Chapter 9
The elderly doctor, who asked where exactly the fight had taken place, treated all of Arnulf’s injuries with rough but meticulous hands.
Even while checking his hands, he lectured incessantly that young people should take care of their bodies while they’re young, or they’ll suffer when they’re old.
Arnulf found it amusing how someone could speak so bluntly even knowing he was a noble, so he listened quietly and allowed the treatment.
“Those ears… got me scolded,”
As soon as he left the doctor’s office, Arnulf grumbled, touching his ear with the unbandaged hand.
“You didn’t get seriously hurt, Joseph. I was really worried,”
Pin said, finally speaking a word after enduring the doctor’s nagging without complaint, glancing at the young master with a mischievous giggle.
Since Joseph had lost his memory, he didn’t get angry like before, which made this possible.
Arnulf, noticing that his servant couldn’t forget to mention he was worried, patted the back of Pin’s head absentmindedly.
“Yeah, yeah… I’m sorry.”
Pin fidgeted shyly under the casual, kind touch, then her eyes sparkled as she said,
“You have nothing to apologize for! But you were amazing earlier! When did you even learn martial arts? I was really surprised!”
When the fight had broken out suddenly in the alley, Pin had been worried that something terrible might happen. She knew better than anyone that her young master could throw punches, but he didn’t have the skill to face multiple thugs.
But seeing Joseph fight off the gang and come out unharmed made her heart race—not from tension, but from overwhelming excitement.
“Well… um…”
Arnulf was momentarily at a loss for words at her sudden question. How could he explain that he was good at fighting? Even more, he couldn’t admit that someone else resided inside Joseph’s body.
As he pondered how to make the servant, whose eyes were sparkling, understand, he found a perfect excuse in his line of sight.
“Ah! We’re here.”
Following Arnulf’s gaze, Pin turned her eyes and saw a single-story building with a small wooden sign. It simply read “Weapon Shop,” with no business name.
“Here?”
Pin looked at the shabby building with a puzzled expression, doubting if it was really a shop.
“Yeah. Shall we go in?”
Arnulf walked toward the weapon shop without hesitation.
“Yes…”
Pin still looked skeptical but followed quietly behind him. When they reached the door, Arnulf pushed it open without hesitation.
The dim interior was filled with dust that floated in the afternoon sunlight like mist. Weapons and various pieces of metal were scattered everywhere, giving off a faint metallic stench—definitely a weapon shop.
But the owner or any staff were nowhere to be seen.
“Hello!”
Pin called out as she scanned the shop after Arnulf. The space, not small, seemed abandoned for so long that sound didn’t carry. There was still no sign of anyone in the dusty room.
“Hello! Is anyone here?”
Pin called again, stepping further in—and accidentally stepped on a blade lying on the floor.
Clang!
“Ah!”
Startled by the sharp sound, she recoiled, then kicked something else with her heel, causing another loud noise.
“Huh! Ah! What do I do!”
In the end, she even knocked over precariously stacked items. Pin looked at Arnulf with a sorrowful expression, like a puppy caught in mischief and watching its owner’s reaction.
Arnulf chuckled, ruffling Pin’s hair, and went further inside to find the owner who had remained invisible amid the chaos.
Pin hesitated but followed, noticing another door further inside.
“Joseph…”
She wanted to ask how he even knew there was a door here, if he had been here before, but just then…
With a clatter, the firmly closed door opened. From inside, an elderly man with white hair appeared. His eyebrows were as long and white as his hair, almost covering his eyes.
“Huh? Who’s there?”
The old man alternated his gaze between Arnulf and Pin. This place rarely saw visitors except regulars or those introduced by them. Since neither was familiar, he scrutinized them carefully.
“I’m here to buy swords—for practice, and a Collishmarte and a parrying dagger.”
Arnulf stated his purpose instead of his identity. The old man’s long eyebrows twitched.
“Collishmarte? Parrying dagger?”
The old man eyed Arnulf from head to toe with suspicion—his vivid red hair, slender build, noble features. Indeed, a Collishmarte and a left-hand parrying dagger suited a young noble perfectly.
Using the left-hand parrying dagger, which separated into three blades with a thumb press, was not unusual. Pairing it with a Collishmarte was also common: one as the main weapon, the other as a support.
But the old man suspected that this red-haired noble wanted both for dual-wielding—a rare technique. Only a few could do it, and only one usually came to him for weapons.
“Hmm. Who introduced you?”
Instead of immediately showing the weapons, he asked who had sent him.
“Arni introduced me.”
“Arni?”
Arnulf mentioned the name casually, causing the old man’s expression to shift subtly.
“Ah, that’s been a long time. Well, if it’s him, I can trust it. What’s he up to these days?”
Arnulf smiled faintly at the question.
“Still wandering around here and there.”
“Ah, he hasn’t changed. Come in.”
Hearing the name Arni, the old man finally guided Arnulf inside. Arni had been a mercenary frequenting this place long ago. Although he himself hadn’t come recently, anyone he introduced over the years was trustworthy enough for the old man to sell weapons.
Pin peeked at the old man and stayed close to Arnulf.
“Joseph, who’s Arni?”
“He’s a mercenary. That’s all.”
A mercenary? Someone who fights for money? How does Joseph even know him? Pin tilted her head in confusion. Arnulf patted her head calmly and continued walking. Arni had been Arnulf’s childhood pseudonym for times he didn’t reveal his identity. He had even fought in wars under that name years ago but assumed no one would remember it now.
“Wow…”
Pin gasped at the sight inside. Unlike the shabby entrance, this room was filled with all sorts of weapons.
“Pick what you like,”
The old man gestured toward the display with a bored expression and slouched in a cushioned chair. He seemed reluctant to sell anything actively. Buy it, or don’t.
Arnulf smiled faintly at the seemingly indifferent old man, then turned to the display of long swords. His eyes fell on a particularly unique one.
A blade with a wavy pattern—a Flamberge. Known for its beautiful appearance but also cruel and vicious in combat, it was special to Arnulf.
“Isn’t it more like flames ready to burn everything rather than just waves?”
He remembered Zygmunt saying this when first holding the Flamberge. Soon, it became Zygmunt’s signature sword—a knight with a calm demeanor in daily life, but ruthless in combat.
‘It’s a pity. I won’t see that side anymore.’
After admiring the Flamberge, Arnulf moved on and found the sword he actually wanted: a long, sleek, double-edged Collishmarte.
He held it in one hand and tested its swing. In the dim, dusty shop, the blade flashed, giving off an unusual impression. Pin, unknowingly, clenched her hands and watched him strike the air. It felt unlike her young master—more like a cold, disciplined knight.
After testing a few more times, Arnulf paired the Collishmarte with the parrying dagger and returned to the old man, who had been dozing off in his chair.
“Hey, old man!”
Pin called out first. The old man opened his sleepy eyes to look at them. Pin pouted, ready to ask the price, but Arnulf spoke first.
“I’d like to order a sword made specifically for me.”
At those words, the old man’s drowsy eyes suddenly sharpened.
