy her breakfast.