Doggone Academy

The stench of charred corpses filled the air from all sides. The rain had somewhat dampened the flames. Silveryn frowned as she watched a severed ghoul’s arm still twitching on the ground.

Silveryn surveyed her surroundings, organizing the situation in her mind.

The remaining ghouls had fled, and it seemed they wouldn’t return for a while. It was a relief that this didn’t involve black magic.

Silveryn approached the boy lying on the ground.

She grabbed the scruff of the boy’s neck and dragged him to one side. Then she propped him up against the large meteorite with his back resting on it.

The unconscious boy’s head drooped lifelessly down. She pushed his chin up with her fingertips to examine his face.

He was young.

A matted tangle of hair. Fine complexion that suggested he had just passed puberty. Incomplete features intermittently hinted at a handsome appearance. She checked his forearms and palms. His right arm had a decent amount of muscle, and his palms bore calluses.

Had he learned the sword?

It was bewildering that at such a young age, the boy had fought ghouls in the land of death, wielding a mysterious sword.

What had drawn the boy to this unexplored Land of Death? How did he come to know of this place?

And what, exactly, was the sword he had wielded?

Silveryn’s gaze shifted to the meteorite that half-buried in the ground, supporting the boy’s back.

In its center was a deep hole, as if something had been embedded there.

A glint sparked in Silveryn’s eyes.

Even for Silveryn, who had been through every imaginable predicament, this situation was particularly bewildering.

She recalled a legend inscribed on a scroll stored in Enmion’s Great Library, the repository of elf knowledge.

The chosen one. The sword of light stuck in a meteorite. The man beloved by the gods.

And like a figure straight out of that legend, there sat the boy before her.

How was she supposed to interpret this?

Before jumping to conclusions, there was something she needed to verify first.

When she removed her hand from his chin, the boy’s head flopped forward again.

Silveryn stood up and stepped back from the boy, then she took out a water flask and sprinkled some water on him.

When there was no response, she poured the rest of the water liberally over the boy’s head. Afterwards, she threw the now-empty flask at the boy’s head.

With a dull thud, Silveryn said,

“Get up.”

Only then did the boy shudder his head.

“Eh, what?”

Regaining consciousness, the boy shook his head and looked up. He was still groggy, his eyes unfocused and mouth agape as he stared at Silveryn.

Silveryn placed her hands on her hips and scrutinized the boy.

“What are you?”

“…?”

“How did you come to know of this place?”

The boy squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, apparently unable to distinguish between dream and reality.

He hesitated, eyes rolling, then spoke.

“I saw a star falling.”

Silveryn looked at the boy sternly, without any sign of movement, prompting him to add another sentence.

“I followed it here…”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

The boy nodded as if it were obvious.

It was impossible to precisely locate this place just by following the trajectory of a star.

“Can you use magic or detect mana?”

“Not at all.”

Silveryn was momentarily at a loss for words at the boy’s candidness.

She had encountered those claiming to have received divine revelations before. Those called saints and apostles, the odd bunch. They accomplished reckless feats with nothing but unfounded self-confidence.

And in this boy, she faintly saw an echo of those ‘chosen ones.’

“Alright, let’s say that’s true. To whom do you belong?”

“Until coming here, I trained in metalworking at a forge in Haman.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Where did you learn to use a sword?”

“I’ve never learned swordplay.”

It was an absurd answer.

Judging by the fact he had crawled into the land of death on his own, one might think he had at least learned swordsmanship, but metalworking?

“What about your family?”

“…….”

The boy, who had maintained his composure, had a momentary flicker in his eyes.

Silveryn didn’t miss his slight reaction.

“Do you not have a family?”

The boy silently nodded in response.

The word ‘family’ seemed to strike an emotional vulnerability in him.

Puzzle pieces in Silveryn’s mind began to fit together more clearly.

Had he had someone to love, someone who genuinely cared for and directed his life, he would not have done something as insane as chase a star fragment into the land of death.

She now understood the boy’s thoughtless recklessness.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Um… good.”

The boy tilted his head in confusion at Silveryn’s ambiguous affirmation.

“Can you show me the sword you were using?”

“…”

“Don’t worry, I have no intention of taking it. Besides, it might not even be possible for me to take it.”

“After I pulled it out of the meteorite and swung it, I lost consciousness, and the sword disappeared.”

“Call it out.”

“I don’t really know how.”

“It’s your sword since you held and swung it. If it didn’t accept you as its master, it wouldn’t have let you hold it in the first place.”

“…….”

After hearing her words, the boy became contemplative for a moment.

Then, the boy raised his hands to shoulder height and closed his eyes. Soon, a sword of pure white light appeared above the palm of his hands.

‘Did he grasp the sensation immediately after my advice?’

The more powerful the sword, the more the wielder’s state of mind, rather than physical strength, affects their ability to handle the sword.

A faint smile curled the corner of Silveryn’s lips.

“You’re a quick learner.”

When she touched the blade, her fingers went straight through it without sensation. Silveryn couldn’t touch the sword.

“Hmm…”

She didn’t show it, but it was a fresh shock for Silveryn. She had encountered numerous swordmasters and even traveled with those who had reached the realm of the sword spirit. Among the famous swords throughout history that they wielded, she had never seen one with such characteristics—only heard of them in legends.

