Orum saw a man of immense size sitting in the front yard of the stone house.
He had a thick mane of brown hair like a lion's, and wore an iron mask with a mirror-bright sheen that Orum could not forget at a glance.
It was an archaic metal faceguard with a stern expression, instantly calling to mind the death-sworn soldiers of the medieval age.
The mask covered his face completely, leaving only narrow openings at the eyes and mouth.
Its surface was covered in fine scratches and dents. It had clearly endured a long span of years, and it gave off a cold metallic gleam.
Orum studied the iron mask carefully and noticed that its design carried very typical features of the medieval period.
Masks like this were commonly used to hide the faces of people with contagious diseases such as leprosy, so that their ravaged appearance would not frighten ordinary people.
From this observation, Orum drew a conclusion in his mind.
This mysterious man, whom Ith respectfully called the Executioner, was very likely a leper.
He used this mask to hide a face that disease had destroyed.
And he lived alone in this remote stone house.
At this moment, the Executioner sat on a low stool by the door of the stone house, his thick arms steadily gripping a whetstone.
With an almost ritual devotion, he was grinding a huge weapon, stroke by stroke.
It was a horse-chopping saber more than two meters long, its blade broad and heavy, the spine a full three fingers thick.
The saber's overall shape was fierce and domineering. Just looking at it, one felt a wave of savage killing intent rushing out at him!
Under the Executioner's long and meticulous polishing, the edge of the saber had been ground until it gleamed like a mirror.
In the dim light, that keen edge threw back a chilling glint, as if it could slice through the air itself.
"Shhk."
"Shhk..."
The sound of whetstone against blade was especially clear in the silent air.
Every stroke kicked up fine metal dust that drifted through the air.
Hearing Ith's respectful greeting, the Executioner raised his head and looked at Ith and Orum through the eye slits of the iron mask.
His gaze was deep and steady. Though his face could not be seen, those eyes carried the weariness of a man who had passed through countless brushes with death.
"Ith," the Executioner said in a deep, resonant voice, made even lower by the iron mask. "What is your purpose?"
"Lord Executioner." Ith bowed respectfully. "This is Orum, a member of the Ice Hawks Company. He is strong and of upright character."
He paused. "I humbly ask that you pass on the art of Jade Slash to him."
The Executioner's gaze turned to Orum, looking over this far too young warrior from head to toe.
His eyes were like a sharp blade, as if trying to see through Orum from the inside out.
Orum did not shy away from the scrutiny.
He stood calmly where he was and let the Executioner look him over.
After a moment of silence, the Executioner finally spoke.
"By custom, anyone who wishes to learn a skill from me must pay a corresponding price." His voice was low and slow. "And that price is an object of importance."
"An object of importance..." The Executioner explained slowly, his voice carrying an indescribable weariness. "Generally speaking, it means a glorious memory, a precious friendship, an unforgettable love, or a bond of family that cannot be given up."
Orum's brows drew together slightly.
This was a strange condition for a trade.
Not gold coins.
Not equipment.
Something abstract: an object of importance.
Orum realized this was no ordinary material exchange.
It involved some kind of supernatural power, a special trade.
Precious memories and emotions from one's life were being used as currency!
"Memories are a currency of trade too?"
This manner of trading filled Orum with a deep unease.
Memories and emotions were the foundation of a person's existence.
If those were traded away,
what would be left of the person?
"This is the rule of Greentown," the Executioner went on.
His voice was low and slow.
Every word seemed squeezed out from behind the iron mask.
"In Greentown, the precious things in a person's life are our common currency."
"Gold and silver mean nothing here."
"Only objects of importance, those that carry emotion and memory, have value."
"The more objects of importance a person has, the richer he is."
"And those who have nothing, even if they want to trade, have nothing of value to offer."
Hearing this, a complicated feeling welled up in Orum's heart.
This system of exchange was suffocatingly cruel.
It quantified a person's whole life into goods that could be traded.
Those who had lived through love and hate, through rich and eventful lives,
had instead become the "wealthy" of this cursed town.
While those who lived quiet, ordinary days, who had nothing at all, did not even qualify to trade.
Then the Executioner added, "That includes the valuables circulating at the Dark Conclave. Their prices are all set by this same standard."
"A powerful piece of magical equipment might demand a legendary adventure in exchange."
