《The Ascendant Artisan》


 Chapter 1: The Last Piece

    They call it talent, the way my hands move across the canvas, how colors spill and merge as if they¡¯ve always known where they belong. But they don¡¯t see the truth, do they? The truth is, it isn¡¯t talent¡ªit¡¯s theft.


    Every stroke, every shade, every nuance¡ªI¡¯ve stolen it all. Not from other painters, no, but from the world itself. The light dancing on a cracked windowpane, the bruised hue of the sky before a storm, the shadow that lingers just a moment too long under someone¡¯s eyes. These things aren¡¯t mine to capture, yet I take them. I take them because I have to.


    You see, I¡¯m not painting what I see. I¡¯m painting what I¡¯ve felt in moments too fleeting to hold. That¡¯s the trick. People think the artist is someone who reproduces beauty, but that¡¯s a lie. What I paint isn¡¯t beauty. It¡¯s absence. It¡¯s longing. It¡¯s the ghost of something that no longer exists.


    I remember the first time I realized this¡ªwhen my brush moved faster than my thoughts, and something emerged that I couldn¡¯t explain. It was a face. Familiar. Too familiar. The curve of a jawline I¡¯d only seen in the moments before sleep, the faintest shadow of a smile that haunted my childhood. It was my father¡¯s face. A face I hadn¡¯t seen in years. A face I swore I¡¯d forgotten.


    But there it was, staring back at me from the canvas. Every detail so precise it felt like I¡¯d summoned him. That was the moment I knew¡ªI wasn¡¯t painting reality. I was painting memory. And memories, as beautiful as they are, lie.


    The canvas doesn¡¯t forgive. It doesn¡¯t flatter or compromise. It reveals. And every piece I create is a confession of things I wish I could forget.


    They don¡¯t see it, of course. The critics, the collectors¡ªthey¡¯ll marvel at the textures, the technique. They¡¯ll write long, winding essays about the interplay of light and darkness, the "raw emotionality" of my work. But they won¡¯t see me. Not the real me. Not the trembling hands, the sleepless nights, the whispers of doubt that come with every stroke.


    I envy them, in a way. To look at my paintings and see only beauty¡ªwhat a luxury. To stand before a cathedral of someone else¡¯s pain and call it art.


    I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to paint something without meaning. Just once. To pick up the brush and not feel the weight of every mistake I¡¯ve ever made. To let the colors speak for themselves, instead of dragging my soul screaming onto the canvas.


    But that¡¯s the thing about being a painter. You¡¯re not creating something new. You¡¯re excavating what¡¯s already there, buried beneath the surface. The canvas is your mirror, and it always tells the truth, even when you don¡¯t want it to.


    So no, it isn¡¯t talent. It¡¯s survival. Every painting is a map of the places I¡¯ve been, the things I¡¯ve lost, and the truths I¡¯m too afraid to speak aloud.


    And if they see beauty in that, well¡­ maybe they¡¯re the real artists.


    Even though that¡¯s the reality, I¡¯m still determined to succeed as a painter. Surprisingly, it¡¯s not my family rooting for me the most¡ªit¡¯s a friend. Lilian. She believes in me more than anyone else, more than even I sometimes do. But I don¡¯t feel bitter about my family¡¯s indifference. I¡¯ve learned to accept it. Life is simpler when you stop expecting what isn¡¯t there.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get some fresh air. Take a break,¡± she said. It was Lilian. She has this way of showing up at exactly the wrong time¡ªand exactly when I need her. She likes me, romantically speaking, but I¡¯ve already told her the truth: I don¡¯t feel the same. I don¡¯t feel that way about anyone. I thought that would scare her off, but instead, she insisted we stay friends, vowing to support my dreams. Over time, she¡¯s become like family, the kind you choose for yourself.


    ¡°Hey, look at you,¡± she said again, standing too close to the easel. I didn¡¯t answer, too engrossed in what I was doing. She sighed. ¡°You need to rest already. This isn¡¯t healthy.¡±


    I stayed silent. My focus was glued to the canvas. Every stroke, every angle¡ªit all had to be perfect. As of now, I was in the middle of creating the piece for the exhibit. This wasn¡¯t just another painting. This was the painting. It would define me, announce my existence to a room full of strangers who¡¯d otherwise never notice I was there.


    The trouble is, perfection doesn¡¯t come easily. The color palette was tormenting me. Should I go for the stark vibrancy of cadmium yellow, or let ochre¡¯s subtle warmth carry the weight of the light? And the lines¡ªI¡¯d sketched and erased them so many times, I swore the canvas would rebel against me. Every decision felt monumental, as though one wrong move could doom the whole piece.


    The painting wasn¡¯t just a project. It was a battleground, and I refused to lose.


    ¡°You go ahead,¡± I finally said, not even sparing her a glance. My eyes stayed locked on the canvas, where the image was starting to take shape. The faintest hint of movement in the composition whispered something meaningful¡ªbut not yet loud enough. Not yet perfect. Not yet finished.


    Lilian didn¡¯t argue. She just lingered for a moment before leaving, her footsteps soft and hesitant. I¡¯d make it up to her later, maybe. Right now, there was only the painting, the brush in my hand, and the unshakable need to get it right.


    No.


    She¡¯s right.


    Maybe a little rest will help. Then I¡¯d go back to it, refreshed and ready.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, stopping her just as she turned to leave. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± I stood, wiping my hands clean on a rag and setting it aside.


    Outside, the air was crisp¡ªnot freezing, but cold enough to make me wrap my arms around myself. We headed to the convenience store, our usual escape. It was a simple routine: grab snacks, get drinks, sit, and just exist for a while.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I didn¡¯t expect it, but it was¡­ calming. I¡¯d always thought stepping away from work, even briefly, was a waste of time. A pain, really. But sitting there with Lilian, sipping on a can of coffee under the dull glow of the store¡¯s fluorescent lights¡ªit wasn¡¯t so bad. For once, my head wasn¡¯t racing with thoughts of perfect brushstrokes or haunting deadlines.


    ¡°What¡¯s your plan after this?¡± she asked, breaking the silence. She was talking about the exhibit, the one that felt like it had swallowed my entire existence.


    I thought about it for a moment, my fingers idly tracing the condensation on my drink. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admitted. ¡°The future isn¡¯t something I can map out. It¡¯s not like painting, you know? But¡­¡± I paused, letting the thought settle. ¡°If I keep going, if I don¡¯t stop, I think I can get there. Wherever there is.¡±


    She nodded, her expression thoughtful but soft. That was Lilian¡ªshe always listened like every word mattered.


    I leaned back, shifting the focus away from myself. ¡°What about you?¡± I asked. ¡°How¡¯s your mom doing?¡±


    Her gaze dropped slightly, and she took a small sip of her drink before answering. ¡°She¡¯s hanging in there. The cancer hasn¡¯t spread, at least not yet, but the treatments¡­ they¡¯re rough. She¡¯s exhausted most days.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say anything at first, letting her words settle. Then, quietly, I asked, ¡°And you? How are you holding up?¡±


    She let out a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it. ¡°It¡¯s not about me, Eduard. She¡¯s the one going through it.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s not hard for you,¡± I said, meeting her gaze. ¡°Being strong for someone else doesn¡¯t mean you don¡¯t get to feel it, too.¡±


    She shrugged, her fingers fiddling with the tab of her drink. ¡°I just¡­ I don¡¯t want her to see me break. I¡¯m scared if she sees that, she¡¯ll lose hope.¡±


    ¡°She won¡¯t,¡± I said firmly. ¡°You¡¯re doing more for her than you realize. Just by being there.¡±


    She gave me a small smile, one that felt too heavy for her face. ¡°Thanks,¡± she murmured.


    For a while, we just sat there, the conversation fading into the quiet hum of the city around us. Sometimes words weren¡¯t necessary. Sometimes, just being there was enough.


    After I walked her home, the work continued.


    The snack we shared was enough to skip dinner, saving me the time I¡¯d otherwise waste cooking or eating. That extra time, I told myself, was better spent in front of the canvas. Tonight wasn¡¯t about comfort¡ªit was about work.


    I sat down, brush in hand, staring at the blank canvas like it was some kind of duel. The first few strokes came quickly, like instinct. A shape emerged, then lines, then something that almost looked like progress. But the more I worked, the less it felt right.


    I wiped it clean and started again.


    This time, I slowed down, thinking through every stroke. The more I tried to control it, though, the worse it looked. I tried harder, more deliberate, more careful. But when I stepped back, it was worse than the first attempt.


    Another wipe.


    My hands were trembling now, not with effort but with frustration. No matter how much I willed it, the image in my mind wouldn¡¯t transfer to the canvas. Every attempt mocked me, each failure felt like a slap.


    Time became slippery. Minutes, hours¡ªI couldn¡¯t tell. All I knew was the ache in my neck and the stiffness in my fingers. My head throbbed from lack of sleep, like someone was tightening a vise around my skull. I squinted at the canvas, but the colors blurred together.


    I pushed forward. I always do. Giving up wasn¡¯t an option. Not for me.


    ¡°Just a little more,¡± I muttered under my breath, dipping the brush into the paint again. But my hands wouldn¡¯t cooperate. My eyelids felt heavier with every second. I clenched my jaw, willing myself to keep going.


    But at some point, I lost the fight.


    I didn¡¯t even realize when it happened, but I must have dozed off because suddenly, I wasn¡¯t in my studio anymore.


    I was in a room I hadn¡¯t seen in years. My childhood bedroom. The walls were peeling, and the window was smudged with dirt. The air was suffocating, the kind of stale that clung to you like guilt.


    And there she was. My mother.


    She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, staring at me with the same expression she always wore¡ªhalf-disappointment, half-disgust. ¡°What a waste,¡± she said, her voice sharp and cutting. ¡°You¡¯ve always been useless. Cursed. Why couldn¡¯t I have had a normal child?¡±


    I wanted to scream, to shout back, to tell her she was wrong. But no sound came out. I was frozen, trapped in her judgment like a bug under a magnifying glass.


    ¡°You think you¡¯ll make something of yourself with this painting nonsense?¡± she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. ¡°You¡¯ll fail. Just like you always do.¡±


    I tried to move, to run, to escape the room, but the walls seemed to close in around me. The air grew heavier, pressing down on my chest, until¡ª


    I woke up.


    The studio was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside. My head ached, my neck stiff from falling asleep at an awkward angle.


    The canvas sat in front of me, mocking me with its half-finished mess of lines and smudges.


    I swallowed hard, wiping the sweat from my forehead. My hands shook as I reached for the brush again. Failure or not, cursed or not, I just... I couldn¡¯t stop.


    It was a week of grinding. Seven days of relentless brainstorming, searching for a theme, a subject worth painting. Some days felt off, like I was chasing a shadow that always stayed just out of reach. Other days, the weight of it all nearly crushed me. My head was a battlefield of doubt and overthinking.


    But eventually, I stumbled on a realization that broke through the distractions¡ªa realization as simple as it was profound. My masterpiece didn¡¯t need to be perfect. It just needed to be honest.


    That single thought rewired everything.


    Perfection was a lie I¡¯d been chasing, but honesty? Honesty was raw, unpolished, and undeniably real. And if I could put that on the canvas¡ªif I could capture something so deeply true that it hurt¡ªthen maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.


    I sat down at the easel with a clarity I hadn¡¯t felt in weeks. My hands moved instinctively, every brushstroke carrying more weight than the last. The image came together slowly, piece by piece, like a puzzle only I could solve.


    The painting became a close-up of a child¡¯s eyes. Not just any eyes¡ªmine. Or at least, they could¡¯ve been. They were wide, filled with pain and longing, as if pleading with the world to notice something, anything.


    In the glossy reflection of those eyes, I painted fragments of a childhood I couldn¡¯t forget. In one corner, a shadowed figure loomed, hand raised, its presence heavy with anger. Abuse. The kind that leaves invisible scars. In another, a lonely child sat by a window, staring out at the world he didn¡¯t belong to. Isolation.


    And then, almost hidden, a fleeting moment of happiness¡ªa tiny hand gripping a pencil, drawing on scraps of paper. Hope. The smallest flicker of light in an otherwise dark existence.


    Each reflection told a story, and together they formed the truth of who I was, who I had been.


    I stepped back after the final stroke, my chest tight, my breath shallow. The painting was staring back at me, those eyes locking me in place.


    This was it.


    The Eyes of a Child.


    I wasn¡¯t looking at a painting¡ªI was looking at me. All of it. The pain, the longing, the hope. And it wasn¡¯t perfect, not by a long shot. But it was honest.


    "This was¡­ it?"


    The words barely escaped my lips, a whisper more than a statement. My knees buckled, and I felt the ground rushing up to meet me. My vision blurred, the edges darkening like ink spreading across paper. Everything became weightless and heavy all at once.


    The floor was cold, each breath more painful than the last, and I couldn¡¯t tell if it was my body giving up or my mind refusing to accept what was happening.


    Is this how it ends? I thought. Not with some...great ending huh? not with glory, but with me collapsing in a studio.


    I forced my eyes upward, the last bit of strength draining from me. And there it was¡ªthe painting. Eyes of a Child. Those eyes seemed to watch me, not with judgment, but with sorrow.


    The last thing I¡¯ll leave behind.


    I felt a surge of regret. Not for the life I¡¯d lived¡ªI¡¯d accepted its pain long ago¡ªbut for the things I wouldn¡¯t get to do. The canvases I¡¯d never fill, the truths I¡¯d never tell. But even that regret began to fade, slipping away like sand through my fingers.


    The room darkened.


    And then, just as everything turned black, a light appeared.


    No, not a light.


    A screen.


    It suddenly appeared, a familiar bright light. Letters and numbers was across its surface, forming words that were impossible but unmistakable.


    FINDING HOST¡­


    My body was gone, yet I was still me. Floating. Thinking. Alive?


    HOST FOUND. INITIALIZING TRANSFER.


    A surge of energy rippled through what remained of me. Memories suddenly flashed like a slideshow, disjointed but vivid. My mother¡¯s face, twisted in anger. The brush in my hand the first time I painted. The cold nights when I clung to scraps of hope. The piece, those eyes staring back at me.


    TRANSFERRING ALL MEMORIES.


    Each memory, every moment, was being stored, cataloged, preserved. It was as if my life had been nothing more than data waiting to be processed.


    INTEGRATION COMPLETE.


    WELCOME TO A NEW WORLD.

 Chapter 2: New World

    When I woke up, I expected to find myself in a hospital or back in my studio. Instead, I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar place. The surroundings looked like something out of a rural countryside¡ªsmall houses, farm-like structures. Where am I?


    Did someone rescue me while I was unconscious and bring me here? No... that doesn¡¯t seem right. No.


    Then I suddenly remembered¡ªthose floating words. The last thing I saw while blacking out. "Welcome to the new world?" Yes, that was it... or was it? No, that¡¯s impossible. But the thought of it, combined with the memory of what might have been my death, sent me spiraling into worry.


    My work! The exhibit is the day after tomorrow, and I haven¡¯t submitted my final piece. The panic gave me enough strength to force myself to move. I struggled to sit up on what seemed like a bed, though everything was still blurry. My body felt heavy and unresponsive, but I had to push through.


    ¡°Wahh!¡±


    I froze. That startled me¡ªa baby¡¯s cry?


    Curiosity swelled, and I tried to call out, but the words wouldn¡¯t form. My body refused to cooperate. I could barely move, let alone speak. And when I did try to say something, what came out was¡ª


    ¡°Coo!¡±


    What? No, no, no.


    ¡°Waaa!¡±


    I shouted again, or rather... a baby¡¯s wail came from me. My breath caught as realization set in.


    This sound¡­ this cry... is it coming from me?!


    It didn¡¯t take long for me to figure it out.


    A man rushed over, looked down at me, and¡ªwithout so much as a word¡ªplopped a pacifier into my mouth. A tiny pacifier. That¡¯s when I noticed the size of my hands, or rather, my tiny hands. My arms were ridiculously small. And then there was the crib.


    There was no denying it¡ªI had become a baby.


    Before I could fully process the absurdity, the man scooped me up, one hand under my ridiculously small body, and hoisted me onto his shoulder. He rocked me back and forth, humming some soothing lullaby trying to make me sleep.


    ¡°There you go, sleep,¡± he murmured.


    Sleep? Did he seriously think I could ¡°sleep¡± through this?


    I squinted at him, trying to get a clear look, but my vision was still frustratingly fuzzy. He seemed young, mid-thirties maybe. Then another voice cut in¡ªa woman¡¯s¡ªbreathless and hurried as she ran toward us.


    ¡°Phew! Thanks for handling that,¡± she said, tapping his arm in appreciation.


    She looked young too. Casual familiarity passed between them¡ªespecially when they kissed. Right after that, they kissed me.


    Great. Just great. From that brief exchange, it was pretty obvious. Husband and wife.


    And me? I¡¯m their child.


    After half a year.


    As impossible as it sounds, I¡¯ve come to terms with it: I¡¯ve been reincarnated into another world. How did I die? Most likely from overworking myself to the point of collapse¡ªclassic. I thought my body could handle endless sleepless nights and skipped meals, but no, I was slowly torturing myself in the name of passion. Brilliant, right?


    Now here I am, starting over as a baby. My new parents are in their mid-thirties, and they work as farmers, managing a small plot of land together. Half of their harvest goes to something called the "Community Storage," a kind of communal stockpile for emergencies¡ªlong winters, lockdowns, disasters, you name it. Apparently, everyone with land is required to contribute, while those without land work on farms for free in exchange for a share of the stored crops. Not exactly fair, but it¡¯s the system here.


    We live in a remote town far from the capital, under the rule of someone my parents called the ¡°Landowner.¡± The town itself isn¡¯t drastically different from rural areas back on Earth. The houses and tools have an antique vibe, and while they use utensils similar to ours, there¡¯s none of the modern conveniences¡ªno refrigerators, no rice cookers, no toasters. The list of ¡°missing¡± items goes on.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Oh, and I have an older sister. She¡¯s seven, and, to my surprise, she¡¯s remarkably mature for her age. Honestly, I thought she¡¯d be annoying¡ªespecially since I¡¯m technically a man in my mid-twenties trapped in this tiny body¡ªbut she¡¯s quiet and well-behaved. Still, she¡¯s eager to play the doting older sister, always trying to make her ¡°baby brother¡± or me laugh, just like my parents do.


    I have to admit, the guilt eats at me sometimes. They have no idea I¡¯m actually an adult. Their affection, their care¡ªit¡¯s all genuine and pure, which makes it even harder to deal with. But over time, I¡¯ve started to accept it. This is normal for them. This is their world, their child, and for now... I guess I¡¯ll be fine.


    A year passed in the blink of an eye.


    Let me tell you, being a baby isn¡¯t exactly thrilling. Not that I ever expected it to be. The routine is monotonous: milk, a bit of fresh air, some playtime, a nap, and repeat. Over and over again. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m complaining¡ªI¡¯m no stranger to repetitive routines. Back in my old life, I spent countless hours doing the same brushstrokes and techniques to perfect my paintings. But this? This is on a whole new level of monotony.


    Still, it¡¯s not entirely boring either. It¡¯s strange¡ªI feel a little unhinged, honestly. My previous life was consumed by my art. That was my rhythm, my purpose. Now, I¡¯m left without a canvas, no brushes, nothing to pour my soul into.


    And yet¡­ there¡¯s something oddly exciting about this new life. Not because I¡¯m a baby, trust me, there¡¯s nothing glamorous about diapers, but because, for the first time, I have something I never really had before: a complete family.


    Turns out, having more than one individual who care about you, who really care, feels kind of... amazing.


    They seemed genuinely shocked the first time they saw me crawl, then stand with support, and eventually stand on my own. Now I could walk¡ªwell, sort of. I still held onto furniture for balance, but progress was progress. Slowly but surely, I was mastering the art of being a productive baby.


    "Take it easy, Vonn," my father, Victor, said, encouraging me to walk outside.


    Vonn. That¡¯s my name. I hadn¡¯t figured out our surname, if there''s any, but knowing my first name was enough. It gave me a small sense of identity in this new life.


    ¡°He¡¯s a quick learner, isn¡¯t he?¡± my mother, Eleanor, remarked.


    I learned their names from our neighbor, who often stopped by to help with the crops and addressed them directly. My sister¡¯s name, Clarisse, I picked up from my parents, who called her name frequently.


    My father nodded in agreement. ¡°He really is. Look at him¡ªhe¡¯s so excited,¡± he said, grinning.


    I had to admit, being fully conscious while stuck in a baby¡¯s body was a unique experience. It gave me an odd sense of freedom¡ªa chance to be careless without consequence. After all, what¡¯s expected of a baby? Just to exist.


    ¡°Maybe we can take him to see the capital sometime,¡± my mother suggested, her voice light with curiosity.


    My father chuckled, glancing at me. ¡°Isn¡¯t he a bit too young for that?¡±


    To show I was listening¡ªand, of course, to express my enthusiasm¡ªI bounced excitedly in place. Not too much, though. I couldn¡¯t afford to look overly eager; that might blow my cover. But the idea of exploring a new environment? That was a thrill I couldn¡¯t ignore. My mind raced. Say yes. Let me tag along. Please.


    ¡°Maybe in a few more years,¡± my father added with a laugh, grabbing my tiny frame and hoisting me onto his shoulders.


    Well, that was a no. Unlucky me. Looks like I¡¯ll have to wait a few more years before getting a glimpse of the capital.


    We stepped outside, me still riding on my father¡¯s shoulders, while my mother walked beside us.


    ¡°We¡¯ve had a great harvest this year,¡± my father said, pausing to admire our small but thriving crops.


    ¡°Hmm, what should we give Vonn for his birthday?¡± my mother mused aloud, her tone thoughtful.


    I¡¯d almost forgotten¡ªthey celebrate birthdays here too. Of course they do. But the calendar in this world is different. No January, February, or anything I¡¯d recognize. Instead, they have their own month names, which seem loosely inspired by Earth¡¯s calendar: Jorlen, Febralis, Marten, Avrell, Maelis, Junen, Jorren, Augren, Sethel, Octen, Noveris, and Devrin. Each month has exactly 30 days, making a total of 360 days in a year.


    Then there¡¯s the odd part: an extra five days, completely outside the calendar. These aren¡¯t assigned to any month and are celebrated as a special event called The Days of Renewal. It¡¯s similar to New Year¡¯s back on Earth, except the festivities last for five straight days before the new year officially begins.


    I learned all of this from my sister¡¯s book. Well, technically, from glancing at it while she was reading. She didn¡¯t even notice my little baby self absorbing all that information.


    As for my birthday, I found out it falls in the month of Sethel¡ªspecifically, the 13th day of Sethel, Year 984. Apparently, Sethel is the month of harvest, which feels oddly fitting.


    ¡°What do you want, son?¡± my father asked, craning his neck slightly as if I could answer him.


    What do I want? Oh, how I wanted to shout, A brush! Some paints! Something¡ªanything¡ªto get back to painting! But of course, I couldn¡¯t say that. I could barely form words, let alone express such a specific desire.


    I stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. I wasn¡¯t used to this¡ªparents asking me what I wanted. The idea alone gave me goosebumps. They wanted to make me happy. Me, of all people. It was¡­ unsettling, in the best way possible.


    I was just as surprised as my parents when I let out my first word. ¡°Pa¡ª¡±


    BOOM!


    Before I could finish, a deafening explosion shook the entire area. Even our neighbors stopped in their tracks, startled. My mother runs toward our house¡ªthe source of the explosion¡ªwhile my father quickly lowered me from his shoulders, cradling me in his arms as we hurried inside.


    When we entered inside, we saw a section of the ceiling was blown apart, debris scattered across the floor. Standing at the center of it all was my older sister, Clarisse, her face pale and her hands trembling. She looked guilty enough to be the culprit.


    ¡°What happened?!¡± my mother cried out, rushing to her side.


    Clarisse stammered, her voice shaky but steady enough to get the words out. ¡°I¡­ I tried to manifest a spell, but I didn¡¯t know it would¡ª¡± She stopped, clearly shaken but not crying. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Father, Mother,¡± she said, bowing her head toward us.


    Manifest a spell? What was she talking about? A spell, as in magic? Wasn¡¯t that just from one of the books she¡¯d been reading? I¡¯d noticed her with a copy of a book entitled "Spells 101" and had assumed it was some kind of fantasy fiction. But now¡­


    ¡°What did you do?¡± my father asked, pointing at the hole in the ceiling, which, miraculously, hadn¡¯t taken the whole house with it.


    ¡°I¡ªI manifested magic, Father,¡± she admitted, bowing her head again.


    My father gently set me down and walked toward her, my mother close behind. I expected them to scold her¡ªafter all, she¡¯d just blown a hole in our house. But what happened next left me completely dumbfounded.


    Instead of reprimanding her, my father lifted her into the air, a wide grin spreading across his face. My mother, meanwhile, was nearly jumping with excitement.


    ¡°You really did it?!¡± my father exclaimed, holding Clarisse a little higher.


    ¡°You manifested magic with your own hands?¡± he added, his voice full of pride.


    Magic? Were they serious? Magic exists in this world? I stared, trying to make sense of it all.


    ¡°Clarisse! Are you serious?¡± my mother asked, practically glowing.


    ¡°Y-yes, Mother,¡± Clarisse replied, a hesitant but growing smile forming on her face. ¡°But¡­ why are you so happy about this?¡±


    My mother beamed. ¡°It means you have the aptitude for magic! You can go to the academy!¡±


    That settled it¡ªmagic was real, and not just real but celebrated.


    Before I could process any further, my parents ran outside to share the news with the neighbors. My sister, only eight years old, had managed to manifest magic.


    A week later, I¡¯d pieced together the full picture. Magic wasn¡¯t just real; it was a big deal. Anyone who could manifest magic, even something as basic as what Clarisse had done, could be admitted to the academy, where they¡¯d train to become fully equipped mages.


    Clarisse, it turned out, was the first in our entire town to manifest magic at such a young age. The community was full with excitement. As for me? I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about the possibilities.


    What if I had the aptitude for magic like her? The thought of it drove me wild with anticipation. I couldn¡¯t help myself. For the first time in this new life, I felt truly excited about what was to come.

 Chapter 3: Magic Exist?!

    Several years had passed.


    I was five now.


    Having an older sister who could use magic came with its downsides. Her spell experiments often lead to destructive results. She was completely absorbed in her magical studies. And now, here I was, sitting on a cart as we accompanied her to meet a private magic tutor. This tutor would prepare her for the academy¡ªa necessary step, apparently. Hiring a teacher wasn¡¯t cheap, but it was seen as an investment. Even the town called my sister a prodigy, so I supposed it was worth it.


    Still, our mother couldn¡¯t stop crying. She wasn¡¯t upset about the expense but about the fact that Clarisse would have to leave us temporarily to study under the tutor. Personally, I didn¡¯t see why the academy was even necessary if you could just hire a teacher. But I figured there had to be some significant difference I didn¡¯t yet understand.


    ¡°How¡¯s the cart, Vonn?¡± father asked from up front, holding the reins. He wasn¡¯t steering a horse¡ªno, we couldn¡¯t afford one¡ªbut a donkey. Practical, cheaper, and, to my surprise, effective. Our parents had bought the cart and donkey when I was three, thanks to a particularly good harvest, and I had to admit, they were useful.


    ¡°It¡¯s great, Father. I¡¯m comfortable,¡± I replied. Beside me, Clarisse was busy reading another magic book, as usual. Behind us sat my still-sniffling mother.


    ¡°This is your first time, so you¡¯ll have to be patient with the bumps,¡± mother said, tapping my shoulder. ¡°The road isn¡¯t very smooth.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s fine, Mother,¡± I replied with a smile, running a hand through my dark, messy hair.


    ¡°Yahaha,¡± father chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re handling it so well. When your mother rode the cart for the first time, she got so dizzy she¡ª¡±


    ¡°Vic! Don¡¯t you dare tell that lie,¡± my mother interrupted, her tone playful.


    I let out a small laugh at their banter, leaning back as the cart swayed gently.


    When my sister dropped the book she¡¯d been reading, she leaned forward, positioning herself like she was about to whisper in my ear.


    ¡°How¡¯s the magic book you were reading yesterday?¡± she said, her voice low and teasing.


    Oh no. She knew.


    Because of my insatiable curiosity about magic, I¡¯d been secretly borrowing her books without her knowing. Or so I thought. I¡¯d devour them in secret, finishing most of them in a single sitting and learning far more than I ever let on.


    From those books, I¡¯d discovered the basic types of magic:


    Elemental Magic


    Illusion Magic


    Necromancy


    Healing Magic


    Divination


    Forbidden Magic


    There were also fascinating concepts about magical companions¡ªbonds formed with pets or even deities. And then there were magical predators, terrifying creatures or even humans who consumed the magic or mana of mages. Monsters, or worse, something that could look like us.


    I¡¯d read through most of her collection. Funny, in my past life, I never had the patience for books; my attention was always on my paintings. But here? Something about these magic tomes captivated me. And yet, for all my reading, I¡¯d never mustered the courage to tell her I was borrowing them. I didn¡¯t expect to get caught like this.


    ¡°Did you learn something?¡± she asked, laughing softly, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.


    I froze, unable to come up with a clever response. ¡°They¡¯re... helpful,¡± I managed, my voice dripping with awkwardness. ¡°In some way.¡±


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    She kept laughing, and now she¡¯d grabbed my mother¡¯s attention. ¡°In what way?¡± Clarisse asked again, her grin widening.


    ¡°Uhmm¡­¡± I hesitated. It was annoying that she wouldn¡¯t drop it, but I guessed this was fair. Honestly, I¡¯d expected a full-blown scolding for sneaking her books, so this playful interrogation felt like a light punishment.


    Before I could answer, she spoke again, louder this time, just enough to catch both our parents¡¯ ears. ¡°Who even taught you how to read?¡±


    That was a mistake on my part. I¡¯d been reading since I was three, and it seems that I''m too obvious.


    ¡°You know how to read?!¡± mother exclaimed, rushing over and grabbing my cheeks in surprise. Our father, distracted, let go of the reins for a moment to turn and stare.


    ¡°What are you even saying, Eleanor?¡± he asked, clearly trying to make sense of the situation.


    They were as dumbfounded as I was panicked. Did I make it too obvious I wasn¡¯t exactly a normal five-year-old?


    ¡°Yes, he does!¡± Clarisse declared triumphantly. ¡°I¡¯ve seen him reading some of my books before, Mother.¡±


    ¡°How did you learn to read?¡± Mother asked, her voice full of shock. ¡°We haven¡¯t even started teaching you yet!¡±


    Think. Think. Quick, plausible excuse. ¡°I¡­ I was curious,¡± I said, trying to sound sheepish. ¡°I started imitating the way Sis reads her books.¡± It wasn¡¯t the most convincing lie, but it was the best I could come up with under pressure.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell us?¡± Mother pressed, her eyes narrowing.


    Oh great. This had turned into a full-blown interrogation.


    ¡°I thought everyone just learned to read by looking at books and figuring it out,¡± I said innocently. ¡°I didn¡¯t know it was something I had to tell you. Sorry, Mother.¡±


    That seemed to soften her expression a bit, though she still looked like she had more questions.


    Father, however, laughed heartily, breaking the tension. ¡°This son of ours is really something. A quick learner, that¡¯s for sure!¡± he said, shaking his head with a grin.


    Haaaa. Finally, the tension eased. I had to give credit to my father¡¯s personality for diffusing it so smoothly.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m just surprised,¡± mother said, still shaking her head. ¡°First your sister, and now you?¡± Honestly, I couldn¡¯t blame her. If she was shocked now, imagine if I¡¯d told her I could read since I was a month-old baby. They might¡¯ve kicked me out for being too suspiciously capable.


    I sighed, then smiled faintly. ¡°Sorry, Sis,¡± I said, apologizing for grabbing her books without permission.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± she replied, waving it off. Then, with a smirk, she added, ¡°I expected more of a scolding, though. How disappointing.¡±


    She was evil.


    What I didn¡¯t tell them¡ªwhat I kept entirely to myself¡ªwas that I¡¯d already started practicing basic elemental magic when I was four.


    I could summon a small flame, conjure a tiny amount of water, and create a light gust of air. According to the books I¡¯d read, it was rare to be naturally affiliated with more than one element. Yet here I was, connected to three: fire, water, and air.


