"Master… may I ask you a question?"
Arthur sat down on the cold, grass-covered ground of the Land of Shadows, supporting himself with his hands behind his back. His muscles still trembled slightly after the intense training, but his breathing had already stabilized.
"Ask whatever you wish."
Scáthach drove the two spears into the ground with a smooth, precise motion, as if they were natural extensions of her own body. Her tone was casual, almost unconcerned.
"As your mentor, it is only natural that I answer my disciple's questions."
Arthur hesitated for a brief moment.
Then, taking a deep breath, he turned his face to look at her.
"I want to know why you kept me here in the first place."
The question came out direct, without embellishment.
Scáthach was seated beside him, and the combat attire she wore emphasized her imposing presence—intimidating, and in a way, alluring. For an involuntary instant, Arthur's gaze drifted downward, lingering on the strong, well-defined legs of the Queen of the Land of Shadows.
He immediately looked away.
Stop it, you idiot.
That's Scáthach.
The Queen of the Land of Shadows.
If she notices what you're thinking, tomorrow's training will be tripled… at the very least.
Scáthach, however, seemed oblivious to the turmoil unfolding in Arthur's mind. She lowered her gaze slightly, and for a moment her eyes grew distant, almost unfocused, as if the question had stirred something long buried.
She let out a soft sigh.
"I simply thought you had talent," she finally said. "That is why I kept you here. There was no other reason."
Arthur frowned faintly, unsatisfied.
"And also…"
Scáthach turned her head, fixing him with her intense crimson eyes.
"I believe you are special."
Arthur let out a short, disbelieving laugh and shook his head.
"You make it sound like I'm the protagonist of some legendary epic," he said. "But in the end, I'm just an ordinary person."
"Do not belittle yourself so much."
Her response was immediate.
"The only thing truly 'ordinary' about you is your physical ability."
She poked Arthur lightly.
The touch alone was enough to make him lose his balance and fall backward onto the grass.
When he opened his eyes, Arthur saw Scáthach leaning over him, watching him with a faint smile on her lips.
"But your magical talent is undeniable," she continued. "So how about showing a bit more confidence?"
Arthur sat up again, rubbing the back of his neck.
"But almost all the other disciples know the same runes I do," he replied. "What I know, they also know. And physically… they're far superior."
It was a difficult truth to ignore.
Among Scáthach's disciples, he didn't stand out in strength or endurance. What he mastered, others mastered as well—and better.
"So…"
Arthur raised his gaze to her.
"You only took me in because I was still a child back then, right, Master?"
Scáthach fell silent for a moment.
Then she laughed.
A low, brief laugh, as if she were murmuring to herself.
"Is that so? So that's what you've always thought?"
She tilted her head slightly.
"In that case, that would be an unforgivable negligence on my part."
Before Arthur could react, Scáthach placed her hand on his head and pulled him closer, pressing it firmly against her thigh.
"M-Master—!"
"Don't move," she ordered, her tone firm and absolute.
"Just listen to me, Arthur."
Arthur stopped struggling. His body remained tense for a few seconds before finally relaxing.
When Scáthach withdrew her hand, he turned his face and met her gaze once more.
Dusk made the forest even more ominous. Shadows stretched between twisted trees, and a crow perched high on a branch watched silently, as if bearing witness to fate itself.
"Listen carefully, Arthur."
Scáthach touched his cheek with her fingertips, the gesture unexpectedly gentle.
"You possess an aptitude for magic that borders on the absurd," she said calmly, without the slightest hesitation.
"There is no one in this world who can compare to you in that regard."
Her eyes remained locked on his.
"That is precisely why I took you in."
Arthur clenched his fists.
"But you are still very young," Scáthach continued. "You're only fifteen. Talent without time and discipline is nothing more than wasted potential."
"I will help you refine it. That is my duty as your mentor."
Arthur looked away.
"I really… don't have talent," he murmured.
"…Alright."
He took a deep breath.
"Even if I can't believe in myself… I believe in what you say, Master."
He looked at her again.