"An ancient forbidden text might cost the deepest love of a lifetime."
Orum's fists clenched without his noticing.
The Dark Conclave.
He had heard that name several times already.
It seemed the Dark Conclave was an event of enormous importance to Greentown.
And the currency circulating there was, of all things, human memory and emotion.
That manner of trade was frankly more terrifying than any dark magic.
One might even say it was the very foundation on which Greentown was built.
Orum suddenly thought of Aravia.
Aravia had said they would meet again at the Dark Conclave.
He could not help wondering what kind of memory this girl, who called herself Aravia and carried her "mother" on her back, this zombie girl, would trade in Greentown.
The Executioner raised the huge saber in his hand.
In the dim light, the blade threw back a cold glow.
Its edge had been ground to a mirror shine.
It gave off a killing intent that set the heart trembling.
"Take this saber in my hand, for example."
The Executioner's voice grew lower still.
"It carries a warrior's glorious past."
"That warrior took the precious experience of slaying a hundred enemies,"
"the most brilliant battle memory of his life,"
"and traded it for something else."
The Executioner's words stopped there.
He did not say what the warrior had received in return.
But the silence only made people feel more uneasy.
Orum stared at the saber.
He could feel that the blade truly held a special aura.
It was not a simple fluctuation of mana.
It was something deeper.
Like the afterimages of countless battles,
sealed inside the blade.
As he spoke, the Executioner's gaze suddenly fixed on the Flame-steel glaive on Orum's back.
That powerful weapon forged of flame-steel drew the Executioner's eyes in an instant.
Orum noticed that admiration and greed plainly showed in the Executioner's eyes.
It was the instinctive longing any strong warrior feels on seeing a fine weapon,
a double appreciation of power and beauty!
As an executioner who lived by killing,
his eye for weapons far exceeded that of ordinary people.
He saw at a glance what made the Flame-steel glaive extraordinary.
A rare material hard to find in the material world, flawless craftsmanship from the hands of a dwarven master smith, and the mighty power contained within all moved him deeply.
Orum and Ith both noticed the greed in the Executioner's eyes.
Both of them tensed involuntarily.
The Flame-steel glaive was one of Orum's most important weapons.
If the Executioner demanded it in exchange for the chance to learn,
what would he do?
Ith's face turned pale.
He clearly understood how serious the problem was.
He opened his mouth as if to say something.
But in the end he chose silence.
After all, Ith and Orum did not know each other well. He was only a bard, and he had no idea what choice Orum, a warrior, would make in a situation like this.
The atmosphere grew heavy in that moment.
The Executioner's gaze still rested on the Flame-steel glaive.
And Orum's hand had instinctively tightened around the weapon's grip.
Time seemed to stand still.
No one spoke.
Only the "shhk, shhk" of the whetstone against the blade in the Executioner's hands.
It sounded especially harsh in the stillness.
Just as Orum was about to say something,
the Executioner suddenly withdrew his gaze.
He lowered his head again.
And went on grinding the saber in his hands.
That intense greed had lasted only the briefest instant, perhaps not even three seconds, before the Executioner's eyes returned to their cold, rational state.
He set down the whetstone and slowly stood. His massive frame cast an enormous shadow in the dim light.
Over two meters tall, like a wall of iron.
Orum instinctively clenched his fists. The pressure was overwhelming.
It was like facing a hunting behemoth, and the sense that it might lunge at any moment and tear everything apart made a person instinctively want to back away.
"However..."
The Executioner's voice came from behind the iron mask, low and steady.
"For Ith's sake, I will make an exception this once."
He paused. "I will not take an object of importance as tuition."
Orum was stunned, and so was Ith.
The two of them let out a breath almost at the same moment.
Orum could feel his tense shoulders relax at once.
He was instantly flooded with relief.
Though he did not know why the Executioner had made this decision, it was without doubt the best possible outcome.
Perhaps Ith's status as the master of Greentown was truly extraordinary, his word carrying enough weight to waive the cost of learning a powerful combat skill.
"You are truly willing..."
Ith could hardly believe it, his voice tinged with delight.
"Orum doesn't have to pay any price at all to learn Jade Slash?"
"I said I would not take an object of importance," the Executioner stressed.
"That does not mean it is entirely free."
