Man, what a headache…
Otto rubbed his temple set the bulky textbook on the table. He loosened his muscle before cradling himself on the spot. He looked out the window and saw a sea of stars illuminating the night sky, soothing his heart.
The table was filled with book piles laid out on the surface. Its old whiff of wood mingled into his nostrils, accompanied by the oily scent of the lantern.
After they had dinner, Otto had been searching for clues regarding the Black Wave. All he could find were some old legends and myths with no correlation between them whatsoever.
He decided to shove this matter away. This calamity wasn't the only calamity there was. In fact, he had read over twenty myths about different kinds of disasters.
One book prophesized about a witch that will come to corrupt the world in the distant future, while another one tells about a clash between the stars that will cause a devastating effect on the entire universe.
Although his narration of the book was entirely different from the original, the objective facts remained.
Judging from its lack of evidence, it is safe to say that Black Wave is just a fairy tale for kids. Well, most of these myths are. From the looks of it, these are not the cause of my transmigration.
He racked his brain to see what other way of solution there was for his dilemma. Before long, a spark came to his mind. During his caravan journey with that merchant, he heard Ryatt talking about a school of thought that talked about the importance of open crates.
The house of… uh… something!
He decided to inquire of Gerav the next day. The map on the table didn't specify about such places, after all. He nodded to himself before reaching out to turn off the lantern…
Knock! Knock!
He jolted and instinctively turned his head around. He grumbled inwardly before reaching out the door.
"Ah, you're still awake. But you need a lot of sleep for tomorrow." Gerav was gripping a scabbard, alerting Otto. Only two things came to his mind—either extra training or his head will be made a house decoration.
Gerav noticed his panicked expression and immediately grabbed the scabbard with both of his hands and slowly handed it to Otto.
Otto twitched his mouth, unable to find the right words. He hesitated before eventually accepting the gift.
"There's nothing I can teach you anymore. Now, your final trial is to defeat me." Gerav folded his arms and curled his lips.
"What if I run away?" Otto examined the black scabbard adorned with silver linings.
"You can. But once the clergy know about this, I can't help you."
His heart dropped like an anvil. He knew what kind of punishment he would get. The Noxian church clergies highly valued fighting styles and weaponry inventions. If he were to be reported for stealing one of them—especially a fighting style that originated from Kythrain—the journey would end.
Otto pictured the crowd cheering for his decapitated head, hanging on a burning stake. A chill went down his spine, desperately trying to cloud that thought.
He looked up at Gerav—who's still smiling—and nodded vigorously while sweat dripped down his nape. "I'll try my best."
…
As expected, that man cannot be trusted so easily. The way he just gave away his swordsmanship to someone like me…
The thoughts made Otto's focus be led astray. From the beginning, he had already kept a close eye on Gerav.
In the backyard, the grass swayed gently as a soft breeze brushed past Otto. He looked over to the river in the distance and rubbed his chin. The black scabbard resting on his waist made him look like a travelling swordsman in his snow-white robe.
"Hey, mister! Your package is here and… eek!" Otto's eyes widened as he turned his gaze towards the sound. In the distance, a boy who seemed to be in his adolescence was seen crawling backwards, away from Otto.
"You, you…!" The boy spoke in a shaky breath and pointed his finger at Otto as he finally stopped. Otto moved a step forward. The boy crawled backwards. The former halted his steps. The boy halted his as he continued to stare at Otto.
Is this kid autistic? Otto mocked silently. He decided not to prank the boy and waved his hand. "What are you doing here?"
Seeing the kid not responding, Otto noticed something inside the boy's hand. "What's that over there?"
The boy quickly hid the item behind his back. Before he could make a run for it, he was grabbed by the hand.
Instead of fighting back, he just froze in sight—seemingly accepting his fate.
Otto sighed before releasing the boy. "What's your business here?"
The latter didn't say a word and handed the item over. His lips bobbed up and down before finally speaking a word. "F-Father Gerav wants to give you this…"
Right, I forgot he needs to be addressed that way. Well, it's not like he cares about it anyway.
Otto accepted the item, which was revealed to be a box wrapped in strings. The boy unexpectedly bowed down to Otto and spoke in a clear voice. "Thank you for saving my mother!"
He then picked up his stride and skedaddled away to town. Trails of dust followed behind him.
I see… Otto smirked inwardly before going over to sit on the stump. He then opened the box that Gerav had sent him via the boy. Inside it revealed two small books and a letter above it. He put the box aside before opening the letter.
'To my dearest disciple,
I'll be busy for a while since a higher-up will visit the town's church for mass. Please forgive this old man for not being able to come home to cook you a splendid dinner tonight.'
Now he's treating me like his grandchild. Otto lampooned before continuing reading the rest.
'However, no need to fret. For I've prepared a cookbook inside the box. It has been a guide for me ever since I came to this town. I need to thank Helia even more.
Ah, there's one more book that I have sent you. You should've seen it by now; use that if you want to even lay a finger on me once I come home. Haha, if you can.
The priest of Venim,
Gerav Swoltski'
Otto scrutinised the last part of the letter before picking up a book from inside the box. There it is—a stack of yellowish paper covered in brown leather appeared before his eyes.
He opened the book to see tricks and guides on sword fighting and survival skills. The cloud that had covered the sun before had hovered away—revealing the intense heat of summer.
He picked up the box before going over to sit under the shade near the river. Fallen leaves floated down the stream as birds hunted down fish in the far-left distance.
Throughout the entire day, he flipped through page after page in that same spot. Some styles were easy to copy, while some techniques seemed impossible to grasp. That was when he reached the last five pages, which were more tainted with oil compared to others.
On the first page, only a title was written on it, with its font covering the entire page.
'Swords of Hiacynthia'
He paused momentarily before going over the next page.
'For centuries, only a few of Kythrian's aristocrats were capable of inheriting our great ancestor's fighting style. It involves an intense choreography with a maximum set of flexibility.
Due to that fact, it is considered the most dangerous fighting style for the opponent and the user themself. Even the slightest mistake can lead to a severe injury.
My comrade tried to mimic it once. He twisted his arms, and his reproductive organs imploded from the uncontrolled essence building inside him.
Otto's face contorted after reading that. He forcibly regained himself to read the next sentences.
Technically, the fighting style—which was called 'Swords of Hiacynthia'—was a near-impossible technique that could take decades of learning. Otto doubted that his talented body could endure using it.
He could guess when the pages were written. Gerav put a lot of notes regarding his hometown throughout the pages. The food he used to savour with his comrades, the children inviting him to play snowball in the countryside, the intense training he had to go through to learn many techniques—which he later chose swordsmanship years after—to describing how he would sacrifice himself to protect his hometown.
Such longing reminded Otto of his own world. He felt guilty about how Gerav must've felt when Kythrian was mentioned in front of him. How much did he change throughout these twenty years in Venim?
This was more like a diary rather than a guidebook.
But more importantly, he was even more confused about how a person like him was exiled in the first place.
He decided to keep that to himself and placed the book back inside the box. After closing the lid, he remained quiet as he stared into the shimmering river with his legs crossed. He pondered for a while about all the things he had experienced.
Then, he paused. His gaze fell on his pouch, which carried the remaining silver coins.
He remembered the man that gave him a handful of silver coins. He recounted all the coins the next day and found out that it was in fact his. He didn't think much of it and moved on.
He then grabbed all the coins inside his pouch, inspecting every single one. One of them felt lighter than the rest.
He picked that coin up and put the rest back into the pouch. His gaze narrowed onto its surface. There was a line of text circling around a flower symbol in the centre.
'Invitation to The House of Hikma'.