Chapter 41: Sword Saint
2014-11-28
Author: Floating Tower (诸生浮屠)
The two quickly returned near the inn. Soren bought a ceramic jar, over a pound of pork, and about a pound of beans.
At first, he had promised to get Vivian something delicious, but unfortunately, it was not very convenient in the wild. So he planned to make it up to her now by cooking something for the little girl that evening. Outside the inn, a crowd had gathered, some were residents from the town, wanting to see if there were any cheap goods, while others were local hunters intending to sell furs at a lower price to them, thus avoiding a trip to the city. Another part of the crowd had simply come to watch, mainly fascinated by the burrowing worms on the carts.
“They really are burrowing worms!”
“It seems they’ve at least slaughtered three. These people are quite impressive!”
Among the onlookers were both militia and children. For these people living on the outskirts, the legendary monsters were still quite vague, but the burrowing worms were one of the most dangerous creatures they could know.
“Let’s go in.”
Soren glanced at the others and decided to go in to rest.
However, when a somewhat slender yet muscular figure appeared, he couldn’t help but stop. The guard captain, who made the same move, also set down his task and looked at the man who had appeared. The man didn’t seem very old, probably in his twenties, with a handsome face and sharp features, his gaze keen and piercing, eyebrows straight like a sword. Such a visage left a strong impression, especially considering his restrained yet sharp aura. “Sword Saint?”
Soren glanced at the man’s weapon, a playful expression emerging at the corner of his mouth as he muttered to himself, “I didn’t expect this little town to be hiding dragons and tigers.”
“To think there’s even an advanced Sword Saint living here.”
The Sword Saint.
This is not merely a title of strength level.
It refers to a type of profession that stems from a warrior. The sound of “Saint” in many contexts represents a pursuit and belief, such as in Paladins, Holy Fist Guardians, and Clerics. The Sword Saint is a high-end advanced profession for warriors, with rigorous requirements. It is also a profession that gives up the use of armor. Without extraordinary talent, one must reach the third tier of strength to have a possibility of advancing successfully. The Sword Saint does not have a specific weapon, but commonly uses a straight-blade sword, which many still refer to as a sword.
They excel at finding the deadly weaknesses of their enemies while also knowing how to maximize their own strength. The ability “Qi Slash” was gradually transmitted from Sword Saints to regular warriors.
Many Sword Saints have undergone training as weapon masters, and they might even study the meditation practices of monks.
This Sword Saint observed the merchant caravan and soon displayed a hint of disappointment on his face. He quickly departed from the crowd and walked toward the back of the town.
Sword Saints enjoy seeking out opponents to spar with; they hope to hone their skills through battle. If they are operating in orc territories, Sword Saints particularly enjoy challenging outside strong foes.
“Vivian.”
“You go in first. I’ll be back soon.”
Soren, feeling a spark of curiosity, quietly followed the Sword Saint outside but didn’t trail too closely.
The sky gradually darkened.
The professional who chose the Sword Saint path did not return, instead directly approaching a large tree.
He inserted the straight-blade sword from his back into the ground, then sat cross-legged behind the sword. With arms that were not excessively muscular yet clearly defined, he gripped the hilt, then slowly closed his eyes and began to breathe.
He remained in this position for half a day.
Soren’s figure was very hazy under the shadows not far away. He carefully watched the Sword Saint from afar, his expression quite solemn.
The Sword Saint did not sit on the ground.
In fact.
From the beginning up until now, the Sword Saint’s body had been about one centimeter off the ground, supported by his arms. His hands had always been gripping the sword hilt, and all his weight was resting upon it. His breathing had not greatly changed throughout, with his chest slightly rising and falling, as if he had entered a meditative state.
However, Soren could be certain of one thing.
If he approached within twenty meters of the Sword Saint, the Sword Saint would instantly detect him.
Most Sword Saints are above the third tier.
This means that his profession level might exceed level 10. If a conflict were to break out, Soren’s chances of winning would be less than 30%.
So he quietly retreated, making sure not to disturb the training Sword Saint.
The Sword Saint is the strongest advanced profession for warriors, followed by specialized weapon masters and then high-strength Berserk Warriors.
Because they do not wear any armor, Sword Saints are quite vulnerable.
Especially in the future turmoil, during large scale battles, Sword Saints easily become prime targets for attacks. Thus, Soren has yet to encounter many at the legend rank. The “Insight Weakness” of a legendary Sword Saint is said to even be able to discern the weakest point of the protective deflection fields cast by spellcasters!
Professionists are not always out adventuring.
If they feel fatigued or reach a breakthrough threshold, they will seek out a quiet place to attempt advancement.
Some special professional lineages even return to the places where they were originally trained.
“It seems I need to find time to start practicing too.”
Seeing so many professionists in such an inconspicuous little town undoubtedly increased Soren’s pressure.
He had never felt such a strong sensation before.
But now he realized these narrative natives were not simple!
Even though he had a mysterious data stream in his mind, if he did not put in the effort and hard work, he might not surpass these natives in the future, especially when facing the descending gods in the looming Saint’s Cataclysm.
“Ha!”
Soren silently pressed his hand on the curved blade, muttering, “No wonder the gods that were defeated by players were less than a tenth of the narrative natives.”
