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Three years have passed since the incident, yet the truth remains buried, and the culprits continue to hide their tracks with infuriating success. According to Father, our only lead ends at the Familia headed by the god Apophis, who resides somewhere in Fultone, leveraging their connections with the kingdom. It's a dead end wrapped in a political minefield. But I can't think about that now. Not when my world has shrunk to this: my own backyard, a wooden sword, and the fire in my lungs.
My lungs burned; each gasp for air scraped my throat raw. Sweat stung my eyes, blurring the formidable figure of my instructor standing before me. The rough-hewn wood of the practice sword felt like a lead weight in my blistered hands.
"Again." Elowen's voice was calm, a stark contrast to the storm of my exhaustion. "Your footing, young master. It's your foundation, not an afterthought."
'After relying on magic armor in my past life, I've become dull.'
She was a statue of perfect form. The breeze that teased the strands of her hair did nothing to shake her poise. The scent of crushed grass and my own exertion filled the air. Every muscle screamed in protest, but a fire in my chest refused to let it end like this.
'This time. It has to be this time.'
I exploded forward. Not with a wild swing, but with a focused lunge aimed at her left wrist—a sharp, stinging blow to prove I wasn't just a child playing at war.
CRACK!
The sound was final. Her block wasn't a parry; it was a dismissal. A subtle twist of her wrist, a flick of her own sword, and my world became a whirl of disarmed momentum. Before I could even register the loss, the cold, unyielding tip of her staff pressed against my throat, freezing the very breath in my lungs. Then—tap—a gentle, almost affectionate bump on my crown.
"A marked improvement," Elowen said, her tone warm, but the knowing smirk on her lips was a brand of its own. I am playing with you, it said. And you know it.
Frustration, hot and bitter, rose in my chest. "I didn't even come close." The words were ash in my mouth. 'As expected, this eight-year-old body is still not enough.' The truth was a bitter pill.
Elowen tilted her head, her gaze seeing right through me. "And yet, your instincts… they flash with a sharpness I've not seen in a century. The seed is there, young master. It simply needs time to grow roots and strength."
I collapsed backward, the cool earth a welcome shock against my heated skin. The endless blue sky above offered no answers.
"I want the sword and magic. I want it all."
"Both?" Elowen settled gracefully beside me, a soft chuckle in her voice. "Does the young master dream of gleaming armor and heroic ballads? Like the great Albert Waldstein?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, building a wall against a past I couldn't articulate. "A hero? No. That's not it."
"Then what?" Her curiosity was a gentle probe. "With your gifts, the path to greatness seems almost inevitable."
"Because heroes have to make choices," I muttered, the truth of it a heavy stone in my gut. "And if the world demanded I sacrifice the people I love to save it… I'd let the world burn. Every single time."
Her hand came to rest on my head, her touch a comforting anchor. "A narrow path you set for yourself. But what if you refused the choice? What if you were strong enough to rewrite the rules?"
A weary, broken laugh escaped me. "Every story says that's impossible."
"Those are their stories, told by mortal who lacked your fire," she whispered, her voice softening like the dusk. "So, my dear master, why not write your own? One where you are the shield for both, and no one is left behind."
The spark that flickered in my chest wasn't just hope; it was defiance. "...An impossible dream, Elowen."
"The best ones always are."
In a whisper of movement, she was back on her feet, staff held ready. The playful glint in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a sharp, thrilling challenge. "If you are serious about the sword, I know a trainer. An old friend, deep in Fanache Forest. They are called the finest blade in the elven kingdom."
My eyes shot open, the legendary title a bolt of lightning to my heart. "You can't mean… the White Fang?"
Her grin was a flash of predatory delight. "Fufu~ The very same. But first—" Her stance shifted, the air around her seeming to crackle with intent. The tip of her staff levelled at my chest, a promise and a threat. "You must prove you can stand without falling. Show me you can last more than a minute." Her voice dropped, low and intent. "Get up."
====x====
Time has lost all meaning. The seasons changed, and now I'm nine years old. My body has developed rapidly, forged in the crucible of relentless training. My secret weapon? Gravity magic. It's a brutal, invisible tutor. Push-ups. Squats. Running. All under twice the normal weight. Each time my body adapts, I increase the pressure, carefully avoiding the point where my blood would pool in my feet and consciousness would fade.
I train in a secluded grove, hidden from Mother's worried eyes and the servants' gossip. If they saw me in this state, battered and trembling, they would beg me to stop.
Swoosh!
The stone blade cut through the air, heavy and unrelenting. My arms burned, my palms raw, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not when the memories of my past life whispered in my ears—Ghislaine's relentless drills, Paul's precision, the way Touki had hummed beneath their skin like lightning.
Swoosh!
Another swing. Then another. By the twentieth, my arms trembled like leaves in a storm. The sword might as well have been a mountain. Still, I gritted my teeth and pushed.
"Concentrate, Oberon." My own voice was a thin thread in the wind. I shut my eyes, reaching inward—past the ocean of mana that threatened to drown me—searching for that elusive spark.
Touki.
Not just energy. Not just mana. Battle spirit. The defiance of humans against demons, forged in war and desperation. The foundation of the Three Great Styles—Water God, Sword God, North God.
"Ghislaine said I was suited for the North God style…" But survival against the gods demanded more than being a magus. Everything. Magic. Sword. Touki.
