Chapter 5: Sakamoto the Training Dummy, Talking Swords, and the Elf Girl Who Kicked Me in the Ribs
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They say greatness is forged through discipline.
I say greatness is forged through daily trauma disguised as training.
For the last two weeks, my mornings began with Kael dragging me — sometimes literally — to the village clearing, handing me a sword bigger than my torso, and yelling:
> “Swing it until your arms scream! THEN SWING MORE!”
My biceps? Nonexistent.
My stamina? Negative.
My motivation? Mostly fueled by wanting to impress hot elf girls.
But I showed up. Every day.
Not because I had a dream.
But because I owed it to myself to not waste this second chance.
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Sword Log: Day 13
> Swing count: 87
Time passed out: 3x
Niris insult count: 12
Number of times Kael said “good”: 0
Number of times Kael grunted in mild approval: 1
Progress.
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Dialogue of the Day
> Niris: “Your technique lacks grace.”
Me: “So does your tone, but here we are.”
Niris: “If sarcasm were steel, you might actually land a hit.”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Me: “If sass were power, you’d have been unsealed in a boy with abs.”
Niris: “Touché.”
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The Local Brat
His name was Ravian Valeheart.
Son of a local noble. Blonde, smug, perfect posture. Already wore enchanted leather armor at the age of five like he was prepping to lead a kingdom.
He showed up one morning during my training, arms folded, eyebrow raised.
> “You swing like a drunk squirrel,” he said, sipping from a fancy water flask.
> “And you look like a discount prince from a dating sim,” I shot back.
We’ve hated each other ever since.
Kael calls it healthy rivalry.
Niris calls him "milk bread."
I call him “mini-boss filler.”
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The Elf Girl
Her name?
Aelira.
Age?
Five.
Hair?
Mint green, tied into two short braids.
Eyes?
One green, one gold. Mismatched. Sparkled like chaos.
First impression?
She was chasing a chicken.
In full speed.
With a spell book duct-taped to her back.
The chicken ran into me.
I fell.
She tripped over me and accidentally kicked me in the ribs.
> “Ow!” I cried.
> “Sorry! That was supposed to be for Sir Cluckles!”
> “You named the chicken Sir Cluckles?!”
> “He’s a criminal.”
She’s insane.
I liked her immediately.
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Magic System: Brief Lore Drop
Aelira explained the basics while bandaging my ribs later (yes, she felt bad).
Magic is categorized into four tiers in Lucala:
<ol>
<li> Root Arts – Basic elemental manipulation: fireballs, healing, wind slicing.</li>
</ol>
<ol start="2">
<li> Branch Arts – Advanced versions: lightning calls, shadow stepping, blood magic.</li>
</ol>
<ol start="3">
<li> Core Arts – High-level, divine-touch spells. Only performed by Saints and Archmages.</li>
</ol>
<ol start="4">
<li> Wombcraft – Forbidden. Lost. Bound to weapons like Niris.</li>
</ol>
> “And what tier are you?” I asked.
> “Root. But I accidentally set the mayor’s shed on fire last week so I might be upgraded soon!”
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Tavern Talk
That evening, Kael took me to the village tavern — not to drink (thankfully), but to eavesdrop on gossip.
There was talk of:
A new guild forming in the capital, backed by dragonblood nobles.
Demon sightings to the south — too early for the season.
A merchant caravan found torn to shreds in the plains. No bodies. Just bones.
The tension was rising.
The world wasn’t peaceful.
Kael noticed me listening.
> “One day, Sakamoto… you’ll leave this village. Whether by dream or by disaster.”
He paused, then looked me in the eye.
> “The blade you carry… means the world won’t let you live quietly.”
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Closing Thoughts
That night, as I lay in bed, I whispered:
> “Niris. Why me?”
> “Because you’re broken, but not beyond reforging.”
> “Because you are afraid of power… and that makes you worthy of it.”
> “And because... I’m tired of being held by cowards.”
> “Let us sharpen each other.”