Early in the morning, in a dojo in the middle of the remote countryside, my dad started muttering some incomprehensible crap.
“Beryl. When am I finally gonna get some grandkids?”
“What’re you expecting from me out here in the sticks, pops?”
My name’s Beryl Gardinant—I’m an old man. Leaving out the details, I’ve long served as the instructor at a rural swordsmanship dojo that’s been going strong for generations. You might think I’ve omitted the specifics, but there’s nothing else to say. I’m simply an old man in a backcountry dojo who teaches students how to wield a sword. Nothing more and nothing less.
“It’s your day off, and you start meditating first thing in the morning. You’re not gonna meet anyone acting like that.”
“Weren’t you the one who raised me this way?”
Ever since dad retired and yielded the seat of instructor to me, this kind of nonsense was all he ever had to say. Though, he wasn’t alone in thinking that way—I wanted to meet someone too, dammit.
My family being what it was, I’d spent my life messing around with a wooden sword, practically for as long as I could remember. My parents had given birth to a healthy boy, and they’d raised me well, but it seemed I hadn’t inherited my dad’s outstanding talent for the blade. I had, of course, put in the effort. It wasn’t like I hated swordsmanship or anything. And above all else, I’d been unable to find any other immersive hobbies out here in the countryside.
When I started my training as a child, I was filled with curiosity. This extended to the peak of adolescence, through my teens and into my twenties, when my maturity caught up to my physical growth and enriched both my mind and body. Then, in my thirties, I further devoted myself to personal improvement. And with all that accumulation of experience, I’d reached my forties, having poured more effort into my training than was typical.
However, all I’d acquired as a result were somewhat better sword skills than the average person, a physique that at least allowed me to call myself a swordsman, and a reaction speed that could be considered keen for my age. That was about it.
If asked whether I was satisfied with this, I’d have to say no. But I wasn’t particularly disgruntled about it either. This was the end of my road—I was strangely convinced of that fact. Maybe I felt that way because my dad had allowed me to grow and grow without pinning too many hopes on my skills.
“Don’t you have at least one nice girl among your pupils?”
“Come on, pops. The dojo ain’t a place to pick up girls.”
I once more dismissed my dad’s nonsense grumbling. He was likely only acting this way because he was talking to his own son, but frankly, his tact was still pretty lacking.
Incidentally, maybe out of consideration for his old age, my dad had yielded the dojo’s ownership to me. Since then, I’d come to realize something: while I was only so-so with a sword, it seemed I had quite a knack for teaching others.
Even though our village was under the protection of the nation, there were many dangers in the backcountry. Take one step beyond our settlement’s fenced boundary, and you’d find yourself in wildland, home to ferocious animals and dangerous monsters alike. Of course, it was rare for monsters to come all the way to the village, but the world out here was still far from safe.
The capital and other urban areas were protected by splendid walls and patrolled by knights and soldiers. However, in this rural village, our defensive options were more limited. There were guys like me—an average swordsman trying to put food on the table by running a dojo—and then some hunters who delved into the wilds. Occasionally, soldiers, adventures, and the like would stay for some time, but that was about all we had.
Maybe that was why, despite being out in the sticks, our instruction was in relatively high demand. People wanted to acquire a means to protect themselves and learn skills that could lead to a successful career. Unfortunately, magic was foreign to me. I didn’t know the first thing about it. From the moment of my birth, I’d only wielded wooden and metal swords. Though, even across the entire world, wizards capable of using magic were a rarity. The capital apparently garrisoned a magic corps, but wizards were exceedingly few in number.
Oh, right—on the topic of pupils, I’d once taught a pretty girl with glistening silver hair. She’d once looked at me, her eyes earnest, and said, “When I grow older, I’m going to marry you, Master.” Unfortunately, she’d been too young for me to take her declaration seriously, so I’d just let it go.
Ah, we’ve gone off track. I’d been talking about teaching swordsmanship and how I was a little bit talented as an instructor. With a good balance of supply and demand, my dojo had quite a few pupils, despite being nestled out in the country. We taught all kinds—rowdy local kids, the village headman’s daughter, and even nobles from the capital, along with their children. I did sometimes think that there had to be countless other dojos like mine out there, but in any case, the number of students we had was directly tied to my family’s standard of living. We charged a monthly tuition fee, after all. The dojo definitely wasn’t running as some kind of charitable enterprise.
“Well, you know, it’s about time for you to show me some filial piety,” my dad griped.
“I inherited your dojo, enrolled more pupils, and am making us more money. What do you call that if not filial piety?”
“Add grandkids to that.”
“Oh come on...”
He was seriously energetic first thing in the morning.
Anyway, I’d been serving as the instructor here for a good while now. Among the graduates from our dojo, some had found significant success in life by becoming high-ranking adventurers or members of the nation’s knightly orders.
Some former students came back to the dojo pretty frequently to report on how things were going, while others sent letters. Though I had some talent for teaching, I was fully aware of my own abilities. I was grateful—it made me feel warm and fuzzy when my old pupils fussed over me like that—but a part of me thought they didn’t really need to pay attention to an old country bumpkin.
I mean, why’s the commander of the nation’s knights sending letters to me? Doesn’t she have more important things to do? Getting updates from such a VIP, one that was far beyond my station, made me understand that some of my pupils had really made it big. Overall, it was pretty bad for my heart.
If only I’d possessed a little more talent for the sword, then maybe, just maybe, I would’ve left this village too.
“You can at least give me a li’l hope, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. If I ever meet anyone, that is.”
At any rate, leaving here was no more than an impossible dream. I knew my abilities were at their limit, so at this age, I didn’t even entertain the idea.
After my dad left the dojo, I felt a clean breeze brush against my skin. It was the perfect morning for meditation.
“Haaah...”
I gradually focused my mind inward, but I was pulled right back out when I heard what sounded like a visitor. Hmm, who could that be? Today was a day off, so it probably wasn’t any of my pupils. Besides, pretty much all of my current students were children, so they were more likely to charge in without giving a proper greeting.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes, yes, who is it?”
I stood up—my hips had seemed to grow heavier and heavier over the years—and opened the dojo’s door. Standing outside was a beauty with dignified features. Her long silver hair fluttered behind her.
“It’s been a long time, Master.”
“Umm, are you perhaps...Allusia?”
Her noble expression loosened into a gentle smile. “Yes, Master. It’s good to see you again.”