The Perfect Knight and the Illusionist (BL)

LEO

The wind was very cold. The trees that I would have otherwise loved to climb seemed too tall and hostile, swaying from side to side as the wind howled like they were doing some sort of ritual dance before eating me alive. I was used to playing in the woods, but I’d never been on a mountain this tall with a slope this steep. I didn’t know where exactly I was and what exactly I was doing.

I was only six or seven. At most.

I, for one reason or another, was wearing very thin clothes as well. It was as if someone had taken me out of my bed while I was sleeping during summer and put me up on this mountain in the middle of winter, with me having no memory of what happened in between. I needed to find shelter fast if I were to avoid freezing to death.

Then Lady Luck finally showed me mercy. I saw the opening of a cave under the moonlight that managed to shine through the thick branches of the big trees. When I went near the entrance, I immediately smelled something burning inside.

Firewood!

There was someone inside for sure, for I knew no animal that could make fire (although it would have been funny to find a big group of squirrel families sitting around a campfire telling stories of the biggest walnuts they had collected...).

I then went inside.

The cave was unusually deep and there were many forks in its paths, but I had done some cave explorations before, although usually not alone and usually not on a cold winter night. I did my best not to get lost, and marking the paths I’d been through with stones helped me make a safe return to the previous fork every time I ran into a dead end.

Eventually, I found a clearing where I saw a man sitting by a small fire he had made. He had a little pot set up that was boiling over the fire. It didn’t smell like soup. Rather, I could smell some herbs, which made me realize that he had made some hot tea.

Great.

"Hi," I said, getting closer to the man.

I could see his wrinkled face now and silver hair in the flickering light of the fire. He looked very old and tired, but he sat with a straight back and broad shoulders.

The man glanced at me but didn’t greet me. His eyes just went back to the fire as he lifted his mug and took a sip of his tea.

Not wanting to disturb him, for he looked like someone who liked the quietness of the cave, I approached quietly and sat down in front of the fire, just opposite him, with my legs folded in criss-cross applesauce style.

We sat in silence like that for a moment, but I was really thirsty, and although my body was getting warmer now, I couldn’t help but keep thinking that I’d like to have some of that hot tea too.

"May I—"

He noticed, somehow, and passed me the mug of tea he was drinking.

"Thank you," I said and took a sip and immediately coughed.

"It’s so bitter!"

He looked at me coughing with no expression.

But he didn’t seem mean. He just seemed very... tired. Too tired to even smile. Perhaps.

Nevertheless, I took another sip of the tea.

I could slowly get used to the bitterness, and after a few sips, I could even taste a very slight hint of sweetness that hid underneath it. I was surprised.

"It’s actually kind of sweet," I remarked.

He then looked at me carefully, examining my face, what I was wearing, and then looked directly into my eyes. I thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. His gaze eventually returned to watching the flame that was doing a much gentler dance than the trees outside.

I then looked at him closely too.

For an old man, he was very well built. His body was lean with muscles that might have been hard as rocks when he was younger. I could tell, even though he was sitting, that he would be rather tall if he stood up. Underneath a dark cloak, he was wearing some kind of uniform. There was an insignia on his chest that vaguely looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite remember where I saw it before. And next to where he sat, he had laid down a sheathed long sword. It looked very long, very hard to handle. I thought he must be a very skillful swordsman to use something like that.

"Are you an adventurer?" I asked him.

He let some time pass, but eventually, he finally spoke.

"Adventure. Not the right word, but not wrong either."

"Are you a soldier, then?"

"I had my share of battles."

"Oh! You were in the Imperial army?"

I noticed his eyes flare for a very, very short time at the word ’Imperial,’ but the same eyes that seemed to catch fire almost immediately softened again.

"I had been in battles," he said.

"I see. It must have been scary."

"Not the scariest thing in the world."

That made me stop and think.

What could be scarier than fighting in wars where you were being charged down by thousands of people dying to kill you?

Ghosts? Monsters? Some incredible beasts deep, deep in the wild?

"What is the scariest thing you have seen?"

My curiosity won. I couldn’t help but ask.

He didn’t answer, but I could tell he was trying to. He just needed time to think through things and figure out for himself what was the scariest thing he’d ever seen. Maybe nobody had ever asked him this question before.

"Friends," he finally uttered with a slight sigh.

"Friends? Why are friends scary? Aren’t they great? I have many friends back home and I always have loads of fun with them."

"And... me."

"Eh...?"

"Changing."

Then he stopped.

He took another sip from the mug, realized that the tea had cooled down a bit, held it over the flame for a bit, which made it warm again, and handed it over to me, turning it around to let the handle face me so it was easier for me to grab. I took it and said,

"Thank you."

He only replied with a nod.

The man then got up. Just as I thought, he was quite tall and well built, with sturdy legs.

He then picked up the sword that sat next to him, unsheathed it, and looked at his blade. The blade was so clean that I could see every slight movement of the flame’s reflection on it. The man certainly kept his sword very well. He must have been taking care of it diligently.

After examining it once, he swung it around a few times. He sidestepped, went backward, then suddenly stabbed the sword forward with a great thrust. Even to my untrained eyes, his movements seemed so perfect. If swordsmanship was an art, I knew I was looking at a master artisan.

About five mesmerizing minutes later, the man sheathed his sword again, then sat back on the rock he had been sitting on earlier, in front of the fire.

I clapped my hands and said,

"Mister, you are so good!"

Finally, he smiled. Once.

He almost looked like he wanted to say something, or even reach out to me, but something was holding him back. So he sat, not moving again.

"Thank you," he said finally.

"How long have you been training with a sword?" I asked him.

"All my life."

"Like twenty years? Thirty years? Or wait—forty years?!"

The man let out a small chuckle.

"I was probably a little younger than you when I first held a sword."

"Wow, that’s amazing! My parents would never let me play with a sword!"

"Parents," he said.

His face suddenly froze, as if he had struck upon a thought that still gripped him.

I knew I said something wrong. I felt bad.

"I’m sorry."

"It’s okay."

"Do you think... I could also learn to use swords someday?" I asked, trying to lighten up the mood a little.

He then looked at me. His eyes looked tired again. His face looked even more tired. His whole body seemed to have no strength left in it. It was a rather sudden change from how he was moving so well earlier when he was showing me his swordsmanship.

"I... wouldn’t recommend it to anyone," he said finally, then got up again.

I was expecting him to say something more.

But he didn’t.

He picked up his sword again, turned away from the fire, and started to head for the exit.

I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t.

I didn’t want him to leave, but I accepted that he had to go.

Where to?

I didn’t know.

But the man looked like he had a place to be, a place he hadn’t found yet.

In my heart, I wished him a safe journey and prayed that he’d find what he’d been searching for all his life.

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