The long-awaited reunion with a old friend began with a silent, yet passionate embrace.
After a few rotations to slow their momentum, the golden hair and black hair gazed into each other’s eyes.
Compared to the last time they parted ways, both of their appearances had changed significantly.
Both had grown taller, and their faces had become more rugged and masculine.
The one with golden hair, though delicate in features, radiated an air of authority earned through numerous missions and battles, making anyone who deemed them as feminine seem foolish. Clad in armor and wielding a sword, their mere presence at the front line was enough to instill fear in their adversaries like a formidable war deity.
As for the sorcerer, their smile could make anyone blush, regardless of gender, revealing a handsome face that was far from weak. Though their androgynous beauty could be mistaken as feminine when adorned and poised, it remained as exquisite as in their memories, glowing with timeless charm.
Staring into each other’s breaths, without exchanging a word, the two stood close until they eventually embraced spontaneously. Arms wrapped around each other’s backs to reaffirm their friendship, with an embrace so firm it brought tears to the corners of their eyes. Despite the changes in height and maturity, it seemed to them that their irreplaceable friend remained unaltered in essence. Their shared times were unshakable, their bond unbreakable, and their hearts steadfast.
“Yes, my friend, you haven’t changed!”
“As have you, my friend! No, cheeky boy, you’ve grown taller than me!”
“Hahaha! I’m glad to see you haven’t changed!”
“You bastard!”
Having loosened their restraints in each other’s company, the two talked joyfully while maintaining their hands on each other’s shoulders. Their playful banter and occasional light punches made the scene resemble young boys at play.
“Um… Master?”
“Huh? Oh, Sir…?”
The surrounding people were left completely bewildered by the sudden reunion, still unable to quite comprehend what had just transpired. After all, one of the protagonists was the famed “Golden-haired” of Marsheim, while the other was a magician who looked perfectly at ease in extravagant robes fit for nobility. Their relationship, despite being seemingly mismatched—at least on the surface—also strangely made sense, leaving everyone in the tavern puzzled as to how they could fit together so naturally.
Having quickly rebooted his mind before the rest, a brawny man called out to Erich, followed by a towering ogre questioning his dignified companion’s odd behavior.
With an air of cheerful affirmation, the golden-haired one extended his arms widely and introduced his companion to the crowd. It was as if he wanted to convey the message: “It’s my pride and honor to acquaint you with this stunning man who’s my friend!”
“This is Mika, my irreplaceable best friend! He is destined to become a peerless and great professor—a mage, indeed. Show him due respect!”
“Now, now, please stop exaggerating so much… I’m still just an attendee, not even a mage yet.”
Elevated by the joy of a reunion, the golden-haired one led his friend to the customary back table where their seats were reserved. Pulling out a large silver coin from his pocket—secretly stashing it in a hidden pouch for precautionary reasons—he declared, “This is for the celebration! Eat and drink heartily!” to the tavern keeper with grandeur.
In response, the adventurers and the meager yet respectable patrons cheered at the cheerful gesture, praising the golden-haired one and their friend vociferously. Those who held drinking vessels lifted them, shouting the sorcerer’s name, while those without raised their thanks for the meal to come.
“You must be tired from your journey, here the food is cheap but it’s delicious. The owner is originally from the north where the mutton dishes are exquisite.”
“Ho, that sounds delightful, it might even surpass the joy of our reunion!”
“Come now, would you make me cry, friend? If the sheep were to be regarded less than you, I would be so distressed I might hunt them all across the western plains!”
“Just kidding, kidding, don’t get so worked up, my friend! You’re dearer to me than my own life, please do cherish the sheep!”
The two sat in silence next to each other. The golden-haired was handed a bottle full of alcohol by a trainee without needing to request it, and the sorcerer slightly beckoned the bewildered ogre standing there.
The action, showing consideration to introduce him, encouraged the ogre to walk with wobbly steps while trying hard to comprehend the situation.
So, that’s the Golden-haired? Indeed, now it makes sense—the splendid hair lives up to the nickname. It gleams like gold wire crafted by the finest artisans of aristocracy, and the moniker seems so fitting that it’s hard to imagine otherwise.
