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chapter 2
I Can See Your Swordsmanship
Rumble…
The persistent rumbling from his stomach echoed loudly. Had he been unconscious for quite some time? Myer realized that the corners of his mouth were dry and cracked. He made a smacking sound as he collected the saliva in his mouth.
“Ugh. Even if I was imprisoned, this is too much.”
Dust floated in the air. The cobwebs were nothing unusual. From the rustling sounds, it seemed the rats were running around happily.
The old annex seemed like it could collapse at any moment.
There was barely a trace of human activity. Judging by this, Myer realized he had been living alone here for longer than he had initially assumed.
“Ten years?”
A full ten years.
Of course, Myer had not been imprisoned here alone from the beginning. Every time he disappointed his father, people gradually left one by one.
The last servant had left the annex three years ago, meaning that from that point onward, Myer had been living alone—eating, sleeping, and surviving in this place.
Sniff, sniff.
“No wonder… my clothes smelled awful.”
What could a 16-year-old kid know about cooking, cleaning, or washing clothes? No wonder his clothes were threadbare, and the lingering grime couldn’t be removed.
Even so, he was the legitimate heir of a marquis.
For his father to completely ignore his own son… Myer shook his head, sharply lowering his opinion of the man he called “father.”
“Here?”
Myer walked toward where he remembered the kitchen to be. Luckily, the estate staff had ensured he wouldn’t starve to death, supplying just enough food to survive.
Some flour.
A few vegetables.
A couple of fruits.
Seeing no trace of protein, Myer scratched his cheek in dismay.
“How cruel.”
Nutrition is the most important thing during growth, after all. No wonder he was so thin—he hadn’t had a proper piece of meat in years. Fortunately, he hadn’t grown short. That was a stroke of luck.
“I may be thin, but I’ve been living on my own for years.”
But now, he wasn’t just nineteen-year-old Myer; he was a hybrid version, mixing the nineteen-year-old and thirty-year-old versions of himself. Myer skillfully kneaded the flour with water, then added vegetables and dropped small pieces of dough into boiling water.
Myer’s simple hand-made dumpling soup.
It would be nice to have chili powder or pepper, but at least he had some salt to season it.
“Ugh, bitter.”
Even that salt tasted bitter and harsh, likely the lowest quality available. Still, Myer managed to adjust the seasoning and quickly finished a bowl.
Clatter…
“Ughhh…”
Even lifting the bowl hurt his injured abdomen, but he devoured the meal regardless.
One hot bowl of dumplings and he could feel the sweat pouring out. Myer scraped the empty pot with the ladle before standing up.
“Maybe I should take a walk.”
His body was in poor condition, but Myer continued moving. He needed to see this familiar yet strange annex with his own eyes.
That way, he could gauge his next step.
“If the first stage is being imprisoned, the second is breaking free from that imprisonment.”
Holding an apple in one hand, Myer slowly walked around the overgrown garden. After checking both the interior and exterior of the annex, he shook his head.
“Worst-case scenario.”
Inside or out, the annex was in roughly the same state. It was only slightly better than sleeping outdoors.
No wonder his body was so weak from eating such food in this environment.
Myer lifted his arm, showing no muscle at all, then returned to his room. As he passed by, he noticed an old newspaper clipping.
“I want to read more.”
A short piece.
The story of three brothers who swore to die at the same hour.
The sense of déjà vu wasn’t just Myer being strange.
“Like the Oath of the Peach Garden?”
He chuckled at the thought. His father was a marquis, the man who beat him was a knight named Gillot, and now he was thinking of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
The world, the story, the settings—everything was different.
“Ah, whatever. Let’s just sleep.”
After eating, drowsiness struck. His body, still not fully healed, made movement difficult. Myer dragged himself to bed and collapsed.
Soon, even breaths filled the room with a low, steady rhythm.
Late at night.
The clock was darkened by clouds partially obscuring the faint moon.
Proving themselves uninvited guests, some masked intruders carefully climbed over the walls of the old annex and dashed across the overgrown garden.
Creak, creak, creak…
The old stairs groaned under weight, but the annex’s owner was notorious for being a very deep sleeper.
So.
The intruders, draped in white cloth, nodded as if by agreement and sprinted down the hall.
Thump, thump!
Bang, bang, bang!
In the dim darkness, the white shapes running looked like ghosts to anyone half-asleep. They sprinted with surprising speed and stopped at the agreed-upon location to catch their breath.
“Is the scaredy-cat awake?”
“They must be up by now.”
“Should we go again?”
“You’ll pee yourself again, hahaha.”
