Solo Swordmaster
Chapter 74: Listening

Thum. Th-Thum.

There was a sound—a performance. A beautiful melody carefully crafted by its composer. Simply listening to it induced the feeling of ecstasy as tears rolled down their faces.

The audience held in their breath so as to not interrupt the performance, even in the slightest bit.

And drunk on the reactions of the audience members, the performer put their soul into their performance—which only made the audience intoxicated all the more.

It was an infinite spiral. Each wave of sentimentality created stronger emotion, which birthed even stronger ones. Even the coldest, most heartless man in the world was bound to feel something tug at his heartstrings listening to suck a wondrous melody.

Wooooo!

And once the piece played its final note, the audience broke into applause. Faces flushed with excitement and other emotions, it seemed like the applause would go on for hours on end. The musician simply responded with a heartfelt smile.

The scene looked like a painting. A work of art. It warmed the hearts of everyone watching. The performance of every musician’s dreams wrapped up in the most ideal way possible.

At least, that’s what it looked like until one person decided to open their mouth. With a cold expression on his face and his arms crossed…

“…Never in my life have I ever heard something so dog-fucking-shit.”

***

“[Did you see that, boss?]”

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“[Ow!]”

“Are you purposely asking to get hit?”

“[Ugh, god! That’s what you ask before hitting me!]”

Maybe it was due to the fact she’d gotten hit so many times that her forehead was used to it, or because she just couldn’t feel it from the adrenaline. Yoo Na-kyung immediately shot back up after falling backwards on Limon’s head. She flapped her wings in protest.

“[Besides, it’s true that you were being stupid! Who would say that kind of stuff right after a performance!?]”

“What else would you call the countless critics in this world, then?”

"[They’re professional!s]”

“I don’t recall needing a degree to be a critic.”

“[I mean, yeah, but…]”

“Whether I’m a professional or not, it’s weird that I would need a degree to speak my honest opinion.”

“[You’re always so reckless, boss. How is it that you’re only logical in these type of situations?!]”

“You get angrier when I start using logic.]”

“[That’s it?!?!]”

Yoo Na-kyung raged, realizing that she had been the butt of the joke.

“[Anyway, that’s not what I meant! I was talking about basic human courtesy, ya know!]”

“I’ve heard philosophers in the past claim it’s courtesy to beat the shit out of bardics because they do more harm than good.”

“[What kind of lunatic says that stuff?!]”

“Plato.”

“[The Plato? One of the greatest sorcerers of our time?]”

“Yeah, he knows how to run that mouth of his. Even in the Iron Age, he could obtain autonomy over Greece with his words alone.”

“[That’s why the Free Cities Federation is called the ‘Europe That’s Not Europe’... I mean—Using a good person as a shield is foul!]”

“I guess that makes my entire existence foul, then.”

“[Nah, that’s not it. You’re no great man, boss—you’re a mad dog!]”

Snap!

[Ow!!!!! Quit that! I’m already worried enough with a bird head, what are you gonna do if I actually become stupid?!]

“You’re worried about your brain cells? How ‘bout you fix that habit of not using them before you speak?”

“[It didn’t get fixed after dying, and you think me trying will make a difference?!]”

“One hell of a flex you got there, damn brat.”

Limon clicked his tongue watching the blue bird speak confidently with its belly sticking out.

But Yoo Na-kyung wasn’t fazed.

“[So where are you thinking about going this time?]”

“I dunno.”

He scratched his cheek and flipped through his notes, scanning all the places he’d checked.

“Looks like there’s some classical concert at the cultural center in an hour.”

“[Boss, didn’t you just come back from getting side-eyed in that classical concert for running your mouth?]”

“Hm. What about a musical in this theater, then? They had some pretty good reviews online.”

“[You said you would never believe a single word on the internet again. Yesterday.]”

“What about this traditional pungmul nori* event…”

*t/n: Pungmul nori (풍물놀이) meaning: "playing Korean traditional percussion instruments", which is a Korean folk genre comprised of music, acrobatics, folk dance, and rituals.

“[You got kicked out of an event four days ago complaining that none of the people there knew what tradition was.]”

“…You got something to say to me, Na-kyung?”

He furrowed his brows. Yoo Na-kyung was taken by surprise at the question.

“[That’s what I wanna say to you, boss.]”

“Why?”

“[‘Why’? You said that you wanted to try loving music, but all you’ve done is complain for the past few weeks!]”

Yeah. Limon wasn’t attending musical performances because he had the time to. Instead, it was all a part of following Julia’s advice—an effort to improve his violin skills.

“And I meant it. It’s hard to be good at something you don’t even like.”

“[…Well obviously, but it really isn’t persuasive when you’re the one saying it, boss.]”

She knew better than anyone else just how far Limon had improved after holding a violin he wasn’t even interested in just a few months ago. To her, Limon sounded more contemptible than a student claiming to have gotten a perfect score on the SATs just by doing their homework.

