As a burst of wind scatters the downtown area, the people’s expressions suddenly become sharper. The cold air acts like a whetstone.
“Well, they’d only scrap up to be kitchen knives.”
Oiva Otara remarked as he watches the stream of people flow through the streets. Oiva was currently seated at a bar, sipping his mid-day drink. A bulky man, he needs two seats just to support his build.
“Do you need a knife, sir?” An old man asks as he drops a bottle of sake on Oiva’s table. He likely picked up his mutterings.
“No, I was just musing.”
“Ho? Do you happen to be a blacksmith?”
“Yes.” Oiva was indeed a blacksmith. He was now merely a wanderer, but he used to serve in the army as a sword smith. Before that, he was the fourth son of a knightly family, but was disowned for his family’s poverty.
“The country is quite in need of skilled labor. Why do you still go unemployed then, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“By choice.”
Oiva takes a gulp of sake.
“I can’t find a comfortable, agreeable workplace.”
His response seemed to disappoint the old man, as he returned to the kitchen. Oiva takes a light sip this time. The sake felt bitter to the taste.
“Ah… what a nasty world I live in.”
Oiva was currently lodging in the north-eastern part of Athria, near the capital of Count Hellevi’s domain. The area was decimated by Eberia during the war, but had regained some liveliness after the ‘Feast of the Holy Flame’. Scattered around the town were soldiers and engineers: the military was supporting the reconstruction effort.
The north-western part of the kingdom was the most militarized, however. Ruled by Count Salman and Count Peterius, beyond it lay the Eberians. Logistically, however, the north-west was very reliant on Count Hellevi’s territory for supplies.
A little to the east, in the ‘Dead Ash Desert’, the miasma leaking from the ice fields muddled the atmosphere such that it was not suitable for human life. But the slight miasma that spread to the atmosphere of the areas neighboring the desert strengthened the horses substantially, and fuelled demand for horseshoes and stirrups.
All this combined to make Count Hellevi’s territory very important militarily, and a fertile ground for blacksmiths. Still, demand for swords was not very high. Oiva would not be content with just making horseshoes and stirrups either. Thus, he was unemployed.
A carriage passed by Ovia. Ensigned upon its side was a man, surrounded by holy men, being hanged. It was a caricature of Solomon’s end.
“Heh. It was Solomon who won us the war, not your brave heroes. They just ‘sacrificed their lives’ and lost battle after battle, selfishly.”
Oiva was considerably soft towards Solomon. When he was a sword-smith, he was saved by the army under Solomon’s command. The aristocrats, who made up the officer and general corps, merely bickered, while his comrades were cut down left, right, and center. If it weren’t for Solomon’s support, they might have been annihilated.
“Your heroes might have killed a ton of enemies, but that wasn’t their job. They were supposed to lead armies. Instead, they let them get annihilated.”
The victory that day permanently ended Eberia’s advance into Athria, but came at an unnecessarily great cost.
“The heroes who foolishly died are venerated, while the general who won us the war? What a screwed country...”
Oiva moved his hand to refill his glass with some sake, but it was completely numb.
“Ugh. I’m drunk.”
Oiva got up and stumbled towards his lodgings. He slept in one of the tenements that were constructed as temporary lodgings. They were now occupied by the poor. Oiva’s room was cramped, and his wooden bed was completely uncomfortable. Small wonder he spent his time wandering around or in the bar.
Oiva dropped into his bed and fell asleep instantly. His biological clock was badly distorted by his unemployment, it was still only morning.
After waking up, Oiva gulps down a glass of water and, after crossing some alleys, arrived at some sort of meeting place.
“Hey guys.” Oiva greeted a group of men. They were all lightly dressed and held bamboo swords.
“You’re late, Oiva. We will begin the kumitei lesson immediately, but you must complete your warm-ups first.”
“Okay, okay.”
Oiva picked up a particularly long and thick wooden sword from a shelf in the corner and slowly began exercising his shoulders and hips. Meanwhile, the other men were practicing stances and blows.
This was a martial arts dojo. One of the few places Oiva could enjoy himself.
While he was half-way done with his drills, Oiva noticed a child standing at the entrance. Oiva was about to boo him off, since it was so late, but he stopped once he made out his figure.
The child was wearing elegant tailored clothes, with a head of silky black hair. But all that was irrelevant. The five to six year old had an extremely bewitching, mysterious gaze. A warlike gaze. The gaze of a man who’d killed thousands.
“A demon…”
Oiva was completely stunned; he couldn’t move at all. He’d never experienced such fear.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m observing without permission.”
The boy’s voice snapped Oiva out of his state.
“N-no, that’s fine. You only need to pay if you want to participate. It’s one bronze coin.” Oiva pointed to a wooden box at the door.
The money was used to fund the rent of the dojo, along with the purchase and maintenance of the bamboo swords. Coincidentally, Oiva, who’d created the bamboo swords, was exempt from the fee.
Oiva tried to meet the boy’s eyes, but felt himself repelled. Oiva knew this type of gaze; he’d seen many soldiers and commanders, but never one so strong of mind. A true military man this kid was.
“Is training with bamboo swords common?”
“What?”
“As far as I know, it was only used in the training of the volunteer army.”
“Oh yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s not used anywhere else.”
Oiva was quite puzzled by the question. How did this young boy know of this? Had his parents served? The army was disbanded shortly after the ‘Feast of the Holy Flame’, so it was not impossible.
“Is there anyone here who formerly served in the volunteer army?” The boy asked.
“Yeah, m—“ Oiva was about to answer, but his voice was cut off by a scream. Was it a kidnapping? Oiva wondered.
“Excuse me.”
“Huh? Wait!”
The boy turned on his heel and ran off, like he knew something about what was happening. Oiva was still curious about the boy, so he decided to follow him, against his better judgment.
Before leaving, he picked up the thickest sword in the dojo.
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