My mom used to say, ‘True beauty in a woman isn’t found in her appearance, but in the kindness and strength she carries within.’ Obviously, she hasn’t met the women I’ve acquainted myself with. If she had, she’d definitely retract that statement.

The wall clock chimed six as Brutus finished recounting his version of last night’s fray. Thankfully, that old contraption had been spared. It reminded me with its chime that now was a good time to wrap it up and head back to the estate.

“Don’t worry about repairs, Brutus,” I assured. “I’ll pay you for all the damage. Go to the estate tomorrow and ask for Alfred. He’ll give you the money.”

“You’d do that for me, Master Alex?”

I nodded wordlessly with a smile.

“You are the greatest Stormbourne in your whole family, Master Alex!”

I chuckled at his flattery. To be honest, if this pub shut its doors for good, it would mean the end of having a safe place where I could get my usual fix.

I rose from my seat to leave but stopped to ask one more question. “One last thing, Brutus. Did you know who helped carry me back to the estate last night?”

“Of course I do!” Brutus gestured at the three young ladies still clearing up the mess. “It’s my three beautiful daughters right here.”

Oh no! Not them! Please don’t smile, please don’t smile—

Now, you might wonder why I was acting so dramatically here. One thing you need to keep in mind when having a good time at the Drunken Stag is to not mention anything about Brutus’ three daughters. I do stress ‘anything’ to emphasize. It’s not that his daughters weren’t fine-looking gals; they were just like the barmaids at the Royal Rose. And, of course, all fathers took pride in hearing good words said in favor of their daughters. Even a drunkard’s or a lecher’s opinion could still be appreciated.

But most men, especially me, would get our minds turned off or have our hearts ripped out from our chest when the thing that made a woman known for her… let’s say, seductive allure, was pulled out from her. I’m highlighting ‘pulled out’ to make it clear.

As expected, the girls shifted their attention to me and… smiled widely.

Darn it! Now I’ll need some really strong liquor to forget everything I’ve seen today before crashing to bed. “T-Thanks for your help, ladies.” I bowed slightly and then turned on my heel. No way in hell I was sticking around to watch them start giggling.

Outside the tavern, I rubbed my face hard, trying to wipe away the last image from my mind. It was time to head back to the estate for the farewell gathering. The late evening air was a welcome relief as I walked through the nearly deserted streets of Stormvale, the place I called my second home. Navigating back was easy since I had memorized the layout of these streets like the veins on my wrists.

I caught a glimpse of someone stepping out of an inn to greet another person. From the cloaks they had over their faces, I knew they were trying to blend into the night. I kept my distance from them and tailed the two since they were heading in the same direction as me. I could tell they were speaking amongst themselves, and from how they carried themselves, they were talking about something important.

As they moved toward the entertainment district, probably to use the noise there to cover their conversation, I caught bits of what they were saying. When they passed under a street lamp, more of their faces were revealed. I recognized one of them. Greg. A local informant who had been used by Grinwald before to find out who had beaten up one of the estate guards during a tavern brawl. Greg seemed unusually nervous while talking to the other person.

“Do you know who I bumped into last night, Tom?” Greg leaned in closer.

“Who?” Tom tilted his head sideways.

“The Wandering Swordsman.”

A gasp escaped my lips. I never thought I’d hear that name from someone else’s mouth ever again. Only a few individuals in Valoria had had the chance to meet this mysterious man in person. Even if they did, would they really recognize him? He had been off the scene of swordsmanship for twenty-five years, living only in whispers and legends. No one knew his real name. He was a ghost in the world of blades, as fleeting as the wind itself.

I recalled the tale that Grinwald had mentioned. He had been a bit drunk, so who knew how much of it was true? But the story went like this. The Wandering Swordsman was a master swordsman with a touch of magic. He traveled around the land, challenging and defeating anyone who thought themselves capable enough to face him. His victories turned him into a legend, with his name spreading with each conquest. Then, twenty-five years ago, he dueled with my father in our capital city, Tuvia. The duel was fierce and spectacular, and even now, bards sing about it in taverns across the kingdom. After that epic battle, the Wandering Swordsman vanished, as if the very shadows he commanded had swallowed him whole.

But here’s the kicker. The part I found hard to believe and even harder to swallow was that my mom was supposedly the prize for the duel. Really? Mom? They fought over her like she was some kind of trophy? It’s so outrageous that I couldn’t help but collapse to the floor, thriving with laughter, while Grinwald waved his fists in outrage, defending the truth of his tale.

“Bah! You’re pulling my leg,” Tom shrugged, crossing his arms.

‘Yep, he must be pulling your leg,’ I thought, agreeing with Tom inwardly. No way one of Valoria’s greatest swordsmen was in this town.

“You’re forgetting that I’m an informant.” Greg’s voice was earnest. “The latest word from other informants was that he limps on one leg and has a long scar running from his left cheek to his chin.” He sniffed. “I think he’s carrying a cane now.”

“A cane?” Tom cocked his head.

“Aye, a cane,” Greg nodded.

“A cane for what?”

