Once upon a time, and yet, not so long ago.

If you call it a story from the past, it’s from the past. If you call it a recent tale, then it’s recent.

Roughly three years ago.

Ziel was around seventeen years old.

Back then, he had slain a dragon with his master, gained permission to strike out on his own, and wandered from place to place with nothing but his glasses and his sword.

During his aimless wanderings, he realized he had lost his wallet. Unsure where he had dropped it, he wandered in an entirely different direction in search of it—just as aimlessly.

One late spring evening, beyond the flower-laden mountains of the eastern country, in a modest town, Ziel stumbled upon a martial arts dojo.

He had no money for lodging. In fact, he didn’t have a single coin to his name.

Thanks to his hunting skills in the mountains, he wasn’t short on food, but he realized that at this rate, he was on the verge of becoming feral.

So, he knocked on the dojo gate—knock, knock.

A young student emerged—a boy of about twelve or thirteen with his hair tied only on the left side. The boy looked at Ziel, surprised, and asked, “Did you get attacked by bandits or something?”

Ziel, however, calmly asked, “Do you know of any jobs around here where I could earn a living just by using my sword skills? I thought someone from this dojo might know. Apologies for being so forward.”

The boy, deeply concerned, asked, “Are you that desperate for money?”

“Well, yes,” Ziel admitted, resulting in the boy giving him a look of pity. “Let me ask the master,” the boy said and ran back into the dojo without closing the gate behind him.

As the blue dusk descended, Ziel stood waiting in front of the gate.

But before the boy returned, a voice called out from behind him, “What’s the matter?”

Ziel turned to see a girl standing there. She appeared to be around Ziel’s age—sixteen or seventeen, perhaps—with a sword at her waist.

Judging from her demeanor, Ziel surmised she was also affiliated with the dojo. He explained the situation: that he had arrived at the dojo out of desperation and was now waiting for a response to his inquiry about any swordsmanship-related work.

Her response was casual. “Then why not stay at my place for a while?”

She patted him on the shoulder and said, “Come on in.”

Ziel hesitated. From an objective standpoint, he looked like a completely suspicious drifter. Inviting someone like him into the dojo seemed reckless. Was it within her discretion to do so?

She answered with a laugh, “Well, it’s my house, so it’s fine. Honestly, having someone like you wandering around town with just a sword makes me more anxious. If you’re confident in your skills, you can help out with some of our work.”

Ziel was deeply moved. What a generous and kindhearted person she was, to offer such hospitality to a dubious wanderer like himself.

Thus, when she asked him his name, Ziel replied candidly.

“What’s your name?” she asked. “Ziel,” he said.

Feeling it wasn’t enough to identify himself and a bit embarrassed, he added, “I’m, uh, a dragonslayer, by the way.”

“Oh?” she said, nodding, her hand resting on her sword.

“By any chance, are you connected to Master Valdofried?”

Surprised, Ziel asked, “You know him?”

That was indeed his master’s name.

She nodded knowingly and then, without warning, drew her sword in a smooth motion.

Ziel wasn’t shocked. He had grown accustomed to this sequence of events—introducing himself as a dragonslayer often led martial artists to draw their weapons for a test of strength, a duel, or some other challenge.

But what she said next was entirely unexpected.

“Master Valdofried was my father Samynato’s longtime rival.”

Before he could exhale in surprise, Ziel recalled something his master had once told him.

“There’s a smug man in the eastern country. We’ve never settled the score, and we probably never will. It’s a deep rivalry involving our entire school of thought. You’ll likely meet him someday—or maybe not. I don’t care. Now, I’m going to drink and sleep.”

He had dismissed it as another of his master’s ramblings, but now, here he was, in the eastern country, and everything aligned with what his master had said.

This dojo was…

“Which means you’re my rival by extension,” the girl declared.

Standing before him, she continued, “But I find it hard to believe that someone who looks like a lost child—or rather, a drifter—could be a dragonslayer. Let’s find out if it’s true.”

And so, once upon a time, yet not so long ago, this story began.