The Executioner's massive frame turned, and he pointed to the side of the stone house. "Your friend will pay his tuition with labor."
Orum followed the direction of the Executioner's finger.
Beside the stone house lay a great stack of firewood.
The logs were piled neatly, their dry brown sheen showing in the dim light.
"Starting today, after each day's lessons, he will chop firewood for me."
The Executioner continued.
"For every day of learning here, a day of chopping wood."
"That is the price."
Orum's eyes went wide.
That was allowed?
Chopping wood?
Compared with the trade of an object of importance, this condition was unbelievably easy!
Chopping wood was physical labor, but for him, with a body on par with a monster's, it was hardly a burden.
One might even call it a piece of cake.
"No problem!"
Orum agreed at once, his tone full of decisiveness.
Ith also let out a breath beside him, a relaxed smile spreading across his face.
"Then we're in your debt, Lord Executioner," he said respectfully.
"Both Orum and I will remember this kindness in our hearts."
The Executioner only gave a faint nod and said nothing more.
He was clearly not a man who cared for pleasantries, and Ith seemed to sense this too.
He did not go on with his courtesies, and instead turned to Orum.
"Then I'll take my leave," he said, his tone turning light.
"Orum, you stay here and study well under the Lord Executioner." "If you need anything, come find me in the basement any time."
Orum nodded and watched Ith leave the stone house.
Now only he and the Executioner remained in the front yard.
The atmosphere grew even heavier.
The Executioner stood silently, sizing up Orum through the eye slits of the iron mask.
That scrutinizing gaze put Orum under pressure, like prey locked onto by an experienced hunter.
Every detail was being examined, every weakness precisely caught.
"Before we formally begin," the Executioner finally said, "I need to test your foundation."
He sat back down on the low stool, picked up the whetstone, and resumed grinding the saber.
The "shhk, shhk" of friction sounded again as the Executioner continued, "Go to the back yard and bring me the largest stone there."
No explanation, only a simple, direct order.
Orum understood at once: this was a test of strength.
Many combat skills have strict strength requirements.
If strength fell short, training would be impossible, let alone mastery.
"Understood."
Orum nodded. He was not one to dither, and turned to head for the back yard.
He pushed open the equally heavy wooden door, and air mingled with the smell of earth and decay rushed out at him.
Orum frowned and stepped inside.
The back yard was far larger than he had imagined, about as wide as two football fields.
Rocks of every size lay scattered across the ground.
Under the dim light of Everdusk Forest, the rocks looked an eerie, ghastly white.
Like a heap of giant bones.
Orum walked into the yard and began to examine the white rocks carefully.
When he drew closer, his pupils contracted sharply!
He had recognized what these stones really were!
White bone ore!
A rare ore unique to Everdusk Forest!
Named for its color, pale as bone!
Orum's heart raced.
This ore was far harder than ordinary steel, and had to be softened with special Deadsoul Fire before it could be forged!
It was a precious material for forging high-grade equipment!
On the outside market, white bone ore fetched an extremely high price!
And here, the entire back yard was strewn with it, piled full to bursting!
Orum reached out and touched the nearest piece of white bone ore. A cold, hard sensation came through his fingertips.
The ore was extremely dense. A piece of white bone ore of the same volume weighed three to four times as much as an ordinary rock.
Orum swept his eyes quickly over the whole yard and made a rough estimate.
The total amount of white bone ore scattered here was at least twenty tons!
If all of it were hauled out and sold, it would fetch several thousand gold coins!
It was an astronomical fortune, enough for an ordinary family to squander for a lifetime!
Yet the Executioner had casually left these priceless ores lying in his back yard, even using them as tools to test an apprentice's strength.
Such extravagance was like paving roads with gold and tossing gems around as pebbles.
Orum grew even more curious about the Executioner's true identity and background.
Just who was this man in the iron mask?
But Orum's thoughts soon returned to reality.
He took a deep breath and began searching for the "largest one" the Executioner had spoken of.
Soon, in a corner of the yard, he found his target.
It was a white bone ore of staggering size.
About a meter tall, about a meter wide, and more than half a meter thick.
It was an irregular cuboid, its surface covered in the marks of erosion and fine cracks.
It gave off a cold white gleam in the dim light, like a thighbone cut from the skeleton of some giant beast.
