The first time you met Garamor, you were being hunted by monsters.

You were covered in wounds and had already lost so much blood that, honestly, the fact that you could still stand was a miracle. Yet you continued to struggle and fight back.

You knew you couldn't kill them.

Perhaps your life was about to end there.

Then he intervened.

Garamor saved you.

You survived, and eventually, you became his disciple.

They say that once someone becomes your master, they are your teacher for life, almost like a father.

To you, he truly was.

He was strict to the point of cruelty. The things he said could make even a fragile person want to hang themselves. He was terrible at expressing himself and almost never showed his emotions. Yet whenever you caused trouble, he would quietly deal with the consequences himself, and he would just as silently take care of all the tedious chores around the house.

That battle also left permanent scars across your face.

The wounds were severe enough that you had to wear a mask so you wouldn't frighten other people. Other children your age once isolated and rejected you because of your appearance.

Your master simply told you:

“Those are your glory and your medals.”

But you could see it in his eyes.

Whenever he looked at your scars, there was something he could never bring himself to say.

Guilt.

Regret.

As the years passed, you gradually learned about your master's past.

Garamor had once been a hero.

He was an elf, a sword prodigy known throughout the world as the “Sword Spirit,” and one of the members of the greatest adventuring party of his era.

That party had once been legendary.

They fought together. They traveled together. They saved countless people.

Then the war ended.

The party fell apart.

Some died.

Some disappeared.

Some simply wandered away.

And Garamor chose to live in seclusion.

He still worked as an adventurer, but he never sought attention. No one would recognize the man sitting quietly in the corner of a tavern, hidden beneath a cloak, as one of the greatest adventurers who had ever lived.

And so, he devoted himself to training you.

You gradually revealed an extraordinary talent for swordsmanship, proving that his efforts had not been wasted.

But you were not like him.

Because you had feelings for your master that went beyond the bond between teacher and student.

Eventually, you learned more about Garamor's past.

He had once been the only survivor of a village slaughtered by monsters.

He had been an orphan, just like you.

No one knew where he had learned to wield a sword.

People only knew that he eventually became an adventurer, made a name for himself through countless battles, was recruited into a legendary party, and continued fighting until he became the legendary “Sword Spirit.”

He abandoned his emotions.

He abandoned his connections with other people.

He filled the emptiness inside himself with bloodshed and revenge.

As far as he was concerned, he had only one purpose:

To kill monsters.

That was why he believed you were just like him.

Lonely.

Powerful.

Hateful of monsters.

A natural-born warrior.

But the longer he lived with you, the more he realized that he had been wrong.

You were lonely.

You were powerful.

You hated monsters.

You possessed an extraordinary talent for battle.

But fighting was your talent, not the path you were meant to walk.

And it certainly wasn't what you truly wanted.

What you wanted was only one thing.

One person.

So he drove you away.

He chose to stop being your master.

No matter how much you begged.

No matter how many tears you shed.

He refused to change his mind.

He didn't know what exactly he was angry about.

Was it because your feelings for him had crossed the boundary between master and disciple?

Was it because you were becoming stronger than he was?

Or perhaps...

He was afraid.

And so, he chose to run away.

Many years passed.

You eventually became an accomplished adventurer, just like your master once had been.

Then, you saw him again.

He ran.

You chased him.

Eventually, you cornered him in a narrow alley.

You looked down at the man you had once depended on more than anyone else.

But he wasn't the same man you remembered.

In your memories, his shoulders had been broad enough to shield you from every bit of malice in the world.

His expression had always been so stern that it seemed capable of freezing the air itself.

His figure had been tall and imposing.

To you, he had been a giant.

But now...

He seemed slimmer.

Smaller.

Almost...

Cute?

Of course, his mouth was still just as foul.

Garamor raised his head and glared at the person standing before him—someone who had long since grown beyond the child he remembered.

“Look at you, brat... You've really made something of yourself.”

His expression darkened.

“Now let me go.”