Annan carefully searched Tan Juan's room and successfully found some decent items.
First, he found a short sword that fitted him well, which, even with the hilt included, was less than sixty centimeters long and resembled an overly long dagger more than anything. Its scabbard was luxurious yet delicate, and when the sword was sheathed, it looked more like a giant pen. Once drawn, the blade gave off a strange, pale blue reflection.
A fancy silver pocket watch caught his eye next, but the watch had stopped. Engraved on the case of the watch was the sharp, feathered pattern of a three-eyed bird, resembling a dagger... Apparently, it was the Geraint family's emblem, because Annan noticed that many other items bore parts of this pattern as well.
Beyond that were a bag of coins, some correspondence, a ring set with a sapphire, a seal, two handkerchiefs, a bag of sweets, and the snacks Tan Juan had just brought back...
The entire room was as clean as if a hero had scoured it.
The only item that caught his attention was the ring.
That's because, when Annan picked it up, a screen of light emerged before him:
[Type: Ring (Purple)]
[Description: An heirloom left to Tan Juan Geraint by his mother, containing cold magic power and a curse.]
[Description: It seems to be a method to break a certain seal, but it is encrypted ("Mystic Ritual" check failed).]
[Description: You have never heard of such a curse ("Advanced Curse Studies" check failed).]
Facing the word "curse," Annan hesitated briefly.
But after some thought, he tucked it into his bosom.
Although its purpose was unknown, at the very least, it shouldn't fall into the hands of a traitor.
What mattered more was that Annan found the sword he had seen before entering this instance. It hung pristine on the wall nearest to him.
It stretched a bit over a meter in length; its sheath was almost unadorned but was polished to a shine. It appeared elegant yet dependable.
Upon drawing it, the blade was exactly half his height. It bore no notches, the edge sharp and hefty. If nothing else, this must be John's custom sword.
The moment he gripped the sword, Annan froze for an instant.
A torrent of sword-fighting memories surged into his mind. He suddenly became a mature, if not overly exceptional, young swordsman.
—But Annan quickly realized that these were not memories of John learning to use this sword. Instead, they were recollections of a young "Annan" practicing swordsmanship in a snowy, icy environment.
The earlier memories swiftly passed by, and Annan managed to grasp only the essence. However, as the flow of remembrance became clearer, he finally caught sight of a short but relatively complete memory:
There he was, holding a slender sword, lying exhausted on the ground, panting heavily like a Husky, his breath misting with white vapor. The blade he held was not metallic but ivory white in color.
Standing opposite Annan was a man who appeared to be in his thirties. He bore a seven-tenths resemblance to Annan, but with a stern, harsh face and ice-blue eyes devoid of emotion. From this angle, he looked imposing and fearsome.
"Stand up. Continue," the man said in a deep, husky voice. His voice carried a certain magic power.
One glance at him caused one's heart to freeze over. Between his steady breaths, the air around him gradually crystallized, and layers of frost formed on the ground before melting once more.
"Stand up, Annan. You've rested enough."
Annan heard his own voice.
It was squeaky and timid, as if his soul itself had been frozen.
He gathered his courage once again and stood up.
"Annan" clenched his teeth and lifted his sword. He held it horizontally in front of his waist in a somewhat peculiar stance.
As he began to move, a white frosty breath erupted from his palms, swirling around the sword, accompanied by relentless snowflakes and chilling wind.
The white blade was immediately coated with frost. A subtle trail of frost in the air, tracing a straight arc, headed for the man's knee.
But the man remained motionless, simply watching the path of the blade. As the frost approached him, it seemed to encounter an invisible barrier and shattered abruptly, dissipating into nothingness in midair.
"Continue," the man repeated.
The memory clip cut off abruptly.
"...Interesting," Annan raised an eyebrow.
It seemed this kid had quite a story. At least he must have had an extraordinary father.
He gripped the sword in his hand tighter, an epiphany dawning on him.
That sword technique that conjured waves of ice... it seemed like something I could now manage to employ.
Was that the "Frost Sword Technique" listed in my panel?
Having only learned the first level of Frost Sword Technique...
What kind of power could it possess?
At the least, it should be capable of stiffening one's blood and qi, right?
Annan loosely gathered his things, tidied the somewhat disheveled room, and left with the two swords. He carried the long sword in his hand and carefully concealed the short one in his embrace. The pocket watch left on the desk was picked up to serve as a pretext for calling Tan Juan aside by accident, without leaving any trace.
"Young master, come over here, your pocket watch has stopped again—"
...That was the kind of flag-placing comment he intended.
But Annan seemed to have overthought it.