Faced with Celia's inquiry, old Jaque tilted his head and glanced at John, who was practicing swordsmanship in the courtyard. He watched for a moment, then shook his head and said,
"I wouldn't know. He's a Furniture Maker class—completely unrelated to Swordman. What he's doing is just fooling around."
"This kid is always full of strange ideas. He's always up to something that makes no sense to anyone else!"
Hearing that, Celia's interest was piqued. She leaned in closer to old Jaque and asked eagerly,
"What kind of things has he done before?"
Old Jaque chuckled. "I watched this kid grow up. Never one to follow the rules. I still remember when he held a broken wooden sword and said he would slice through this game world with a single strike and uncover the truth of his transmigration."
Even for someone like Jaque, who had traveled extensively and seen much of the world, John's talk of "game worlds" and "transmigration" was entirely new. Though he didn't quite understand what those terms meant, he could feel that they carried a mysterious kind of power.
Especially John's eyes and aura—they made him look like he was born to wield a sword. It left an unforgettable impression. If only... if only his awakened class hadn't turned out to be "Furniture Maker"!
"Besides that, he's made all sorts of bizarre things. Half the stuff in my store comes from him—chessboards, card tables, even firearms. Most of them are just toys, but they're fun and totally unheard of before. I really don't know how his brain works."
Talking about John's past seemed to put old Jaque in a good mood. His eyes held a trace of fondness and indulgence.
…
Macedonian Kingdom – Imperial Capital
As King Arnaud IV grew older, the shadow of death loomed ever closer. The fear haunted him constantly. His obsession with finding the secret to immortality deepened by the day. He had completely abandoned the affairs of state, pouring all his energy and resources into the pursuit of eternal life, regardless of the cost.
And now, all nine of his sons—young and ambitious princes—had returned to the capital. Even the Third Prince, who had long served as the military commander, arrived with his personal guard, prepared to receive the king's rewards.
Princes once scattered across the kingdom were now gathered in one place.
The atmosphere in the capital turned heavy and tense.
Although King Arnaud IV publicly claimed this was nothing more than a routine end-of-year family reunion, the ministers of the court sensed something far more ominous.
Rumors began to circulate among the nobility. This was not a simple gathering. Many believed the king's health was rapidly declining and that his efforts to attain immortality had failed. The time had come—he would soon name his successor!
Of course, other speculations existed, but everyone understood one thing: this reunion would change the future of the empire. A storm was brewing above the capital.
…
Meanwhile, in the lavish manor of the Fifth Prince—
Dressed in exquisite robes, his skin so pale it seemed devoid of color, the Fifth Prince suddenly clenched his hand and crushed a piece of parchment.
His eyes were locked onto a shadowy figure standing in the corner of the room.
"The king is bedridden and cannot withstand any shocks. Spread the word—no bad news is to reach his ears. As for those neighbors of ours, once they've served their purpose, eliminate them completely."
As the order left his lips, the figure in the corner transformed into a hawk and took off into the skies, heading in the direction of Winterhold.
Winterhold's lord was one of his subordinates, responsible for managing covert dealings with neighboring nations—an essential piece in the prince's web of influence.
But now, troubling signs were emerging from within Lord's Manor.
"I was planning to let you people live a few more years... but if you're so eager to die, don't blame me!"
"And as for my dear Third Brother—since you enjoy being the marshal so much, go ahead and enjoy that title. Leave the throne to me!"
His already pale face took on a sickly, almost deranged pallor.
…
Several days passed quietly.
In the courtyard, John continued to practice the most basic sword techniques. Just as he completed another swing, he noticed a subtle change in his system interface.
[Absolute Diarrhea Sword Art – Concept-level Skill]
[Due to the host's sword art being absolutely atrocious, the system has upgraded "Hammer Technique" to "Sword Art." Though the power remains unchanged, you may now select all visible enemies as targets. Why stop at one person suffering diarrhea when you can make a whole group go through it together? Much more satisfying, right?]
Reading the system's message, John felt a little insulted—but at the same time, genuinely delighted.
After all, this sword art now allowed him to target everyone in front of him!
In other words, what used to be a single-target ability had evolved into a group-attack skill. That meant even if he was surrounded in battle, he could still respond effectively.
This improvement gave him a powerful sense of security.
Diarrhea wasn't just uncomfortable—it was humiliating. If someone suddenly had a bout of it in public, especially those with fragile egos, they might never dare to show their face again.
With that in mind, John decided he'd earned a break. Practicing swordsmanship every day was exhausting, after all.
"John, why are you suddenly lying down and resting again? Another one of your fleeting whims?" Old Jaque pushed up the pair of reading glasses John had made for him, still not quite used to them.
"This thing you made is pretty decent, I'll admit that," he muttered. "But it still makes me dizzy and gives me headaches."
"You've only worn them for a few days," John replied, glancing his way while lounging on a sunbed in the courtyard. "Give it some time and you'll get used to it."
"I'm not taking a break because I lost interest," he added lazily. "I just had an epiphany—a major breakthrough. I figured I should reward myself with a short vacation."
Sure, the skill only upgraded because the system couldn't bear to see his horrid swordsmanship any longer.
But didn't he contribute at least a little?
Besides, out in the world, it's all about how well you can talk. Identity, reputation—it's all self-made. So what's wrong with a bit of self-improvement?
"An epiphany?" Old Jaque snorted. "With how laid-back you look, what exactly did you realize? Come on, tell me."
His expression was full of doubt—he clearly didn't buy it.
John had shown interest in swordsmanship from a young age, sure, but he never had the talent for it.
John, however, was full of confidence. He gave Jaque a look that said, Believe it or don't—it's all the same to me.
Seeing his smug expression, old Jaque finally turned and went into the house. When he returned, he carried with him a gleaming golden longsword.
He handed it to John without a word.
John took it and inspected it. Though it looked heavy, it felt incredibly light in his hands. A unique, razor-sharp energy pulsed from the blade.
He didn't know its name, but he could tell it was no ordinary sword. Just holding it made his whole body feel relaxed.
"Old Jaque, I think we better not." John shook his head. "My sword art has become too powerful. I'd hate to embarrass you."
He was dying to try out the new Absolute Diarrhea Sword Art, but then thought better of it.
If he used it here, wouldn't Jaque be the first one to suffer?
That would be too cruel…
So, with a straight face and a sincere tone, he turned him down.