Chapter 203 – The Chipped Blade of Draconis
Draconis was loud again.
The clang of forges, the buzz of the markets, the chatter of hunters comparing scars and drinks — all of it wrapped the city in heat and noise. But for Alder, it all felt smaller now, like something he had already outgrown.
He had only been back a day when the rumor reached him.
A man had been expelled from the Guild — a young hunter with the strength of a brute and the clumsiness of a rookie. His name came up between gulps of ale and laughter in the tavern.
> "Big guy," someone said. "Uses a longsword. Breaks it every fight."
"Guild kicked him out last month," another added. "Didn't even check what really happened. The one who wanted him gone was related to an officer, that's all."
Alder listened quietly, swirling his drink. He'd heard this kind of story too many times — the Guild's pride always heavier than its justice.
He leaned toward the speaker. "Where is he now?"
The hunter blinked, surprised by the question. "You're… Alder, right? The guy who fought the Vulcarion Basal?"
Alder gave a brief nod.
The man straightened. "Rogan's his name. Works at a bookshop now, south side of the city. Belongs to his parents — good folk. The guy's huge, but gentle. Bit of a waste if you ask me."
Alder stood, dropped a few zenny on the table, and said only, "Thanks."
---
The bookshop sat between a tea house and an apothecary, its wooden sign faded with age — Arven's Tomes & Remedies. When Alder stepped inside, the bell chimed softly.
It smelled of dust, parchment, and herbs. Rows of books filled every corner, their spines worn smooth by years of hands. Behind the counter stood a young man whose size seemed almost comical in the quiet shop.
He looked up, startled by the stranger in armor. "Welcome," he said politely. "Can I help you find something?"
Alder studied him. Rogan's build was unmistakable — shoulders like carved stone, hands scarred from training, not from paper cuts. He didn't belong behind a counter.
"You're Rogan," Alder said.
Rogan frowned slightly, confused. "I used to be. Depends who's asking."
"My name's Alder," he replied. "I heard what happened with the Guild."
Rogan's expression tightened, but his voice stayed steady. "Then you know everything worth knowing."
From the back room came the sound of footsteps. "Rogan, dear, who's that?"
A woman stepped out — kind-faced, with streaks of silver in her hair. "Oh! A visitor! Welcome. I'm Myra, his mother."
Alder nodded politely.
Then a man followed her out — tall, calm, spectacles balanced on his nose. His presence filled the room like quiet authority. "A hunter, I take it?"
"Once," Alder replied. "Now I'm just passing through."
Arven smiled faintly. "Once a hunter, always a hunter. Sit, please."
Rogan hesitated, uneasy under Alder's gaze. "What do you want from me?"
"I just wanted to meet the man who breaks every longsword he swings," Alder said evenly.
Myra nearly choked back a laugh. Arven smiled, rubbing his beard.
Rogan sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "It's true. Every sword I've owned ends up chipped or cracked. Guess I don't know my own strength."
Alder raised an eyebrow. "Why the longsword? Not a greatsword?"
Myra's voice softened. "Because of his father's stories. About the old warriors — the samurai. Rogan wanted to be like them. Graceful. Disciplined. A hunter with honor."
Arven nodded proudly. "In the old days, samurai faced monsters up close with nothing but steel and courage. Hunters today hide behind bigger weapons. They fear what's in front of them."
Rogan gave a sheepish smile. "Turns out I'm not graceful. Every time I try, I break the sword. So now I just help here."
Alder's gaze hardened. "That's it? You gave up because the Guild said you were too strong?"
Rogan frowned. "They didn't say that. They said I was reckless."
"Same thing," Alder said. "You've got a hunter's strength, Rogan. You're just missing control."
Rogan's head lifted slightly. "Control?"
Alder smiled faintly. "Something I once lacked too."
---
They stepped into the yard behind the shop — a small clearing used for chopping wood.
Alder unsheathed his greatsword and planted it in the ground. "Show me how you fight."
Rogan blinked. "What, here?"
"Here's fine," Alder said. "Don't hold back."
Rogan hesitated, then drew his battered longsword. The blade shimmered faintly in the sunlight, its edge already uneven from old fights.
He swung.
The impact cracked the ground and sent dust flying. Alder blocked with one hand, the strike reverberating through the air. The man's strength was undeniable — but wild.
Rogan swung again, and again, each blow heavy enough to rattle the walls of the house. Alder stepped aside, countering lightly, observing. His eyes narrowed. Rogan's rhythm was raw power with no balance.
Finally, with one last desperate swing, the blade snapped near the hilt.
Rogan froze, panting, staring at the broken steel. "See? Every time…"
Alder lifted his greatsword, resting it on his shoulder. "You're not weak, Rogan. You're breaking it because you don't know how to hold back. Strength without control destroys itself."
Rogan said nothing.
Alder stepped forward and looked him in the eye. "I can send you somewhere to learn that control. But you'll have to leave this city — and say goodbye."
Myra and Arven, who had been watching from the doorway, exchanged glances.
"Is it far?" Myra asked.
"A few days' journey," Alder said. "Korvan Village. You'll find hunters there who'll teach you what the Guild never could."
Myra's eyes widened. "Korvan? That's… my home village."
Alder laughed. "Small world. Then you must know Chief Maerin."
"Of course!" Myra said quickly. "She still runs the village. And Seren—" she paused, smirking "—Seren's there too."
Rogan's face flushed red. "Mother!"
Alder laughed harder. "Ah, so that's how it is. Childhood crush?"
Arven chuckled. "You two were the talk of the village once. Seren always dragging you into trouble."
Alder grinned. "Then this'll be easier. Seren and I hunted together when we took down Vulcarion Basal."
Arven's eyes widened. "That was you? The whole city heard about it."
Alder shrugged. "Then you know Korvan is the right place."
He took a parchment and wrote:
---
To Chief Maerin
Name: Rogan — Longsword User
Status: Expelled from the Guild. Strong-built, no control.
Family: Mother Myra — native of Korvan Village.
Notes: Childhood connection with Seren. Potential recruit. Trials not yet begun.
Signed: Alder
"The path has no end."
---
He folded it and handed it to Rogan.
"This is your introduction. Give it to Maerin. She'll understand."
Rogan took the letter slowly. "You're not coming with me?"
Alder shook his head. "No. This part's yours. Every hunter walks alone at first."
Rogan hesitated. "But…"
Arven placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "You think we haven't seen how you've been since the Guild threw you out? You act fine, but you're lost. This might be the path back to who you are."
Myra stepped closer, her eyes warm. "Do you still want to be a hunter, Rogan?"
His voice cracked. "Yes. I do."
"Then go," she said softly. "And don't come back until you've found what you're looking for."
Alder smiled faintly. "Korvan's waiting. Learn there what Draconis never taught you."
Myra laughed through a tear. "And maybe say hello to Seren for us."
"Mother…" Rogan groaned, but he couldn't help smiling.
Alder clasped his arm. "Three days' walk south. Follow the ridge until the trees turn black with ash. You'll see the smoke from the forges."
Rogan nodded, tucking the letter into his cloak.
As he stepped out of the shop, the evening sun spilled over the rooftops, setting the city aglow.
Alder called after him, voice steady and proud.
"Remember this, Rogan. Control isn't about holding back your strength. It's about knowing when to release it."
Rogan turned, smiling. "I'll remember that."
Then he walked away, leaving the city behind — and stepping quietly onto the path that would lead him toward the Eternal Wanderers.