Yet, wasn’t he too small?
Though it’s hard to gauge his build due to the loose attire, he seemed particularly short. The sorcerer teacher instinctively felt that he should follow behind, being even smaller than that. While it’s common for the undersized farmers who may not have enough to eat to remain small, when compared with most adventurers around, he seemed frail.
Being called a hero of the borderlands, the one who exterminated bandits and ended the reign of tyranny—it would be hard to accept such a fragile figure.
Wouldn’t he better fit standing behind a noblewoman instead?
“My friend, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to, he has been a great help and companion on my journey and even helped carry my luggage today. Come now, announce yourself young adventurer.”
“H-huh…?”
Caught off-guard due to the stark difference between his expectations and reality, the ogre found his carefully prepared words completely lost, only able to announce his name factually.
“I am Yorgos from the Cyclops tribe…”
“Yorgos… Oh, from the Southern region? By imperial standards, that would be Georgios, quite a brave name!”
While praising his name and inviting him to sit down, Yorgos, bewildered, took the empty wine glass offered by the golden-haired one.
Looking closely again, the figure seemed far from the image of the “Golden-haired Saga” that Yorgos had heard repeatedly along the journey. It was hard to associate the mighty deeds with a person so small that one could crush him in one hand.
As the golden-haired one slowly poured wine for the ogre while observing him, his eyes narrowed and then softened into a smile.
And then, with no apparent concern, he said:
“Are you underestimating me because of my size, young one?”
“Huh?”
What should he be surprised by? Though the Cyclops grow more slowly compared to humans, Yorgos was undoubtedly older in age. However, when compared by both their physical appearance and mental maturity, they could be considered of the same generation.
Is it because he was referred to as “young one”? Or is it because his thoughts were read?
No, perhaps it’s due to the ability to laugh despite being underestimated?
“Alright, alright, it doesn’t matter. Even if I seem small, I’m aware that I have a commanding presence. I’d like to grow a beard, but alas, it simply doesn’t grow.”
“Beard on you!? Well, no, I can’t quite imagine such a thing…”
“Spare me, friend. The way I see it, you haven’t grown any facial hair at eighteen either, right?”
“That’s it, you see, it’s because of the title “sir”…”
“Ahhai!”
While the ogre was perplexed, and the adventurers grew annoyed at their leader’s belittlement, the two carried on their cheerful conversation. Seemingly realizing the reason from the mage’s words, the golden-haired one quaffed his wine and announced after clearing his throat,
“Follow me, I can see that you’ve come to hear of the Sword Friends Association, haven’t you?”
“A sword, someone’s got one!” A burly youth who had spoken first sprang up instantly and handed over a wooden sword.
“I’ll grant you a demonstration. I have no other way of communicating but through this.”
With a skillful flick, he spun the blade in his palm and effortlessly hoisted it on his shoulder as he grinned.
And thus, the ogre finally understood.
The reason why a hero was hailed as one.
It was through the transformation that carrying the sword brought to his aura…
【Tip】 Just as one can conceal their hostility, they can also suppress strength or intimidation when desired.
The courtyard of the Silver Snow Wolf tavern resembled less a guesthouse’s and more a training ground.
Training posts for sparring, many rolled-up straw targets pierced by numerous arrows, and straw bundles for test-cutting lined the expansive space where laundry fluttered—a curious sight blending war and domesticity.
Pulled to this unusual environment, Yorgos felt increasingly uncomfortable.
Opposite him stood a diminutive swordsman, naturally proportioned in plain clothing without armor, wielding a simple wooden sword. Though small yet deadly if struck poorly, its fine craftsmanship still showed. However, in the ogre’s hand, a weapon crafted for larger human females dwarfed even him.
Despite his relatively developed muscle—a testament to countless hours of practice—clutching this massive sword was an achievement for him, one built upon blistered calluses and rigid arms. Over time, his limbs had grown thick, sacrificing any appeal to “charm” for the sake of strength, yet through it all, he’d come to take some pride in wielding his massive blade. It had helped him repel bandits when traveling with merchant caravans.
