A Merchant Named Freli Had Once Been a Scholar

"Lord Eugene."

"Lord Sword Saint."

When they saw the Old Sword Saint arrive, the two knights rose and placed their right hands over their chests in salute.

"No introduction was needed, right? This kid was Akai, the hero who had drawn the Sacred Sword. From now on, everyone should teach him well."

"Wouldn't Lord Sword Saint be teaching him personally?" One of the knights scratched his head. He did not think anyone else in the Knight Order could be stronger than the Sword Saint.

"There was much he needed to learn. All I could teach him was swordsmanship. If he wanted to become a qualified hero, learning only that would not be enough. Please do not hold anything back."

"Yes, sir! I'll teach him well!"

"Haha, then I could say I taught the hero whenever I went out in the future!" The other man laughed heartily. He was not wearing armor at the moment, and the defined lines of his muscles made him look sturdy and powerful.

"Of course." The Sword Saint nodded. Though it had been a joke, he did not deny it.

If they wanted to raise a hero who surpassed all those who came before him, they could only let him learn more. Everyone rooted in the Knight Order had their own special techniques, and every one of them was invaluable.

These were all people who had endured the baptism of war and survived.

The Old Sword Saint led Akai away. Aside from arranging his food, clothing, lodging, and travel, he felt the child should have a proper name.

Some families beyond the border had no surnames, only given names. Their parents sometimes lacked education as well, resulting in names that were overly ordinary.

"Master, what should I do today?"

"First, give yourself a name today. Do you want to choose one yourself, or should I give you one?"

"Then can I be called Kain?"

"You can. Kain is a good name." The Old Sword Saint was momentarily distracted. He did not know whether it was a coincidence, because his most beloved disciple had been named En.

In truth, none of this was a coincidence. The knight Akai admired was Silver Vulture. Without that knight, he would already have become a thief.

"En Edw. I want to become a knight respected by others, like him."

"Is that so? Do you know your senior brother?"

"Yes, I know him..." Akai told him everything about how he had met En. If those cultists had not happened to launch an attack in the city back then, perhaps he would have already escaped the gang.

"So you were the one En told me about. Before we set out on our campaign, he told me about this, but I did not pay much attention." The Old Sword Saint shook his head regretfully. As a master, he had never listened too carefully to what En usually said. In his eyes, En had been an outstanding disciple and a qualified knight.

"From today onward, you will be called Kain Eugene. Since you have no surname, I will give you mine. I hope you will not disgrace it in the future."

A name alone was not enough. To become a knight, to become a hero, to become someone accepted by this country, the most important thing was to gain the recognition of the nobility.

Eugene naturally understood how difficult that road would be, but reality was simply like that. Commoners did not have many rights.

"Yes, I'll train hard from now on!" Akai did not abandon the name his parents had given him, nor did he betray his own heart. From then on, he was called Kain.

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Kain Eugene had gone from an orphan to the Sword Saint's disciple because he had drawn that sword and become a hero. In the end, the sword had chosen him!

Inside the moving carriage, Mel Carlo sat leisurely in the cabin.

"Why did you still dare come looking for me? Aren't you afraid I'll capture you again and sell you for money?" the merchant asked Mel Carlo with a smile.

"Because you're a merchant, and you only gave him two silver coins. I spent three coins with you."

"Couldn't I have spent those silver coins?"

"No. Your business was not good, and you did not leave so quickly. That meant you were waiting for me, or rather, waiting for the money in my hands." Mel Carlo leaned against the carriage. The atmosphere between the three of them was not tense; it instead felt somewhat relaxed.

After a brief silence, the man spoke again. "You killed someone, didn't you?"

"Yes." Mel Carlo did not deny it. Given how panicked he had been at the time, how could the man before him not have guessed?

Yet there was still one thing he could not understand. Since the man knew he had killed someone, why was he so calm? Was he not afraid Mel would attack him or his daughter?

When Claire heard this, she was shocked at first, then wary. No matter how she thought about it, she could not understand how a child around her own age could kill someone.

"I think you should know that since I came looking for you, the person who took the silver coins from you is already dead." Mel Carlo took out the two silver coins he had gotten from the gang investigator. These were the coins he had spent buying paper and pens from the merchant earlier.

"Mm, you don't need to be nervous. When I killed someone for the first time, I was not much better than you." The merchant remained calm, both hands holding the reins.

He could tell that this kid had been forced into killing, with nowhere else to go, just as he had been back then.

The man had originally been honest and dutiful, but he had been born in a small southern country. There, the nobles were the sky above their heads. One noble had set his sights on his wife's beauty. Later, his wife was violated, and unable to bear it, she took her own life.

He had also abandoned his identity as a scholar. Finding an opportunity, he had smashed that noble to death with a hammer, then fled with his daughter. They were wanted and had no fixed home.

They could not stay in one place for too long, so the identity of a traveling merchant suited him well.

"This is one gold coin, as my deposit. Once we reach our destination, I'll give you the rest in full."

"Kid, what's your name?"

"What about yours?" Mel asked in return. He was not familiar enough with this merchant for either of them to trust the other.

"My name is Freli Bernardo. This is my daughter, Claire."

"Your daughter looks pretty dark," Mel Carlo teased.

"She resembles her mother's coloring. Her skin has a reddish tint; that is the complexion of the southern coast, perhaps related to the climate there." Freli did not mind.

Unfortunately, she had not inherited her mother's orange hair, but had black hair much like his own. Orange hair would have looked better.

"Perhaps we need to trust each other. Let's tell our stories. Of course, you can choose what you want to say. We still have a long journey ahead."

"My name is Mel Carlo. Mr. Freli, I'd like to hear why you killed someone." Mel Carlo could tell that the merchant before him was not a murderous maniac, but his earlier words did not seem meant merely to scare him. He truly had killed before.

Even though Mel had only acted because he had no other choice, his heart had pounded wildly at the time. That fear—or excitement—was the taboo deep in the soul against killing one's own kind.

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