"If you believe that I possess exceptional magical talent… then I will believe it too."
Scáthach fell silent.
Then she averted her gaze.
"It's good that you think that way," she said at last. "But remember— even the finest soldier needs self-confidence."
Arthur then seemed to recall something.
"By the way, Master…"
He tilted his head, curious.
"May I ask one more question?"
This doubt had followed him for years, yet he had never found a suitable opportunity to voice it—after all, until now, his training sessions had basically boiled down to two options:
Either Scáthach beat him while he took it…
Or he took it while Scáthach beat him.
And this was, without a doubt, the first time in Arthur's entire life that he had experienced such a warm—such a strangely affectionate—atmosphere.
There was no pain, no crushing pressure, no constant sense that he was about to be defeated in a single move.
"What is it?"
Scáthach's voice sounded light, almost amused. "As your mentor, I will answer any question, Arthur."
She reached out and ruffled his soft hair, which was already messy enough from training. The gesture was casual—almost too intimate for someone like her.
Arthur blinked a few times, still trying to adjust to this less merciless version of his mentor.
"I've always found it strange how long it took me to improve my skills to my current level," he said thoughtfully. "Compared to the other disciples… I took much longer."
Scáthach's fingers, still resting on his head, paused for a brief instant.
Arthur swallowed, but he had already begun.
"In other words…"
He took a deep breath, trying to sound as natural as possible.
"What I want to ask is… how old are you this year, Master?"
The world seemed to freeze.
"What?"
"Tell me," he insisted, already sensing that something was terribly wrong. "How old are you now, Master?"
Scáthach did not respond immediately.
Her crimson eyes slowly swept across the surrounding forest, as if she were surveying the area—or perhaps choosing the most appropriate place to bury a body. Even so, a gentle smile appeared on her lips.
"Could you repeat that?" she asked, her tone dangerously calm.
"I—"
Arthur cut himself off.
At that exact moment, an overwhelming premonition seized him.
If I repeat that question…
I will die.
Literally.
Arthur shut his mouth immediately and looked away.
"It was nothing," he said quickly. "My question earlier was extremely rude. I apologize, Master."
Silence spread between them once more.
Arthur etched the lesson into his mind with absolute seriousness:
➡ Even Scáthach has sensitive topics.
➡ Age is one of them.
➡ Never bring it up again.
"It's fine," Scáthach replied, to his surprise. "I really don't mind."
She withdrew her hand and crossed her arms, her tone returning to a near-philosophical calm.
"In the end, a person's age isn't important," she continued. "What truly matters is physical condition… and mindset."
Arthur nodded rapidly, relieved.
"Y-Yes, Master. You're absolutely right."
"Very well," she said, abruptly changing the subject. "You've rested enough, haven't you?"
Before Arthur could answer, Scáthach tapped him lightly on the head.
"Time to get up."
Arthur placed his hands on her legs to push himself up. The contact between his cheek and Scáthach's soft thigh broke, leaving behind a strange sensation—somewhere between embarrassment and a hint of disappointment that he firmly refused to analyze.
"Master…"
After standing up and picking up his spear, Arthur noticed something odd.
"You're not leaving?"
Scáthach remained exactly where she was.
"Leaving?" She looked at him in confusion. "Where do you think I'm going?"
"The training isn't over yet."
Arthur's eyes widened.
"B-But it's already night," he said. "Don't we usually train only until this hour?"
"Who said things are normal right now?"
Scáthach firmly gripped both spears in her hands, and her smile took on a dangerous gleam.
"Take up your spear, Arthur," she ordered.
"The training is only just beginning."
Before he could even react, Scáthach lunged forward.
The air was torn apart by the sound of her movement.
"SO YOU REALLY DO CARE ABOUT AGE, MASTER?!"
Arthur's scream echoed throughout the forest, causing the crows perched in the trees to caw in unison before taking flight in panic.
---
Second Lesson of the Land of Shadows:
Never.
Ever.
Under any circumstances.
Ask your mentor's age.
---
(End of Chapter)