'To hell with this damn old man. A flying shark?! He's definitely mocking me.'
Even after being serialized for 7 years, not once did the novel mention a flying shark.
Yet the old man's expression remained solemn, like he truly believed a flying shark would rise from the river at any moment!
Step, step.
Seven took the spare fishing rod with reluctance and walked toward the shore, keeping a fair distance between them.
"Mister, what about the bait? I don't see anything, like worms at least."
"Bait…?" the old man paused, then tapped his chest lightly. "Why dig for worms below, when what you carry within is already enough?"
"…"
Seven frowned.
It took him a moment, but he understood what the old man was implying.
"Use my own zi as bait…?"
In theory, it was simple: guide the zi outside his body, channel it into the fishing rod, then shape it into something like a worm.
But merely knowing it does not equate to properly doing the technique; it seemed impossible for someone like him who had just formed a ring a few minutes prior.
"What's wrong, young lad?" the old man asked calmly. "You cannot do it?"
"Tch."
He clicked his tongue inwardly. He wasn't just 'anyone,' and the word 'impossible' didn't exist for a self-proclaimed genius like him.
"Don't underestimate me."
"Oh-ooh?"
Sitting down on the shore, he closed his eyes. After about three minutes of silence, he felt the zi flowing freely through the air, gathering most densely around his own body.
'What was it called again, zi… signature?'
That was the term. When zi passes through trees, beasts, and people alike, they leave behind subtle ripples unique to each living existence.
Thus, skilled knights could sense these disturbances to locate hidden enemies, sometimes identify their identity if the zi signature is familiar to them.
Cracka, cracka!
A thin layer of zi wrapped around him, crackling softly like a small bonfire.
Beside him, however, he could feel— no, he could see it!— the old man's zi signature was thick and overwhelming, surging violently like a raging storm.
Thing is, the stronger one became, the more violent their zi grew upon contact with the world.
Only those who reached the transcendent stage (five rings) could calm that chaotic signature and shape it into something uniquely their own: [Sage Art].
'Slow down… I can do this.'
Carefully, he guided the zi toward his fingertips. That part wasn't too difficult. The real problem was pushing it further and forcing it out of his body and into the fishing rod.
But…
Cracka!
A sharp pain shot through him.
His eyes snapped open as the zi recoiled violently, surging back into his arteries and leaving both his arms trembling as the backlash left a dull ache behind.
"Damn it…"
"You're being spontaneous," the old man remarked. "The river flows because it does not desire the sea."
"Again."
He tightened his grip on the fishing rod and tried once more.
Cracka!
"Again."
His chest burned. Sweat slid into his eyes, stinging, yet the result was the same.
"Again."
His arms trembled. His breathing grew ragged, and the world blurred until only the fishing rod remained in his vision.
"Again…"
"Again…"
"Ag—"
A hand tapped his shoulder.
"That's enough, young lad," the old man said. "Push any further, and you'll drown yourself in haste."
"I…"
Seven tried to protest, to say he was fine and that he didn't need rest, but the words died in his throat. He was breathless, and warm blood dripped from his nose.
He wiped it away with his sleeve and stared ahead.
"Come," the old man sighed. "A river that runs too fast will soon leave its bed dry."
At some point, a fire had been lit beneath the tree, despite the snow still drifting down. Sticks were propped over the flames, four fat catfish skewered upon them, crackling as oil dripped into the fire.
The old man crouched by the flames, slowly turning one skewer.
"Hm. Perhaps that was rude of me," he said. "A meal like this may not suit the youngest of—"
"Drop the act, Aizen Medici…"
Seven stood and stepped closer to the fire. It wouldn't hurt to try something he had only ever seen through a computer screen before.
"...The Knight Commander of the seventh platoon, serving the youngest Hart."
Instead of surprise, the old man simply grinned.
"A Knight Commander…" the old man murmured. "Titles like that have a way of settling on one's shoulders. I am merely a farmer, one who happens to enjoy fishing."
Seven didn't respond.
He was too busy peeling the skin from the catfish, inspecting it with excessive focus as though deciding whether its strange appearance made it safe to eat.
Munch, munch.
He took a bite anyway.
"It looks suspicious… but it tastes fine."
The words slipped out unconsciously. Before he realized it, his hand was already reaching for a second skewer. After failing again and again for nearly two hours, his body demanded it.
"Effort deserves its reward," the old man said, biting into his own fish. "I shall grant you one question in advance. Ask away."
Seven finished chewing and stood up.
'It's a trap.'
If he asked a question now, it would become a debt that would bind him to catching the flying shark later, with no room to back out.