And the owner of this absurd sword was a 16-year-old boy.

Moreover, it seemed the boy had little awareness of the absurdity of what he possessed.

The problem was that many rogues across the continent would covet such a renowned sword, and the boy did not seem to have the strength to protect himself.

The boy was too vulnerably situated for a premature death; it was something Bern Arnst, the founder of Eternia, would have lamented.

“You’ve shown me enough. You can put it away now.”

As soon as she finished speaking, the sword vanished.

“So you belong to… no one, right?”

With a reluctant expression, the boy nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“Damian.”

“Where will you go back to?”

“I’ll go back to Haman where I was working at the forge.”

Silveryn averted her gaze and answered half-heartedly.

“Haman, you say… Yes, it’s a quiet and peaceful place.”

“……?”

Numerous thoughts crossed Silveryn’s mind in an instant. Internally conflicted, she chewed on her lip.

‘Am I supposed to just send him back home?’

“Your wounds look severe.”

Silveryn pulled a small leather pouch from her waist and took out a bottle of purple liquid – a potion. She extended the bottle towards the boy as if to give it to him, paused to consider, then tucked it back into her bag.

“What could you give me if I save your life?”

“All I have is that sword and a little money I’ve saved up from my work.”

“So all that’s left is your body.”

At the mention of ‘body’, Damian’s frame tensed instantly.

“…….”

“Do you like being around people?”

“……no.”

“It would be good for you to get used to it.”

Damian rolled Silveryn’s meaningful words around in his mind. He licked his dry lips, considering the situation had taken an unfavorable turn.

He seemed to be under the delusion that Silveryn placed a high value on him, mistaking her for wanting to secure some leverage like debt, rank, or a powerful backing.

In reality, it was quite the opposite.

The fewer ties and affiliations the boy had — such as connections or an organization — the better it was for Silveryn.

Silveryn pulled out a piece of parchment from her pocket. She spread it wide and recited a spell. Shortly after, the parchment began to singe slightly and characters were etched onto it.

She handed the parchment to Damian. The content was inscribed in ancient script which the boy could not decipher.

“Sign it.”

Damian took the parchment and was momentarily lost in thought.

‘Yes, all sorts of thoughts must be passing through his head.’

Silveryn was well aware that Damian had no other choice.

If Silveryn abandoned Damian here, his life would inevitably end.

As Damian procrastinated with the parchment, Silveryn sighed and said,

“Don’t worry. If I had ill intentions, I wouldn’t have bothered with this piece of paper; I could have made you a puppet anyway.”

Strictly speaking, this wasn’t an invoice. It was more akin to a contract agreeing to protect and nurture the boy.

“I don’t have any ink to use for…”

Silveryn cast a glance at Damian’s side where blood was still oozing.

“Ah.”

He pressed his index finger into the blood-soaked hem of his shirt and then hastily scribbled his name at the bottom of the parchment.

Silveryn took back the parchment and, biting the flesh of her own index finger, signed beside his name with her blood.

She whistled sharply. A spherical object with rapid wingbeats like a bee darted from the sky towards her.

She clipped the parchment to the leg of the object. In the blink of an eye, the sphere had flown off somewhere.

Only then did Silveryn retrieve a potion from her bag and tossed it to Damian.

“Spray it on your wound. If you keep giving off the smell of blood, the ghouls will gather again.”

Damian seemed concerned about what the parchment stated.

“What did I sign?”

“A binding contract.”

“What kind of bond?”

“The bond between a master and an apprentice.”

The boy’s eyes widened like those of a rabbit.

Seemingly anxious that it could be snatched away, he quickly doused the potion on his wound and said,

“Why?”

His demeanor became decidedly serious.

“It’s rare for someone your age to slash through ghouls like that.”

Damian shook his head.

“That’s not my own power.”

‘Oh?’

She had seen numerous children Damian’s age. Those at this stage of life often become arrogant and intoxicated with powers easily obtained through their heritage or magical artifacts.

In a situation like this, one could easily become intoxicated with the feeling of being chosen, yet Damian firmly kept his distance.

Silveryn swallowed a satisfied smile internally.

Impressive. The boy knew his limits. Yet, he followed the revelation with nothing but his bare body, braving all the dangers of this land of the dead. It was unusual to find someone with such a character. He was fundamentally different from the children raised delicately in noble families.

Damian did not easily let down his guard against her.

“But who exactly are you to take me as an apprentice?”

Silveryn ran her fingers through her wind-tossed hair and gathered it to one shoulder, allowing it to drape over her chest as she spoke.

“Let’s see.”

Silveryn thought about what grandiose titles she could use to describe herself.

People had attributed many titles to her, but none she particularly liked. Some were too embarrassing to announce with her own mouth.

In a way, Damian’s caution made sense. After all, nothing was more suspicious than a person offering kindness without any apparent reason.

In Silveryn’s mind, there was no other choice. There was indeed one word that could assure everyone of her abilities and trustworthiness.

“Ever heard of Eternia Academy?”

Upon Silveryn’s sudden question, Damian stiffened as if turned to stone.