Sword Saint

The two soon returned to the vicinity of the inn.

Soren bought a pot, over a pound of pork, and about a pound of beans.

He had promised Vivian he'd get her something delicious at the start, but it wasn't convenient in the wild. So, he planned to make it up to her now and cook something for the girl tonight. Outside the inn, a crowd had gathered. Some were residents from town, hoping to find some cheap goods, while others were local hunters looking to sell their furs at a low price before heading to the city themselves. There were also those who came purely to spectate, mostly to gawk at the Digging Worms on the carriage.

"It really is a Digging Worm!"

"Looks like they killed at least three. These people are really strong!"

The onlookers included militiamen and children. For these people living on the fringes, Legendary monsters were still vague concepts, but the Digging Worm was one of the most dangerous creatures they knew of.

"Let's go in."

Soren glanced at the others and intended to go inside to rest.

However, when a figure appeared – lean yet robust – he couldn't help but stop. The Guard Captain, who was also present, stopped what he was doing and looked up at the man who had appeared. The man wasn't old, perhaps in his early twenties. His face was quite handsome, with sharp, chiseled features and piercing, keen eyes. His eyebrows were straight like sharp swords, giving him a strong impression. This was further amplified by his restrained yet sharp aura.

"Sword Saint?"

Soren glanced at the man's weapon, a playful expression appearing on his lips. He muttered to himself, "I didn't expect this little town to be so full of hidden talents."

"To think there's an Advanced Profession Sword Saint living here."

Sword Saint.

This wasn't just a title for a level of strength.

It referred to a profession that evolved from warriors. The word 'Saint' in many places represented a pursuit and a belief, like Paladin, Saint Fist Guard, and Cleric. Sword Saint was a high-level advanced profession for warriors, with demanding requirements. They also gave up using armor and defensive gear. Unless they possessed extraordinary talent, they had to reach Third Tier strength to have a chance at advancing. Sword Saints didn't have a specific weapon, but they often used a Straight Blade Sword, which many people simply called a sword.

They excelled at finding an opponent's fatal weaknesses and knew how to maximize their own strength. The ability 'Qi Raising Slash' was gradually passed down from Sword Saints to ordinary warriors.

Many Sword Saints had undergone training methods from Weapon Masters. They even studied the meditation (Zen sitting) of Monks.

This Sword Saint observed the merchant caravan for a moment, then a hint of disappointment appeared on his face.

He quickly left the crowd and walked towards the back of the town.

Sword Saints enjoyed sparring with others. They wished to hone their skills through combat. If they were active in Orc territory, Sword Saints most liked to challenge strong outsiders.

"Vivian."

"You go in first. I'll be back soon."

A sense of curiosity arose in Soren, and he quietly followed the man outside, though he didn't get too close.

The sky was gradually dimming.

The professional who had chosen the path of the Sword Saint did not return but went directly to a large tree.

He inserted his Straight Blade Sword, which was on his back, into the ground. Then, he sat cross-legged behind the blade. His arms, not overly muscular but clearly defined, gripped the sword hilt, and he slowly closed his eyes to breathe.

He sat like this for half the day.

Not far away, Soren's figure was a hazy silhouette in the shadows. He intently watched the Sword Saint in the distance, his expression quite solemn.

The man wasn't sitting on the ground.

In fact, From the beginning until now, his body had remained about one centimeter above the ground. His entire weight was supported by his arms. His hands had been gripping the sword hilt from the start, and all his weight rested on it. His breathing hadn't changed significantly from beginning to end, his chest rising and falling slightly, as if he had entered a state of meditation.

However, Soren was very sure of one thing.

If he approached within twenty meters, the man would discover him instantly.

Most Sword Saints were Third Tier or above.

This meant his Professional Level could be Level 10 or higher. If a conflict arose with someone like that, Soren's chances of winning were less than thirty percent.

So, he quietly retreated, not disturbing the man who was training.

Sword Saint was the strongest advanced profession for warriors, followed by the specialized Weapon Master, and then the high-strength Berserker.

Because they wore no armor, Sword Saints were actually prone to falling.

Especially during the coming turbulent times, in large-scale battles, Sword Saints would easily become primary targets. Therefore, Soren had not yet encountered many Legendary Level Sword Saints. It was said that the 'Insight Weakness' of a Legendary Sword Saint could even find the weakest point in the deflection field (energy) cast by Mages!

Professionals didn't always adventure outside.

If they felt tired, or if their abilities reached a critical point for breakthrough, they would find a quiet place to attempt advancement.

Some special professional legacies even returned to the place where they were initially trained.

"It looks like I need to find time to start training too."

Seeing so many professionals in a nondescript little town undoubtedly increased Soren's pressure.

He hadn't felt this strongly before.

But now, he realized that these native NPCs were not simple!

Even with the mysterious Data Stream in his mind, if he didn't put in the sweat and effort, he might not surpass these native NPCs in the future and face the Gods descending to the Mortal Realm during the upcoming Saints Upheaval.

"Hoo!"

Soren silently placed his hand on his curved saber and muttered to himself, "No wonder the Gods killed by players back then were less than a tenth of the native NPCs."

"This gap cannot be bridged by data!"

Fall of the Gods.

In the past, fewer than ten players had obtained a Divine Spark, but there were over a hundred native NPCs who had.