“That’s just because I’m exceptionally talented.”

“[That’s condescending enough as it is, but you saying that makes it even worse because I can’t deny that.]”

“Well, it is the truth.”

Yoo Na-kyung couldn’t deny the truth, but… Instead, she put her wings on her hips as she curtly scolded him.

“[So what, is that why all other music sounds awful to you? Because you’re just so talented?]”

“I dunno, I wish that was the case though.”

“[What does that even mean…?]”

“I wouldn’t know whether something sounds awful or not if I’ve never listened to it before.”

“[...You just listened your heart out, and even left a bad review. What was that if not a performance?]”

“That’s what I wanna know.”

“[??????]”

The question marks started to pile up above Yoo Na-kyung’s head, but Limon ignored them. Going through his notes again, his eyes narrowed as he came across a certain memo.

“Hm, an indie band…”

“[You’re listening to bands now?]”

“I heard they’re basically vagabonds doing whatever music they want. I’m sure they’ve got some fangs of their own.”

“[I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in the world who expects an indie band to be comprised of tough vagabonds.]”

And so, they headed towards the location of the indie band concert written in Limon’s notes—the streets of Un. University.

From music students, aspiring rappers and singers to indie bands, all kinds of musicians roamed this street. In the middle of it sat a stage.

There was a glimmer of anticipation in Limon’s eye as he saw the crowd waiting for the performance. But it all turned to dust the minute he saw the indie band walk on stage.

His face quickly contorted into a frown.

***

***

“…Man, was I the dumbass for getting my hopes up.”

“[Eh? Why?]”

“Because I feel like this is gonna be another washout.”

“[It hasn’t even started yet!]”

“Some things… You just know before it starts.”

Limon let out a sigh. With ink-black irises instead of his usual gold ones, his brows furrowed as he scanned the band members.

Vines entangled like veins on the guitarist’s arms. The head of a bat stuck out like a wart from the vocalist’s neck. Six insectile legs protruded from the drummer’s back.

The awful sight of it all felt like looking into the lens of a dark mage’s creation, but that wasn’t all. From his past experience, he knew what kind of music they would play.

And most unfortunately, his intuition was right. Again.

Dundundundundun!

“Yeah yeah yeah—!”

The insect’s legs encroached on the drumsticks as it started drumming. The vines strummed away at the guitar strings along with the guitarist’s fingers. The high notes rang from the bat’s mouth instead of the vocalist’s.

The Constellations they had made a deal with were more active than the players themselves. Limon sighed.

“Fuckin’ hell. Don’t call yourselves an indie band if you’ll just perform using skills.”

Yoo Na-kyung replied from the top of Limon’s head.

“[Jeez, that’s a stretch. Who doesn’t use skills in music these days?]

“Julia doesn’t.”

“[That’s why she’s the Violin Witch—she’s a genius.]”

“Still, how can there be not a single son of a bitch who doesn’t use a skill with the number of performances we’ve gone to?”

Limon was enraged. That was the reason he was so discontent listening to all the performances.

“[So what if they use skills, anyway?]”

“What? Are you taking sides because you were a player in your past life?”

“[It’s not that—I just don’t get it. Isn’t good music just good music regardless?]”

“…Good music, huh?”

Limon furrowed his brows once again. He looked back at the stage, this time with his golden irises.

Perhaps it was because the Constellation’s power had settled. The band members looked normal again and the music wasn’t entirely bad. There wouldn’t have been a crowd or people passionately cheering them along otherwise.

“Yeah, maybe the music is good. In normal circumstances,” Limon slowly nodded. “But I didn’t come here to start liking music such as this.”

He may be called behind the times, but he didn’t deny the advantage skills gave.

In fact, he would have been content with the music if he could hear it properly. But Limon could perceive Constellations and had a heightened sense of listening thanks to the Abyssal Black Violin and Julia’s lessons. His senses were different from that of an ordinary person.

The human side of the performance was peculiarly awkward, covered up forcefully by the Constellation’s skill. The disharmony only he could hear was the reason why he was so discontent.

“[Well… I guess there’s nothing I can say to that. Let’s go somewhere else.]”

“Sure. I’ll have to look into people who don't use skills at all.”

It seemed that Yoo Na-kyung noticed Limon’s genuine frustration, nodding alongside him as they left the streets of Un. University.

Or at least, they tried to leave.

Ding—

“…?”

The streets were bustling with the sound of the indie band’s performance and the cheers from the audience. Until a peculiar sound was heard from around a corner.

“[Boss? Where are you going?]”

Ding—

Ignoring the blue bird’s confusion, Limon suddenly turned around, chasing the course of the noise. And there it was, in an isolated corner in the street of music—a place without a stage or an amp, let alone a half-decent chair.

Sitting on the edge of a flower bed was a performer strumming a guitar without the use of a single skill.

——

——

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