I Can See the Sword’s Memories

Chapter 11

Late in the evening, while preparing for the next match, Saeorin was approached by an official.

“Saeorin, you’ve passed the second test. Proceed to the next location.”

“What…?”

Saeorin tilted his head in confusion. The second test was supposed to be in the form of a tournament—a continuous series of matches until the final victor emerged.

“It’s true that it’s a tournament, but passing the second test isn’t based on winning. It’s determined by meeting specific criteria.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to fight anymore?”

“That’s right. However, if you wish, you can continue competing until the end. You won’t gain anything from it, though.”

After a brief moment of contemplation, Saeorin rose from his seat. If there was nothing to gain from a fight, there was no reason to continue. Besides, he had already been informed that he’d passed the second test.

With that decision, Saeorin began packing his belongings.

Guided by the official, Saeorin arrived at a modestly furnished reception room. Before entering, his gaze quickly swept across his surroundings.

The room seemed to exist solely for conversations, with minimal furniture—a small table and a plush-looking chair.

Saeorin focused on the man seated across the table. His arms were crossed, and his eyes were closed. 

He wore a dark blue uniform, and the sword leaning against the table suggested he was a swordsman. Yet, there was no detectable aura from him.

Had Saeorin passed by without paying attention, he might not have noticed the man’s presence at all.

‘He’s like a predator on a snowy plain,’ Saeorin thought.

“Come in.”

The man spoke suddenly, his firm voice breaking the silence. Saeorin glanced around, wondering if someone else had been called.

But no one else was there. Even the official who had guided him had disappeared.

Cautiously, Saeorin stepped into the room.

The man opened his eyes as Saeorin entered and picked up a document from the table.

“Have a seat.”

Saeorin didn’t comply. Approaching someone who deliberately concealed their aura was akin to walking into a trap. In the harsh, frozen plains where Saeorin had lived, such behavior was suicidal.

“I’m more comfortable standing,” he replied.

“Hmm. Suit yourself.”

The man didn’t seem to care, proceeding with his task.

“Let’s see… Saeorin. Place of origin: beyond the mountains. Swordsmanship style: none…”

The document in the man’s hand contained basic information about Saeorin. It was the same form he had filled out at the entrance before starting the admission tests.

“Capable of using mana with decent talent. Concerns noted: barbarian origins… I told them not to write unnecessary remarks, but they still did.”

The man frowned, displeased with the note, and grabbed a pen to cross it out.

“That’s better. Now, Saeorin, a formal question—why did you apply to Cheongik? Let me guess, revenge, right?”

He answered his own question with a nod before Saeorin could respond. Taken aback by the man’s assumption, Saeorin reluctantly nodded.

“Cheongik’s work tends to attract people with similar pasts. That’s why I guessed.”

“Then… have you experienced something similar?” Saeorin asked cautiously.

The man raised his head, a slightly startled expression crossing his face, as if he hadn’t expected the question.

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

From there, the man asked lighthearted questions about family, preferences, and other personal topics. Saeorin answered sincerely within reasonable limits.

“All right. Last question. Saeorin, what blessing were you born with?”

“Blessing…?”

“Your unique talent. If it’s hard to answer, you don’t have to.”

A blessing bestowed at birth. It referred to his ability to read the memories of swords. Startled, Saeorin blurted out, “How does a civilized person know about that…?”

His talent was considered a sacred gift from the divine wolf spirit. At least, that’s what everyone in Saeorin’s tribe, himself included, believed.

“Blessings from the world aren’t exclusive to you Astins. We, whom you call civilized, are also born with such blessings.”

Saeorin nodded blankly, his previously held beliefs shaken. It was disorienting but not impossible to accept.

The man, observing Saeorin’s reaction, jotted a short note on the document.

“Open-minded for an Astin, and quick to accept… good. Now, let me ask again. Can you tell me about your talent?”

Saeorin remained silent. Since coming to this place, he had discovered an important truth through reading the memories of many swords: the civilized people zealously guarded their sword techniques from being leaked.

Revealing a family’s secret swordsmanship was seen as treason, punishable by severing the offender’s arms or execution. 