"What is your exact identity, and what is your relationship with my oldest sister?"
Then again, he had never planned to back out anyway.
"You asked for more than one answer," the old man chuckled.
"What is your relationship with my oldest sister?"
He chose the latter.
He could save the other question for later. Besides, judging from the old man's expression, asking about his identity now would yield nothing useful.
"Once," the old man replied after swallowing the last bite of catfish, "Eden Hart walked a few steps behind me."
Upon hearing the answer, he turned away and walked back toward the shore.
Step, step.
"You will not ask whether my words carry the truth?" the old man asked.
"I don't need to."
"Hm…" the old man watched him grip the fishing rod once more.
Facing the river again, its currents seeming stronger than before, he couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering.
Truth be told, a Knight Commander should be stronger than the deputy— in this case, Edward who was in the Paragon stage.
Yet the old man was unable to fully calm the chaos of zi around him that should be a mark of Transcendent— in this case, Eden whom he claimed that she once walked a few steps behind him.
'Sovereign… That puts him in this stage.'
Paragons were rare enough as they were; Sovereigns were even more so.
So then…
'Eden was once this old man's student.'
It was highly likely that the old man possessed skills worthy to be 'once' a mentor of the first child of the current Archduke.
He pushed the thought aside and refocused.
Nearly thirteen minutes passed before he finally, somehow, managed to coax a minuscule drop of zi from his fingertip and let it touch the surface of the fishing rod.
But the moment it made contact…
Cracka!
…the connection shattered.
"Agai—"
"Enough for today," the old man said, cutting him off as he calmly stamped out the fire. "A river that runs too fast will—"
"—Soon find its bed dry, damn it. I know already."
Seven interrupted him. He had enough of the old man's poetic nonsense; the old man had been like this ever since introducing himself as a potato farmer.
But if they stopped now, not only he'd lose the chance to repay his 'debt' but also delay his growth— he only had about less than two weeks before the ceremony; he should be, at least, able to do this.
"If you're worried about the next two questions," the old man continued unbothered, "then don't be. I will always be here at this time of day. You are free to join me whenever you wish."
"...Yes."
- – – 777 – – -
In the village, Lythian stood before a potato farm.
"Grandpa," Lythian called out. "Grandpa!"
There was no response, the small cabin beside the potato farm was locked and he had already knocked several times. Thus, he finally turned to leave.
But…
"Grandpa…?"
Lythian paused, seeing the person he had been waiting for when he turned around.
"Where are you coming from this late at night?"
The old man was his grandfather, Aizen, and he was carrying three catfish by their tails.
"I should be the one asking you that," Aizen replied. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
Aizen's poetic tone was gone, like he only talked that way fully depending on the person before him.
"Didn't I tell you not to come looking for me unless you can discharge zi with proper control?"
It was strange. He had just taught Seven Hart a few minutes prior, yet now he spoke coldly to his own grandson.
"Ah… I…" Lythian stuttered, glancing aside. "Mom's back from the main dukedom and asked me to fetch you. It's been a long time since we had a small feast together as a family."
"I'll pass," Aizen waved him off, lifting the three fat catfish slightly. "I have enough to dine alone."
"Grandma's there too," Lythian added quickly, then his eyes then drifted to the fish. "But since when did you start fishing, Grandpa?"
He couldn't help asking. In all 17 years of his life, he had never once seen his grandfather hold a fishing rod, much less bring fishes he caught back home.
Putting that aside, the mention of 'Grandma' gave Aizen pause and it seemed as though he might consider it, even just for a moment.
Step, step.
But he just walked past Lythian and stopped before the cabin.
"I won't be coming," the old man said, unlocking the cabin door. "But tell your grandmother I said hello."
Just as he was about to close the door…
"I can finally do it."
Lythian turned his head slightly, just enough to meet his grandfather's gaze.
He pointed his finger, and a thin thread of zi stretched out toward one of the catfish.
It wrapped around the fish and lifted it a little, but the thread shook as a small spark popped against the fish's scales, then it snapped.
"I… I can now discharge zi," Lythian said quietly, biting his lips to endure the pain on his fingers. "Just like you told me to."
"..."
Aizen's eyes narrowed, caught off guard.
The thread of zi was mostly under control, mostly, but his grandson could now guide the zi, shape it, and even make it interact with the fish.
Nonetheless, with such imperfect control, it wasn't enough to fully convince him, or at least, until…
"Grandpa!"
A soft voice echoed from the distance, a young girl with ruby-red eyes and black hair stepped into view.
"Grandma said she misses you," Sophie said innocently, "and that she'll give you a kiss if you agree."