To prevent my apprentice from falling into a forbidden romance with me, I spent ten years disguised as an old man. Only once, in a desperate attempt to save him, did my illusion fail. After that, he wouldn’t consider marrying anyone but me and nearly succumbed to dark magic. My only choice was to ask my junior, another instructor, to take on my appearance and deceive him. My foolish apprentice believed it. He fell for him, went crazy for him, and would have torn down walls for him. I ignored the flicker of irritation in my heart and continued to play the part of the old man. Until one night, he crept into my bed, loomed over me, and whispered, “Master, you are truly cruel. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize that imposter?” 1 The Order of the Celestial Sword had three ironclad rules. One: No romance between master and apprentice. Two: When taking an apprentice, the master must be disguised as an old man to prevent romance. Three: Apprentices must not call their master “My Lord” or any other term of endearment. They must only use the title “Master” to prevent romance. Hence, our order was also known as the Order of the Old Men. I had been a dashing, youthful prodigy for a hundred and thirty-two years before it was finally my time to become an old man. Because this year, I took on an apprentice. His name was Caelus. He came from nothing, but his innate talent for magic was astonishing. I had to fight three of my fellow instructors to claim him. In the Great Hall, Caelus looked around. There was a stereotypical old man with white hair and an air of ancient wisdom. There was a flashy old man dripping in sparkling chains. And there was a rebellious old man with red hair, heavy makeup, and a snake coiled around his arm. Caelus’s face darkened as he asked the million-dollar question: “Why are they all old men?” The only one who wasn't an old man was my junior, Alistair. Caelus pointed at him. “Can’t he be my master?” I couldn’t blame him. Alistair was a Fae, and when he had chosen his human form, he had, without my permission, used my face as a reference. His skill wasn't perfect, so he only bore a passing resemblance to me, but among a sea of old men, he was a vision of youthful beauty. Alistair looked flattered. He’d been in the order for so long and still looked like a teenager because he was, frankly, a terrible mage and couldn't attract a single apprentice. You think he didn't want to be an old man? He was desperate for it. Alistair shot me a pleading look. “Senior…” I knew how badly he wanted an apprentice. But I whispered a dark threat in his ear. “Junior, are you sure about this? With your power level, are you certain the final trials won’t result in a double fatality?” My turn of phrase, a masterpiece of linguistic terror, must have spooked him. He stumbled back a few steps. “Perhaps… perhaps Senior should be the one to take him,” he stammered. Caelus’s opinion of me soured even further. But I was, arguably, the most normal-looking of the bunch. With no other choice, Caelus knelt before me, his face a stony mask. “Apprentice greets his lord.” That “my lord” was a thunderclap. Every old man in the hall instinctively clenched. I quickly stopped him. “Call me Master. Never ‘my lord’.” Caelus was confused. “But ‘master’ sounds like a blacksmith.” “Master, as in a paternal figure. Once a master, always a father. Can I not be a father to you?” Caelus looked me up and down. “But Master, you look old enough to be my grandfather.” I won’t say who was triggered. Isn’t there a rule that fantasy heroes can be a hundred, or a thousand, but never forty? I was one hundred and thirty-two, still in my prime! It was the first day, and my head was already starting to ache. I scoffed. “What’s wrong with being an old man? Old men get pensions.” 2 I was a renowned sword mage in the Order. Before I took an apprentice, they called me the Sword Saint. After I became an old man, I became “that old guy who’s really good with a sword.” Seeing Caelus still gazing longingly at Alistair’s face, I cleared my throat. “My boy, looks are fleeting. Your junior uncle Alistair may be young, but does he have my level of power? I am known as the Sword Saint. I may be old, but when I ascend to a higher plane, this entire Spire will be yours.” Caelus looked down, his eyes fixed on the gleaming sword in my hand. “Master, when are you ascending?” I was silent for a moment. “No need to ascend. You can have the sword now.” “Thank you, Master.” Caelus looked up, his delicate features set in a grim expression. Not a hint of a smile. It gave me the creeps. I put on a stern face and