    The greatest discovery I¡¯d made so far was the strange skill I seemed to have triggered¡ªsomehow. I wasn¡¯t sure how it worked, but last month, a screen started appearing in front of me.


    After some experimenting, I realized I could summon it by simply imagining it. This is what it looked like when I called it up:


    [Status]


    Name: Vonn Ermine


    Age: 5 years old


    Current Level: No info at the moment


    Traits: Painter, Magic Practitioner


    Skills: No skills at the moment


    As far as I could tell, the screen was visible only to me. It floated in front of me like a hologram, completely intangible but unmistakably real. Out of curiosity, I asked Clarisse if she¡¯d ever heard of floating screen magic. Her response? She stared at me like I¡¯d lost my mind and told me to stop saying weird stuff.


    So, either I was imagining things (unlikely) or this was something unique to me. Whatever it was, it seemed incredibly useful for tracking my progress¡ªonce I figured out how to unlock more information, anyway.


    It was exciting, no question about it. But for now, I decided to keep this little secret to myself.


    After a while of traveling, we arrived at the estate where Clarisse¡¯s teacher lived. It was a tall, imposing structure made of stone¡ªa building that looked more like a fortress than a home.


    The journey wasn¡¯t too long since it was still within the same kingdom, but I couldn¡¯t help questioning my parents¡¯ decision. Why pay and send Clarisse to a private teacher before she even started learning free at the academy? It felt unnecessary to me, but I wasn¡¯t in a position to argue. Five-year-olds don¡¯t exactly get a vote in family decisions.


    We waited outside the estate for about an hour before the teacher finally showed up and invited us in. The treatment wasn¡¯t exactly warm¡ªthey clearly saw us as simple farmers and acted accordingly. Our parents, however, didn¡¯t seem to mind. All their focus was on how Clarisse would benefit from this teaching period.


    I, on the other hand, didn¡¯t have a good feeling about the place. The attitude of the staff put me off immediately. But the teacher herself? She was a bit different. A straightforward woman with a no-nonsense demeanor. She assured us she¡¯d prepare Clarisse for the academy and, surprisingly, offered a much lower fee than originally quoted. That was the only silver lining in this whole arrangement.


    To sum it up: we¡¯d brought Clarisse to a place where people could hire teachers or tutors to train their children before¡ªor even after¡ªattending the academy. My sister would be learning proper magic casting for five months. During this time, she¡¯d have five vacation days to visit home, and the estate would cover her food and lodging costs.


    In other words, it was basically an academy in disguise, the only difference is that it is paid and students have much more shorter time to learn something.


    When we got home, it felt noticeably different. The house was quieter without Clarisse, no one practicing magic or engrossed in a book. She¡¯d be staying at the teacher¡¯s place for several months to learn, and her absence left a noticeable gap.


    Mother was devastated for a few days but eventually adjusted, proud of her growing daughter and the opportunities ahead.


    At this age, I began helping my parents on the farm. They didn¡¯t let me handle any heavy tasks, but they trusted me with smaller jobs, like sacking harvested crops. It was exhausting work¡ªsomething I was far from used to¡ªbut also fulfilling in a strange way. There was something satisfying about contributing, even in small ways, to the efforts of people who worked so tirelessly.


    One evening, as I was taking a break, my mother picked up one of my paintings and showed it to my father. ¡°Vonn, you¡¯re really good at painting. How did you learn to do this?¡± he asked, genuinely impressed.


    So this is what it feels like to have parents who are proud of you.


    I smiled. ¡°I just find it fun,¡± I said simply.


    They¡¯d bought me a painting set for my fourth birthday¡ªa humble gift of paper, a few canvases, and cheap paints. I¡¯d asked for a coloring set, but they¡¯d gone above and beyond, and it was the best gift I could have received.


    ¡°I¡¯m really lucky, though,¡± I said, almost without thinking.


    ¡°Lucky?¡± my mother asked, smiling.


    ¡°To have parents like you,¡± I said, forcing myself to push past the awkwardness. I wasn¡¯t used to expressing such genuine feelings, but I meant every word.


    In my past life, I¡¯d never really experienced what it was like to have a full, loving family. But now? Now, I was starting to understand. For the first time, I felt treasured in a way I hadn¡¯t even realized I¡¯d been missing.


    ¡°We¡¯re the lucky ones,¡± my father said, finishing a bite of food. ¡°To have you and your sister.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true, Vonn,¡± my mother added with a warm smile.


    I didn¡¯t reply with words, but in that moment, I mustered the courage to hug them both, letting them know how much I appreciated them. It wasn¡¯t much, but it felt like enough.

 Chapter 4: Mentor

    I kept helping out on the farm with light tasks, even though I often felt too lazy to bother. Still, I forced myself to pitch in, hiding my reluctance from my parents. Honestly, their dedication to farming motivated me. It was backbreaking work, and seeing their efforts gave me a new perspective on hard labor.


    Even as I tried to keep my adult nature under wraps, I couldn¡¯t avoid being dragged into playtime with the neighborhood kids. My mother insisted it was normal for kids to play together and even asked if I was being shy. Shy? Not at all. I just assumed it would be annoying to hang out with a group of noisy children. But eventually, I caved and treated it as an opportunity to "play" as convincingly as possible.


    Now, here I was, surrounded by five kids, all of whom seemed to specialize in mischief. Despite clear warnings from their parents not to go into the forest, we¡¯d somehow ended up right in the middle of it.


    ¡°How about we play hide and seek?¡± suggested Geoffrey, a chubby boy who seemed to have no concept of consequences.


    Terrible idea, but not surprising.


    ¡°What if we get lost?¡± Tahlia, a neat and cautious girl, asked, her brow furrowing.


    ¡°Ohhh. I didn¡¯t think about that,¡± Geoffrey admitted, scratching his head like the idea had just blown his mind.


    ¡°What about we play swords?¡± another boy suggested. I couldn¡¯t quite remember his name¡ªTorben, I think?


    ¡°Swords?¡± Tahlia and Merewyn, the other girl, repeated in unison, their skepticism obvious.


    ¡°Yeah, swords!¡± Torben insisted, his enthusiasm unwavering. Then he turned to me. ¡°What do you think, Vonn?¡±


    I shrugged and nodded, more to avoid drawing attention than out of any real interest.


    ¡°I think we shouldn¡¯t play swords with Vonn,¡± Laurence, another boy, chimed in. ¡°He¡¯s too little. What if he cries while we¡¯re playing?¡±


    As if.


    I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Playing along with these kids was part of the act, but sometimes it really tested my patience.


    "Alright, Vonn, is it okay if you just watch us play?" Torben asked.


    Absolutely!


    I nodded quickly, adding a smile for good measure, and stepped back to give them more space to play.


    "You¡¯re fun to have around, Vonn!" Geoffrey shouted, grinning.


    I watched as they started collecting sturdy branches from the ground, carefully selecting ones solid enough for their swordplay.


    From what I could gather, the game involved using those branches as makeshift swords to ¡°battle¡± each other by pretending to slash their opponents. Simple, but not without its risks¡ªespecially with kids like Geoffrey and Torben who seemed to thrive on chaos.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t help but think this was a terrible idea for a game.


    "Torben! I¡¯m heading toward the river," I called, pointing to the nearby stream.


    "Yeah, sure. Just don¡¯t go too far!" he replied, barely looking up as he swung his branch at Geoffrey with all the enthusiasm of a knight in battle.


    With that, I turned and started walking toward the river, leaving them to their ridiculous game.


    I didn¡¯t expect the view to be so breathtaking. The river flowed with crystal-clear water, glistening in the soft light. It stretched endlessly in both directions, and on the far side, a small cave caught my attention¡ªa surprising and curious feature of the landscape.


    This place was amazing¡ªexactly the kind of inspiration I needed for my next painting. I had no idea something this stunning existed so close to home. Then again, I hadn¡¯t exactly traveled much. Being five years old tended to limit your opportunities for exploration.


    Standing there, I felt a surge of motivation. Like a spark: I realized I hadn¡¯t even begun to truly see this world. A place where magic exists, where diverse species roam, and landscapes like this are waiting to be discovered¡ªit was a treasure trove for a painter.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    If I could travel more, I could see more. And if I could see more, I could paint more. Every sight, every corner of this world, captured and preserved on canvas.


    Looking at the river, I realized just how vast and unexplored this world was for me. There was so much left to discover, and that thought alone thrilled me.


    I found myself leaping toward the other side of the clearing, where the cave entrance stood. As I got closer, I reached out and touched the stone. No, not stone¡ªbrick. This wasn¡¯t a natural cave; it was more like a man-made tunnel.


    Curiosity tugged at me, and before I could second-guess myself, I decided to go inside. But first, I improvised a torch. Grabbing a sturdy branch, some leaves, and a vine, I tied them together and prepared a makeshift light source. Thankfully, I knew a simple fire spell called Flicker, a basic mage skill that produced just enough flame to ignite the torch.


    The darkness inside was oppressive, and though you¡¯d think I¡¯d be scared, I wasn¡¯t. At least, not yet. But as I walked deeper, I realized that monsters could be lurking anywhere.


    ¡°This is a bad idea,¡± I muttered, already considering heading back.


    Yet I pressed on, my torch casting flickering shadows against the walls. That¡¯s when I saw them¡ªthree small, bouncing creatures that almost blended into the stone. They weren¡¯t rocks, though. They bounced, jiggled, and glowed faintly.


    Slimes.


    I¡¯d read about these in a book called Ancient Magic. There were different types of slimes in this world:


    Basic Slimes: Likely what I was seeing now¡ªspecifically, fluorescent slimes.


    Elemental Slimes: Fire, water, earth¡ªyou name it.


    Toxic Slimes: Poisonous and highly dangerous.


    Magical Slimes: Like Mana Slimes, which drain mana or energy, much like magical predators.


    These basic slimes, though, were known to have a weakness to fire. If killed with heat or light, they were destroyed outright. But if killed with swords or non-heat-based spells, they¡¯d divide into smaller slimes¡ªturning one problem into many.


    The slimes in front of me bounced toward me, their movements accompanied by soft boinks.


    And then, without warning, a screen materialized in front of me. I hadn¡¯t even summoned it.


    [You unlocked a skill by first-time encountering a monster.]


    I unlocked a skill just by seeing these things.


    The skill was called Painter¡¯s Eye I (First Stage). The skill name was clearly tied to my traits. I checked my status window for more details:


    [Status]


    Name: Vonn Ermine


    Age: 5 years old


    Current Level: No info at the moment


    Traits: Painter, Magic Practitioner


    Skills:


    Painter¡¯s Eye I (First Stage): Allows you to analyze monsters you encounter, revealing their race.


    I had to admit, I¡¯d expected something more... artistic, given the name. Still, it was a skill I could use.


    For now, I was just grateful that I¡¯d chosen to explore this cave.


    The book was right, slimes didn¡¯t seem aggressive as long as there was light in front of them. That was a relief¡ªI didn¡¯t have to worry about them attacking me.


    The problem was, I didn¡¯t have any weapons to eliminate it, nor did I have the strength to wield a sword even if I had one. Offensive spells? Out of the question with my current knowledge. For now, retreat seemed like the smartest option. I¡¯d come back when I was better prepared.


    When I returned to the group, they were still playing. I half-expected chaos¡ªmaybe a few bumps, bruises, or a dramatic argument over who cheated¡ªbut instead, it looked like they were actually having fun.


    ¡°Hey, Vonn! Grab that thing!¡± Torben shouted, pointing to a branch on the ground near me.


    I picked it up, confused, and raised it. ¡°What am I supposed to do with thi¡ª¡±


    ¡°Come on, run! Smash Geoffrey on the back!¡± Torben yelled, keeping Geoffrey¡¯s head locked in a playful hold.


    Ahhh. What a crazy game.


    I shrugged, ran toward Geoffrey, and lightly tapped his back with the branch. As I did, I noticed other kids sprawled on the ground, completely exhausted.


    ¡°Wahaha! You lost!¡± Torben said triumphantly, letting go of Geoffrey¡¯s head and mocking him with exaggerated laughter.


    ¡°That¡¯s cheating! Vonn wasn¡¯t even part of the game!¡± Geoffrey protested, his chubby cheeks puffing up in indignation.


    ¡°That¡¯s called thinking,¡± Torben replied smugly, grinning from ear to ear.


    Thinking my ass. That was straight-up cheating. I had to side with Geoffrey on this one.


    After several hours of debating what to play next, we finally wrapped up. The sword game had been chaotic enough, but deciding on the next activity took just as much energy.


    One thing I learned about these kids¡ªthey weren¡¯t just skilled at ignoring their parents¡¯ rules; they were also exceptional liars.


    ¡°How was playing? Fun, right?¡± my mother asked when I returned home.


    I nodded and gave her a polite smile. ¡°It was fine,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯d better wash up first,¡± she said, her tone firm but kind.


    ¡°Yes, Mother,¡± I said obediently. As I walked toward the house, I caught sight of my father speaking to someone unfamiliar¡ªa man with long hair. He wasn¡¯t one of our neighbors, that much was clear. The two of them stood near the edge of the field, talking in low voices.


    Curiosity stirred, but I kept walking inside.


    As I washed up, I couldn¡¯t help but glance at myself in the mirror in front of me. I had grown quite a bit. How long had it been since my last haircut? My thick black hair wasn¡¯t long, but it had a fullness to it that made it stand out. My blue eyes, inherited from my father, caught the light in a way that even I had to admit was striking. I wasn¡¯t the type to compliment myself, but facts were facts.


    Once I finished cleaning up, I learned more about the man my father had been speaking to earlier. He turned out to be my uncle¡ªUncle Brandt.


    At dinner, I glanced him more closely. He resembled my father in some ways, though his hair was much longer. Like me, he had blue eyes, though his were sharper, more weathered. He also sported a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. The most striking detail, though, was the sword he carried. He¡¯d left it propped against the door when he came in, its worn leather sheath hinting at frequent use.


    "Hey, kid. First time seeing me, huh?" the man suddenly said, snapping me out of my thoughts.


    I nodded. "Yes, Uncle."


    "He¡¯s been busy serving as an empire soldier, after all," my father added, catching me off guard.


    Empire soldier? So this guy was a big deal. Working directly for the empire meant he carried out missions like fighting in wars. The same hands he was using to eat right now were probably used to kill people.


    "I blame myself," Brandt said, shaking his head. "I¡¯ve been slacking for too long, waiting on orders from the higher-ups. They finally gave me some leave, so here I am."


    My father replied with a grin. "You¡¯re going to help us on the farm now, right?"


    "Victor!" my mother interjected, her tone sharp but amused, making both men laugh.


    "No, no, I¡¯m just kidding," my father said, raising his hands defensively.


    Brandt chuckled. "I guess I owe a few debts¡ªstarting with this nephew of mine," he said, patting me lightly on the head while smiling.


    His hand was massive. The pat was gentle, but it carried a weight that spoke of years wielding a sword.


    My father smiled slightly, chewing his food with a confused expression. ¡°What debt are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Brandt said, standing up and walking over to the sheath of his sword. ¡°Just thought I¡¯d give him something¡­ wait.¡±


    ¡°Looks like your uncle brought you a gift,¡± my father whispered to me, his tone amused.


    Brandt returned, holding a wooden sword in his hands. ¡°Here,¡± he said, handing it to me.


    A sword. No, a wooden sword.


    ¡°Are you planning on turning him into a swordsman, Brandt?¡± my mother asked, her eyebrows raised.


    ¡°No, I guess he¡¯s planning to recruit him when he¡¯s older,¡± my father said with a laugh.


    Brandt smirked. ¡°Well, teaching him while I¡¯m here doesn¡¯t sound like a bad idea, does it?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s too young to wield that,¡± my mother said, pointing at the wooden sword with a concerned look.


    I didn¡¯t entirely disagree with her. Since living in this world, I¡¯d noticed how deeply mothers worried about their children, and with time, I¡¯d come to understand that instinct. Her protectiveness wasn¡¯t misplaced¡ªit was love.


    But then I surprised myself by saying, ¡°I¡¯d love to learn it...swordsmanship.¡±


    Everyone went silent, staring at me, dumbfounded.


    ¡°So, what do you think?¡± Brandt asked, turning to my parents with a grin.

 Chapter 5: Experiment

    Unexpectedly, mother finally agreed to let Brandt teach me swordsmanship. I¡¯d assumed it would just be about swinging and slashing wildly, but I quickly learned it was more like painting¡ªor any skill, really¡ªyou had to master the fundamentals first.


    We began with the basics of grip after helping my parents on the farm.


    ¡°As you know, we use our hands to grip the sword, but there¡¯s more to it,¡± Brandt explained, adjusting my hands on the wooden sword. ¡°The grip should feel like holding a bird¡ªyou don¡¯t want to crush it, but you also don¡¯t want it to fly away.¡±


    A bird. I¡¯d never actually held one, but I understood the logic: balanced, neither too tight nor too loose. Efficiency was key.


    ¡°Now, swing,¡± he instructed.


    Swish!


    And there went the sword, flying out of my hands.


    ¡°Your grip¡¯s too soft,¡± he said with a chuckle. ¡°Try again.¡±


    I caught a glimpse of my parents watching nearby, smiling. They didn¡¯t look like they were mocking me¡ªjust genuinely happy.


    I picked up the sword from the ground and tried again.


    Swosh!


    ¡°Too stiff this time,¡± Brandt noted. ¡°You¡¯ll injure your arm like that. That¡¯s why we¡¯ll always do warm-ups first.¡±


    It took me six more attempts to get it right. At first, it felt impossible. But as I practiced, I started to notice parallels¡ªit was like handling a brush while painting. Balance, control, and precision were everything.


    Next, he taught me the stance.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to show you a basic stance, Vonn,¡± he said, stepping into position.


    He moved deliberately, giving me a clear view of what to do. ¡°First, look at my feet. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart to create a stable base.¡±


    I mimicked his posture as he continued. ¡°Your dominant foot¡ªthe same side as your sword hand¡ªshould be slightly forward. Keep the back foot angled outward a bit for better balance.¡±


    He pointed at his feet, then mine. ¡°Think of your feet as the base of a triangle¡ªstable and strong.¡±


    From there, he moved up, breaking down each detail: knee position, weight distribution, sword placement, upper body alignment. It was a lot to absorb, but it made sense.


    After practicing for a while, we paused to rest. Brandt frequently asked if I wanted to continue or stop if I felt tired, but the truth was, I wasn¡¯t tired.


    This was addicting. Damn.


    There was something about starting something new that lit a fire in me. If I started, I had to finish. It was the same with painting¡ªonce I picked up a canvas and began thinking and feeling my way through the concept, I couldn¡¯t stop. I¡¯d work until I was satisfied, no matter how long it took.


    And now, swordsmanship was starting to feel the same way.


    Occasionally, my mother would bring us snacks, and we¡¯d take a quick break to eat before resuming practice.


    ¡°You¡¯re pretty tough,¡± Brandt said, smiling warmly.


    I guessed that was thanks to my adult mind. If I¡¯d been an actual five-year-old, I¡¯d have been completely worn out by now. My patience would have long since disappeared. Of course, a big part of it was also Brandt¡ªhe was a great teacher, patient and encouraging.


    ¡°It¡¯s because you have great patience, Uncle,¡± I said, genuinely complimenting him.


    He chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. ¡°Where¡¯d you learn to talk like that? Did you pick it up from your father?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked, confused.


    ¡°Flattery, you little rascal,¡± he said, tapping my head lightly.


    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± I replied. ¡°I think you¡¯d make a great teacher.¡±


    His expression shifted slightly¡ªserious for a moment, though he managed a small smile. ¡°You think so?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± I said, nodding slowly.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re pretty good at giving compliments. I think you¡¯ll do well with people,¡± he said, smiling again.


    I just smiled back, unsure how to respond to that. Then curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. ¡°When are you going back to the emperor¡¯s place?¡± I asked, trying to sound as kid-like as possible.


    ¡°I¡¯m on vacation for seven months. That¡¯s a long time,¡± he said, then raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why? Thinking about quitting already?¡±


    Of course not.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m just curious,¡± I said quickly.


    ¡°Well, I won¡¯t be staying here the whole time,¡± he admitted. ¡°I have my own place further away, so I¡¯m speeding up your lessons. That¡¯s why we¡¯re moving faster than normal.¡±


    Even though his words sounded simple, Brandt¡¯s expression told a different story¡ªsomething was clearly bugging him. But I wasn¡¯t exactly in a position to ask what it was.


    We continued after our brief conversation. He taught me footwork, posture, balance, and the basics of strikes and guards.


    ¡°Think of the sword as both a shield and a spear,¡± he explained. ¡°Guard with it when you¡¯re not attacking, and strike quickly when there¡¯s an opening.¡±


    The way he taught made me wonder¡ªhad he noticed how quickly I understood things? Did he suspect I was different from other kids? I nodded along, even when he said things that might be too advanced for a child. Not because I didn¡¯t understand, but because I wanted to keep progressing without drawing attention. Maybe I was just overthinking it.


    Later that night


    ¡°How¡¯s your teacher?¡± my father asked over dinner.


    ¡°He challenges me,¡± I replied.


    Their reactions caught me off guard. My parents exchanged surprised glances, as if I¡¯d said something shocking. Why did this keep happening? All I meant was that Brandt was a great teacher. He pushed me to challenge my limits¡ªlike fixing my posture. I thought I couldn¡¯t do it properly at first, but with his guidance, I eventually managed.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°I learned a lot in just one day,¡± I added quickly, trying to smooth over the moment.


    ¡°I guess I was just worried,¡± my mother said, sighing in relief. ¡°I thought you¡¯d come back covered in bruises, but it seems you did a great job today.¡±


    ¡°Vonn¡¯s not just a quick learner, as you said, brother,¡± Brandt chimed in, catching me by surprise. ¡°He¡¯s also extremely hardworking.¡±


    It had been a while since I¡¯d heard someone use that word¡ªhardworking. Most people focus on outcomes, praising results as though they were miracles born from talent, intelligence, or sheer luck. But Brandt? He believed in something different.


    He valued hard work¡ªthe kind of effort anyone could put in, regardless of talent or natural ability. That belief in effort over innate skill left a mark on me. Back in my past life, when I painted, it was both a passion and a way to survive. I believed in hard work¡ªit was the one constant. Hearing someone else echo that sentiment now felt oddly surprising. On Earth, people rarely valued the process behind a creation. They¡¯d critique the finished product¡ªand while constructive criticism had its place¡ªthey often failed to see the effort, sweat, and time that went into it.


    "Well he''s our son after all." My father proudly said.


    I gave him a small nod, but before I could say anything, Brandt leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing in thought. ¡°You know,¡± he started, his voice carrying that weight of memory, ¡°it¡¯s been years since I last saw your daughter. How is she?¡±


    This man. He suddenly remembered I have an older sister out of nowhere? What a strange guy.


    My mother perked up at that, smiling fondly. ¡°Clarisse¡¯s doing well. You wouldn¡¯t recognize her now¡ªshe¡¯s practically a lady. She was just four the last time you visited.¡±


    Brandt chuckled softly. ¡°That long ago, huh? The little girl who used to follow me around everywhere¡­¡± He shook his head, his expression tinged with nostalgia. ¡°I remember her crying when I left for the capital.¡±


    Well. I never knew that, not until now.


    My father chuckled. ¡°That sounds like her. She''s pretty dramatic back then.¡±


    ¡°Not dramatic¡ªsensitive,¡± my mother corrected, giving him a pointed look. ¡°She¡¯s just always had a big heart.¡±


    I had known her as mature earlier in this life, but then I discovered she was quite unpredictable.


    Brandt smiled at that, his gaze softening. ¡°It¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it? How time slips by."


    ¡°You¡¯ve done a lot in those years, brother,¡± my father said firmly. ¡°No one could say otherwise.¡±


    After that brief conversation, they moved on to topics far beyond what a kid like me could join in on. That was perfectly fine with me¡ªI went straight to my room and started painting.


    That¡¯s how I usually ended my day: painting. Over the past year, I¡¯d created so many pieces that it felt like I have turned my room into a painting museum. Picking it up again after some time felt good, even though having small hands was a bit limiting at first. Still, I stuck with it, refining my technique little by little. It was still new to me though, how Victor and Eleanor bragged about my paintings to Brandt and the neighbors. As a result, our neighbors frequently ask me to draw or paint for them.


    What I discovered was that art wasn¡¯t considered a big deal in this world. There weren¡¯t any well-known painters or artists in this country, as far as I''m aware. When I asked my parents about it, they didn¡¯t know much either.


    A week had passed.


    The usual routine: wake up, help my parents, and train. I used my training as the perfect excuse to skip playing with the other kids¡ªnot that I needed one.


    I¡¯d been experimenting with magic in secret, always in hidden spots where no one could see me. The last thing I wanted was to cause a panic. As you know, I¡¯d already mastered the basic fire spell, Flicker. It was as simple as raising my hand and saying the word, and a small flame would appear.


    But the more I practiced, the more I understood the limitations of magic. The books were right¡ªchanting drained energy, or mana, as they called it. That naturally limited how many spells a person could cast before hitting their threshold.


    For example, I¡¯d recently learned a new chant:


    ¡°Flame arise, bright and small,


    Hear my will, heed my call.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t particularly powerful, just another basic fire spell. But after testing it, I discovered I could only cast it four times before dizziness set in. Trying a fifth time left me so lightheaded I nearly collapsed.


    The books I¡¯d read explained this: mana could be replenished by meditating in open environments¡ªplaces like forests, hills, or mountains, where the air was fresh and abundant. The longer you meditated, the more mana you could transfer back into your body. However, everyone had a different mana capacity, and some people were naturally born with far more than others.


    ¡°We¡¯ll spar today,¡± Brandt announced.


    Yeah, I heard him right. Sparring with a grown man, a trained soldier, an imperial warrior. Sure, he wasn¡¯t going to kill a five-year-old, but the idea still sent a shiver down my spine.


    ¡°After this, you can go play with the other kids,¡± he added, gesturing to the group watching us from a distance.


    I just wanted to train all day. Playing with them was more of a chore than anything.


    ¡°Alright, position,¡± he said, snapping me back to reality.


    I instinctively positioned myself, applying everything he¡¯d taught me: the posture, the stance, the grip. My wooden sword felt ready, primed to defend.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go on the offensive. You defend,¡± he said.


    I nodded.


    Brandt moved quickly, closing the distance. But as he struck, he slowed down just enough for me to react. I barely managed to block the attack, though it was more from luck than skill.


    ¡°Once again,¡± he said calmly.


    Another attack. Another shaky block.


    ¡°Keep calm. Watch the sword. Look where it¡¯s going,¡± he instructed.


    Swing.


    This time, I blocked it. Barely.


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± he said, nodding in approval.


    We continued sparring. He stayed on the offensive, his attacks weak and deliberate, tailored to my abilities. It was understandable¡ªif he went even slightly harder, I¡¯d probably end up on the ground or worse, injured. For now, these "weak" attacks were enough to push my limits, and I was learning with every swing.


    ¡°All right, try an overhead swing, kid,¡± Brandt said, tying his long hair into a ponytail. ¡°I¡¯ll defend.¡±


    I nodded, taking a deep breath. An overhead swing was a straightforward but powerful move¡ªstarting above my head and coming down in a controlled arc. To pull it off properly, I needed to use my whole body, from head to toe.


    ¡°Come on, they¡¯re all watching,¡± Brandt teased, gesturing toward the other kids. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to show off so you can go play?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Here I go,¡± I replied with a sigh, adjusting my stance.


    HAAA¡ª


    Swissssh!


    The swing felt different¡ªoff somehow. My eyes widened as the tip of the wooden sword glowed faintly red, a wisp of smoke curling off it. Was that¡­ magic?


    I hoped, prayed, that he hadn¡¯t noticed. But of course, he had. Brandt immediately raised his hand, stopping me in my tracks.


    ¡°Are you practicing magic?¡± he asked, his voice steady but firm.


    My mind raced. Of course, he saw it. Why did I even think he wouldn¡¯t?


    ¡°No...Uncle ¡± I blurted out, shaking my head.


    He narrowed his eyes slightly, his skepticism unmistakable. ¡°Then what was that just now kid?¡±


    I took a step back, gripping the sword tighter. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. What is it, Uncle?¡± I asked, doing my best to sound genuinely clueless. I glanced at the sword in mock confusion, tilting it slightly as if inspecting it.


    Brandt tilted his head, his sharp gaze lingering on me. For a moment, I thought he was about to press further. But then he sighed and shook his head. ¡°Never mind. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. Go ahead and play with them.¡±


    Haaaa.


    At least I¡¯d managed to deflect his attention for now. But I knew I¡¯d need to be far more careful next time. I didn¡¯t think this was the right time to tell them I¡¯d learned magic.


    What a discovery, though. It was my first time seeing magic manifest in a sword. I¡¯d only read small snippets about it in books¡ªthey called them magic swordsmen.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if I could truly combine magic with swordsmanship. Well, there was only one way to find out: experimentation.


    Yeah, I played along with them. If I wanted to get back to the cave and experiment more with this magic of mine, I needed to be patient and go along with their games. At first, I considered suggesting hide-and-seek to sneak away, but it felt too risky. So, I scrapped the idea and stuck with the group.


    ¡°You never told us you knew how to swing a sword, Vonn,¡± Geoffrey said, slapping me on the back so hard I thought my lungs might collapse.


    Well, I never had a reason to tell you, Geoffrey.


    ¡°We can play swords again, and I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re on my team,¡± Geoffrey added, kicking a rock across the ground.


    ¡°Hey, Geff, let¡¯s just ask him which team he wants to join,¡± Torben interjected.


    These two.


    I hadn¡¯t planned on playing with them for several more hours, but that¡¯s exactly what happened. By the time we finished, I was drained and waited until we all went home. Once there, I told my parents I¡¯d be playing with the others again later on¡ªbut that was a lie.


    This time, I was heading to the cave. And I was bringing the wooden sword with me.


    ¡°That¡¯s exhausting,¡± I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead as I reached the cave entrance.


    Following the same routine, I grabbed a makeshift torch and prepared to cast my chant.


    ¡°Flicker.¡±


    As I walked deeper into the cave, I spotted the fluorescent slimes again, bouncing as they always did. The skill I¡¯d unlocked earlier¡ªPainter¡¯s Eye¡ªwas proving useful. When I focused on the slimes, a small display appeared in my mind¡¯s eye:


    [Basic Slimes]


    [Fluorescent Slimes]


    Glowing slimes, not aggressive.


    This time, though, I had a plan. I wanted to take them all out using fire magic.


    ¡°Flame arise, bright and small,


    Hear my will, heed my call.¡±


    Whoosh!


    Oh. I missed.


    I tried again, adjusting my aim.


    ¡°Flame arise, bright and small,


    Hear my will, heed my¡­ call.¡±


    This time, the spell hit its mark. The slimes didn¡¯t even try to dodge¡ªthey seemed mesmerized by the light. Slowly, the fire consumed them. I managed to chant two more times, pushing myself to the limit, but the effort paid off.


    A notification appeared.


    [Killed a slime: 3 XP]


    [Unlocked XP Visibility]


    Curious, I opened my status screen:


    [Status]


    Name: Vonn Ermine


    Age: 5 years old


    Current Level: Initiate


    Current XP: 3/100


    Traits: Painter, Magic Practitioner, Sword Practitioner


    Skills:


    Painter¡¯s Eye I (First Stage): Allows you to analyze monsters you encounter, revealing their race.


    It displayed my progress clearly. As I continued through the cave, I noticed a pattern: each fluorescent slime I killed earned me 1 XP. They were the only creatures I¡¯d encountered so far, so I quickly learned their XP value by repetition.


    [Current XP: 8/100]


    The system, as far as I could tell, was purely informational. It didn¡¯t enhance my abilities¡ªit just displayed my current status and progress. Still, it was incredibly useful. The best part? I¡¯d unlocked a ¡°help¡± option that explained the system in greater detail.


    The system tracked:


    My status: Name, age, progress, traits, and skills.


    Leveling system: A breakdown of experience thresholds for each level.


