"I want to be an adventurer."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Dad blinked. Mom froze mid-sip of her tea.
Then came the storm.
"You what?" Mom snapped, slamming her cup down so hard it nearly cracked.
I stood my ground. "I want to travel. Explore. Fight monsters. Help people. You know, like in the stories."
"That's exactly the problem," she said sharply. "Those were stories, Lucien. They weren't meant to send you running off into danger!"
"But you told them to me! All the time!" I shot back, frustrated. "You filled my head with tales of brave warriors, clever mages, unstoppable heroes. You made it sound like the world out there was full of magic and challenge and meaning."
"That was different," Mom hissed. "You were a child."
"I still am," I said quietly. "But I'm not blind. And I'm not stupid. I know it's dangerous. I know the stories were half lies. But I want to try."
Yeah, this is going great. Honestly, I'm half afraid that if I keep working as a blacksmith's apprentice, this garbage system is going to give me a damn "Blacksmith" class.
And I'd rather not, thanks.
Mom opened her mouth again, but Dad raised a hand.
"Let him speak."
She scowled, arms crossed, and leaned back.
I took a breath. "The forge is… fine. It's honest work. But when I think about spending the rest of my life hammering nails and sharpening horseshoes, I feel like I can't breathe. I want to see the world. I want to test myself... beyond the Empire."
Silence.
"I'm not asking to leave now. I just want to try. I want to train," I added quickly. "I just… want the chance to try one day."
Mom looked like she was about to scream. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
Yep. That went well.
Dad stayed. Watching me. Thinking.
Then he said, "Come with me."
He led me out to the forge. The night smelled of iron and soot. Inside, it was warm, comfortingly familiar. He gestured to the workbench.
There was a long bundle wrapped in cloth.
I glanced at him. "What's that?"
"Open it."
I did.
Inside was a wooden training sword. Simple. Balanced. Hand-carved. No engravings, no flair, just smooth wood and a solid grip.
I stared at it. My breath caught.
"You made this for me?"
He nodded. "Had it ready for a while. Didn't know when to give it to you. Was supposed to be a birthday gift. But hey, I guess you just dropped that little surprise at dinner, didn't you?"
I picked it up. It fit my hand perfectly.
"I'm not saying your mother's wrong," he said. "She's scared. With good reason. The world out there, isn't kind. But dreams don't disappear just because they're dangerous."
He looked me straight in the eye.
"I won't stop you from training. But you'll still work in the forge. You'll still study. And if one day the dream fades, if you grow tired of swinging that stick, I won't say 'I told you so.'"
I smiled. "Thanks, Dad."
He ruffled my hair. "Just… don't tell your mother. And hey, you did break my heart a little, talking trash about the forge like that. Still… I'll try convincing her."
"Sorry. And thank you," I murmured, lowering my head.
"You're my son, Lucien. If you want something, I'll try to give it to you. As long as you don't ask for the moon, we'll be fine."
He patted my head again, messing up my hair.
Honestly? He'd become a good parent. From an emotionally stunted softie to someone who really got me. Life's weird like that.
It's strange, having a parent who actually supports your dreams. Even if he's clearly doing it just to make me happy. Still, I'll take it. I have permission to train outside.
The next few weeks blurred together in fire and sweat.
By day, I hauled coal, pumped the bellows, and prepped metal until my arms ached. Child labor? Possibly. But hey, I'm not hammering steel yet. Just an assistant. I think.
By evening, when the sky turned dark and the village quieted down, I trained.The rest: Ki, mana, all that inner flow stuff, that's reserved for the early mornings. And I mean painfully early.
Why a sword, though? Why not a spear, or an axe, or I don't know, something more... creative? Simple.
First, my father gave it to me. That alone makes it priceless.Second, come on, every man secretly loves swords. It's practically encoded in our DNA.Third… I needed a way to train without looking like a lunatic.I mean, imagine a kid doing squats at sunrise in a muddy village. Weird, right?But a kid practicing sword forms? Suddenly it's discipline, tradition, maybe even a little inspiring.Plus, it's great for balance, coordination, and focus. Win-win.
Honestly, I'm not doing all this for some flashy Class or title. I need this. Now that my brain is clear, my body young, my learning curve is sharp.
Behind the forge, on a patch of packed dirt, I swung my wooden sword over and over. Repeating forms I half-remembered from old comics in my past life.
Yeah, I know, ridiculous. But let's be honest, everyone has mimicked sword swings at least once in their life. Don't lie.
I started blending those flashy, over-the-top moves with things I actually learned during my military training, mostly stances, footwork, positioning. Surprisingly useful.
I'd say it's a shame fencing was dropped from basic training… but then again, well… let's just say Germany doesn't exactly have a spotless military history and leave it at that.
Anyway... yeah.
At first, I was clumsy. Too fast. Too eager.
But little by little, things started to click. My movements sharpened. My footwork tightened. I began to feel how to breathe through a strike, where to place weight, when to move.
Dad would watch sometimes, pretending to sip beer while sneaking glances. Sometimes with his friends, especially Gilo, who always teased me with names like "Mighty Warrior" or "Sword Master."
Over time, more villagers took notice. At first, the adults found it cute, and the kids thought I looked cool. But eventually, they stopped calling me "adorable" and started calling me "serious" and "diligent", maybe a bit too much. They began complimenting my parents on how mature I was.
Naturally, that inflated their egos.
Even my once-skeptical mother eventually approved, though her comment was just, "At least he'll grow some muscles."
Dad seemed proud, in his quiet, emotionally repressed way.
Once, after a particularly clean form, he grunted,
"You're improving. A little."
High praise, coming from him.
But I knew what he was thinking. He expected me to burn out. That routine would wear me down. That I'd lose interest.
Maybe a normal kid would've.
But I'm not normal. I never was.
I want to live, not just survive in this world.
Where I came from, when I studied, when they shipped me off to be a soldier, I survived. I fulfilled expectations. I watched time crawl.
But now?
Now I want to live. To dream, even just a little, about freedom.
Yeah, this world's a mess. Sure, I hated it at first.
But now? I kind of like it.
It's broken. It's unfair. But not as much as the place I left behind.
There's danger. Cruelty. Bad people.
But… it's mine now. This is my life.
And this is what I want to do.
Whether it's mana, ki, life force, or a sword…
I want the strength to be free.
And I can do it… I can try.
With every swing of the sword, every drop of sweat, every breathless second under the sky, I wanted it more.
One night, after a long day of forging and training, I sat alone behind the forge.
My arms trembled. My legs felt like pudding.
But I smiled.
"I'm not giving up," I whispered.
Somewhere behind me, I heard Dad chuckle.
"Just don't burn yourself out, kid."
I nodded with a smile. "Not planning to. Honestly, I'm more likely to catch fire in the forge."
I gripped the wooden sword tighter.
Someday, I'd replace it with steel. Maybe adamantine.
But for now?
This was enough.