ordered him to practice three hundred sword swings. Caelus was obedient enough, diligently starting his practice under the hot sun. But he was malnourished and frail. Before he reached one hundred swings, his arms were already aching too much to lift. On the one-hundredth swing, the heavy sword pulled him off balance, and he collapsed. My heart lurched. I almost rushed forward to catch him. No. I can’t spoil him. My own grand-master, he had caught his apprentice when he fell from a tree. The next day, he was seen fleeing his apprentice's chambers, clutching his rear. I had to be strict with Caelus to prevent any forbidden romance. There was no way I was falling in love with the head of the Disciplinary Council. I crossed my arms, nudged him with the toe of my boot, and taunted, “Is that all you can do? What’s the point of practicing the sword? You might as well go home and sell potatoes.” Caelus panted, glaring up at me with hatred in his eyes. I would later learn that his village was incredibly poor and survived by growing potatoes, but they never got to eat any of them themselves. But Caelus said nothing. He just gritted his teeth, pushed himself up, and continued to swing the sword, his body trembling. I stood there in the sun with him, watching for three long hours. When he finished the last swing, he could barely stand and fell to his knees, looking pathetic and wretched. I fought the urge to help him up and praise him. Instead, I tossed him a vial of priceless, life-restoring elixir. “Mediocre,” I said coolly. “Four hundred swings tomorrow. I’ll be watching.” My junior, Alistair, suddenly rushed over with a pile of things, wiping Caelus’s sweat and cooing, “Caelus, why are you so stubborn? If you’re tired, you just have to ask your uncle for a break.” Caelus leaned weakly against him, still glaring at me. He mustered all his strength to throw the elixir back at me. “Thank you for the gift, Master,” he said stiffly, “but I don’t need it!” You little rebel! I grabbed Caelus and in an instant, refined his spirit! No, I grabbed him and smacked his butt twice with the flat of my scabbard. Alistair tried to intervene. I shot him a sidelong glance. “You want some, too?” Alistair shut up. I forced the elixir into Caelus’s mouth. The pill dissolved instantly. His eyes widened as if to say something, but the immediate effect of the potion left him stunned. “For defying your master,” I said smugly, “one hundred extra swings tomorrow!” Caelus must hate me so much. He probably wants to kill me the moment he graduates. Perfect. Another day with my rear end safe and sound. 3 Under my harsh tutelage, Caelus grew more rebellious. I told him to do five hundred swings a day; he secretly did six hundred. Curious, I started hiding myself nearby to watch him practice. I discovered he had carved a wooden dummy in my likeness. A very handsome old man, I might add. Just as I was admiring my wooden doppelganger, he lopped its head off with one clean strike. Now it was just old. The way he attacked that wooden master… you couldn’t call it respectful, but you could definitely call it patricidal. I was so gratified. This way, even if we became enemies in the future, Caelus would only stab me in the chest, not in the… other place. I thought we could continue our days in mutual animosity, but one day, Caelus stumbled upon my grand-master and his apprentice. My grand-master has been vain since he was young. Also a sword mage, he had his sword encrusted with nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine diamonds. During duels, his opponents would be busy trying to pry the diamonds off his sword. Even after being forced to become an old man, he hadn't changed. The Order had strict regulations for the old man illusions, down to the number of hairs, eyebrows, and wrinkles. But my grand-master, behind our backs, had secretly removed five wrinkles. Disgusting! At the time, I had cursed him in my heart. Dressing up like that all day, you’d better watch out or your apprentice will pin you down. My curse came true. Caelus was returning from practice and passed by my grand-master’s chambers. He saw my grand-master, disheveled and scowling, with his apprentice, Ronan, his hand resting possessively on his waist. It was too late for me to jump out and cover Caelus’s eyes. It was too late to explain that Ronan was just being a good apprentice and helping the old man. Because Ronan then leaned in and planted a loud kiss on my grand-master’s suspiciously smooth, recently-lifted face. Stop it! I watched as Caelus looked like he’d been struck by lightning, his mind exploding. His face went