    Here¡¯s what I learned about the levels:


    Initiate: 0¨C100 XP


    Acolyte: 101¨C300 XP


    Disciple: 301¨C500 XP


    Seeker: 501¨C700 XP


    Warden: 701¨C900 XP


    Champion: 901¨C1000 XP


    Hero: 1001¨C2000 XP


    Saint: 2001¨C3500 XP


    Demigod: 3501¨C5000 XP


    Deity: 5001+ XP


    The system explained that these levels were particularly important for determining rank. For example, if I ever got employed, decided to join a guild or become an adventurer, my rank would be identified using a specific rank-detection magic that guilds employed.


    Another critical detail: this system was unique to me. No one else could see their status or their progress in a screen like this¡ªAnd I was the only one who had this. For others, progression was determined solely by their experience or through rank-identifying magic but for me, I could see it every time I manifested the screen.


    This system could be incredibly useful. Even if it just tracked progress, having it with me seemed like a game-changer. But I couldn¡¯t help wondering¡ªwhere did it come from? Was it tied to my reincarnation? Probably. The whole reincarnation thing was still a mystery, even now.


    But then, I nearly died of a heart attack when I turned¡ªand there it was.


    A massive, freaking Giant Spider.


    Its legs stretched out unnaturally, long and spindly, each one clicking against the cave floor as it moved. Eight soulless eyes stared at me, unblinking, and I swear I could feel its gaze piercing right through me.


    Krrkk-krrkk.


    The sound sent a shiver down my spine as the spider took a slow, deliberate step closer. Its mandibles twitched, oozing some kind of thick, greenish liquid.


    [Arachnid]


    [Giant Spider]


    Venom effects vary: paralysis, hallucinations, slow death, or cocooning victims for later feeding.

 Chapter 6: Drunken Tale

    I¡¯d read about these things in one of the monster encyclopedias from my sister¡¯s collection. The book was massive, the kind you¡¯d avoid unless absolutely necessary. At first, I was too lazy to even open it. But after skimming a few pages, I got hooked. Books in this world often had magic embedded in them, which made them far more interesting than the ones back on Earth.


    For instance, if you turned to a section about slimes, not only would it describe their characteristics and weaknesses, but it would also replicate the sound they made. Yes, the book itself would let you hear it, like an audio guide for monster hunters. That magic made reading almost addictive. I devoured the contents of that encyclopedia, learning about slimes, goblins, trolls, griffins, minotaurs, krakens, and countless other creatures.


    And now, here I was¡ªface to face with a Giant Spider.


    Thanks to the book, I already knew what I was dealing with: eight legs, six soulless eyes, and venomous fangs capable of paralysis or slow death. Oh, and the silk. That sticky, annoying webbing they produced could trap you before you even realized what was happening.


    But it wasn¡¯t all bad news. The book also detailed their weaknesses: their soft underbelly, their vulnerable eyes, or the exposed joints in their legs.


    The only thing I was worried about now was how to escape. I had nothing but a wooden sword, and I was already nearing my limit for magic chanting. Just earlier, I¡¯d discovered how pathetically low my mana capacity was¡ªdaunting, to say the least. If I managed to get out of this alive, I¡¯d definitely be working on fixing that. Why did I overuse my chants earlier? Because I wasn¡¯t used to magic yet? No, because I''m being an idiot. Clearly, it was going to take time.


    For now, though, this was a mind game between me and the spider. It didn¡¯t move an inch, just stared at me with those soulless eyes. I couldn¡¯t help but wish it wasn¡¯t hungry. Or, better yet, that I looked less appetizing.


    Then, out of nowhere, it spat a venomous green liquid at me.


    I barely dodged it in time. The sound of it sizzling on the ground where I¡¯d just been standing. ¡°I¡¯m just a five-year-old, please let me go,¡± I joked, though my heart was pounding in my chest.


    But joking wasn¡¯t going to save me. My goal wasn¡¯t to kill it¡ªI was at a clear disadvantage. I needed to escape.


    This felt like the pressure of a looming deadline, except it was far more terrifying.


    Wait.


    If I could cast one more fire spell, I might be able to scare it off like I did with the slimes. Spiders hated fire, didn¡¯t they? At least, I hoped they did. There wasn¡¯t anything in the books to back me up¡ªit was just wishful thinking.


    Before I could put my plan into action, the spider lunged at me, its venomous fangs aimed to kill. If this plan failed, I¡¯d be as good as dead.


    Swishssh!


    If you¡¯re expecting me to say I dodged it, nope. I faced it head-on. My wooden practice sword, as it turned out, wasn¡¯t as ordinary as I¡¯d thought. The thing was made of the hardest wood I¡¯d ever seen. But then I found myself in a tight spot. Facing it head-on didn¡¯t seem like a good idea¡ªit became even more terrifying the closer it got.


    Facing it head-on with this tiny body of mine was a mistake¡ªespecially when green venom was visibly dripping from its fangs. That was the moment I realized my advantage.


    My size.


    I was small. Small enough to slide under its massive body and strike at its weak spot: its underbelly. Of course, this was a risky plan. If I mistimed it, I¡¯d end up flattened like a pancake. But optimism was my only option.


    I can do this. No, I can''t.


    Yes... Yes I can.


    It just needed to take the bait.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I said, taunting it. My voice seemed to make it angrier, and I gripped the sword tighter. My plan was simple: chant one last spell to blind it, then use the opportunity to strike. But then I hesitated. This time, I could actually get killed, and this wasn¡¯t like dealing with those harmless slimes.


    Its rage was visible now. The spider pushed against me harder than before, and I could feel the strain in every muscle of my tiny body. I wasn¡¯t going to hold out much longer.


    But instead of panicking like earlier, I smiled. Yeah, in that insane moment, I somehow managed a grin.


    ¡°Flame arise, bright and small,


    Hear my will, heed my call.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Swishhh!


    The fire spell cast quickly, exactly as I needed. I dropped the torch as the flame burst forward, momentarily blinding the spider. It flinched, its movements erratic, and that was my chance.


    In one swift motion, I slid under its massive body, gripping my wooden sword tightly. It wasn¡¯t fancy¡ªit didn¡¯t need to be. With all the strength I could muster, I slashed at its vulnerable underbelly.


    The spider screeched, its body thrashing. I scrambled out from underneath as its fluids leaked onto the fire I¡¯d set, igniting it further. Within moments, the creature was engulfed in flames.


    And then it was over.


    ¡°That was....amazing,¡± I muttered between deep breaths, staring at the smoldering remains.


    I realized how weak I really was after leaving the cave. I¡¯d just gotten lucky that time. My mana capacity was pathetic¡ªbarely enough to scrape by. If I had greater reserves, I could¡¯ve chanted spells and gotten out of that situation much easier. Still, I was grateful I¡¯d learned swordsmanship and that little mana that I had¡ªit really saved my life.


    I got home quickly, doing my best not to raise any suspicion. If they checked up on me to see if I was really playing with the other kids as I claimed, I¡¯d be in trouble.


    ¡°Why are you panting so much, Vonn?¡± Mother asked, her hands full of dried clothes as she gathered them from the line outside.


    ¡°Hello, Mother. I outran them,¡± I said casually, tossing out another lie.


    Not proud of it, but it felt necessary.


    ¡°You really¡­ well, help me with these,¡± she said, pointing at the remaining clothes. ¡°Bring them inside.¡±


    ¡°Alright, Mother,¡± I replied, thankful she didn¡¯t press further.


    I was still catching my breath¡ªnot just from running to get back quickly, but from that encounter with the giant spider.


    After defeating the spider¡ªwhich, thankfully, was easier to outsmart than I expected¡ªI¡¯d received a system notification:


    [You earned XP.]


    [Earned a new trait: Survivor Instinct]


    Benefit: The system will notify you if there¡¯s any dangers lurking near you.


    The reward was substantial as I also got a new trait. My updated XP bar now looked like this:


    Current XP: 25/100


    It seemed the XP I earned depended on the type or level of the monster I faced. The stronger or rarer the creature, the higher the reward.


    I¡¯d also unlocked a new skill¡ªor rather, an upgraded one. It seemed odd how quickly I learned new skills. Maybe it wasn¡¯t normal, but it felt like I had some unique ability that accelerated my growth.


    Painter¡¯s Eye: 2nd Stage.


    This was the enhanced version of my first skill. Unlike the basic version, this one seemed far more practical for combat. According to the description, it allowed me to identify weak points on opponents¡ªspots where I could aim my magic or sword for maximum effect.


    I hadn¡¯t tested it out yet, but I planned to. Tomorrow.


    ¡°Hey, Father, need help?¡± I called as I spotted him feeding the donkey.


    He waved me off. ¡°No, just help your mother. I¡¯ll be inside later,¡± he replied.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on with that donkey,¡± Mother said with a worried tone. ¡°It¡¯s been so picky with food lately. Your father¡¯s tried giving it a variety, but it doesn¡¯t eat like it used to.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s sick,¡± I said, glancing at the donkey.


    ¡°Probably. That¡¯s what your father thinks too,¡± she replied.


    As we stepped inside the house, it was getting dark. I noticed Brandt was nowhere to be seen. For a second, I jokingly thought he might¡¯ve run off.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Uncle?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s probably on his way home. He mentioned visiting a friend in the capital,¡± Mother said, placing the freshly folded clothes inside the storage cabinet.


    After a while, Father came inside, looking downcast. It was probably because the donkey still wasn¡¯t eating. I wasn¡¯t a professional or anything, but maybe the donkey needed some high-quality meat. Kidding, of course. I forced myself not to suggest it¡ªI wasn¡¯t looking to get grounded.


    ¡°That donkey just won¡¯t eat,¡± he said with a sigh, sounding thoroughly defeated.


    He looked so disappointed, I figured I should try to lighten the mood.


    ¡°Maybe setting him free for a while is a good idea,¡± I said, making sure my tone sounded anything but serious.


    Father¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief. ¡°Setting him free? Like giving him freedom?¡±


    Mother, thankfully, got the joke and started laughing. ¡°No, Father. I¡¯m just trying to make you laugh,¡± I said quickly.


    He cracked a small smile. ¡°Haa. Well, that¡¯s a terrible idea too, son. If I let him wander off, it¡¯d be like saying goodbye to a bag of coins.¡±


    That earned even more laughter from Mother, and for a moment, the negative energy eased.


    Creak.


    Enter Brandt, looking as if the weight of the world had personally sat on his shoulders.


    ¡°What a tiring day,¡± he said, dropping himself into a chair with the grace of a falling sack of flour.


    ¡°How was your visit?¡± Father asked.


    ¡°Fine. Just a few drinks, we talk and talk, it''s..¡± Brandt replied, he sounded drunk.


    A few drinks? He sounded so drunk I half expected him to fall asleep mid-sentence.


    We were about to have dinner, but Brandt waved it off, claiming he¡¯d eaten earlier. Instead, he suggested he¡¯d sit and "entertain us with stories." By the way he slurred the word stories, I could already tell this was going to be good.


    "Is Brandt okay?" Mother asked, her voice laced with concern.


    "He¡¯s always been dramatic after a few drinks," Father replied, waving it off. "But he means well."


    "You ever notice," he began, gesturing wildly as though trying to swat invisible flies, "how chickens¡­ they don¡¯t wear pants? Like, not ever. Not even in winter. Makes you think, doesn¡¯t it?"


    I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. That was his opening line? My father blinked at him, clearly as baffled as I was.


    ¡°About what?¡± Father asked, his confusion tempered by a growing smile.


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Brandt exclaimed triumphantly. ¡°That¡¯s the thing! What¡¯s the kingdom hiding? I asked an officer about it once¡ªnearly got arrested. Said I was ¡®disrupting the peace.¡¯¡± He accompanied this with air quotes so violent, I was afraid for his fingers.


    Mother, who had been politely silent until now, burst out laughing. Honestly, it was contagious. Brandt¡¯s nonsense was like a bad sitcom¡ªyou didn¡¯t want to laugh, but you just couldn¡¯t help it.


    Before Father could comment, Brandt launched into another story, seamlessly abandoning the first one like it never existed.


    ¡°And let me tell you about the time I wrestled a goose,¡± he said, leaning forward as if sharing a great secret. ¡°No, wait¡ªtwo geese. Twins. Identical. Mean as hell. They got me in a headlock¡ªgeese can do that, by the way. Did you know that?¡± He didn¡¯t wait for an answer. ¡°Anyway, I escaped by singing an anthem backward. Geese hate patriotism. Geese weren¡¯t the only things we fought there, let me tell you. Never trust silence.¡±


    I nearly choked on my drink. Even Father couldn¡¯t hold it in anymore, his booming laugh filling the room.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Father asked, wiping tears from his eyes.


    Brandt waved him off like the question was beneath him. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯ve got the reflexes of a mongoose. Saved a kitten from a burning building once. Except, turns out, it wasn¡¯t a kitten¡ªit was a hat. But still, the empire gave me a medal. Well, not a medal. It was more of a firm handshake. You get the idea.¡±


    ¡°Mother, I¡¯m done,¡± I said, pushing my plate away as I clutched my stomach, trying to contain the laughter that was practically tearing me apart.


    As I stood up to leave, Brandt leaned back in his chair, clearly not done with his monologue.


    ¡°And the point is,¡± he concluded solemnly, like this had all been leading to a grand revelation, ¡°chickens don¡¯t wear pants. And that¡¯s how I ended up here.¡±


    As I sat in my room, painting in the quiet, I could hear him again. Brandt was telling stories before bed, though this time his voice was softer, almost subdued. It took a while for my parents to calm him down.


    Oddly enough, his restless chatter inspired me. I decided to paint a drunk man on my canvas¡ªslumped, rambling, yet somehow full of unspoken depth.


    But then, just before he finally drifted off, he said something that caught my attention. It wasn¡¯t nonsense or drunken rambling¡ªit sounded more like a warning.


    ¡°They are coming. I need to save everyone. I need to go back to the empire¡ªlet''s get..sleep,¡± he said.


    I heard it clearly, even from my room.


    I didn¡¯t know why he said it, but it made me wonder. Something was definitely bothering him.

 Chapter 7: Through Brandt鈥檚 Eyes

    My name is Brandt, and I¡¯ve found myself in a dangerous situation. I was born in the Kingdom of Dunvaris, in the province of Eastleigh, in a small town called Farnham. From childhood, I had an athletic build, the kind that made me perfect for swordsmanship¡ªor so my father believed.


    I had two brothers. Vincent, the youngest, died of an illness when he was just a child. My older brother, Victor, had a frail body growing up. That¡¯s why my father focused his attention on me. He taught me how to wield a sword, always saying I had what it took to become a warrior. But every time I trained with him, I could feel Victor¡¯s eyes on us. It was like I was being torn apart¡ªalive in the moment of bonding with my father, but haunted by the guilt of leaving Victor in the shadows. Victor stayed inside, tending to our sick mother, unnoticed and unappreciated.


    We didn¡¯t have the luxury of education. We never went to an academy. I didn¡¯t need to. But Victor¡ªhe dreamed of more. He wanted to study governance, to better himself, but our father wouldn¡¯t allow it. Even if he had, the academy wouldn¡¯t have accepted someone from a poor family like ours. I could see it broke Victor, though he never said it aloud. He hid his pain well, but I could feel it¡ªlate at night, when everything was quiet, I knew he was crying alone. And yet, I was the one drenched in my father¡¯s approval, in lessons I didn¡¯t even want.


    I grew to hate my father for it. He was supposed to guide us both, to see us as equals. Instead, he picked favorites. I hated him for that.


    When our mother passed, everything changed¡ªor at least, I thought it would. A local landowner gave us a small plot of land, supposedly for daily living. To this day, I don¡¯t know why he did it. My father was ecstatic, jumping with joy. But Victor? He was given the responsibility of working the farm. He accepted it with a quiet smile, like he always did, pretending it didn¡¯t hurt.


    I admired him for his strength, but I hated myself for not standing up for him. I hated my father for failing to see the burden he¡¯d placed on Victor. And no matter what I did, nothing ever changed. I couldn¡¯t protect him¡ªnot from our father, not from the weight of our circumstances.


    "That¡¯s just fine. Continue your training," Victor would always say.


    I didn¡¯t believe him.


    When father fell ill, he made it clear that I was the one he wanted to take care of him. It wasn¡¯t the responsibility that angered me¡ªit was the way he treated Victor, as though he wasn¡¯t even his son. It made my hatred for him grow deeper.


    Victor, of course, had always known. He never asked or complained, but I could see the questions in his eyes¡ªthe same questions I carried. Why didn¡¯t our father treat him like a son?


    When I finally asked, my father¡¯s answer was sharp and cold.


    "That bastard isn¡¯t my son," he said. "Your mother had him with another man. She even admitted it."


    I didn¡¯t know how to respond. The revelation was shocking, but it didn¡¯t change anything for me. Victor was still my brother. That bond wasn¡¯t something I could erase.


    Victor eventually found his own path. He started a family and had a daughter, Clarisse. I stayed with him for a time, watching her grow for four precious years before I had to move on. It was time to find my own destiny.


    I joined a guild, taking on missions and quests they offered. For a year, I lived that life¡ªworking tirelessly, one task after another. Then a noble took notice of me. They gave me food, a place to sleep, and a steady role fighting for them. It wasn¡¯t glamorous, but it was stable, and the money I earned was more than I needed.


    I sent half of it to Victor, hoping to help him, but he always refused. He¡¯d send it back, insisting I better keep it all for myself. He wouldn¡¯t accept my help, no matter how much I wanted to give it.


    After working for the nobles, I moved on to serve the empire''s royalty. I began as a lieutenant, leading small groups of 20 to 40 soldiers. With the support of the noble family I had served, I became a figure of favor in the emperor¡¯s eyes. My skills and abilities spoke for themselves, allowing me to rise through the ranks. Or so they said.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    In seven years, I reached the rank of captain. That was my peak. I commanded over 200 troops, relying solely on my swordsmanship. I had no magic to aid me, and I was proud of that. I earned my place the hard way, with grit and discipline.


    During those seven years, none of us ever saw the emperor¡¯s face. Only his trusted cabinet had that privilege. Rumors began to spread¡ªwhispers that the emperor had died long ago and that the government was hiding it. The gossip grew so loud that the emperor was eventually forced to appear in public to silence it.


    When the day came, we all expected to see an old, frail man, worn by years of rule. Instead, what we saw left us speechless: a young, beautiful man, no older than his mid-twenties. The sight of him¡ªyouthful, confident¡ªshattered every assumption we had.


    I didn¡¯t dwell on it too much. It didn¡¯t concern me. Or so I thought.


    Soon after, the emperor summoned all the captains to a meeting. He wanted to discuss the rising tensions at the border, particularly the alarming reports of magical predators¡ªcreatures capable of disguising themselves as humans. Higher-ranking officials were also called to the gathering.


    That day marked the moment I abandoned all my duties to this empire. My dreams, my ambitions¡ªI left them behind. I ran away.


    I can¡¯t fully explain what I saw that terrified me so deeply, but it shattered everything I had believed in. Every year I¡¯d spent as a soldier, every ounce of pride I felt for serving this empire¡ªit was all a lie.


    It started after the meeting. I heard something¡ªfaint but unmistakable¡ªa noise echoing from somewhere deep inside the palace. It sounded like the voice of a girl¡­ or maybe a woman.


    I couldn¡¯t place it, so I searched. Room after room, hall after hall, yet I found nothing. But the crying didn¡¯t stop. It followed me like a shadow, persistent and unnerving. Then, just as abruptly as it had started, it ceased.


    That¡¯s when I found it. The sound had been coming from a painting on the wall. At first, I didn¡¯t believe it. How could that be possible? Yet I was certain. The cries¡­ they came from there.


    It wasn¡¯t just any cry. It was familiar, haunting¡ªlike the cries I¡¯d heard on the battlefield.


    I couldn¡¯t see anything, but the sound pierced me to my core. Low and faded, it rose again. Then, a scream.


    "Help!"


    The voice shifted¡ªchild, woman, elder, man. It didn¡¯t matter who it belonged to. It begged for help, over and over.


    And I left. I left without doing anything. I forced myself to believe it wasn¡¯t real, that maybe they were criminals being tortured or something equally grim. But deep down, I knew better. No child, no human should scream like that.


    The guilt clung to me. It wouldn¡¯t let go. Night after night, I dreamed of it¡ªno, I had nightmares. The sound, the cries, haunted me in my sleep, clawing at my sanity.


    I waited for weeks, hoping the emperor would summon us again, but he didn¡¯t. Then, after a month, the call came.


    This time, I was prepared. Before the meeting, I returned to the painting. I wasn¡¯t supposed to touch it, but I didn¡¯t care. I carved a small, subtle hole into it, desperate to see what lay behind.


    What I saw was¡ª


    A massive pile of bodies, burning in a magical fire.


    My hands trembled as I stared at the sight. I¡¯d seen death before, countless times on the battlefield, but this¡ªthis was something else entirely. This was horror.


    Nearby, a woman dressed in mage robes lay on a table. Her face was pale, her body lifeless, and above her, a magical circle glowed faintly. It was pulling something from her¡ªa shimmering, ethereal form. Her soul. They were taking her soul.


    I didn¡¯t have time to think. Footsteps echoed in the distance. My instincts kicked in, and I ran.


    I didn¡¯t stop running, not after what I¡¯d seen. For three days, I shut myself away, unable to speak to anyone, unable to think of anything else. The images replayed in my mind¡ªthe burning bodies, the soul being drained, the sheer terror of it all.


    I came to a single conclusion: I had to leave.


    I didn¡¯t know where I was going, but I kept running. My feet moved on their own, and before I realized it, I was standing at my brother¡¯s doorstep.


    I hadn¡¯t planned on staying long. I just needed somewhere to catch my breath, to figure out my next step. Victor welcomed me without question, though. He always did.


    I lied to him and his family. I told them I was on vacation, that I just needed a break from the empire. But the truth was, I was terrified.


    Terrified of what I had seen.


    Terrified of what it meant for the future.


    I didn¡¯t need to tell them what I¡¯d seen. I just needed time¡ªtime to gather myself before leaving everything behind.


    I didn¡¯t want them to worry, to overthink, or to let my presence bring chaos into their peaceful family. But deep down, I regretted the decision. Why had I come to Victor¡¯s house in the first place? I knew the empire could be hunting me now.


    That thought faded when I met Victor¡¯s new son, a boy named Vonn.


    It was my first time seeing him. His eyes reminded me of Victor, and oddly enough, of myself. I had brought along a wooden sword¡ªa gift from the noble family I once served. I hadn¡¯t planned on giving it away, but when I saw Vonn, I handed it to him. Somehow, it felt right. To keep busy and to offer more than just a gift, I became his teacher.


    Despite everything, the empire still lingered in my mind like a shadow. The horrors I¡¯d witnessed haunted me. I was so consumed by them that I had almost forgotten about their elder daughter, Clarisse. Victor mentioned she had been training in magic, and I was surprised to learn she had an aptitude for it. Still, I focused my attention on training Vonn.


    At first, I didn¡¯t see much potential in him. He seemed ordinary¡ªjust a child who resembles my older brother. But as time passed, his determination and hard work shone through. I even thought he had aptitude to become a magic swordsman, but it was just my eyes playing with me.


    I kept myself busy, pouring my energy into teaching Vonn, trying to escape the nightmares that refused to leave me.


    Eventually, I decided to visit the capital. I needed answers. Was the empire hunting me? Had they sent someone to find me? I was terrified of what I might discover.


    When I arrived, I found someone. There was no bounty, no rumors, but just one who was hiding waiting for me. I felt eyes on me. Someone lurking. Someone watching.


    The fear consumed me.


    That¡¯s when I decided it was time to leave for good. I gave myself a few more days to prepare. In the meantime, I drank. I drank to drown the memories, to quiet the screams that echoed endlessly in my mind.


    I hadn¡¯t slept at all¡ªnot since that day in the palace.


    But when I returned to my brother¡¯s home, something changed. For the first time in what felt like forever¡­ I slept. Peacefully.

 Chapter 8: The Final Spar

    I woke up with my finished painting right in front of me. Honestly, waking up to a completed piece of art wasn¡¯t a bad way to start the day. The painting itself wasn¡¯t too shabby either, considering it had been inspired by the random chaos of Brandt¡¯s drunken ramblings.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t shake what he¡¯d said the night before. Whatever he¡¯d been yapping about felt... off. I decided to keep a closer eye on him. Drunk or not, people tend to let things slip when their guard is down, and I had a feeling Brandt knew something we didn¡¯t.


    As usual, breakfast was already on the table when I got up. Mother, the ever-dedicated cook, had prepared everything. Over the years, I¡¯d grown accustomed to this routine¡ªeating together as a family. At first, it felt strange, but now I realized it wasn¡¯t about the table or the chairs. It was about the people sitting at them.


    ¡°How was your sleep?¡± Mother asked, her usual morning question.


    ¡°It was great, Mother,¡± I replied with a nod.


    Today¡¯s breakfast was eggs, soup, and rice. Thanks to our own rice crops, we never had to buy any, which made meals both convenient and satisfying.


    Father walked in, shaking his head as he sat down. ¡°He was clueless,¡± he said, clearly referring to Brandt. I¡¯d seen the two of them outside earlier, probably talking about last night.


    ¡°Well, you can¡¯t blame him,¡± Mother said, placing more food on the table. ¡°He was extremely drunk.¡±


    ¡°Uncle doesn¡¯t remember anything he said?¡± I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.


    ¡°No,¡± Father replied, shaking his head again. ¡°He says he¡¯s fine, but he looked¡­ off. I can¡¯t read him completely.¡±


    After finishing breakfast, I helped with some light chores around the house. Once that was done, I planned to train and finally test out my upgraded skill. Of course, I¡¯d have to be careful about how I used it¡ªgetting caught was not an option.


    Outside, I spotted Brandt going through a sword routine. I didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been at it, but it seemed like a while.


    ¡°Are you ready to spar?¡± he suddenly asked, not even looking my way. Yet somehow, he knew I was there.


    I nodded, stretching a bit. ¡°Yup.¡±


    He laughed, finally stopping mid-swing. ¡°Did you hear me last night?¡±


    Yeah, you¡¯re a terrible yapper when you¡¯re drunk, mister. Of course, I couldn¡¯t say that. Especially since what he said last night was worth keeping quiet about.


    ¡°You told some fantastic stories, Uncle,¡± I said with a grin, putting my wooden sword over my shoulder and striking a confident pose.


    ¡°What did I say?¡± he asked, lowering his sword and looking at me with faint curiosity.


    ¡°Oh, mostly about¡­ chickens. And maybe ducks? No, I think it was about birds, Geese, I think? Honestly, I don¡¯t remember much,¡± I said, deliberately looking like I was trying to recall the details.


    ¡°Aaah,¡± he sighed, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯m pretty much a talker when I get drunk. Really, really embarrassing."


    He chuckled as if he wasn¡¯t embarrassed in the slightest.


    He was different today¡ªI could tell. His eyes kept darting to various spots around town, especially to the more hidden corners. There was a nervous energy about him that was hard to miss.


    ¡°And,¡± he said, breaking the silence, ¡°this will be our final spar. Final training.¡±


    So, he¡¯d decided to leave today. I thought he¡¯d stay for at least another week, but it was clear something¡ªor someone¡ªwas weighing on him. I couldn¡¯t put my finger on it, but there was definitely more going on than he let on.


    ¡°You¡¯re going back to your own place?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, just like I told you,¡± he replied curtly.


    I realized I didn¡¯t know much about his place¡ªor him, really. But I couldn¡¯t help myself; the question slipped out.


    ¡°Can I come with you?¡± I asked, half-joking. Not that it mattered¡ªmy parents would never agree to it anyway.


    ¡°No. Not at all, kid,¡± he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. ¡°It¡¯s not a place for someone like you. Do you understand? I¡¯ve been teaching you so you can protect your family. That¡¯s your job¡ªstay here and get stronger.¡±


    There was an intensity in his voice that caught me off guard. It wasn¡¯t just a brush-off; there was something deeper. Something personal. My guess? Something tragic had happened to him, something he couldn¡¯t¡ªor wouldn¡¯t¡ªtalk about. Even my father, his own brother, didn¡¯t seem to know what it was.


    I wanted to ask, but I couldn¡¯t. After all, I was just a five-year-old kid.


    ¡°I understand,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start,¡± Brandt said, his grin practically splitting his face. ¡°And just so you know, I won¡¯t be going easy this time.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Great. He looked like a maniac, but surely he wouldn¡¯t just¡ª


    Swishhhh!


    What the¡ª?! He did attacked!


    ¡°Uncle, that was sudden!¡± I shouted, barely managing to block the strike. His movements weren¡¯t just fast; they were powerful, way more than I¡¯d expected.


    ¡°Well, you should expect all sorts of surprises on the battlefield,¡± he said casually, immediately swinging again.


    He wasn¡¯t wrong, but this¡­ this wasn¡¯t a spar. This was something else. His blows were stronger than the giant spider¡¯s attacks. This guy was insane.


    ¡°Either dodge these attacks, or you¡¯re dead,¡± he said, his strikes coming faster now.


    My feet slid back as I struggled to keep up. Sweat dripped down my face, my arms screaming with the effort to block each blow. This wasn¡¯t training¡ªit felt like a real fight. And yet, I could tell he was still holding back.


    ¡°You can¡¯t protect your family if you¡¯re weak!¡± he yelled loud enough for my father to hear.


    ¡°Hey, Brandt! You idiot, what are you doing?!¡± Father shouted from a distance.


    But Brandt didn¡¯t stop. His grin widened as he pressed harder.


    How was I supposed to escape this lunatic? He was a trained soldier, and I was a five-year-old with a wooden sword. We weren¡¯t even in the same league.


    ¡°Stop it, Brandt!¡± Father yelled, stepping closer.


    Clink.


    But then¡ª


    As I gripped my wooden sword, searching for an opening, a faint blue light appeared. A glowing line traced itself across Brandt¡¯s body¡ªfrom his head to his arms, shoulders, stomach, and legs. Then it faded, leaving behind bright blue circles at his wrist, elbow, shoulder, and knees.


    I froze. He didn¡¯t seem to notice.


    It was the skill.


    [Painter¡¯s Eye: 2nd Stage]


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you learn anything, kid?¡± Brandt taunted, still smiling. ¡°What will you do in this situation?¡±


    I glanced at my father, who was now visibly concerned and inching closer. The blue circles¡ªhis weak points¡ªstood out vividly. His wrist, elbow, shoulder, and knees were exposed, but they were fleeting targets, disappearing as he shifted.


    I stepped back, forcing him to overextend and lose his momentum. This was my chance. Without hesitation, I aimed for his wrist with everything I had.


    ¡°Gotcha!¡± I yelled, swinging hard.


    Thwack.


    I¡¯d love to say I landed a perfect hit, but I didn¡¯t. I was just a little too slow. Even so, it worked¡ªhis grip faltered, and he dropped to one knee to recover.


    His eyes widened in shock, but then his expression softened, and a grin spread across his face.


    ¡°HAHAHAHA! YOU! How did you?!¡± he bellowed, grabbing me and lifting me into the air.


    Uncomfortable? Absolutely. But I understood his reaction.


    I thought I¡¯d failed, but my strike had done enough to throw him off balance. He¡¯d barely managed to block, but it forced him to drop to one knee to steady himself.


    ¡°That was¡ª¡± he said, setting me down and pulling me into a tight hug. ¡°Amazing.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t see his face, but I felt something wet on my back. Tears.


    ¡°Look at him, Victor!¡± he shouted, his voice was so loud, even Mother turned to see what was happening. But honestly, this wasn¡¯t bad at all. His enthusiasm was infectious. I could feel it in his laugh, in the way his energy radiated. It wasn¡¯t the kind of joy someone felt for themselves¡ªit was the kind that came from genuine pride and surprise at what someone else had done.


    ¡°What the h¡ªhe¡¯s a five-year-old kid, Brandt!¡± Father exclaimed, hurrying over.


    I grabbed Father¡¯s shirt. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Father. I didn¡¯t get hurt.¡±


    Brandt turned to Father, his smile fading for just a moment. ¡°He¡­ he can be a warrior¡ª¡± He stopped mid-sentence, his expression unreadable. Then he stood, patted my head, and said softly, ¡°You¡­ can protect your family.¡±


    ¡°What happened?!¡± Mother shouted, running toward us as Father still looked worried.


