— Enough.
The voice wasn't loud. It was calm, but still... chilling and threatening. There was a commanding tone in it—confident and composed. The imposing man froze mid-motion, his raised hand still in the air.
Then he flinched and slowly turned around. Behind him stood an old man. But not just any old man. The old man's lean figure could rival—perhaps even surpass—the imposing man's. His white hair reached his neck, just like his short beard. A sword rested on his waist, and his left hand lay casually on the hilt.
"Isn't it shameful to bully a poor child? If your hands are itching so badly, come at me instead. I won't use my weapon or any of my abilities. Well? Don't you want to try your luck?"
The man quietly let go of the basket. He didn't think for long before deciding to attack. But of course, he didn't go alone. The old man stood in a crowd, and some of the people there might have been allies of the imposing man. Two of them didn't waste time and immediately attacked the old man from behind. The rest of the crowd stood silently, as if watching a show.
Three men, one of them fierce and powerful, charged at the white-haired elder, who appeared completely motionless. An inexperienced person might have thought the old man had frozen in fear. And that inexperienced person… was unfortunately the nameless child.
"Why is he trying to save me? No, more importantly—why is he scared!? He looked so confident! Why hasn't he drawn his sword yet? They were the ones who broke the deal!" — The nameless boy was indeed that inexperienced youth. Some onlookers were surprised, but none were concerned for the old man. He was very strong—and very well known. Though he had vanished from public view several years ago.
The three attackers closed in. Just as they were about to strike with fists, feet, and a stone, the old man moved. With swift motions, he took down the fiercest of them with a single blow to the neck, knocking him unconscious. He caught a flying kick with his left hand, raised his right, and struck precisely at the middle of the leg—breaking it perfectly. The third attacker didn't even get the chance to react before a strike to the face sent him flying a meter away.
Just like that, three energetic and relatively young men were brought down by an elder who was clearly holding back.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. They had just witnessed the return of the legendary swordmaster who had retired years ago.
"— So the rumors were true? The dragon really has awakened and is flying this way?"
"— Of course. Otherwise, Rine, that insane sword freak, wouldn't have shown up here among people. That must mean the dragon could attack any moment."
"— I heard the dragon wouldn't awaken for decades… Were we lied to?"
"— What did you expect? They're obviously trying to keep the public calm. That's why they hide the truth—afraid it'll cause panic."
"— But why would Rine, that heartless monster, help a rat from the slums?"
"— No idea. But when he tried to act like a good guy, protecting the child… it made me sick. He killed so many children. So many families…"
"— Shhh! He's a swordmaster—what if he hears you…"
"— Yeah, let's get out of here."
Rine, the white-haired old man, heard enough. But he didn't care what they said about him. Truth be told, he hadn't intended to save the boy. He had been heading toward the royal castle when he sensed a powerful will… a deadly will. To his surprise, the source wasn't an adult—but a child. Such a powerful will! And such a weak body. Given time and support, that child could surpass even Rine. And so, the old man decided to become that support. He had been searching for a disciple… but never found one worthy—until now.
Rine walked toward the corner where the child sat. His body trembled slightly, his eyes wet. He was filthy, and he reeked from meters away. And yet… his gaze was sharp—albeit weak, confused, and overwhelmed. After all, he was still a child…
"Hello, young man. Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Rine Edgar, master of the sword."
The boy's dark hair stirred in the cool breeze.
And his deep, dark eyes were confused as he realized… Rine—the swordmaster—was speaking to him.
"Hello, Master Rine. I… I don't have a name, but I'm glad to meet you. Thank you for your help."
Rine looked him over thoughtfully and smiled. Then he noticed something: the boy was far too young to possess such a powerful will… He grew even more curious.
"So, if you don't mind me asking—how old are you?"
The boy hesitated a little. Not because he didn't want to answer—but because he wasn't quite sure.
"Maybe… eight? Or nine… I don't really know. I don't celebrate birthdays, and I vaguely remember being kicked out of the orphanage when I was six."
Rine nodded in understanding. Then, glancing at the basket, he asked with curiosity:
"So you were ready to die—or kill—for that basket of food?"
The boy followed his gaze, then looked into Rine's grey eyes. After a brief pause, he replied:
"Yes… You see, my dream was to at least once taste real, whole, freshly made food. Then I could die in peace."
Now it was Rine's turn to darken.
"Oh? So you want to die?"
The boy shook his head.
"Of course not! But if things keep going like this, I'll die soon anyway. Why live at all? No family, no love, no friends…"
Hearing this, Rine smirked.
"In that case, we're alike. Though I did have all those things… once. But now? Not anymore."
Rine fell silent for a moment, then finally brought up the topic he meant to all along:
"So, young man—I have a question. Would you like to become my… student? Oh God, I actually said it…"
The boy thought for a moment, then asked:
"Will there be food?"
Rine was a little surprised—but didn't lose composure.
"Of course! And not just food! Drinks, sweets, and plenty more!"
The boy hesitated briefly, then lifted the basket and stood before Rine.
"I am at your service… teacher."
"I hope I won't regret this. I hope there really will be delicious food and drinks…"