from green to black to white. I was hoping he’d pretend he saw nothing, that this sordid scene would just slide off his smooth, apprentice-like cerebral cortex. But then Ronan, with a look of pure satisfaction, said in a husky, post-coital voice, “My Lord, was I too rough today? You have to tell me if you’re uncomfortable!” Shut your mouth! Even an idiot like Caelus knew that “rough” didn’t refer to sword practice! His pupils were quaking. He could barely hold his sword. “You… you two!” My grand-master’s face changed, but Ronan was completely unfazed. “What about us? Little brother, this is a normal master-apprentice relationship. Isn’t it like this with you and your master?” “How is this normal?! Normal people don’t kiss their master’s face! And they don’t ask if they were too rough!” I nodded in the shadows. Ronan frowned. “Little brother, do you really need me to spell it out for you? Yes, my lord and I are in love! So what?” My grand-master looked like he wanted to die, hiding his face behind his diamond-studded sword. Caelus was devastated. “Brother,” he stammered, “you must be desperate…” Ronan smirked. “Don’t be so quick to judge, little brother. I hear your master, Lord Faelan, was the greatest beauty in the magical world in his youth. Maybe if you saw a portrait of him from back then, you’d understand.” Caelus held his ground. “I would never fall in love with an old man!” I was halfway through a nod. Then he asked, “My master… that old man… where can I find a portrait of him from when he was young?” My heart skipped a beat. I had a very bad feeling about this. 4 I remembered my younger days, before I was an old man. I was arrogant, proud of my looks. Every time I vanquished a demon, I would have the locals paint my heroic visage. As a result, portraits of me were more common in the Order than cockroaches. Every apprentice had one, not for admiration, but to pray to before exams. After I became an old man, they trusted me even more. They abandoned my youthful, handsome portraits and frantically bought up my old man ones. I really don't understand young people these days. I checked all the portraits in the apprentices' possession and confirmed they were all of the old man version of me before I finally relaxed. But then I returned to my own chambers to find the floor littered with portraits, and Caelus holding one up, about to unroll it. Oh, crap. I forgot about my own private collection! I paled, snatched the scroll from his hands, my voice cracking. “You insolent whelp! Did you see everything?” Caelus looked at me with a complicated expression and nodded. My heart sank. I scrutinized his face, terrified he had fallen in love with me. But he seemed perfectly normal, not like someone who had just seen my true face. But then I worried he was hiding his love deep in his heart. I cursed myself. Faelan, Faelan, if you had known this would happen, why did you have to go around telling everyone your grand-master got a facelift? Now his apprentice holds a grudge and lured Caelus into finding my portraits, nearly causing a catastrophe. I shakily picked up the scattered scrolls from the floor. I unrolled one and froze. What the hell is this? It was a white radish beating a tomato with a giant club. It took me a moment to remember. This was what the local villagers had painted: “The Saint Vanquishes the Crimson Fox.” When I told Caelus the title, he asked, confused, “So where is the Saint in this painting?” “The Saint is vanquishing the Crimson Fox.” “So he’s not in the painting?” “Mm, that seems to be the case.” Caelus asked cautiously, “Master, is it possible…” I forced a calm expression and cut him off. “Haha, you don’t think this white radish is me, the club is my sword, and the tomato is the Crimson Fox, do you?” “That would be ridiculous. So, impossible. Absolutely impossible!” Caelus’s expression was complex. He was silent for a long moment before saying, “…If you say so.” I moved on to the next one. The painting that unrolled was stunning: a vast, blue ocean, and a black dragon churning in the waves. It was masterfully done, capturing the ocean’s expanse and the dragon’s majesty. The only problem was, I still couldn't find myself in the picture. Was it that hard to find a handsome guy like me? Caelus asked, “Master, is the Saint not in this painting either, but is slaying the dragon?” This kid. Can’t he be less obedient at a time like this? He’s even learned to apply logic. The little rebel! I suppressed my anger. “No. This painting is called ‘The Saint’!” “Then where is the Saint?” Yeah, where am I?
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