    Brandt turned to her with a smile. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I just thought Vonn was crying.¡±


    I didn¡¯t even know how to respond. Laugh? Cry? I just stood there, watching.


    As Brandt walked toward Father, he clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m going, brother,¡± he said, still smiling. "I better get going."


    ¡°Going where?¡± Father asked, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Or are you still drunk?¡±


    Brandt chuckled. ¡°No,¡± he said with a laugh. ¡°I¡¯m leaving. There¡¯s something I must take care of.¡±


    It was a moment of unspoken understanding between them¡ªa quiet exchange of brotherly love. Brandt had said his farewell to us, and with that, he was gone.


    The last thing he said to me before he left was this.


    "The future¡¯s scary, kid, I won¡¯t lie. But strength isn¡¯t about not being afraid¡ªit¡¯s about moving forward even when you are. Keep walking."


    A month passed quickly, and Clarisse was home for a short vacation from her mage tutoring.


    I don¡¯t know why, but I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that her tutor might be a scam. It was just a hunch¡ªuntil she demonstrated a new chant she¡¯d learned after only a month of training.


    ¡°Winds of the endless sky, carry my will,¡± she recited.


    I almost laughed. It was so short that I thought she¡¯d forgotten the rest of it. She caught me trying to stifle my amusement, her eyes narrowing slightly.


    But then¡ª


    A massive gust of wind burst from her hand, rushing across the open area she¡¯d aimed at. Naturally, our parents wouldn¡¯t let her try any spells inside the house after last time.


    I was shocked, though I did my best to hide it. The spell was impressive, as if she¡¯d commanded the air itself to obey her.


    ¡°Easy peasy,¡± she said smugly, glancing at me with a teasing smirk while our parents ran to hug her, showering her with praise.


    ¡°You¡¯re the greatest mage alive,¡± I said with mock seriousness, which earned me a small, satisfied smile from her.


    In that same month, I had spent time learning more about my upgraded skill, Painter¡¯s Eye: 2nd Stage. I discovered that it only activated when I faced an opponent directly, and it could only be used once per fight. Additionally, unlike magic, the skill didn¡¯t require mana but physical energy¡ªstamina, essentially.


    So while Clarisse was busy mastering magic, I¡¯d been working on understanding my abilities.


    Inside our house, during dinner.


    "Have you learned magic already?" she asked, catching me so off guard that our parents turned to look at me with raised eyebrows.


    "What?" was all I managed to say, trying to sound casual.


    Her timing couldn¡¯t have been worse.


    "You know, you''ve been reading all those magic books as a hobby, right?" she said, scratching her head, as if trying to seem nonchalant.


    "Yeah, reading helps me sleep better," I replied, keeping my tone light.


    "You didn¡¯t learn anything from them?" she asked, then laughed¡ªlike it was all a big joke.


    Our parents were still staring, trying to make sense of what we were talking about. But I had this nagging feeling she already knew the truth, like she was playing some sort of detective game with me. Every time I glanced at her, she felt less like my sister and more like an interrogator, piecing together evidence.


    "I''m just kidding!" she said, surprising us even more. "But I do have a gift for you."


    A gift? What was it, a bomb or something?


    "This," she said, pulling out a book.


    The title read Magic: Offensive Perspectives. I didn¡¯t know much about it, but it was obviously a book on magic¡ªno guessing required.


    "Is that some kind of magic book?" Father asked, eyeing it with mild curiosity.


    "Yes, Father," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It¡¯s a book about attack spells, designed for combat purposes."


    Oh. My. God. My eyes widened, and I swear my ears perked up like a dog hearing the word "treat." I wanted to drop to my knees and thank her for this holy gift from the greatest mage alive. But no, that would¡¯ve been too humiliating¡ªeven for me.


    "This... this is for me?" I asked, just to be sure I wasn¡¯t dreaming.


    "Of course," she said, smirking. "You¡¯re a book addict, aren¡¯t you? Isn¡¯t that right, Mother? Father?"


    "Yup, he is," Father said without hesitation, while Mother nodded so quickly it was almost comical.


    After dinner, we kept talking. Clarisse rambled on about her month¡ªhow her teacher was kind and had given her that old book.


    She told us the news she¡¯d recently heard from her tutor¡ªthat magical creatures, likely predators, were on the rise. According to her, the empire had declared that mages were now required to join the frontlines to combat these predators, who had the unsettling ability to disguise themselves as humans.


    It was that bad. I couldn¡¯t say for sure, but it felt like exactly the kind of danger Brandt had warned me about¡ªthe kind he said I¡¯d need to protect my family from.


    "So, Uncle Brandt came here?" she asked, catching me off guard. It was the first time I¡¯d heard from our parents that Brandt had visited.


    "That¡¯s right," Father said with a smile. "He even asked about you."


    "I just hope he wasn¡¯t angry," she said, frowning slightly. "He promised to teach me swordsmanship, but I chose magic instead."


    "No, he wasn¡¯t angry at all. Just a bit surprised," Mother reassured her.


    Hmm. Yeah, that''s why Brandt¡¯s surprised enough to make me the guinea pig for his sword lessons.


    "But your brother is the one he decided to teach," Father added, almost as an afterthought.


    Clarisse turned to me, her eyes sharp. I glanced up from the book she¡¯d given me and managed an awkward smile, like I¡¯d been caught sneaking cookies from the jar.


    "You already know swordsmanship, Vonn?" she asked, clearly intrigued.


    "I¡¯m... decent," I said, keeping it vague.


    "Great! Then let¡¯s spar tomorrow¡ªyour sword versus my magic!" she shouted, her excitement practically vibrating off her.


    I stared at her, dumbfounded. She was nuts. Absolutely nuts.


    "You are not allowed to do that though." Mother said.


    Thankfully.

 Chapter 9: The Art of Growth

    Another month had passed.


    I was glad to have a new book to read. This one was different from anything I¡¯d read before¡ªa massive tome packed with attack chants I could theoretically learn. If only my mana reserves didn¡¯t suck.


    Still, I was making slow progress in building them up. Whenever I had the chance to be alone, I¡¯d head to the forest to meditate. I¡¯d tried meditating outside our house once, but it was nearly impossible with all the noise¡ªneighbors chatting, kids playing, the general chaos of daily life. The forest, though, was quiet, secluded. It was the perfect spot, as long as I stayed careful.


    Clarisse, after a short break from her tutoring, returned to her studies under her tutor. Although she could be unpredictable, the book she gave me turned out to be incredibly useful.


    The majority of its contents focused on Elemental Magic, covering fire, water, air, and earth attack spells. For clarity, the chant I used against the giant spider wasn¡¯t technically an attack spell. It was on par with Flicker, just slightly more advanced.


    The book also delved deeper into mana reserves. Like the other books I¡¯d read, it explained that mana reserves vary greatly among individuals. For example, a child born into a lineage of great magicians or mages is more likely to inherit greater reserves, enabling them to cast powerful or rare spells¡ªor even create their own. On the other hand, those born to non-magical families often have lower reserves, limiting their abilities.


    I wasn¡¯t sure about Eleanor and Victor¡¯s history with magic, but seeing Clarisse already manifesting her abilities suggested she had some potential. However, it was also possible her mana reserves were limited, which could restrict her in the long run.


    As for me, I didn¡¯t know my limits yet. The book mentioned that high-quality mana is difficult to acquire, even in open spaces. To grow reserves, prolonged meditation and consistent practice are necessary.


    I also learned that mana limits can be measured using a magical crystal. The book included a detailed illustration: a glowing, orb-like crystal small ball that tests an individual¡¯s mana reserve by emitting specific colors when touched.


    Here¡¯s what the colors represent:


    Red: Very low reserves (common among non-mages or weak individuals).


    Orange: Low reserves, enough for basic magic but not for sustained use.


    Yellow: Moderate reserves, suitable for average magic users.


    Green: Normal reserves, balanced between power and longevity (most adept mages).


    Blue: High reserves, indicating advanced magical potential.


    Gold: Exceptionally high reserves, rare and highly valuable.


    White/Silver: Mystical reserves, typically tied to unique talents or blessings.


    Black: Corrupted or unstable mana, a dangerous anomaly.


    Knowing about the crystal ball made me eager to find one and try it out. The book mentioned that most mages keep one among their possessions to monitor their mana reserves. Unfortunately, I had no idea where to find one.


    For now, my trips to the forest had a clear purpose: meditation. I wasn¡¯t heading there to fight monsters or wander aimlessly¡ªthough, to be fair, experimenting came a close second. After meditating, I would test out a combination of swordplay and magic. Specifically, I was trying to replicate the glow I¡¯d seen during my sparring match with Brandt¡ªthe magical energy that had manifested on the wooden sword.


    It would be amazing to have a book on magic swordsmen to guide me, but no such book seemed to exist in our small collection. Teaching myself was far more challenging than having someone explain it step-by-step, but let¡¯s be honest: that¡¯s where we all start. No one hands us all the answers. You teach yourself, make mistakes, and eventually, you grow.


    Right now, experimenting felt like the best way forward.


    I let out a long sigh, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I knew manifesting a glowing sword would be hard, but not this hard. Still, I refused to believe it was impossible.


    What I¡¯d been doing was simple: thinking. Just thinking about the glow, willing it to appear on the sword. That¡¯s all I¡¯d done when it happened during the spar with Brandt. No spell, no special move¡ªjust raised the sword, and it glowed. But now, no matter how much I focused or experimented, nothing worked.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°This is tough,¡± I muttered, sitting down on a log to rest. I¡¯d have to head back to the house soon anyway.


    Oh, right¡ªI almost forgot to mention: I¡¯ve started working out. Yes, as a five-year-old. I don''t know if this is a good idea, but then I¡¯m not going overboard. I¡¯m fully aware my body has limits. I¡¯m not about to start lifting boulders or doing insane strength training. That¡¯d probably stunt my growth, and who wants that?


    For now, it¡¯s all about building stamina. If I want to grow as a swordsman¡ªand survive whatever this world throws at me¡ªI need every bit of it.


    "I better head back."


    I¡¯d been training here for almost an hour, and it was probably time to call it a day. This was always how it went¡ªI¡¯d rush through everything, feeling like I didn¡¯t have enough time to do things properly. I needed to grow up faster, if only to visit the forest without all the sneaking around.


    As you¡¯d expect, parents forbade their children from venturing into the forest. It made sense¡ªit was vast, and a kid could easily get lost. That said, I¡¯d never encountered any serious threats here over the years. The warnings felt more like scare tactics than real danger.


    At least, that¡¯s what I thought.


    But then I saw something.


    From where I stood, it was just¡­ there. How hadn¡¯t I noticed it earlier? My right eye caught it¡ªa distinct set of claw marks etched into a tree.


    Claw marks.


    I froze, staring at them. They were large, with five deep grooves that screamed danger.


    I tried to process what I was seeing. For years, I¡¯d believed this forest was relatively safe. Apart from the giant spider I¡¯d faced, there had been no real threats. But this? This was something new.


    I wracked my brain, trying to recall any monster from the encyclopedias I¡¯d read¡ªanything with claws like this. Huge bears? No. Creatures I¡¯d studied? None of them matched.


    Damn. I couldn¡¯t think of anything.


    And that made it worse. A monster freely roaming a forest right next to a town wasn¡¯t just unsettling¡ªit was outright dangerous. For a moment, I considered investigating further, finding out what had left those marks. But that would¡¯ve been reckless¡ªand probably useless.


    I decided to head back. To be honest, I was more afraid of Mother getting suspicious than the claw marks themselves. Still, I kept the marks in mind. Could this have something to do with what Clarisse had mentioned about the rise in predators and monsters?


    As I hurried home, I stopped dead in my tracks.


    Standing in front of our house was none other than the landowner himself. Harlan.


    I didn¡¯t know why he was there, but I had a feeling it was about the painting he¡¯d commissioned last week. Yeah, an old man in his seventies had hired me for a painting.


    Apparently, word of my ¡°talent¡± in painting had spread across town, and somehow it reached Harlan. The landowner wasn¡¯t a noble but someone chosen to manage the town on behalf of the nobility. I¡¯d recently learned that landowners aren¡¯t part of some hereditary system, as I¡¯d originally thought. Nobles appoint them, meaning the position isn¡¯t passed down like an inheritance.


    Back to the painting¡ªHarlan had surprised me by showing up personally to ask if I¡¯d paint something for him. At first, I was confused. Why would someone of his status come to me? But with Mother and Father nodding their approval, I agreed.


    Oddly enough, he didn¡¯t want a portrait. He told me to paint whatever I wanted, in whatever style I preferred. And the thing was, he had wanted to watch me paint. On Earth, it had felt almost like live painting. His tone was almost¡­ carefree. It didn¡¯t make sense, but I wasn¡¯t going to question it.


    Harlan


    A week ago.


    Watching Vonn paint was like witnessing a genius at work, though he¡¯d never admit it himself. His process was deliberate, almost surgical. He started with the foundation¡ªsoft, muted tones spread across the canvas as if he were whispering the town¡¯s story instead of shouting it. Every stroke felt precise, each line carrying the weight of an idea only he could see.


    It wasn¡¯t just his skill that amazed me; it was how he saw. While anyone else might have painted a peaceful town filled with the usual idyllic details, Vonn caught the moments others overlooked. The sway of a crooked sign in the breeze. The shadow of a bird gliding over the cobblestone streets. He painted a town that didn¡¯t just sit on a canvas¡ªit lived, it breathed.


    And then came the part that made it undeniably his. He added subtle dissonance¡ªcolors that clashed just enough to catch the eye, lines slightly off-center but still intentional. It wasn¡¯t chaos, though. It was balance in imperfection, a kind of beauty that felt real, but not quite of this world.


    When he finally stepped back, wiping his hands on a cloth, I couldn¡¯t look away. The painting didn¡¯t just show the town¡ªit captured its soul, its heartbeat. In that moment, I realized no one else could¡¯ve done what he did. Genius, plain and simple.


    "You... are truly talented," I said, the words heavier with admiration than I intended. I had never admitted it aloud, but I¡¯d always had a quiet fondness for paintings. When I overheard the neighbors talking about a child who could paint, my curiosity was piqued. Before I knew it, I had sought him out¡ªand what he delivered wasn¡¯t just a painting. It was something far more.


    I offered to pay him for his work, but he refused. He simply said the painting was a gift, a gesture of gratitude for keeping the land peaceful. It was humbling.


    He was only five years old, yet as I watched him, it felt as though I were observing an old soul¡ªsomeone who had lived through lifetimes. The way he acted, the way he moved... it was nothing like a child.


    This town, I thought, held more talent than I had ever imagined. And this boy¡ªhe had already surpassed it all.


    As I approached, I could hear Mother, Father, and Harlan exchanging pleasantries. A few neighbors had gathered, curious to hear what the landowner had to say.


    They were discussing a certain noble when I decided to step in.


    ¡°Good day, Landowner,¡± I said, bowing my head respectfully.


    Harlan turned to me and gave me a pat on the head.


    ¡°Well, how are you doing, Vonn?¡± he asked with a smile, though his cough sounded harsher than before.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing fine, sir. Did your house find a good spot for the painting?¡± I asked.


    He smiled again and glanced at my parents, who were beaming.


    ¡°It did! It complements my wall perfectly. Every time I wake up, I feel¡ªaghh¡ªohhh, excuse me,¡± he said, breaking into a fit of coughing. ¡°Your painting is remarkable, young boy,¡± he added, his voice still warm despite the strain.


    I listened closely, noting the deep rasp in his voice. His cough sounded worse than before, each one sharp and painful.


    ¡°I even mentioned to the noble family that there¡¯s a child in Farnham with a talent for painting,¡± he said with a grin.


    I froze, startled by his words. My parents and the neighbors exchanged looks, their expressions a mix of surprise and awe.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ you don¡¯t¡ª¡± I started, but he cut me off with another pat on my head.


    ¡°Hold onto your kindness, child. It¡¯ll make you stronger than any weapon ever could,¡± he said firmly.


    I stood there, caught off guard by his words. Somehow, they felt heavier than they seemed, as though he¡¯d just passed on an important lesson I didn¡¯t yet fully understand.


    A week later, Harlan fell seriously ill and passed away. I didn¡¯t expect it, but given his worsening health and age, it wasn¡¯t a surprise.


    Even though we¡¯d only interacted a few times, his passing left a mark on me. I¡¯d learned something during those brief moments.


    The men who carried his body told us he¡¯d spent his final days looking at my painting, smiling. Knowing that brought a strange feeling to my chest¡ªlike warmth mixed with a bittersweet ache.


    I realized then how powerful small gestures could be. A hug, a smile, a simple act of kindness¡ªthings we might take for granted¡ªcan bring someone joy, even in their darkest moments.

 Chapter 10: Through the Gates of Renewal

    Have you ever wondered if life is just a series of frames¡ªmoments stitched together, each one trying to outshine the last? I thought about that a lot while I painted. The brush in my hand felt steady, but my mind never was. Every stroke, every line, every shade¡ªit wasn¡¯t just about capturing what I saw. It was about freezing something intangible.


    Life doesn¡¯t pause for you. It doesn¡¯t care if you notice the way sunlight hits a roof or how a shadow bends across a cobblestone street. But that¡¯s where the beauty hides¡ªin the seconds most people let slip away. I hated how easily those moments vanished, how quickly they were replaced by the next. Maybe that¡¯s why I painted. To hold on to what everyone else seemed fine letting go of.


    Still, sometimes I wondered¡ªwas it enough? Could a painting ever really capture what made something alive? Or was I just fooling myself into thinking I could trap life in a frame? Genius or delusion, the line was thin, and I wasn¡¯t sure which side I stood on most days. But the brush didn¡¯t stop. It couldn¡¯t. Life kept moving, and so did I.


    I kept at it¡ªday in and day out¡ªtraining with my wooden sword. Some might find the repetition mind-numbing and give up halfway through, but for me, it had become a habit. Swing after swing, footwork drills, and refining the basics. Sometimes, I even tried inventing new techniques. Most of the time, they didn¡¯t turn out as I¡¯d hoped, but I still learned something from each attempt.


    Alongside my sword practice, I stayed committed to collecting mana through daily meditation. Progress was slow, but it was there. I¡¯d reached the point where I could chant mid-tier attack spells without completely draining myself or passing out. But let¡¯s be real¡ªit wasn¡¯t easy. The process was grueling, almost nightmarish at times. It¡¯s simple to dream about the results, but when you face the actual grind? That¡¯s a whole different story.


    Still, I kept practicing what I¡¯d learned from Brandt since his departure. In the short time he was here, he taught me more than I could¡¯ve imagined. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder where he was now. But above all, I was grateful to him¡ªtruly grateful. If I ever got the chance to face him again, I¡¯d make sure to thank him properly.


    Although I never let my focus on training consume everything. Family time was a constant. It might seem ¡°unproductive¡± to some, but spending time with them kept me grounded. It gave me a sense of balance, a way to avoid feeling hollow.


    Somehow, through all of this, I¡¯d learned to adapt to this new life.


    Three years had passed since then.


    Three years ago, our landowner died. He was replaced by someone younger¡ªa woman in her thirties. When the landowner passed, all his belongings, including my painting, were returned to the noble family. I never found out where the painting ended up, but the new landowner kept the town peaceful. She worked quietly, rarely showing her face in public over the years.


    In those three years, I focused on grinding¡ªboth in painting and training. Improvement became a habit, almost second nature. I¡¯d grown, too. At 8 years old, I stood 152 cm tall, with a lean but muscular frame for someone my age. My dark hair and pale blue eyes were still noticeable.


    Despite all the effort, my status didn¡¯t reflect much growth. I suspected it was because I¡¯d spent so long staying in the safety of the town.


    My level hadn¡¯t budged, and my XP barely increased. That much made sense¡ªXP only came from real experience, like fighting monsters or taking on significant challenges. And since there weren¡¯t any monsters or real opportunities here, progress felt stagnant.


    And now, we were on our way to the capital¡ªmy first time traveling there. I didn¡¯t know exactly what to expect, but I imagined it as a bustling city, with more buildings, more people, and a completely different energy from the quiet town I grew up in.


    This time, we weren¡¯t riding the old donkey. Over the years, we¡¯d managed to afford a horse and a larger cart¡ªalmost a proper carriage. Despite enduring droughts and unexpected expenses on the farm, we¡¯d somehow managed to improve our situation, piece by piece. And now, here I was, sitting next to my parents whom hired a neighbour to drive us to the capital, heading to see Clarisse.


    Clarisse, now 15, had gone to the academy two years ago at 13. I¡¯ll admit, I doubted her tutoring would pay off, but she proved me wrong. She took up arcane studies¡ªmagic studies, of course¡ªand has been staying in the capital ever since.


    Recently, she got her mana reserve officially measured and scored a Green¡ªnormal reserves. It means she has a balance between power and longevity, which is a solid ranking for most adept mages. Naturally, my parents were over the moon about it. They¡¯ve been ecstatic about her journey ever since she left for the academy.


    But this trip wasn¡¯t about enrolling me in the academy. I still had five more years before I¡¯d even be eligible. No, we were heading to the capital for two reasons: to visit my sister and to celebrate the Days of Renewal, the new year festival in this world.


    This was my first time celebrating it outside our town. Back home, we usually spent the days with neighbors, gathering outdoors to watch the capital¡¯s fireworks from afar. The fireworks were beautiful, and I¡¯d even painted a scene inspired by one of those nights.


    The Days of Renewal are unique because they don¡¯t fall under any month. They¡¯re an extra five days added at the end of the year¡ªa time for rest, wishes, and celebration before a new year begins.


    It was currently the year 993, and after these five days, it would turn to 994. This time, we¡¯d be celebrating the festival in the capital itself, and I couldn¡¯t help but feel a mix of excitement and curiosity about how different it might be from what I¡¯d always known.


    Although this was a year to celebrate, it had been a tough ride. Sure, there were exciting moments and plenty of learning, but I couldn¡¯t ignore the fact that in recent years, predator sightings had become alarmingly frequent. More warning signs had been posted around the town, and people were starting to go missing. It wasn¡¯t a daily occurrence, but it was happening often enough to become a genuine threat.


    My parents were especially worried, even for Clarisse, who was living in the capital. The empire had shifted its defense strategy, relying more heavily on mages to secure borders and areas where predators were spotted. This caused some tension among fierce swordsmen who felt sidelined. However, there was a new rising group called the Zero Order¡ªmagic swordsmen who wielded both sword and spell with equal skill. Together with mages, they were leading the charge in eliminating predators. And word had spread that one of their members would be celebrating in the capital during the Days of Renewal. Honestly, I didn¡¯t care much¡ªbut I had to admit, it wouldn¡¯t be bad to see one of them in person.


    ¡°When was the last time we visited the capital?¡± Mother asked, turning to Father.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long time. I can¡¯t even remember it properly,¡± he replied.


    Given how poor we were for much of my life, I couldn¡¯t blame them. Traveling to the capital wasn¡¯t a casual outing¡ªit required supplies, resources, and days of travel. The trip itself could take two to five days depending on conditions, and staying in the capital came with its own costs. But now, for the first time, I could confidently say we could afford it.


    ¡°But this is Vonn¡¯s first time,¡± Father said, gesturing toward me.


    They both looked at me, so I quickly responded. ¡°I¡¯m pretty excited. I can¡¯t deny it.¡±


    ¡°Are you curious about what it looks like?¡± Father asked.


    ¡°Yup,¡± I replied, grinning, ¡°but don¡¯t spoil it for me, Father. It wouldn¡¯t be as exciting if you told me everything.¡±


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Even though I was eager to know what the capital looked like, I held back. It felt better to let the excitement build and experience it for myself than to ruin the surprise with secondhand descriptions.


    ¡°He¡¯s right, Vic. Besides, you probably can¡¯t describe it properly anymore¡ªit¡¯s been so long since you¡¯ve seen it yourself,¡± Mother added with a smile.


    ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯m just hoping it¡¯s still as grand as I remember,¡± Father said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin.


    Because of the cost of traveling to the capital, Clarisse had only been able to send us letters. She hadn¡¯t visited once since she left, thanks to the strict rules of her academy and, of course, the expense of traveling. But I couldn¡¯t help but imagine how much she had grown since the last time I saw her use magic. I didn¡¯t know why, but the thought of seeing her abilities in action again genuinely excited me.


    ¡°Here,¡± my mother said, grabbing my arm to make sure I was looking where she pointed. ¡°Can you see that? That¡¯s where the Dunvaris Kingdom is.¡±


    I squinted, but all I could make out was a faint outline shrouded in fog. It was still so far away. We¡¯d been traveling for an entire day now, stopping for breaks along the way.


    ¡°Your mother remembers it too well,¡± my father said, smiling as he grabbed my other arm playfully.


    ¡°Of course I do,¡± she replied with a grin. ¡°That¡¯s where your father and I first met, you know. He was looking for work and stumbled into me, making me lose my balance. And do you know what he did? He caught me and lifted me like some kind of hero.¡±


    ¡°Gracefully, might I add,¡± Father chimed in, puffing out his chest with mock pride.


    Mother rolled her eyes but was still smiling. ¡°Sure Victor, gracefully. If by gracefully you mean nearly knocking us both over in the process.¡±


    They both laughed, and time seemed to fly as they reminisced about their past together. Before I realized it, we had reached the main gate to the capital.


    The gate was guarded by about ten soldiers, and it was clear their presence wasn¡¯t just for show. They carefully checked the identity of everyone entering the city. Proof of identity worked similarly to what I remembered on Earth¡ªlike IDs or licenses¡ªbut here, it came in the form of an identity scroll.


    Victor and Eleanor handed over their scrolls, which contained their names, signatures, and the seal of our town. If you¡¯re wondering how hard it might be to fake, the answer is: nearly impossible. The scrolls were embedded with magic, making forgery futile. Thankfully, children under ten weren¡¯t required to show proof of identity. For mages, though, it was different¡ªthey were identified using an aura identifier.


    Once we were cleared, we finally entered the capital.


    It was everything I had imagined and more. The streets were alive with chatter, tall medieval-style buildings towered overhead, and there were countless food stalls and shops lining the roads.


    ¡°Are you staying for all five days?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s so much food here!¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we check out that stall?¡±


    Everywhere I turned, I heard people talking and shouting. The crowd was a mix of humans, elves, and even some beings with skin tones and features I¡¯d never seen before. Diversity was everywhere. At one point, I even saw a flying cat-like creature with a wide tail that acted like a glider.


    ¡°See? Still as grand as ever,¡± Father said loudly, a grin plastered on his face.


    ¡°It¡¯s so crowded. Should we get out the carriage?¡± Mother asked, looking slightly overwhelmed.


    ¡°No, of course not!¡± Father laughed, pulling her into a quick hug. ¡°We¡¯ll enjoy the sights until we get to the inn.¡±


    The view was incredible. From where we were, I could see the towering castle of Dunvaris in the distance. Its sheer size was awe-inspiring.


    ¡°How¡¯s the view, Vonn?¡± Mother asked, leaning against Father¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°It¡¯s not bad, Mother,¡± I said honestly. ¡°Though I think I¡¯d enjoy it more from higher up. It¡¯d be great to see the whole city from above.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a fantastic idea,¡± Father said, nodding. ¡°We¡¯re staying on the second floor of the inn. You¡¯ll have a great view from there.¡±


    As he said, we were staying in an inn¡ªor rather, a hotel-like building owned by one of Father¡¯s friends. We¡¯d be there for four nights and five days. It was the perfect chance to explore the capital, visit the library, and fully immerse myself in the Days of Renewal celebrations.


    ¡°How about we grab something to eat?¡± Mother suggested.


    ¡°Now that¡¯s more like it!¡± Father agreed, already steering the cart toward a food stall-lined street.


    It took us about thirty minutes to reach the inn, mostly because of the traffic. The crowded streets and carriages ahead of us made for slow progress. Still, I couldn¡¯t complain¡ªit wasn¡¯t nearly as depressing as the traffic I remembered from my previous life.


    We were warmly greeted by a short, bearded man named Andres. He hugged Victor tightly, and the two exchanged a few words before Andres gave us a slight bow. I wasn¡¯t sure about the history between him and my father, but he seemed genuinely grateful toward our family.


    ¡°This must be your son, right?¡± he asked, patting my head.


    Father nodded, smiling proudly. ¡°Yes, he takes after me, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely, but I¡¯d say he¡¯s a bit more handsome,¡± Andres chuckled.


    I used to care a lot about how I looked in this new life, but over time, I¡¯d gotten used to the compliments. Neighbors often told me I had a ¡°pretty face.¡± I couldn¡¯t argue¡ªmy eyes and facial structure were, admittedly, impressive.


    ¡°How¡¯s business, Andres?¡± Mother asked as he guided us to our room.


    ¡°It¡¯s steady¡ªnot booming, but I¡¯m not losing out either. Just fine,¡± Andres replied, unlocking the door.


    Creak.


    ¡°Here¡¯s where you¡¯ll be staying, Victor,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I won¡¯t be able to assist you further¡ªI have to leave the capital for a while.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already done so much, Andres. Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Father said, patting his shoulder.


    Andres smiled. ¡°If you need anything, just let the woman on the first floor know. She¡¯ll handle any questions or requests you have.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Andres,¡± Mother said, smiling warmly.


    ¡°You¡¯re always welcome,¡± Andres replied, turning to me with a grin. He patted my head again. ¡°Take care of your family, young man.¡±


    I gave him a respectful bow and a big smile as he left. He was surprisingly kind for one of Father¡¯s friends. His warmth and easygoing nature made a strong impression on me.


    ¡°Well, should we grab something to eat?¡± Mother asked, breaking the moment.


    Who would¡¯ve thought being surrounded by so many people could feel this overwhelming?


    Earlier, we¡¯d left the inn to find something to eat before heading to visit Clarisse at her academy. At first, I¡¯d been fine, but now that I was actually walking through the crowded streets, it felt entirely different. It wasn¡¯t like observing from the carriage window. In person, the sheer number of people¡ªand the diversity among them¡ªwas staggering.


    There were elves with their long ears, dwarves who barely reached my waist, and towering individuals who had to stoop slightly just to fit under some of the market¡¯s arches. Giants, maybe? I wasn¡¯t sure what they were called, but their size was intimidating. The air too was filled with the sharp chill of winter, laced with the rich, tantalizing aromas of food¡ªcolder than I had anticipated.


    ¡°Hey, Vonn, want me to lift you up?¡± Father asked, practically shouting over the noise.


    ¡°Absolutely not, Father. I¡¯m fine,¡± I replied, though I was gripping Mother¡¯s hand tightly as we navigated the crowd.


    ¡°A little shy, aren¡¯t we?¡± Father teased.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said quickly, brushing off the comment.


    We finally reached the food stalls, and Mother began picking out some unique-looking snacks I¡¯d never seen before. One, in particular, caught my attention: Starfish Cake¡ªpancake-like treats shaped like starfish, stuffed with spiced crab meat and creamy seafoam cheese.


    She didn¡¯t stop there. She also bought drinks called Icepetal Tea, brewed from frostflower petals and served chilled with crushed snowberries. The vendor claimed that drinking it would leave a cool, refreshing sensation that lingered for hours, as if your breath turned to frost.


    Curious, I took a sip of the tea. The initial taste was light, almost floral, but the aftertaste was something else entirely. A wave of cold swept through my mouth, as if I¡¯d swallowed a shard of winter.


    ¡°Whoa, think you can handle that cold, Vonn?¡± Father asked, laughing as he watched my reaction.


    ¡°It¡¯s so cold!¡± I managed to say, my teeth practically chattering.


    ¡°Haha! I told you it wasn¡¯t for you,¡± Mother said, shaking her head with an amused smile.


    Time passed as we explored more of the capital, marveling at its sights. Among the many wonders, one stood out¡ªa floating building hovering in the air, defying logic. It was breathtaking, but the more beauty I saw, the more I noticed darker undercurrents.


    This was never a hidden issue¡ªit was something they did openly. I¡¯d seen human nobles show their disdain for elves and dwarves without hesitation. Earlier, as we walked, we passed a carriage carrying elves in a cage. I overheard someone saying they were being prepared to perform at the festival tomorrow.


    Secondly, cattered throughout the streets were posters plastered on walls, lampposts, and noticeboards. They all showed faces of missing individuals. There were so many¡ªdifferent ages, different races¡ªmost of them wore mage robes.


