Time flowed differently for a boy and an old man.“Santiago, please teach me swordsmanship.”
“My swordsmanship was terrible, kid.”
“Still, I wanted to learn your sword.”
Day and night switched. I grew from a boy into a young man.
“My swordsmanship couldn’t even be called swordsmanship. The blade I held was a self-defense rapier my friend had given me. What I learned was nothing but how to stab and cut, and since I grew old and could no longer learn more, I fought with only those methods.”
“Please teach me even that. The ways to stab and cut.”
“That was something you’d learn naturally. Instead, I’ll teach you something else.”
My height grew. My body broadened, muscles forming. Even a beard began to appear.
“No matter how strong a man is, he will eventually meet an enemy stronger than himself, or an enemy he cannot overcome. When such a time comes, you must never abandon hope. Throwing away hope is foolishness. I believe it to be a sin.”
“……”
“Whatever situation comes, do not lose your mind. Keep your head steady and think like a man about how to endure hardship. Don’t dwell on things you don’t have right now—be wise about how to use what you do have.”
Unlike me, who kept growing— Santiago only continued to grow old.
“Whatever trial comes, if your adventure is not over, do not break. The sea never gets soaked by rain. If you cradle a great dream, you must not collapse to a trial that is not that dream, kid.”
Santiago still never won even a single victory. He could no longer fight every day. First every other day, and after his condition worsened, he barely managed to enter the arena once a week.
While Santiago aged and weakened, I continued to grow stronger. Whether it was the difference of talent or of years, I could not tell.
“Do you know this?”
“What do you mean?”
“A sword contains a soul.”
By then, I had become a fairly well-known fighter. Unlike Santiago, I was a fighter who won match after match. My swordsmanship worked well enough even against the fighters of the Steel City. Some of the Steel City’s residents began to recognize me. I had fans now.
“Look at this kitchen knife. The traces of a housewife remain intact. She held the knife differently to cut ingredients properly, and here—perhaps she often crushed garlic with the handle, leaving these marks. And what is this broken part? This kitchen knife was found on a battlefield.”
“Did she go to war after hearing her son had died? Then that mark must’ve come from when she threw the knife somewhere, unable to contain her anger after learning of his death.”
“Perhaps. Of course, I’m not saying this is the truth. This is only an example. The sword. On this small blade and the place that supports the blade, inside the metal, lies the soul of the ones who wielded and used it. The tiny traces, the great damages, even the cleanly preserved parts—each one carries their life within it. Isn’t it fascinating? That decades of a human’s life could be contained in such a small object.”
A sword contained a soul. Santiago’s words stayed strongly with me. Even comparing only his rapier to mine, the differences were obvious.
My rapier was spotless without a scratch, while Santiago’s rapier, having been broken often and repaired at the forge, carried all those reattached scars.
The worn rapier resembled Santiago. Broken many times, yet rejoined again, clashing against yet another sword. A blade that could be shattered but would not break. It felt like his life had been placed into it as it was.
“When one person inherits a sword from another, they are inheriting a soul. In that case, the sword’s old owner does not die—they exist forever. Through the one who inherits them. It’s the same as a saying of the Steel Legion: Old soldiers never die, they just fade away.”
The stories Santiago told of blades were captivating. Before long, when examining swords, I began to look not only at cutting ability or durability but at the ‘soul’ contained within them.
Everything small carried a reason. Nothing in the world existed without a reason. Santiago’s attitude toward life eventually influenced me as well. It was the greatest gift an old man could give the young. I had received an enormous gift from him.
“Tom, what are you doing?”
But,
“I’m examining the sword’s soul. Looking at these traces, this is—”
“What are you talking about? A sword is just a sword. Stop doing weird things and prepare for tomorrow’s match. Ever since you’ve been hanging around that senile old man, you’re starting to act like him?”
No one understood.
“It’s just a weapon, Tom.”
Santiago always entered the matches, yet no one remembered the old fighter. No one cheered for the old man in the coliseum. No one looked at the will of a man burning through the twilight of his life.
The audience saw only the slow and weakened blade, only the miserable defeats. No one tried to see the sword’s soul. They did not care about a weapon’s story or history. Their only standards were how well it cut and how sturdy it was.
“Santiago, I’ve become quite a famous fighter now.”
As my name spread, many people gathered around me. Women who made my eyes widen, people who whispered sweet words, wealthy merchants and nobles. As I mingled among them, young and full of vigor, I naturally became influenced by them. It was only natural. A human was shaped by his environment. A young man was even easier to sway.
“You should stop entering duels now, Santiago.”
“Are you worried about me?”
“I am worried, but that’s not it. There’s no meaning in it anymore.”
“No meaning? What do you mean?”
“You’re growing weaker day by day. And unlike sword mastery, you don’t gain new insights that could help you improve with time. You’re only bringing your death closer. It’d be better to put down the sword entirely and rest at home. I’m saying this for your sake—this is what a friend would say.”
Time changed people.