Greg sighed, rubbing his temples before replying, “A cane to knock that thick head of yours! Of course, he uses it to help him walk ‘cause he’s limping now.”

I shook my head as the two men continued to argue.

The lamps mounted on the wall, lighting part of a dark alley, made me stop in my tracks. I took a moment to scrutinize the narrow space. It was empty, except for a stray cat lying on top of a trash can, its green eyes locked on me.

“Nibbles?” I squinted at it.

The cat hissed before leaping to the ground and vanishing into the shadows at the end of the alley.

Probably not. I shrugged my shoulders and looked at the lamps again. Should I check it out? If it’s a bar, it might be a good place to unwind. Plus, I could use a drink to get that unpleasant scene at the Drunken Stag out of my head.

I stopped following the two men and entered the alleyway. Upon closer look, there was an arched door with a sign above it that read The Chosen One. The place looked like a bar from the worn wood and the faint hum of chatter from within. It seemed odd that a new drinking parlor had been set up without my knowledge.

I opened the door wide and stepped inside, finding the place empty except for an old man behind the counter, wiping an empty glass with a cloth. The room was spotless, with portraits of dark-haired men hanging on the walls, but I didn’t recognize any of them. A couple of antique chairs and tables filled the space, clearly meant to accommodate a few patrons.

Eh, what is this? Where did the voices I heard vanish to? This old dude wasn’t talking to himself, was he?

The old man behind the counter noticed me and said, “Welcome. Pull up a stool at the bar, seeing as you are by your lonesome, lad.”

I did, and the seat was warm against my back. “What’s up with your sign outside?” I nodded my chin at the front door.

“What of it?” The old man rested his hands, palms flat on the counter.

“Why’d you name this bar The Chosen One?”

“Only a few selected individuals could enter this place,” he said with a toothy grin.

“Then why do you allow me in?”

“Well, you look like someone who could become a prospective member.”

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Aye. You’ve met one of this bar’s foremost criteria.”

“What criteria?”

He pointed at the paintings hung on the walls behind me. “Handsome men with dark hair.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “So, what’ve you got for me? What’s your best drink?”

“I’m sorry,” the old bartender said. “Let me make you one.” He tilted his body around, began pouring my drink into a glass, and then placed it on the counter.

My eyes locked on the colorless water, then flicked to the bartender before settling back on my glass. Was this some kind of spirit? I took a quick gulp, feeling my throat tighten as I swallowed. But before the cool liquid could settle, my head jerked sideways, and I spat it out. “What the hell did you just give me?” My eyes widened in disbelief.

“Water,” the bartender answered.

“Water?” I squinted at him.

“Aye, plain pure water.”

“But why water?”

“Because you’re still underage, aren’t you?”

Darn it! There goes my chance of finding another drinking spot. Well, maybe it’s for the best that I don’t get my fix now. I’ve got a gathering to attend later. My shoulders slumped, and I let out a long sigh.

“Something on your mind, lad?” the bartender inquired.

“Nah, it’s nothing really,” I waved him off.

“Go on, tell me, lad. I’m good at listening to problems.”

I took a deep breath. “It’s just that I have a few things bothering me right now. Like having to go to the academy for my swordsmanship training, which I feel is a total waste of time because I really don’t want to be a swordsman.” A beat. “And there’s this thing I wanted to do at least once in my life, but with the way I am at the moment, it’s not possible and certainly it is against the will of my family.”

“Maybe I can help you with that,” he offered.

Thinking the old bartender was joking, I told him what I wanted most in life.

“That’s not what I expected coming from a Stormbourne.” He rubbed his chin.

“Of course!” I chuckled. “I’m not like other Stormbournes.”

“But I am a man of my word,” the bartender guaranteed.

“Really? You’ve got a lot of connections with taverns all around the world?” I threw him a smirk.

“Nay, but I can make you strong and famous. The rest is up to you.”

I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Seriously? You can do that for me?”

The old bartender took a bottle from beneath the counter, this one with some weird engravings, and poured the drink into an empty glass, this time with a smaller amount. He then set the glass with the bluish liquid on the counter and gestured for me to drink it.

“What’s this?” I gazed at the glass.

“It’s the nectar of the transcendent,” croaked the bartender. “It’s a drink ye never drunk.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” I nodded eagerly. “Well then, here’s to the thing that I want most in my life!” I raised it to my lips and swallowed whatever the bluish liquid was in one gulp. “It’s true!” I exclaimed, wiping my lips with my hand. “I’ve never tasted something like this before.”

“Only the ‘Chosen’ can drink what you’ve taken.” The bartender smiled.

“I see,” I nodded, returning his smile.

“Remember this, my young Stormbourne.” His voice turned a bit serious. “Seek knowledge from others, but you need to solve your trials with your own strength. However, there will come a time when you need to borrow another’s strength, and when that time comes, your cycle of life will end.”

“Yeah, no problem!” I chuckled heartily, though I wasn’t sure what the hell he was talking about. Hold on a second! He’s called me Stormbourne twice now. I don’t remember telling him who I am. But before I could voice it, my head felt woozy, and my body swayed slightly from side to side. And here, my vision and memories ended abruptly.