    While Victor and Eleanor were busy shopping for more food and admiring the bustling marketplace, I found myself slightly separated from them. My eyes kept returning to those posters. For some reason, the faces felt oddly familiar, like I¡¯d seen them somewhere before.


    Passersby couldn¡¯t help but glance at them too, a few even slowing as they passed. Just looking at those posters felt dangerous, like they carried some unseen weight. It was scary, no doubt, but my curiosity outweighed the fear.


    ¡°Curious, huh, kid?¡±


    The deep voice startled me. I turned to see a man standing beside me, his face partially hidden beneath a hood. Only his sharp, glinting eyes were visible but the fact that he was tall only made him more intimidating. I also noticed a small emblem on his black hood. I didn¡¯t recognize it, but it was definitely there.


    ¡°You¡¯d better stick close to your parents, or you might end up like them,¡± he said, gesturing to the posters.


    It wasn¡¯t just advice¡ªit was a warning.


    ¡°Is it the work of predators?¡± I asked cautiously, trying to sound like an innocent, curious child while gauging his reaction.


    His gaze shifted to me, his eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°Oh, you know about predators? Did your parents tell you?¡±


    ¡°No, I just overheard people talking about them back home,¡± I replied, keeping my tone casual.


    He took a surprisingly long time to respond, but eventually, he did. ¡°Do you know how dangerous they are, kid?¡±


    I nodded, though I couldn¡¯t quite figure out where this conversation was going.


    ¡°Do you know they can disguise themselves as humans, just like us?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m quite aware of that, too,¡± I replied, keeping my tone steady.


    ¡°Then what would you do if I were a predator myself?¡±


    Before I could think, I instinctively jumped back, startled by his words. But when I looked at him again, he was laughing¡ªa low, amused chuckle.


    ¡°Relax, kid. I¡¯m kidding, predators that disguise themselves as humans don¡¯t breathe. Look at me¡ªI¡¯m clearly breathing. And they don¡¯t cast shadows either, but as you can see, I have one.¡± he said, nodding slowly as if to reassure me. Then, his expression turned serious again as he pointed to the posters. ¡°This? It¡¯s far worse than just predators.¡±


    There was a weight to his words, a quiet intensity that hinted at something much larger. I wasn¡¯t sure whether I should keep the conversation going, but his calm demeanor, paired with the mystery surrounding him, made it hard to look away.


    ¡°You¡¯d do well to stay away from magic, kid,¡± he said. His voice dropped slightly, his tone chilling.


    I glanced back at the posters, trying to piece together his cryptic warning, but when I turned back to where he had been standing, he was gone.


    ¡°Vonn!¡±


    Victor¡¯s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He ran toward me, his expression a mix of relief and frustration.


    ¡°Oh! I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t see you wander off,¡± he said, pulling me close. ¡°Don¡¯t go so far from us again, alright? You¡¯ll get lost in this crowd.¡±


    I nodded absentmindedly, but my mind was elsewhere. The hooded man¡¯s words echoed in my head, and the more I thought about it, the more I felt certain¡ªhe knew something about those missing people.

 Chapter 11: The Silent Watcher

    Several hours had passed since my encounter with the mysterious man, yet his words lingered in my mind.


    I kept thinking about what he¡¯d said: magical predators don¡¯t breathe, don¡¯t have heartbeats, and don¡¯t cast shadows. It sounded absurd, but something about the way he spoke made me take him seriously. I wasn¡¯t sure if I believed everything, but it felt like I¡¯d stumbled upon a valuable piece of information.


    Still, the unease gnawed at me, so I decided to distract myself. I¡¯d spotted a library not far from where we were staying and figured it would be a good place to clear my mind¡ªor at least keep it occupied. Luckily, my parents agreed to let me go, though they warned me to be careful and not wander too far.


    As I approached, the sign above the building caught my eye.


    ¡°Prism...Archive,¡± I muttered under my breath, reading the elegant lettering carved into the wood.


    I hadn¡¯t planned to spend my time in a library. My original idea was to explore more of the capital, but since that wasn¡¯t an option, this library caught my attention. Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to see what it had to offer.


    Inside, I was greeted by the librarian, a woman with a warm, welcoming demeanor.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I said with a polite smile.


    She returned the smile but raised an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s a kid like you doing here? Planning to read?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, her tone light and friendly, ¡°I can help you find something. What kind of books are you looking for? Children¡¯s books? Bedtime stories?¡±


    No, definitely not. But I understood why she¡¯d assume that. It made sense, though I wasn¡¯t here for any specific book. Honestly, I just wanted to browse, maybe stumble upon something interesting.


    ¡°Can I just take a look around?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she replied, her voice warm. ¡°Would you like a guide?¡±


    ¡°No, thank you,¡± I said, keeping my polite smile.


    The library was vast, though not overwhelming, with rows of bookshelves neatly arranged. There were plenty of tables scattered around for reading, but only a few people occupied them.


    Books about magic.


    Books about swordsmanship.


    History.


    Languages.


    And¡­ art.


    An art section? That was unexpected. I¡¯d assumed this world didn¡¯t place much value on artists. Still, it wouldn¡¯t hurt to check it out.


    ¡°Hm,¡± I muttered, scanning the titles in one row.


    The shelves were spotless, and the wooden supports gleamed as though polished regularly. Clearly, this library was well cared for. The art section was divided into categories: Sculpture, Music and Theater, Architecture, Dance, Crafting and Practical Arts, and finally, Painting.


    Out of all the categories, Painting had the fewest books¡ªjust five titles, each with a single extra copy.


    Portraits of the Forgotten Kings


    The Art of War: Painted Histories


    The Portrait


    The Seven Wonders: Masterpieces of the Ancients


    The Language of the Brush


    I couldn¡¯t help but notice the imbalance. Painting seemed to hold the least importance among the arts in this world. But I wasn¡¯t ready to jump to conclusions yet. There was still much to learn about how painting fit into this society.


    Without hesitation, I grabbed the first book my hand brushed against: Portraits of the Forgotten Kings.


    The book focused on the portraits of rulers lost to time¡ªkings of Dunvaris. I didn¡¯t know what to expect, but as I flipped through the pages, I realized something.


    This was my first real look at the painting style of this world.


    As I flipped through the pages of Portraits of the Forgotten Kings, I noticed something peculiar. I had expected a vastly different style of painting from what I was familiar with in my previous life, but it was surprisingly similar. The difference lay in the execution¡ªthese portraits lacked the advanced techniques I was accustomed to. They felt basic, almost elementary.


    Was this why Harlan, our late landowner, had been so captivated by my painting? The thought lingered in my mind. If this world had yet to develop advanced painting methods, then it made sense why my work stood out.


    In my previous life, I had mastered a variety of techniques:


    Basic Techniques: Layering, Blending, Dry Brushing and more.


    Textural Techniques: Impasto, Sgraffito and more


    Color and Light Techniques: Underpainting, Chiaroscuro and more.


    Brush Techniques: Hatching, Cross-Hatching, Feathering etc.


    Advanced Techniques: Alla Prima (Wet-on-Wet), Atmospheric Perspective and more.


    Here, these techniques were nonexistent, or at least undiscovered.


    I moved on to the next book, The Art of War. This one chronicled historical conflicts: the rise of swordsmanship against mages, the subsequent dominance of mages over swordsmen, and even the infamous Demonic War. The paintings in this book leaned heavily into realism, depicting battles with sharp detail and vivid imagery.


    Yet, as with the portraits, these works lacked the finesse of advanced techniques. They relied on basic methods, missing the depth and sophistication that modern techniques could provide.


    Curious, I skimmed through the remaining books: The Portrait, The Seven Wonders: Masterpieces of the Ancients, and The Language of the Brush. They all followed the same pattern¡ªbasic methods, a lack of innovation, and an absence of the advanced artistry I had taken for granted.


    The conclusion was clear. Art in this world had yet to evolve. The knowledge of advanced painting techniques I possessed wasn¡¯t just rare¡ªit was revolutionary.


    Harlan¡¯s fascination with my painting now made sense. It wasn¡¯t just the subject or the composition; it was the technique itself. He had likely never seen anything like it.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    After that day, I slept peacefully¡ªwell, mostly. The man¡¯s warning lingered at the edges of my thoughts, like a mosquito buzzing just out of reach. Annoying, but not enough to ruin a good night¡¯s rest.


    The next morning marked the first day of the Days of Renewal¡ªa five-day celebration that kicked off the new year. On Earth, we¡¯d call it December transitioning into January, but here? It was all about Devrin giving way to something fresh. The capital was expected to be brimming with people, the streets more crowded than usual, and the festivities were just getting started. It was the whole reason we¡¯d come all this way, after all.


    Even the academy gave students a break¡ªfive whole days off. Not that they had much choice; even the stiffest professors couldn¡¯t expect anyone to study with a festival happening right outside their doors. That meant Clarisse could join us in the capital as planned. After the celebrations, life would return to normal. Or as normal as life could be for me these days.


    ¡°Ready to start the first day of the celebration?¡± Mother asked, her tone as chipper as always. I was barely awake, still tangled up in my blanket cocoon.


    ¡°Hm. Yup.¡± My reply was more of a grunt than actual words. I stretched, feeling my joints pop and my brain gradually re-enter the land of the living.


    Creak.


    ¡°You two better head out¡ªthe parade¡¯s starting soon,¡± Father said, cracking the door open just enough to remind us of his presence before disappearing down the hall.


    And just like that, the day¡¯s schedule clicked into place in my head. First up: the parade. A grand procession featuring mages, swordsmen, and even a member of the famous group of magic swordsmen, Zero Order. The streets would be packed, no doubt, with people jostling to catch a glimpse of the magic swordsman. Then there was the king¡¯s speech¡ªan obligatory affair. I wasn¡¯t opposed to listening, but let¡¯s be real: if it turned into a long-winded lecture, I might just fake a stomachache until my parents dragged me out.


    After that? A duel event. A showcase of raw power and skill, perfect for whipping the crowd into a frenzy. The rest of the day¡¯s itinerary was a bit fuzzy, but those first few events were enough to keep things interesting. For now, at least.


    Ba-dum!


    Ba-dum!


    As I stepped out of the room, the first thing that hit me¡ªbesides the sunlight¡ªwas the sound. Loud, rhythmic, and impossible to ignore. Drums. Lots of them. The kind of sound that shakes you awake faster than any cup of coffee ever could. Not that I needed much help waking up; I was already half-dragged out of bed by the noise alone.


    Outside, the streets were alive. People lined both sides of the road, split neatly into left and right by a wide open space where the parade would soon make its grand entrance. The buzz of anticipation hung in the air, and honestly? It was kind of contagious.


    Stamp!


    Ba-dum!


    The drums boomed again, followed by the unmistakable clatter of armored boots hitting cobblestone. It was official¡ªthe parade was starting.


    ¡°It¡¯s starting, see?¡± Father said, his voice brimming with excitement as he pointed toward the marching knights at the far end of the street. He was like a kid who¡¯d just spotted the candy vendor.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your mother?¡± he asked, his eyes scanning the crowd like he expected her to materialize out of thin air.


    ¡°She¡¯s fixing something,¡± I replied, stifling a yawn. ¡°She said she¡¯ll catch up.¡±


    ¡°Well, she better hurry,¡± he muttered, though his tone was far from impatient. If anything, he was too distracted by the procession to really care. The sparkle in his eyes said it all¡ªhe was enjoying this way more than he¡¯d probably admit.


    I couldn¡¯t help but smirk. My father was practically bouncing on his heels. It was moments like these that reminded me how much people could surprise you. And honestly? Seeing him like this made the whole thing feel a little more exciting.


    ¡°Hey, did the parade start yet?¡± Mother appeared beside me, her hurried expression making it clear she was in a race against time.


    ¡°Not yet, Mother,¡± I replied, keeping my tone casual. There was no need to add to her panic.


    Victor, always the excitable one, grabbed Eleanor by the shoulders and pointed toward the knights leading the parade. ¡°Look at that armor! It¡¯s terrifyingly huge!¡± he exclaimed, his voice practically vibrating with enthusiasm.


    He wasn¡¯t wrong. Even from this distance, the knights'' armor looked colossal, the kind of imposing craftsmanship that made you appreciate the art of intimidation. I couldn¡¯t help but think of Brandt, my swordsmanship mentor. Those knights reminded me of him¡ªtall, stoic, and larger-than-life. Brandt had shaped so much of who I was today, and yet I hadn¡¯t seen him in ages. Something was keeping him away, though I had no idea what. The thought made me feel strangely¡­ hollow. Not enough to ruin the moment, but enough to linger at the back of my mind.


    ¡°Can you see them, Vonn?¡± Mother asked, her voice cutting through my thoughts.


    ¡°Yes, Mother, barely,¡± I admitted. In truth, my view wasn¡¯t great. I could only catch glimpses of the knights through the spaces between the crowd. My height didn¡¯t exactly help matters. Sure, being on the shorter side had its occasional advantages, like slipping through tight spaces or avoiding notice, but right now? It was nothing but a glaring disadvantage.


    Still, I wasn¡¯t about to whine about it. Complaining wouldn¡¯t make me taller, and besides, there was a certain charm in seeing the world this way¡ªpiecemeal, like catching snatches of a story through a keyhole. It was frustrating, sure, but it also made the moments of clarity all the more rewarding.


    TOOOOOT! BA-DUM!


    ¡°THE KNIGHTS OF DUNVARIS ARE NOW MARCHING!¡±


    The announcer¡¯s voice boomed over the crowd, loud enough to rattle bones. If the knights weren¡¯t intimidating enough from afar, seeing them up close sealed the deal. Their presence was commanding, like a wall of steel brought to life. The closer they came, the more details stood out¡ªthe intricate craftsmanship of their armor, the faint glint of polish under the sunlight. Even their swords, positioned upright at the center of their bodies with the sharp edge pointing skyward, seemed to radiate authority. These weren¡¯t mere weapons; they were symbols.


    As they marched, the crowd erupted in applause, hands raised in unison. ¡°Long live the knights of Dunvaris!¡± they chanted, their voices harmonizing as if they¡¯d rehearsed it. They hadn¡¯t, of course, but the enthusiasm was contagious. Even my father joined in, his voice blending with the chorus.


    And I couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    BA-DUM!


    ¡°THE SWORDSMEN OF DUNVARIS ARE MARCHING!¡±


    Next in line were the swordsmen, and for a moment, the crowd¡¯s energy seemed to swell. I watched as they marched in perfect rhythm, their movements sharp and disciplined.


    I wasn¡¯t a full-fledged swordsman¡ªnot yet, anyway. My weapon was still made of wood, and my skills were a work in progress. But seeing the crowd cheer for them, hearing the pride in their voices as they praised these warriors, sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn¡¯t fear, though. It was something else entirely.


    Pride.


    Goosebumps prickled along my arms as I stood there, absorbing the scene. It wasn¡¯t just the swordsmen who were being celebrated; it was the idea of them, the discipline, the dedication, the strength they represented. It made me want to work harder, to prove that I could stand where they were someday, receiving that same applause.


    For now, though, I clapped along with the crowd, letting their energy wash over me.


    Unexpectedly, my father turned toward me, a grin splitting his face as he hugged my mother. Before I could piece together what he was doing, he hoisted me up onto his shoulders.


    ¡°Whoa¡ªhey!¡± I blurted out, more startled than anything.


    And just like that, I had a front-row view of the parade. The entire scene spread out before me, vivid and clear. For a moment, I forgot why I was up there. I forgot to feel embarrassed, too. Being perched on my father¡¯s shoulders felt¡­ oddly nice.


    ¡°THE MAGES OF DUNVARIS ARE HERE!¡±


    The announcer¡¯s booming voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and the crowd erupted into a deafening cheer. The air buzzed with excitement. If there was one thing the people of Dunvaris treasured, it was their mages.


    And honestly? I got it. Mages were the frontliners, the ones who ventured into the wilds to hunt down predators and threats most of us wouldn¡¯t dare to face. They were the kingdom¡¯s protectors, its saviors. But the truth wasn¡¯t as shiny as the image. People celebrated the victories¡ªthe mages who returned alive¡ªbut rarely spoke of the countless lives lost in the process. Sacrifices that didn¡¯t make it into the cheers or the songs.


    Now, from my vantage point, I could see them clearly as they marched down the pathway. Their robes fluttered in time with their deliberate steps, their staffs glinting under the sun. But their expressions? They didn¡¯t match the festive energy around them.


    Sure, some of them smiled¡ªsmall, polite smiles meant to keep up appearances. But behind those smiles was something more heavier.


    Still, the crowd didn¡¯t seem to notice. Or maybe they did, and they chose to cheer louder in defiance of the unspoken truths. ¡°Long live the mages! Saviors of the kingdom!¡± they roared, their voices a tidal wave of gratitude and hope.


    I found myself clapping along, though a little slower, a little quieter. These mages¡ªthey¡¯d been through things most of us couldn¡¯t even imagine. The same went for the swordsmen and knights. Every single one of them carried scars, visible or otherwise, just to keep this kingdom peaceful.


    For a moment, I felt a strange mix of pride and guilt. Pride because I admired their strength and resolve. Guilt because I wasn¡¯t sure if I¡¯d ever be capable of enduring what they had.


    ¡°Enjoying the view up there?¡± Father asked, glancing up at me with a grin.


    ¡°Yup,¡± I replied, keeping it short.


    ¡°You¡¯re certainly not embarrassed this time, Vonn,¡± Mother teased, laughing softly.


    To be honest, I wasn¡¯t embarrassed right now. But later? Yeah, future me was probably going to cringe about this. For now, though, the view was too good to care.


    ¡°NEXT, HERE ARE THE NOBLES OF DUNVARIS!¡±


    The announcer¡¯s voice rang out, and I blinked in surprise. Nobles? I hadn¡¯t expected them to be part of the parade. And no, they weren¡¯t marching like the knights or mages. That would¡¯ve been a sight. Instead, they rode in open carriages, proudly displaying themselves for everyone to see.


    The carriages were decked out in bright colors and intricate designs¡ªsymbols of their noble lineages. Seated inside were entire families: parents with their sons and daughters, all looking the part of high society.


    Now, I didn¡¯t have grand expectations for nobles. Actually, scratch that¡ªI did have expectations, but they weren¡¯t exactly positive. The truth is, I¡¯d always imagined most of them as people blinded by their own power, weighed down more by greed than by responsibility. Sure, a handful might actually care about the people they were supposed to serve, but in my mind, they were the exceptions, not the rule.


    Take the droughts from a few years back. While farmers struggled to keep their families fed, nobles showed up demanding their ¡°owed¡± supplies. Because apparently, food meant for survival was a debt they could collect. It didn¡¯t sit well with me then, and it still didn¡¯t now.


    Looking at the nobles passing by, I wasn¡¯t exactly filled with admiration. Most of them looked¡­ detached, as though they were merely going through the motions of the parade. A few even seemed downright disgusted to be here, like it was beneath them to be paraded around for commoners to gawk at.


    It¡¯s not that I hated them¡ªnot really. I just couldn¡¯t bring myself to like them either. Respect? That was reserved for people who earned it, not people who inherited it.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t deny that this was my first time seeing nobles up close, and despite my opinions, a small part of me was curious. Were they really as useless as I thought? Or was I just projecting my own bias? Time would tell, I supposed. Until then, they¡¯d remain as they were in my mind¡ªpeople I could respect, but only if they proved themselves worth respecting.


    After the nobles passed, the parade reached its main event: a member of the Zero Order. The Zero Order¡ªleaders among mages, slayers of the kingdom''s greatest threats, and the stuff of countless legends. Their names alone carried weight, elevated by the widely spread tales of their heroic deeds.


    ¡°NOW ENTERING, ONE OF THE ZERO ORDER, SERAPHINE ALLORE!¡±


    I blinked, taken aback. Seraphine? So¡­ she was a she. A female magic swordsman. Not that there was anything inherently odd about that, but I¡¯d unconsciously pictured some burly man wielding a giant sword and radiating gruff energy. Seeing someone like her threw me off-guard, though not for the reasons I¡¯d expected.


    Her golden, medium-length hair glinted under the sunlight, swaying gently as she strode forward. Half her face was covered by a cotton wrap, leaving only her piercing eyes visible¡ªcalm, yet intense. There was an energy about her, one I couldn¡¯t quite put into words. Not overwhelming, but quietly powerful, like a river current just below the surface.


    She looked young, probably not much older than her mid-twenties, though it was hard to tell with half her face obscured. She wasn¡¯t particularly tall¡ªabout 5¡¯5¡±, I¡¯d guess¡ªbut something about her presence made her seem larger than life. She was, somehow, both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.


    The crowd¡¯s reaction was¡­ mixed, to say the least. Some people stood frozen, dumbfounded by her appearance. Others shouted things like, ¡°Reveal your face!¡± which honestly felt a bit rude. Not that their yelling mattered much; those demands were quickly drowned out by the rising chant of:


    ¡°LONG LIVE ZERO ORDER! LONG LIVE SERAPHINE!¡±


    The energy around me surged as the crowd roared in unison.


    ¡°LONG LIVE KING OF DUNVARIS!¡±


    The voices overlapped, creating a chaotic symphony of admiration and devotion. Even I found myself clapping, though my thoughts were racing.


    She was unlike anything I¡¯d imagined. Seraphine Allore, her movements were deliberate, her aura unmistakable. A famous swordsman standing before us, wrapped in mystery yet undeniably human.


    And for some reason, that made her even more incredible.

 Chapter 12: Roar of the Arena

    Several hours had passed since the parade had ended, and now we found ourselves heading toward the grand plaza for the king¡¯s speech. The event seemed to divide the crowd into two camps: those who were excited to hear the King''s words and those too engrossed in shopping to care. Naturally, my family fell into the former category.


    The grand plaza was an impressive sight, even for someone like me who preferred understated elegance. Banners adorned every visible surface, floral arrangements added bursts of color, and at one corner stood a grand stage fit for a king¡ªliterally. Surrounding it were knights, royal guards, and a handful of advisors who looked like they¡¯d spent hours perfecting their ¡°regal yet approachable¡± expressions.


    ¡°Quite the setup,¡± I muttered under my breath, taking in the sheer effort it must have taken to pull this off.


    Father overheard and chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s not every day a king addresses his people. This kind of pomp is to be expected.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t wrong. I had no idea how often the King made public appearances, but given the celebration, it made sense to go all out. Still, I couldn¡¯t help but let my eyes wander, observing the crowd around me.


    Merchants were shouting, their voices hoarse but their spirits high as they took advantage of the influx of buyers. Children sat wide-eyed on their parents¡¯ laps, staring in awe at the royal guards who stood like statues. Then there were people like me¡ªquietly observing, taking everything in.


    Ba-dum!


    The steady rhythm of a ceremonial drum echoed through the plaza, silencing the crowd.


    ¡°Making his entrance! Your Majesty, King Reginald!¡±


    The crowd erupted into cheers, and a booming chant followed: ¡°Long live Dunvaris!¡±


    On the side of the stage stood an older man, probably in his seventies, draped in a red and gold robe, complete with an ornate crown. Beside him was a younger man, likely his son¡ªhis only son, if the murmurs were to be believed¡ªand the presumed heir to the throne.


    ¡°Is that the king?¡± someone whispered nearby.


    ¡°He looks sick,¡± another murmured.


    They weren¡¯t entirely wrong. The king moved with the slow, deliberate steps of someone who¡¯d been carrying too much for too long. His face was pale, and the shadows under his eyes suggested sleepless nights. Still, he managed a polite smile and a wave to the crowd, his presence alone enough to command attention.


    ¡°Oh look! There¡¯s Clarisse!¡± Mother suddenly exclaimed, pointing toward the stage.


    I followed her gaze and spotted a group of students lined up beside the stage, all wearing matching uniforms. Sure enough, there she was¡ªClarisse. She looked composed, her uniform neat, her posture confident. When she saw us, her face softened, and she offered a subtle smile and wave.


    It had been a while since we last saw her, but something about her seemed different. She had an air of calm maturity now, a far cry from the excitable girl who used to chase me around the house.


    ¡°She¡¯s grown, hasn¡¯t she?¡± Father said, his voice tinged with pride.


    ¡°Has she?¡± Mother replied, tilting her head as though trying to measure Clarisse from a distance.


    I watched quietly, unsure if I should feel nostalgic or just impressed. Clarisse looked like someone who belonged up there, standing beside the stage with an air of importance. I couldn¡¯t tell if I admired that or if it made me feel a little smaller in comparison.


    The king cleared his throat, drawing all attention back to the stage. The murmurs around me quieted, replaced by the heavy anticipation of his speech.


    "People of Dunvaris, my beloved citizens, and honored guests, I stand before you today with both pride and urgency."


    He started, and i began to hear what he is about to say as he read a paper from the podium.


    "This kingdom, your home and mine, has endured the passage of centuries. Through the strength of our unity, the wisdom of our traditions, and the courage of our people, we have risen to every challenge that dared stand against us.


    Yet, even as we gather here in celebration, we cannot ignore the shadows that loom beyond our borders. The predator threat grows with each passing season, their numbers swelling, their attacks bolder. They do not recognize borders, nor do they care for peace. But we¡ªwe¡ªstand firm.


    It is through the tireless efforts of our defenders that we find safety. The mages, whose mastery over the arcane shields our lands. The swordsmen, who wield their blades with unmatched precision and valor. And of course, the Zero Order, whose names are whispered as legends, even among the fiercest of foes.


    To each of you, protectors of Dunvaris, I offer not just gratitude, but a solemn promise: your sacrifices will not be in vain. Together, we will ensure that our kingdom prospers, that it remains a haven for our children and their children to come.


    Now, more than ever, alliances will be the key to our survival. I have reached out to neighboring kingdoms, seeking bonds not just of peace but of purpose¡ªbonds that will strengthen our shared defenses against the predators who threaten us all.


    But unity does not come without its challenges. There are truths, hidden in the darkness, that I must acknowledge. There are forces that will seek to divide us, to exploit our struggles for their gain. We must remain vigilant¡ªnot just against the predators that stalk our lands, but against those who would manipulate the trust and goodwill of others.


    Soon, steps will be taken. Strategies are in place to push back the predator tide, to reclaim what has been stolen from us. These measures may seem unconventional. They may even seem harsh. But I ask you to trust in our vision¡ªa vision for a stronger, safer Dunvaris.


    For in the shadows, there is both danger and opportunity. In the unknown, there lies a path forward. And though I cannot share all the details today, know this: we will persevere.


    With your strength, your resolve, and your unity, we will triumph over any threat. Together, as one kingdom, we will rise above the challenges of the present and forge a future of peace and prosperity.


    To the mages, to the swordsmen, to the Zero Order, and to every brave soul of Dunvaris¡ªI salute you. Long live the kingdom of Dunvaris!¡±


    The plaza erupted into deafening applause and cheers as the king concluded his speech, officially kicking off the Days of Renewal. His speech was mercifully short¡ªnot that I was complaining. He delivered his message with precision, skipping unnecessary fluff and diving straight into the important stuff. If all speeches were like that, I might actually enjoy them.


    ¡°DUNVARIS!¡±


    ¡°DUNVARIS!¡±


    The crowd¡¯s roar was overwhelming, like standing in the middle of a storm of voices. Surprisingly, though, it wasn¡¯t unpleasant. Something about the collective energy made me feel a spark of inspiration, as if the air was charged with the promise of new beginnings.


    As the applause faded, the crowd began to disperse, making way for the next event: the duels. This was the highlight for many¡ªmages and swordsmen showcasing their skills before nobles and royalty, hoping to catch the eye of someone powerful enough to change their fate.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect my little brother to be listening so intently to a speech,¡± a voice teased from behind me. It was familiar, though slightly deeper and more mature than I remembered.


    Turning around, I saw Clarisse, standing with another girl by her side.


    Clarisse still had her long, messy black hair and the same sharp, blue eyes as me. Father was right¡ªshe had grown taller. At fifteen, she was probably about 5¡¯3 now. Not towering, but definitely noticeable. Considering Victor was 5¡¯8 and Eleanor was 5¡¯4, it seemed we were all destined to hover in the average range. Beside her stood a girl just an inch shorter, with striking green hair. That was a first for me¡ªgreen hair wasn¡¯t exactly common around here.


    ¡°Clarisse!¡± Mother called out, rushing over to hug her. ¡°How have you been?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Mother. Super fine,¡± Clarisse said, laughing as Eleanor embraced her tightly.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s our daughter after all,¡± Victor said with a proud smile.


    ¡°And who¡¯s this?¡± Mother asked, gesturing to the green-haired girl.


    The girl smiled, waved politely, and gave a small bow. She seemed shy at first glance, her movements careful and restrained. My initial impression was that she might be the quiet type.


    I was wrong.


    ¡°YOU¡¯RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT! I¡¯M YOUR DAUGHTER¡¯S BEST FRIEND!¡± she shouted, practically leaping off the ground with enough enthusiasm to rival the crowd from earlier. In her excitement, she nearly twisted her ankle, wobbling precariously before catching herself.


    She wasn¡¯t shy at all.


    Honestly, it was a little embarrassing watching her friend as she so enthusiastically introduced herself¡ªmake such a loud entrance. But somehow, her infectious energy managed to make both Victor and Eleanor laugh, and even Clarisse didn¡¯t seem fazed. She must¡¯ve been used to it by now. Her new bestie wasn¡¯t shy at all; she was the human equivalent of a runaway firework.


    ¡°By the way, Mother, Father, this is Felicity,¡± Clarisse said, gesturing to the green-haired ball of energy currently shaking hands with our parents like she was running for office.


    ¡°Yup, I¡¯m Felicity! But you can also call me Fely!¡± she said, her words spilling out faster than her hands could move.


    ¡°What an energetic friend you¡¯ve got here,¡± Father said, scratching his head as he chuckled.


    Clarisse sighed in a way that only an older sibling could. She turned to me next.


    ¡°How are you, Vonn?¡± she asked, her tone softer but still carrying that teasing lilt.


    Before I could respond, Felicity¡¯s attention snapped to me like a hawk spotting prey. ¡°Oh! Is this the little brother you¡¯ve been talking about?¡± she asked, her wide eyes practically sparkling.


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Clarisse replied, crossing her arms. ¡°But don¡¯t tell him I¡¯ve been talking about him too much. He¡¯ll get a big head and start bragging.¡± She whispered the last part like I couldn¡¯t hear it.


    There it was¡ªthat classic sisterly jab. It wasn¡¯t anything new, but it still managed to be mildly annoying in that endearing way only siblings could pull off.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been good, Sis! Does going to the academy feel exciting?¡± I asked, ignoring her attempt to rile me up.


    ¡°Ohhh! He¡¯s so cuteeeee!¡± Felicity suddenly squealed, grabbing my face and pinching my cheeks like I was some kind of toddler.


    I froze. Not out of fear, mind you, but pure embarrassment. Damn. Is this what humiliation feels like?


    Clarisse didn¡¯t help either. She stood there, smirking like she was thoroughly enjoying the scene. ¡°Careful, Fely,¡± she said, voice dripping with mock concern. ¡°He might combust from all the attention.¡±


    ¡°Right, right!¡± Felicity said, finally letting go of my poor, abused cheeks. She stood back, clapping her hands. ¡°But seriously, he¡¯s adorable. You didn¡¯t exaggerate, Clarisse!¡±


    I sighed. I couldn¡¯t believe how mortified I felt in that moment. But then again, maybe I just wasn¡¯t used to being someone¡¯s ¡°adorable little brother.¡±


    "By the way, will you two watch the duel?" Clarisse asked our parents, her tone casual but curious.


    Victor, ever the charming husband, responded without missing a beat. "Nope. Your mother and I have decided to have a date." He grinned, and, in perfect synchronization, both of them turned their eyes toward me¡ªlike I was some kind of obstacle to their romantic escapade.


    It¡¯s amazing how parents can guilt-trip you with just a look.


    "How about you two? Are you watching the duel?" Mother asked, clearly trying to redirect the conversation.


    "Yes," Clarisse replied, nodding. "We¡¯re not required to, but we will. The academy is participating, so it¡¯s kind of expected."


    "Hmm," Mother mused, then smiled like she¡¯d just solved the world¡¯s greatest mystery. "Why don¡¯t you bring your little brother along? Let him watch with you."


    Wait¡ªwhat?