“This disparity cannot be bridged by data!”
The fall of the gods.
Once, there were barely a handful of players who attained divinity, but there were hundreds of narrative natives who gained divinity.
This difference is not merely in profession levels!
………………
Soren returned to the inn and started preparing dinner.
The merchant guards were busy with their own matters, and the mysterious mistress had not shown herself much these past two days. Wizards rarely interacted with common folks, so no one found it odd.
Vivian was obediently recognizing words in the room, having almost mastered the universal script.
She didn’t ask where Soren had gone.
By the time Soren returned, she had moved a small stool and sat beside him. Soren was cutting the pork he bought into pieces and pouring the beans into the ceramic jar. He then took the jar to the inn’s kitchen, carefully sealed it, covered it with the ashes from burnt firewood, and then clapped his hands, saying, “Let’s go eat something first.”
“It should be ready by nightfall.”
This was a relatively simple dish to prepare, and it also tasted good, something Soren used to make for himself when he had time.
The only requirement was patience.
Since it was made by stewing, it needed about three hours.
As night fell.
The merchant guards were drinking and chatting in front of the inn. Occasionally, some would get excited and go outside to show off, while some merchants gathered together to calculate goods. Today, they had acquired some furs in the little town, and transporting them to the next city should earn them some money. Soren sat at the back, playing with the curved blade, but using his left hand instead of his right.
This is a difficult specialty to train, likely requiring a significant amount of time.
Either expending specialty points to obtain it or putting in hard work to train. However, Soren already had a personal specialty for having agile left hand, making it much easier to master this associated specialty.
Unknowingly, someone encouraged Soren to join in and play.
Soren actually had that thought himself, but when it was time to act, he used his left hand.
The sparring partner was a young man from the northern region.
Initially, the guard captain was eager to try his hand at Soren’s skills, but upon seeing him wielding the knife in his left hand, he directly gave up.
But his expression was quite curious, as very few people fought using dual weapons.
This requires high skill!
Currently, the beings most adept at dual-wielding are elves; only those long-lived beings have the time to train such skills.
Vivian stood on a table higher than herself to watch.
Because she was simply too short.
In the open space, Soren moved with a serious expression while his reverse grip on the knife influenced his performance, but this was just what he needed to train his left hand’s agility.
Even while fighting with his left hand, he was still not at a disadvantage and even seemed to be testing his opponent.
The little girl watched attentively from the table, holding a dining knife in her pale little hands, mimicking the moves being displayed in the field and occasionally furrowing her brows while thinking.
Her stance looked somewhat awkward, yet her expression was very serious!
Gradually.
When she imitated the moves, there was even a resemblance every now and then.
No one noticed the little girl in that corner; they had already been captivated by the battle in the field. Soren’s dodging skills amazed many, especially some of his agile footwork and difficult maneuvers when avoiding attacks. Ordinary people cannot perform such movements without specialized flexibility training.
On the second floor of the inn.
The mysterious merchant mistress appeared at some point; she quickly glanced at Soren sparring in the open area and soon appeared somewhat uninterested. However, when her gaze fell upon Vivian in the corner, her expression burst forth with brilliance, a look of surprise and amusement.
The little girl stood on the table and practiced for a while.
Then she boredly set down the dining knife and murmured, “It doesn’t seem that hard!”
“Brother isn’t even trying.”
“If he used that move that can zip along the wall, he could take that guy out in one blow.”
“It’s just a few flips.”
“The people sparring with brother aren’t as strong as that guy from earlier in the day!”
The little girl pouted, sneakily glanced at the others, then quietly poured herself a cup of wheat beer from a jug with both hands.
“Uh-huh.”
Vivian took a sip, smacked her lips, and said to herself, “It tastes kind of weird.”
“Why do they like this stuff?”
With a hint of curiosity, the little girl took a few more sips, and a rosy flush soon appeared on her pretty little face.
“Uh-huh.”
“Why do I feel a bit dizzy?”
Vivian’s petite body started to wobble.
When Soren returned from his spar, the little girl looked rather tipsy, her face flushed bright red as she hurriedly tried to hide the cup behind her.
How could Soren not notice that she had been secretly drinking!
So when he saw the bumbling, sway-eyed Vivian before him, his expression immediately darkened.
Smack!
He gave her a smack on her little behind.
Soren directly scooped her up under his arm and tossed her into the room on the second floor to sleep.
The night air was slightly cool.
Soren checked the ceramic jar in the kitchen, then covered it with ashes from the charcoal fire, lit an oil lamp, and took it to the second-floor room. He pulled a book from his dimensional bag and quietly began to read. Occasionally, his gaze would fall on Vivian, who was sleeping peacefully beside him, her little face still sporting a hint of rosy drunkenness, and his expression would show a mix of amusement and exasperation.
“You’ve got some nerve!”
He reached out to pinch Vivian’s little nose. The little girl, feeling uncomfortable, waved her small hand, then turned over and fell back into a deep sleep.
She really was drunk.
Even though she only drank a small cup of wheat beer.
The night grew deeper.
Soren put the book away, extinguished the oil lamp, and went to sleep. The little girl drowsily leaned over, naturally wrapping her arm around his, and smacked her lips while mumbling one or two indistinct words in her dreams.
The night passed just like that.
………………