It was understandable—disclosing swordsmanship was tantamount to exposing one’s weaknesses to potential opponents.

In that sense, Saeorin’s blessing was both enviable and fearsome to any swordsman. Silence, therefore, seemed the wisest answer.

The man nodded, as if understanding Saeorin’s hesitation. His own blessing was likely a hidden trump card, so he didn’t press further.

Rising from his seat, the man picked up a sword leaning against the wall. The heavy blade exuded a sharp metallic scent mixed with oil.

He tossed it to Saeorin.

“Take it. This is the standard-issue sword you’ll receive upon joining Cheongik.”

Saeorin effortlessly caught the sword that was tossed his way.

The man explained that it was the standard-issue sword given to recruits upon joining Cheongik. That meant he was officially a member of Cheongik.

Saeorin’s lips curled up slightly, but the expression soon faded.

‘No memories.’

The sword wasn’t old; it was brand new.

Saeorin felt a pang of disappointment. He would have preferred a sword that had been used by others. A sword without memories was of no use to him.

Still, he didn’t let his disappointment show. Turning away, he sheathed the new sword into the scabbard hanging from his back, replacing the Chieftain’s sword that had been shattered in the match with the longsword.

“If you have a preference for a specific type of sword, you can make a request later to exchange it. For now, just hold onto this one.”

“Yes…”

“Since you’ve joined Cheongik, let me introduce myself properly. I’m Kanok, the deputy commander of the Empire’s Knights, Cheongik.”

Introducing himself, Kanok gestured behind him. A door that hadn’t been there before was now visible.

Saeorin obediently followed Kanok’s instructions. He was accustomed to such hierarchies. In the White Frost Tribe, the words of the strong were law.

Once inside the room, Saeorin passed the time by eating the bread and jerky prepared on the table. He made sure to stash all the jerky into his pockets, just in case he needed it later.

His pockets were bulging with jerky by the time he was done.

Saeorin had just eaten half the bread when the door opened, and a boy entered—a familiar face. It was Theo. Saeorin didn’t bother greeting him.

Rather than feeling pleased to see Theo, Saeorin viewed him as a rival for the bread on the table. He focused even harder on finishing his share.

“Hey, you…!”

Theo, on the other hand, reacted dramatically upon seeing Saeorin. His expression was peculiar—he seemed happy, but also irritated, like he was on the verge of yelling.

Even so, Saeorin just kept eating.

“You passed too, huh, Saeorin…”

Saeorin glanced briefly at Theo in response to his words. He noticed that Theo also had a sword with a special insignia on his waist.

It seemed Theo had passed the Cheongik admission test as well.

“Uh, so… say something…” Theo said, his voice slightly awkward. He sat across from Saeorin, hoping to initiate a conversation, but Saeorin found it uncomfortable.

“So, uh, is the bread good…?”

Saeorin didn’t bother replying. If it weren’t good, he wouldn’t have been wolfing it down. This bread was the best he’d ever tasted in his life.

Soft, fluffy, and almost melting in his mouth—it reminded him of warm snow.

‘This must be the craftsmanship of the civilized people…’

Saeorin made up his mind. Once everything was over and he returned to his homeland, he would make sure to bring back the recipe for this bread.

Saeorin had just finished eating all the bread when the door opened again. This time, a girl who appeared to be around the same age entered the room.

Her face was peculiar, swollen as if she had been beaten badly. It wasn’t hard for Saeorin to recognize her.

The girl’s name was Fel Flora.

“You…!”

Just as Saeorin recognized her, Fel Flora recognized him as well.

Saeorin immediately stood up and extended his hand. In the White Frost Tribe, strength was always respected. Fel Flora was someone worthy of such respect.

“It was a good fight, Fel Flora.”

“Uh…”

Flora was taken aback. She even flinched and stepped back, thinking Saeorin might attack her. But he wasn’t. Saeorin was merely offering a handshake.

Looking confused, Flora eventually shook hands with Saeorin.

As the two shook hands, the door opened once more, and Kanok entered the room.

“So, have you all introduced yourselves? Good. You’re the last ones. Get along with each other. Now, pack your things and follow me.”