With a roar, I wrenched the blade upward, muscles screaming, and—
BAM!
The air exploded. A shockwave of heat and force rippled outward, steam hissing around me. My blistered hands shook, but the pain was nothing compared to the wild thrill surging through my veins. 'I felt it.'
A laugh burst from my chest—raw, disbelieving, alive. "HAHAHA! I CAN FEEL IT!"
For the first time in this life, something clicked. The world sharpened. My body thrummed with new awareness. Then, a minute later, the backlash hit. A tremendous pain tore through every muscle, as if invisible forces were trying to pull my body apart from the inside. I could only lay flat on my back, channeling healing magic to mend the damage I'd just done to myself.
'Ugh, as expected, my body isn't ready yet.' I gritted my teeth against the agony, the pain a familiar, brutal teacher. 'I'll have to push my bones and muscles even harder.'
Rustle.
My instincts flared. In a heartbeat, I spun, magic already humming on my tongue—
Only to freeze. A white deer. A familiar, too-knowing gaze.
"Tanyl," I exhaled, tension bleeding away. She nudged me with her muzzle, warm and insistent. "I told you to wait," I grumbled, but my fingers curled into her silver fur anyway. A moment of quiet understanding passed between us. Then— "Come on. Let's go home before Laffey gets worried."
====x====
After cleaning up and healing the worst of my injuries, I mounted Tanyl. She moved like a phantom through the forest, her hooves barely disturbing the undergrowth. The familiar scent of damp earth and pine filled the air, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying the euphoric moment when Touki had sparked in my veins.
An hour later, the shimmering dome surrounding our village came into view, its faint glow humming with protective magic.
"Young master!" One of the guards, a burly elf named Eran, jogged forward to greet me. His usual easy smile was strained.
"I'm home," I said, dismounting. "Did something happen while I was away?"
Eran hesitated. "Nothing to concern yourself with, young master, but the madam…"
I sighed. "I see. Then I'll head back. Thank you for your hard work." The guards bowed, but their cheer felt forced. The village was too quiet. The usual sounds of children laughing and neighbors chatting were absent.
====x====
My boots crunched on the gravel of the manor drive. And there she stood. Mother. Arms crossed, a serene smile frozen on her face like a beautiful, terrifying mask. Beside her, Laffey pressed her lips into a line so thin it could have sliced through steel. Cold dread coiled in my stomach.
"Hm." Mother's voice dripped like honey laced with arsenic. "You did remember where home was."
"Mother, I just wanted to ride Tanyl for a bit—" The excuse tasted pathetic, even to me.
She sighed—that soft, devastating sound that could make emperors weep. "Go. Clean yourself. I'll prepare food." No immediate punishment. I exhaled. As Laffey led Tanyl away, I caught her muttering through clenched teeth: "Reckless young masters. Ungrateful beasts who enable them."
I scrubbed the grime—and the scent of freedom—from my skin and went to the dining hall. The silence hit me first. This was wrong. Heavy. Thick enough to choke on. Father and Mother sat at the grand table like statues, their faces unreadable. The air was coiled, waiting. A serpent ready to strike.
Something's very wrong.
"Eat," Father commanded. I obeyed. The roasted venison turned to ash on my tongue. The only sound was the grim chorus of cutlery against porcelain. Finally, Father set his fork down. The sound was final. Like a coffin lid closing.
"Oberon." His gaze pinned me to my seat. "We must speak."
I forced the tasteless meat down my throat. "What happened?"
"Princess Riveria sent word." My blood turned to ice. Even from afar, her messages never brought trivial news. "As you know, the Zeus and Hera Familia began an expedition years ago into the dungeon's deepest reaches." He paused, letting the names hang in the air like ghosts. "It seems they have found the prey they were hunting."
The breath caught in my throat. "The One-Eyed Black Dragon... they found it?" Father's grim nod shattered the fragile hope I'd been clinging to. "The news spreads already. The city is a tinderbox of nerves."
My mind raced through the scarce, terrifying legends. The only confirmed fact was the scar left upon the great hero Albert. Every other living soul who had encountered the beast had been erased from existence. A creature that could rival the Calamity itself...
Orsted.
"We do not know what will awaken after its centuries of slumber," Mother continued, her voice softer but no less grave. "So your father, myself, and Laffey will be leaving. You will hold the manor in our absence."
A tactical thought cut through my fear. "Father—we should double the watchtowers. The skies... we need an early warning. If it flies—"
A faint, proud smile touched Mother's lips. "Fufu~ As expected. Your father and I had the same thought."
I met their worried gazes, squaring my shoulders against the weight of what they were asking. "Whatever happens—I will support you both. In any way I can."
Mother reached out, her hand covering mine. Warm. Trembling, just slightly. "I know, my son. But remember—above all else—your safety comes first."
"I know, Mother."
"Ah, I almost forgot." Her smile turned mysterious, offering a brief respite from the grim news. "Laffey will not attend the home for a while."
"Why is that, Mother?" Laffey was practically welded to this manor. She'd once worked through a fever that would've felled a horse.
"She is expecting."
Expecting? My mind blanked. Then the realization crashed over me like a wave. "Aunt Laffey is pregnant!?"
Mother's smile widened—and for the first time that evening, something warm flickered in her eyes. "Surprise."