The sun was shining brightly, the clouds gently shuffling across the wide blue sky, and the birds swaying gracefully in the golden air. Down below, the endless green lands glimmered under the morning light. Aron stumbled, trying to get back on his feet, sweat dripping down his forehead as he caught his breath.
"Now!" Luxorious murmured sharply.
With one dagger in hand and his other arm raised, Luxorious blocked Aron's full-force strike without even flinching. The sound of steel clashing echoed across the valley.
They had been training for days—relentless, unforgiving, and fierce. The grass beneath them was worn out, the marks of battle etched into the soil.
Luxorious, breathing steadily, lowered his dagger and said, "The book's teachings are ancient." He closed the thick, worn-out book with a snap, and then—without warning—he stomped the book into Aron's stomach, knocking the air out of him.
"You've done well," Luxorious continued coldly. "Your footwork, your balance—it's perfect now. From today onwards, do it yourself."
Aron straightened, rubbing his stomach but smiling faintly through the pain. "Are you… going somewhere, Commander?"
Luxorious turned his gaze away, looking toward the far hills. "I have work to do. And I've trained you well enough… though it's only what the book could teach."
"Thank you," Aron said softly, still smiling. "For teaching me."
Luxorious's face, as always, remained serious and unreadable. "Now learn blacksmithing," he said. "Remember—you carry a legacy behind you. Let it be yours now."
Without another word, Luxorious turned and walked into the fading light, his figure slowly disappearing along the winding path until there was nothing left but silence.
"Legacy… maybe," Aron whispered, staring down at the sword lying before him. He picked it up, feeling its weight, its warmth. Then, with slow breaths, he began to practice the moves—the swings, the cuts, the stances. Each strike carried precision and strength, as if a hundred men stood behind it.
He closed his eyes. The book slipped from his hand, falling open on the grass. And in an instant, the world shifted—Aron found himself once again in that place where he had died over a thousand times.
He stood, puzzled yet calm, holding the sword. But something was different this time. The handle felt lighter, almost as if it belonged to him. There was no pressure, no hesitation. Just flow.
The battle began.
A swish of wind—Aron ducked, crouched low, and swung up. The old man in front of him was stunned for a brief second, just enough for Aron to stab the blade deep into his gut. Blood splattered, warm and sharp. The old man grunted, grabbed Aron by the collar, and with one last surge of power, threw him back.
Aron drifted, but the man was dripping blood. The sword was still in Aron's hand. As he was thrown off, Aron didn't dodge on purpose. He grabbed the blade, and now…
The man sat and fell. Aron walked, and as he was about to reach him, reality came back. He was now lying where he had been training. He opened his eyes and saw the clouds—but far from there, on a cliff, Luxorious watched him stand up and closed the book.
Luxorious stared, then whispered, "My job here is done." And he was gone.
The winds began to howl. Far away, beyond the green fields and rivers, something else was taking shape—a shadow in motion. A group of bandits, gathering in secret, plotting to attack the nearby village.
These bandits were not ordinary ones—they didn't target people, but their supplies. Food, crops, water—everything was at risk. It was summer, the hardest season for the farmers, and the people were tired of fighting. But this time… this time, things would be different.
Meanwhile, in the village, Aron wiped the sweat from his face and looked toward the horizon. "I should check on Master and Mr. Wood," he said to himself.
As he started walking down the dirt path, a familiar voice called from behind.
"Aron! There you are!" Carlos ran up, breathing heavily. "Man, I've been looking all over for you."
Aron grinned. "Sorry, I was training."
"Training? Again?" Carlos shook his head.
"I know," Aron interrupted, his tone firm. "But to protect you guys—the village, everyone—I made an oath. I have to become stronger. I have to."
Carlos looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I guess you're right. With Master and Lily back, the numbers have changed anyway. Things are looking better."
"Yeah," Aron said with a smile. "Let's go. I need to check on Mr. Wood and Master."
"Alright, I'll come with you."
They walked together, the wind brushing through the tall grass, until they reached the small wooden house near the riverbank. Master and Mr. Wood were already there, talking to each other with warm smiles.
"Hello, Master!" Aron called out. Carlos waved as well.
"Ah, good timing!" the Master said with a grin. "You two have done great work lately. I'm proud of you both." He turned to Mr. Wood. "Let's go to the seashore tomorrow. We could all use some time together."
Mr. Wood laughed heartily. "Of course! And maybe we'll catch some fish—and devour them to their watery deaths!" His booming laugh filled the air.
Aron chuckled. "Sounds perfect. Where's Lily?"
"She's watering the plants," Master said proudly. "She takes good care of them. Every flower blooms better when she's around."
"I guess she really loves nature," Aron replied softly.
Mr. Wood nodded. "You were the same when you came here with Carlos. You two never took your eyes off the plants. Some have grown taller than you now," he said with a calm, gentle tone. "And some… are still freshly growing."
Master smiled. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow, we go to the sea."
The evening sun dipped low, painting the world in orange and red. The laughter of the villagers echoed through the fields—but far away, in a darker land, another scene unfolded.
In the great city of Galaguard, the brown throne of King Galaguard stood tall and silent. The city bore his name—an honor he gave himself. The king was a true embodiment of greed and corruption, a man who ruled not with wisdom but with gold and fear.
He sat silently on his throne when the doors burst open. A soldier ran in, panic all over his face.
"My King!" the soldier gasped. "The city of Black Tides has fallen! The darkness has… has occupied it!"
The king slowly stood, his expression turning grim. "Do nothing," he said after a pause. "If we act now, the attention of the darkness will reach us too. Prepare everyone to evacuate. We will seek help elsewhere."
The soldier bowed and ran out of the hall.
King Galaguard looked down at his hand. There was a wound—small, but deep—and for a moment, his eyes darkened.