Chapter 4: Blood and Kindness

So after that day, there was suddenly a busy swordsman in the kitchen of the little diner. Word spread fast—folks whispered about the mysterious, silent man slicing potatoes with the precision of a surgeon.

Derek Carson used his sword to peel potatoes, chop them into chunks, and shred them fine on the cutting board. He diced, sliced, and julienned, the blade flashing under the fluorescent lights. The cook watched, shaking his head, but the fries came out perfect every time. The number one swordsman tangled with potatoes for a whole month. Sometimes, after closing, you’d find him sitting by the back door, watching the sunset, knuckles raw from work instead of battle.

A month later, he stood before me, holding a sword that smelled like fries.

"How much longer do I have to keep peeling potatoes? Are you tricking me too?" I could hear the anger in his voice.

"That’s enough." I pointed at his sword. "Don’t you feel it’s changed?"

Derek Carson thought for a moment. "Changed how?"

"Something’s missing, something’s been added."

"What’s missing? What’s been added?"

"Less violence," I leaned in and sniffed the blade, "and more… aroma of fries."

The next instant, his sword was at my throat. The violence surged, making me shiver. I raised my hands, but smiled anyway, the blade’s edge cold but familiar against my skin. In that moment, the diner’s hum and clatter faded—it was just the two of us.

"Tell me the second step. If you’re lying, I’ll make sure you regret it," Derek Carson gritted out.

"Alright, alright, I’ll tell you." I smiled, gently pushing the sword away. The waitress peered over, but just rolled her eyes—another odd moment in a day full of them.

"The first step is abstaining from killing; the second is saving lives."

I sighed softly.

"There’s a gang hideout in the northern woods. They’ve kidnapped kids from two towns and will sell them to traffickers tomorrow. Use your sword to save them."

That night, Derek Carson’s fry-scented sword was stained with blood again. I waited up at the diner, the radio crackling old country songs, coffee gone cold.

"How was it?" I asked.

"…The parents of those kids hugged me and thanked me over and over. No one’s ever thanked me before… They even gave me food they could barely afford themselves, and called me… a hero."

Derek Carson looked exhausted. He sat in silence, staring at his hands for a long moment. I guessed he’d never done anything like that before. His hands trembled as he remembered the parents’ gratitude.

"Did using your sword this time feel different?"

He gripped his sword and frowned, as if slowly realizing something.

"It does feel… a bit strange, but I can’t quite say what…"

"Then draw your sword again." I smiled.

"There are girls in the Bluebird Lounge on the west side of town, all kidnapped from their homes. Please use your sword to rescue them too."

Two days later, Derek Carson returned with his blood-stained sword. His hands shook, just a little.

"How do you feel?"

"They called me their savior… called me a hero…"

Derek Carson spoke, his ears turning red. This cold swordsman actually blushed from the girls’ gratitude.

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. The whole diner turned to stare, and I just laughed harder, clapping him on the back.

"Looks like you’ve learned my sword move."

I reached out and patted his shoulder.

"My sword move is called ‘Warmth.’ Abstain from killing, then save lives—that’s the warmth in a sharp weapon. Killing all the time isn’t much fun. Saving and protecting people, that’s meaningful. A sword technique with warmth is truly unbeatable."

"So that’s it…" Derek Carson was stunned, then his eyes brightened. He clenched his fist and smiled—the first time I’d seen him smile.

And just like that, I smoothly took the sword from his hands.

Derek looked at his blade, now slick with blood and kindness, and for the first time, he didn’t know which weighed more.