Confronting this blade, the human figure before him seemed unapproachable.
“Feel free to strike without reservation, come on.”
If others had heard it, they might have cautioned this golden-haired one not to be reckless. Struck by such a massive blade against his slight frame? Impossible to withstand. But reality was different. The aura didn’t seem threatening—it gave off no sense of desperation. Rather, it was a casual assurance, as if inviting an attack while maintaining an unfathomable calm. It almost felt safer than letting loose a blind assault.
“How about it, coming or not? Is it just for show?”
Provoked by the sarcasm, Yorgos finally moved. Could someone stand by while being mocked, especially a man who’d left his tribe to become a warrior?
“GOAAAAH!”
An ogre’s war cry, akin to a growl deep enough to shake the air, startled even hardened wolves and caused reckless bandits to wet themselves upon seeing his blade raised. However, in front of the golden-haired opponent, it merely fluttered his loose bangs.
Undisturbed, with only half a turn, he evaded the powerful downward strike with ease.
A sudden numbness crept along Yorgos’s wrist, prompting him to step back and stare at his arm still firmly attached—it had felt as if severed a moment ago.
“A splendid effort, indeed,” stated the golden-haired as if he understood perfectly. And indeed he did. By dodging and manifesting the will to cut, he had invoked something known as killing intent or sword qi.
This invisible aura had caused Yorgos to vividly perceive the severing of his wrist.
“Come, surely you have more left to give!”
Invited once again, Yorgos drew a deep breath. He was being played with, but in this playfulness, valuable lessons were being imparted.
Such an opportunity was invaluable to those who hadn’t witnessed true combat. Knowing what they are up against changes the meaning of standing before a superior. One can approach known risks rather than fear the unknown, which brings advantages both in fighting or fleeing.
The deep experience of learning from a true master, capable of standing tall where others fear to tread, left an indelible mark. Facing such a warrior taught one how to survive, what to protect and what to sacrifice.
In the end, understanding the meaning behind one’s weapon brought respect.
Through these lessons, Yorgos realized the value of seeking out his mentor.
What a generous soul he was, teaching so meticulously even those who had underestimated him.
Through these actions, the ogre declared gravely, “I shall proceed.”
“Alright, come!”
Each strike taught him, “You are not yet ready,” as sword was met with sword. One weapon alone could perform such feats, turning even the mighty hammer of an unjust knight into a trifling toy, all in harmony with this human figure’s natural strength. Thus, the reputation of Yorgos’s ogre brethren as ‘ghosts of war’ gained clarity.
Drenched in sweat, his breaths labored, he prepared for the final stroke—his most trusted move. He had swung it many times this day, but for the final thrust!
Because a lone warrior had once seen merit in his technique—even refusing the title of teacher—he would deliver this strike as a testament.
A resonant clang filled the air. Lo and behold, the massive blade was no longer in his hands but spinning midair!
“Wha—!?”
“Phew, that was close!”
“Uh!? Boss?! Please, show some mercy!”
The crowd scrambled as the heavy blade spun through the air, landing upright in the suddenly empty space.
“Hmm, this is as far as it goes.”
Though his limbs remained intact, his weapon’s disappearance felt surreal—no pain, just an unsettling magic. Yet, he felt no resentment, only gratitude having been granted the privilege to swing his sword against such a master.
Through action alone, he had demonstrated that Yorgos’ blade was worthy of respect.
An honor for any swordsman: to be given a place worth fighting against.
“Are you satisfied?”
“Heckyeah… I’ve underestimated you!”
With a smile, the golden-haired tossed the wooden sword into an empty barrel and said, fanning his collar open for air,
“Let’s hit the bath before the booze. Want to come along?”
Who could refuse such a delightful invitation?
【Tip】 In war, familiarity is both dangerous and necessary.
And so, the update continues on Volume 3.
Though the courtyard sparring might feel a bit repetitive, the flow feels natural and beautiful, so I just indulge every now and then. I mean, just randomly charging at someone to show off strength feels like hooliganism, not something admirable. Therefore, setting the stage and engaging in a fair match is essential.
Alright then, let’s let them bicker and bond to their heart’s content!