“Maybe I should teach you some swordsmanship, Santiago. I became a 「Sword Runner」 this time. Now I can imbue lightning into my sword. It felt like a mystery born from my desire to defeat those damned dragons. There’s nothing better than lightning to bring down things that fly in the sky.”
“You don’t need to teach me swordsmanship.”
“Really? Being taught by me isn’t easy, Santiago. I’m not that kid anymore. I’m the most famous fighter in the Steel City, and I’m a fighter who might end up renowned throughout the entire Iron Kingdom.”
“That’s fine, kid.”
“How long are you planning to keep calling me kid? I—”
“You’re still a kid to me, Tom.”
Even at my rude words, Santiago neither grew angry nor annoyed. He never questioned the many things I said. He only smiled, just as he had when I first saw him.
“Kid, your sword is far sharper and far more splendid than mine. But it has almost no scratches. In the sea, even a big and strong fish eventually gets caught on a hook. And a fish that has never been caught, no matter how strong, has no idea how to fight. It just flops around until it dries and dies.”
“……”
“Get some scratches. Break a few times. It will help you later. But don’t bend. Don’t break. Make sure the soul within your sword does not change.”
“A sword… doesn’t have something like a soul…!”
I tried to say there was no such thing as a soul, but I shut my mouth. Even though everyone around me mocked and sneered, deep inside, I had always believed, “A sword does have a soul.” For some reason, I could not lie in front of Santiago. I could be rude, but lying felt impossible. Seeing my expression, Santiago grinned softly.
“Don’t mind other people’s gazes. Don’t listen to their mockery, and don’t try to match their expectations. Being alone is something humans cannot avoid. One day, you’ll be left alone too, kid. Then the life that unfolds before you will be nothing but fighting. Fighting until you die. That is the essence of life.”
Santiago slowly stood up.
“You must never forget that for the rest of your life.”
That day, after ten days, Santiago entered the Arena again as a fighter. I wanted to apologize to him, but my pride stopped me. I also didn’t go to watch his duel. While Santiago stepped forward for his own battle, I enjoyed a party in one of the Steel City’s luxurious mansions.
Beautiful women, wine, and greasy meat. The taste of the wine and meat was good, but it wasn’t as good as the cognac and stew at Santiago’s home. Because I drank far too much, my hangover the next morning was terrible.
Grabbing my pounding head, I headed toward Santiago’s house. I planned to jokingly say I was sorry for yesterday, that I drank too much, and ask if I could at least have a bowl of stew. Ever since I became an adult, apologizing sincerely has become difficult.
I avoided lowering my head whenever possible. But when I opened the door to Santiago’s home, the first things I saw were his dented and broken old helmet, the shattered pieces of his sword, and his blood-stained but neatly folded clothes. Feeling something wrong, I ran to the Arena and found a new gravestone erected behind it.
There was a grave with no name. On the corner of the stone, a single phrase was written:
『The Old Fighter.』
Knowing who it belonged to wasn’t difficult. Santiago had died like that. I never saw what the old man had tried to prove in his final moment. I had not stayed by the side of the old fighter passing through the end of his life.
Santiago—who once said he was happy to have found a friend—faced his final moment alone. No one would have cheered for the old fighter. No one would have respected his end.
The last moment of the old man who befriended a foreign boy was lonely. The boy who became a young man had forgotten what was truly precious. While the old man died proving himself, the young man was drunk, playing with women. I remembered the vulgar jokes I told last night, remembered drinking wine and mocking Santiago, and I remembered joining the others in ridiculing the old fighter.
When I remembered that far, I couldn’t hold back the nausea. I vomited everything inside me and scraped the ground with my fingers until my nails nearly tore off.
When I finally came to my senses, tears were falling. After wiping them away with effort, I returned to Santiago’s grave and there, a small boy stood.
He had placed a small flower in front of the gravestone. When I asked why he left it there, choking with sobs, the boy answered:
“I watched the match yesterday.”
“……”
“This grandpa… he won in the end.”
He said it so calmly, so plainly.
“He died, but he still didn’t lose.”
When he finished, the boy disappeared. I stayed before Santiago’s grave until nightfall.
“He won”—the boy’s words echoed in my ears.
Santiago, who had been old since the first day I met him, had always entered duels. Even a week ago, he had never earned a single victory. His sword was not one that could defeat someone. But in his final moment, Santiago had achieved victory. His lifelong proof at the very end, he finally succeeded.
I did not witness what my friend proved.
Was there a greater sin than that? An unbearable fury rose in me. As the urge to destroy myself surged, I remembered Santiago’s teaching: A sword contains a soul. Within a small object lies decades of human life.
Thinking that, I returned to Santiago’s home. There lay his helmet, and the broken sword. I picked up the pieces of the rapier and slowly tried to fit them back together. Every trace in this world had a reason. Cause and effect existed. If one could see the soul contained in a blade, one could see the world it had witnessed.
With that thought, I held the sword Santiago had left behind and stayed awake for three days and nights. The faint scorch marks, the tiny cracks—all of it contained Santiago. The life I had never heard about, the death I had never witnessed.
I had the duty to confirm it.
Chapter 211: Chapter 211
11 min read