Two days had passed since Daniel and Klav had become friends. In that short span, their growth was remarkable. Daniel, ever disciplined, immersed himself in refining his swordsmanship, adjusting to the limitations and flexibility of his younger body. Klav, under Daniel's guidance, focused on cultivating his mana through daily meditation.
They trained in a secluded clearing nestled within the forest just beyond their village. The sun filtered through the trees in golden shafts, illuminating a large moss-covered boulder at the center of the clearing. Klav sat cross-legged atop it, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. The air around him pulsed faintly with mana, as if the forest itself responded to his presence.
Nearby, Daniel trained relentlessly. His movements were sharp and fluid, each slash of his wooden practice sword carving through the air with intent. He treated the sword not as a tool, but as an extension of his body. Yet despite the precision of his strikes, something was missing.
He paused, lowering the blade, his brow furrowed.
He tried once more, channeling his focus inward, attempting to draw out mana and fuse it with the sword. Nothing. Not even a spark. Yet from Klav, he could sense it—raw, potent mana leaking gently into the space around them like a slow tide. But from within himself? Emptiness.
A wave of dread washed over him.
This is bad. Very bad. If I can't summon or even sense my own mana, then everything will play out the same way again. The bandit raid… the deaths… I can't let that happen again. Twenty-eight days remain. That's all the time I have.
He tightened his grip on the hilt, sweat dripping from his brow. Frustration burned in his chest, but he pushed it down and returned to practice. His strikes became faster, heavier. He swung from the side, cut diagonally, slashed from above, and added rotations to throw off rhythm—feints that mimicked chaos, all executed with practiced ease.
But something still felt hollow.
Then an idea came to him.
One of his greatest strengths had always been his memory. Every technique, every duel, every failure—etched into his mind like stone. So he closed his eyes and summoned a memory not of a moment, but of a person.
His former self.
An older version of Daniel stood before him. Taller, broader, hardened by war and time. The image was so vivid it felt real—his past self gripping a long blade with effortless mastery, eyes calm, unreadable.
Daniel inhaled and opened his eyes. Everything else faded. There was no forest. No Klav. Just him… and the warrior he used to be.
He lunged.
Their blades clashed in the realm of the mind, and a brutal spar began. Daniel moved with speed and intent, but his opponent countered with minimal effort. Every strike he launched was deflected. Every feint, anticipated. Every angle of attack, answered with perfect timing.
He ducked low, spun, and struck at the knees—only to be flipped with a counter-grab. He recovered and charged again, pushing himself harder. Blow after blow, he gave everything. But the older Daniel was unrelenting. They engaged in close quarters, trading punches and elbow strikes in a flurry of movement, resembling an evolved form of Arnis. But even in hand-to-hand combat, his older self dominated the flow.
With one precise movement, the older Daniel disarmed him and swept his legs out from under him. Daniel crashed to the ground, gasping for breath. The phantom of his former self loomed over him, sword raised—but did not strike.
Instead, it faded, leaving Daniel lying alone in the clearing, panting, staring up at the sky through a canopy of swaying branches.
His chest heaved as he tried to push away the crushing sense of inadequacy.
"I'm not strong enough... not yet," he whispered, gripping a handful of dirt beside him.
He turned his head slightly to see Klav still meditating atop the boulder, untouched by the struggle Daniel had just endured within his own mind.
But it was not defeat Daniel tasted. It was clarity. He now understood exactly how far he had to go. And that he would stop at nothing to get there.
Daniel exhaled, sweat beginning to bead at his brow as he stood alone in the quiet clearing. With a sharp breath, he decided to try one more time.
"Status Window," he muttered.
Silence.
He furrowed his brow and tried again, more firmly this time. "Open Status."
Still nothing.
It was as if the system window—so intrinsic to a person's development and understanding of themselves in this world—had never existed for him.
Though humans don't necessarily need the system window to grow, the fact that I can't access mine… and can't even sense my mana… something's seriously wrong.
Confusion and unease gnawed at him. His mana was unreachable. His stats were hidden. The very structure of the world seemed to push him aside like an error in the code. But he couldn't afford to sit around and brood. There was no time. Not when the raid was coming in twenty-eight days.
Fine. If I can't rely on the system, then I'll do it the old-fashioned way.
He tossed aside his wooden sword and dropped to the forest floor, planting his hands firmly into the earth. He began his push-ups. One. Two. Three. Slow and steady at first. Then faster.
His muscles burned. His arms trembled. But he refused to stop. The pain was real. The exertion, honest. There was no system to grant him free stats, no shortcut. Just his own effort.
By the five-minute mark, he collapsed, gasping for air.
"One hundred… that's my limit for now," he muttered between breaths. "Not bad… for a five-year-old body. But it's nowhere near enough."
He sat back on his knees, letting the burn settle in his arms before moving again. Without pause, he began the next circuit—sit-ups, then squats, each one deliberate and sharp. He focused on his form, maximizing the efficiency of every movement, training not just his muscles but his discipline.
The sun had risen higher now, casting dappled light across the forest floor. Birds chirped overhead. Leaves rustled in the trees.
Then, from atop the mossy boulder, Klav stirred. His eyes opened slowly, hazy from meditation. The glow of ambient mana had faded around him. He looked down at Daniel, confused by the sight of his friend drenched in sweat, panting, mid-squat.
"Daniel?" Klav called out, rubbing his eyes. "What… what are you doing?"
Daniel stood upright and cracked his neck. "Training."
Klav blinked. "You were already training… with your sword."
"This is different," Daniel replied, brushing dirt off his hands. "Swordsmanship isn't enough. I need to strengthen my body too."
Klav looked down at him, head tilted. "Is it really that important? I mean, you're already good."
Daniel gave a half-smile. "Good won't be enough. Come on. Get down from that rock. We're going for a run."
"A run?" Klav blinked, still half-asleep. "Where?"
Daniel turned toward the narrow trail leading deeper into the woods. "Loop through the forest. Twice. It'll build your stamina."
Klav looked hesitant.
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You said you wanted to get stronger, didn't you?"
After a pause, Klav nodded and jumped down from the boulder, brushing off his robes.
"Let's go," Daniel said, already starting to jog.
And just like that, the two of them vanished into the trees—feet thudding against the forest floor, hearts beating in sync, running not just through the woods, but toward the fate that waited for them twenty-eight days from now.