    "That¡¯s a great idea!" Felicity chimed in, her voice practically sparkling with excitement. Before I could protest, she grabbed my arm like she¡¯d just claimed a prize. "Right? You¡¯d love to come, wouldn¡¯t you?" she asked, leaning in with both eyebrows raised and a smile that was far too persuasive.


    Clarisse shrugged, giving me a sideways glance. "That¡¯s fine. We¡¯ll bring him. But do you actually want to watch the duel?"


    Ah, there it was¡ªthe golden question. Truthfully, I was split. On one hand, watching skilled fighters and mages go head-to-head sounded exhilarating. On the other, the idea of wandering the capital, exploring its hidden corners, and maybe finding another library or art shop held its own charm.


    But before I could let my indecision show, I nodded. A duel wasn¡¯t something I could see every day, after all. And besides, it might even give me some inspiration for my own training.


    "Great!" Felicity beamed. "You won¡¯t regret it. This is gonna be amazing!"


    "Alright then," Clarisse said, already walking ahead. "Let¡¯s go before the seats fill up."


    They managed to wave goodbye to Victor and Eleanor before completely disappearing into the crowd. Clarisse had promised she¡¯d celebrate the rest of the Days of Renewal with us in the capital later on. For now, I was tagging along with her and Felicity, on our way to watch the duel.


    The coliseum was packed. The roar of the crowd echoed like a storm caught between the high stone walls. People were shouting over one another, placing bets with a kind of enthusiasm that suggested this wasn¡¯t just allowed but fully embraced. I tried not to focus too much on the chaos¡ªit wasn¡¯t exactly my scene.


    We found a set of empty seats, and as we settled in, Felicity immediately pulled out a bag of popcorn. She was the type who could make herself at home anywhere, apparently.


    ¡°So,¡± she said, turning to me with a grin, ¡°your sister told me you practice swordsmanship.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Do you find it fun?¡± she asked, popping a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Clarisse, who had been scanning the arena, perked up at the question and looked my way, clearly interested in my answer too.


    ¡°Hmm.¡± I paused, considering my words. ¡°Yeah, I find the repetition fun. You might think that¡¯s weird, but the harder it gets, the more exciting it is to learn.¡±


    Clarisse raised an eyebrow, probably because this wasn¡¯t something I¡¯d ever told her before. Felicity, on the other hand, looked impressed, her eyes lighting up as if I¡¯d just revealed a hidden truth of the universe.


    Honestly, though, I wasn¡¯t always this way. In my previous life, hard work was something I¡¯d avoid like the plague¡ªunless it involved painting. For art, I¡¯d endure anything. But now, in this new life, I¡¯d come to realize something painfully obvious yet profound: no matter what you want to achieve¡ªwhether it¡¯s mastering a skill, becoming wealthy, or just getting better at something¡ªyou have to go through a phase of discomfort first. There¡¯s no shortcut. The process is often ugly, but the results? They¡¯re worth it.


    Felicity chewed thoughtfully on another handful of popcorn. ¡°That¡¯s... surprisingly deep for a kid your age.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I replied dryly. ¡°I¡¯ll add it to my list of achievements.¡±


    Clarisse snorted, clearly amused, while Felicity burst out laughing. ¡°Alright, philosopher,¡± she said. ¡°But seriously, you should consider writing a book or something.¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± I said, leaning back in my seat as the first fighters stepped into the arena. ¡°I¡¯m too busy living the story.¡±


    The duel was nothing short of a spectacle. The first four matches had been... well, let¡¯s just say they were uninspired at best. Two overly cautious fighters poking at each other, followed by someone fainting dramatically when they barely got nicked. I was ready to write the whole event off as a waste of time when someone interesting finally stepped into the arena.


    A student from my sister¡¯s academy. Riley, as both Fely and Clarisse eagerly informed me. Apparently, he wasn¡¯t just any student¡ªhe was a graduating senior, highly respected, and clearly the star of the academy.


    ¡°Here he comes!¡± Fely practically bounced in her seat, pointing excitedly at the field below.


    Clarisse, ever the calm and composed one, leaned in slightly. ¡°That¡¯s Riley. He¡¯s considered one of the top students. The instructors even expect him to join the Royal Guard after graduation.¡±


    I followed their gazes to the arena. Riley looked sharp, his uniform pristine, his stance relaxed but deliberate. Opposite him stood a nobleman, sword drawn, and exuding that overly confident aura nobles often carried. This was going to be interesting.


    ¡°A mage?¡± I asked, gesturing to Riley.


    ¡°Yup,¡± Clarisse confirmed with a slight nod.


    ¡°And the other guy is a noble swordsman,¡± I observed, taking in the ornate embellishments on his armor. ¡°Predictable.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, yes,¡± Clarisse said with a sigh, clearly unimpressed by the noble¡¯s flashy presence.


    Then, without so much as a countdown, the duel began.


    Riley wasted no time. ¡°Slice!¡± he shouted.


    That was it. One word. And before I could fully process what I¡¯d just heard, a massive blade of wind tore through the air, hurtling toward the noble. The force of it kicked up a flurry of dirt, and the noble barely managed to raise his sword in time to block, though the impact sent him staggering.


    ¡°What... how?¡± I stammered, leaning forward in my seat. My eyes widened as I processed what I¡¯d just witnessed.


    ¡°One-word chanting?¡± Clarisse said, equally surprised but more composed.


    ¡°Yeah. How is that even possible?¡± I asked, glancing between her and the arena.


    ¡°Riley¡¯s known for his mana reserves,¡± she explained. ¡°He¡¯s measured at blue¡ªhigh reserves. With that much mana, he can bypass the usual chanting process for simpler spells.¡±


    Fely, ever the cheerleader, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, ¡°That¡¯s the way, Riley! Show them what you¡¯re made of!¡±


    I had to admit, it was impressive. One-word chanting wasn¡¯t something I¡¯d come across in any of my readings so far. It was efficient, powerful, and, judging by the noble¡¯s expression, terrifying.


    For the first time all day, I felt myself getting genuinely invested in the duel. Watching Riley, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if I¡¯d ever reach that level. One-word chants? High mana reserves? The ability to command the battlefield with just a flick of my wrist? It seemed so far out of reach, but¡­ maybe not impossible.


    I managed to steal a glance at Clarisse, her reaction mirroring my own¡ªa mix of surprise and admiration. She was clearly impressed by Riley¡¯s skill, and honestly, it was hard not to be. His calm execution of that earlier spell had been masterful.


    But just as I was settling into my awe, the noble swordsman launched a counterattack with startling speed.


    ¡°You¡¯re finished,¡± he declared, his voice carrying the kind of arrogance only a noble could muster.


    What followed was a flurry of strikes, each faster and more precise than the last.


    "HAHA HAHA What now? You can''t answer?" The noble shouted.


    Swish. Swoosh. Swish.


    The sound of his blade cutting through the air was relentless, each swing forcing Riley into a defensive retreat. The sheer display of swordsmanship was mesmerizing. Quick, powerful, and precise¡ªRiley didn¡¯t even have the chance to chant.


    ¡°He fell into the trap,¡± Fely said suddenly, her usual bubbly energy replaced by an almost unnerving seriousness.


    ¡°Who?¡± Clarisse asked, her tone sharp with curiosity.


    ¡°The noble,¡± Fely replied, a sly grin spreading across her face as she leaned forward, watching intently.


    ¡°Blades of wind, tear apart!¡± Riley¡¯s voice rang out suddenly, clear and commanding.


    Wooooosh!


    The arena was engulfed in a torrent of wind. For a moment, it was impossible to see anything. The spell had created a thick, white whirlwind that obscured both fighters. Clarisse, Fely, and I were left squinting through the chaos, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening.


    Fely crossed her arms and nodded confidently. ¡°Riley¡¯s got this. He¡¯s already won.¡±


    ¡°Typical,¡± Clarisse added with a smirk. ¡°He¡¯s the academy¡¯s star for a reason.¡±


    As the wind began to settle, the crowd leaned forward in anticipation. Slowly, the duel stage came back into view. And that¡¯s when we saw her.


    Standing in the middle of the two fighters was Seraphine, a member of the famed Zero Order. She had been seated near the king just moments ago, but now, she stood at the center of the arena as if she had materialized out of nowhere.


    Riley was unconscious, sprawled on the ground. The nobleman wasn¡¯t faring much better¡ªinjured and barely standing.


    ¡°What just happened?!¡± Fely shouted, her earlier confidence evaporating in an instant. I was staring at the scene, just as stunned as everyone else.


    What the heck did just happen?

 Chapter 13: A Game Worth Playing

    "Seraphine Allore has entered the duel stage," the announcer declared, as if stating the obvious would somehow make this bizarre moment less confusing.


    Yeah, thanks for the update, I thought dryly. We all saw her gracefully drop into the chaos like a divine mediator. The real question was: why?


    Standing tall and calm amidst the tension, Seraphine bowed toward the king, her every movement exuding grace and authority. "Pardon my intrusion, Your Majesty," she said, her voice clear and composed. "But I believe it is necessary to conclude this match here."


    The crowd rippled with murmurs, confused and curious. On the stage, Riley lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, while the noble swordsman barely clung to his weapon, wobbling like a leaf in a strong breeze. It was supposed to be Riley¡¯s victory¡ªhe had just unleashed a powerful spell, after all. So why was he the one sprawled on the ground?


    My mind spun, replaying the sequence of events. Did we miss something? Did Seraphine see something we didn¡¯t? Whatever it was, it had to be big for someone of her rank to intervene.


    Beside me, Clarisse and Felicity were uncharacteristically silent. Clarisse had a furrowed brow, deep in thought, while Felicity, normally a fountain of endless chatter, was nervously grinding her nails against her teeth. If someone like her was anxious, it couldn¡¯t be good.


    "Why do you deem it necessary?" the king asked, his voice measured but curious.


    Seraphine turned to face him, her expression unwavering. "While the audience may not have noticed, during this match, I sensed a demonic energy emanating from within the arena."


    The arena had fallen into an uneasy murmur. Some voices rose in fear, others in curiosity, but the word "demonic energy" hung in the air. For the first time, I felt the weight of those words¡ªsomething dark and wrong, like a stain on the natural order of things. Whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t good.


    ¡°May I ask,¡± the king¡¯s voice carried over the din, calm but sharp, ¡°if you sense it among the duel participants?¡±


    Seraphine, the mage standing beside him, bowed her head briefly, her expression unreadable. She hesitated, then looked up. ¡°No, Your Majesty. It¡¯s not coming from the fighters. It¡¯s¡­ someone in the audience. Demonic energy doesn¡¯t just appear without a source,¡± Seraphine continued,¡°If it¡¯s here, it means someone¡ªor something¡ªis trying to disrupt the balance. And that¡¯s a danger we cannot ignore.¡±


    Well, that just made everything worse.


    I exchanged glances with the people near our seats. Clarisse looked tense, and Fely¡¯s usual cheer was replaced with a rare seriousness.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think a demonic caster could even enter the arena,¡± Fely muttered, her voice low.


    ¡°It would be best if we stayed here,¡± Clarisse said firmly, her grip tightening on my arm. I didn¡¯t bother protesting; she wasn¡¯t about to let go.


    So, we stayed put, waiting as the royal guards and mages began sweeping through the crowd. An hour passed, dragging on like days. Tension hung so thick in the air you could practically taste it. Everyone was on edge, watching and waiting for someone¡ªanyone¡ªto be dragged out in chains.


    But no one was.


    The official announcement came through Seraphine herself, her voice steady but unconvincing: ¡°The demonic energy has dissipated. Whoever¡ªor whatever¡ªwas responsible is no longer present.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring. It wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°That was¡­ unexpected,¡± Clarisse said as we stepped out of the arena, her tone carefully neutral.


    ¡°Unexpected? That was completely ridiculous!¡± Fely threw up her hands. ¡°Honestly, I think it was all just a tactic to save face for that noble Riley was fighting.¡±


    I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. ¡°You think they made up the demonic energy thing? Just to cover up for the noble?¡±


    Fely shrugged, her usual grin creeping back onto her face. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be the craziest thing nobles have done. Convenient, isn¡¯t it? Riley¡¯s unconscious, they can¡¯t finish the match, and now everyone¡¯s talking about a demonic caster instead of how badly that guy was losing. Seriously, Riley wasn¡¯t just fighting for himself. He was proving that someone without a noble title could stand on equal ground and now...demon there, demon here.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the worst theory. Still, something about it felt too neat, too easy.


    ¡°They did say Riley collapsed from the impact of an uncontrolled chant,¡± Clarisse said, frowning slightly. ¡°That¡¯s what they¡¯re claiming, anyway.¡±


    After all that chaos, we finally managed to leave the arena. It felt like we could actually breathe again¡ªno mysterious warnings, no lurking threats, just the hum of the festival around us.


    "You sure you don¡¯t want to grab a snack with us?" Clarisse asked Fely, her tone hopeful but casual.


    "I¡¯d love to! But my family¡¯s waiting for me," Fely said with her usual energy. "Next time, though, for sure!"


    "For sure," Clarisse said with a small smile.


    They exchanged goodbyes like best friends do, with promises of future meetups. I just gave Fely a polite nod and a wave. Honestly, her boundless energy was impressive, but I was ready for some quiet time.


    As we started walking toward the food stalls, Clarisse broke the silence. "That whole thing back there? It was so confusing."


    "Really was," I agreed, hands shoved in my pockets. "First time I¡¯ve ever heard about demonic energy."


    She shot me a teasing glance. "Don¡¯t say it too often. What if it possesses you, Vonn?"


    "Good point," I said, nodding solemnly. "Possession doesn¡¯t sound fun."


    She laughed, clearly enjoying her own joke. Then her tone shifted, more curious now. "Are you learning magic yet?"


    "Yup, little by little," I replied, keeping my tone light.


    Complete lie. Only you and I know that I¡¯ve been practicing magic for years now. I don¡¯t even remember when I started¡ªprobably as soon as I could string words together. I¡¯ve chanted spells that could knock out more higher level monsters, though I still don¡¯t know my true limits. Best not to mention that to Clarisse, though.


    "Do you remember when I first chanted a spell and accidentally blew our roof away?" she asked, a nostalgic grin spreading across her face.


    "Hard to forget," I said dryly. "Father didn¡¯t stop grumbling about it for weeks."


    "I was eight then," she said, her voice tinged with pride. "Think you could pull that off?"


    Stolen story; please report.


    "Probably not," I said, scratching the back of my head. "I¡¯m still at the phase where making a flame slightly bigger than Flicker feels like a major accomplishment."


    Another lie. But, sometimes it¡¯s easier to play the role of the clueless little brother. Let them think I¡¯m just fumbling through basic spells while secretly testing chants that would make even seasoned mages raise an eyebrow. It¡¯s not about being dishonest¡ªit¡¯s about keeping things¡­ uncomplicated.


    Clarisse just smiled knowingly. "Well, you¡¯ll get there eventually. Just don¡¯t blow anything up, alright?"


    "I¡¯ll try my best," I said, matching her smile.


    When we made it back home, Clarisse had picked up some snacks for us to share while we watched the rest of the celebration from the comfort of our little space. Even though the day had been exhausting, there was something about being with my family that recharged me. It wasn¡¯t just the food or the laughter¡ªit was the feeling of safety.


    It¡¯s strange how that works. You can go through all sorts of messy, confusing situations¡ªlike ominous warnings about negative energy or the threat of Predators¡ªand still feel at peace when you¡¯re with the right people.


    Home, I realized, isn¡¯t about a place. It¡¯s about the people who make you feel like you belong.


    Looking back, I¡¯d say the Days of Renewal celebration had been a mixed bag so far. The first day was a whirlwind, packed with surprises, reunions, and enough emotional highs and lows to make me feel like I¡¯d been on a roller coaster. Seeing Clarisse again after so long, eating together as a family, and catching up felt like putting a missing piece back into the puzzle.


    The second and third days were quieter¡ªrest days, not just for us, but for most of the merchants and sellers in the capital. The streets weren¡¯t as crowded, giving everyone a breather. We even met up with Fely again, which turned into another lively meal filled with stories about the academy and the journey to the capital.


    Honestly, I didn¡¯t mind the slower pace. After everything that happened on the first day, a little calm was exactly what I needed. Quiet moments like these were a reminder that even in the middle of all the chaos, there¡¯s always time to breathe, reflect, and just enjoy being with the people who matter.


    On the fourth day, we ventured out again, this time to the night market with Clarisse tagging along. If Dunvaris was lively during the day, its night view was on a whole other level. The streets were alive with laughter, the hum of conversation, and the tantalizing aromas of street food wafting through the air. Lanterns hung above the stalls, casting a warm, flickering glow that made everything feel magical.


    "Why don¡¯t you try the dynamite again?" Clarisse teased, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as our parents chuckled.


    Ah, the dynamite. That infamous dish from a food stall we¡¯d stumbled across a few nights ago. The name wasn¡¯t just for show¡ªit set your mouth ablaze, and not in a poetic or delicious way. It was a fiery experience I regretted immediately but somehow found funny in hindsight. A bad decision, sure, but a memorable one.


    "Why don¡¯t you try it this time?" I said, pointing my wooden sword dramatically toward the stall.


    Clarisse waved me off with a smug look. "I¡¯m already used to it, Vonn. Nice try, though."


    "Then why don¡¯t you both give it a shot?" I said, turning the point of my ¡®blade¡¯ toward our parents.


    I didn¡¯t think they¡¯d take the bait. But, lo and behold, my father stepped up like the brave¡ªor foolish¡ªman he was. "I can handle it," he said confidently, puffing out his chest.


    Mother shot him a doubtful look, but before she could protest, he was already at the stall, ordering the dreaded dish. The result? Let¡¯s just say the proud man who claimed he could handle it ended up walking beside us the rest of the night, clutching a gallon of milk like it was his lifeline.


    "Not bad, huh?" I asked, trying to suppress a grin.


    Father grunted, his voice slightly hoarse. "Could¡¯ve been spicier."


    Clarisse burst out laughing. "Sure, Father. Let us know when you¡¯re ready for round two." Even Mom couldn¡¯t help but laugh.


    The laughter from my family faded into the background as I stole glances at the stalls we passed, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling meat mixing with the lively chatter around us. Among the many colorful displays, one particular stall caught my eye. Something about it felt¡­ familiar.


    Paintings and sculptures lined the vendor¡¯s table, some weathered, others vibrant. My feet moved before my mind could fully process, breaking away from my family as they wandered toward another stall. It was the kind of moment you couldn¡¯t ignore¡ªa pull you didn¡¯t entirely understand.


    When I reached the stall, the vendor, a balding man with a tired but friendly demeanor, greeted me. "Hello, kid. You lost?"


    "No," I replied, shaking my head. "Just looking."


    That¡¯s when I saw it.


    My chest tightened as my eyes landed on a painting that stopped me cold. The scene depicted was painfully familiar¡ªthe same peaceful townscape I¡¯d painted for Harlan, the late landowner. The details were unmistakable: the gentle curves of the hills, the scattered houses, the golden hues of the fields at dusk. But this¡­ this wasn¡¯t my canvas.


    The texture was wrong¡ªpainted on cheap cotton, and the technique was basic, even sloppy compared to the original. A copy. A cheap imitation of my work.


    I pointed at it, trying to keep my voice steady. "Where did you get this?"


    The vendor raised an eyebrow. "Why? You planning to buy it?"


    "No, just curious. My father has a painting like this back home," I said, trying to sound casual.


    He shrugged. "Bought it off a merchant. Cheap deal, though not many people here seem interested."


    "Do you know where the merchant got it?" I pressed.


    "Lyscaris," he replied. "Kingdom of Lyscaris."


    Lyscaris¡ªfar from Dunvaris, but a place known for its light scenery. The pieces clicked together. Harlan¡¯s belongings, including the original painting, had been passed to nobles after his death. Somehow, that painting had made its way to Lyscaris, and now here it was¡ªreduced to knockoffs sold at markets.


    I nodded, feigning polite interest. "Did the merchant say anything else about it?"


    The vendor scratched his head. "Well¡­ yeah, now that you mention it. Said the painting was popular in Lyscaris. Famous, even. That¡¯s why I bought it, figured I¡¯d make a profit. Turns out no one here cares about fancy art, so I got stuck with it. Felt scammed, to be honest."


    Famous? My painting? A mixture of pride and panic swirled in my chest. If the original painting had gained attention in Lyscaris, then someone must¡¯ve noticed the technique I¡¯d used¡ªtechniques from my previous life that didn¡¯t seem to exist in this world. It was only a matter of time before word spread among artists or collectors.


    I glanced over at my family. They were still busy browsing other stalls, unaware of the storm brewing in my head.


    "Thank you," I said, stepping back from the stall. My mind was racing. If the painting was gaining traction in Lyscaris, then I couldn¡¯t ignore it. Someone there had the original, and with it, the key to understanding how far-reaching my work¡ªand by extension, my past life¡¯s knowledge¡ªmight go.


    The question wasn¡¯t just where the painting had ended up. The real question was, how long before it started drawing attention I wasn¡¯t ready for?


    Damn. Before I could even retrace my steps, a surge of people swept through, blocking my path. I looked up, scanning for my family, but they were gone.


    "Now that¡¯s a mistake," I muttered, smacking my forehead lightly. Great job, Vonn. Separated from your family in the busiest market of the capital. Genius.


    I sighed, deciding the best course of action was to keep walking straight. ¡°Stick to the basics,¡± I told myself. ¡°Forward, then left, maybe?¡± The murmurs, shouts, and bustling chatter of the market drowned out most of my thoughts. And here I was, wandering alone, pretending not to be a lost child.


    To an adult mind like mine, being separated wasn¡¯t the end of the world. But to my parents? Well, let¡¯s just say I¡¯d have to come up with a convincing excuse if I wanted to avoid a lecture.


    After what felt like several minutes¡ªand far too many wrong turns¡ªI stumbled upon a massive white estate. Its towering gates loomed above me, and the bright lights from within spilled out like it wasn¡¯t even nighttime.


    ¡°Great. Now I¡¯ve wandered into the rich people¡¯s territory,¡± I muttered, half-expecting some guard to shoo me away. I exhaled deeply, resigning myself to finding my way back to the inn.


    I cast a few cautious glances around, weighing my options. Returning to the inn seemed like the safest choice¡ªor so I wanted to believe. But then, just as I was about to leave, I heard it¡ªa sharp voice cutting through the night air, followed by the unmistakable sound of a slap.


    ¡°Oh, look at this poor little elf. Did you think coming here would somehow make you human?¡±


    Curiosity tugged at me. "Now what?" I whispered, moving closer to the gates. The lights were blinding, but I could make out figures inside. A boy¡¯s voice, loud and filled with arrogance, echoed through the estate.


    ¡°You think anyone cares if a little elf vanishes? My father owns half this district. Who would you even complain to?"


    Another slapped sound echoed.


    "Maybe we should stop, she''s not worth our time¡­" another boy said.


    "You¡¯re too soft. Let¡¯s see how much she can bleed!" A different boy responded.


    The sound of laughter followed¡ªsnide, cruel, and unmistakably coming from a group of boys. They were enjoying this, feeding off each other¡¯s malice. I couldn¡¯t see the victim clearly yet, but then I heard her voice. Soft. Shaking. Trying to hold back tears.


    "You¡­ Your father killed my sister!" the elf girl cried out.


    That wasn¡¯t just anger in her voice¡ªit was pain, raw and unfiltered. And here I was, on the outside looking in, caught between the pull of curiosity and the nagging voice in my head telling me to stay out of it.


    But then again, when have I ever been good at ignoring things?


    "Hahahaha, so is that bitch slave your sister?" the boy sneered, his laughter echoed by the group behind him. They laughed like they owned the world, like no one else mattered.


    Huff.


    "Oh, so she was your sister, was she? That wretched bitch deserved everything she got. Ugly as sin, wasn¡¯t she? That¡¯s why Father and Brother kept her buried in the mud, starving and breaking her. She earned every bit of it. That''s why they said elves are only good for labor, why should we treat your sister any better?"


    I moved. No, it¡¯s not like I suddenly scaled the walls like some hero. I couldn¡¯t just stand by and listen. It triggered something in me when I heard those words¡ªsomething familiar, something hurtful, like the words my mother used to say in my previous life. It reminded me of how hopeless I was, clinging to the only family I had before I chose to leave and fend for myself. That memory pushed me to act.


    It wasn¡¯t just about the elf girl this time. It was about every time I¡¯d been powerless to stop something horrible in my past life. And I wasn¡¯t going to stand by once again.


    "Is bullying an elf really that entertaining?" I said, stepping through the front gate. It surprised me that there were no guards around. Inside the courtyard stood three boys. The one in the center wore noble clothes, clearly the ringleader, while the others looked like second-rate lackeys trying too hard to impress him. On the ground was an elf girl, her clothes in tatters, her body trembling as she cried. She looked utterly broken. They turned to me as I approached.


    "And who are you?" the noble boy asked, his tone full of disdain.


    "I hate elves, really," I replied, deadpan. "I¡¯ve always wanted them gone from this land, but, you know, genocide is kind of a hassle. So, is punishing them more efficient?"


    That caught them off guard. For a moment, the noble boy didn¡¯t respond. Then he laughed¡ªa sharp, amused sound that grated on my nerves. He leaned in to whisper something to one of his cronies, who nodded and opened the gate wider, letting me step in.


    Idiots. Literal idiots.


    "Why don¡¯t you try it?" the noble boy said, his grin as slimy as a wet eel as he fake to kick the elf.


    I walked closer, taking in the elf girl¡¯s condition. She was covered in cuts and bruises, her face stained with tears. Her eyes¡­ they looked hollow, like she¡¯d been abandoned for so long that she¡¯d given up on hoping for rescue. She didn¡¯t need to say anything; I could feel it in the way her shoulders sagged, in the way she flinched at the sound of their laughter. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to die.


    And there was no way I could leave her in their hands.


    "Yeah, I think I will," I said, letting my wooden sword drop to the ground as I shrugged off my sweatshirt.


    "That¡¯s the spirit!" the noble boy cheered. "Do it, and I might even reward you. Who knows? Maybe you¡¯ll earn a spot with us."


    I ignored him. Instead, I crouched down next to the elf girl and draped my sweatshirt over her shoulders. She froze, staring at me like I¡¯d just handed her a piece of the moon.


    "You¡¯ll need this more than me," I said softly.


    Her lips parted, but no words came out. She just looked at me, confused and wary, as if kindness was the last thing she expected.


    Then I stood up, picking up my wooden sword, and turned back to face the boys.


    "What are you doing?" the noble boy asked, his voice sharp with disbelief.


    I rolled my shoulders, gripping the sword tightly. "I was thinking," I said, my tone light, "how about we play a game?"


    The noble boy smirked. "A game, huh? And what kind of game is that?"


    "Something fun," I said, the weight of my wooden sword familiar in my hands. "Beating up some kids in the middle of the night sounds like a good start."


    I didn¡¯t know if this was a smart idea. If these boys¡¯ families were as powerful as they claimed, Stepping in could cause more problems than it solved. But then again, could I really just walk away?

 Chapter 14: One Point for You, One Lesson for Me

    I had completely forgotten about my skill Painter''s Eye. And now, right when I didn¡¯t want to go overboard, it decided to activate.


    I¡¯d planned to go easy on these brats¡ªjust rough them up a little, give them something to cry about to their spoiled parents. But now my skill was practically whispering in my ear: ¡°Oh no, don¡¯t hold back. Pulverize them. Make it art.¡±


    Thankfully, there weren¡¯t any maids or guards around to witness the carnage. If anyone snitched on me, I¡¯d be in deeper trouble than a rat in a snake pit.


    ¡°Little rascal,¡± the noble brat sneered, ¡°Do you intend to play this game with someone you know nothing about? Clearly, your commoner parents failed to teach you any manners.¡±


    Oh, please. Spare me the monologue.


    I caught sight of a pattern on one of his lackeys¡ªthe one that looked like he¡¯d been hitting the gym, or maybe just eating his feelings. He was twitchy, too aggressive compared to the rest of them. Brandt always told me that the loud, punch-first types were the easiest to take down. And Brandt? He never lied about stuff like this.


    Fine, I¡¯d make this quick. After all, I didn¡¯t want to miss dinner.


    Finally, the aggressive kid stepped forward, his wooden sword raised. ¡°You scared, aren¡¯t you? All talk, no guts,¡± he sneered, swinging his sword at me with all the grace of a drunk farmer chopping wood.


    Then I saw it¡ªa blue brushstroke appeared right in the center of his gravity, spreading down to his knees and legs.


    [Weak Point Determined]


    Target: Center of gravity.


    Solution: Sweep the legs or strike the knees to destabilize.


    Ah, Painter¡¯s Eye. You beautiful, overpowered skill, you. Aggressive types like this were basically custom-made for it. So predictable, so... useful.


    ¡°Thanks for playing,¡± I muttered under my breath, sidestepping his wild swing. The move caught him¡ªand his two backup dancers in the back¡ªcompletely off guard. They stared, wide-eyed, as if I¡¯d just teleported.


    Before he could react, I shifted to his blind spot and rushed in. With one quick strike to his legs¡ª


    PLAKK!


    ¡°Aaaaghhh!¡± he howled, grabbing at his legs as he hit the hard ground.


    [Weak Point Successfully Targeted]


    Status: Downed.


    Efficiency: 100%.


    Next up in the lineup was the nervous one. You know the type¡ªthe kid who looks like he¡¯s regretting every life choice that led him to this moment. If there¡¯s an aggressive one in every group, there¡¯s always a weak-hearted counterpart to balance things out.


    [Weak Point Determining]


    [Analyzing...]


    He stood frozen, probably hoping I¡¯d make the first move. He didn¡¯t even try to fake confidence; his eyes screamed, Please don¡¯t hit me too hard. Honestly, I almost felt bad for the kid.


    ¡°Y-you commoner!¡± he suddenly shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his own bravado. Cute. Too bad it wasn¡¯t going to help him.


    [Weak Point Determined]


    Target: Lower body or sides.


    Note: Fearful opponents tend to overprotect their face and upper body, leaving their legs and sides wide open.


    Well, thanks for the analysis. Not that I needed it¡ªI could¡¯ve figured that out just by looking at him. Still, I appreciated the confirmation.


    ¡°Alright, buddy,¡± I muttered under my breath, stepping forward with a faint smile. ¡°Let¡¯s make this quick. You¡¯ve got a bright future ahead of you... assuming you survive this.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    As expected, he took a step back. Then another. His feet were practically begging to bolt. Honestly, I was just messing around with him, saying whatever popped into my head, but it actually worked. Guess fear is a powerful motivator. Who knew?


    Now he was overcompensating, guarding his face and upper body like he thought I was aiming for a knockout punch. His lower body was wide open¡ªan open invitation, really.


    Then it happened. Blue brushstrokes appeared all over his body. Not just on a weak point here or there¡ªhis entire body lit up like someone spilled paint all over him. I actually blinked in surprise. That was new. First time I¡¯d ever seen everything marked.


    Well, whatever the reason, it didn¡¯t really matter. I shifted my stance and aimed for his open torso. One quick strike, and¡ª


    THWACK.


    He let out a sharp yelp and staggered back, clutching his stomach. His wooden sword had dropped to the ground.


    ¡°Oops,¡± I said, though I didn¡¯t mean it. ¡°You dropped something.¡±


    Two down, and still no sign of the guards. Lucky me. For now, at least.


    I turned to check on the elf girl. She was still sitting there, wide-eyed and stunned, watching me fight the entire time. I mean, yeah, I get it¡ªseeing a scrawny kid like me beat up a couple of bigger guys? Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself.


    I flashed her a smile, half expecting some kind of relieved nod or maybe even a shy cheer. You know, like a ¡°thanks for saving me¡± vibe. Instead, she pointed at something behind me, her face pale with terror.


    At the same time, the system decided to chime in.


    [WARNING: UNSEEN ATTACK INCOMING]


    Shit.


    I barely had time to process before WHACK¡ªa wooden sword smashed into my face, sending a sharp jolt of pain straight through me. The noble brat. Of course. Guess I deserved that one for turning my back on him. Stupid mistake.


    I stumbled forward, falling to my knees as blood dripped from my nose. ¡°Damn it,¡± I muttered, clutching my face. It was throbbing now¡ªgreat, just great.