Orum crouched down and pressed both hands against the sides of the great stone.
The cold, hard touch came through his palms.
He could clearly feel the heavy mass held inside the ore, at least over a ton!
For an ordinary person, moving a one-ton boulder was a completely impossible task.
Even a well-trained warrior would struggle to lift such weight alone without tools.
But Orum was no ordinary person.
The monster organs within his body were immensely powerful, and he possessed strength far beyond normal people.
Moving a heavy object like this was not a difficult matter.
Orum adjusted his breathing.
Within his chest, two hearts and four lungs poured boundless power into his limbs and bones, as if fed with nuclear fuel!
His muscles began to swell, every muscle fiber trembling, the sign of strength gathered to its limit.
"Hah!"
Orum let out a low shout and exerted force with both arms at once!
With the creak of straining muscle, the one-ton white bone ore was lifted off the ground!
The instant the boulder left the ground, a great cloud of dust rose.
The soil that had been pressed down for who knew how many years finally saw daylight again.
Steadying his center of gravity, Orum walked step by step toward where the Executioner sat.
With every step, his feet left deep prints in the ground.
The prints sank several inches, clearly recording the weight he bore.
Sweat began to seep from his forehead, slid down his cheeks, and dripped onto the ground.
Orum could feel the muscles in his arms trembling violently. It was not weakness, but the sign of power concentrated past its limit.
Back in the front yard, the Executioner still sat on the low stool, quietly watching everything through the eye slits of the iron mask.
Even seeing Orum truly lift the great stone, he showed no sign of surprise.
His aura was as still as an ancient well, as if he had seen all the vicissitudes of the world.
A few minutes later, Orum finally reached the Executioner.
When he carefully set the boulder down, his whole body let out a breath, his arms trembling slightly from the strain.
It was the first time he had lifted something this heavy, and he had not expected it to be this easy.
"Boom!"
The boulder hit the ground with a dull thud, making the earth shudder slightly.
Some fine dust was kicked up and hung in the air as a thin gray haze.
The Executioner walked slowly around the white bone ore, as if examining something.
After a moment, he asked Orum directly, "You are learning Jade Slash to advance to Blade of Military Path, correct?"
"Yes, Lord Executioner," Orum answered respectfully.
He quickly adjusted his breathing, letting his breath, disordered from carrying the boulder, settle again.
"I have already learned Thrust and Sword Dance. I still need to learn Jade Slash to complete the prerequisites for Blade of Military Path."
The Executioner nodded. "Good."
As he spoke, the Executioner shouldered the saber and walked toward the white bone ore.
His movements were crisp, without wasted words. He was clearly a man sparing with speech.
Orum noticed that the fearsome weapon looked perfectly suited in his hands, as though it were an extension of his body.
The Executioner rested the saber on his shoulder, his posture straight as a pine, showing no strain even carrying such a heavy weapon.
He clearly already possessed a strength like [Iron Heart Force], the mastery of heavy weapons.
Orum noticed that although the Executioner seemed taciturn, every movement he made carried an indescribable focus and earnestness.
Such men are often poor with words, but once they begin a task they give it everything, never dragging their feet.
That temperament also fit the Executioner's choice to live alone at the edge of town.
He clearly did not care for much socializing, and preferred to pour his time and energy into studying and training the martial arts.
The Executioner stopped before the white bone ore.
He raised the saber, slow and solemn, as though performing some sacred ritual.
The blade drew an arc through the air, graceful and deadly, carrying an indescribable rhythm.
"Watch closely."
The Executioner took the saber down from his shoulder.
Gripping the hilt with both hands, his movements slow yet full of power, every slight adjustment showing perfect command of the weapon.
His wrists turned slightly, he stepped forward half a pace, and his center of gravity sank.
The entire opening stance was as standard as a textbook.
Orum held his breath.
He could feel that what was about to be shown would be nothing short of extraordinary.
"I will now demonstrate the combat skill Jade Slash for you."
The Executioner's voice was solemn, carrying a weight as if what he was about to show was not merely a combat skill, but a legacy and a faith.
The moment the words fell,
power began to surge within the Executioner's body.
Orum clearly sensed a mighty, refined energy circulating inside him.
That energy's quality far surpassed any warrior he had seen! It was denser than Felix's frost mana, sharper than Cyrus's sword aura!