This wasn't just due to the difference in professional levels!

Soren returned to the inn and began preparing dinner.

The caravan guards were busy with their own affairs, and the mysterious mistress hadn't been seen much these past two days. Wizards, by nature, rarely interacted with ordinary people, so no one found this strange.

Vivian was diligently learning to read in her room. The girl had almost finished recognizing all the Common Script characters.

She didn't ask where Soren had gone.

When Soren returned, she brought a small stool and sat beside him. Soren was cutting the pork he'd bought into pieces, then pouring beans into a pot. He then carried the pot to the inn's kitchen, carefully sealed it, covered the pot with the ashes from the burnt firewood, and clapped his hands, saying, "Go eat something first."

"It should be cooked by the time it gets dark."

This was a simple dish to make, and it tasted good. Soren used to make it himself when he had nothing else to do.

The only requirement was patience.

Since it was stewed, it needed about three hours.

Night fell.

The caravan guards drank and chatted in front of the inn, with occasional bursts of energy leading to impromptu sparring. Some merchants gathered to calculate their goods. Today, they had purchased some furs in the town, and they should make a profit transporting them to the next city. Soren sat in the back, idly playing with his curved saber, but he wasn't using his right hand; he was using his left.

[Two-Weapon Fighting].

This was a difficult feat to train, likely consuming a considerable amount of time.

One could either spend Feat Points to acquire it or put in the hard work to train it. However, Soren already had the Personal Feat Nimble Left Hand, which made mastering the [Two-Weapon Fighting] feat much easier.

Someone, for reasons unknown, egged Soren on to join the sparring.

Soren actually had such an idea, but when he started, he used his left hand.

His opponent was a Northern Youth.

The Guard Captain had been eager to test Soren's skills, but upon seeing him wield the saber with his left hand, he immediately gave up.

However, his expression was quite curious, as people who fought with two weapons were rare.

It required a high level of skill!

The creatures most adept at Two-Weapon Fighting were elves; only those long-lived beings had the time to train such techniques.

Vivian stood on a table taller than herself to watch.

This was because she was too short.

In the cleared space, Soren moved with a serious expression. Wielding the saber backward affected his performance, but it was precisely what he needed to train the flexibility of his left hand.

Even fighting with his left hand, he was not at a disadvantage. He even seemed to be using his opponent to test his own moves.

The girl watched intently from atop the table, holding a dinner knife in her small, fair hands. She mimicked the movements on the field with the dinner knife, occasionally furrowing her beautiful eyebrows in thought.

Her appearance was somewhat incongruous, but her expression was extremely serious!

Gradually.

When she mimicked the moves, there were even two or three points of similarity.

No one noticed the little girl in the corner; they were all captivated by the fight on the field. Soren's evasion techniques amazed many, especially his footwork and the difficult maneuvers he performed to dodge attacks. Without specialized flexibility training, an Ordinary Person would be incapable of such actions.

On the second floor of the inn.

The Mysterious Caravan Mistress appeared at some point. Her gaze swept over Soren sparring on the open ground, and she quickly lost interest. But when her eyes fell upon Vivian in the corner, her expression lit up with surprise, interest, and amusement.

The girl had been mimicking moves on the table for a while.

Then, bored, she put down the dinner knife and muttered to herself, "It doesn't seem that difficult!"

"Brother wasn't fighting seriously at all."

"If he used that move where he could run 'swoosh swoosh swoosh' sideways on the wall, he would have killed that guy in one move."

"It's just the same few moves over and over."

"The person fighting Brother isn't even as good as that guy from earlier today!"

The girl pouted, glanced furtively at the others, then quietly picked up a wine jug with both hands and poured herself a cup of ale. (Because she lacked Strength)

"Mmm."

Vivian took a sip and smacked her lips, muttering to herself, "It tastes weird."

"Why do they like this stuff?"

With a hint of curiosity, the girl drank a few more sips. A blush soon appeared on her pretty little face.

"Mmm."

"Why do I feel a little dizzy?"

Vivian's small body began to sway unsteadily.

When Soren returned from the sparring match, the girl was already tipsy. Her Chubby Face was flushed red, and she hastily hid the wine cup behind her back.

How could Soren not discover that she had been secretly drinking!

So, when he saw Vivian, who was swaying and adorably drunk before him, his expression instantly darkened.

Slap!

He spanked her on her little bottom.

Soren directly tucked her under his arm and tossed her into a second-floor room to sleep.

The night was slightly cool.

Soren checked the Pot in the kitchen, then covered it with charcoal ash. Afterward, he lit an oil lamp and took it to the second-floor room. He took out a book from his Dimensional Bag and began to read Silently. Occasionally, when his gaze fell upon Vivian, who was sleeping soundly beside him, her Chubby Face still bearing a slight Blush from the alcohol, his expression was clearly one of amusement and exasperation.

"She's quite bold!"

He reached out and pinched Vivian's little nose. The girl, feeling uncomfortable, waved her small hand, then turned over and fell into a deep sleep.

She was truly drunk.

Even though she had only drunk a small cup of mead.

The night grew deeper.

Soren put away his book and blew out the oil lamp to sleep. The girl sleepily leaned over, naturally reaching out to hug his arm, then smacked her lips and Muttered a few Vague, unclear dream words.

The night passed just like that.