    I glanced up, catching the noble boy¡¯s smug grin out of the corner of my eye. ¡°One point for me,¡± he said, sounding way too pleased with himself.


    I chuckled, wiping the blood from my nose. ¡°Pretty dirty move, but... yeah. You earned that point.¡± I flashed him a smirk. Gotta give credit where it¡¯s due, right?


    He glanced at his two lackeys, still groaning on the ground, and scoffed. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m surprised you managed to take those two down. Useless, the both of them.¡±


    That was rich, coming from the guy who just ambushed me from behind. But I kept that thought to myself as I got to my feet, brushing myself off. My nose was still throbbing.


    ¡°Say,¡± he started, his tone dripping with arrogance, ¡°was my attack too powerful for you? I might¡¯ve gone a little overboard.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow at him, amused. The guy had confidence, I¡¯d give him that. Arrogant, sure, but it reminded me of... well, me. Except my arrogance actually had some justification behind it.


    I smiled, gripping my wooden sword and pointing it right at him. ¡°Oh, absolutely. You¡¯re terrifying. And now? I¡¯m itching for more.¡±


    To be honest, I felt his attack¡ªreally felt it. The sting in my face and the throbbing in my nose made that very clear. And as I looked him over, I realized something else: his stance. It was precise. Offensive when it needed to be, defensive when it didn¡¯t. The guy wasn¡¯t just some pampered noble swinging a stick around. He was trained. Well-trained. And, more importantly, he was cunning. He didn¡¯t mind playing dirty in a duel.


    [Weak Point Determining]


    [Analyzing...]


    [Analyzing...]


    .


    ..[Failed.]


    Wait, what?


    That¡¯s... not supposed to happen.


    [Trying again...]


    [Analyzing opponent...]


    Failed. Again.


    My brain was spinning. Why wasn¡¯t it working? It had never failed before. Before I could figure it out, he moved. Guess he got tired of waiting, because he came at me again, his wooden sword cutting through the air like it meant business.


    I barely managed to parry in time. Barely. The force of the blow sent a jolt through my arms, leaving them trembling. It was heavier than his last strike. Stronger. More deliberate. And the way he moved... it was different. Fluid. Like someone who¡¯d been doing this for years.


    [Analysis Failed for the Third Time.]


    Reason: You cannot see a weak point of an opponent stronger than you.


    ...Stronger? Than me?


    Shit.


    I gritted my teeth, scrambling to block his relentless strikes. They were fast¡ªtoo fast. Each hit forced me back, my muscles screaming under the strain. And him? He was laughing. The kind of laugh that sends a chill down your spine, and he was actually enjoying this.


    So apparently, the skill doesn¡¯t work if the opponent¡¯s stronger than me. I didn¡¯t see that coming. I underestimated him¡ªunderestimated the whole situation, really¡ªand now I was paying for it.


    I stepped back. He followed. I tried to strike. He countered. No matter what I did, I couldn¡¯t find an opening. Well, no, there was an opening¡ªsmall, almost imperceptible¡ªbut every time I went for it¡­


    Clang!


    My attack got parried. Again.


    Swish! Swish! Swoosh!


    "You''re pretty¡­ tough," I muttered, barely dodging another precise strike. Seriously, this guy was relentless. It was like fighting a human meat grinder¡ªone wrong move and I¡¯d be julienned.


    Thankfully, I¡¯d been training, and Brandt''s wooden stick¡ªer, training sword¡ªwas solid enough to take the hits. For now.


    Time for a new approach.


    I stepped back again, baiting him. As expected, he lunged forward, taking the offensive. Perfect. I met his attack head-on, locking our swords together. A deadlock¡ªhis strength pushing against mine. For a brief moment, everything stalled. And that was all I needed.


    The reset gave me just enough time to retreat a few steps. Then, in one smooth motion, I slid toward a patch of dirt. My fingers brushed the ground, subtly scooping up a handful of sand.


    Sometimes, you gotta play a little dirty.


    The moment I felt the sand securely in my hand, I lunged forward. He reacted immediately, slipping into a defensive stance. Smart guy.


    But I wasn¡¯t just charging in like a reckless idiot. No, this was all part of the plan.


    As I closed the distance, I swung at him from the side¡ªdifferent angle, different approach. He parried it, of course, but that¡¯s exactly what I wanted. His guard slipped for just a second. And that¡¯s when I made my move.


    I threw the sand.


    Right in his face.


    It hit its mark perfectly, blinding him. He stumbled, flailing like a drunk trying to find his balance, and I didn¡¯t waste a second. I swept my leg under him, knocking him to the ground. Before he could react, I planted my training sword right at his neck.


    "Looks like I win," I said, kicking his training sword away for good measure. I even tried to sound cool.


    And then¡ª


    "No, you don¡¯t."


    That voice nearly stopped my heart. I spun around so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. Standing there was the hooded man from before. You know, that guy. The one who¡¯d warned me about predators earlier. His face was still hidden under that cloak, but his tone? Yeah, it screamed, I¡¯m here to ruin your day.


    Before I could say anything, he grabbed my shirt and yanked me forward like I was some kind of sack of potatoes.


    "Hey! What the heck are you doing?!" I sh


    outed, my feet dragging helplessly across the dirt.


    He didn¡¯t answer.


    To make things even weirder, the elf girl followed us without a word. The three kids I¡¯d just fought? Completely abandoned.

 Chapter 15: The Swordsman鈥檚 Proposal

    The hooded man dragged me all the way to a small park, far enough from the noble estate that I could finally breathe again. Not that I knew why he¡¯d done it. But judging by the way he was acting, it seemed like he had just saved my sorry hide from getting spotted by the guards¡ªor worse, someone from that estate.


    Not that I was feeling particularly grateful.


    "What a reckless one you are," he said, pointing at me like I was some misbehaving puppy.


    Then he laughed.


    Yeah, laughed.


    As if this whole situation was the funniest thing he¡¯d seen all week. Meanwhile, I was standing there, trying to figure out if I should be relieved or scared. Behind him, the elf girl just staring at me.


    And then, before I could even think of a response¡ª


    "First things first," he began, shifting into full lecture mode. "The estate you just trespassed belongs to a duke. A duke. Secondly, you went and picked a fight with his son. And third, you¡¯re lucky you¡¯re still a kid. You better pray that noble brat doesn¡¯t run crying to his father about how he got his butt kicked by some random street urchin. Though, honestly? His pride probably won¡¯t let him."


    The guy stared me down, his eyes sharp, it was like he was waiting for me to say something dumb.


    I held up both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I get it. That was my bad. I got caught up in the moment. You¡¯re totally right, mister."


    I wasn¡¯t about to argue. Mainly because, well¡­ he was right. And also because I had the distinct feeling that if I annoyed him any further, he might just drop-kick me back to the estate himself.


    "Uhmm¡­ actually, he just saved me," the elf girl suddenly spoke up.


    Both the hooded man and I turned to her. He blinked in surprise before grinning. "Oh? So you saved an elf, huh?"


    I didn¡¯t answer. No nod, no shrug, nothing. I just watched him, trying to gauge what he¡¯d do next. The guy had a weird energy¡ªlike he enjoyed messing with people just for fun.


    "Well, I did just save your sorry hide from getting caught by the guards," he continued, tilting his head smugly. "Maybe I deserve a little appreciation? A simple ¡®thank you¡¯ wouldn¡¯t kill you, y¡¯know."


    Okay, yeah, the guy was nuts. But unfortunately, he wasn¡¯t wrong. He was also¡­ weirdly blunt. Like, painfully straightforward.


    I sighed. "Thank¡­ you." My voice was about as lifeless as a week-old corpse.


    The man cupped a hand to his ear. "Huh? What was that?"


    I frowned. "I said thank you."


    "I still can¡¯t hear it. Try saying it like you mean it." He turned to the elf girl, motioning toward me. "Doesn¡¯t he sound like he¡¯s on his deathbed?"


    She just nodded silently. Traitor.


    I took a deep breath. "I¡¯m grateful, mister," I said, this time putting at least a little effort into it.


    "Nope, still too weak," he said, shaking his head. Then, in a dramatic flourish, he straightened his back and puffed out his chest. "Here, I¡¯ll teach you. Do it like this¡ª"


    Suddenly, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "THANK YOU, MISTER, FOR SAVING MY SORRY ASS FROM GETTING BANNED FROM THIS KINGDOM!"


    His voice echoed across the marketplace. Stall owners turned to stare. Passersby shot us weird looks. A kid eating a pastry actually dropped it.


    I wanted to die.


    I gave him a flat stare, then waved him off. "Seriously, thanks, but I¡¯m not saying that."


    "Alright, alright, just kidding. You definitely wouldn¡¯t," he said with a grin.


    "Cool. So I can scram now?" I asked, already turning to leave. My parents were probably worried sick by now, and I had no intention of making things worse.


    "Absolutely!" he said cheerfully.


    Finally. After all the chaos I¡¯d been through today, I was finally going home. I could already picture it¡ªwalking through the door, collapsing into bed, maybe even sneaking an extra slice of dinner¡ª


    And yet¡­


    As I walked, I realized something unsettling.


    The hooded man was still beside me.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    So was the elf girl.


    They were just there, matching my pace like a pair of silent mimes.


    I frowned. "Uh¡­ hey. What now?"


    "Oh, right," the man said, snapping his fingers. "I forgot to mention¡ªI know your master. Or mentor. Or whatever you call him."


    That stopped me in my tracks.


    I blinked. "What?"


    "Brandt," he said casually.


    I glanced at the elf girl, but she was just quietly listening.


    "You know him?" I asked, still trying to process this.


    The man nodded, lazily swatting a mosquito off his cheek. "Yeah, actually, we¡¯re old friends."


    I narrowed my eyes. "How¡¯s that?"


    He smirked. "Let¡¯s just say I figured out you were his student the moment I saw you. Brandt described you pretty well¡ªsaid you had that look in your eyes. And after watching you fight, yeah, no doubt about it. Same energy, same stubbornness. You¡¯re definitely his nephew."


    I swallowed. "Wait."


    He ignored my reaction and kept going.


    "Actually, I¡¯ve been following you ever since we first met," he added nonchalantly.


    My brain short-circuited for a second.


    This guy had been watching me this whole time?


    Suddenly, I had the strangest urge to check if I still had my pouch of coins.


    By the time I finally got home, I had two extra people trailing behind me.


    One was the hooded man¡ªwho had now introduced himself as Leander. He still hadn¡¯t explained why he was so eager to meet my family, just that he had something important to tell them. Suspicious? Absolutely. But at this point, I was too drained to argue.


    The other was the elf girl I had saved from those kids. Rhea. Turns out, she was ten years old¡ªwhich, to my absolute shock, made her older than me. Not that she acted like it.


    When I asked her if she had any family or at least someone she could go to, she just shook her head. Apparently, she didn¡¯t¡ªbecause she had been sold as a slave.


    So, naturally, I did what any decent person would do¡ªI invited her to come along.


    And now here we were.


    As expected, when we arrived, my parents¡ªand Clarisse¡ªwere in full panic mode. They were at some kind of guard post, looking like they had just spent hours running around town. Their faces were pale, their body language screamed freaking out, and they couldn¡¯t seem to stay still for even a second.


    I told them that Leander and Rhea had found me and brought me back home.


    And, surprisingly, they believed it.


    Which brings us to now¡ªdinner time.


    The table was set with a modest spread. Nothing fancy, but enough for everyone to share. After the day I¡¯d had, even a simple meal felt like a feast.


    Across the table, my father sat beside Leander, eyeing him curiously. "So, you¡¯re the one Brandt kept mentioning in his letters when he was just starting his journey?" he asked, smiling.


    Wait. What?


    Brandt wrote letters? And not just letters¡ªletters where he mentioned Leander? Since when was that a thing?


    And now that Leander had ditched his cloak, I could finally get a good look at him. And, huh¡­ yeah, I could see it. The guy kinda gave off the same energy as Brandt. Not identical, but definitely in the same ballpark.


    His hair was long¡ªtied up in a ponytail, the kind that made him look just a bit too cool for someone who probably wasn¡¯t. Dark blue, too. Not black, not navy, but that deep shade that made you wonder if he had it dyed on purpose. His eyes? Golden brown. Kind of like honey. Oh, and his skin was tanned.


    Seriously, if he told me he was some legendary swordsman traveling the land in search of a worthy opponent, I¡¯d probably believe him.


    Leander grinned. "Didn¡¯t expect him to name-drop me in his letters. Bet he talked trash about me, huh?" he said, chuckling.


    My father awkwardly nodded. "Uh¡­ yeah, you¡¯re actually spot on."


    That earned a round of laughter from both him and my mother.


    Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, Rhea and Clarisse were deep in conversation. I had no clue what they were talking about¡ªprobably girl stuff¡ªbut judging by their expressions, they were getting along just fine.


    Which was good. I think.


    For now, though, I was more focused on the fact that Brandt had been casually writing letters about his mysterious ¡®friend¡¯ this whole time.


    Yeah. I was definitely missing some context here.


    So, here¡¯s what I gathered from their conversation.


    Apparently, Brandt and Leander met at a training camp. You know, the kind where warriors bond, fight together, and either become lifelong friends or bitter rivals. Lucky for them, they fell into the first category. Over time, they developed a deep friendship.


    According to Leander, they met up again recently after years apart. Had a chat, caught up on old times¡­ and then, by pure coincidence, he happened to stumble across us.


    Yeah. Totally not suspicious.


    "So, what brings you to the capital?" my mother asked, raising an eyebrow. "Here to celebrate the Days of Renewal?"


    Leander set his mug down with a casual smile. "No, actually. And, luckily, I came here looking for you guys. Or, more specifically¡ªyour son. Brandt¡¯s student."


    The room went silent.


    My father, my mother, and even Clarisse turned to stare at me. Their expressions all said the same thing: What the heck does this guy want with you?


    To be fair, I was wondering the same thing.


    "Vonn?" my father finally asked, looking at Leander for an explanation.


    Leander nodded. "Yeah, this son of yours. And Brandt¡¯s nephew." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Like I said, Brandt and I trained together for years. The last time we saw each other, he told me to track you down." He lifted a finger and pointed straight at me. "And continue guiding you. You know¡­ in swords and stuff."


    I was just as surprised as my family.


    Leander had said it so casually, like he was commenting on the weather, then just went right back to eating.


    And that was it.


    So not only had Brandt told this guy about me, but he had actually asked him to track me down and continue my training?


    What a guy.


    "So, you¡¯re here now to teach Vonn or something?" my father asked, his expression somewhere between curiosity and mild disbelief.


    "That¡¯s quite correct," Leander replied, glancing at me. "But hey, if you think of it as just more work, don¡¯t stress. I¡¯m really just returning a favor for a friend. I don¡¯t know where Brandt is now, but I¡¯d like to think he¡¯d be happy knowing I was teaching your son."


    My mother, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly spoke.


    "No¡­" she murmured, shaking her head.


    Leander raised an eyebrow.


    "We¡¯re just¡­ surprised," she clarified, glancing at my father.


    "What a lucky guy. You¡¯ve got yourself a second teacher," Clarisse said out of nowhere.


    I turned to look at her. Rhea, meanwhile, was too busy tearing into a piece of meat.


    I didn¡¯t respond. Instead, I just gave Clarisse an awkward smile and scratched the back of my head. Because, honestly? I had no idea how to feel about this.


    "When will this training actually start?" my father asked.


    "As soon as possible," Leander replied with a grin.


    At that, my parents and I exchanged glances. No one said anything, but I could tell we were all thinking the same thing: Wow. That soon, huh?


    "So, we¡¯re actually heading home the day after tomorrow," my father finally said. "Till then, can you bear with us? After that, we¡¯ll go back home, and you can start Vonn¡¯s training there."


    Leander blinked. Then blinked again.


    "Ah¡­ no, wait. I think there¡¯s a misunderstanding," he said, raising a hand apologetically. "Forgive me for not making it clearer, but I don¡¯t plan on training Vonn here."


    My father frowned. "What do you mean?"


    Leander leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I plan to train him in a different environment¡ªsomewhere he can really push his limits. Simply put, I¡¯m taking him with me."


    Silence.


    I blinked.


    Wait. What?


    "If that¡¯s what Brandt wanted," Leander added casually, like he hadn¡¯t just dropped a massive bomb in the middle of dinner.


    Once again, my parents and I exchanged glances. No words, just that silent, unspoken communication that families develop over years of shared experiences. And judging by the way Mother''s face was slowly contorting into a worried frown, I could tell she wasn¡¯t exactly thrilled about where this conversation was heading.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­ quite the plan, Leander,¡± Father said forcing a smile.


    ¡°I think we need to think this through a little more before making any decisions,¡± Mother added, her voice calm but firm¡ªthe kind of tone that meant this discussion isn¡¯t over.


    Honestly, I got where she was coming from.


    My mother was clearly worried. I¡¯d seen that exact expression before¡ªback when my sister was just eight and had to leave home for tutoring. She had the same look on her face back then, pacing around, worrying endlessly.


    This time, though, I was the one leaving.


    After dinner, Leander made his way out of the inn, saying he¡¯d be back tomorrow night for an answer. He didn¡¯t pressure us, didn¡¯t push¡ªjust gave us time to think it over.


    Meanwhile, Rhea stayed.


    Not because she had nowhere to go (which, technically, she didn¡¯t), but because my mother insisted. She had taken a liking to Rhea, which, honestly, wasn¡¯t surprising. My mom had a soft spot for kids, and Rhea had this quiet, polite demeanor that made it hard not to feel protective over her.


    Clarisse, too, had somehow already grown fond of her. I wasn¡¯t sure how that happened so quickly, but I was too tired to question it.


    So while they stayed up, chatting and listening to Rhea¡¯s story, I went to bed. A part of me was still processing everything that had happened today. But another part?


    Yeah, that part just wanted sleep.

 Chapter 16: Embers of Renewal

    The last day of the Days of Renewal had finally arrived.


    The streets were even more decorated than before, and the crowds had nearly doubled. It was as if everyone had crawled out of their bed after long days of rest from work for one final celebration before the year turned to 994¡ªbefore we all had to start fresh again.


    Thankfully, I hadn¡¯t been pursued by that noble brat I fought the other day. Looks like Leander was right¡ªthe kid had too much pride to go crying to his parents about losing to someone smaller than him.


    Which meant¡­ I was free to celebrate.


    No, we were free to celebrate.


    And we did. To our hearts¡¯ content.


    We ate all kinds of festival foods, played games like dart-throwing¡ªthough, I¡¯ll be honest, I sucked at it. Didn¡¯t win a single prize. Meanwhile, Rhea? Yeah, she was terrifyingly good at it. She won every single round like it was nothing.


    Clarisse, on the other hand, had to leave early. The academy required students to prepare for the upcoming school year, so she waved us goodbye, promising to write. It was kind of sad, but that¡¯s just how it went.


    By the time we made it back, I was dead tired.


    I collapsed onto the bed with a sigh, stretching my limbs out. Rhea sat in a chair nearby, quietly munching on meat. Again. The girl and her love for food were truly something else.


    "That was fun," I muttered, staring at the ceiling.


    "It really was," Rhea agreed.


    She was smiling. Actually smiling.


    And, honestly? She looked a lot brighter that way.


    "Well, there''s still more to do later," I said, forcing myself to sit up. My body was not happy about it.


    Rhea just nodded. "Actually¡­ I¡¯ve never experienced this kind of celebration before," she admitted. Her tone was blunt, but the way she avoided my gaze made it clear¡ªshe was a little embarrassed about it.


    That caught me off guard. This was her first time?


    Then again¡­ I already knew why.


    I almost forgot¡ªRhea had been abducted years ago. Turned into a slave along with her sister. She probably never had the chance to celebrate the Days of Renewal.


    Yeah. That explained a lot.


    I was curious about her sister, but I didn¡¯t bring her up. Right now, she was actually enjoying herself. No point in ruining the moment.


    Still¡­ I hadn¡¯t forgotten what she said back when those kids were tormenting her.


    That her sister had been killed by the duke of that estate.


    I didn¡¯t know if that was true. But every time I looked at her¡­ I couldn¡¯t help but remember.


    One thing I noticed about Rhea¡ªshe was quiet, sure, but observant.


    I wasn¡¯t completely certain, but it felt like she was always listening, always watching. Not in a creepy way, but in that kind of focused, taking-in-everything way.


    The way she subtly glanced around, the small reactions when someone spoke¡ªlike she was picking up on details the rest of us missed.


    I had a feeling it had something to do with her past. Maybe even her background.


    But I wasn¡¯t at the point where I could ask her about it. Not yet.


    What I did know?


    She probably had a huge grudge against a certain noble.


    That much was obvious.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The rest of the day was exhausting. But also pretty fun.


    After finishing up a few activities, we watched some games¡ªones I¡¯d never seen before.


    One in particular stood out¡ªThe Ember Chase.


    The concept? Simple. Participants had to race through an obstacle course while carrying a small ember flame. The goal? Reach the final checkpoint without letting it go out.


    It was way more intense than I expected.


    What a game.


    As night fell, two more events remained before the new year officially began.


    Before the final celebration of the Days of Renewal, we had the Ash Walk¡ªa simple yet meaningful tradition. Basically, you write down your regrets on a piece of paper, then toss it into a bonfire. The idea is that by burning them, you let go of the past and start the new year fresh.


    Pretty symbolic. Pretty poetic. Pretty much a free therapy session disguised as a festival ritual.


    If you¡¯re wondering what I wrote¡­ well, here¡¯s the gist of it:


    In my previous life, I created art. But I never actually lived my own life.


    This time around, I wanted to change that. I wanted to create art while actually living my own life.


    No more regrets.


    No more letting time slip away.


    Just as I was about to toss my paper into the fire, my father, standing beside me, leaned in with a curious grin.


    "So, what¡¯d you write, huh?" he asked, clearly trying to sneak a peek.


    I quickly pulled the paper away. "That¡¯s against the rules, Father."


    It was an unspoken rule that no one was supposed to see what you wrote. Just you and the fire.


    Still, I could tell he was tempted to push further.


    "Let him Victor." Mother calmly said waving off father.


    I glanced over at Rhea just as she tossed her paper into the fire.


    She looked determined. That was all I could tell. No hesitation, no second-guessing¡ªjust a quiet resolve.


    I had no idea what she wrote, and honestly? I wasn¡¯t about to ask.


    Still, it was kind of nice knowing that this was her first Ash Walk too.


    Once everyone had thrown in their regrets and fears, the fire burned itself out until nothing was left but a bed of cold ashes. That was when the final part of the tradition began¡ªthe Ash Walk itself.


    Basically, one family member steps onto the ashes, symbolizing the idea of moving forward without burdens.


    And, of course, my father¡ªbless his soul¡ªvolunteered himself without hesitation.


    With a big grin, he stepped onto the cooled embers, arms spread like he had just conquered a mountain.


    I watched him for a moment. He looked¡­ oddly happy.


    People did this to show they were stepping forward with no regrets, and judging by his face, he was definitely enjoying himself.


    That¡¯s when I noticed something.


    Rhea had disappeared from where she was standing earlier.


    For a second, I thought she had just vanished into thin air. But then I spotted her¡ªsitting on a bench near the bonfire, watching from a distance.


    After watching my father strut across the ashes like he was some kind of enlightened monk, I decided to head toward Rhea.


    From a distance, I noticed her fists were clenched. But as I got closer, I saw something else¡ªthey were trembling in her lap.


    Without a word, I lowered myself onto the bench beside her.


    I didn¡¯t look at her. Didn¡¯t press. Just sat there and let myself relax.


    "Something on your mind?" I asked, eyes still on the night sky.


    She turned slightly. "I just feel¡­ contemplative."


    That was vague. But I didn¡¯t push. If she wanted to talk, she would.


    She exhaled. "I know you wouldn¡¯t understand. And honestly, you don¡¯t need to. This has nothing to do with you."


    I stayed quiet. Just listened.


    She hesitated before continuing.


    "I feel¡­ cheated." Her voice was quiet, strained. "Here I am. Breathing. Alive. And yet, my sister isn¡¯t. She¡¯s¡­ gone. And I was so weak back then¡ªso pathetically weak¡ªthat she had to protect me. She took all the pain, all the suffering, while I did nothing."


    She clenched her fists tighter.


    "And now¡­ I regret it. I regret everything."


    She took a shaky breath.


    "I''m¡­ truly scared."


    "I''m scared of what I''ll do," she admitted, her voice quieter this time.


    Before I could even think of a response, a shadow fell over us, blocking the light from where we sat.


    I looked up.


    Leander.


    Even with his hood pulled up again, I could tell it was him.


    "What are you two kids doing here?" he asked, tilting his head. "Plotting a rebellion?"


    Talk about timing.


    I was about to throw out some sarcastic response when something caught my eye.


    Just for a split second, out of the corner of my vision¡ªa flash of silver.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if I imagined it or if something actually glowed, but when I turned my head to get a better look¡ªit was gone.


    I frowned. At first, I thought maybe it had come from Rhea, but¡­ no.


    I must have just been seeing things. Shaking it off, I turned back to Leander¡ªwho, oddly enough, wasn¡¯t looking at me.


    He was staring at Rhea.


    She, however, was still looking down, lost in her own thoughts.


    For a moment, he just stood there, watching her. Not in a weird way, but¡­ like something about her caught him off guard.


    Then, finally, he spoke again.


    "Where are your parents?"


    I pointed toward the gathering. "Over there."


    Leander followed my gaze, his expression unreadable.


    Then, after a beat, he turned back to me. "Can I ask you something?"


    I glanced at Rhea¡ªwho had now perked up, clearly listening.


    Leander looked me dead in the eye. "Personally, do you want to train under me?" His tone was quick, direct, no nonsense. "You can say no. Honestly."


    Like hell I was saying no.


    Training under him meant I could travel, see more of the world, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªget stronger.


    I nodded enthusiastically.


    Leander smirked. "I¡¯ll take that as a yes."


    Leander went off to talk to my parents, leaving me and Rhea sitting on the park bench, watching as the festival wound down.


    We ended up talking more about her hometown.


    Apparently, she had childhood friends¡ªpeople she once played and laughed with. But her whole family, along with her nephew, had been sold into slavery due to¡­ well, circumstances she didn¡¯t elaborate on.


    I didn¡¯t press.


    Some things didn¡¯t need to be asked outright.


    Then, the final event of the Days of Renewal arrived¡ªThe Final Bell.


    It was the last moment of the festival, the grand closing act where the entire kingdom came together for a final blessing.


    A massive bell rang throughout the city, its deep chimes signaling the true turn of the year.


    Some people shouted their resolutions into the air, declaring their goals for the new year. Others exchanged symbolic gifts¡ªthings like charred wood for protection or candles for guidance.


    As the event was about to unfold, I looked up and saw my parents walking toward us, Leander trailing alongside them.


    "Pretty tiring, huh?" my father asked out of nowhere.


    Meanwhile, my mother took a seat beside Rhea, immediately striking up a conversation with her.


    "Absolutely, Father," I said, stretching out my arms. "But still, it was enjoyable."


    My father took a deep breath. "Then¡­ about your training with Leander."


    Ah. So that¡¯s what they talked about earlier.


    I had been hoping¡ªpraying, really¡ªthat they¡¯d agree. But at the same time, I knew how hard it must be for parents to just let their kid wander off to train.


    Still, even though the thought of leaving them felt a little sad, a part of me wanted this.


    I needed it.


    My father looked me straight in the eye. "Your mother and I have agreed to let you train."


    My heart skipped a beat.


    "But," he continued, his voice firm, "on one condition."


    I tensed.


    "You take care of yourself. You don¡¯t take this for granted. You rest when you need to. You don¡¯t push yourself until you break. In short¡ªdon¡¯t be reckless."


    I blinked. That was¡­ actually solid advice.


    And honestly? It hit home. In my previous life, I learned that lesson the hard way¡ªtoo late to do anything about it.


    But this time around?


    Yeah. This time, I¡¯d do things differently.


    I nodded. "I will, Father."


    And then¡ª


    The bell rang.


    Its deep, resounding chime echoed across the city, marking the official start of the new year¡ªJorlen 1, Year 994.


    Or, in Earth terms, January 1st.


    What a timing, huh?


    And honestly? What a way to end it.

 Chapter 17: A Glimpse Of Death

    Year 994, First Month of the New Year


    Victor and Eleanor¡ªmy parents¡ªgave me their blessing to train under Leander, a friend of Brandt¡ªmy first mentor.


    Brandt was the one who introduced me to swordsmanship, teaching me the fundamentals. Thanks to him, I wasn¡¯t a total amateur swinging a stick around. And honestly? I was looking forward to the day he came back so I could properly thank him.


    But for now¡ªthis was the next step.


    I had already packed. Said my goodbyes. When the sun rose tomorrow, we¡¯d be leaving.


    Yes¡ªwe.


    Because, unexpectedly, Leander had also invited Rhea to come along.


    Not just to tag along¡ªbut to train.


    Except, she wouldn¡¯t be training under Leander.


    She¡¯d be training under someone else.


    An acquaintance of his.


    When the sun rose, I said my final goodbyes.


    Clarisse even gave me a gift¡ªa cloak. I was grateful, really, but the moment I held it in my hands, reality hit me.


    This was really happening.


    This was the first time I¡¯d be going so far away from them.


    Victor and Eleanor¡ªmy parents¡ªwere clearly worried. My mother even shed tears as I said goodbye. And, honestly? That stung a little.


    But we all knew¡ªthis day was always going to come.


    And now? It was here.


    Leander finished his preparations, and at first, I thought he¡¯d be coming with us.


    But he didn¡¯t. He said he will follow though.


    Instead, he did something completely unexpected.


    No¡ªmore like completely insane.


    Right before our eyes, he pulled out a small red circle-shaped material¡ªthen threw it on the ground.


    And just like that, a portal opened up.


    A teleportation portal.


    I blinked. Then blinked again.


    This was the first time I¡¯d ever seen something like this.


    I glanced down at my medium-sized bag¡ªit had a pouch of coins, some clothing, books, basic supplies, and strapped to my back was my wooden sword.


    Rhea stood beside me, carrying a small satchel of her own.


    And with that¡ªwe stepped forward, entering the dark portal. According to Leander, it would take us straight to the Kingdom of Varethane.


    The Kingdom of Varethane¡ªa land known for its scholars, seekers of knowledge, and monks who spent their lives chasing enlightenment.


    At least, that¡¯s what I¡¯d heard.


    Like any other kingdom, though, it still had a hierarchy¡ªnobles, a reigning king, the usual politics.


    But right now, that didn¡¯t matter.


    Right now, Rhea and I were stepping into a freaking teleportation portal.


    The moment we entered, I felt it¡ªa suffocating pressure, a strange dizziness.


    The world around us was nothing like I expected.


    Darkness. Endless, stretching darkness, dotted with countless glowing lights. It felt like we were being sucked into a galaxy¡ªfloating among the stars.


    "Woaaaa¡­"


    That was Rhea, clearly in awe.


    To be fair, so was I.


    Based on my very scientific calculations, the whole teleportation process lasted about a minute.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    And then¡ª


    Light.


    The sound of birds chirping.


    The warm touch of sunlight on my skin.


    The air was fresh. So fresh, in fact, that I immediately noticed how different this place felt.


    Yeah. This was Varethane.


    At least¡­ that¡¯s what I thought.


    But when I finally opened my eyes completely¡ª


    No towering buildings. No bustling scholars. No people. Just trees. A lot of trees. Like, endless, nothing-but-green, deep-into-the-wilderness trees.


    A forest.


    I blinked. Then I blinked again.


    Did that bastard Leander just scam us?!


    What the heck?!


    "Where are we?" Rhea asked, sounding just as lost as I felt.


    "Beats me. But at least we¡¯re in a forest¡­ I think." I glanced around, trying to convince myself.


    Yeah, this was definitely a forest¡ªtrees all around, tall enough to make me feel insignificant, but not so tall that they blocked out the sky. Not that it mattered. The real problem was the road in front of us. Or rather, the thing that vaguely resembled a road. It was uneven, like it had been stomped on by an army of angry trolls, and something about it felt¡­ off. Like it wasn¡¯t just any road, but one that had been used for transportation.