In the next instant,
the saber raised high in the Executioner's hands was suddenly wrapped in a layer of emerald-green radiance.
The radiance flowed like liquid jade across the blade's surface, giving off a mysterious aura both beautiful and dangerous!
Orum's pupils contracted sharply.
This emerald radiance was not simply mana clinging to the blade.
It was a special form of energy, highly condensed and compressed, its edges unmatched in sharpness, as if able to cut space itself, so that no one dared look straight at it!
Under Orum's astonished and shaken gaze,
the Executioner swung the saber and brought it down on the one-ton white bone ore before him.
He actually meant to split the solid white bone ore straight through with the blade!
Orum's heart pounded. He knew the hardness of white bone ore.
It was several times harder than steel!
Newton's laws told Orum that force acts in both directions!
With this stroke, the saber would snap outright!
Split it head-on?
Utterly impossible!
The Executioner's motion looked plain and unremarkable.
Yet the force contained in that stroke made the surrounding air give off a faint hum!
What stunned Orum utterly was that the moment the emerald-glowing saber entered the white bone ore, there was no deafening clash, no spray of stone fragments. The huge blade went in as if slicing through melted butter!
Before Orum's shocked eyes, the body of the saber passed easily and smoothly through that hard ore!
"Shhk..."
A faint sound, barely audible, rose.
It was the only sound made when blade met ore!
Orum could hardly believe his eyes. How could this be?!
The Executioner withdrew the blade and stood still, the emerald radiance on the saber slowly fading.
And the one-ton white bone ore before him, as Orum watched,
slowly separated into two halves along the line of the cut!
Newton's laws had failed!
"Thud! Thud!"
Two dull sounds.
The two halves of ore fell to either side and crashed onto the ground!
The dust they raised hung in the air, only heightening the shock of the scene!
Orum hurried forward.
He crouched down to study the cut surface closely.
The cross-section was impossibly smooth, like a finely polished mirror, even clearly reflecting the surroundings.
There was no trace of roughness or tearing at all!
For white bone ore's hardness far exceeded steel.
Even swinging a great axe with full strength, cutting through it would be extremely difficult, let alone leaving so perfect a cross-section!
Yet the Executioner's stroke had not only cut through this hard ore with ease, but left a surface smooth as a mirror.
Without a single flaw.
This terrifying cutting power
was completely beyond Orum's understanding of what a combat skill could do!
Orum reached out and gently touched the smooth surface. Cool, sleek contact came through his fingertips, that perfect flatness
like a naturally formed mirror.
It was hard to believe this was the result of a blade's cut.
"This is Jade Slash."
The Executioner's voice sounded behind Orum. In his cold tone there was finally an indescribable pride. "In the ancient age, this combat skill was honored as the 'King of Combat Skills.'"
King of Combat Skills?!
Orum whipped his head around.
That title carried enormous weight.
In this world, combat skills were countless: Thrust, Sword Dance, slashes, charges, greatsword strikes,
organ-rupturing blows, crippling strikes...
Each combat skill had its own unique value and use, but only one could be called a "king."
The Executioner shouldered the saber and said slowly, "The reason it is called the King of Combat Skills is that Jade Slash has a core trait no other combat skill possesses."
He paused, letting the weight of those words settle, then in an almost proclamatory tone spoke the answer that shook Orum's heart.
"Jade Slash is a combat skill that ignores defense!"
"Ignores defense?!"
Orum exclaimed in shock, his voice trembling slightly. The weight of those four words was simply too great, nearly overturning his understanding of the rules of combat!
In this world,
defense had always been among the most important elements of battle.
Whether a warrior's heavy armor, a knight's shield, or a monster's thick hide,
all of it existed to withstand the enemy's attacks!
But if there were a combat skill that could "ignore defense,"
it would mean all those means of protection lost their meaning!
The sturdiest armor.
The mightiest shield.
Before Jade Slash, all would be mere decoration!
Countless thoughts flashed through Orum's mind.
If he mastered this combat skill,
it would mean he could ignore any defensive measure of his enemies,
and deal fatal damage straight to the body itself!
Those knights in heavy armor,
those guards hiding behind shields, even thick-skinned monsters, would be split open like butter under Orum's slashes!