The Legend of the Sword-Gatherer and a Gift for Sir Olcott

Long, long ago, this was a place of chaos and disorder. Local gentry colluded with ruthless bullies, and the common folk suffered immensely.

A young person, having witnessed too much human suffering, could no longer bear to see their homeland continue in such a state. They heard of a powerful, righteous, and just knight in a neighboring city, one who abhorred evil. Thus, they resolved to seek out this knight and implore them to restore order.

They walked and walked, traversing long mountain paths and riverbanks. Yet, instead of the bustling city they expected, they found only ruins.

The young person searched through the rubble with a heavy heart, unwilling to give up. However, apart from themselves, not another living soul remained.

Finally, in the very center of the ruins, they discovered a blood-stained sword.

It was a sword of decent quality, nothing more—certainly no divine weapon. Yet, upon seeing it, a sudden realization dawned upon the young person.

Days later, the young person returned to their homeland. They brought no revered knight, only the sword.

They resolved to deliver justice themselves.

The fierce conflict raged for many days. The young person fought with bloodshot eyes, their sword worn dull and lusterless. In the final, decisive battle, they perished alongside the last remaining tyrant, their precious blade shattering into countless fragments.

Nevertheless, the era of corrupt gentry and ruthless bullies finally ended. With the aid of others, the young person’s descendants established a city-state in their homeland, ushering in an age of prosperity and peace.

That city is known as Juneburg, and the young person’s current descendant is Lord Martin. His family’s surname, ‘Sword-Gatherer,’ makes perfect sense in light of this tale.

Hearing this stirring story in the library, Iordera couldn’t help but exclaim, “Amazing!”

No wonder that surname is so distinctive.

There were many versions of the ‘Sword-Gatherer’ story. The one she had just read was the original, but another book was far more widely known throughout Juneburg.

The core narrative remained the same, yet the prose had been embellished with numerous decorative descriptions. The climactic battle, in particular, was rendered with breathtaking eloquence and stirring grandeur.

“‘…He finally fell, after vanquishing the last injustice. His blood-stained sword, its mission complete, shattered into countless iron shards, scattered around like a sky full of stars strewn upon the earth.'” Iordera softly read the final passage aloud. “Amazing!”

This book was a mandatory textbook in all of Juneburg’s schools, penned by the city’s most renowned bard.

She finally understood why the city’s inhabitants placed such unwavering trust in their Lord, always declaring, ‘The Lord will handle it,’ whenever trouble arose.

Truthfully, Lord Martin was doing quite well himself. He had first deactivated the portal’s entry permissions, then maximized the city’s defensive forces. Furthermore, with all the city’s alchemists deemed untrustworthy, he had personally journeyed to the neighboring town to enlist the help of skilled alchemical artisans.

It could be said that he had done everything within his power, and was actively seeking solutions for what lay beyond it.

Perhaps tomorrow, she would go to the square and hear the Lord’s own address.

****

Today had been quite a good day. Iordera hadn’t encountered any masked assailants during her patrols; the few incidents she came across were already handled by the arriving guards. Work had also proceeded smoothly, as Hecate hadn’t sought a heart-to-heart or engaged in much chatter, allowing the workday to conclude uneventfully.

Returning home, there was no barbecue gathering today, nor were any light bulbs broken. The maids had already prepared dinner and tidied the house, awaiting her return.

Though Nina and Yuna were prone to laziness when it came to chores, the house was only so large, and with an entire day allocated for a bit of housework and one meal, they managed to do it properly.

As Iordera practiced her punches in the courtyard, she thought to herself, ‘Now *this* is what living truly feels like.’

How comfortable and joyful it was.

The two maids, having finished clearing the dishes, stepped outside to find her swinging her small fists in the courtyard, looking somewhat bewildered.

“‘My Lady, what are you doing?'”

“‘I’m training,'” Iordera declared, her small fists thudding against the worn sandbag. “‘Improving my level!'”

Nina scrutinized her movements, a look of disbelief on her face.

If the sandbag were replaced with a person, one might easily mistake her for playfully flirting.

“‘Alright, My Lady, then you can slowly flirt… I mean, slowly practice,'” Nina amended.

“‘Slowly? No! Punching must be fast, swift as lightning, quick as thunder and wind! Horya!'”

Only when darkness fully descended did Iordera contentedly return home to bathe, then settle into her bed.

“‘Nina, Yuna, goodnight!'”

“‘Goodnight, My Lady,'” came a muffled reply. “‘Thank you for shouting goodnight to us an hour after we’ve already fallen asleep.'”

“‘Thank you again,'” added the other.

Iordera closed her eyes triumphantly, thinking, ‘Just try to get your revenge tomorrow morning, you rascals.’

****

The following morning, Nina and Yuna indeed harbored thoughts of revenge, but as the two sleepy maids pushed open their door, they discovered their young mistress had already departed.

Without any midnight insomnia, Iordera was truly a good little girl who went to bed early and woke up early.

“‘Good morning, dear,'” Hecate greeted her from within Prison Zero. “‘Soy milk again today?'”

“‘No, it’s oat milk,'” Iordera replied, sliding the tray inside. “‘And crispy steamed buns.'”

Hecate always ate with remarkable elegance, taking small, deliberate bites. After watching for a moment, Iordera tentatively asked, “‘Hecate, do you know anything about Sir Olcott?'”

“‘Sir Olcott, a member of the Imperial Royal Knights, ranks fifth in their order,'” Hecate stated, setting down her bun. “‘Level 73, a swordsman, considered a top-tier expert in the secondary class across the continent… To be more precise, aside from me and my mentor, he is the foremost among secondary-tier experts; anyone superior to him is a legendary figure.'”

“‘That’s terrifying, amazing!'” Iordera exclaimed instinctively, before quickly correcting herself. “‘No, no, that’s not what I meant to ask.'”

She hesitated, then continued, “‘Do you know what he likes?'”

Hecate raised an eyebrow. “‘Likes what?'”

“‘Well, you see, he offered me rather excellent working conditions, even a raise,'” Iordera said, rubbing her hands together sheepishly. “‘It’s rare to find such a good employer, so I was thinking of getting him a gift or something.'”

Given her current job, where she earned ten thousand coins daily just by idling, Iordera felt quite undeserving.

She felt compelled to show some appreciation.

“‘A gift, you say?'”

“‘Yes, a gift of some sort. But I imagine someone like Sir Olcott lacks nothing, especially money, so ordinary items wouldn’t be appropriate,'” Iordera explained. “‘That’s why I was hoping you might have a suggestion.'”

Hecate pondered for a moment, then uttered two words: “‘A pencil.'”

“‘What?'” Iordera scratched her head. “‘Can’t you buy those anywhere?'”

And they’re incredibly cheap, too.

“‘A pencil is also known as the ‘Pen of Secrets,’ surely you’re familiar with that saying,'” Hecate drawled. “‘As an Imperial Royal Knight, ‘honesty’ is Sir Olcott’s virtue and his restraint. To avoid gossip, he wouldn’t purchase such an item himself.'”

“‘But in life, who doesn’t harbor a few small secrets?'”

Iordera nodded vigorously. “‘You’re right, Sir Olcott definitely needs a pencil.'”

For writing in a diary, or love letters, he’d certainly need one.