    I clicked my tongue. "Leander. That insane bastard." I kicked a rock, sending it skittering across the ground. Not that it made me feel any better.


    Rhea suddenly stopped. Which meant I had to stop too, because if I kept walking and she didn¡¯t, there was a good chance I¡¯d bump into her. She was staring at the road¡ªeyes narrowed, face practically kissing the dirt.


    "Let¡¯s take this path," she said, pointing left.


    I raised an eyebrow. "Do elves normally have tracking skills like that?"


    "Yup." She nodded enthusiastically. Then, as if remembering something, she added, "Actually, no. We¡¯re just taught this kind of thing when we¡¯re kids."


    "So that¡¯s why," I said, nodding like I totally understood.


    "Mm-hmm," Rhea responded, nodding right back. Then, out of nowhere, she hit me with, "Why do you want to learn it?"


    Huh. Wasn¡¯t expecting that.


    Learn it? Good question. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure myself. I mean, it sounded useful, but it wasn¡¯t like I had some grand reason. Still, I figured nodding was the safest answer.


    "You¡¯re not messing with me, right?" I asked, just to be sure.


    "Nope." She grinned. "You¡¯ve done a lot already, so consider this my way of giving back. A small token of gratitude, if you will."


    Well, I wasn¡¯t about to argue with free lessons. And just like that, my training began¡ªright there on the road, with Rhea teaching me as we walked.


    First up: environmental awareness. Basically, the idea that nature has a memory. Footsteps leave traces, paths get disturbed, and even the way animals act can tell you something¡¯s up.


    Then came track identification. She showed me how to recognize human presence¡ªlike how earlier, she¡¯d figured out that there was a recent carriage that cross the road. I learned also that when animals suddenly go quiet, it¡¯s usually a bad sign. Could mean a predator is nearby. Or worse¡­ people.


    And here I thought silence was supposed to be peaceful.


    I let out a long sigh. "That was actually pretty fun."


    "Yeah, it was," Rhea agreed. "But make sure you practice. It takes a lifetime to truly master."


    A lifetime, huh? Probably true. What she taught me was just the basics¡ªstuff she had down to muscle memory. But even that was enough to get me thinking. I was learning at a ridiculous pace, way faster than I expected. And honestly? That was the plan. I didn¡¯t want to just stick to my first passion¡ªpainting. I wanted to expand my skills, become more than just a guy with a brush.


    Still, no matter how much I tried to focus, one name kept bouncing around in my head.


    Leander.


    That lunatic really just up and teleported us into a forest. No explanation, no warning¡ªjust poof, and here we were. If I had to guess, this was probably some kind of test. For both of us.


    At least, that¡¯s what I told myself as we followed the faint signs of a carriage trail, hoping it would lead us somewhere that wasn¡¯t more trees.


    We had been traveling way farther than I ever expected. But somehow, it still felt like we were on the same road, the same path, the same endless forest.


    At least, until we stumbled across something new.


    A cave.


    Not just any cave, though. Something about it felt¡­ familiar. It was big¡ªway bigger than your average hole-in-the-wall dungeon. And right in front of it?


    A carriage.


    Rhea¡¯s eyes immediately locked onto it. "This is the one," she said firmly.


    "The one?" I asked.


    She nodded. "Same wheel pattern as the tracks on the road. No doubt about it."


    I took a closer look. The carriage wasn¡¯t empty¡ªit had supplies scattered around it. Water, some unfinished food¡­ very poorly eaten unfinished food, actually. Seriously, whoever ate this must¡¯ve been part baby with how much they left behind.


    "Huh," I muttered. "Probably belongs to some adventurers or something."


    "That¡¯s possible," Rhea agreed. "They might be inside that cave." She pointed toward the entrance.


    I crossed my arms, thinking. "Alright, so what¡¯s the plan? Do we just keep going and follow the road? Or do we wait here for them to come out and maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªconvince them to give the two of us a free ride?"


    "Or we could just go inside and see what they¡¯re doing," Rhea suggested.


    I looked at her. "That¡­ sounds like a great way to die."


    Not the worst idea I¡¯d ever heard, but definitely up there on the risk scale. See, I was familiar with caves like this. We had one back in my hometown, and guess what? Monsters lived in it. If this was anything similar, there was a good chance it was a dungeon¡ªwhich meant adventurers inside were either completing a quest or fighting for their lives.


    Neither situation sounded particularly inviting.


    "That¡¯d be risky," I said, crossing my arms.


    The conversation stalled after that, and for a moment, the only thing we heard was silence.


    The unsettling kind.


    Then¡ª


    "WAAAAAAAAAH!"


    A scream. Loud. Panicked. Echoing from inside the cave.


    And then more followed.


    Rhea and I stood frozen, eyes locked.


    "¡­That¡¯s not a good sign," I muttered.


    Common sense told me that, as two not-very-skilled kids, we should absolutely not get involved. Best-case scenario? We wait it out, see what happens. Worst case? We go in and get eaten by whatever was making people scream like that.


    So we waited.


    Minutes dragged on. Almost half an hour passed before we saw someone.


    A figure stumbled out of the cave¡ªlimping, barely holding herself up. She was covered in blood, her arms riddled with cuts, her body swaying with every step.


    I locked eyes with her just as she reached forward, fingers trembling.


    "Help¡­ them¡­" she croaked, before collapsing¡ªright near Rhea, who looked utterly horrified.


    ¡­Well.


    This just got a whole lot worse.


    I thought it over. Then I thought it over again.


    No matter how I looked at it, this was a bad idea.


    I mean, an adventurer barely crawled out alive from this place. That alone screamed dangerous dungeon. If I went in, I could be walking straight into something way out of my league.


    But even knowing that¡­


    "Hey," I said, glancing at Rhea. "Can you stay here? You can tend to her. There¡¯s a medical kit in the carriage¡ªI saw it earlier. Use that."


    Rhea blinked, hesitating for a moment before nodding.


    Meanwhile, I let out a slow breath.


    Damn it, this is crazy.


    But even as the thought crossed my mind, my feet had already started moving¡ªtoward the dungeon, toward whatever the hell was waiting inside.


    No hesitation. No second-guessing.


    Leander was right, I thought bitterly. I really might be reckless.


    As I stepped into the cave¡¯s entrance, I stole one last glance over my shoulder. Rhea was kneeling beside the injured woman, her hands moving quickly to tend to her wounds. But even then, she still looked up at me¡ªher expression full of worry.


    I turned back toward the dark tunnel ahead and reached for the training sword strapped to my back.


    Not that it would do much good. Let¡¯s be real¡ªa wooden practice sword wasn¡¯t exactly the weapon of choice for surviving a dungeon.


    What I needed was a real weapon.


    And just as that thought crossed my mind, I spotted something¡ª


    A medium-sized sword, lying on the ground, covered in bloody fingerprints.


    I crouched down, picking it up. The weight felt right. The grip was sturdy. Judging by the blood, it probably belonged to that woman outside¡ªshe must have dropped it out of sheer exhaustion.


    "WAAAAAAAH!"


    More screams. Louder this time. Closer.


    I had expected the inside of the cave to be pitch black, damp, and suffocating. But surprisingly, it wasn¡¯t.


    There were lights.


    Not torches, not lanterns¡ªjust an eerie glow that seemed to seep from the cave walls themselves. It wasn¡¯t exactly comforting, though. If anything, it made the place feel even more mysterious¡­ and suspicious.


    I moved carefully, stepping over jagged rock formations that jutted out from the ground. One wrong move and I¡¯d faceplant right onto stone. Thankfully, the dim light helped me avoid tripping over every obstacle in my path.


    But the deeper I went, the worse it got.


    The screams¡­


    The sounds of flesh being torn apart.


    The unmistakable, gut-wrenching cries of people dying.


    It wasn¡¯t just noise anymore. It was a horrible, sickening reality unraveling in real time.


    My hands started to shake.


    My body screamed at me to turn back.


    But my heart? My heart told me to keep moving. To see for myself. Maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªthere was still someone left to save.


    And then¡­


    I saw it.


    Two bodies.


    On the ground. Motionless.


    And headless.


    A cold shiver ran down my spine. My legs locked up, refusing to move.


    This was the first time¡ªthe first time in my life¡ªthat I had ever seen a dead body. Not just dead¡ªbrutally, mercilessly slaughtered.


    My stomach twisted.


    My chest tightened.


    And before I knew it, I was on my knees, retching onto the cold stone floor.


    A wave of weakness crashed over me¡ªnot just physical, but something deeper. A weakness that only comes when you stare at true, unfiltered death for the first time.


    This was real.


    And I wasn¡¯t ready for it.

 Chapter 18: In the Maw of the Abyss

    Swishhh!


    Swoosh!


    Swishhh!


    The sharp sound of a blade slicing through the air snapped me out of my daze.


    I was still on my knees, stomach twisting, the stench of blood thick in my nose. But the moment I heard those attacks¡ªthe sound of battle¡ªmy mind jolted back to reality.


    Two bodies still lay on the ground. Motionless. Lifeless.


    But beyond them¡ªsomeone was still fighting.


    And against what, exactly?


    A giant.


    A massive, grotesque figure that made my blood run cold.


    [Painter¡¯s Eye I Activating]


    A familiar notification flickered in my vision, feeding me information I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to know.


    [The Wretched Maw]


    A monster that represents insatiable greed and self-destruction¡ªa creature that consumes endlessly but is never satisfied, much like those who seek power without purpose.


    And the description wasn¡¯t exaggerating.


    The thing was bloated and eyeless, its entire body stretched into a gaping mouth filled with jagged, endless teeth. Its translucent skin was riddled with scars¡ªas if it had tried to devour itself.


    Its long, sinewy arms lashed at the air, clawed hands grasping for anything, for everything.


    It was disgusting. Terrifying.


    And yet¡­


    Someone was fighting it.


    A lone swordsman. His movements were desperate, his blade chipped and barely holding together. One more good hit, and it would shatter.


    I swallowed hard, forcing my body to move.


    "O slumbering flames, wake from your rest, rise as the dragon¡¯s breath, and burn all who stand before me!"


    I chanted the words, feeling power surge through me.


    A brilliant light flared from my hands, so bright it momentarily stole the attention of the two locked in battle below. And then¡ª


    BOOOOM!


    A colossal wave of lava erupted forth, crashing straight into the monster¡¯s massive body. Molten fire spread across its grotesque form, engulfing it in an unstoppable inferno.


    I called this spell Colossal Inferno.


    It wasn¡¯t just a big fireball¡ªit was a trap. Once caught inside, the opponent would be surrounded by searing flames and molten lava, locked in place, unable to act.


    At least, that was the idea.


    But even as I watched, I knew¡ªthis thing wasn¡¯t going to stay trapped for long.


    "Rwaaaagggrrrrrr!"


    The monster let out an ear-splitting roar, its grotesque mouth stretching wide as it began forcing the lava away, shaking it off like water.


    It was working¡ªkind of. The beast was definitely taking damage, but not nearly enough.


    This thing wasn¡¯t just big. It was tough.


    And I had a sinking feeling that I was about to find out just how tough.


    While the giant was busy shaking off the lava, the swordsman below finally looked up at me.


    His face? Pure shock.


    Yeah, I got it. Seeing an eight-year-old chant high-tier magic wasn¡¯t exactly an everyday thing. Even I was still trying to wrap my head around how I pulled it off.


    To be fair, it was pretty insane for a kid my age. But hey, I worked hard for this! Though, I¡¯d be lying if I said I fully understood the entire magic system yet. There was still a lot I didn¡¯t know.


    But that was a problem for future me.


    Right now, the giant was still standing. And I wasn¡¯t about to give it a break.


    I raised my arms again, preparing my next spell.


    A wind spell.


    This time, I wanted to cut through its skin¡ªsee just how tough this thing really was.


    "Winds of ruin, tear and shred, let none stand where you have tread!"


    SWISSSHHH!


    A massive blade of wind erupted from my palm, slicing through the air with a sharp, whistling sound. It took the shape of an enormous axe, spiraling straight toward the monster¡¯s body.


    And just like that, I had unleashed two high-tier spells in a row¡ªwithout even breaking a sweat.


    Nice.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    I had definitely improved my mana reserves. Still not sure what my limit was, but if my studies were right, I could probably cast at least ten more spells before feeling the drain. Maybe even more.


    Which meant¡­


    I was kinda amazing, huh?


    Surely above average. Probably.


    But there was still a giant, man-eating monster in front of me, so now wasn¡¯t the time to get cocky.


    The sight of the bodies on the ground still clung to my mind, no matter how much I tried to shake it off.


    Even now, I could feel my stomach twisting, my hands trembling. I had the urge to puke again, but I forced it down. Not the time.


    But despite all that¡ª


    What a view.


    No, not the corpses. Definitely not the corpses.


    I meant the battle unfolding in front of me¡ªone swordsman, standing against a monstrous abomination, fighting for his life.


    It was like a scene straight out of a painting.


    A masterpiece of courage. Of refusing to back down in the face of death.


    If¡ªno, when¡ªI survived this, I was definitely making this my next painting.


    But before I got too lost in my artistic vision¡ª


    BOOM!


    The spell I had just cast finally collided with the monster¡¯s body.


    I squinted, watching closely. Did it work?


    A small tear ran across its grotesque, scar-covered skin¡ªnot deep, but noticeable.


    Which told me something important.


    It wasn¡¯t completely indestructible. But it was tough. Tough enough that a high-level attack spell only managed to scratch it.


    "Damn it." I muttered under my breath.


    I took a moment to analyze the situation before rushing in blindly again.


    The giant was rampaging now, swinging its grotesque arms and shattering rock formations with every wild strike. Meanwhile, the swordsman below was doing a damn good job of dodging¡ªbarely staying ahead of the monster¡¯s attacks.


    I waited for my Painter¡¯s Eye to kick in, to highlight a weak point, but¡­ nothing.


    Figures. If my skill didn¡¯t activate, that meant this thing was stronger than me.


    Which was a problem.


    But I couldn¡¯t just rely on my skill to do all the thinking for me. If I wanted to be more effective, I needed to analyze my opponent myself.


    So, let¡¯s break it down:


    ?Attacks with brute force. No weapons, just those massive arms.


    ?Incredibly aggressive. No hesitation, no retreat.


    ?Great hearing. Reacts to movement and sound more than sight.


    ?Exposes its neck whenever it attacks.


    That last one? That was key.


    I had already tested attacking its stomach, and it did absolutely nothing. The damn thing just absorbed my spell like a sponge.


    Which meant¡­ if I wanted to actually hurt this thing, I needed a different approach.


    And that meant working with the swordsman instead of just nuking the battlefield from a distance.


    "Hey!" I shouted, grabbing both the swordsman¡¯s attention¡ªand, unfortunately, the monster¡¯s.


    "Make it tilt its head!"


    I just hoped he¡¯d listen. If not, this fight was going to drag on for hours, and I wasn¡¯t exactly thrilled about that. Working together was the only way to make this easier.


    And brute force? Not an option.


    This thing was too damn tough. If we wanted to win, we had to use our brains. That meant using our surroundings.


    Fights weren¡¯t just about swinging swords and throwing spells¡ªthey were about control. Positioning. Strategy.


    And right now, I had a plan.


    There was a massive, sharp rock formation hanging from the dungeon¡¯s ceiling¡ªthe perfect natural weapon. If we could bait the giant, make it tilt its head back at just the right moment, I could bring that entire formation crashing down on its soft, exposed neck.


    Easy, right?


    Surprisingly, the swordsman actually listened. And not just that¡ªhe understood what I was trying to do.


    Smart guy. That was a very good sign.


    But our first attempt?


    Yeah, it failed. Miserably.


    The giant swung its massive arms, sending a wave of rock debris exploding across the battlefield.


    And, unfortunately, the swordsman caught a direct hit.


    "Gahhh!" He let out a pained shout as he went flying, crashing into the ground. His arms trembled violently from the impact, barely able to hold his sword.


    The monster stomped forward, each step shaking the ground as it loomed over the kneeling swordsman. It was taking its time, savoring the moment, eager to end him.


    But that was fine by me.


    Because in its arrogance, the giant had taken the bait.


    It had unknowingly positioned itself right under the massive, jagged rock formation hanging from the ceiling.


    I felt a brief moment of hesitation.


    Would this actually work?


    No, it had to.


    I quickly chanted a low-tier spell¡ªjust enough to dislodge the rock. No need to overdo it.


    And as soon as I did, I yelled, making sure my voice echoed through the cavern.


    The monster, sensitive to sound, immediately snapped its head toward me¡ªexactly what I wanted.


    Then, for good measure, I hurled the sword I had picked up earlier.


    The blade spun through the air and¡ªby some divine stroke of luck¡ªhit the monster square in the forehead.


    "RAAAHWAH!!"


    It let out a furious roar, throwing its head back in frustration.


    And right at that moment¡ª


    CRACK!


    The sharp rock formation above came loose, plummeting straight down¡ªright onto its exposed, soft neck.


    I held my breath.


    Then, when I saw it connect perfectly, I exhaled, wide-eyed.


    "It worked!" I muttered in disbelief.


    The freaking plan actually worked.


    I had hesitated. I had doubted.


    But in the end¡ªit worked.


    The monster collapsed, blood gushing from its mangled neck.


    And the swordsman?


    Yeah, he dropped too.


    The moment the giant hit the ground, he slumped over, completely unconscious, his body finally giving out. Now, he lay motionless on the floor, right next to his already lifeless comrades.


    [You have earned XP]


    Current Level: Initiate


    XP: 30-> 55/100


    ¡­Well. That was one way to end a fight.


    Hours later.


    Dragging an unconscious adult out of a dungeon was not fun.


    I had spent who knows how long trying to haul this guy up, eventually resorting to propping him against my shoulder and half-dragging him toward the exit.


    Now that I got a closer look at him, I noticed something.


    His earrings.


    They were unique, unlike anything I had seen before. Each one bore an intricate phoenix emblem, almost like a crest or insignia.


    Interesting.


    He had dark brown hair, looked to be in his twenties, and¡ªjudging by the fact that he wasn¡¯t dead¡ªwas probably tougher than he looked.


    As we finally neared the exit, I let out a breath of relief.


    We were alive. Just the two of us. Because, yeah¡ªhis comrades?


    Didn¡¯t see a single one still breathing.


    When we reached the entrance, I spotted Rhea. She was still sitting there, watching over the injured woman from earlier.


    Except¡­


    The woman, who had barely been clinging to life before, was now sitting upright and conscious.


    I blinked. How was she even alive?


    Rhea, as expected, rushed over immediately, her face full of worry as she kneeled beside the unconscious man I was barely managing to hold up with my tiny, exhausted body.


    "Thank goodness." I muttered, relieved that someone else could finally take over. My arms were about ten seconds away from giving up on life.


    I took a moment to catch my breath, then gestured toward the woman nearby¡ªthe one who had somehow survived.


    "That¡¯s a relief, she¡¯s ali¡ª"


    I cut myself off.


    Because right then, I noticed something strange.


    Rhea had already started tending to the swordsman¡¯s wounds, her hands hovering just above his injuries. But what really caught my attention¡ªwas the light.


    A soft, green glow flickered to life in her palm.


    I blinked.


    "Hey¡­" I said, still catching up with what I was seeing. "Is that¡­ healing magic?"


    Rhea glanced at me, hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded.


    So it was healing magic.


    My eyes widened as I watched up close for the first time¡ªthe way the glow pulsed gently, how the wounds started to mend without a single bandage or potion.


    A magic that could heal injuries almost instantly. No reliance on medical supplies, no long recovery times. Just pure, efficient healing.


    But what really got me?


    Rhea was doing it so effortlessly¡ªso naturally¡ªlike this was just another part of her daily routine.


    After finishing up with the swordsman, Rhea turned to me and¡ªwithout asking¡ªstarted healing me too.


    Not that I was injured.


    "Hey, hey, I¡¯m fine!" I protested, waving my hands. "No wounds here. Totally intact."


    She ignored me. Just forced the healing magic onto me like I had no say in the matter.


    And honestly?


    It felt¡­ weird.


    Not painful. Not warm, either. More like a cool breeze seeping into my muscles, running through my veins, fixing things I didn¡¯t even know were broken.


    I stared at my hands, flexing them a little.


    So this is what healing magic feels like¡­


    "You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost," Rhea said, laughing as she caught me way too focused on watching her work.


    "Well, this is the first time I¡¯ve ever seen healing magic in action," I admitted.


    Her ears twitched slightly. "First time?"


    I nodded. "Yep. Never seen it before."


    I glanced at her again, still trying to process it.


    Honestly, if someone told me that this bullied elf girl knew magic, I wouldn¡¯t have believed them. Not because of anything she did¡ªjust because I never sensed it in her.


    When I first met Rhea, she didn¡¯t feel like a magic user. There was no overwhelming aura, no mystical presence.


    Just¡­ a quiet, peaceful kind of existence.


    And yet, here she was. Healing people like it was nothing.


    Just as I was admiring how effortlessly Rhea had used her magic, it hit me.


    A sudden, violent flash of images.


    Bloody. Lifeless. Bodies.


    The scene burned into my mind like an afterimage, sending a chill down my spine. My stomach twisted, my vision blurred¡ªbefore I knew it, I was gripping my head, doubling over, and¡ª


    HURK!


    Yeah. That was me, puking my guts out.


    Rhea, who had been tending to me just seconds ago, quickly grabbed my back, her hands moving in small, careful circles. She was massaging me.


    It probably should¡¯ve been embarrassing, but at that moment? I could not care less.


    My entire body was trembling, shaking uncontrollably. My legs felt numb, my eyes burned with unshed tears, and my breathing was erratic.


    Damn.


    Guess the shock of seeing actual corpses was finally catching up to me.


    Yeah, turns out digesting that kind of trauma is pretty damn hard.


    By the time I finally calmed down, I was sitting outside the carriage.


    Rhea sat beside me, while the woman we saved sat across from us, awake now. Meanwhile, the swordsman was still unconscious, probably enjoying the deepest nap of his life.


    And as we talked, Rhea and I had been right.


    They were adventurers. They had taken on a low-level dungeon mission¡ªbut what we fought inside?


    Yeah. Definitely not low-level.


    A monster like that shouldn¡¯t have been in a dungeon like this. Something was off.


    This was also my first real encounter with adventurers. I¡¯d read about knights, mercenaries, and soldiers before, but adventurers?


    Not much.


    But I did know one thing: Adventurers live for the journey. Some take on missions like this. Others go out to loot, explore, or get stronger.


    And in the end?


    It¡¯s all about the rank.


    The higher the rank, the better the rewards. The higher the authority, the bigger the dungeons you can raid.


    Turns out, these adventurers were Acolytes¡ªthe second lowest rank in the system.


    My rank was still Initiate¡ªthe absolute lowest.


    But considering I survived that dungeon¡­ I had a feeling that wasn¡¯t going to last long.

 Chapter 18 Part II: The Child Who Shouldn鈥檛 Be Here

    Adventurer Swordsman Eye (POV)


    The tavern smelled like sweat, roasted meat, and cheap ale¡ªthe standard adventurer¡¯s mix. It wasn¡¯t the best place in town, not by a long shot, but it was loud enough to keep your thoughts from wandering to tomorrow¡¯s job. That made it good enough.


    I swirled my drink, watching the foam settle. It tasted awful, but I wasn¡¯t here to enjoy it. This was about keeping the team grounded before we stepped into whatever fresh nightmare awaited us in that dungeon.


    Across from me, Gareth¡ªour tank¡ªwas already on his third mug. The guy was built like a walking fortress, and he drank like one too. Not that I minded. He was laughing now, a deep, belly-shaking sound, while Erin¡ªour mage¡ªglared daggers at him.


    ¡°Drinking that much before a mission? You¡¯re a fool,¡± she muttered, tugging at the sleeves of her robe. She had let her hair down tonight, which was rare. Made her look a little softer. Not that anyone would dare mention it.


    Gareth grinned. ¡°It¡¯s a ritual. Drink before, fight after, then drink even more if you survive.¡±


    ¡°Idiots drink before battle,¡± Erin shot back.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s a good thing I¡¯m the one who gets hit, not the one doing the thinking.¡±


    I smirked but stayed out of it. Erin wasn¡¯t wrong, but Gareth wasn¡¯t either. Tomorrow wasn¡¯t some run-of-the-mill dungeon dive. There were rumors¡ªbig ones¡ªabout something nasty down there.


    Which meant keeping our heads on straight.


    I glanced at Dion, the other swordsman in our party. He was sitting to my right, arms crossed, staring at the fire. Unlike Gareth, he wasn¡¯t drinking. Not a surprise.


    ¡°You¡¯re quiet,¡± I said.


    Dion barely looked at me. ¡°Thinking.¡±


    ¡°About?¡±


    A pause. Then, in a low voice: ¡°This job feels wrong.¡±


    I set my mug down. ¡°You feel like sharing?¡±


    Dion finally met my eyes. ¡°Just a bad gut feeling.¡±


    I nodded. That was enough for me. Dion wasn¡¯t the kind to panic over nothing. If he felt something was off, it probably was.


    That said, turning back now wasn¡¯t an option.


    I leaned back in my chair. ¡°Then we¡¯ll be careful.¡±


    He nodded but didn¡¯t say more. Erin shot me a glance¡ªone that told me she agreed with Dion but wasn¡¯t going to argue about it. Gareth, meanwhile, stretched and let out a satisfied sigh, completely unbothered by the mood shift.


    ¡°Bah, stop worrying,¡± he said. ¡°If it¡¯s big, we just hit it harder.¡±


    Erin groaned. ¡°Brilliant strategy. Truly.¡±


    I chuckled and lifted my mug again. These three¡ªthey were the people I trusted to keep me alive tomorrow.


    We¡¯d handled worse.


    At least, that¡¯s what I told myself.


    For now, we drank, we rested, and we hoped Dion¡¯s gut was wrong.


    It rarely was.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The carriage wheels groaned under the weight of the rough road, bouncing us along as we neared the dungeon entrance. The place loomed ahead, like a gaping mouth ready to swallow us whole.


    No one talked much. That was normal. Even Gareth, usually the loudest among us, kept his grin to himself.


    Dion sat with his sword across his lap, fingers curled just a little too tight around the hilt. Erin adjusted her gloves, eyes on the horizon, lips pressed into a thin line. Gareth simply rolled his shoulders, staring at the dirt road.


    I exhaled, pushing the tension from my chest. Stay calm. Keep them steady.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I said. ¡°One last check. Supplies?¡±


    ¡°Potions accounted for,¡± Erin answered without missing a beat.


    ¡°Blades sharpened,¡± Dion murmured.


    Gareth cracked his knuckles. ¡°Armor¡¯s heavy as hell, but that just means it¡¯s working.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Good. Stick to the plan. We go in, map the path, and deal with whatever¡¯s inside. If it gets bad, we retreat. No heroics.¡±


    I should have known better than to say that.


    Because once we saw what was waiting inside, there was no retreat.


    The dungeon was quieter than expected. That wasn¡¯t a good thing.


    No echoes of distant monsters. No damp wind rustling through old stone corridors. Just silence, broken only by our footsteps and the occasional scrape of Gareth¡¯s armor against rock.


    We handled the first few threats easily. Small fry. Nothing worth remembering. But the whole time, there was this feeling crawling up my spine. Something was off.


    Then we entered the huge space in the dungeon.


    And everything went to hell.


    The ground rumbled. Stone cracked. A massive form shifted in the darkness.


    Then it stood.


    A giant. Bigger than anything I¡¯d ever seen. Bigger than anything that should exist in a dungeon like this. It had no eyes, but somehow, I knew it saw us.


    And its belly¡­ Gods, its belly. Bloated, distended¡ªlike something that had been feeding for far too long.


    I barely had time to shout before it swung.


    We scattered. Barely.


    ¡°MOVE!¡± I roared.


    Dion reacted first. His sword flashed, striking at its leg¡ªnothing. The blade barely scratched its stone-like skin.


    Then it moved.


    Faster than something that big should have been able to.


    And just like that¡ªDion was gone.


    No scream. No warning.


    One second, he was there. The next, his head was missing. His body crumpled, twitching for half a second before going still. Blood soaked into the stone.


    Erin let out a broken gasp. Gareth roared in fury.


    I gritted my teeth. No time to mourn. Not now.


    ¡°FORMATION!¡± I bellowed.


    Gareth moved without hesitation, shield raised. Erin¡¯s hands were already glowing, fire bursting to life in her palms. She let it loose. The flames slammed into the giant¡¯s chest. Smoke rose.


    It barely noticed.


    But it noticed her.


    It turned. Stepped forward. And Gareth was there¡ªshoving her aside, shield raised.


    CRACK.


    The sound of metal shattering.


    Then the giant¡¯s foot came down.


    I didn¡¯t hear Gareth scream. Didn¡¯t even see him die¡ªjust saw his shield hit the ground, bent and ruined, and his body beneath the giant¡¯s weight.


    Two down.


    Erin choked back a sob. I grabbed her wrist, forcing her toward the tunnel.


    ¡°Go,¡± I ordered.


    Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide. ¡°What? No¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯LL HOLD IT.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°GO!¡± I shoved her toward the exit. ¡°WARN THE OTHERS!¡±


    She hesitated¡ªjust for a second. Then she ran.


    Or at least, she tried.


    The giant¡¯s arm swung, smashing into the ceiling, sending debris raining down. Erin dove forward, just barely making it through the collapsing stone. Blood stained her robes¡ªher own or Gareth¡¯s, I couldn¡¯t tell.


    Then she....no....she must survive.


    And I turned back to the giant.


    My sword felt small. My breath came in sharp bursts. My arms ached.


    But I stood my ground.


    If this thing was going to take me, I¡¯d make damn sure it remembered my name.


    I fought. Blade flashing. Dodging. Cutting. I lost track of time. The world shrank to just me and the giant, locked in a battle neither of us wanted to lose.


    Then¡ª


    A voice.


    A child¡¯s voice.


    The air shifted.


    Magic.


    And then¡ªlight.


    A barrier appeared between me and the giant, stopping its strike mid-swing. The impact sent cracks through the floor, shaking the entire dungeon.


    I blinked. What the hell?


    And then I saw him.


    A boy, standing at the top of the flat wide stone.


    Small. Calm. Eyes sharp like he was studying an insect. His hand was raised, fingers curled from casting his spell.


    He shouldn¡¯t have been here.


    He shouldn¡¯t have been able to do that.


    But right now, I didn¡¯t care.


    Because, for the first time since the fight started¡­


    I thought... I might actually live.


    Vonn''s Eye.


    Hours passed, and by the time the sun had vanished beyond the horizon, we were still sitting here, waiting for some kind of assistance.


    Not that waiting meant doing nothing.


    Rhea and I had managed to hunt down some rabbits before it got too dark. Nothing fancy, but food was food. We even got a fire going, so at least dinner was covered.


    But while we were prepping the meal, Erin¡ªthe woman we saved¡ªsat there, looking completely drained.


    She hadn''t told us exactly what happened in detail, but she did share a few details.


    They were adventurers. Someone had hired them to explore the dungeon, promising a massive loot haul.


    And clearly¡­ that did not go as planned.


    She told the story with empty eyes, her gaze locked onto some distant, invisible point beyond the fire.


    She didn¡¯t cry. Didn¡¯t yell. Didn¡¯t even react much.


    But her expression?


    It said everything. She was exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Maybe even spiritually.


    I didn¡¯t push for more details. Because honestly? I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to hear them.


    The night was quiet. Peaceful, even. Until it wasn¡¯t.


    A sudden gasp for air shattered the silence, followed by a shout.


    I flinched, turning toward the source¡ªthe swordsman.


    Still lying down, but thrashing, his face contorted in terror. A nightmare? No, more like a full-blown horror show.


    "Ronan!" Erin cried, scrambling to his side.


    The guy looked completely lost, his chest rising and falling in sharp, desperate breaths.


    Honestly? I couldn''t blame him.


    He had just watched his comrades die in battle against something we still didn¡¯t fully understand. And now?


    Now he was experiencing the side effects.


    "Haah¡­ haaaah¡­"


    He kept gasping, his body still trembling, until he finally managed to sit up, his back pressing against the hard wooden carriage.


    Then, through ragged breaths, he finally spoke¡ª


    "You survived."


    His voice was hoarse, his eyes wide. Like he couldn¡¯t quite believe it.