The training ground was a flattened field surrounded by a low stone wall, just high enough to reach my waist. Rows of combat dummies stood at attention, their straw bodies frayed from countless strikes. I sat on the wall, waiting.
That slash Callius had thrown at me in the cathedral—I still couldn't understand it. I never saw the blade move. One moment, he raised his sword. The next, a chunk of my flesh was simply gone, torn away by something invisible. And that wind. Not a natural breeze, but something concentrated. Aimed. Alive.
I looked down at my palm. Calluses covered every inch—rough, thick, permanent. I'd been holding my sword for so long that my hand had reshaped itself. A testament to survival. I'd made it this far. I'd seen horrors beyond imagination.
The Black Forest, I realized, was probably just a taste of what this world had in store for me.
A shadow fell across the grass. I looked up.
Draka approached, wearing only a white tunic vest. For an old man, he was built like an athlete—maybe a heavyweight boxer in his prime. Being a Berserker had its perks, apparently. At least that was something to look forward to.
He stopped a few feet away, holding two wooden swords. Each was the size of my claymore—maybe longer. "Zain. It's time to begin your training."
He threw one at me. Fast. Faster than I expected.
But my body moved before my mind could process. My hand shot up and caught it. One-handed.
I jumped off the wall and walked toward him, gripping the wooden blade tightly. "So what's for training, old man?" I met his eyes.
Draka smirked, then settled into a proper stance. "Remember when I told you to swing the claymore a thousand times?"
"Yeah. My muscles couldn't move for days after that. Why?"
I copied his stance—the same one he'd made me hold for hours during those first brutal nights in the forest.
Draka swung his blade with fluid precision. A sudden, sharp burst of wind erupted from the wood. I watched, stunned, as a crescent-shaped slash of pure air shot forward.
"What was that?!" My eyes widened.
It was exactly like Callius's attack. But stronger. Cleaner.
"Air-slash." Draka straightened. "Swing a weapon with enough force, and the wind itself obeys. It's the most basic technique warrior-class fighters can learn. Now you try."
I settled back into the stance. Muscles tensed. Grip tightened. Feet planted hard against the earth.
Something stirred in my stomach. A warmth, a pressure—it traveled upward, through my chest, down my arms, into the blade. I followed Draka's motion and slashed.
The wind pushed back against me. Then parted.
I watched the air itself split apart, a visible crescent hurling forward. It struck three training dummies and carved clean through them. They toppled in halves.
"I… I did it." A laugh escaped me. "I DID IT!"
I jumped—higher than I'd ever jumped before, higher than should have been possible. The world shrank beneath me. I landed hard on the grass, my heart pounding.
"Are there more techniques I can learn, Draka?" I looked at him, breathless.
His smirk widened. "Plenty. I'll train you for a year. That's enough to make you strong." He paused. "So. You ready?"
I grinned, gripping the wooden sword. "Beyond ready."
One Year Later
I dashed through the forest, leaping from tree to tree. Each slash of my claymore carved through trunks like they were butter. The mithral blade felt light now—weightless, almost. Like swinging a stick.
I landed at the forest's edge and walked out.
Kora waited there, leaning on her bear-headed staff. When she saw me, her face broke into a warm smile. "Welcome back, Berserker. Ready for our adventure?"
I nodded. "For once, I feel like I could conquer the world."
Ahead, Draka stood holding a leather bag. He approached and handed it to me. "A year's worth of training. I hope it was worth it."
I took the bag. "Wait. What is this?"
"I'm leaving, Zain."
The words didn't register at first. "W-what do you mean? You're leaving?"
"I'm a wanderer. Always have been." His voice was calm, steady. "I've done my part. Trained you to be a Berserker. Now I need to continue wandering."
He gripped my shoulder—firm, the way he always did before a hard lesson. "Do one thing for me, Zain."
"Anything."
"Live."
He turned and started walking.
Then stopped. Looked back at Kora. "Kora. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." A faint smile crossed his weathered face. Then he turned away again.
I watched him go. The man who dragged me out of the Black Forest. Who taught me to swing a sword. Who showed me how to survive.
It felt like finishing the tutorial of a game—except this game was real, and the man walking away was real, and the ache in my chest was real.
"Draka."
He looked back one last time.
"I won't just survive in this world."
My voice rang across the field.
"I'LL THRIVE IN IT! "
Draka smiled—a real smile, warm and tired and proud all at once. "I hope you do, kid. I hope you do."
He waved once. Then his figure shrank into the trees, swallowed by the Black Forest's shadow.
"Thank you, Draka." I whispered it to the wind.
I opened the leather bag. Inside: a steel scale vest, multiple small knives, steel gauntlets wrapped in black leather. I ran my fingers over the metal.
That old bastard.
I pulled on the vest. The weight settled over my shoulders—comfortable, protective. The gauntlets clicked into place, becoming part of my body. I strapped the belt around my waist and attached the nine knives to their loops.
I turned to Kora. "Do I look good?"
She studied me, her green eyes warm. "You look like a Berserker."
She walked to my side and stood there, shoulder to shoulder. "So. Ready to become an adventurer?"
"More than ready." I hooked my claymore onto my belt. "Where are we going?"
Kora raised her staff, the bear head catching the light. "The Highlands. The country for adventurers."
I started walking. "Then let's go."
"YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG DIRECTION, IDIOT! "
Kora grabbed my arm and yanked me around, pulling me hard in the proper direction. "Just be ready. The journey there will be long and grueling."
I laughed, letting her drag me. "I'm always ready. Now let's go."
Together, we walked toward the horizon—two survivors, carrying everything we owned, stepping into a world that had already tried to kill us.
This time, instead of surviving, we'll thrive in this world.