Aiden awoke to the sound of faint waves and the scent of salt in the air. His eyelids trembled open, revealing a wooden ceiling above him. The last thing he remembered was the roaring void—the monstrous hand of darkness reaching for him—and then… nothing.
He bolted upright, his heart pounding, only to see a kind-faced woman standing before him, holding a small vial of medicine. Her expression softened into relief—until Aiden clutched his head and groaned. A surge of pain tore through his skull, and images flashed before his eyes in blinding succession: the demonic hand, the crimson light, his final scream before everything went black.
The woman shrieked, startled by his sudden outburst, thinking he meant her harm. But within moments, the pain subsided, and Aiden—panting, trembling—bowed his head deeply.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to frighten you," he said.
Her fear melted away as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. She smiled faintly. "You're safe now," she assured him.
She was around fifty, her silver hair tied neatly behind her head, her presence calm yet strong. Her name, she told him, was Olivia.
When Aiden asked how she had found him, she explained softly, "My husband, Anthony, discovered you unconscious on the shore. You were half-drowned, battered, barely breathing. We brought you home."
But her gaze then turned curious, almost wary. "Tell me, Aiden… are you from another world?"
Aiden hesitated. He knew the truth sounded insane—but he could no longer hide it. Slowly, he told her everything: the battle, the hand of darkness, the collapsing realm, and the mysterious girl who had been taken from him.
Before Olivia could respond, the door burst open with a loud thud! A massive man stood in the doorway, panic written across his face.
"Olivia! Are you alright? I heard you scream!"
Aiden instinctively rose to his feet, but the man's glare pinned him like a wild beast about to strike. His sheer presence felt crushing, his aura like a wall of pressure.
"Anthony, wait!" Olivia cried, rushing to his side. "It's not what you think—he just woke up!"
The tension faded, and the man—Anthony, as she called him—lowered his fists. He was a mountain of a man, his frame wide and scarred, yet his eyes held warmth.
Moments later, the three of them sat at a humble wooden table. The aroma of roasted fish filled the room. Aiden, still gathering his composure, asked carefully,
"What… is this world?"
Anthony took a slow sip of his drink before answering.
"This world," he began, "is divided into two realms: the Upper World and the Lower World. We live down here, in the lower realm—a place for the poor, the exiled, and the forgotten. The highest energy level one can reach here is the final tier of the ninth stage. Most of us start around the first tier of the seventh. Beyond that… is forbidden."
He paused, his expression darkening. "Once a year, a messenger from the Upper World descends. Their job is to measure our power. If anyone exceeds the limit… they are erased."
Aiden clenched his fists. "Erased? That's—"
"Unfair," Anthony finished. "Yes. But that's the law."
As the conversation deepened, Anthony spoke of an ancient legend. "The creature you saw—the demonic hand—it might belong to Arthur, the King of the Abyss. A monstrous being banished from the Upper World ages ago. My grandfather's old tomes spoke of him: a colossal dragon with scales that could shatter swords and deflect any spell. It took the combined might of the Upper World's strongest mages—those beyond the tenth stage—to seal him away."
Aiden's eyes widened. "Then… he's real?"
Anthony nodded solemnly. "According to legend, Arthur escaped the seal and fled here, into the Lower World. No one has seen him since."
The question that haunted them all lingered unspoken—until Olivia voiced it softly:
"But why did he take your companion, Aiden? What does he mean by 'the runaway princess'?"
Aiden lowered his gaze. "I don't know… but I'll find out."
From that day forward, Aiden swore to grow stronger. He began training relentlessly under Anthony's watch. The two became inseparable—hunting, fishing, sparring, living as master and apprentice… or perhaps father and son.
Weeks turned to months.
Each morning, Aiden rose before dawn to train. He swung his wooden sword ten thousand times, performed a thousand pushups, and ran a hundred kilometers along the coastline. The training was brutal—unforgiving—but he endured it all with clenched teeth.
Whenever he slacked off or overslept, Anthony's iron fists would find him quickly. Even Olivia, gentle and kind, could hardly bear to watch Aiden's suffering.
But the results were undeniable. Two months later, his once-slender frame was now hardened with lean muscle, and his sword swings cut the air with visible shockwaves. He had mastered the First Sword Style, a technique requiring precise control of energy at the first level of the seventh stage.
Then, one afternoon, a horn echoed through the village—the sound of the Royal Messenger's arrival.
In the village square, the people gathered in silence. A man clad in gleaming white robes stood at the center, his aura commanding reverence.
Anthony stepped forward—he was the village chief, after all.
The messenger's cold voice carried across the crowd: "Step forward, one by one. You will all be tested."
Each villager placed a hand upon a glowing crystal orb. One by one, levels were recorded.
When Anthony's turn came, the crystal blazed with light so intense that even the messenger's eyes widened.
"The third level… of the ninth stage," the messenger murmured, visibly shaken. "Impossible…"
A low, crushing aura rippled through the air before Anthony quickly suppressed it. The messenger looked away, whispering to himself: "I must report this to the King…"
Then came Aiden's turn. He hesitated for a moment, his palms sweaty. He pressed his hand against the crystal, releasing a fraction of his energy.
The orb glowed softly.
"Second level of the seventh stage," the messenger read aloud.
The villagers murmured. Disappointment. Pity. Confusion.
Aiden smiled faintly—but deep down, frustration burned. His body had grown stronger, but his magic had stagnated. Anthony, watching silently, already knew this would happen.
Days passed. The rhythm of life in the village returned to normal. Training, meals, sleep—repeated endlessly.
And as the sun dipped behind the mountains one evening, Aiden stood alone outside the house, staring at his hands. His sword leaned against a nearby tree, untouched.
For the first time in weeks… a flicker of boredom crossed his face.