Laughing mischievously, the intruders ran down the hall one more time. After crossing the hall again, they tilted their heads.
“No sound at all?”
“Maybe he fainted.”
“Yeah, could happen to an idiot.”
Normally, shrieks would echo around this time, but hearing nothing, they nodded in agreement.
“Let’s call it a night.”
The small prank intended to scare Myer, the legitimate heir of the Garden family, ended.
It was just a prank.
Yet the idea that the Garden heir had supposedly fainted in fear of a ghost was enough to make the pranksters feel like their efforts had wings.
So they occasionally pulled small pranks like this.
Satisfied with their little game, they were about to leave when…
“Waaaaaah!!!”
A white ghost suddenly appeared. The pranksters panicked. Some fell, some rolled around.
“It’s a ghost!”
“Eeek!”
“Aaaah!!!”
In an instant, the fake ghosts fled. Their speed was extraordinary—beyond what a normal person could achieve.
And then.
The ghost that had scared them jumped—and then stumbled forward, collapsing.
“Ugh… it hurts.”
It was Myer under the white cloth. Though usually a deep sleeper, the new version of Myer wasn’t.
Years of living in cramped dorms had sharpened his senses; he could hear even the smallest noises next door. The moment they stepped on the creaking stairs, he realized someone was entering.
Seeing the fake ghosts sprint down the hall, Myer clicked his tongue.
“What nonsense.”
Having come from a world of CG and metaverses, the new Myer couldn’t be scared by such an outdated ghost act.
What was even more absurd was that this used to work on the old version of Myer. No wonder his reputation had suffered back then.
And Myer already suspected who the fake ghosts were.
[Gillot Cant: ★☆☆☆☆]
One of the fleeing figures was already familiar to him.
“Are knights really that scared?”
Clicking his tongue, Myer clutched his stomach and struggled to stand. Moving had made his abdomen feel like it would tear again.
Thud… Roll…
Then, something brushed against his foot. He looked down.
A sword.
It wasn’t his sword, nor one belonging to the mansion. It must have belonged to one of the foolish knights.
“Oh.”
Grunting, Myer picked up the sword. Surprisingly heavy—or maybe it just felt heavy because his body was in such poor shape.
“This is a sword.”
Even for the new Myer, a proper longsword was unfamiliar. Coming from a world where swords required permits, he examined it curiously.
He gripped the hilt.
“Can I draw it?”
As he pulled, the scabbard rattled. The cold blade slid out slowly, brushing his face with the metallic scent.
And then, a strange message appeared before his eyes:
[Do you want to learn Gillot Cant (★☆☆☆☆)’s Garden-Style Swordsmanship (★)?]
Awakened by the fake ghost commotion, Myer felt alert.
Sure, staying up all night would tire him further, but holding the sword, he couldn’t go back to sleep.
Gripping the longsword he assumed Gillot had dropped, the prompt appeared:
[Do you want to learn Gillot Cant (★☆☆☆☆)’s Garden-Style Swordsmanship (★)?]
Pull, release, and it appeared again.
“Can I really learn a sword just by holding someone else’s?”
The Garden family was a knightly lineage. Their ancestors earned glory in war, earning the marquisate. Swordsmanship was sacred, and failure to learn it was considered sinful.
And Myer had been the epitome of that sin.
He’d wet himself in fear holding a sword.
Fainting at the sight of blood was routine.
The new Myer knew there were medical explanations for his fears:
“Acrophobia of sharp objects… and blood phobia.”
Pointed objects and blood triggered his mental disorders, not mere cowardice. This wasn’t something willpower could fix.
But now, it didn’t matter.
“The new version seems fine.”
The old Myer had been mentally fragile, but the new Myer was free. More than free—he could now grasp in his hands the time and effort others had spent perfecting the sword.
And realizing this, Myer felt no hesitation.
Especially not for Gillot’s sword—the one that had caused him so much pain.
Grasping it firmly, he confirmed:
[Do you want to learn Gillot Cant (★☆☆☆☆)’s Garden-Style Swordsmanship (★)?]
“Yes!”
And.
Myer rolled onto the bed, eyes wide. The moment he gripped the sword, all of Gillot’s memories—how he held it, how he trained, how he fought—flooded into Myer’s mind.
“Ughhhh…”
How to hold a sword.
How to swing it.
The techniques of Garden-Style swordsmanship.
Every moment Gillot spent wielding it transferred to Myer.
And.
In the haze of consciousness, Myer realized:
The sword he couldn’t master.
The sword he had loved and hated.
What was once impossible for him was now within reach.
Finally, Myer was freed from the heavenly punishment that had tormented the old version of himself.
